Dancing on the Ceiling (2/2)

Writers: Aaron, Corrin, Estelle, Halyonix, Iluva, Sia, Yvonne
Date Posted: 4th November 2025

Characters: C'uren, M'rhas, E'kirim, Nosarre, Z'renh, A'ten, Sanvi, Halia, Sybana, Katora, S'yen, Nirian, Vaissa, X'das
Description: The senior DFW weyrlings throw a graduation party
Location: Vintner Hall
Date: month 9, day 25 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: M'thos

M'rhas

Nosarre

Sybana

S'yen

Notes:
~*~

Of course, C’uren was not going to be late to his own party. He had to greet everyone as they arrived! Roeth was posted in a spot where he could both provide coordinates for his clutchmates and then welcome them when they appeared, while C’uren was busy talking to the tavern workers. Okay, he might also be rearranging tables so that they could have the best party ever but it still counted as talking to the workers, right? Never mind that one of them was rolling her eyes at him. C’uren would convince her of the epic awesomeness of all this later!

“Welcome, welcome, my friends!” he boomed as groups of riders arrived.

“Let’s try some of that ale,” Halia said, dropping into a seat at the massive hodge-podge table C’uren had constructed. She waved down a server, one who had been eyeing their large group apprehensively, and smiled sweetly up at him. “A round of your best, for Pern’s newest guardians! And--” She jerked a thumb towards the door where Sybana was walking in, “Put it on our goldrider’s tab.”

Sybana blinked.

Halia’s smile just widened. “Don’t worry,” she assured the server, smooth as cream. “She’s good for it. You’ll get your marks.”

X’das immediately thereafter set about ordering just about one of everything on the menu when it came to snackums -- for the table, of course -- though he had the good grace to make it explicit that he would be paying for them.

Hands rooted in his pockets, M'rhas strolled over wearing a shit-eating smirk a dragonlength wide. “Shots.” Was all he said to the server as he fell into a chair, surveying their crowded conglomerate of tables with interest.

"Shots?" E'kirim echoed as he reached over to muss the kid's hair, despite being about the same size as him and definitely wider, "Kids that are too young to graduate are too young for shots, young man." He teased.

“Too young?” M'rhas slapped E'kirim's hand away with a quick glare. “I'm graduating like everyone else, _E'kirim_.” He grinned triumphantly. “It's just A'ten stuck with T'lon-ass now.”

"By barely a sevenday. Lucky man." E'kirim pulled his hand back, feigning grave injury.

A'ten grimaced. “Don't remind me. I need a drink more than any of you.”

“Yeah. Sorry, man.” M'rhas said sympathetically to the brownrider. “All the more reason for _shots_.”

“You’re in, right?” Sanvi pulled Sybana onto the seat between herself and Halia. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done shots before.”

By then Sybana’d had enough time to get over the shock of Halia’s ale ambush. She settled in between the girls with a rueful laugh, “Then I won’t tell you!” Months ago -- forever ago -- when she’d first arrived at the weyr, she never would have guessed how quickly things would change. That some of her biggest rivals for the golden egg might become her… friends. Yes, that was the word. She hoped they would agree. They didn’t always make her life easy, and the judgement didn’t exactly stop, but it was different now. “I’m ‘in.’”

“Oh, I’ve never done shots before,” Vaissa lied, unconvincingly as she scooted in closer. “How do we do it?”

“Not having a gag reflex helps,” S’yen muttered as he took one of the shots that were now being distributed around. E'kirim nudged an elbow into the bluerider's ribs with a snort.

“Yes! Shots! Shots! Shots!” C’uren shouted excitedly. He grabbed two and kissed the cheek of the barmaid serving them. “You’re the best, my lovely friend. What did you say your name was?”

“Nirian,” she purred in a tone that hinted she would gladly claw his eyes out or ride him until he begged her to stop. It was hard to tell with that look. Possibly both. With a saucy toss of her hair, she looked at the other riders. “Party all you want but no vomiting in the tavern. I’ll haul you out by your scruff if you do,” she threatened with a sharp smile.

“Up! Everyone grab a shot!” C’uren called as he raised his. He waited for his classmates to secure their drinks and then, in a booming voice, said, “To the next, to the _best_ dragonriders class on Pern! Thread will fly the other way when they see us coming!” With ease, he tossed back both of his shots and hooted happily.

“To flying together in the worst of weather! May all your ups and downs be beneath the furs.” Sanvi raised her glass and swallowed her liquor with a grin to hide the burn.

“Here, here!” M'rhas bellowed in agreement, slamming back his shot with wolfish enthusiasm and then slamming the glass to the table.

Only impeccable manners and extreme self-discipline enabled Sybana to choke down the liquid instead of spraying it across the room. “Oh, that’s _terrible_!”

E'kirim laughed, though it turned into coughing as he downed his own. "It gets better the more you have." He advised Sybana and slid another shot over to her.

“_Everything_ gets better the more shots you have,” Zaphare said helpfully, leaning in to grab a second for herself. All of her drinking before the Weyr had been like everything else she had done: rushed, illicit, getting away with whatever she could before the wrong person caught her at it. Admittedly, she had been _good_ at it… but it was different now that she was a dragonrider. Not only was she _allowed_, but here she was being _encouraged_. “To a point, anyway. Time to find out what your point is!”

A'ten figured from watching the others that it was best to down the lot in one go, so he copied them - and shook his head like a canine, grimacing. It tasted like a mixture of crushed firestone and that stuff harpers used to clean paintbrushes, but before long there was a promising glow in his belly. Maybe if he had enough of these he'd forget all about being stuck with the weyrlings for another Turn, and he reached out for another, hoping none of his classmates would take it into their heads to stop him.

“Look, even _A’ten_ can take it,” Halia said, giving the boy an approving nod. “Don’t be a wuss, goldie. Come on, I have a toast to make too.” The blond waited until everyone at the table, including Sybana, was holding a shot or drink again and lifted her glass: “May all your ‘falls be light and easy, and all your ‘flights hot and heavy!”

“I will drink to that,” S’yen agreed as he licked his lips saucily before tossing down his shot.

Katora stared at her own little shot, trying to come up with something meaningful. “May your roads be smooth and your coffers full at the end of the day,” she called, and then, when people began giving her a weird look, she said, “It’s a Trader’s toast.” She tried to hide her embarrassment by drinking her shot but her face scrunched up anyway at the taste. “I think I’ll stick to ale,” she said as she went to find something less potent.

“Here, sweetie, have another,” Nirian pressed at one of the male riders with a wink. “Your boy was right -- they get better the more you have.”

A round or two later, someone had commandeered some tables but not for dining. For dancing. Leading the merry charge (again) was C’uren, as he belted out a seacrafter’s song that was easy to clap along with and dance to. Thus the night went, with the soon-to-be graduated class celebrating having made it through their training, and one tavern doing its best to keep up with the drinks.

Last updated on the November 28th 2025

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Dancing on the Ceiling (2/2)