Date: Midsummer 798 ------- Location: Greyleigh Manor, St. Loomis
Midsummer's Night has come to St. Loomis, and the gates of Greyleigh Manor have been opened wide for celebration. All are welcome this night!
(Eoforwynn): Summer has arrived in the new Principality of Innithel, bringing with it a damp heat that settles over the land like a wet blanket steaming by the fireside. But all day a sense of excited energy has thrummed through the streets of St. Loomis, and despite the muggy warmth there seemed to be an extra bounce in everyone's step as they went about their daily affairs. Through the gates of Greyleigh Manor even more bustle and excitement were afoot, as the entire staff looked to be engaged in preparations for a sizeable celebration, stringing garlands and lanterns, fetching kindling from the woods, cooking in the kitchens and laying out tables -- with frequent recourse to a bit of refreshing ale to get them through the warmth of the afternoon.
But the coming of evening produces a shifting of the winds and a pleasantly cool breeze to relieve the swelter, and now the stars twinkle with a mellow light through a fine haze of clouds. With the last glow of the sun vanished and the turquoise dusk transmuted to the sapphire of night, the gates of the manor are opened wide to all.
Midsummer Night is here!
(Velusiyen): Never one to miss a celebration, and still less one to allow anyone else of her acquaintance to miss it, Lucy Mudlark is out and about in St. Loomis, calling out to all and sundry as she tromps energetically around. There are a great deal of all and sundry to call out to, given the activity that has reigned all across town since sundown. Lamps burn brightly upon doors and candles in windows, lighting the way for the many people who traipse merrily through the streets -- visiting the houses of the wealthier sort, where simple fare is set out upon tables, singing and laughing with family and friends, and all chattering excitedly among themselves. Having circled back around to her home neighborhood after making the circuit of Painter Street and the Wollock, Lucy's own shouts now echo along Beacon Row with extra familiarity.
"OI!" she belts out, as she stops beneath one second-story window. "Goody Angold! You told me not to let you fall asleep, but I bet you did, so here's your wake-up call!"
"OI!" she yells out, turning now to face a dingy doorway in the opposite direction. "Goodman Harl! Better finish gettin' the littles put together; pretty sure I saw Himmie runnin' off to the manor already. He'll prolly get lost in the woods if he ain't got someone to tie a string to him!"
"OI!" She's at the edge of Fountain Square now, where the town council has provided a tidy little extravaganza of candied nuts and slinkets. "Caddie! You're not gonna have any room left for fire cakes if you don't quit stuffin' your face with slinkets!"
(Yasin): In spite of all the excited energy in the air, at least one man seems -- for the moment -- to be completely oblivious to it. Yasin.
Instead, he is hunched over the anvil at the Silver Street Wagonyard, tapping a large, iron wagonwheel rim with a hammer while he rotates it in deliberate, minute adjustments. The heat of the forge cools gently behind him, mirroring the easing temperature of the evening. And yet he forges on.
Clang! Another precise strike of hammer against metal as he works to correct a warped section.
"Told him he should be more careful overloading the thing," Yasin mutters to himself in Sirdabi, sweat beading at his brow. He gives another few taps, nudging the rim further into its intended shape.
Then he lifts up the rim and holds it against the wooden wheel propped nearby. "Close..." He mutters in careful scrutiny.
(Velusiyen): Passing through the square, Lucy waves to various other people whom she must know, but graciously leaves off OI-ing at them since they're already headed in the right direction -- north, and presumably towards the manor. She herself pauses by the fountain basin, dabbling her fingers through the water as she glances irresolutely to south and west. Her head tilts thoughtfully for a moment, but then her eyes narrow as she casts a faintly suspicious glance off down Post Street.
With an uncertain frown, Lucy mutters to herself, "Nah... no one would really be workin' at this hour, today... not even him." But this assertion doesn't seem to actually carry much weight even to she who has muttered it, and there's a questioning sort of '.. Right?' in her eyes as she frowns westward. After just another instant of indecision she heaves a long sigh, and determinedly heads off towards the intersection with Silver Street.
(Tabithah): Over at the manor itself, people are already streaming more or less steadily in through the gates under the watchful eye of the young guard Texen, who looks faintly disgruntled by the fact of not being allowed to perform his bounden duty of denying entry to almost all who should wish to pass. But standing not far from him is a somewhat more welcoming presence in the form of Tabby the little brown-haired maidservant, who greets each visitor with a shy nod and the handing out of a single flower from the many bright blossoms she carries in a basket over her arm.
Every now and then, whenever the flow of guests lessens, she turns first to peer over her shoulder at the manor courtyard, then ahead to look off down the street for oncoming arrivals. Dressed just as usual in her particolored kirtle of mist grey and green, and with her ordinary quietly self-effacing manner, she seems quite muted compared to those already beginning to engage in revelry around the fires behind her. But her sea-green eyes sparkle with an excited light, and every now and then one foot begins to tap along as one of the minstrels setting up on a platform along the manor house drive gives a few merrily experimental saws on a rebec, or a cheery tootle from a fife.
(Yasin): But indeed he is working at this day, even at this hour. Perhaps he's simply grown oblivious to the passing time. He shifts his jaw in critical consideration of his work, and the look in his honey-brown eyes seems to say, 'Just one more adjustment...'
So, back to the forge and anvil with the wheel rim in hand. "Must've gone into that ditch after the river," Yasin mutters to himself, diagnosing the cause of the warping (who knows if his diagnosis is accurate). Some light heat is applied to the rim, before he shifts back to some careful tapping. In this last bout of tapping, he is fully and utterly focused. There may as well be nothing going on around him, no noticeably reduced chatter in the street outside as neighboring residents and other workers wander in the approximate direction of the manor, no gentle evening breeze signifying the close to the work day. Just a man, his hammer, and a stubborn wheel rim. With a loud 'Tink!' sound, his hammer strikes the shape once more.
Surely he'll be done soon and realize the time, yes?
(Ziyad): (Ziyad): Tap, tap, tap. The sound isn't loud, but it's insistent. Ziyad raps his knuckles against the wheelwright's gate while he stands planted just outside the compound peering through to stare at Yasin's figure. Tap, tap, tap. The sound grows louder to compete with the metallic pings of the smith's hammer.
"Yasin! Did you forget what day this is?" Ziyad calls out, stopping his tapping to beckon at his friend. "If you stay here all night like you so often do, you're going to miss all the festivities. I already seem plenty of people streaming down the streets towards Greyleigh manor while I was walking here to get yet." The young scholar gestures to Yasin's sooty apron. "Get cleaned up, and we can both walk there together. Maybe all three of us, if Ighlaf also shows up to remind you. I bet Ighlaf also realize you'll lose track of time without someone to drag you free of this place."
(Yasin): Yasin blinks through his hammer striking, that repetitive tapping likely competing for awareness and attention. He looks upward, then notices Ziyad and smiles in a distracted way as he listens.
And listens.
And his expression falters on his face as the realization begins to set in.
"Oh no." He mouths at first. "What-- what time is it?" He asks, even as he looks past Ziyad to the look of the approaching evening outside. "Oh, no." And the smith looks nowhere near close to ready, the very picture of labor with his sooty apron, his soot-stained hands, his kaftan wrinkled underneath the apron, sweat both fresh and dried on his face.
He's still for several moments, before he suddenly whirls into motion, putting away tools, setting the in-progress (nearly there!) wheel rim to the side, snuffing out the forge, and giving several hurried sweeps of coal clinkers to the side. "I'll just need a moment!" he calls out to Ziyad while he rushes to and fro in the shack. He gives a vigorous rub of a cleaning rag to the anvil, and then seems poised to rush right outside the wagonyard. "I'll find you and Ighlaf later!" he promises in his mad movements towards the gate.
He does pause, however, in his rush to give a delighted grin Ziyad's way. "Hope you're ready to dance, my friend."
(Velusiyen): "All four of us, if Paints does show up to haul you out!" exclaims a familiar voice, as Lucy comes marching down from the direction of Post Street to park herself by Ziyad's side. Drawing in a deep breath, she belts out an extra-loud, "OI!!! SMITHY!!!" Never mind that he's already on his way over. (Never mind also poor Ziyad and his ears.) Yasin might look back over at his tools on the way across the yard and get distracted all over again. Better safe than sorry.
(Yasin): Yasin is startled by that familiar voice, and then just as he's about to offer a greeting Lucy's way, that extra-loud 'OI SMITHY' aborts his greeting before it launched, and causes him to break out in laughter.
"Lucy," he calls out as his laughter dies down, giving a dip of his head. "The, ah... evening came on a bit quicker than I had anticipated," he says a little sheepishly. "But... I'm on my way!" Warmly, he adds on, "Thank you both for ensuring I did not forget."
Lofting a hand to the duo, he starts rushing off at a brisk pace. His farewell is given in a called over-his-shoulder, "I'll go clean myself up!"
(Ziyad): Ziyad's rubbing at one ear, but luckily it doesn't appear that Lucy's shout burst any eardrums, because he's grinning in amusement instead of grimacing in pain. "So you also realized that Yasin's going to simply miss the entire feast without someone to drag him away from work," he says with a laugh. He rises his voice and calls out, not as loud as Lucy, but still enough to make sure that his words carry. "And don't get distracted AFTER you finish cleaning up. We don't need you running pass the forge after you clean up, realize that there's just ONE more thing you should take care of first, and get engrossed for the rest of the night again."
(Velusiyen): "Everyone who knows anythin' about Smithy would know it," Lucy grouses at Ziyad, shaking her head grumpily in Yasin's direction. She can't keep that look up for long, though, and is soon fighting a grin again even she attempts to at least keep her voice stern. "Yeah, Smithy!" she yells out after the not-quite-bolting fellow. "Don't make one of us miss Midsummer by havin' to post a guard on the wagon yard!"
She lets out a loud snort, and then turns to look at Ziyad. "You wanna head over to the manor now, Drifter? Maybe we'll catch Paints on the way too."
(Yasin): Yasin, not quite out of earshot just yet even as he gets further and further from the duo, laughs and shouts back, "I'll be there! No distractions, I promise!" So he claims, anyway. (But really, he probably means it) He hastens his pace and then disappears around the corner towards Post Street, to hopefully make a better appearance than 'soot-covered smithy' when he finds the group next.
(Tighearnach): Among the crowd making their way along the lane towards the manor gates is a young man in the off-duty garb of the Mistwatch -- teal tunic over pale yellow undertunic, black leggings, and a pair of dark leather boots that show a good bit of wear and scuffing for all their quality. The youth's aqua eyes hold a serious look at odds with his twenty or so years, and though he allows himself to be carried along with the current of the crowd, he seems apart from it in his air of quiet self-containment. Still, a gleam of anticipation lights in his gaze as he nears the gate, and a faint smile even works its way on his lips as he sees the shy little maid handing out flowers in wordless welcome to the manor.
When it comes his turn to enter, Tig stops before the young servant and gives her a small bow. It's a smoothly courteous motion, but as he straightens up he self-consciously runs one finger down the side of his broken nose, and there's a quiet clearing of his throat before he greets the greeter in his Kintish-accented Ilexi. "Miss Tabby. I'm glad to see you lookin' well an' full o' spirit this night."
(Inaya): Of all people who could show up, it's the big Salawi sailor who saunters on up to the gates as though she owns the place, clad as ever in her brightly-coloured and rather skimpy yellow choli top and bright orange patterned sirwaal. Was she on the street while Lucy was shouting to wake all the dead of St Loomis, and heard the call and changed course from her usual activities? Had she planned to be here all along? Who can say.
She accepts a flower from the little maidservant for all the world like she's doing a favour by taking it, and casts a rather smug sort of smirk toward the erstwhile guard at his vaguely unhappy look. That same expression is turned on Tig, just for a moment, as she moves on through the gates, silent but taking up a whole lot of space. She eyes the grounds and the gathered people with a look that takes everything in and sifts through it, not so much searching for anyone or anything in particular as gathering information. One could accuse her of casing the joint, even, though for the moment she shows no inclination toward crime. She hasn't even brought her axe... or at least it's not in her hand slung over her shoulder. Something does jut from the quiver she carries at her back that's decidedly not an arrow or crossbow bolt, which could mean nothing. In any case, she sticks the flower into her short hair over her right ear, where it stays put, and makes her way for some unguarded food and drink.
(Tabithah): "Tig!" Tabby's face lights up as the young recruit comes up and greets her, and she forgets even to extend to him the flower in her hand in her clear happiness just to see him. "You're back! From Thynck, and-- and--" She stammers to a halt, then says more softly, "You haven't come in to town in an age. I'm--"
But the sentence goes unfinished, for all of a sudden what the maidservant most definitely is is 'surprised'. Tabby is caught simply looking open-mouthed at the very large, very dark foreign woman who has swept in with the crowd like a shark among dolphins, and Inaya fairly just plucks the forgotten flower out of the greeter's frozen hand. Not that Tabby appears frightened, exactly -- more just stunned into silence that any such person as Inaya might not just exist, but exist as an actual attendee of the manor festivities. She doesn't even manage to get a word out before the Salawi woman is off through the gates, and all she do is turn her head to watch in muted awe.
And then, finally, whisper, "Was that.. was that a giantkin?"
(Ziyad): Ziyad watches Yasin move away with skepticism written all over his expression. "I'm tempted to stay here until he finishes, and I can confirm that he's walking out this gate," he confides softly to Lucy, keeping his voice low. "But, I suppose that we should extend some trust that this reminder is enough for now." The corners of his lips quirk up into a broad smile, and he dips his head back in the direction of the streets. "So let's go with your suggestion and make our way to Greyleigh manor. I'm very curious to see how they've set up the place for these midsummer festivities of yours."
(Velusiyen): "Yeah," Lucy agrees, "we'll give Smithy a chance." Then she gives Ziyad a wry grin. "If he doesn't show up in a bit, we'll send out a search party!"
With a laugh, she skips away from the fence, twirling around so that the skirts of her dress flare out a little. The waifish young lady is actually quite respectably dressed tonight, in a deep blue kirtle that matches her eyes, over an undyed smock that sports a few small glass beads around collar. She waves her arm in an expansive 'let's go!' gesture, and waits just long to make sure Ziyad really is following before she heads off at a brisk bound.
The streets are still crowded with people out enjoying the fine night, many of them munching a treat from one of the tables around town, some of them clearly off to find additional goodies or pay more visits before making their way to the manor. Lucy looks a bit relieved to see that this is so, turning to tell her companion, "Good, there's still time before things really get started!"
She leads the way back through the busy square, pausing near the town hall just long enough to nab a cleverly folded waxed parchment bowl filled with the popular nuts-and-slinkets assortment. This she offers up to Ziyad as she then directs them onwards to the lane leading up to the Greyleigh grounds. "Oh!" she exclaims, as they get closer to the crowd filing through the gates. "Is that Tig?" Apparently everyone knows Tig, for better or worse.
(Otty): Somehow, for once, it seems Otty Smythe isn't the one stuck in the farrier's shed today. He's freshly scrubbed and in clean clothes, un-smudged by soot and forge smoke, accompanied by his wife Hollyn. The pair make their way companionably up the street toward the manor, some ways behind Lucy and Ziyad, perhaps because Hollyn is just as chatty and sociable as Lucy, stopping to greet practically every other person they pass on the way.
"Buford, you've got a new outfit! It's beautiful, that green suits you so well." "Estelle, darling, so good to see you-- where are you off to, you're going the wrong way! Oh! Well, see you there soon then!" "Goodman Lexton, a bright Midsummer's to you!"
Otty, meanwhile, is as taciturn as ever, giving just a rumbly grunt if needed as greeting to all the people Hollyn's chatting to. His silence is good-natured, quite plainly happy to have his wife do the bulk of the chatting and socializing as they come up closer to the gate.
"Oh look, isn't that young Yessy's furren friend?" Hollyn remarks to Otty, upon spotting Ziyad ahead.
(Tighearnach): Poor Tig. After everything that's happened to him since last summer, his first major encounter on making his not-so-grand re-entry into town is with the foreign woman who started off so many of his troubles in the first place. He doesn't have any word for Inaya any more than the little maid does, but the wordless stare he gives her is rather more charged than Tabby's, especially when that smug look comes his way. His right hand clenches briefly, as if the recruit were dearly wanting either to reach for a sword or simply form it into a fist to direct towards the Salawi woman's smirking face, but in the end it stays by his side. Inaya is gone already anyway, taking the flower meant for Tig with her.
"She's no giantkin," he mutters after several moments have passed, and several more people have made their way through the gates. "Although," he adds sourly, "that one o' all o' them I'd still fair suspect o' bein' a devil." Sighing, he scrubs his fingers through his bristly reddish-brown hair and turns a rueful look back towards Tabby. "Well. I'm like to only be gettin' in your way here. Mayhap I'll see you later on." He gives the maidservant a half smile as he turns to the gates.
(Eoforwynn): On the other side of those gates, there is already a flourishing scene of merriment, music, and general hubbub. The lanterns set atop the gateposts are only the first of a number of other brightly flickering lights, for still more lanterns outline the gravel drive encircling the south court of the manor, and each window in the house boasts its own lamp or candle as well. Tables of food are laid out generously upon the lawn, and there is a wooden platform off to one side that looks to have been set up expressly for a group of musicians, wearing bardic blue and currently producing a mismatched medley of melodies as they tune their instruments to their satisfaction.
Lady Greyleigh herself stands atop the steps up to the manor's front doors, dressed in an elegant deep red houppelande with dagged and trailing sleeves. She welcomes the handful of important or otherwise well-known personages who come up to offer their greetings, but mostly seems absorbed in directing the final touches of an unusual setup on the north lawn. This seems to consist of several small stacks of firewood arranged around a central bonfire, along with a still greater number of candles set atop short poles. Laid out according to some obscure pattern, these items are the object of a great deal of attention from manor staff and guests alike, and every task carried out by the servants is accompanied by a flurry of murmurs from the visitors.
(Firouzeh): Swallowed by the crowd upon entering and spat out by the food table, the foreign old woman stands with her cane. She is dressed as she usually is, though perhaps with a little more care taken tonight to tuck stray hairs beneath her veil. She surveys the spread. A little of this, a little of that. Her plate grows stacked impolitely high, precariously balanced, until she manages to catch the attention of some poor staff member who made the mistake of making eye contact.
"Do you know how long they roasted this? And did they add the herbs before or after cooking?" she asks, accent thick and volume raised to carry over the music.
Lucky for him, it is an easy escape. "Uh... I’m sorry? Oh. No, but I can ask." He scuttles off, disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a reply.
Firouzeh shrugs and begins munching. It's only then that she finally notices the Salawi woman (probably a little late to the party there) and makes her way closer.
(Yasin): Yasin could have been early, but is now by this point running late. Not terribly late. Not awfully late. But definitely at least a little bit late.
He emerges from the tenement building on Painter Street looking a combination rushed, distracted, and yet still excited. Sans apron and work gear and hands clean and brow of the signs of work, he is dressed in a spring-green wool tunic with brown linen trousers. Without anything else being lugged about -- not even his scribing case keeping him company -- he looks a little smaller of form than typical, in spite of his wide frame. He also looks, at least by his tunic and trousers, to be almost dressed wholly as a local. The one exception? His tarboosh.
He rushes around the corner of Painter, dodging dawdling crowds that are loosely making their way towards the manor (and thus establishing that he at least won't be the last to arrive). "Sorry!" He calls out to one pair lingering outside a tenement on Beacon, "Apologies, fitting through" to another. An idle, half-hearted, "Watch it, furrener" call is given, but Yasin pays it no mind as he continues to rush his way towards Main.
(Sakina): Sakina slips in through the gate quietly and smiles gently at Tabby, who is still a little shaken for her recent encounter with the large and brash furren woman. "Thank you for the flower," as she tucks it in a fold of her scarf. Her eyes wide at the sight of all the lights, decorations, food and most of all, people; Sakina makes her way quietly over to the side of the large garden and settles herself down where she can sit comfortably and watch the goings on. Watching people is one of her favorite things to do. , So far there are many people there, but only a few that she would feel comfortable with; Lucy is one, Firouzeh, Ziyad - and where they were Yasin and Ighlaf were likely to be eventually as well.
(Ighlaf): A slightly sped set of footsteps joins alongside Yasin's, alongside a called out greeting, "Hello!" as Ighlaf joins in the direction of the main street. They don't look particular rushed in demeanor as they step along, seeming to have an easier time dodging around the crowds than Yasin.
Dressed in a woad-blue vest, turban and black sirwaal, Ighlaf moves along comfortably in slippers as they ask Yasin, "Looking forward to the food?" a smile pulling at their lips as they follow.
(Yasin): Yasin eases a bit in his pace as Ighlaf joins him, and he aims a smile towards them. "Hello, Ighlaf," he replies. His khuffs plod along the streets, approaching North Main and the crossroads to the long walk towards the manor.
As he turns left on that intersection, he says to Ighlaf, "I think I'm... very much looking forward to the food. And to the music. The celebration. And... I am still very, ah... curious about the dancing. Both the regular sort Lucy mentioned, and the fire dancing. More than curious, I suppose."
By now, they approach what looks to be more of a crowd upon getting towards the gate. He murmurs in a distracted way, "Think I see Otty and Hollyn up ahead. I wonder if Ziyad and Lucy are already here." And then, even more distracted, "Oh, do you see those lantern lights?"
Eventually they arrive at the gate, where they are received by Tabithah. "Good evening," Yasin says in accented Ilexi, accepting a flower, then holding it awkwardly in-between his fingers in a, 'Now what do I do with this...' moment.
(Tabithah): Tabby gives a small and diffident smile to the bulky foreign fellow in his odd hat, holding his flower so awkwardly. It's a very bright red flower, plucked from the maidservant's basket which is filled with others in equally fiery shades. "It's a field poppy," she tells Yasin, raising her soft voice just enough to be heard over the general clamor. "You can put it in your buttonhole, or behind your ear, or-- well, wherever you please. At the end of the night, if you haven't lost it in the dancing, you can toss it on one of the fires with a wish."
Reaching back into her basket, she extends a flower to Ighlaf too -- this one a star-shaped blossom of five orange-red petals with a deep pinkish-red throat. "A pimpernel, sir," she tells them.
(Yasin): "Oh," Yasin replies, an appreciative expression replacing the awkward one as he smiles to Tabby. "Thank you." And, after a brief glance looking around, he places the field poppy in the buttonhole of his left wrist. His smile warms further, and he begins to move out of the way of Tabithah, his eyes drawn towards (for the moment) that central bonfire, and those odd candles on poles.
(Velusiyen): Angling to catch a better glimpse of the person near the manor gates who might or might not be Tig, Lucy ends up getting bumped out of her place at Ziyad's side by a group of exuberant youths engaging in a bit of horseplay on their way along the street. Ducking under the elbow aimed from one lad towards another with the objective of getting him in a headlock, Lucy then bumps into a broad bear-like personage in a cassock, apologizes hastily if profusely with a, "Sorry, Archbiscop, real sorry, deepest apologies, God bless," before eeling her way between a pair of older ladies who look distinctly surprised by the brief glimpse of undistinguished street waif that glides before their eyes before vanishing back into the crowd.
Quite out of breath from her tumultuous journey through the heart of the river of humanity, Lucy resurfaces near Tabby and accepts a flower with a quick grin before swiftly escaping into the relative safety of the expansive courtyard. "Whew!" she expresses in a huff of breath, then peers around with furrowed brow for anyone she recognizes. Her face brightens when she spots Sakina in a quieter spot by the orchards and flowers, and she heads in that direction with a cheerful wave.
"OI!" she calls out to the furren elder, before catching herself, clearing her throat, and then offering Sakina a more appropriate greeting. "Evenin', Goodwoman Skeena! Ain't seen you in a while, so I'm real glad to see you here." She beams at the older woman, while waving one arm vigorously around at the surrounding spectacle of candles, lanterns, and assorted merrymakers. "Quite a sight, huh!"
(Matthew): The ursine personage whom Lucy Mudlark practically ricocheted off of blinks bemusedly after her, lost for words. It's only when she's in the process of disappearing back into the current of the crowd that he manages to bellow out, "Dionos' blessings upon you as well, child! May St. Sira's light illumine you!" The Archbiscop then continues to wade with beatific patience through the crowd that might ordinarily part for him, but which tonight is far too worked up with the prospect of earthly enjoyments to to remember all the proper modes of deference. But the churchman doesn't appear the least bit perturbed, and only nods to his most familiar acquaintance and utters more blessings to all he passes, his round face wreathed with cherubic smiles.
(Ziyad): Ziyad doesn't even notice that Lucy's no longer at his side at first. He's too busy munching happily on the little parchment container of nuts and slinket mix that his companion passed over to him, all the wide peering this way and that with great interest, often lifting onto the tips of his toes to look over the shoulders of the taller guests. "You were right that this is going to be a big affair. Not that I was doubting it, since you've no doubt seen many Midsummer--" Ziyad abruptly stops speaking when he finally sees no blue-kirtled young woman at his side. "Lucy?"
Then, he's caught in a stream of guests as more arrive, closing in so tightly around him that he has trouble seeing anything and he's mostly hidden from sight himself, his turban bobbing around like the odd duck out in a sea of local fashions.
(Sakina): Delighted to see Lucy again, Sakina waves and calls out to her, "It is indeed a lovely sight - and I have missed you, it's good to see you again! There's quite the crowd out tonight."
Smiling at all of Lucy's youthful energy and her excitement with the fancy party going, Sakina enjoyed a bit more conversation before Lucy whirled off into the crowd again. The next person to catch her eye was Ziyad who just happened to notice that Lucy was somewhere else....
She called out to him as well, "Ziyad, if you are looking for Lucy, she's happily whirling around in the crowd - she was here just a few moments ago." Just then more people swept up between them and she could no longer see him.
The fantastic decorations were mostly hidden by the crowds of people, but now and then she could catch a glimpse of a fire and some tall, oddly shaped candles around it.
(Yasin): Yasin wanders about, fidgeting slightly with the field poppy in his sleeve while he takes in the sights and sounds of the beginnings of the festivities. He navigates carefully through the crowd, trying to ease his way just a bit away from the entrance to no longer be completely surrounded.
He smiles as he spies someone he recognizes. "Goodman Byx! How are those new shoes doing?" Pleasantries are exchanged, this man apparently some farmer that Yasin knows, before the movement of the crowd and distractions separate the local from the foreigner. He notes Sakina's presence and smiles her direction. "Sayyida," he calls over, approaching that direction at a slow pace, though he's sure to keep his eyes around him, continuing to take in the sights.
(Horris): Like his lady wife, Lord Greyleigh is also to be found supervising the placement of candle poles and the last-minute arrangement of kindling, though he looks to be taking a rather more active role in the whole thing from where he paces about on the farther side of the course. Although it's hard to hear what he's saying above the noise of the crowd and the erratically tootling musicians, his energetic gesticulations and expansive arm waves suggest he is quite invested in the process and has a number of interesting opinions concerning it. A pretty grey deerhound bounds around happily in his wake, wagging her tail and occasionally doing her own part in the preparations by grabbing up a stick of firewood and presenting it happily to whoever will pay attention.
(Eoforhild): Young Lady Eoforhild, for her part, follows her father about in much the same abundantly enthusiastic manner as the deerhound, her offerings of help about equally disregarded. Every now and then the two faithful creatures take consolation in one another, the hound presenting a stick, and the young woman pretending to take it and then tussling vigorously with the dog before somebody utters some exasperated commentary to the both of them. Each time this happens, the deerhound releases the stick with a sorrowful look towards Lord Horris, while Lady Eoforhild sighs and rises up on her toes in an attempt to see over and past the heads of the crowd as if she were looking for someone in particular.
(Keely): As Yasin wanders around the crowded grounds taking in the sights, there is someone watching him back. This is a slight but dapper-looking gent who is standing beneath the lantern-hung trees of the orchard, not too far from Sakina where she's found for herself a slightly less bustling place to sit. There is interest in the gentleman's keen hazel eyes as he observes the brawny foreign fellow making his way in this general direction, but his attention is divided due to the fact that he shares his agreeable orchards-edge locale with a pair much more impressive than himself -- a man and a woman alike in their fairness and the striking manner of their dress, with whom he seems to be in quiet conversation.
(Ighlaf): On arriving to the gates Ighlaf suggests to Yasin, "If they are, we could take a look to where any food may be set up." peering around to little avail with their height helping them as much as Ziyad in seeing others amongst the crowd.
Ighlaf accepts the flower from Tabby with a smile and murmured, "Thank you." studying the blooms in curious distraction, before shifting out of the way of any others and trailing alongside Yasin. Their distraction seems to be torn between on the where of settling the flower while also engaging in observing the gathering crowd. Eventually the pimpernel is tucked into one of the pockets of their vest.
(Ziyad): Ziyad jerks his head towards the sound of Sakina's voice and lifts a hand over the crowd to wave in her direction before losing track again. As he's carried along by the crowd, the young scholar bumps against a boulder that's standing in the way, staggering back a step only to realize that it's not a boulder he walked into, but Otty's side. He blinks in surprise, quickly adapts to the situation and sketches a bow. "Good evening to the two of you, Master Smythe and Goodwoman Hollyn," he greets in his accented Ilexi, wide smile blooming across his features. "What a great deal of excitement tonight, isn't it? It feels like the entire town showed up!"
(Yasin): Yasin continues a slow, distracted walk towards Sakina's general direction, and in one passing glance that way, his eyes do briefly swing past Keely, and a subtle double-take follows as his eyes then rest there a moment, his gait slowing just a touch. Though perhaps hard to discern in the crowd, a faint furrow appears at Yasin's brow.
Then, the moment passes and his gait resumes.
On his way towards Sakina, however, he does encounter a table of food set up, and he gives a grin Ighlaf's way as he pauses by it. "Well, we found a food table, though I don't think I see Ziyad."
Yasin's eyes flit round the table, until he spots a familiar sight. "Oh," he says, then grabs a knife and helps himself to a carving of roast pheasant with strawberry glaze. "I remember this, from the last year." Plate of food in hand, he begins nibbling idly.
(Sakina): Truly enjoying the view from her perch and the people watching opportunities that it provided, Sakina was quite content to sit there, until a rumbly tummy reminded her that she did want some cake. When she noticed Ziyad bouncing off of Otty and his quick recovery, she couldn't help but chuckle and wave!
As she looked around for others that she knew, she raised her eyebrows in surprise to see the tailor, her employer there, even smiling... and apparently heading for the cake too! Being reminded again of the cake, she slipped down carefully from her perch and thinking herself to invisible, faded into the crowd and was not noticed.
Sakina found the cake table and put three different kinds of cake on her small plate, and then added a cup of hot tea in her right hand. Carrying all this carefully, she made her way back to her perch; only to find that someone she did not recognize was sitting in her spot. To shy to speak up, Sakina just moved on and found another seat - on a low branch of an old apple tree. Adding an apple to her overcrowded plate, she settled herself in comfortable and sipped some of the delicious hot tea before carefully putting the cup on the ground beside her feet.
'My, this is such a delightful feast" Sakina murmured with a smile. "I will remember this for a long time."
(Delia): "What do you mean, he is not coming down tonight?"
Even from the edge of the trees, the high dulcet voice of the young woman who forms part of Keely's small group floats over the voices of the other guests, who are gathered only sparsely across the short distance between the orchard and the table of lovely glazed pheasant. The woman herself, clearly of noble birth, is plumply pretty and clothed in a beautiful amber silk and velvet houppelande whose square neck is cut low to allow a fine view of creamy bosom. A bit improbably, the short train of her gown is currently being held down by a very large and fairly fluffy cat that watches the festivities with alertly curious round eyes.
Sweet as the noblewoman's voice is, there is distinct dismay in the words she has just spoken, and she shakes her head with enough vigor to make her long honey-blond tresses sway. "That cannot possibly be true," she strongly tells the equally fair and lordly looking fellow by her side. "You must have gotten it wrong. Not come down, for Midsummer Night!"
(Thomathy): The young lord, in his mid-twenties and thus the senior of the lady by a few years -- and by far her superior in height -- only sighs at her. The fellow's rosy countenance, which appears by nature to be an open and friendly one, entertains at this moment a look of mild exasperation.
"I surely did not, my dear," he objects. He gives a carelessly apologetic shrug of his broad and athletic-looking shoulders. "I had it straight from Lady Greyleigh herself, and if she is not authority enough for you, his own valet agreed it was so. And if a man's valet does not know whether his master is to go out for a grand affair which ought to entail hours worth of the most elaborate and tedious preparation -- and by Kalen's flame, I should know! -- then no one in the world does."
He gives a long-suffering tug to his magnificent doublet of cherry-red brocade embroidered lavishly in gilt, and turns to look to his side. "Is that not so, Keely?" he asks the shorter gentleman.
(Keely): For a moment Keely continues to watch Yasin as the smith begins load up with pheasant from the nearby table. But at that request for corroboration he looks back to the sandy-haired nobleman, producing a small smile harboring the ghost of irony within it. "I imagine it may well be, my lord," he replies. Well dressed as he is in a silver-trimmed charcoal jerkin, pearl-buttoned silk shirt, and impeccably tailored trousers, he still doesn't look quite well-born enough to be well versed in the ways of valets, but to agree seems to amuse him, in a subtle sardonic way.
(Yasin): Yasin spies Sakina's journey towards the old tree, and he lofts a hand in that direction from his position by the food table. Another local brushes past him in a clear desire for a meal, so Yasin steps to the side, making room. His eyes scan the crowd briefly, perhaps searching for any others he may yet recognize. Very quietly, he murmurs to Ighlaf, "Oh, there's Otty again--" and indeed, of the crowd, the towering blacksmith does show quite prominently now that some of the crowd has shifted. "And I think he's talking to..."
But before he finishes that sentence, he hears that dulcet voice, and turns his head slightly to eavesdrop on the conversation from Keely's group.
(Thomathy): Not seeming to notice any subtle tinges of sardonicism, Lord Davishere nods decisively in response to Keely and says, "There, you see?" as if this proved a very critical point. Returning his attention to the little lady who is probably his wife, he gives her a cheerfully satisfied smile. "So, you should not fuss yourself about the prince regent, my dear. I am sure he knows best what he does -- or does not do, as the case may be."
Glancing over at the lawn of the south courtyard, and straight past Yasin whom he does not notice at all, the nobleman frowns in thought for just a moment before exclaiming, "Ah! Why do you not go get some firecakes for yourself? There is a table in the middle of the lawn, piled high as the Pillars of Creation with them. I know what a tooth you have for sweets. They will make all cares flee from your head, and you can begin properly enjoying the night."
(Eoforwynn): There is indeed food, food, and more food spread across numerous tables arranged within the rough oval created by the gravel drive that curves up to the manor house steps. However, there are already enough people clustered around most of them that it's not always easy to tell what exactly is on them from afar, or in some cases that there even is a table at all. Nevertheless, a thorough exploration and some polite but persistent elbowing would reveal a simple but generous spread: honey-glazed barley cakes, candied nuts, scones spread with tart lusk jam, a very savory venison stew with generous chunks of vegetables and a bite of pepper, a salad dish containing a variety of leafy greens and sweet-and-sour slinkets -- and of course the pheasant and strawberry glaze that seems to be the Greyleigh cook's crowning masterpiece.
But what everyone seems to have in hand, even if they have nothing else yet, is a rounded pastry whose sunken middle is spread thickly with chunky flame-red marmalade made from orange and lusk preserves -- the legendary firecakes of Midsummer.
(Ighlaf): Watching Yasin be watched, Ighlaf's attention does linger towards that well dressed group. Not yet claiming a dish for themselves as the drift along, their gaze does flicker to the towering form of Otty, then back. They mention to Yasin, "I am curious about these firecakes being mentioned, but wish to find a far more boring dish. I saw someone had a serving of salad with slinkets, which both Ziyad and I enjoy."
(GM): OOC: Ighlaf just rolled acuity and investigation, coming up with 125.
(Yasin): "You're right," Yasin mentions to Ighlaf, gesturing to a woman he sees wander by, carrying a plate of the salad. He frowns at the table they're near, not spying it. He gives a shake of his head. "Only meats, here. Perhaps..." And his eyes scan the area searching.
"I suppose we can go... this way?" He wonders aloud, a note of uncertainty in his voice. But uncertainty be damned. He picks a direction, the opposite from where the salad-carrying woman came from -- which happens to put them on an approximate collision course towards Otty.
"I'm having a firecake afterwards," Yasin assures, still nibbling at his roast pheasant as he moves.
(Inaya): "Grandmother," Inaya raises what little voice she has - in Sirdabi, of course, counterpoint to the Ilexi flying everywhere - to greet Firo. She's definitely found the food, with hands full and even a cake resting partway across one wrist in a deft little greedy trick. "They are happy to see the end of us, I think," she comments, with no particular venom at all to her hoarse tone. Simply a somewhat amused observation. "Did they teach you, these things, also, to help make them for tonight?" She asks, with a tick of her head toward the firecake on her wrist curiously.
(Delia): Over at the edge of the orchard still, the young Lady Davishere gives her husband a crushing look as she replies tartly, "I am not a child whose little head may be turned aside by a candy, Thomathy. And indeed, how can even you think this is all well? He has not emerged from his rooms this month and half, and now he fails even to come down for Midsummer. If you knew him--!" She exhales a strained breath, gaze turning slightly away. "But you do not. And I, who do, am told nothing of what is the matter with him. Nor am I allowed to go in to see him."
The taut line which her mouth presses itself into does not suit its soft rosiness at all. "And yet," she says sharply, "he does not go without visitors, does he? Are you sure that he is not down here tonight because he expects a -guest-?" She lets this last word drop with a curl of her lip, as if it were a dirty epithet. Her blond head tosses then, and soft white hands sketch out a motion of angry frustration. "Oh! But you know nothing, because you care nothing. I will leave you two to your empty schemes."
She starts to sweep off, but when her train refuses to move with her, she stops with a jerk and, blinking, looks down behind herself to find the cat still curled up in the trailing amber fabric. Her rosebud lips purse lightly, and then she concedes a small wiggle of her fingers and says with dignity, "Come, Satin, mama is leaving. We will find somewhere more agreeable to watch the festivities." The cat, a mix of white and light grey with pale peach patches, looks attentively up at her, makes a soft chirping noise, and bounds up from the train to receive a brief head-scratch. Then the odd pair set off along the drive and disappear into the crowd.
(Thomathy): Lord Davishere, who has not managed to put a word in during this entire dramatic monologue, is left to stare after his wife in blank bemusement as she sweeps off. Finally, shaking his head, he marvels, "Women are the damnedest creatures," and begins to look back to Keely for his fellow man's opinion. But as his head turns someone not too far off in the crowd seems to catch his eye, which brightens once again with interest.
"I declare!" he exclaims. "I do believe it is Lady Eoforhild's artist. Excuse me, my good fellow." And with this brief goodbye the nobleman strides quickly towards Ighlaf, waving one hand as he calls out good-naturedly, "Igluff the painter! I did not know whether you might be expected this night!"
(Firouzeh): Firo snorts, not without feeling, and gives her head a slow shake. "They wouldn't teach me," she pouts in Sirdabi, less like she's been truly snubbed and more like she's decided that must be true. "But I'd still like the recipe. I'll work it out later with a few tests."
One of the offending delicacies is promptly absconded from the nearest table and tucked into her basket, which currently also smells suspiciously of roast pheasant.
She doesn't immediately turn from the scene of her crime, eyes still scanning the spread as she asks, "Anything good put out to drink?"
(Saro): All this time, Saro the luthier has been perched up on the stage designated for the musicians, performing what seems to be some last-minute emergency repairs upon a lute. Even with her coal black hair coiled up in a bun and held with a wooden comb, several strands have come free to stick warmly to her face by the time she has finished fitting a new peg, restringing, and tuning the unfortunate instrument. But now as she runs her fingers across the gut strings they produce only melodious sounds, and she gives a satisfied smile that faintly touches her murky-pale blue-grey eyes. Handing the lute back to an anxiously hovering fellow with grey-touched reddish hair, she tells him, "Good as new, Bertrik," and he hastens to take up his spot with the rest of the musicians.
Some softly twittering opening notes sound from a flute, hanging briefly in the evening air, and then the whole troupe joins in together to strike up a rollicking melody.
(Yasin): Yasin slows in his trajectory towards the Shared Search for the Slinket Salad, blinking as he overhears Thomathy shouting for Igluff the Painter. He gives a quick glance Ighlaf's way, and then pauses, looking curiously between the artist and the incoming nobleman.
He does take a small nibble of his pheasant because, you know, pheasant.
While he stands there, though, his ears do perk slightly as he listens to that twittering flute, and he glances distractedly to the playing trouble for a time, eyes distant.
(Ziyad): Glancing around for some food, Ziyad brightens when he sees a table laden with meat dishes, the famous pheasant amongst them. He murmurs a quick apology to Otty and Hollyn, indicating that he'll see them again soon once he gets a plate for himself and starts making his way in that direction. The little contain full of nut and slinket mixture is still in his hand, down to the last few pieces, which he continues to slowly munch on while he walks. The sights all around is so distracting that he nearly moves pass Yasin and Ighlaf, doing a double take right before he commits that sin. "Ah, there you two are! And it seems you already visited the table with the dishes I was going to browse."
(Sakina): Comfortable in her apple tree perch and plenty of people to watch - especially those 'nobles' having a little fuss.... She saw children running about grabbing food and hiding under the tables to eat it and wondered mildly if anyone cared. Probably not.
"Ah!" A sigh of delight as she bit into the second kind of cake - the one she had heard called a 'firecake' with crimson and orange sweet filling. It certainly was delicious. And probably too much work to try to make. Taking another bite, she leaned back against the trunk of the tree and noticed Firo and Inaya chatting over by the table with the cakes.
Unfortunately, she was very full of cake and softly drifted off to sleep.
(Ighlaf): Answering to Yasin as they trail along "We could even attempt to eat two of the firecakes if we get a chance." a vague look of mischief forming on Ighlaf's face which is distracted at the the calling of their name, accented pronunciation or no.
They turn to face Thomathy while inclining their head in greeting, "Good evening, Lord Davishere. I have been curious and looking forward to this evening after hearing of it from others." a grin is flickered towards Yasin and Ziyad, "And delicious food is certainly also appealing." calling a greeting to Ziyad, "Hello!"
(Inaya): "You think I have more hands, to hold drinks also?" Inaya asks Firo, with an amused, one-sided smirk, gesturing with a small shrug, her hands full of food already. "Eat first, then drink," she says, pretend-sagely, as though this is some wise life advice that everyone should definitely know. She does, though, eye Firo's basket, as though coming to the realisation that maybe the elder has something to this idea, after all. But as the music starts up, her attention is pulled to the stage, and she goes for another bite of that pheasant.
(Yasin): Yasin definitely would have snorted, then given a firm nod of agreement, to that mention of two firecakes.
His eyes sweep back from his distracted examination of the musical troupe at both Ziyad's arrival and Ighlaf's greeting of the Lord Thomathy Davishere. He greets the former, first, turning his head to Ziyad and saying with a smile, "Hello, my friend. I knew we'd find each other eventually. It is more crowded than I anticipated!" He then holds up his plate of a half-eaten slice of roast pheasant proudly. "Yes, it is delicious. And we were in the search for that salad. Is it over where you came from, Near Otty?"
He greets the nobleman second, with a polite dip of his head and a simply but pleasantly stated: "Good evening."
(Thomathy): "Well, that's grand!" Lord Davishere proclaims in response to Ighlaf, nodding as if it is perfectly to be expected that anyone, foreign or no, must be expected to look forward to Midsummer. Having made his way across the grass at a brisk pace, he now smiles amiably between Ighlaf and Yasin, his hazel-green eyes looking quite cheerful. "I must say, the Greyleighs do know how to put on a fine one. Although they do not have all the pageantry and processions of Imbryck, nor the lavish contributions from the Grocers' Guild, still it is a very agreeable affair, I think. Indeed it is far pleasanter to be out in the countryside than in town." Thoughtfully tickling the short curly beard on his chin with his fingertips, he looks once again between painter and smith, asking, "Do you not think so too?"
But before there's been a chance for either one of them to put forward an answer to this question, he spots the newly-appeared Ziyad -- and blinks. The nobleman's sandy eyebrows rise, and for whatever reason he looks distinctly struck by the Sirdabi scholar's arrival.
(Yasin): Yasin's honey-brown eyes glaze over a moment at Thomathy's cheerful comparison of the Greyleighs to other Ensorian Midsummer festivals. In spite of Thomathy's struck expression, he nods and says agreeably, "It... is a lovely festival. And... similar, but different, than anything like I've seen from the Caliphate." He adds on, genuine excitement forming and says, "I am most curious about this matter of fire dancing."
"Ah," Yasin says after a moment, looking sheepishly apologetic. "I am Yasin, of Alheri. I've been working for Otty Smythe the past year, as his apprentice." Noticing Thomathy's interest in Ziyad, he offers by way of introduction, "And this is Ziyad Farhat, a scholar from Omrazir."
(Thomathy): "A scholar! From Omrazza! Truly!" Thomathy continues to look just as intently at Ziyad, then seems to remember himself enough to say, "Ah, well met, Zed Farat! And, yes, well met, Yessin."
The young lord smiles very earnestly. "Fire dancing! Yes! It is quite a pastime. I, ah--" He looks very slightly sheepish, then just laughs. "For all my love of athletic pursuits, dancing is not at all my strong point. But however that may be, it is well worth watching." Then he laughs again, quite merrily. "And truly, it is as entertaining as anything to see those like me attempt it and blunder about. I may do it just to see how well I may entertain the crowd."
Giving Ziyad a boyishly engaging grin, he asks, "What about the three of you? Do you mean to give it a try?"
(Firouzeh): Firo resigns herself to the lack of a drink with a crinkle of her nose. "Later," she agrees. While her much larger counterpart's attention drifts, her own gaze roams the crowd. It's futile at first, given her disadvantages in both height and posture.
Eventually she spots the foreign trio at a distance and lifts the stacked plate balanced on one hand in place of a proper wave. The gesture is short lived. Her eyes slide away the moment she notices the nobleman already holding their interest.
Then, lured by revelry, her focus strays toward the music. Whatever tune is playing catches her and for a short time, at least, she allows herself to settle into being mildly respectable... or at least the conveniently distracted.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf listens to Thomathy with an agreeable expression, nodding along as they do. Eventually they do form words, "The festival is well put together and the efforts appreciated in."
Their eyes flit over towards the north lawn, not that they can see anything as they contemplate out loud an answer, "I am very curious as to seeing it, and perhaps the attempting of blundering it as well." their lips twitching as they ruefully add, "I can not speak to much attempts at dancing before."
(Yasin): Yasin replies after Ighlaf does. Excitedly, and with a developing grin of his own, he says, "I am fairly sure my ability will be terrible. But I am certainly intending to try." He then gestures to Ighlaf, and Ziyad. "And I will definitely be dragging these two with me." He gives a shrug of his shoulders and says, "Blundering or no."
(Ziyad): Ziyad listens curiously after offering Thomathy a respectful bow and a softly murmured confirmation that he's a scholar. He also looks slightly puzzled, and keep peering at the nobleman as if he's trying to recall whether he'd ever seen the man before. But when Yasin speaks about dragging certain individuals to join in the fire dancing, Ziyad quickly shakes his head. "I fear that I'm a terrible dancer. I've mentioned that to my two friends here many a times," he speaks up in his accented Ilexi.
(Thomathy): "Have you?" Thomathy asks Ziyad, eyes gleaming mirthfully. "I do not ever have to do so among my own friends, as they are very willing to tell me so instead!" Laughing again, he shakes his head and adds, "But if your own friends are willing to have you, then surely you ought to humor them. I cannot ever find anyone to dance with myself -- my own wife will not, as she declares my attempts so abominable that I make even her look bad!" He grins ruefully. "In any case, if any of you are going to blunder it tonight, then I will be on hand to watch and sympathize -- and laugh too, I dare say."
(Yasin): "Is it commonly only those who are talented at this 'Fire Dancing' participate?" Yasin asks Thomathy, emphasizing the title as though he were speaking about a foreign spectacle (which, he basically is), "It seems not a poor thing if a few of us look fools up there." And his curious eyes then do follow Ighlaf's towards the north lawn, gazing at the 'up there' as it is being tended and looked after.
(Thomathy): Shaking his head at Yasin, Lord Davishere tells him, "Oh, not at all! Anyone may try their hand -- well, foot -- at it who wants to do so. Although there often are prizes for those judged the best." He turns in an attempt to peer through the crowd in the direction of the fire dancing course, but is defeated by the sheer number of people all around, happily devouring pheasant and stew and firecakes and all.
"I say," Thomathy ventures with an eager grin. "Let us all make our way over to watch, as I am sure they must begin any moment, now the musicians are finally playing. And then you may judge for yourselves whether you wish to attempt it." His tone suggests little doubt of this, though -- how could they not??
(Inaya): Inaya follows Firo's attention, and then notes that attention's quick departure from, Ziyad, Yasin, Ighlaf, and the noble. She raises an eyebrow. "You do not like that one," she says to the elder woman, a question despite not being inflected as such. Then, an actual question: "What does he want with them?" And following that, a long, thoughtful pause, squinting at the man in question as though sizing up a piece of meat in a butcher's shop, evaluating whether or not it's worth bothering with for that price. Her lips twitch upward just fractionally in perhaps some private amusement before she looks back to Firo again, taking up her magic trick of making all the food in her hands disappear at a rapid rate once more as she does so.
(Otty): Having been pressed into a long series of greetings and catch-ups with neighbors and friends and relatives by Hollyn's exuberant extroversion, Otty has at some point managed to break off on his own and gather himself a bowl of stew and a scone. Like some great oversized chipmunk, he seems now perfectly content to eat a bit, then wander, then pause to eat some more, all without uttering a word, only giving friendly grunts and nods when someone in the crowd offers a greeting.
Eventually though, he finds himself in the vicinity of the furreners and Lord Davishere, and here he decides to pause and munch away again. He stands close enough that he's kind of subtly insinuating himself into the conversational circle without any actual greeting. Mostly on account of the fact that he's still stuffing his face with venison stew and scone by turns, happily listening in, nodding agreement with those latter sentiments as he catches them.
(Yasin): Yasin notices Otty's arrival into the group at some point during Thomathy's excitement over the impending Fire Dancing. Seeing him engaged in the important act of eating, Yasin doesn't offer more than a voiced "Master Smythe," a warm smile, and a nod of his head by way of inclusion before turning back to the talkative Davishere.
"Yes," Yasin says with a quick nod towards the others. "I'd definitely like to see them begin." But just as he's about to shift his feet in the direction of the lawn, he frowns thoughtfully and says, "Ah... I'll meet you all over there. There's just one thing I have to do, first."
And without any kind of explanation, Yasin disappears off in the direction he was originally headed when Thomathy accosted them in the first place -- taking that bit of roast pheasant with him, nibbling as he goes.
(Thomathy): Lord Davishere doesn't seem too concerned by Yasin's defection, and simply turns his look of earnest encouragement to Ighlaf, Ziyad, and even Otty by default, simply because the smith now happens to be standing within range of his enthusiasm. "Yes indeed, let us not tarry; your friend will find us very easily I am sure, and we do not want to miss a good spot to watch from." With another grin to Ziyad, he says, "I am sure you must find yourself brave enough to dance once you see it done." And with this bold assertion, the fair-haired nobleman plows a path through the crowd in the direction of the dance course, clearly assuming that everyone else will follow in the wake he has made.
(Horris): Over at the course itself, Lord Greyleigh begins clapping his hands loudly, combining an expression of noisy anticipation with a call for attention. "Now now," he calls out across the lawn in his booming baritone, "the course is complete at last and the musicians are eager to play, so let's delay no longer! Old and young, woman and man, it makes no difference -- only find yourself a partner and line yourselves up!"
The effect of this is announcement is, first, to cause a general hush in the conversation as all ears turn to listen, and then, immediately after, to bring the hubbub rushing back in with renewed force when everyone begins clamoring excitedly, asking questions, venturing predictions, and, among those who have comes less well prepared, casting around in frenzied desperation for a partner.
The lord of the manor smiles around, looking quite satisfied with the general commotion he has initiated. But after letting this go on for a little while, he claps his hands once more and shouts, "Many of us here are familiar with how this goes, having seen it or joined in for a great many years. But others are young or new to our ways, and some have had only a summer or two to try it. So, as is also customary, we shall require a pair to lead the way, and show the rest of us how it is done!"
(Eoforhild): Despite the fact that only a short while earlier she was wandering aimlessly all around the perimeter of the course with the rambunctious deerhound, Eoforhild is suddenly right on hand as this declaration is made. "Oh, I will!" she exclaims, rising up on her toes as if this would make her both more visible and more likely to be chosen. "I can show everyone how it's done." She gives her lord father an odd half-grin, seemingly confident in her capabilities, but perhaps a bit less so in the reception her offer will receive.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf smiles at Otty's arrival, but doesn't aim any words beyond a nod of their head seeing him be busy in eating. They follow along in that wake of Thomathy with an expression of amusement while their commentary is a little rueful. "I can't speak to ever dancing before, so I am uncertain if bravery will incline me to." then their attention turns to that announcement attempting to look towards the course.
(Horris): Lord Greyleigh's gaze was definitely wandering further abroad through the crowd in search of a pair of exemplary victims, so he's forced to refocus his attention much nearer to hand when Eoforhild pipes up. First he just half-frowns at his daughter with fond exasperation -- or exasperated fondness -- or some see-sawing mix of the two sentiments that don't really seem calculated to make him agree. But after a moment's brief consideration he heaves a relenting sigh, probably deciding that it's going to be more trouble than it's worth to dissuade her. "Very well, daughter," Horris concedes, "you may be the one to start us off, if you please. But.." He raises his bushy eyebrows at her. "Have you even a partner?"
(Eoforhild): Eoforhild's own brows scrunch down into a fierce frown, as she must certainly have anticipated this necessity, but has no resolution for it just yet. "Well, I would," she replies, turning around to tip-toe gaze in the opposite direction, and sweeping her intensely frowning scrutiny across the agitated churn of party guests as if looking for someone in particular. "I only... do not know where he has gotten off to, just now." Darting a quick look back over her shoulder at her rather skeptical looking parent, she adds hastily, "But-- I'm sure he must be here any moment now. I did see him earlier..."
As she stares out across the lawn again she mutters in profound teenage anguish, "Oh! Where can he have gotten off to?" Her life is, obviously, in danger of being ruined forever.
(Horris): A short-lived quizzical look is spared in search of the Lady Eoforhild's much-desired dancing partner, but it's apparent that Horris has no idea who it might be that his daughter is so intently seeking -- and in the meantime, the crowd is restless. "Come now," the nobleman addresses her, in a tone cajoling and upbraiding at once. "This partner of yours may come around later, and you can have another dance then. But right now, we need-- aha! Well, there we are. Do the first turn around the course with your brother there, dear; he looks in need of a little excitement to get his blood flowing."
"EOFORWALD!" The subsequent shout which Lord Greyleigh raises manages to batter through even the noise of the excited onlookers. "YOU ARE NEEDED HERE FOR THE DANCE!"
(Eoforwald): "... What?"
The young Lord Eoforwald has clearly been made the victim of an ambush. Having just now drifted in from the breezeway near the kitchens, his expression of brooding distraction is converted swiftly to one of confusion, and then, as the general context of the shouting finally dawns on him, horror. "What! Why must I dance?"
His gaze seizes upon Eoforhild, the sight of whom seems to bring him to a full understanding of the situation into which he has unwittingly stumbled, as he next pulls a pronounced grimace. "Is there not-- Has not my sister some beau or another somewhere whom she can barrel about with?" Despite his protests, he does rather look as if he could use that blood flow, as his face has a faint pallor to it even in the fireglow, and his dark-smudged eyes are tired and uneasy.
(Yasin): Yasin, by this point, has returned from his expedition, and if anyone was wondering where he'd gone, that answer would be sorted quickly upon examination of his hands. Balanced carefully in his left hand, a plate that has been stuffed full of... everything? A rather large helping of the leafy-green-and-slinket salad, not one but TWO scones, a smattering of candied nuts, one more slice of the roast pheasant, and a small bowl of venison stew.
The burly young apprentice smith navigates his way through the crowd with a few utterances of "Sorry," and, "If I might go past, thank you," before he finds his way back to his party.
Wandering over towards Ighlaf, he holds out his veritable smorgasbord and asks, "I think you wanted some of the salad?" He extends his gaze towards the rest of the group and voices an offer of: "And if anyone else would like something, I brought plenty," before he begins to dig in to the stew and watch the ongoing conversation play out between the nobility.
(Horris): Lord Greyleigh makes a brisk waving motion with his arm, sweeping away all argument voiced or threatened from both his offspring. "Now now, this is no time for squabbles and petty objections. Did not young Lord Dannon and his sister Lady Arella open the dance four years ago? -- and do a fine job of it too." Shooting a dry look between both Eoforhild and Eoforwald, he remarks, "And the two of you have much the advantage in liveliness. So go on, now, and show our guests how 'tis done!"
(GM): OOC: Eoforhild just rolled grace and footwork, coming up with 83.
(GM): OOC: Eoforwald just rolled grace and dance, coming up with 47.
(Eoforhild): Eoforhild doesn't look entirely pleased to have her objections so thoroughly discarded before they've even been voiced, but the fact of the matter stands: the Lord Greyleigh their father has spoken, and his word is law. "Yes, my lord father," Eoforhild says, very correctly, and drops an acquiescing curtsy to accompany her submission. But then she sneaks a glance over at her brother and makes a horrible face at him, which she holds for a moment before grinning ruefully. "Come on, Ev; don't sulk." (She was never on the verge of sulking at all, of course.) "We will show them all how! ..Ah, but you should probably lead; you are the one who remembers the steps better."
(Eoforwald): "-Which- steps?" Eoforwald grumbles. "There are a good half dozen ways to do this." Sighing, he casts a briefly worried glance over his shoulder back the way he had come, but then he turns his attention forward once again and squares his jaw. "We may as well do it the Bounding Deer way," he decides resignedly. "Middle of the road seems best, and that's your favorite anyway."
This critical matter determined, the young lord stalks over to the tallest candle-on-a-pole which apparently marks the start of the dance course, the nearest onlookers stepping back quickly to make way, and then surging in again like the tide to retain their good view. Pulling in a deep breath in such a way to imply that it might well be one of his last, Eoforwald turns with his sister to face (some part of) the crowd, bows, then turns again to face his dance partner. "Let us get this over with," he mutters to her, raising his hands, palm forward.
(Eoforhild): Eoforhild lets out a genteel little huff of exasperation in response to that, shaking her head slightly. Then her mouth assumes a serious line, her ale brown glint with keen determination, and she raises her hands too. Clap, clap! go both their hands together, and in opposite directions they twirl. Clap, clap! go their hands as they face each other once again, and then-- they're off!
(Yasin): Yasin by now has made his way through a good portion of the stew and is already working on some of the other food. But his eating has slowed as he observed the mild family drama at the beginning of the dance, and now as the actual dancing begins, he watches very attentively, giving an occasional 'Are you seeing this?' glance to the other foreigners. Mostly, though, the young man's honey-brown eyes attend to the details of the movements beginning to unfold.
(GM): OOC: Yasin just rolled acuity by itself, coming up with 40.
(Eoforwald): What follows out on the firelit field is an exuberant display of agility and grace -- with an additional dollop of pure chaos ladled generously on top -- carried out in such a complexity of whirls, bounds, claps, and assorted other fleeting bits of arm-, hand- and footwork that it is difficult for a single gaze to fully take in. If Eoforwald misses any steps in this hectic dance -- if the steps are even really that precise in the first place, which may well be doubted -- it's absolutely impossible for any onlooker to tell.
However that may be, the lordling leads the way with little enough hesitation that it passes for confidence. Although, as it happens, it's also not easy to tell which of the two is leading, as most of the routine looks to be carried out very nearly in tandem. Maybe the leader is the one who charts the elaborately zigzagging course through the maze of candles and fires, deciding the exact moment in which to link hands and whirl around a pole, the precise angle of approach and departure for jigging wildly towards and away from candle or flame, or the exact spot at which to launch oneself straight over a merrily blazing heap of kindling. At one point the two siblings actually leap sideways over one of these fires with hands clasped, though more common are the moves performed with them on opposite sides of the blaze, where their hands only touch in a brief clap across the flames.
True to form, while Eoforwald perhaps displays the finest grasp of all the maneuvers and patterns, Eoforhild executes with great energy and enthusiasm, and if her actual dancing technique may not be so refined, she certainly makes up for it in the swiftness of her step, and the energy she gives in bounding across the course together with her sibling.
By the time the two have navigated their twisting, turning, tangled path all through the many obstacles, they are both out of breath and slightly smudged with soot, and one of the pole candles has been snuffed by the -whoosh- of the sharp turn they executed around it. But even Eoforwald is grinning by the time they come back to where they started, and touch upraised fingertips together to make their bow.
Difficult as it may have been to fully follow, this odd combination of dance and agility trial has certainly been exhilarating even to watch, and loud claps and cheers break out as they Greyleigh siblings exit the field.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf manages to reply to Yasin with a "Thank you." as they take portions of the salad. Their eating is entirely distracted as they watch that whirling, energetic dancing with an intrigued expression.
Their hands are empty in time to clap alongside others to that exit with raised brows as they comment to those they know nearby, "I do not think I've ever seen something alike to this."
(Yasin): As the dance really kicks off, Yasin doesn't even manage to take a single bite of his array of festival delights. Instead, his mouth hangs agape and he just stares at the dizzying display before him. He's actually speechless. He does manage to say, "Uh," at one point, so, there's that.
He has managed to settle his food (the remainders of it, which includes a little bit of everything) on a convenient table nearby in time to clap once the dance finishes, but that stunned expression on his face hasn't faded.
He replies to Ighlaf, "I have never seen anything like this. Not... ever. Even my families dances, some of which were extravagant, were nothing like this."
(Eoforwynn): Lady Greyleigh has watched through all of this too, having approached quietly through the crowd to stand at the edge of the course opposite from her husband. Despite her usual wan and wearied look, a small but genuine smile brightens her face and smooths some of the careworn lines upon it, and when her two children exit the field to such applause she joins in with her own.
"Come," she calls out as the cheers wind down, her roughened but clear voice carrying a faint echo of Eoforhild's own eagerness. "Let all who wish to now step up and dance their own way amidst the flames of Midsummer, the flames like those beacons lit by St. Sira. Good fortune and great blessings upon all those who dare it, young or old, high and low, from near or from far." Her smile pulls itself just a little wider, and if her gaze does not find the foreigners scattered through the crowd's midst it is only on account of the sheer numbers gathered around them.
(Firouzeh): Firo shrugs, still working through a bite. When the music shifts and the dancing begins, her brows lift, then rise steadily higher at the display.
"Well, that's strange," she decides, then jabs an elbow at the taller woman. "Go on. Try it."
(Yasin): Yasin, meanwhile, takes a moment to continue to exist in a stunned state. He takes another look around at his group, and picking Ziyad seemingly at random, asks, "Does... she want us all to... try that?"
(Inaya): Inaya, luckily by now finished with all that food, is rather transfixed - moreso than one might expect from the usually stoic and unimpressed Salawi. She watches the youngling nobles, coppery eyes dark but shining with interest, following every move and twist and spin. It's the kind of intensity she usually reserves for bladework, a fierce and barely-contained exuberant fixation that's only interrupted with the ending of the dance and the applause of the crowd. She joins in, and then comes Firo's exhortation. Looking down to the elder woman with a sudden bright grin, she reaches out in an attempt to grab the woman's hand and pull her along toward the course with her.
"You too, Grandmother," she replies almost impishly, with the air of a child doing something naughty that's decidedly at odds with her massive frame, that grin positively wicked.
(Eoforwynn): While the foreigners stand stunned or in judgment, the locals evidently are going try 'that'. The invitation to dance is like the opening of a floodgate, as people began to press eagerly forward and, somewhat more helpfully, to arrange themselves into erratic lines like currents swirling through the crowd. The musicians on the stage strike up a new melody that is just as lively as the one that came before, and which, for whatever reason, causes a chortle to bubble through the area. And this is all it takes for the next pair to clap their hands and whirl off across the field.
Not half so nimble as the pair that preceded them, the middle-aged team that is probably husband and wife nevertheless put on what most of the onlookers clearly consider a grand show, as the chortle often swells into outright laughter whenever an especially complicated step turns into a stumble, or the pair manage to completely miss when attempting to clap hands around a pole. It all seems to be in good fun, though, for the couple are very merrily cheered at the end -- and cheer themselves just as mirthfully, as they step aside to make way for the next dancers.
All of this frenzied complexity of patterns and steps seems breathlessly timeless while it's happening but is actually over surprisingly fast, and as each pair of dancers leaps and jigs among the flames it becomes clear that no two 'performances' are ever exactly the same. Despite the lines, these seem more to act as a general indication that the people in them intend to dance, sooner or later, and no one seems to mind too much when some particularly ambitious or enthusiastic team surges to the front.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf continues to watch the next set of dancers line up, curiously intent in observing as they reply to Yasin, "I am not certain what they are...attempting beyond moving through swiftly with the claps and...twirls. And not hitting the candles, I suppose." blinking at one of maneuvers, stumbled or no in thoughtfulness.
Their gaze latches onto Inaya with a soft sound of amusement, spotting her tall farm through the crowd. An "Oh..." following seeing Firouzeh after.
(Yasin): As the crowd whirls into motion, Yasin finally comes out of his stunned stupor. Left in its place is an amused smile that grows wider and wider as he observes the middle-aged dancers, and he laughs as the crowd does.
"I agree with you," he says to Ighlaf. "I don't know what I'm--" and then he sees the target of Ighlaf's gaze, and he is quiet a moment before laughing even louder, throwing his head back.
(Firouzeh): Inaya's grab meets a dead fish. In rigor but not retreating. Firo narrows her gaze at that grin, shakes her head, and concedes with a standard issue eyeroll. "Don't step on my toes."
She's neither enthusiastic nor particularly ambitious in moving through the crowd, yet when in rage, she gives a brisk tug to steer Inaya past the line to the front of the course. "After you," she urges, gesturing forward with the tip of her cane.
(Ziyad): Ziyad finally starts blinking, having completely stopped in order not to miss a single twirl or graceful step. He opens his mouth to say something, but he pauses before a single word escapes. Rather than joining the dance as a particular person predicted he might after he witnesses such a spectacle... Ziyad fishes out ink, pen and a sheaf of paper from his mizuda and starts penning his observations about this fascinating local practice instead. He's so serious about this that he almost misses Firo and Inaya starting to move towards the field, which makes him do a double take.
(Inaya): Inaya needs absolutely no further encouragement - keeping hold of Firo's hand at least for a moment or two longer, she darts forward onto the course for a twirl about the first fire. Whether the elder woman is going to keep up or not, the big Salawi just goes for it, no holds barred. She clearly hasn't the foggiest idea of exactly what to do or any grasp of the finer points of this dance, and her teamwork with Firo is sketchy and improvised at best, but she seems bound and determined to make up for it with showy, flashy footwork and sheer enthusiasm.
Her track winds in loops and swirls, around and over fires and candlepoles, one arm occasionally seeming as though it might be swinging an imaginary weapon at equally imaginary enemies as she goes. Every movement is big and expressive, a contrast to her usual reserved demeanour. If Firo is game to keep going, she'd keep pace despite her theatrics, looping and twirling to make up time. The overall effect is really probably more comedy than impressive display of skill, but it's a spectacle nonetheless.
(GM): OOC: Inaya just rolled grace and footwork, coming up with 88.
(Firouzeh): What Firo is doing might technically be considered dancing, if only because she's moving in the designated area. Really, it's more of a determined shuffle in pursuit of her partner, peppered with the occasional misaligned flourish.
She's clearly fully commited at least.
The music continues. So does she. Her good foot forward, a cane flick, a weird hop that turns into a stumble. Shit rattles around in her basket the whole time, adding some unpredictable clunks to the whole mess of old lady motion.
When she draws closer to Inaya again, it's with a few beads of sweat dripping out from her veil and breath coming out in short, audible huffs. She flashes a red faced grin, then hobble-spins right back away... still off-tempo and very much still doing whatever this is.
(GM): OOC: Firouzeh just rolled grace and footwork, coming up with 41.
(Inaya): Inaya grins right back at Firo, and takes that cue to spin off in the other direction, landing easily on one foot and then pushing back to a counter-turn that puts her face to face with one of the bigger fires. She's got so much momentum going already it seems as though there's no choice but to keep going forward... so she does. Forward, and up, into the air and sideways in an arcing barrel roll midair as she jumps over the flames. It would've been impressive, but for the fact that she doesn't -quite- make the landing, one bare foot striking down right into the edge of the fire.
This, of course, leads immediately to a rather strangled half-yelp, half-hiss, and a quick scoot of the be-embered foot through the grass and dirt to extinguish it. This definitely ruins whatever rhythm she'd had going, at least temporarily, and she pauses further for a quick inspection of said foot before looking back up to her dance partner, grinning, and then carrying on as though nothing happened at all.
They're nearing the end now, and Inaya, apparently determined to make a good show of things and make up for the previous goof, goes all-out, meeting up with Firo before executing one last swooping, swirling loop that finishes with a massive launch of her bulky form, into the air and head-first over another fire, to land into a rather graceful forward roll. She pops right back up to her feet out of it, grinning madly, and takes Firo's hand into the air for a bow. Apparently at least she's well-pleased with her own efforts, regardless of what the crowd might (or might not) think of the performance.
(GM): OOC: Inaya just rolled grace and dance, coming up with 40.
(Firouzeh): Firo's metaphorical fire, and not-so-metaphorical stamina, has long since puttered out by the time the grand finale rolls around. She outright stops mid-course to fish out her canteen, takes a swig, and lifts it in a casual cheers to Inaya's perseverance post foot roast.
Attempts at actual footwork die here. She follows behind her partner, keeping pace only by the grace of their dramatic swoops. Firo makes up for it with some light head bobs, a slow neck sway, and a spooky finger wiggle motion.
They end with the hand-in-hand bow, Firo grinning away. Winded, she mutters aside, "I think it's drink time now."
(GM): OOC: Firouzeh just rolled grace and dance, coming up with 9.
(Thomathy): Lord Davishere, who has trekked quite enthusiastically along with the foreigners in the direction of the dance course, has nothing but additional enthusiasm once there for the performances that start out the night. He looks impressed at the young Greyleighs' performance, letting out a loud "HUZZAH!" at the end that would stand a good chance going head to head with Lucy Mudlark's OI!'s. He chortles merrily at the couple that follows and gives them a very hearty handclap, and then.... looks absolutely gobsmacked by the dance(?)(!)(!) of a well-muscled dark giantess of a woman and a plump shuffle-hopping old lady. The whole time this goes on he just stands there with his lordly mouth hanging nobly open, head occasionally shaking with a sort of bemused awe, as if he's not sure what he's seeing or what he ought to think about it, but can't help but be impressed... in some way. Then, as the swoop-loop-and-barrelrolls finally come to the end, his round eyes stare the pair off the dance field.
There is a long moment of silence, as the onlookers engage in their own truly intense competition of who can be more gobsmacked than all the others. There appears to be no winner forthcoming. It's an all-around tie. But then, just when it seems this latter contest will go on all night, Thomathy lets out a loud blast of a guffaw that sails like newfangled Cadenzan gunnery over the heads of the crowd, and hoots out an unreserved cheer.
"HUZZAH, THE ALISAYDES!"
It's probably not a very correct cheer at all, especially on the eve of a saint's day. But one can't say the fellow doesn't seem to mean it with all possible good will.
(Eoforwynn): From her vantage atop the steps of the manor, Lady Greyleigh too has been looking on, as wide-eyed as any of them. She too seems to have no words as the foreigners leave the field, but at Lord Davishere's very hearty salute, a real smile suddenly breaks out on her worn face. "Indeed," she calls out, clapping her hands with unusual vigor. "Huzzah, to our friends from far away lands, who have not only come to see our celebration of Midsummer, but have joined with us in celebrating this night. May it serve as both reminder and promise of the links that will join our lands and peoples together in the times ahead, God willing."
There is, then, a general outburst of happy cheers and clapping, some of it perhaps only polite, but most of it seeming well-meant -- after all, whatever else one says about these furren alisaydes, apparently they really can dance! Clearly they're only a few psalms away from adopting the true faith and becoming good Kalentians, right? Whatever, people are in a good and generous mood tonight, and a firedance is a firedance. Plus there are more people in line who are ready to head out and recklessly take their own place on the field, following the probably soon to be legendary performance of the giantess and the crone.
However, Lady Greyleigh allows the commotion to die just a little before clapping her hands to regain attention. The musicians, evidently attentive and expecting this, promptly abandon they tune they'd just started in on, and begin a quiet background strumming and fluting instead. "It is time that I sought my rest, and gave the night up to all of you good folk of Greyleigh and Innithel. But the celebrations do not cease, and I would see all of you continue to enjoy them here for the whole night through. There will be food and drink upon the tables so long as the kitchens hold out -- and music for as long as the musicians do. Also, I believe we have only just finished having the pavilion in the corner of the courtyard prepared so that all who wish may step in to view for themselves the fine new portrait of Lady Eoforhild, which the outlander artist Ighlaf has only just completed for my daughter's coming of age. I am sure you will be as pleased with it as we. Now, a merry Midsummer to all of you, and God bless."
All this said, the elder Greyleigh turns to sweep through the doors of the manor, and then -- the music swings back to full life and the celebrations are on again! The One God indeed only knows how long into the night the good people of Greyleigh and Innithel will keep this up, but it seems that by their way of thinking, they are only barely getting started.
(Ighlaf): Laughing far more subdued alongside Yasin, Ighlaf observes the initial start to Inaya choosing Firouzeh as a dance partner with amusement and a sort of distanced supportiveness to the dancing attempts. They wince at that meet of foot with fire and give supportive clapping to that continued dancing afterwards. At the resolution of Inaya and Firouzeh's dancing their clapping is louder than their voice or any noises the surrounded crowd alongside Thomathy may make. As that cheer and sounds dwindle down, they murmur to those nearby, "That does look interesting, burning anything aside." a consideringly curious gaze settled on the candles and fire.
Any further words Ighlaf may utter are belayed by Eoforwynn clapping. Their polite attention drifts into something a little more intent at the mention of the portrait alongside a self-conscious widening of their eyes at the mention of their name being spoken. A respectful nod of their head follows, and their expression is scrubbed away by their hand rubbing over their brows before refocusing again.
(Velusiyen): "Wow, did you really paint Lady Greyleigh's daughter?" A familiar voice, though right now a little more impressed sounding than usual, pipes up from just behind Ighlaf. It seem that Lucy's extended whirl through the crowd has at last brought her back around to her foreign friends. "I'm gonna have to take a look at that!"
Right now, though, she's still craning her neck for a good gander at the next couple to propel themselves onto the firedancing field. She lets out a loud hoot when the pair -- these being two young women who look like rustic Sleithdale lasses -- manage to mirror themselves almost perfectly in their wheeling turns and rapid footwork, right before the taller one of them actually manages to snuff out a candle pole when her thick braid whips right through the flame. Snorting down a peal of laughter, Lucy glances aside to the others and asks with a grin, "Are any of you brave enough to do that?" Then, a little more leniently, she adds, "Folks're startin' to dance over near the players, too -- just regular dances, you know."
(Yasin): Yasin had ceased his laughter long ago at this point, watching Firouzeh and Inaya attempt the fire-dance with rapt attention, even leaning forward as though he could somehow see better. "Wow," he murmurs at one point, and then, "They're... not bad," at another. Sure, he winces as Inaya's foot has an encounter with the flame, but then he's right back to attentive again. "They're good," he declares, and whether or not this is true in some objective measure of the skills of the fire dance, Yasin certainly seems to think so by his tone.
"It does--" he replies to Ighlaf before the words of Lady Greyleigh capture the attention of the crowd, him included. As the announcement progresses, he gives a wide, supportive grin Ighlaf's way, and he holds it even as the announcement is concluded, up until Lucy surprises him with her reappearance.
"Ighlaf did indeed!" he says in reply to Lucy. "And I think we all must go over and see the final work."
He doesn't seem to notice the two Sleithdale women and their shared firedance until Lucy asks the question, and here, Yasin says, "And... I think I'd very much like to give the fire dance a try, and make a true fool of myself. Who's with me?" His eyes flit around the group until they settle upon Ighlaf. "Ighlaf?" He inquires mirthfully. "How about you? Unless you'd like us all to go over to the pavilion first, of course."
(Ighlaf): Ighalf flickers a smile to that supportiveness of Yasin, then shifts their attention to that familiar voice, aiming their smile towards Lucy. "I...did yes. We attempted to finish before all of this." gesturing around towards the crowd
Blinking at Lucy's question, they watch the lasses mirroring dancing with some distracted artistic curiosity and murmur, "Hm?" Aimed between Yasin and Lucy. They laugh and ruefully mention, "I've little practice of dancing, but I suppose long as we don't burn ourselves, when else may one attempt such a...challenge?" Their gaze flits to Ziyad and they amusedly add, "Spare Ziyad attempting so."
(Velusiyen): "That's the spirit," Lucy enthuses supportively. "Who knows if you'll ever see another Midsummer Night like this?" Her face falls a little at that, but only for an instant, and then she presses on energetically. "You never know what you can do until you try! Includin' how bad you can mess it up." She bursts out with a gleeful laugh, which she chokes down just enough to concede, "But if you wanna go over to the pavilion thing first, I guess that's what they were settin' up just past the dancers."
(Delia): Just when Lucy Mudlark might have been expecting a reply from her foreign companions, another small commotion of shouts and clatters breaks out -- and contrary to all expectation, not from the firedancing course.
"Oh! You -are- heartless! You are!"
A high feminine voice, perhaps familiar to those who had been loitering near the edge of the orchard before, can now be heard exclaiming in great upset from over near, of all places, the firecake table that occupies the part of the lawn directly across the from the manor's entry. This dramatic pronouncement might in itself draw only the barest moment's notice in the middle of the celebratory hubbub, except that immediately afterwards the amber-gowned figure of Lady Davishere comes blundering almost blindly through the crowd like a spark shooting erratically from one of the fires, first colliding with a broad be-cassocked fellow that must be archbiscop, and then knocking a tray of candied nut confections out of the hands of a poor manor servingman, whose own exclamation of dismay joins the general tumult.
At this point the crowd, having been put on notice that there is some peril traveling swiftly through their midst, performs a muddled contracting motion that eddies across the courtyard until the outer ripples of it jostle even those gathered by the dance field.
(Yasin): "Exactly--" Yasin answers rapidly, and at first, there's truly an exuberance that is slightly uncharacteristic for him, perhaps the result of the evening's festivities, the food, and the general air of excitement. But the young Razmani apprentice does see that faltering of Lucy's expression, and anyone watching might notice the way his does as well. Only for an instant.
He seems about to say more, until that high voice breaks out from the firecake table, and he stares over in that direction, a look of confusion on his face.
Whatever he was going to say lost for the moment, he instead murmurs to Lord Davishere, "Is... everything alright?"
(Ighlaf): Looks some amount less hesitant at Lucy's words, Ighlaf amusedly replies, "Yes, never know until trying to mess up and learn." their gaze does shift towards the pavilion in thought before getting entirely distracted by those eddies and the commotion of that high feminine voice and shouts. They join in staring that direction as well.
(Thomathy): The sound of that voice must have been still more familiar to Lord Davishere, and he gives a sudden start as his head swings reflexively in the direction from which it came. Though it must be hard to make out much around the table itself, the wince on his face marks the moment at which he witnesses the collision with the archbiscop, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds like a quiet yet heartfelt oath.
Then he looks back to Yasin and the others on hearing that question, his expression blending equal parts discomfiture and resignation in such a way that one might conclude that dealing with his wife's moods and the aftermath thereof is a common occurrence.
"Oh," the fair-haired lord replies uncomfortably, "I am sure all is well enough, and this little.. upset will pass before long." He passes one last rather downcast look over his erstwhile companions, lingering slightly longer on the busily note-scribbling Ziyad, then draws in a deep breath. "Do forgive me, gentlemen, but I must at least set some things to rights." And with that, he turns to push through the crowd in the direction of the archbiscop.
(Yasin): Yasin blinks a few times, in clear confusion, and barely manages to mumble, "Very well, good luck--" as Thomathy darts away. He glances to the others afterwards and wonders aloud, though not so loud as to be heard by the recently departed Lord Davishere, "What led to all that?"
(Velusiyen): Lucy looks just as baffled as Yasin or anybody else, but has little to offer but a shrug. "Lords'n'ladies stuff," she opines sagely, and seems to feel that this sets the mysterious matter safely to rest. "Well, if ain't none of you gonna try the firedance, then I'm gonna go look in on the other dancin', and then maybe go see Paints's picture. And then there's always more food an' drink!" She raises up a mug full of something spicy-smelling, as if she were giving a toast, and then turns to peer through the crowded courtyard like a captain sighting out a route through perilous seas.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf slowly raises an eyebrow, and doesn't have anything to chime in with before Thomathy is away. Their own response is similar to Lucy's as a sorts of shrug, followed by a murmur, "Perhaps Lucy's words have the right of. May he have luck."
Their gaze follows that motion of Lucy's mug with a smile, then they look towards the fire dancing line and the candles. "Speaking of luck, if not attempting against the candles now, I imagine my time free may dwindle around the painting."
(Yasin): Yasin gives a shrug of his shoulders and a nod Lucy's way. "I suppose you're both right," he says, and then gestures with his hand towards the fire dancing line. "I think now's the time, or never."
With a grin given to the group at large, and then an arching of both brows towards Ighlaf, he asks, "Shall we give it an attempt?" He moves his feet slightly, but does seem to be waiting for confirmation before heading over towards the line of locals and foreigners alike, willing to brave the dances.
(Ziyad): "Hmm, what just happened?" Ziyad asks, looking up from his furious scribbling to blink at Ighlaf, Lucy and Yasin. He has filled not one, not two, but three whole parchments full of his neat writing, likely having noted down every twirl and clever bit of footwork that he managed to lay eyes on for the completeness of his recorded observations. That's barely even a sliver of the overall action, but perhaps his descriptions would still be enough to help people back in the Caliphate envision the energy imbued in the fire dance
"Problems blooming between nobles--? Ah, you two are going to dance? I heartily approve!" He beams at Yasin and Ighlaf. "Perhaps you can surpass the show that Sayyida Firo and Sayyida Inaya provided!"
(Yasin): Yasin would have given an amused look Ziyad's way once he noticed THREE parchments full of observations, a craning of his neck and an arch of his brow trying to see what he could see. But at the commentary on dancing, Yasin gives another grin and sheepishly says, "We'll certainly try. If you'd like me to predict what is to happen, we'll both end up putting out severalcandles." He chuckles, then jabs a thumb at his chest and announces, "Particularly me! I'm not sure if I should be nervous that you're taking notes, my friend."
He shrugs his shoulders and looks towards Ighlaf, then back at the line approaching the fire dancing, then to the artist again. "If... making fools of ourselves sounds agreeable, of course."
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf has their own amused look at Ziyad's parchment writing, which shifts into a smile at that beaming. They cast a considering look to the candles, "As long as we don't light ourselves on fire-" then they laugh softly as they speak to Ziyad, "I do not know about surpassing theirs, no."
As they begin to shift into the line alongside Yasin, they comment to be heard by Ziyad as well, "Is this a terrible moment to say I have no idea how to dance? So I believe making fools of ourselves sounds agreeable, yes." flickering a grin
(Yasin): Yasin gives a grin of his own in initial reply, before he shakes his head. With a flick of his eyes towards the local and foreign crowd nearby, he says in a quiet voice, "I'm not even sure how to compare what I'm observing to the dancing I know. That was very... uh..." He pauses in consideration, and during that time, another pair finishes the dance. Two brothers, by the looks of it and the murmurs of the crowd, both lanky and youthful and grinning widely, one ruddy fellow's cheeks flushed from the exertion, the other laughing boisterously.
"Different." Is the word Yasin ultimately settles on. His feet shuffle forward slightly as the line moves.
Yasin's broad brow wrinkles and he supposes, "It seems that the crowd claps louder the more intricate the... motions are?" Uncertainly, he says, "I will just... spin about and move my feet and try to remember the footwork of my families' dances. You can match me, or do as you like and we'll just... see what happens."
(Ighlaf): Casting a thoughtful look to the line as they listen to Yasin, Ighlaf eventually comments, "I can't speak to knowing about the placement of my feet for dance. Moving, I think we could manage something without injuring each other if you can brace your arms well enough."
Their gaze flickers to one of the fires, "Seems like enthusiastic movement carries the crowd liking it all, but I think having fun and not burning myself is top in my mind. I think we could manage to clap, and go around the poles and fire. Perhaps over one of the fires once or twice."
(Yasin): "What, you don't want to get singed?" Yasin asks Ighlaf as the crowd continues to move forward. By this point, they're nearing the front of the line. He chuckles, but then sobers as he begins to see the 'course' of the Fire Dance in full view, and his eyes noticeably widen. "You're... probably right." He says. "Is it odd to say it looked simpler when we were all the way over there, watching Firouzeh and Inaya?"
"Alright." He murmurs, then shakes out his arms and legs. "I'll brace my arms." A few firm nods are given -- for the nerves, of course. With his eyes settling on Ighlaf as the line shuffles forward still, he asks, "Ready?"
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf answers with a quiet amused sound and shrug "Singed feet or clothes." then is quiet a moment themselves looking over the sprawl of the course. "If you reach or brace your arms for some portions...I think we could manage myself over a fire then you jumping after, if we do feel inspired."
They take a deep breath, rolling their shoulders and attempting some variety of stretches as they near the front of the line, unless some other enthusiastic dancers cut through. "I am ready." poised to move alongside Yasin to the start of the course.
(GM): OOC: Ighlaf just rolled grace and acrobatics, coming up with 83.
(GM): OOC: Yasin just rolled grace and footwork, coming up with 40.
(Yasin): At the edge of the fire dance course, Yasin nods to Ighlaf and tramps forward, heavy-footed as ever.
To call the burly young apprentice graceful would be an extraordinary exaggeration. Sure, he is graceful... in the way a stone (or perhaps a small boulder) gently rolls down a hill. Nevertheless there seems to be SOME rhythm at least to his footwork, as though recalling some pattern of motion from his distant homeland. Two quick steps and two long, as he attempts to promenade across the field towards the poles of fire.
He intersperses his movement with a few twists and turns and LOUD claps of his hands to the music. His stepping is imperfect, his rhythm often off. He falters several times and has to rush to catch up, though he does so while laughing joyously. But in spite of any missteps, he consistently ends up back alongside his partner, offering a steady counterweight. Each time their paths converge his arms extend outward, a stone foundation, there if Ighlaf wants to use it.
For the first few candles, and with a quick signal to Ighlaf (which they either follow or don't), he opts to simply spin around them instead of doing anything more elaborate. One spin lands a tad too close to the mark, and the flame is almost snuffed from the sheer force of air. But as they approach one of the poles low enough to tempt a jump, he again whirls towards Ighlaf, extends his arms in a bracing motion, and gives a very subtle shrug of his shoulders in a gesture of 'Worth a try?'
(GM): OOC: Ighlaf just rolled grace and acrobatics, coming up with 53.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf moves along with Yasin with far less weighted movements or much knowledge of footwork. What they are able to do is copy some of the patterns of Yasin's steps with steady movements, their claps a little more enthusiastic than their feet are starting out. Following into those spins and far quieter with a smile tugging at their lips.
At that offer of a jump, Ighlaf reaches out to Yasin's arms and attempts to spring across to one of the poles, calling out, "Come along!" their legs clearing it easily with their grip still holding onto Yasin's arm. Now poised to assist that jump if Yasin is willing.
(GM): OOC: Yasin just rolled grace and acrobatics, coming up with 57.
(Yasin): Yasin... hesitates.
Perhaps because when standing up close, that pole looks just a leeetle bit higher than it did from further away. And hey, maybe because when its him about to jump over it (compared to the far more graceful artist), perspectives on jumping-over-fiery-poles shift. The beat of the music rolls on, and all Yasin does to look like this hesitation is intentional is to step in place for a few beats.
Beat. Step. Beat. Step. Beat. Ste-- Time to go. Yasin bends at the knees, pushes off with all of his might, and aided by Ighlaf's guiding grip, LEAPS towards the fiery pole...
And to perhaps everyone's surprise (including his own, by the way his eyes widen and his mouth opens -- can a mouth really open THAT wide?), he clears the pole with relative ease, landing at the opposite side with a stupid grin that he delivers to all the onlookers and finally, of course, to his dancing partner.
Moments pass before he realizes that movement is supposed to be happening, at which point he resumes his shuffling, awkward, heavy-footed promenading across the course once more, towards the last portion of it.
(GM): OOC: Ighlaf just rolled grace and acrobatics, coming up with 65.
(Ighlaf): Ighlaf cheers as Yasin makes that leap, and while not entirely loud they sound enthused as they pull Yasin along towards that last portion of the course. Here encountering further obstacles and zigzagging portions Ighlaf is looking a little more confident in their movements as the haphazard dance continues on. They lead Yasin into further jumps, although not over any flames this time and borrow the strength of Yasin's arms to shift themselves with their leaps.
With their own grasp, they offer a steadying hand and guidance to Yasin's motions, in between any attempted clap of hands around the wooden poles (and one miss-timed hand motion which leads them to slapping one of the candles clear off with a sheepish laugh.) Their steps aren't well planned to any sort of rhythm, but they look poised as they move.
(Yasin): Yasin is, by contrast, far from poised, and yet at the same time he looks like he is having the time of his life. His footwork started out decent enough, but as the leaps continue and near mishaps with flames ensue, and still perhaps riding the wave of that enormous leap over flames from earlier, his footwork devolves into a pure mess of motion in the wake of one of their spins. The spin leads to a gaily delighted bout of laughter, amused tears falling from his eyes as they near the end of the course.
Indeed, though this may or may not be discernible by an observer, it is all thanks to Ighlaf's poise, steadying hand and guidance that prevents the burly man from simply whirling away down the course like an avalanche, particularly at the apex of that laughter (which seems to continue even as they approach the exit of the course, as though he had been taken by a true fit of amusement).
(Inaya): Watching on from the sidelines, Inaya gives a rather ear-piercing wolf whistle and thunderous applause at Yasin and Ighlaf's performance, though she's half-collapsed in delighted, wheezy laugh-coughs that quickly just turn into plain coughing. She keeps watching, though, with a nudge of an elbow and a brief grin between coughs to Firo, seeming just plainly enthusiastic about more of the Dolphins getting in on this weird barbarian ritual... game... dance... thing. If she could yell, she'd no doubt be doing so, but the coughing rather prevents even an attempt at it. Instead, she applauds and whistles when she can, making all of the noise for her team, regardless of what the locals might think.
(Ighlaf): Approaching the exit, Ighlaf's own steps begin to falter from lack of breath from both exertion and (loud for them) laughter, continuing to guide Yasin along. They do give some sort of haphazard but enthusiastic arm gesture towards one of Inaya's whistles, snagging Yasin into one final spin before continuing further so neither are at risk from blocking other dancers from finishing the course.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.