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 29, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 23:15 on day 11, month 8, Turn 25, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a summer evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Kassima; Matro, K'gen, Rellyn, Raina.

E'vrin receives a pair of unexpected gifts at Telgar; back home, he
has a light and fizzing interlude led by a new Weyr resident.
=======================================================================

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's mind comes swooping out of the
sky even as he does: a lean, limber, pale hook of intent. Guess who.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth, being a dragon, doesn't need to
guess; she replies with a sapphrine ripple of merriment along silver
chords. << Visiting again? You're welcome, as always. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath breezes, wind through chimes, <<
Nothing better to do, for me, and for him, he wanted it. May we land? >>

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth's retort puts up an insulted
facade, though she has never managed deception well; it is easily seen
through. << What, we only rate a 'nothing better to do'? Harumph. But
yes, of course. I do not believe my rider will be throwing anything
unsavory out the entranceway this time. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath expresses sincere, profound
relief. << No fire-lizards or offspring, either? >>

You fold your wings and land on Lysseth's ledge, then make your way
into the weyr proper.
--
Lysseth and Kassima's Weyr(#6901RJMs)
Contents:
Kassima
Ketsurai Dragon Box
Visions of Benden Tapestry
Kassima's Perching Rock
M'rgan's Fright
--

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

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth admits, << There are always
fire-lizards. But the offspring are off wreaking havoc elsewhere. >>

E'vrin informs his mount, "You're /rude./ Be nice; we're guests."
Sharath rolls purplish eyes, because that's what dragons do, and
settles into a crouch on the ledge.

Sharath> I bespoke Lysseth with << I am not rude. I am myself. 'Rude'
is the opinion of others. But that's good to know, about the
offspring. Small bodies with large voices annoy me. >>

"...Nay, see, Lysseth, if'n we put the dresser over *there*, or in the
store-room, we could fit a desk in *here*... what d'you mean, what
about the chair? I'd get another one, a'course. What sort of
ridiculous question is--" Breaking off from her conversation/argument,
the arguer turns to stride for the door, drawing aside blue
entrance-curtain. "Sorry about that," she apologizes, rather
wryly. "Just having another meaningful discussion with my own rude
mount. G'deve, Sharath! C'mon in, would you? Nay flying tunnelsnake
heads this time, I promise."

"I hope," E'vrin starts dubiously before he smiles, "that you're
inviting me in, not Sharath. He doesn't fit, and he /is/ rude and
doesn't deserve the courtesy."

Sharath is watching the bowl. Not hearing anything, no.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth asks rather whimsically,
continuing to speak with tones of silver and deepening blue, << Are we
really ever defined, save by how others perceive us? Not that it
matters. They aren't so very bad, the small ones; the 'lizards are
often worse. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath growls in a miasma of
flicker-fire's smoke, << More small bodies with more large voices. The
cousins do have the intelligence of flowers and the control of little
babbling streams. >>

Kassima has to laugh at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. "He's
hardly the rudest guest we've ever had, though aye, methinks 'twould
be a bit of a squeeze t'fit two dragons in here. I meant you. I'd been
hoping you'd visit sometime soon, actually." Mischievously, she
explains, "I picked up another gift for you. But I don't know whether
you'll like this one."

"Oh, dear," is E'vrin's weak response. "Should I be sitting down for
this?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth observes in a flash of whitened
starfire, << You *are* in a mood tonight. As my rider would say, what
bug crawled up your tailfork and died? >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath rolls a shrug's ennui through his
thoughts, disturbing the whorl and eddy of smoke and light both. << A
long day. A drill that didn't go very well. >>

Kassima drawls, "Oh... possibly. Though it shouldn't kill you, I
promise. Traumatize, well--we'll have t'see. Pick your seat while I
hunt for it, hrm?" A sudden grimace, and she adds, "My apologies for
Lysseth's manners now."

E'vrin laughs and pulls up a chair for supporting sprawled limbs. "No,
it's fine. He /is/ in a mood because of that drill. Physically sound,
but looked silly for a moment in falling out of formation. A bad
downdraft, you know."

Sharath's violet eye turns towards the weyr. It /was/ a bad downdraft.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth rides the wave calmly, though
light splinters into shards that glitter crystalline. << Ah, so. It is
a poor thing when drills go badly. >> How reassuring we are,
Lysseth. << But that is the only way to learn. Be cheered; at least
you needn't endure what Kassima puts *our* Wingmates through. >>
Ominous-sounding, that.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath thickens his walls a mite. << Oh? >>

Kassima agrees at once, over the sound of boxes being rearranged, "Oh,
I can imagine. It happens, but I've yet t'see the pair that take it
calmly. Including m'self. Though I daresay it affected others also?"

E'vrin reports sadly, "He was laughed at. We were scolded, but the
humiliation was worse. Such a prideful beast. --What /is/ this gift?
You're making enough noise over it to make me nervous."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies with a few brief,
flickered images: hapless dragons and riders taking turns at being
blindfolded, blundering about at the other's direction. <<
Trust-building exercises, she calls them. I'm not certain why she
feels that trust only comes when dignity is lost. >> With verdigris
discomfiture, she adds, << Even we had to suffer through this. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath drifts a time-soaked memory, damp 
and musty, across the interface: blindfolded dragons flying high,
trying to catch dropped balls seen only by their riders. <<
Humiliation, >> he lofts, aggrieved, << is a common training
technique. >>

"'Fly to your doom laughing, proud beast; the best of the best, more
suitors than sense, more wealth than wisdom, sharp claws ready to dig
your own funeral pit,'" Kassima quotes as she finally turns back from
the present-pile, a simple, flat box held between her hands. "Pride
goes before a fall, they say, and yet sometimes it's all that keeps us
going. Better to be laughed at than dead. You really want me to spoil
the surprise?" She does her level best to look wounded.

E'vrin eyes the box. Eyes the wounded look. Sighs. "No, no, I'll humor
you. G'wan."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees with desert dryness, << It
seems to be. Perhaps they think to bring Wingmates closer together by
giving them a common enemy. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath grouses, << As if Thread is not
enough, humiliation must be another? >>

Kassima seats herself on a box, which creaks some protest, and the
smaller container on her lap. Or what's left of her lap. "I *told* you
'twouldn't kill you," she points out, nose wrinkling, before lifting
the cover to reveal... plaid? Yes. Black and yellow plaid, a tooled
leather belt, a matching sable turtleneck. Not hard to guess, all
told, but she clarifies anyway: "A kilt. You said you weren't afraid
of them, and Faranth knows, I'm out to kilt the world."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth is the one to shrug, this time. <<
Humans are illogical beasts. Perhaps they fear we would think too much
of dignity in Fall, and do something foolish to preserve it. >> No
teasing note; she's serious. Maybe.

E'vrin must repeat, "Oh, my," and does. After a second look at the
ensemble, he repeats it again. A hand reaches out, draws back. "Kassi
... I don't know what to say."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath is serious, too, his thoughts
drawn into crystal-strict patterns without extraneous music. <<
Dignity is all we have in the world, in the end; death would take it
from us, and so we must hold to that above all else. >>

Kassima grins, a gamin's grin that turns her expression to pure
mischief. "Well, you've nay screamed and run off the ledge in terror
yet. I coonsider that t'be a good start."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth corrects, crystalline herself, but
random, varied, flashing color and wild melody, << Dignity?
No. Love. For our riders, if nothing else; even death cannot take
that. And duty, though that is colder yet than dignity. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath would sniff. Still might,
soon. << Love is overrated. >>

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth asks simply, << Do you not love
your rider? >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath shields. << Yes. Why else would I
say it? >>

[Sharath was the topic of discussion between E'vrin and Macami earlier
 in the day.  Sharath remembers that.  And is still irked.]

E'vrin frowns with great focus on the gifts. "No, I still don't know
what to say. This /is/ embarrassing. I was a harper, for crying out
loud."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth is somewhat troubled, shadow
flickering amidst silver. << I cannot imagine the bond to one's rider
being overrated. >> A foreign concept for the green. << Even when they
are being ridiculous, and that is often, there is always the love. >>

Kassima chuckles and closes the box again, setting it on the battered
table/footstool. "Well," she admits, "this was more a jest than the
last. Revenge, you might say, for your theft of my stick. Though I do
think you'd look better in it than some."

E'vrin frowns. Then, sudden and direct: "Do you think I'm attractive?"

Kassima starts to answer at once, then thinks better of it and tilts
her head back to give this question due consideration. "Aye," she
finally answers, lifting an eyebrow. "In a fashion, if'n nay
classically so. Why?"

E'vrin smiles briefly, perhaps for the pause given, and answers, "Came
up in conversations earlier today, after that wretched drill. I don't
know. It's sparked odd thoughts." He shakes his head. "Thank you for
the gifts, though, love. They're very appreciated, and I'll bet a kilt
would be comfortable in a desert summer, right?"

Kassima thinks to point out, reasonably, "I could've said, 'Aye,
a'course,' but would you believe me then? Too easy to give the simple
answer. *I* think you are, anyway; I just don't put much store in
physical looks, so I had t'be considering that, if'n you ken. What odd
thoughts, or shouldn't I ask?" A shrug, and a smile. "Always
welcome. I've still a bit t'go ere I catch up t'you on the tally!
I'truth, I'd think so--but I don't know that I ever wore one to
Igen. Other places, aye, but nay Igen."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath clarifies after a moment's silent
musing, << Love is overrated. A rider's bond, perhaps not so much
so. /Love/-- >> and he gives the concept a gestaltic shading of memory
and meaning, impression and sense << --can be. It is not so
important. Food is more important than love. >>

E'vrin squints suddenly out at the ledge, shakes his head, comes
back. "Odd thoughts? Someone is of the opinion, down at fair Igen,
that I'm not /living,/ but merely going through the motions of life. I
think it has something to do with not making myself attractive,
flirting, and sleeping around."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth muses over that, herself, deep
blue shading further into midnight. << Love, >> she finally replies,
the concept portrayed as a flame that changes color and intensity with
its direction and intent, << is a confusing thing. A human thing, so
it goes without saying. It does not sustain the body, but my rider
would argue that it's needed in *some* form--such as the bond--to
sustain the soul. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath insists, << Food. Food is very
important. >> Doesn't help that cupric, coppery hunger is shading the
edges of his own mental fire, but...

Kassima lifts both her eyebrows this time, her expression turning
vaguely sardonic. "Oh, I've nay been alive at any time of m'life
either, then? Funny; I'd certes never realized. If'n you feel emotion,
I say, then you're alive, and I dare you t'be saying that you're
unfeeling."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees, amusement bringing back
cerulean's shade, << Well, yes. You should probably eat something, you
know. >>

"That was nearly /my/ point! --Except I informed this good-intentioned
person that it's my life, I'm mostly content, and I'll waste it if I
want." E'vrin closes his hands around each other in his lap. solemn as
a schoolboy. "I'm very tired of lectures, Kassima."

Sharath> I bespoke Lysseth with << Oh, I suppose. Later. Your ledge is
too warm from the sun to move. >>

Kassima allows, "That's the right answer, too." She curls her fingers
around an imaginary glass, raising it in a toast. "To each having
their own; may they prosper so long as they harm none, as Da always
said. I'll try t'forego any lectures. You *will* tell me whenever I
start boring you, won't you?"

E'vrin says gravely, "You haven't done so yet, and I would tell you if
you did. Are you really out to kilt the world? Should I warn my
Weyrleaders?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees with some slight pride, <<
That is one reason I chose it. It is rarely shaded, as high up as it
is, and there are some times when it is good to have warmth. >>

[Left the dragon conversation there.  I was spammed.]

Kassima twirls her wrist around three times before snapping a
mock-salute. "Aye, sir! That is my mission, my goal--yea, my very
purpose in life! Give me kilts or give me death! Well, all right, so
I'd really settle for a good pair of slacks--but don't tell the other
men that." Pointing towards the boxed kilt, she confides with a grin,
"They're good luck, y'know."

E'vrin frets, playing along, "But I can't wear them during Fall,
because of the cold. What else is luck for?"

"I knew a man who was conned into one right a'fore a goldflight,"
Kassi reminisces, tapping her finger against her chin. "He won, if'n I
recall. And there are always Hatchings, Gathers, all *sorts* of events
where good luck can be useful... though I don't recommend wearing them
when you're flying in an aerial display. My Wingsecond did that,
once. His dragon decided to do a power dive. The display was a
flashi--ahem, smashing success, one might say."

E'vrin's eyes go narrow again. 'Smashing.' Mm-hmm. "It's really
gratification for you, isn't it? Not for those who wear them."

Kassima admits, caught, "Well... some. But they *are* good luck. And
some men like them. Kiat wore them ere I ever started m'kilting
crusade."

E'vrin doesn't gloat his victory. "Well, that's all right. I just
don't think I have the knees for it." Pause. "You wouldn't compare me
to R'ehn, would you?"

Kassima wrinkles her nose, but doesn't contest the point for now,
instead pointing out, "How could I? You don't have the scary hair. And
you definitely aren't a pawn. Why would you think I'd do that?"

You say "How we look in a kilt." He ducks his head, blinks up at her
through spiky lashes. "I'm sure there are other points of comparison,
but..."

Kassima snorts with some amusement at that. "I do *nay* go about
comparing men's legs, m'dear. Unless I've a need or reason to want
t'be teasing them, and I'm sure you'd never give me cause for *that*."

E'vrin informs her, "A Lower Caverns woman has claimed me as her
project. I'm to be fattened up; I'm too thin. Which includes, I
suppose, my legs."

Kassima demands lightly, "And what's wrong with being thin?" Normally,
after all, Kassi herself is something of a rake. "You'll never see a
fat dragonrider--or almost never--for very good reason. She should
probably give it up. Besides, there are down sides to being fat, like
waddling; trust me on this one."

You say "And how /is/ the baby?"

Kassima doesn't answer that one right away; she's silent a moment, and
then asks abruptly, "May I have your hand?"

E'vrin offers one, since he has two and all and neither is doing
anything at the moment. "Will you give it back?"

Kassima rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. "Nay, I'm going t'cut it
off and hang it on m'wall as a trophy." Scooting forward on the box,
she curls her fingers around the proffered wrist and brings the hand
to rest on one side of her abdomen... where one might just feel, if
one were paying attention, faint movement. A flutter, not much
more. "Baby seems fine t'me," she finally answers with a slow smile,
"but I thought you might like t'feel for yourself."

"It moved!" E'vrin exclaims and scoots even closer, his hand splayed,
searching, over rounding belly. "My stars in the great wide sky
... /that's my baby/!"

Kassima laughs with delight at this reaction, eyes almost
glowing. "Finally sunk in, did that? She--or he--does move about quite
a bit these days. 'Twill be kicking me black and blue soon."

E'vrin whispers, "Shards. Really? Does it hurt? It'd be worth the
pain, almost, to be able to feel that.... You're making new life,
Kassima. All /inside/ you."

Kassima starts to nod, then shakes her head, then nods again, and
finally switches to verbal before she gets terribly confused. "Really,
but it doesn't hurt. If'n it did, you're right... 'twould be worth
it. This is a big part of what makes pregnancy worth it for the woman,
I think--apart from the end result. That's a given." Placing her hand
over his, she notes quietly and with great warmth, "Couldn't be doing
it without you, y'know."

E'vrin looks up at her, sidelong from his head's tipped position, and
twists a smile back. "Such a very little contribution, though,
compared to yours. The gifts don't count: they're attempts to assuage
my guilt that I can't help out more."

Kassima shakes her head vehemently at that, a few loose wisps flying
free of her runner's-tail. "There's nay guilt to assauge,
E'vrin--none. You do help, and I appreciate it more than I can ever
say. You wouldn't *have* to, after all. And I wouldn't have asked it."

"And you like gifts, anyway," E'vrin finishes shrewdly. He pulls his
hand back, reluctant, and folds himself more neatly in his seat. "I
need to get Sharath back to the Weyr, because of that drill, but I'll
be thinking about how to repay you for /yours,/ for this kilt."
Pause. "And for the baby."

Kassima admits ruefully, "Guilty as charged; you've caught me. But
don't worry about repayment. There's naught t'repay; I like giving
gifts as much as I do receiving them."

"And I don't?" E'vrin asks lightly, rising. His hand returns, to cup
her chin, tip her head up, and then mold palm to cheek. Serious,
somber, he tells her, "I do like the kilt, and I do like giving you
gifts. You're my friend. Occasionally, my haven. A few times, in the
dark of the night, the only bright star in my sky. Indulge me,
please?"

Kassima lifts a hand, pale and long-fingered, to rest on his cheek in
turn. Eyes dark and sober, too, she whispers,
"A'course. A'course. Little enough to ask... especially when 'tis a
pleasure. You've given me more gifts than you know; if'n you give
more, let it be for the pleasure of giving, nay because there's aught
t'repay."

E'vrin smiles, then, just that and lets himself slip away without
rupturing mood. "Good night, Kassima."

Kassima smiles back, and answers softly, "G'night, E'vrin."

[Travel home deleted:]
--
Igen Weyr Living Cavern(#600RJMQ)
Igen's living cavern is an immense hollow in the volcanic caldera,
stretching up two stories, the light of the glows and the hearth
reflected in the quartz which peppers the swirled sandstone unique to
this region. One hundred feet wide and one hundred and fifty feet
long, the room could, and, as the social center of the weyr, often
does, seat the entire weyr. Tapestries adorn the walls, depicting
scenes from Pern's past. The head table sits upon a raised platform at
the far eastern side of the room, in front of a huge fireplace which
is continually burning.
A wide balcony overlooks the cavern, and large tunnels lead west out
to the bowl, and south to the kitchens. A smaller tunnel leads off to
the east, beyond which lay the inner caverns of the Weyr. A small
doorway in the northern wall opens to the infirmary, and a quiet door
to the northeast opens into the Records Room. In the corner one may
+view a plaque.
Contents:
Matro
Meal Table
--

E'vrin shuffles inside, a long, flat box caught against his hip under
an arm's pin.

Matro notices the entering stranger. "Good evening," Matro says,
intrigued by his mug.
Matro says "Just havin' some klah, ya interested?"

Mug? Mug is good. E'vrin appears to be contemplating a mug for his
own. Settling the box on a table (faint chinks and muffled noises
inside), he regards the new voice's owner above akimbo arms. "Good
evening," he returns, mellow enough. "Klah sounds good, thank you."

K'gen comes in from the Bowl.

Matro says "Good, I've been enjoying it all evening."
Matro notices the box. "Whatcha got in there? By the way, I'm Mat."

--
As you look at this young man, you notice his quiet demeanor. The son
of Coraton the Baker, Matro was always taught to keep to
himself. Despite this he is strong both in mental and physical
stamina. At first shy, his true nature becomes evident to you once a
true friendship has been forged. Standing no more than 5'10", Matros'
blue eyes and dark brown hair give him an almost boyish
appearance. Since he was orphaned at a young age (his parents dying of
Threadfall), Matro has learned to take care of himself, and in this
wise is quite a man. A bit shy around the ladies, since he never had a
female companion, Matro tries his best to appear gentlemanlike. At no
more than 20 turns, Matro is older than his years. He wears simple
garb, nothing fancy. As you begin to turn away, you feel something
unique about him. What, you cannot finger, but it's there, waiting to
be unmasked. Matro proudly wears an Igen Weyr knot.
--

K'gen waves as he comes in and sits down, wobbling and protective of
his right leg.
K'gen looks at Matro.

"E'vrin," the other returns absently, collecting his flat box to slide
it, with himself and a mug, at Matro's table. "Well met, Mat. --K'gen,
are you all right, there?"

K'gen grins and smiles to E'vrin and indicates his leg, "Scored."

Matro waves to the newcomers. "Merry Meet, uh... Ah, E'vrin is it
.. I'm new around here, I'll get all these names sooner or later. Did
I hear K'gen? Evenin'.

K'gen smiles, "Evening Mat."

E'vrin winces. "Shards. Bad? --Sharath's rider, Mat, if you really
want to keep--" no, don't say _score_ "--track, but 'E'vrin' makes me
turn around readily enough."

K'gen grins and nods, "Darloth's rider... and not horrible,
E'vrin. Darloth was spared."

Matro says "The Headwoman and others were here earlier. I thought I'd
stick around, glad I did."
Matro nods at the mention of the dragons. "Keeping you busy, ah, must
be."

"I have a gift from a friend in the box," E'vrin answers Matro then,
quietly apologetic for the lapse. "...Well, that's a mercy,
K'gen. Sharath and I have yet to be truly hit." Ick. Subject
change. "New here, Mat?"

Matro winces. "Hit. Score." he shudders, then dismisses. "Uh, yes, I
am. Actually tonight's my first night as a resident. The Headwoman
brought me in just a few hours ago.
Matro says "Trying to meet some friends, feel kinda lonely
sometimes. Got no family."

K'gen nods to E'vrin. "We lost a good friend in the fall."

E'vrin ponders the depths of his mug, then looks up. "Truly? Well
... that's frank of you, I'll have to give you that. I hope you find
some friends here; Igen's a good place." An eye to K'gen, a muffled
noise. "I'm sorry. Again."

K'gen smiles, "I thank you, E'vrin."

Matro says "Oh ya, don't get me wrong, people here are great. I know
I'll like it here."
Matro gives an awkward smile. "Hey tho, can we talk about something a
bit lighter? ALways a touchy subject for me, the Falls."

E'vrin lifts a brief toast. "Friends and Fall -- such a /lovely/
conversation, I have to agree, Mat. Let's see. What else is there?"

K'gen toasts with a invisible glass.

Matro lifts his glass, joining in. "Yes, what is there? And get
yourself a mug, K'gen, and a chair!"

You say "Since we're all up at this hour anyway, right."

Matro nods. "I went back to the dorms, trying to sleep, no luck. I'm
not in the mood, it seems."

E'vrin quirks his mouth. "Not that klah will help /that./"

Matro grins. "True...but hey, it's my first night, I'm breakin' it
in!"

E'vrin laughs softly. "Good for you, Mat, and welcome, indeed, to Igen
Weyr. Lyria took care of you, then?"

K'gen is already sitting, "I'd love to get a mug, but right now,
sitting is just fine with m'leg."

Matro says "Oh yes, she did. I really like her, nice woman. Nice. They
had me goin', whats there names, Freya and Tiborn? They had me
thinkin' Freya was the headwoman, I was all confused!""
Matro nods. "Maybe later then, K'gen? Can I help you with that leg,
anything?"

You say "Or we could fetch you a mug, certainly."

K'gen chuckles, "I don't want to be a burden."

Matro says "Of course not, friend."

K'gen ponders, thinking.

Matro smiles. "Really K'gen, that must hurt."

K'gen says "The score? Most painful thing I've felt...."

E'vrin leans his arm over his chair's back. "K'gen, you're no
burden. You're hurt, we're not, we can get a mug for you. You aren't
asking for one of /our/ legs, after all."

K'gen says "Oh, sure..."

Matro looks concerned. "You should have that looked at.."

K'gen smiles, "I just hate being .... so slow... Oh, I had it looked
at, redworted and numbweeded half to between. Stitches come out
tomorrow."

Matro says "So what gift you got in the box, E'vrin?"

You say "You know, we could have you with a mug right now,
K'gen. Really." He swings wide eyes 'round at
Matro. "--Oh. It's. A. Well, it's a kilt, actually."

Matro stands up. "I know what you need, K'gen, trust me." He returns
with 3 mugs of klah. "Here, take one, or all three."

K'gen grins and takes one of them, looking at the contents. "Well,
thanks..."

Matro grins. "See, I know what dragonmen need. Not sayin' I can give
you all ya need, tho..." Matro laughs to himself. "E'vrin? Take
another?"

E'vrin shakes his head. "Happy with mine, thank you, Mat."

Matro sits down with the two mugs. "So, how now? Drink up, men!"

K'gen chuckles.

E'vrin's mouth pulls aslant again. "You /are/ energetic, aren't you?
How do you do it? I'm worn down to a nub."

K'gen says "How many cups of klah *have* you had?"

Matro smiles. "Anyway. Yes well, I don't have a dragon to ride."
Thoughtfully. "Yet." "It's the food, the drink, haven't had such good
stuff in a /long/ time."

K'gen says "I think someone just became a klah drinker..."

You say "Now, K'gen. Weren't you terribly excited, and awake, when you
first came here?"

Matro taps his fingers on the table. "No, honest, been drinkin'
awhile...gosh, it's been awhole few months, at /least/!"

K'gen chuckles, "Honestly? No. I was sleepy, just pulled off two days
duties."

Rellyn ambles out from the inner caverns.

Matro says "Well, you must be tired. Don't let me keep you, what with
that leg and all."

Rellyn strides into the cavern, humming quietly but merrily to
herself. She nods to those she recognizes before dropping
unceremoniously into a seat a bit away from the others.

Rellyn looks at Matro.

K'gen chuckles, "Actually, exhaustion is the last thing I am."

Matro eyes the newcomer. "Hello, um.."

K'gen waves to Rellyn.

Matro grins. "Good!"

E'vrin eyes Rellyn, too.

Matro kicks a chair with his foot.

Rellyn flashes a friendly grin to the trio who all simultaneously look
her way. "Heyla. Rellyn here." She grins around the three. "It's been
a while since I've been here apparently... I don' t know any of you.

"E'vrin," the lanky, uptight-looking one offers from his seat by
Matro. "I'm sure I've seen you, but..."

K'gen adjusts his headwear slightly, "K'gen."

Matro beams at Rellyn. "Well, I'd be willing to get to know you," he
says, sheepishly. "Name's Mat, pleasure to see, uh, meet you."
Matro taps his fingers on the table.

Rellyn nods, then shakes her head, then blinks. A soft chuckle bubbles
forth from her lips. "Well met E'vrin, K'gen, Mat." Her grin touches
her lips and sparkles in her eyes. "And... I would be glad to get to
know you as well." She winks at the young man, mischief glimmering
across her features.

E'vrin explains for Rellyn's benefit, "Mat couldn't sleep; he's active
enough for the rest of us."

Matro grins. To Rellyn. "I'm a bit shy, you understand? You'll have to
help me...open up." He grins and sits back in his chair. "Thirsy?"

Rellyn laughs airily, her smile playful. "Is that the way of it then?
Well, you seem very shy to me indeed." She glances then at
E'vrin. "Thank you for the warning."

Matro hmms. He didn't see a warning. "Thirsty, we were just
drinkin'...nice quiet juices and all..."

E'vrin looks wise over his mug. "It's the klah. Or the fact that
you're new, Mat, eh? It happens."

K'gen sips at his mug, hmmming softly.

Matro says "I'm excited, being new. I haven't had /real/ talk in a
long time, not since my parents....well, I'm here now, I might as well
enjoy it!"
Matro says "How's the leg, K'gen? That drink help it any?"

Rellyn grins, nodding. "That I am. But juices? What of the good ale
they used to serve here?" Her eyes dart to the serving table. "And I
am nearly always bubbly and excited, so we'll make a good team."
Again, that brief lowering of lashes over one eye, a teasing wink.

K'gen says "It didn't help the leg any, but it is one of the best cups
of klah I've tasted."

E'vrin scolds them both, "You make me feel /old,/" without much
acrimony. Too mellow for that; it's late. "I'd better push off for
bed, before you put me by the fire with the other old uncles."

Matro nods. "Good K'gen. Well then, wait a sec E'vrin..."

E'vrin widens wary eyes at him. "Hmm?"

Raina ambles out from the inner caverns.

Rellyn laughs lightly. "You don't /look/ old." Sparkling jade eyes
dart over the dragonrider, and she smiles softly. "How old /are/ you?"

Matro stands, extending his hand. Serious. "I hope we have many more
meetings, thanks for stopping by!"

Raina wanders in from her workshop, yawning "Evening" she waves to
those she knows and those she doesn't. Heading for the table, she
pours juice instead of Klah, then looks around for a seat.

Matro nearly forgets what he's doing. "You have...beautiful eyes,
Rellyn." Back to E'vrin. "Sleep well!"

E'vrin pauses by his chair, and he smiles, passes his palm over
Matro's. "I'm sure we will. I live here, too, right?" Dropping his
arm, he lets his own green eyes ponder Rellyn's, with her
question. "I'll have twenty-five Turns soon."

Matro kicks a chair for the newcomer. "I'm Mat, nice to meet you!"

Rellyn nods, eyes level and even bold on E'vrin's. "That's not so
bad." She grins more deeply, then wiggles her fingers in a bit of a
wave. "Sleep well, bronzerider."

K'gen grins.

E'vrin crooks his smile over her, then over the group -- including
Raina, oh yes -- and takes his gift box and goes.

[Bedtime!  Log ends.]