The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

December 7, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Spring night, Telgar Weyr.
Cast:  E'vrin, Kassima.

The pair wrangle with the terms and boundaries of their relationship.
=======================================================================
Lysseth and Kassima's Weyr(#6901RJMs)
        Making your way into the weyr shared by Lysseth and her
lifemate, Kassima, the first thing you notice is that it's remarkably
similar to the weyr the pair shared at Benden. Kassi's old furniture
is positioned roughly where it was back home; her large bed is over to
one side of the room, tidily made and covered with a warm peacock blue
comforter. The press beside it undoubtedly contains Kassi's things. A
sturdy set of shelves containing knickknacks and trinkets galore can
be found near the rack that proudly displays the greenrider's amazing
assortment of knives. A wine-press, stocked generously with Benden Red
and more exotic vintages, is tucked away in a corner.
        On the other side of the weyr is Lysseth's couch, thickly
lined with soft sleeping furs. In one corner is a chair upholstered in
a peacock blue fabric; it is well-padded and looks worn, but very
comfortable. The small table in front of it looks to double as a
footstool, with a much finer table beyond it used for more formal
purposes. A few clawmarked fire-lizard perches are scattered here and
there.
        The view is not exactly spectacular in this weyr--it's high up
enough that primarily, what you can see from the interior consists of
sky and the opposite side of the Bowl wall. Still, the sunrises and
sunsets from here must be marvelous. The cries of wind, wherries, and
fire-lizards can be heard clearly, often accompanied by the beating of
dragonwings. Not overly large, as ledges go, the expanse of flat rock
outside is nonetheless ample enough to allow Lysseth to sun herself
when she chooses.
Some puffy white clouds skirt across the springtime sky.
Contents:
Kassima
Lysseth
Ketsurai Dragon Box
Visions of Benden Tapestry
Kassima's Perching Rock
M'rgan's Fright
--

--> Sharath backwings to a short, hard landing, grunting as his
forepaws touch down and anchor him fully to rock.

You slide down Sharath's shoulder and foreleg to the ground.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath belatedly announces, << We're
visiting. >> Hi!

Clank. Rattle. Thud. Kassi sounds to be at work within the weyr; a
glance would reveal that she is, in fact, rummaging under her
clothes-press and muttering to herself. "Three half-eaten meatrolls, a
tunnelsnake's head, and most of a fish... where does it *stop*?"
Lysseth, less preoccupied, warbles a greeting from where she perches
on the ledge herself.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies with laughter: << Yes, I'd
rather noticed. Welcome. Don't mind my rider; she is cleaning up after
the littlecousins again. >>

E'vrin quietly pats Sharath's shoulder and leaves the bronze to
sniffing at Lysseth from across the ledge, while he goes to the weyr's
entrance and peers in.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath shrugs a faint apology: was
distracted; social niceties could wait. << Fire-lizards? >>

Whoosh! The aforementioned tunnelsnake's head goes sailing out the
weyr entrance--the curtain has been drawn aside for just this reason,
it seems--but fortunately high enough to miss. "Oh!" Judging by the
chagrin, Lysseth has probably relayed the presence of a visitor to her
rider. "E'vrin! I'm sorry. That thing didn't hit you, did it?"

E'vrin ducked. Better believe he ducked, even if it did sail by him
with an arm's length to spare. He essays a smile, shakes his
head. "No, no, I'm fine -- bad time?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth confirms with ease, accepting the
apology and moving swiftly on, << Fire-lizards, yes. They have gotten
into the habit of stashing their food items, and she has just found
another abandoned store. >>

Kassima stands and scrubs hands against dark slacks, absently brushing
a spinner's-web out of her hair. "Oh, nay, the time's fine. Just
cleaning up after the 'lizards. Come in and sit? You can have the
chair again. I don't think there's anything vile underneath it."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath extends proper sympathy. <<
E'vrin has only the two, and they usually range far afield and don't
bother us. >>

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth admits, with a langorous stretch,
<< Kassima has a score, and used to have more. We are used to them,
but they do tend to cause trouble from time to time. >>

E'vrin hesitates and peeks beneath the chair, but seats himself. "Glad
I have only the two," he volunteers, tucking his hands between his
knees. "It must be wretched to have to look after so many."

"I used t'have a great many more," Kassi cheerfully volunteers,
swinging up to a perch on the rock. "This almost seems like a
picnic. Lysseth's a great help, a'course. What brings you to the Icy
Wastes tonight? If'n 'tis to deliver more kiwi, I fear Sharath will
probably never forgive me." Light-toned and jesting; she's in a good
mood this evening.

E'vrin is somber. As usual. "No, no kiwi. Did you like them? How /are/
you? And the baby?"

Kassima smiles, drawing her knees up to rest her chin on them. "Loved
'em, a'course, and there're still some left. Kiwi are always
well... as am I. Life's decent. There's been work t'do, and people
have only been actively working t'make me ill a few times in the past
few days, which I'm certain the baby appreciates also. 'Tis nice t'be
able t'keep food down. Yourself? Sharath?"

"I'm fine," E'vrin says gravely, "and Sharath is fine. Thank you."
Then he falls silent. Brooding.

Kassima may be cheerful, and cobwebbed-haired, but that doesn't make
her cobweb-brained. "You don't seem fine, if'n I may say so. You seem
unhappy. Care t'be spilling it? I've liquor if'n you need. Juice, too,
these days."

E'vrin startles. "No, I'm not unhappy. For once," he adds wryly. "I
was just deciding how to go about this. Couldn't think very well on
the flight here; Sharath was nattering about this and that, the way he
does...."

"Brooding, unhappy... it often seems one. Though nay, admittedly,
always." Tilting her head, Kassima wonders, "Go about what? I'd offer
suggestions, but without knowing what 'tis...."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth extends an idle tendril of misty
blue query: << Why is it that humans are always claiming that *we*
natter, when it is they who fritter away half their time on the
inconsequential? >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath is resting comfortably physically
and mentally; his thoughts hold no special tenor or tone, just mild
blankness. << It's important to them. >>

You say "Shall I just say it, then?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees, after a pale pause, <<
Yes. But what we speak of is often as important to us, as their
chatter about the weather and food and other such is to them. >>

Sharath> I bespoke Lysseth with << He called my talk nattering to
nettle me. I shall not allow him to do that. >>

Kassima unfolds her arms long enough to gesture. "Go ahead; directness
is often the easiest course."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth responds with the faint sparkle of
bone-deep amusement. << Ah, so. Kassima nettles me all the time. It is
a game, I think. >>

E'vrin obeys. "I've begun to realize that some aspects of my life are
-- confused. Like love. And sex." He blinks moistly. "I love you. I
do. Still, I think I might be in love with someone else, but I don't
/think/ I am -- it's an artifact. I thought we should talk it out,
before the baby comes."

Kassima blinks, too, though not moistly: surprise. "Oh." A moment to
think, and then, cautiously, "Confused how? I'll warn you that neither
half of that equation is something I'm experienced with,
but... ah. You've found another." In the glowlight, it's hard to read
what flickers through dark green eyes. Relief? Disappointment? Both?
"Talking is a good idea. Why d'you think you might love her? And why
d'you think you love me?"

E'vrin carefully intertwines his fingers atop his knees and then gazes
at her, his eyes steadily level. "I wouldn't say I've 'found another.'
If anything, she found me, but it's complicated. It all is. Just
because we're lovers, she and I, does that mean love?" A headshake,
and his expression briefly caves in to weary confusion. He repeats,
"It's complicated. I don't know anything anymore, but I know you
counsel people...."

"Romantic counselling? Aye. Mostly because people know I'm perfectly
objective," Kassi adds, with self-directed dryness. "Lovers don't have
t'love one another, nay. 'Tis the ideal, but nay requisite. I certes
think they should at *least* be friends, but." A shrug. "It could mean
love later. Sometimes it does. If'n you like someone well enough
t'sleep with 'em of your own will, I'd imagine that means the
potential for love is there."

E'vrin's gaze never moves. "Why aren't we lovers?"

Kassima's eyes widen fractionally, and a blush creeps into white
cheeks. "You've never asked me," she points out. "And... what would it
mean if'n 'twere, anyway? What would you take it t'mean?"

You say "I don't know. I didn't want to ask. I thought it was
something I'd done."

Kassima shakes her head quickly. "Nay, E'vrin, naught you'd done. A
failure of mine, perhaps. *I* can't ask, and t'say I'm unused to it
being an issue is t'put it mildly." Whimsy, there, and a hint of
something darker that's swiftly brushed away.

E'vrin muses quietly a moment. "Why can't you ask?" he wants to know
at length, quiet, placid, receptive. "Is there anything wrong?" A
flame leaps in his eyes. "With the baby--?"

Kassima shakes her head immediately and with vigor. "Nay! Nay, naught
like that--the babe's fine, I'm sure. 'Twas just dwelling on a thought
I shouldn't have; nay matter." Quiet herself, she eventually replies
with frank honesty, "Because I don't like being rejected. And I'm nay
a forthright woman by nature. Nay like *that*."

E'vrin replies in like kind, "I would not reject you. I would rather
be afraid that you would reject me." His mouth bows down. "I thought
that you had. That I shouldn't have told you how I feel; you have
seemed to be recoiling ever since. No doubt that's part of why I
turned to someone else."

Kassima bites her lip, dismay flashing across her features for an
instant. "'Twould nay reject you," she admits softly, awkwardly. "But,
E'vrin--ach, shells; I might as well just say it. I'm nay certain that
you really love *me*. Infatuated, aye, but--how can you love what you
don't know? So I thought that if'n I encouraged you, then we'd both
wind up getting hurt when you came t'find out what I'm really like."

E'vrin doesn't appear too shaken; perhaps he's been thinking the same
weighty thoughts, which he helps to dole out like a miser with old
marks. "That's why I've tried to spend time with you, so I -- we --
would /know./ Was that wrong? I'm out of my depth, Kassima; I'm just
trying to feel my way along without getting hurt." And, by the sadness
skeining his voice, he hasn't entirely succeeded in that goal.

"It isn't wrong." That, at least, Kassi says with conviction. "I want
t'help if'n I can, but I don't want t'be the one t'hurt you. I don't
know what I'm about any more than you do, I suspect." Regret, and
sadness, too. "I certes didn't want t'alienate you. Avoiding that was
half the idea."

E'vrin takes a slow breath. "All right. We're working at
cross-purposes here, jumping at shadows, it sounds like. Why do you
think you would alienate me?"

Kassima replies promptly, "Because sooner or late, you're going t'be
disappointed in me. Maybe even come t'hate me; I don't know. Or I
might hurt you, nay meaning to, and 'twould amount to the same
thing. I don't want that."

E'vrin is cautious. "I don't agree with you."

"Howso?" Kassi asks.

E'vrin answers, "I don't think that I would be disappointed in
you. That's a harsh judgment, one I would rather make for myself. Your
telling me that ... is that to warn me or to prejudice me towards
fulfilling the expectation?"

Kassima rubs absently at her temples. "Warn, I suppose. What concerns
me is that I know full well that I'm nay man's ideal mate, E'vrin." An
ironic gesture is made at the weyr as a whole, all of it--right down
to there only being one chair--suggesting a single existance. "And
if'n someone thinks that I might be, then I will eventually disappoint
them. Without meaning to, but there you have it."

E'vrin grips his hands tighter. "I never claimed you were ideal, nor
wanted it. Even I know about the futility of hoping for a perfect,
everlasting love. They fall apart; that's the way of life." He shakes
his head. "It isn't what I want, Kassi. What's wrong with trying for
love while it lasts?"

Kassima bows her head a moment, though whether in thought or
chastisement is hard to say. "Naught," she replies
slowly. "Naught. 'Tis just... a foreign concept, as 'twere." She peeks
up from behind a thatch of black bangs, uncertain and almost
vulnerable--insofar as Kassi can *ever* be called that. "The only man
who's ever claimed to love me is weyrmated to another; the point is
moot. And that's m'only experience with the emotion. I apologize for
m'awkwardness."

E'vrin stews a moment.
You say "Then ... I apologize for proclaiming -- no other word for it,
is it? -- in the middle of the living cavern. That was ill-judged. And
for pushing you, if I have. I'm sorry."

Kassima's smile is sudden, and accompanied by a headshake. "Nay need
to apologize for any of that. After all," mischievously, "'tis you all
of Telgar now thinks is a madman, nay I. Naught t'be forgiven, but
if'n 'twere, you could consider it done."

E'vrin protests, "I'm not mad. I meant it. I still do. I'm perfectly
within my right mind, however tangled it is these days."

"Aren't you? I'm mad, you're mad, he's mad, she's mad--we're all mad
in our own way. What we can't understand, we tend t'term 'madness',
and what person could be perfectly understood by every other? Madness
is what makes life *interesting*." Kassi seems to believe this,
too. Another moment's quiet ponderance, and she then queries with some
shyness perhaps: "So... what happens now? Where do we go from here?"

E'vrin ponders. "...Do you think there /is/ a 'we'?"

Kassima lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Even if'n naught comes out of
it, we're in this together, aren't we? Sort of. And we've the child
t'be linking us." A wry smile flickers to life. "As I told someone or
other, I've been on good terms with the fathers of all m'children so
far. 'Tis a tradition I'd like t'be seeing continue."

E'vrin bows his head. "Thank you." He lifts only his eyes then,
blinking them through spiked lashes. "At Harper Hall, in the logic and
argument classes, they taught us to define our terms before using
them. So. Are we friends?"

"We're friends," Kassi affirms at once.

E'vrin nods, solemn as if in class again. "Are we lovers?"

Kassima flushes rose again, dark lashes lowering to partially veil her
eyes. Nevertheless, "We can be. If'n you wish it."

"If you do." E'vrin isn't without color, himself. "I've been
learning. Trying. When to say what, when to do what ... Forcing, I
know, is wrong, however it's dressed in smiles and requests."

Kassima gives a crooked smile. "Politesse is an intricate dance. I've
never been much good at dancing. Still...." Flush increases a
notch. "If'n you wouldn't be abject, I should think I'd like that."

E'vrin lowers his head again. "Do you think we might love each other,
sometime, some way?"

"All things are possible," Kassi quietly admits. "There'd have been a
time when I'd have said nay, that I couldn't love or be loved; someone
did teach me better. But 'twould nay be staking m'life-savings on
it. The one thing I *do* know about love is that 'tis a tricky mess."

E'vrin points out, "So's life."

Kassima has to grin at that. "'Tis, isn't it? But we've survived so
far."

"So far," E'vrin agrees, shadowed. "I try not to think about
that. Tomorrow, the next Fall, two Turns from now -- who can say?"

"To quote something Da always said," replies Kassi, pragmatic,
"'You're born and then you die, but there's stuff in the middle called
life, and you may as well enjoy it while you've got it.' We live on in
the way we affect the world, too. If'n people will remember me fondly
after I die, then I'm content that 'twas a life well-spent."

E'vrin studies the floor. "Well, I can only try. That's all I'm doing
these days -- that's all life is, trying."

Kassima sings quietly, in a sweet-voice; whatever her faults, the
woman can sing, "Watching's nay living; you live by the striving
t'fail, yet surviving to once again try. Striving means living, the
struggle renewing, 'til by your own doing, you've conquered the sky."
In a more normal voice, she explains, "An old lullabye. Written by a
very wise man, methinks. What can we do but try?"

[Song credit:  "Dream Rider" by Mercedes Lackey, sung by Heather
 Alexander (said Kassima's player).]

E'vrin uses a deep breath to brace him. "Yes, you're right. I get
tired, that's all. And alone. Very ... alone." His face is grooved,
blanked down to its base elements, and very young. "I wish I could
come to you light and gay, but it isn't possible yet."

"I know about loneliness," is Kassi's simple answer. "Too much about
it. You don't have t'come to me light and gay. Just come t'me as
yourself; that's far the more important."

E'vrin stares at her. "Even as dark -- and what, brooding? -- as I am?
Shards. You're entirely too tolerant of my faults." A light tone
tries: "Sure you're not in love?"

Kassima replies lightly, "If'n you're tolerant of mine, the least I
can do is reciprocate. Be whom you are; I'll be who I am." A grin,
then. "Methinks I'm always like this, I'm afraid. But I likely
wouldn't know if'n 'twas, if'n that's any consolation; I've loved, but
I don't know that I've ever been in love. Thin boundary."

You say "Maybe you think too much. I do."

Kassima's response is wry. "Force of habit. Or perhaps making up for
m'more thoughtless moments. There's a time for thinking, and a time
for doing."

E'vrin considers. "Which is this?"

Kassima replies with a hint of impishness, perhaps at the pun, "Which
d'you think? Or don't think, if'n that suits."

You say "I'm tired of thinking." A wan smile. "It's all I've been
doing since leaving Sabra's weyr the other morning."

Kassima chuckles ruefully under her breath. "That much thought may
well be too much. A time for doing, then." She looks at him
sidelong. "If'n that'd suit better?"

E'vrin stands. "I think so -- but pardon me if my doing is this." Now
his smile crooks. "I need to get back to Igen."

"Ach, understandable," Kassi replies, quirking a wry grin. "'Tis late,
after all. M'duties t'your Weyr and her queens, since I forgot them
a'fore... and regards, a'course, t'Sharath?"

E'vrin slews a look outside. "He doesn't care, you know," he
confides. "Human greetings mean not a thing to him, but if it pleases
me, he's inclined to be pleased, too. /Dragons./ I've passed it on,
anyway."

Kassima shrugs again, with a quiet laugh. "Y'never know, in the dance
of manners. Better safe than sorry. I used t'salute the bloody beasts,
Faranth help me, or even bow to 'em. A long time ago now, a'course."

Lysseth gives a faint snort from her place on the ledge. Bloody
beasts, indeed.

Sharath just peers inside. Well?

E'vrin shoots him a look, then turns back. "I never did. I was pretty
far from dragons and their riders for much of my life."

Kassima gives Sharath a quizzical look, but nods to the rider. "As was
I, until I decided t'leave the Hold. First place I went was Benden;
first thing I saw was a goldflight." Wry grin. "Dyinath's, in
fact. Lysseth's conception. How's that for an omen? I don't think they
understand too much politesse, anyway."

E'vrin finds a smile. "But it all turned out, didn't it?" He looks
outside again, looks back. "Good night, then. I'll see you -- whenever
I see you next, I guess."

Kassima agrees, "It did indeed." Sliding from her perch, she's silent
a moment; hesitant--but then leans on tip-toe to kiss him in
parting. "G'night," she returns, once she's stepped away. There's a
faint sparkle in lash-shaded eyes. "You see, I *can*
remember. Sometimes."

E'vrin dips his head, but his eyes never leave hers, and they're warm,
despite all their shadows. "Then there's hope for you yet," he says
softly towards levels of different meanings, then leaves quickly.

[Log ends.]