Rock The Weyr {Lost Party!}

[Chinchilla]

Caltori loved a good excuse for a party. Well, that wasn't quite true. Caltori loved any excuse for a party. How good or bad that excuse was really didn't factor into her party planning at all. But this time, her partying actually had a very, very good excuse! What better reason to throw a little shebbang then some new members of the Weyr?

Of course, some of them were a bit young. That was why she was definitely not putting the benden wine where any curious little monsters could get to it. Besides, Caltori didn't really want to get the Lost drunk. She just wanted to invite them to the Weyr in style, with lots of cheerfulness and a grumpy Teresth in the background.

The big one with the spikes had been a bit of an issue in her party planning. But Caltori had managed to stake out a small area of the weyrbowl in front of her own weyr, having coerced a few of the lower caverns folk into helping her drag out some small tables. She'd even gotten food from the kitchens, mostly in the form of sweet rolls and their meaty cousins. Enough that no one would try to escape from her gathering with the excuse of food.

They would have to socialize and they would like it. Okay, not really. It wasn't like Caltori could force anyone to show up. Or make them stay, either. She didn't want anyone to be uncomfortable!

"What do you think, darling?" Caltori twisted, turning to face her dragon. Teresth was splayed out on her ledge, just above the tiny grouping of tables. The brown snorted, lowering her head and inspecting the lay out carefully.

[Sloppy.] Teresth declared, her tail thunking against the stone of her ledge. [You should be ashamed of yourself. They're going to take one look and leave.]

"Yeah right!" Caltori rolled her eyes. "Look, just call them, alright?"

[If you insist. Don't come crying to me when they all realize what a horrible host you are, though.] Teresth sighed. [There's a welcoming party for our new Weyr members in the weyrbowl. Free food and refreshments.]

"Thanks, Teresth. You're a doll!"

[I am not.]

[fassa]

It'd been seven days here - Dean kept count - four, since he ran into Castiel from an earlier part of his timeline - not as complicated as it sounded - and two, being cooped up with said mojo-less angel, listening and reading lengthy texts about wing formations and threadfall. Amidst all that reading he’d also spent some time wandering around the caverns, picking information off residents and Lost alike.

But no, not on this day.

As much as he enjoyed reading (why did that always surprise people) and Castiel's company, the stagnancy was making him all dull and fidgety. Castiel can have his own private party time with Pernese scrolls and books; he trusted that Castiel would let him know if he came across anything of importance. As far as he knew, no one from other worlds had ever just shown up for the intention of being here - least not till a little over a week ago. Therefore, obviously, there wouldn't be anything about this phenomenon and a way out of it, unless, of course, they had missed something.

In any case, this hunter was going to spend this morning stretching his legs by the lake, and Robin accompanied him most enthusiastically. This time he stayed away from the dense flora that bordered a part of the fluvial by the lake. Before midday, before the humidity and heat got unbearable, and they returned to the weyrs, headed for the Kitchens.

The Kitchens was surprisingly bustling with activity. Robin flew up to a high beam to observe - a vantage point for pilfering food, while Dean honed in on a table with a sumptuous spread of pastries; he hadn’t seen a spread like this since that last buffet in forever ago. He reached out for a meat roll, which disappeared from his hand in a green flash.

“Dammit, Robin- really?” he huffed, the flitt already out of earshot and enjoying his prize; Dean could feel an emanating sense of gleeful achievement from him, so he returned a paltry attempt at disapproval.

He helped himself to some of the other foods until his appetite was satiated. An action that hadn't gone unnoticed to at least one of the weyrfolk, who’d been busy going around checking on things. "You're one of the Lost, right?"

Ah fudge.

“Yeah?” he said slowly, not intending to have it phrased as a question.

The man chuckled, brushing the flour off his hands. “I see you’re getting ahead of the party.”

“There’s a party now?” he asked, suppressing a mini burp.

It turned out the man wasn't about to admonish him for the food though he did look like he wanted to. Instead, Dean learnt that they were making preparations for a feast Caltori, who he surmised to be of a high rank, wanted to hold to welcome the Lost.

Parties were great when he was working a hunt, they were great sources of gossips - loose tongues and booze-addled minds, loads of bullshit and small talk, and sometimes a good place to learn something new if not useful. Dean usually smiled and nodded tending to cut to the chase, unlike Sam, who’d steer the conversation to something more useful. Dean couldn’t really complain about the free food and besides, it wasn’t really freeloading if for services rendered in keeping the community supernatural-free.

He followed the man around as they talked, eventually finding himself offering help to the other folks who were shifting tables outside. Robin, in the meantime, was mingling with the other weyr pets roaming around - if one considered playfighting as a form of such.

Dean folded his arms and surveyed the party area part of the Weyr Bowl from one of the food-laden tables, in his hand some kind of fruity beverage with an interesting zest. There weren’t any beer or its equivalent though but it had been a good day. Robin agreed, now resting on his shoulder, Dean absent-mindedly stroking his head.

There were a few people asides him here at the moment, none he recognised. One tall woman stood out however, looking towards a dragon that was on the ledge above. Caltori, perhaps?

He sipped his drink.

It had been a good day so far.