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Date Posted: 22:36:20 08/19/05 Fri
Author: T'gan & Chuth, Kestor, Westar, Tresta
Subject: I don't know what to say. No, really. You think I've been malingering on a whim?
In reply to: T'bel and Quilth 's message, "Announcement Made!" on 14:56:51 07/14/05 Thu

Though he's searching the crowd for familiar faces, T'gan has naturally kept a small portion of his attention on the head table ever since they entered. Now T'bel rises, and T'gan instantly turns towards him, now fully focused on the Weyrleader. The speech is short, which is a bit of a relief; his stomach is twinging every so often, mildly, as if it's just trying to remind him that it's there. His focus sharpens slightly when T'bel starts to name Wingleaders. He's not going to assume, of course, but as laid-back as T'gan is, he's still a bronzerider. More to the point, he has a tendency to take on responsibilities, and whether he really wants to or not, it's rather become what he does. There's a little part deep inside, part bronzerider and part just T'gan, that whispers that he should be among those names. Chuth is excited and anticipatory as well, listening through him, and the dragon is even more of a bronze than his rider (in the figurative sense, of course, since T'gan lacks some rather important attributes central to a bronze dragon, like wings and an overactive libido). As each Wingleader is named, T'gan nods to himself. B'nederra he knows more by reputation than by acquaintance, but it's a good solid reputation. A'rak he knows a bit better, and he's a good choice. And D'ctor, of course, is an excellent man for the job. Applauding for all three, T'gan is very firmly not disappointed. He isn't owed anything, after all, and the chosen Wingleaders are all good men. He grins at D'ctor, making a sort of encouraging gesture that's rendered indecipherable by the fact that he's still applauding at the same time.

After the clapping fades away, T'gan waits patiently for the Feast to officially again, so he can pacify his stomach before it starts embarassing him. Then T'bel continues, not with a speech or with a blessing upon the hungry, but with two more names. Hearing his own, the bronzerider goes sort of still and frozen as his brain tries to correctly interpret what it's just heard. His smile goes stiff, not out of any complaint about the Weyrleader's announcement, but because his brain is putting two and two together and coming out, fascinatingly enough, with four. Then it un-stiffens as a re-check of the mental equations tells him that four is both correct and a perfectly acceptable number, and instead of looking like he's just been slapped in the face with a fresh fish, he looks dazed but happy. Incidentally, he doesn't appear to be breathing. Tresta shifts nervously in the crook of his arm and looks up at him with a worried cheep, as if asking whether he's all right.

T'gan? Chuth ventures, a bit of worry in his tone, though it's barely unnoticable among the overtones of smug triumph.

/Yes?/ T'gan manages.

Breathe.

/Right. I knew that./ Carefully unsticking his brain, T'gan lets the realization and the accompanying sense of being highly honored flood in. His firelizards are far less subtle, brown Kestor sitting up straight and making satisfied chirping sounds (since caroling to the heavens never goes over well with his owner) and blue Westar arching his neck and mantling his wings. Panic will probably come later, because sooner or later T'gan always stops to wonder if he really deserves the good luck that comes to him, but that can wait its turn in line like everything else.

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