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Gimme a Head With Hair, Floofy Evil Hair


Date:  April 22, 2003
Place:  Lysseth and Kassima's Weyr
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  Ozy comes to visit Kassi, bearing an incredibly sweet
and beautiful (and comical) present!  And Kassi repays him for this 
by telling him all the evil and traumatizing things I'sai and Katlynn
have said regarding him.  Poor bronzerider. ;)  At least he gets beer
out of the deal too.

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The Log:

There's a flash of autumn colored bronze in the spring sky, and the faintly
longer exchange of bugled greetings with the watchdragon that heralds the
presence of an out-Weyr dragon. There's a faint whisper of sun-baked
feline-fur for Lysseth, by way of announcement, and then fwoosh, a descent
of bright wings, and a sharp snap as better than thirty-seven meters of
dragon descends to the ledge. O'wyn slides down from said dragon's nexk,
tumbler-agile, expression altogether cheerful. He's carrying a thick,
folded waterproof something.

And Lysseth returns that salutation, mentally with a flash of blue-lit
crystal, physically with a rumble that's amiably-voiced--and holding
perhaps a touch of amused approval for that improved ledge descent. The
ledge, of course, mutters to itself in irritation about having failed its
quest to be evil today. The entrance curtain to the weyr has been pulled
back, with the weather reasonably clement, and Kassi's voice is thus
clearly audible as she cheerfully calls, "C'mon in! You have good timing--I
just finished oiling the fire-lizards, which means you escape me trying
t'cajole you into helping, lucky man."

Baeth, yes, looks rather smug about his newfound ability to land sanely on
the ledge. O'wyn doesn't help at all though, as he asides to the green.
"He's been practicing." This, yes, gets him sharply nudged by an autumn
toned snout. "Well you -have- been!" He protests. He doesn't quite shed his
riding jacket yet, though he does absently un-button in, the bright colors
of his regular gear showing beneath. The air may be pleasant enough, but
he's Southern-bred enough to be slow to lose that extra layer of warmth.
"Hah, and with the horde of them you keep, that sounds like a lucky chore
to have missed indeed," he agrees, sounding entertained as he heads into
the weyr proper. "I swear, how you do it I'll never guess. Keeping the big
critter oiled is trick enough for me. But then I was the one candidate who
never wanted to wash dragons, so maybe I'm just a laze-end," he suggests,
pale eyes alight with amusement.

Lysseth doesn't bother trying to hide her amusement, not at all. She gives
a rippling rumble of dragon-laughter, eyes spinning blue; at least there's
some sympathy mixed in with it. Well does she know the evils of an
unhelpful rider. *Trust* her. Kassi's standing near her cheaper
table-also-known-as-footstool, wiping oil from her hands with a much-abused
rag, and she offers over a bright grin. "You have nay idea. Could be worse,
though; it could be *feeding* 'em, and I once had someone faint on me when
I tried t'get 'em t'help with *that*. Brownriders. Nay fortitude at all.
D'you think ending up with such a large lifemate is fate's way of thumbing
its nose at you, for nay liking t'wash dragons a'fore?" She's teasing, and
openly amused by the concept. "Anyway, at the moment at least I have some
time t'coddle 'em. When I'm drilling, though, they're just out of luck and
have t'settle for swimming in the oil bin. What's that you're carrying?"
Trust her to spot that right away.

And O'wyn is given another distinctly annoyed sort of look from Baeth, and
the bronze curls up on himself somewhat, as if in search of the tattered
remains of his dignity. He rumbles quiet agreement on the evils of
rider-kind to Lysseth. See, she at least understands his pain. O'wyn pauses
in the entrance a beat to just regard you a moment, with a distinct smile.
The pause is momentary however, and he pads the rest of the way in.
"Feeding that mass, oof. I'm glad my two are more inclined to eat with
Baeth. And yes, -yes- I very much think so. As much as I groused about
being dragged into helping folks wash their dragons, he just -had- to be
the biggest in his clutch." He grins at that last, and offers over the
bundle. "It's for you," he explains. Inside the water-proofing is a quilt,
perhaps rather unsurprisingly, knowing Ozy. Rather than being formed of
scraps and worn bits as more common quilts are, this one has been crafted
of newer fabrics. Though they're no less soft for their lack of age.
Tumbled flannels, soft cottons, a great deal of care has been taken with
the textures involved. Also, unlike most quilts, it doesn't possess a
repeated regular pattern of straight lines or geometric shapes. No, this
piece is definitely scenic instead. Waving scalloped ridges of assorted
mottled blues form stylized waves. Leaping amongst them are a variety of
improbably brightly colored fish, arched here and there in stark relief as
if they were leaping from the water. Surrounding the whole affair are
jagged swaths of green, alternating pale-sage and jungle-dark, the rimmed
edges of a pond. And of course, because the quilt wouldn't be half so
entertaining without them, there are two long streaks of sectioned brown,
with black lines trailing. Yep, they're fishing poles, even so far as to
having bright painted corks as floaters marking where the lines enter the
water.

<Weavers> Learan saves Kassi from the bronzeriders ;)

<Weavers> I'sai eyes Kassi's knives. I think she's perfectly capable on her
own, generous thought aside.

Kassima matches that smile with one of her own, clearly pleased to see you,
as outside Lyss offers a reassuring warble that might be *more* reassuring
if there weren't still amusement in it. Baeth's perfectly dignified.
Really! "The Swarm usually feeds off Lysseth's kills," Kassi agrees,
ruefully, "or hunts tunnelsnakes, or fishes, for itself, but now and again
they demand some preferential treatment--well, you probably know how
'lizards can be even if'n you don't have a bloody insane number. For me?"
She's surprised, but pleased again, and once she's holding it is as quick
to open it as any child might be with a Turnday present. There's a quiet
exclamation of more surprise, and delight; and then, as she unfolds it
enough to make out the pattern, laughter. "Ozy! This is *beautiful*! Did
you make--? Shells, the *poles*, you must've! I *love* it--so soft, and
'tis just perfect. Oh, thankee!" Impulsively, she moves to try and hug you
in thanks without letting go of her new quilt, with a soft kiss on the
cheek for good measure.

<Weavers> Learan knows nothing about no knives. Yet :)

<Weavers> Kassima snickers! Hey, no saving me from bronzeriders who bring
me sweet and comical presents! ;)

Outside there's a simply harrumph from Baeth, and he retreats to a
preferred tactic when women are laughing at him, he curls around so his
head is beneath his wing. If he can't see the mockery, clearly it isn't
really happening. "Yeah, trust me, I know," O'wyn agrees, with more than a
hint of rue to his words. "Some days they just demand to be spoiled. Natesa
was -right- miffed that I wasn't spending this afternoon at home, I'll say
that for nothing." He brightens at the reaction, looking pleased. "Yeah, I
did. Sorry it took so long, but I kind of have to sneak time here and there
to work on quilts, these days." He looks pleased with the affection, and
returns the hug. "I'm glad you like it then. I admit, I was kind of pleased
to finally get to make a quilt for somebody who might have use for one. If
there's much more useless than a quilter at a Southern Weyr, I'm not sure
of what it is."

"Well, I'm sorry for your poor miffed lady, even if'n I'm nay sorry m'self
that you're nay spending the afternoon at home," Kassi decides, stepping
back with a warm if sheepish grin. She considers a moment before meandering
for her fancier, larger table, the better to spread the quilt out on it so
she can better admire. "Shells, *long*? I'm amazed you could do that at
all, much less in as little time as there's been; I certes couldn't--'tis
really wonderful, Ozy. I know I'm repeating m'self and probably sound
inane, but I do like it; I like it a lot. I've never had a quilt a'fore.
And the poles are just comic gold." Laughing quietly, she protests, "Didn't
you yourself say even Southern needs warmth during the raining season? I'm
sure 'tweren't useless; and even if'n they don't sleep under one of these,
'twould make a lovely wall decoration, with such artistry. Have your duties
been getting more evil of late?"

"Natty can survive," O'wyn assures, with an amused sort of look. "She just
prefers me somewhere I'll be a lap for her, is all. I think she's gotten
used to how rarely that happens ever since I impressed. She liked me better
as a quilter." He trails along, with a slightly shy sort of smile. "Well, I
do have the benefit of having made my living that way for a while. And I
was quilting about as soon as I could walk. All the Jabari tents and all
are quilted. Usually in eye-melt colors. And I'm glad you like it. The
poles, well, I couldn't resist. And yeah, true enough, we do get -some-
cold. And the constant damp is rough." He shakes his head slightly. "Nah,
not so badly. The hatching's past, so I'm rid of candidate coordinator, at
least. It's just been chaotic with everything else, is all. Still, a fine
enough hatching, for all I barely recall it."

Kassima has to grin--though she quickly looks abashed: "Shells, I didn't
invite you t'sit--you can, y'know, if'n you want; make yourself at home,
and that goes for any time you're here, truly. Which in turn reminds me
that I got you something too, though 'tisn't something even half so amazing
as this." Smiling back, she can't resist teasing, "Eye-melt colors, like
your clothing?" with an attempt to reach and tug playfully at the collar of
your shirt. "Nay that I'm complaining; I like colors. You should just see
the riding jacket I used t'wear. Is it broilingly humid there, too? 'Twould
think with all the dampness, it must be." Her smile shifts towards
sympathetic. "That's at least something. Was the Hatching a terrible
bustle? And tell me about the everything else?"

O'wyn smiles a little sheepishly in return, but he absently drops down to a
seat. "Thanks, I appreciate that. It's good to be off my feet a bit. I had
sweeps over our Weaver earlier, and I ended up hiking here and there and
everywhere, chasing after reports of renegades." There's a quick, amused
look. "You and Zaylara, picking on my clothes. I -like- the bright.
Besides, it makes it easy for folks to find me in a crowd." He brushes a
hand at his jacket's sleeve. "My riding gear's bland enough, but then I
rarely wear it outside of sweeps or fall, I confess." He nods then firmly.
"It's fall now, so it's humid all day, cool in the evenings dead hot in the
afternoons, and we get crashing mid-afternoon storms pretty much every
day." There's another nod. "Crazy mess, it was. We had yet another storm. A
nasty one, this. There was stuff blown all over the sands. Tree limbs,
bugs, sheets off peoples clothes lines. A right mess. And the everything
else, goodness. Well, Azami gave birth, would be the big one in my own
life, if not Southern's as a whole."

Kassima strokes the quilt's soft material once more before helping herself
to a box-with-cushion near yours, looking slightly relieved once she's off
her own feet. "I know the feeling there. And should sympathize even more in
another month or two. Shells--your Weaver Hall has a renegade infestation
now?" A wry expression chases the surprised one across her face. "Got
t'hand it t'Weavercraft; never a dull moment, apparently... hey, hey,
'twasn't picking! I like 'em! Now, if'n you had orange with magenta and
violet, and streaks of hot pink and olive green, then, *then* 'twould be
having issues with your clothes. Or would if'n 'tweren't struck blind by
the first sight. Is this weather a bit easier on your joints than the snow
was? And may I say, I'm just as glad t'have our spring over your autumn?
Though the storms might be fun t'watch... sheets. On the Hatching Sands.
What a mental image." She just shakes her head, amused, but then seems to
remember something: "Faranth, I'm forgetting again! That present! One
second--" The greenrider scrambles up from her seat and to her wine
cabinet, which she rummages around with some sloshes and clinks ensuing
before rolling out a smallish cask. This, she nudges gently with her feet
until it's rolled over to where you're sitting. "A little heavy," she says,
apologetic, "but it shouldn't be too bad. Oh, she did! Aye, a'course big in
your life--did it go well? She's all right? Boy or girl, and how're you
liking being a father, then?"

"Ah, yeah, at least I'm just carrying myself," O'wyn agrees, offering you
an apologetic smile of sorts. "And Weaver itself doesn't, but there's a
fair amount of jungle around it, I'm afraid. Heh. Everything's got a fair
amount of jungle around it, back home. That's the problem, sometimes."
There's a face made, and a quiet laugh for the suggested colors. "Okay,
ugh. That'd be a nightmare and then some, I'll be the first to agree.
Sorry, I get razzed a lot for my clothes, back home. The rainstorms aren't
so good for the joints, but yeah, a -fair- sight better than snow. Snow's
outright the worst, I'll tell you that for nothing." He grins then,
bemused. "Red sheets. Red sheets belonging to ah, our local official Randy
Bronzer. Please note the implied capital letters." He watches the cask
rolling, and shifts to his feet to try and forestall you. "Ack, be careful!
Aren't pregnant women supposed to avoid heavy sorts of things?" He smiles,
expression faintly distant, but pleased. "They -tell- me it went well. It
looked a right mess to -me-. But she's all right. And she's a little girl,
Zyana. I admit, I'm enjoying it, such as I get the chance to. She's an
adorable little tiny thing. And Azami's only threatened to have me drowned
a -few- times."

Kassima shakes her head at the apology in that smile, her own reassuring.
"But you've done a lot more in the way of walking today than I have, by the
sound, so 'tis little wonder you'd be tired of standing. Does the jungle
help hide the renegades?" Pause. She makes a face. "Nay m'brightest
question ever; 'twould nigh have to, wouldn't it? And aye, methinks I'll
see those colors in m'dreams tonight, and like as nay wake up
screaming--I'm glad 'tis better than snow. You shouldn't have t'be
suffering joint pain t'be visiting... oh, dear. Oh, dear. Is this the same
man whom you supposedly--nay that I personally see it--look enough like an
ovine t'be tempting? Or is that a different randy person? If'n 'tis a
different one, you've m'pity that there are *two* of 'em." Grinning, she
holds up her hands to assure, "Don't worry, I'm nay about t'pick it up!
'Tis why I rolled it over here. Shouldn't harm it; methinks they roll 'em
at the Hall when they're storing 'em... 'tis some of Telgar's wheat beer,
y'see. The region's famed for it, and you seemed t'like beer, so I thought
it might be something you'd like." She's sheepish, yes. Settling back into
her seat, she grins warmly at the description. "Zyana. As fine a name as
any without the Fortunate Letter can be--felicitations, Ozy, you must be so
proud. Have you had more time with her than you feared? And why did she
want t'*drown* you? Unless you mean during labor. *That* would make some
sense."

There's a flicker of amusement, and O'wyn half-grins, before nodding. "It
does a right good job of hiding them, sure enough. It's why we can't catch
the buggers, I'm afraid. Aw now, I didn't -mean- to bring on color induced
night-terrors, though I guess one could argue you did it to yourself," he
notes with amusement. "Yeah, I'm fair enough not hurting this time,
certainly. This weather's almost nice, by my standards. Heh, yeah, that
would be him exactly. Thankfully there's only one K'vay, or we'd be
doomed." He looks relieved then, and drops back lightly to his chair,
brightening. "Wheat beer? Okay, now that's right neat. And yeah, I confess
I'm altogether partial to beer. Odd enough, consider I was some twenty
turns old before I ever tasted alcohol. Thanks, this is terrific." He
brightens a moment, nodding. "I'm partial to the name, I admit. And thanks.
I've not had -much- time, but it's been work keeping me busy." There's an
embarrassed pause. "Well, you know how -hard- babies sleep at first? Maybe
I kind of woke her up a couple of times, to make sure she was still alive."

"And I suppose someone somewhere would probably object to the idea of
trying t'cut or burn down the jungle so they'd have nay more place t'hide,"
Kassi supposes, sounding more entertained by the idea than actually
serious. "Did it to m'self? I don't think so! 'Tis your fault, yours yours
yours!" She's entertained here too, though that doesn't stop her from
aiming a teasing poke at your side. "Doomed, unless mayhaps they paired up
together and kept each other occupied. Though I don't know whether just one
partner would be enough... shells, they might be like Katlynn. And now I'm
wondering whether I should tell you about what *Katlynn's* suggested,
regarding you, or whether 'twould make you want t'flee the North entirely,
because that would be bad." Pleased by the reaction, she ducks her head
before nodding. "'Twasn't sure what else you might like, and I can't really
make aught... well, besides food, and bad music. But I'm glad you like it.
*Twenty Turns*, though? You poor, deprived thing!" After the pause, she...
well, she *tries* not to laugh. Or look amused. Much biting on her lip
manages to suppress her grin, but her eyes are dancing anyway. "Ah, *now* I
understand. And I'm torn between awwwing for you, and thinking you deserved
every threat you got."

"Ah, yeah," O'wyn agrees, although he seems to find the idea vastly amusing
himself. "Aside from the bit where so much of what we gather and produce
and all comes from said jungle, there's so much of it, it would be a near
about impossible task, I'm afraid." The poking garners outright laughter.
"Wait, wait, -I'm- not the one who brought olive and magenta and hot pink
into this!" He half-smiles a moment, shaking his head. "Thankfully K'vay
seems well enough tamed by Niare these days, but still. One of him's
plenty, much as I like the man." There's a pause, and dusty brows furrow,
as he peers at you. "What did she suggest?" Oh, how the innocent know not
what they ask. "It's right kind, certainly. Hah, well, at least it was
intentional deprivation. Acrobats don't drink, if they want to be top
notch, y'see." He flushes outright, clearly embarrassed, but amused as
well. "I didn't -mean- for her to scream like that, but she was so -still-."

Kassima suggests brightly, "'Twould give you something t'do in the
Interval, though! You could be having competitions--who can singlehandedly
burn down the most acres of jungle land, and who finds the most burnt
renegade corpses in their zone? With prizes for the winners! I can just see
it." Thankfully, she still doesn't sound serious; even less so when she
laughingly retorts, "But your clothes inspired it! So 'tis *still* your
fault, somehow! On that 'twill take your word--and, ah, well." Her turn to
be embarrassed, and red, and she hasn't even said anything yet. "Well.
Katlynn's the Masterweaver, and she's decided--for some bizarre, insane
reason--that she's, ah, in love with me. And doesn't seem inclined t'take
'I prefer men' for an answer. And while she was trying to... ah... convince
me, as 'twere, she suggested that I should be inviting you t'participate
too, along with I'sai. And failing that, that I should be introducing you
t'her so she could be luring you into it herself." She is *so* red by the
time she finishes that. "Good, good," she says, changing subjects with
momentary relief. "And they said 'twas a particularly good brewing, for
what 'tis worth--is it that 'tis bad for you, or that 'twould be hard t'do
flips and whatnay drunk? You'd probably vomit all over everything if'n you
tried. 'Twouldn't think 'twould sell many things." Gee, imagine that.
Unable to help herself, Kassi just dissolves into laughter. "I can
*picture* that--oh, Faranth. You poor man. I guess the torture t'your
eardrums was probably punishment enough."

O'wyn chokes back on a laugh, quick to shake his head, his curls
scattering. "Oh no, let's not suggest that to anyone, okay? Because
somebody might -take you up on it-, that's the scariest part." There's a
sigh of mock long-sufferance. "It's always all my fault, I see. I'm doomed
to forever be at fault." There's a long silence during the explanation, and
a faintly askance sort of look. "The Masterweaver wants to have group sex
with you." There's an even longer sort of pause. "And people go on about
the -South- being weird." There's an amused sort of look. "So, is she
cute?" There's an amused sort of look. "I think it's more the issue of
alcohol dulling response times after a while, and less the actual
drunkeness." Still blushing, he nods. "And, well, I -learned-."

"And I suppose then someone else would come and find me and lynch me, for
enciting the destruction of the entire Southern Continent." Kassi gives an
exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "What sort of world is it when you can't
even wreak good mayhem without someone holding you *accountable*, I ask
you? And a'course you are; we've established that. 'Tis all the hair."
There's a firm nod to emphasize this, before she goes back to looking
vaguely mortified. "And you," she points out. "She was very firm on you
being a part of this. At least until I talked her out of it. I thought
she'd embarrass the daylights out of you, which evidently 'twas wrong
about, if'n you're asking *that*; I should know if'n she's cute? I don't
like women, remember?" Wryly, "But most men would say so. So if'n you're
wanting t'take her up on that idea solo, I suppose... oh, well, that does
make more sense. 'Tis why I won't let m'riders fly Fall drunk or hung over
either; that dulls responses something fierce--well, 'tis a good thing.
Else you *would* get drowned. Were you pleased 'twas a lass?"

O'wyn absently taps a booted toe against the floor, and nods. "Yeah, and
that would be messy. Lynching seems such an -uncomfortable- thing, really.
So let's give it a miss, hmm?" He suggests with a hand-wave, as if this
were so much more a casual thing. "My hair is evil?" This seems to puzzle
him, but in an entertained fashion. "That would explain a great deal." He
devolves into quiet laughter, clearly entertained. "Well, -granted-, it
would embarrass me something fierce, but I'm required to be awful and ask
such things. You said I was evil, after all." There's a pause, and he adds
loftily, "My hair made me do it." He nods to that last, pleased. "Shells, I
would have been thrilled either way. She's a cute little thing though, sure
enough. Already got me suckered in, I'm afraid."

Clearly amused, eyes dancing, Kassi neverthless attempts solemnity in her
agreeing, "Methinks I can go with this idea. I can quite live with nay
being lynched, and besides, Lysseth would be nay end of irked if'n I got
m'self killed that way. Couldn't have *that*." There's a snort from
outside. Couldn't, indeed. "A'course your hair is evil!" the greenrider
immediately confirms. "'Tis the Source of All Evil! Darkness lurks deep in 
its floofy... well, depths. It laughs in the face of danger and cruelty, 
and probably steals sweets from small children. Even greenriders must bow
down before it." Which she attempts to do for demonstration purposes, as
much as she *can* bow to your hair from a seated position and all. When she
straightens, she's grinning and looking relieved. Another poke gets aimed
at your ribs. "You *are* evil. For that, I should sicc her on you, and
laugh mercilessly while she made you blush. Or I should tell I'sai he
*should* ask you about your bedroom prowess, like he asked me; he
threatened to, y'know! I still think *he* has an eye on you, personally. He
can't resist the hair either." She seems even more entertained than before
by the lofty declaration, and solemnly aims a salute at the Hair. "Oh, now,
that's the job and prerogative of daughters with fathers," she agrees, grin
fading into a still amused, but warmer smile. "Trust me as the mother of
four of those creatures. She'll likely keep you wrapped around her finger
all your life."

"I've got to admit, I'd be a little on the ticked side myself," O'wyn puts
in, with an entertained sort of look. He glances upwards, considering the
overlong fluff of his bangs as best as he can manage, under the
circumstances. There's a long sigh of mock suffering. "That does explain
it. My hair is evil. Alas, I am doomed to a long and evil life, unless I
shave it all off again. But then my head would be cold. So I'm going to
have to stick with evil." The poke garners more outright laughter. "Alas,
that might be hard to do, with my schedu---bedroom prowess?" He sounds
disturbed, yes, but amused. "Okay, see, the North wins the surreal prize,
is all I'm saying." There's a pause, and a fond smile. "Well, she's already
got a good start on it, tiny as those fingers may be." Outside, Baeth
shifts somewhat, and inside his rider winces faintly. "Awww, man. I've got
to dash, I'm afraid. I swear, it's always something."

"Well, thankee. 'Tis always good t'have someone else who'd be miffed if'n
they killed me, even if'n I suspect the baby might have something t'do with
that," Kassi teases back. Following his glance, she wonders, "But is a long
and evil life so very bad? 'Tis just the sort of life I'm hoping t'live,
even though I don't think m'hair plots any great menace towards Pern.
'Tisn't curly, y'see. *Aye*, bedroom prowess." Embarrassed again, but also
trying not to laugh, she explains, "He seemed most interested in knowing.
So if'n you ever run into him up here... well, y'might walk wary, unless
you want a bronzer chasing after you with lust in his heart. See, that's
just as it should be." She seems both amused and pleased by the fondness of
that smile; she's not so pleased a moment later, but nods, sighing. "Nay
rest for the wicked, I'm guessing? And since we've already proven you're
wicked--I'm glad you came, though, Ozy. 'Tis always good t'be seeing you.
And I can't even tell you how much I love the quilt, or how touched I am
you'd put so much work into something for me--thankee again, more'n I can
be saying."

"Well, -part- of it, yeah," O'wyn agrees, with a sheepish sort of look.
"But friends are well enough worth keeping that I'd rather you weren't
lynched for your own sake as well," O'wyn puts in, with an amused sort of
look. "Ah. So curls are proof of evil?" Ivrihn too must be vileness
incarnate then. Heh. "O-kaaay," he murmurs, sounding disturbed, but amused
as well. "Wary. Very wary. I can do that." He shakes his head with a slow
sigh, sliding to his feet. "Goodness knows, you're welcome for the quilt
and all. And I'm pleased you like it. And thanks for the beer. Goodness
knows, that's a treat and then some." And he leans down to heft said
container. "And I'll see if I can sneak up here more often. But they run me
busy, sure enough."

With a pleased smile, Kassima says, "Well, I appreciate that. For what 'tis
worth, I'm nay keen on seeing you lynched either, so just watch that your
hair doesn't get *caught* performing acts of vile evil. They might nay
understand, and blame it on you." Well, of course! You expected other than
incarnate evil from a boy named Kilt? "I vote you do. You know how bronzers
are. You can never trust 'em." Yes, she's teasing, and not even bothering
to hide the fact. She gets to her feet as you do, the better to offer a
gentle kiss in parting. "Welcome, by all means. I hope you enjoy it--and
mayhaps 'twill have t'see if'n I can visit down there, hey, while I can
still travel? If'n there's a time when you'd have time for visitors,
anyway. Duty always comes first and what all."

"I shall instruct it to be especially sneaky," O'wyn deadpans, for all the
expression is his eyes is clear amusement. "Oh yes, because we're such an
untrustworthy lot, and terrible, and vile. And worst of all...we have
-sneaky hair-." He returns the kiss with care, clearly pleased. "I'd be all
for having you visit. Goodness knows, it's a spot worth seeing, if nothing
else. I'll let you know if the time comes by, I promise." With a smile
then, and as much of a bow as the heavy object will allow him, he turns out
to the ledge. There's some fumbling and arranging, but he gets his jacket
fastened back up, and ends up in place on Baeth's back. The bronze offers a
warbled farewell to the ledge's owner, before dropping off lazily to catch
the air currents. A few sharp wing-beats, and he's Between, and gone.