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Evening Shade


Date:  August 15, 2003
Places:  Telgar Weyr Skyspace; Igen Weyr's Skyspace, Training Field,
and Hatching Galleries
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:  Thanks are due to Is for inviting me to come along to
Igen and go egg-gawking with him; that's what led to this short but
fun scene, in which we also had the good fortune to run into 
Livia. :)  And none of our heroes were eaten by Cyrath!  Will wonders 
never cease? ;)

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The Log:

You spring from Lysseth's ledge with one downsweep of your wings, soaring
into the sky above the Northern Bowl.

<*> Taralyth circles steeply upward and to the west, pausing only to tilt a
wingtip Lysseth's way, before seeming to disappear within the setting sun.

<*> Taralyth disappears into Between.

<*> Lysseth leaps cleanly from her ledge, a single beat of char-dusted
wings taking her up, up and away, like a beautiful balloon. Except for the
part where she won't pop and splatter bits of rubber when she goes too high
into the atmosphere.

<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.

Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> Taralyth warbles swift greeting to those on watch, but takes his own
sweet time circling down through the desert's warm air, at length dipping
into the bowl itself.

<*> Taralyth furls his wings slightly.

<*> Lysseth takes a turn at dipping a wingtip to Taralyth, just so, upon
emerging; it's a prelude to a trumpet to the watchdragon and a wide and
descending spiral, leisurely-taken and with much display of dusted sail.

You furl your wings slightly to glide lower into the Bowl.

<*> Taralyth promptly unfurls his wings again, and plays at trying to catch
Lysseth's long evening-cast shadow before a thump on his shoulder reminds
him to head lower yet.

<*> Taralyth wings lower into the Bowl.

<*> Lysseth's rumble has the unmistakable sound of laughter, and that
shadow half-skitters, half-dances just beyond bronze reach--and then a
dive, made narrow-winged in hopes of lessening the target that much more.

You carefully wing lower into the Bowl.

<*> Taralyth glides over to the training field.

You glide over to land in the training field.

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, I'sai takes off his jacket, though he leaves
his smoked goggles on against the dust, "See? It -is- seasonable by now,
though the galleries - of course, how much hotter can they get?"

"Will you bloody well *behave*?" Kassi calls to her green in exasperation
as Lysseth vanes her wings, breaks the dive, and manages to come to a full
and complete stop without breaking anything; a shame the thread of
amusement winding through her voice probably reduces the chide's
effectiveness. Lysseth only preens, flicking sand and dust from her wings
and settling in for a good session of being pleased with herself. "I fear
the answer to that question," her rider replies wryly, pulling gloves,
jacket, helmet and whatnot all free, with a sneeze for good measure. "But
'tis why the Weavers make light shirts, and bless 'em for it."

<*> I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.

I'sai slips down with a, "There's that, and there's that - and can't blame
her for showing her stuff, eh? Especially in a Weyr less used to it," and
tilts them both a grin before heading out across the bowl, leaving Taralyth
to a curl of doubly-lidded somnolence.

I'sai heads into the tunnel to the east, into the Hatching Grounds.

You head in through the tunnel and climb up onto the Stands.

Kassima casts a look back over her shoulder, as she follows him in almost
soundlessly; "I suppose I can't, but," with a grin back to him, "I doubt
'twas Igen she was showing off for. Though you never know. 'Twouldn't be
beyond her, or her unending pride... these eggs, now, you haven't seen 'em
a'fore either? Or have you?"

I'sai heads into the bleachers with a low-voiced and positively grateful,
"-Shade-," and never mind the heat radiating from the sands over there. He
heads to the row closest to the clutch, though, and after a moment's
reflected grin confirms, "I haven't. Not once. These, anyway... This far
enough along for a good view, or want to go a little more to the side?"

On the Sands, Cyrath rumbles softly, but sits content and still. It's not
that much cooler in here than outside, after all, except for the shade.

Kassima murmurs to him, "Just be sure t'save some of that shade for me--I
can imagine you trying t'sprawl out and steal it all for yourself."
Definitely teasing: the humor's too rich in her voice for else. After
nodding a solemn greeting to clutch-mother Cyrath, she answers, "Mmm,
methinks this will do--I heard the count was twenty and one. Can't say I'm
nay relieved. Big clutches make me nervous at this point, whether at Telgar
or elsewhere. Have you lain any wagers?"

I'sai waves his arms wide - he'd doffed his jacket out by his dragon, so
the blue sleeves flutter loosely - and then lets them drop. "None yet. I'd
wanted to see them with my own eyes, first... And ah, she's awake. Did you
hear that?" and he clears his throat lengthily, light imitation of dragon's
rumble. "Doesn't look as if we're interrupting a touching or anything,
though."

Kassima attempts to snag that sleeve as it flutters, the better to lightly
tug if it succeeds: "I like those colors," she compliments. "Nay just out
of Greystonian pride, either. 'Tis one sharding large improvement on that
*sweater*." Pause. "Though if'n you'd worn that, mayhaps the sun would
cause it t'combust, hey? And then 'twould burn t'ash and we'd all be free
of its nefarious existence? *Such* a pity. I do know what you
mean--wagering on secondhand information rarely seems quite right." She
sinks into a seat, better to study the closest eggs with interest.
"Mmm-hmm, but you should try again with the mimicry, and deeper. You almost
had it. So we aren't; 'tis as well, so long as she doesn't mind us here."

I'sai folds his arms only just barely in time, only to promptly have to
unfold them to loosen the goggles he'd still been wearing, which rather
ruins the effect; "I'd been -wondering- why everything looked quite so
gray," he admits in an undertone before going cheerfully on with, "Now,
that'd be a tale. You should set it to song. 'The Burning of Pern.' Though,
really, I'd rather it all be made up for once... wouldn't want to have a
'Cyrath's Meal' ditty, either, so I'll save the growling. - Look at that
one? All sorts of browns, with lines, what I can see of it."


---

0 Pride of Felines Egg
Shades of tawny brown and pale yellow color this egg like the plains in
late summer, smudged with ochre and sienna as if by a careless hand. Dark
charcoal cuts across the amber canvas in lines thick and thin, curving,
overlapping, and doubling, spreading outward from a central point in bold
repeated figures like a kaleidescope of feline shapes. The powerful heads
and shoulders of big cats have been captured in fluid motion, each eclipsed
by the next as the group surges forward. Even in the abstract the picture
is unmistakable: a pride of Southern felines on the prowl.
	Created by:Terrillia (Chauvet cave, France. Paleolithic art 32,000-27,000
years ago http://www.bradshawfoundation.com/chauvet/lions.html)

---


Livia climbs into the stands.

Livia heads up the steps into the gallery while absently rubbing one
shoulder. She lingers there, looking around curiously.

Kassima makes a face at the foiling, albeit without much real rancor. "I'm
hesitant t'be asking what cause you *thought* there was," she answers back,
just short of laughing. "--Oh, nay. I've already a song about someone's
clothing burning; a bronzerider's at that, though 'twasn't *sweaters*. And
since I'm opposed to either the scent of roasting human flesh getting in
m'nose or your blood and bone-bits getting on m'clothes, I'll agree with
avoiding both in real life. Aren't I generous?" Ah, but back to what she's
ostensibly here for: "I want t'say a brown," she says, thoughtful. "But it
might be too obvious. There's yellow, too... d'you think green?" She's
seated up towards the front of the galleries, with her back towards the
entrance, for the moment oblivious to company.

"Keep it that way, and - oh, -shells-, Kassi. The smell's one thing, but
bone-bits? Shards - " and through his amused grimace, Is turns... which
proves to be terribly convenient, yielding a glimpse of Livia, and he waves
to the brownrider. To Kassi, "Hey, look who's here? Maybe we can get some
inside news on the candidates, if not necessarily green versus brown versus
purple."

Livia ah-ha's at the wave and she starts forward again. She waits until she
gets much closer before she voices in a quiet sort of tone, "Good evening!
Hicerth told me we had visitors..."

"Literal shards!" Kassi so-brightly chirps. "And they'd probably be sharp,
and stick in the skin, like splinters; that would just be tragic. How would
I explain it to the Healers back at Telgar?" She turns a beat after he
turns, and lifts a hand in a wave of her own: "You *aren't* anticipating
purple hatchlings, are you? 'Twould just skew the pools something awful,"
she greets cheerfully. "Duties t'Igen and her queens and such too,
a'course. We're here for a bit of egg-gazing; I hope 'tis all right?"

I'sai winces a few more times - splinters! - for effect, and adds his own,
"Duties, Liv," before awaiting the brownrider's reply.

Livia smiles cheerfully, although looking a bit tired, "Igen's duties!
Eh..purple hatchlings? I think not, no. I don't think so, anyhow. And it's
perfectly fine. I just wanted to check in and give some greetings, is all.
Don't mind me."

Kassima aims an elbow-nudge at I'sai's side. "See? *Purple*. Next you'll be
suggesting the eggs will Hatch silver queens or some such thing, and
sighing with relief because *you* won't have t'be training them, knowing
your sadistic self--" She breaks off the affectionate taunting, seeming to
realize she's run rather far down Digression Road. "There's certes naught
t'be minding. Sit with us if'n you like? And we can plague you with
questions about the local betting odds."

I'sai winces, "Yes, well, and - please. Do sit. She's not going to elbow
-you-, likely," and that teasing. "And how's your wing, Livia, come to
that? You look worn."

Livia heads over and sinks down on the bleachers behind the pair, "Well,
perhaps for a moment. I still have a lot to do today..I can't really give
you much insight into the betting odds, though. I'm a little behind. Too
many candidates to run after. And my wing is very well. Next to no injuries
in the last fall, so I can't complain about their performance."

"I don't elbow inhabitants of the places I visit when there are infinitely
elbowable Telgar bronzers handy," Kassi agrees, serenity itself. "Only I
can't elbow him too hard, lest he splinter. Did you," this to Livia, with
sympathy, "get drafted into looking after the Candidates, then? Would it be
terribly tactless of me t'offer condolences?"

"...And splinter onto your shirt, no doubt," I'sai says with a mournful
sigh. "That was just about to be my question, though, about the candidates;
congratulations on Fall, at least."

Livia scrubs a hand over her fuzzy head as she glances quickly over the
eggs, as if doing a quick mental count to assure herself that all is well,
before replying, "Oh, aye, I did. And you can offer condolences if you
like. It's not such a hard job. Really more of a glorified nanny if you ask
me. At least I don't have to do it all by myself."

I'sai can't resist interjecting, "Any of 'em missing?" laughter light in
his eyes.

Livia grins slightly in amusement, "I'm sure we'd all know it if there
were. Cyrath would not be pleased."

Kassima's nod is grave. "Doubtless. And I *like* this shirt, so 'twould be
very sad, and quite possibly cry. Bloodstains are such a tasteless fashion
accessory." She's rather overdoing the woeful tone. "--Have you a
relatively prankless lot, then? I had good fortune when I took a slot for a
cycle; nay incidents involving dye or numbweed or someone's underpants
being put on display, but I sometimes think 'tis the exception more than
the rule. Were any of 'em Searched from Telgar, d'you know?" An amused
glance is slewed I'sai-wards. "Unless they rumbled at her and she ate them."

Livia stops rubbing her head and rubs her shoulder instead, "Mostly
prankless, it's true. There have been a few incidents, but pretty minor in
all. I'm sure someone in the lot is from Telgar..can't think who at the
moment, though." She shakes her head, "How are things at Telgar, anyhow?"

"Ate the eggs?" I'sai can't help but tease further. "That'd be the sight...
Yes, please tell us there haven't been unfortunate occurrences with
numbweed. Though it's funnier when it isn't you, I'll admit... and they're
going well enough, I think? Weyrlings settling into wings for the most
part, though I won't ask Kassi to tattle as to how the ones she was
allotted are, or aren't, doing. Not out in public, anyway."

Livia ohs brightly, "Weyrlings! That's right. Shells, they're graduating
already? Time flies when I'm not paying attention...I need to get out more."

"Then 'tis sounding like a good lot, one for which you're fortunate, and
'twill look forward t'seeing 'em on the Sands if'n nay sooner. But for
now...." Kassi glances ruefully towards the exit, and rises. "For now, I'm
reminded that I need t'take Kazy off 'Maeva's hands. A pleasure seeing you,
though, and seeing the lovely eggs. And 'tis always a pleasure traveling
with you, Is. As Lyss herself concurs. I *meant* eating Candidates!" That
earns him one more poke for the road. "Both m'Weyrlings are doing quite
well, thankee! As 'twould be expected. Given that they have the sense
t'know the value of bribery. Duties again t'Igen!" That's her parting line,
and she exits, whistling.

You head out to the Bowl.