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The Circle of Life


Date:  December 6, 2000
Places:  Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern and Southern Bowl
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:  Okay, so birth, philosophy, jealousy, and 
misunderstanding isn't *really* the circle of life.  (And thank 
goodness for that!)  Still, since this log does begin with a new life,
it seemed as appropriate a title as any.  Jazmin gives birth to her
latest child, an Igenite visitor helps the Telgar LC crew debate 
issues of philosophy, Lysseth gets jealous of Taralyth cuddling with
another green, and Kassi and I'sai misunderstand each other.  Put
together, it all makes for a memorable evening.

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The Log:

You walk past the lintel and into the wide living cavern.

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Chaeth is much more awake now, << My
lifemate's hatchling! She's going to finally arrive! >>

Keara eyes Jazmin thoughtfully, brows furrowed. Maybe she wasn't as cut out
for pregnancy as she thought she was. "Healer. Yeah," she offers vaguely.

Kichevio stands up, already turning kitchen-wards. "I'll get some cloths.
And some water boiling." A one-handed salute to the arriving Kassima.
"Evening, Wingleader, Jazmin's in labor," she says by way of greeting.

"Oh, go stuff a tuber into your nostril and dance the snake-in-the-pants
dance," Kassi suggests to Pierron, more amiably than with real irritation;
it's a ritual cursing, response to the ritual humphing. "Heyla, heyla, is
Jazmin--oh, Jaz, you're here! Good! I brought," and here she brandishes a
jar full of white stick-things, "the mint sticks. In case Chaeth meant what
he thought I meant--and it sounds like he did, then, thankee, Kichevio."

K'ran pauses in his plate-filling to offer Kassima a smart salute.
"Wingleader." Endeavoring to remain above the whole woman-in-labor tableau,
he asks, pleasantly, "What's wrong with the stroganoff, again, Keara?"

Jazmin is up wandering around, looking unwilling to settle anywhere, "About
time she decided to make an appearance, oh thank you. Cant have a little
without mint sticks."

It's no use: "It makes my stomach turn and I'm having craving for stuffed
peppers and I hate stuffed peppers and I'm not sure I want this baby
anyway, because it'll make me fat," Keara says, sniffles, then starts
crying and heads for the inner caverns.

Keara walks towards the inner cavern.

Utter bewilderment touches K'ran's expression, his eyes. He doesn't say a
word until Keara is comfortably out of earshot, whereup he asks, "What, by
the first egg, was *that* all about?"

Kassima blinks after the departing Healer. "Goodness," she quips. "In the
hormonal stage already, must be. Someone needs t'be giving *her* mint. But
this mint's all for you, Jaz, I'm promising--" And she rattles the
glass-o'-sticks helpfully before remembering to return all those Weyrling
salutes. "Are you going t'be spawning in *here*? 'Cause if'n so, can I
suggest the Skyfire table as a place? 'Twould be driving Mart *insane*."

L'mir walks in from the bowl.

L'mir strips off his gloves, smacking them against his palms as he strides
into the Cavern. He pauses at the entrance, looking about the expansive
room with searching eyes.

Kichevio returns with several plain cloths and a bowl of hot water. "Kea is
having pregnancy issues," she explains to K'ran with a sigh. "Especially
the ones about cravings and the ones about getting fat. Here y'go, Jaz--and
you must be the father." This to the arriving rider, along with a brief
salute.

Jazmin yelps a little bit as she remembers all about contractions the hard
way, "Dunno Kassi.. something to be said for going with my old wing's
table, or my current wing's table." she comments after she remembers to
breathe.

L'mir eyes the bowl and cloths, then moves farther into the cavern, still
scanning the weyrfolk and riders. When he sees Jazmin, his smile begins,
growing wider as he approaches. "So Brielth /was/ right! Ahh, and I doubted
him. I'll never hear the end of that! Hey, Jaz." he offers his greeting to
the Ma-To-Be in a soft voice and a warm smile.

"Well... y'*could* be spawning on the Thunderbolt table, I suppose, but
y'know L'cher'd never be letting you forget it," Kassi points out. Yes,
when it comes to births, she's the less-than-thoroughly-helpful type.
"Dawnslight's fine, though. Just fine. A'course, on the other hand, there's
always the Infirmary." She sounds rather dubious about the last, as though
doubting anyone would really want to have a child there. "With all the
*Healers*... father? Huh? Where? If'n 'tis Is, I'm going to--oh, heyla.
You're nay Is. Duties to Southern and her queens, Wingleader."

K'ran exhales quietly, his bewilderment giving way to skepticism, and
perhaps a bit of irritation. "Pregnancy issues," he snorts, *almost*
beneath his breath, before snapping another salute towards the latest arrival.

"Amazingly enough," Kichevio says with a laugh to Kassi, "My noble mentor
is _not_ the father of this particular child. Unless Jaz knows something
she's not telling us. And don't call the Healers or go near the
Infirmary--I hear Ushu's on duty tonight."

Jazmin reaches out to give L'mir's hand a squeeze, "Brielth was straight
with ya." she nods to Kassi, "I think only the twins arrived int he
infirmary thus far.. only becuase that labour was forever." she pales and
quietens, her expression belying another contraction.

L'mir remembers his manners, but only after moving quickly to Jazmin's
side. He returns the riders' salutes, then the words come. "Southern Weyr's
duties to Telgar and her delightful Queens, all! It's a great day, is it
not? L'mir, at your service, rider to bronze Brielth, the obnoxious lump!
But don't tell him I said that, hmm?"

Kassima shudders. Visibly. "That's settling *that*, then. Better t'have the
babe here on the floor than in the Infirmary with Ushu overseeing." A
couple of people who are trying to eat give her dirty looks at this
statement. "Great day--well, 'tis cold as a frostbitten runner-rump, but
if'n 'tis a birthing-day, then 'tis a great day anyway. Kassima, green
Lysseth's, of Thunderbolt." Introductions done, she opens that jar of mint
and offers it to the room in general. "Anyone for a stick? And don't knock
pregnancy issues--just wait 'til there's a lass wanting you t'get *her*
lemon chicken from Boll at midnight; you'll see how powerful they are.
Aught we can be doing for you, Jaz?"

With plate laden with food in hand, K'ran makes his way to a seat near
enough the tableau to remain an erstwhile observer, but far enough away not
to get his mug of ale knocked over by, say, airborne newborns. "With all
due respect, ma'am, there's no 'lass' alive powerful enough to get me to go
to Boll at midnight for lemon chicken."

Kichevio snags a mint stick, nodding and smiling to L'mir. "Kichevio,
weyrling to green Saulith, who is at _least_ as occasionally obnoxious as
your Brielth, sir." She looks Jazmin up and down carefully. "Any clue how
far apart they are, Jaz?"

Jazmin wipes a little sweat from her cheek, reaching for a mint stick,
"Something to drink would be nice Kassi." she nods to Kichevio, "Not nearly
far enough, they're arriving quickly, I was hardly noticing them just a
little while ago."

L'mir holds onto Jazmin's hand, placing an arm around her shoulder for good
measure. "Kassima. Ahh, a fellow WingLeader, to be sure? A mint would do
nicely, if you don't mind. Greenrider? Odd I didn't get a chance to speak
to you when I was here last. We were interested in some of the Northern
formations."

"Kassima," Kassi corrects K'ran, amiably enough, "or Kassi, or Wingleader
if'n the rules forbid that--but never ma'am; that's for old people. And you
would be *amazed* at the power of nagging and hormones--just ask I'sai,
poor man." Poor man indeed. She slides a mint-stick out from the jar to
proffer to L'mir. "Aye, i'truth, and 'tisn't a minding at all. I'm afraid I
tend t'be holed up in m'weyr--oh, coming right up, Jaz." And she sprints to
the tables, returning with a glass of juice. No Water. The woman doesn't
need triplets.

Kichevio chuckles as she rests a hand on Jazmin's belly. "I'm just a
weyrling, sir. Haven't earned the exalted title 'greenrider' quite yet, and
we're just learning formations...Jaz, this kid's coming pretty fast..."

Jazmin munches a mint stick and takes a couple breathes while she can, "She
waited a week over what that cute little healer expected, /now/ she's in a
rush to get out." a sharp intake of breath and weak knees give away another
strong contraction.

L'mir must have thought Kassima's first comments were for him as he began
to reply quickly. "I thought I did say Kassim.. Oh. Yes. Certainly, and
thanks for the mint." A slight blush fades across his cheeks then he smiles
to Kichevio. "The time will go quickly, you'll see."

"Not fast enough," puts in K'ran, after a nod of acknowledgement aimed
towards Kassima. "Certainly not fast enough for my Indrath."

"Well, a'course," Kassima agrees, sympathy itself. "You know how kidlets
are, Jaz: contrary as the Star in a Long Interval. If'n you're needing a
chair, let me know, hey?" She slides a still-sympathetic grin to the
father-type. "I meant yon Weyrling, but I appreciate the courtesy. Welcome
on all accounts." She nabs a stick from the jar for herself, tucking it
into her cheek. "Iff Indwaff upffef?" she asks then, curious if
unintelligible.

Kichevio is experienced in interpreting mint-stick-ese. "Well, Saulith's
not upset at all, so I doubt Indrath is," she answers dryly. "Remarkably
little upsets them." An eyebrow pops up at something Jaz's stomach just
did. "Okay, she just turned. Next contraction, really push, if you can."

Jazmin leans elbows on the table and squats down instead, resting her
forehead on her arms as she leans, "Naw, chairs just hurt the back." her
voice muffled half from talking to the table and half from clenched teeth.
An eye peeps up at Kichevio and she nods a little, "She's dropped too."

K'ran shakes his head in an emphatic negative, even as he stabs idly at
mashed tubers with a fork. "Impatient, I think, is a better word for it,
Wingleader," he says.

Kassima removes the stick from her mouth in order to frown, puzzled.
"I'truth? Even though 'tisn't your spawn?" She gives K'ran a brief
suspicious look before dismissing that particular notion. "Nay, May'd have
had your spleen on a platter. Interesting. Doesn't sound as though he'll
have long t'wait, anyway." Nibbling on the mint, she adds, "Just as well...
you're doing wonderfully, Jaz. Nay one stream of profanity yet. I'm
impressed."

L'mir leans down, close to Jazmin's ear, whispering to her in a tone that'd
most likely be heard by those around him. "Here, Jazmin? Is this normal for
the North? Or perhaps a tradition at Telgar?" Briefly, he looks up,
glancing at those around him to offer a slight smile. "Shouldn't he come in
an Infirmary?"

Tarlo enters, having done a bit of a wash up before coming into the living
cavern and taking a look around.

Kichevio chuckles at the naive L'mir. "The Healer on duty tonight wouldn't
be any help, L'mir. He thinks the cure for everything is rose petals, and
he faints a lot. And as to the 'normal' thing, who knows? I have yet to
experience 'normal', and I've been at Telgar for three Turns." She presses
Jazmin's stomach carefully. "Yep, here we go. Get ready to really push."

Tarlo widens her eyes. Oh. A birthing, in the middle of the living cavern.
A typical evening at Telgar Weyr.

K'ran snorts softly, amusedly. "Not mine, no way," he says with a grin. At
Kichevio's warning, he half-turns, as if to shield his supper from the
sight of the birthing.

Jazmin replies to L'mir first, "The one on duty in the infirmary's a
wherry." she closes her eyes, nodding to Kichevio, taking a deep breath to
push hard.

Tarlo seeks out her fellow weyrlings (the ones not playing midwife, at any
rate) with the silent question: Why is the birthing in the middle of the
living cavern?

"But then Ushu would try t'stuff rose petals where rose petals shouldn't
go," explains Kassima, rather ruefully, "and faint at inopportune times.
Trust me; he's attended four of m'spawnings now, and 'tis always the same.
Blather, flutter, fluster, thud." As she clarifies this, she sidles back to
the food table to look for things that might serve the place of towels.
"Pity," she calls over her shoulder to K'ran. "It might get a K-name then
and all--oh, nay offense, Wingleader. Kich, are there any towels about?"

L'mir leans to the side to peer underneath Jazmin. "I believe it might be a
good idea to have..." he pauses, moving around Jazmin to get down on his
haunches. "... a cloth below? Perhaps someone could.. I suppose I could
catch, if that's the case. I've been through this before but I'm no healer."

Jazmin's blunt and rather absent response around pushing through a
contraction is "No roses."

"On the Thunderbolt table, Kassi," Kichevio calls over as she kneels beside
Jazmin. "Oooops--saw a head, just for a second. Take a breath, and get
ready to try again. Feel free to break L'mir's hand too--I've heard that
helps."

L'mir sends Kichevio one of the *oddest* looks, angling his head toward the
weyrling. "Pardon?" he asks, dark eyes distracted by her words. "How have
you heard that?"

K'ran continues with his meal, half-turned away from the delivery, as if
this is an utterly ordinary occurrence. "Wouldn't want a child named after
me, Wingleader," he says pleasantly, between mouthfuls of dinner.

Tarlo suggests impudently, "One hears with ears, sir." she offers before
saluting, even amidst the ruckus.

Kassima obediantly trots to her Wing's table to fetch the towels. "Good
t'know," she comments, "where one's towels are. If'n memory serves, 'twill
be needing these?" She sets them down near the brownrider. At least she
isn't the one suggesting maiming this time. "Oh, she's right," she assures
regardless. "Having a hand t'crush makes things much more bearable overall.
I can't imagine spawning without one, and it heals in time--at least,
methinks it does. I've never seen a man permanently damaged, but I suppose
there's a first time...." She cruches the last bite of mint-stick, then
turns to return to K'ran, "Best make sure t'be telling any women you do
spawn with that. Tradition and all."

"Not you, personally," Kich assures L'mir abstractedly as she keeps an eye
on the progress of Jazmin Junior. "But my mom about crushed my dad's hand
to nothing every time, and _she_ had eight kids with no real problems. So
maybe there's something to it."

L'mir hmmphs softly, then goes back to watching the babe's progress as he
answers. "I wasn't too happy when I heard that one of my bronzerider
wingriders had his hand broken when his weyrmate birthed. I thought you may
have heard about that."

"Hope not to be spawning with any women at all, Wingleader," fires back
K'ran, with all jocularity. "Littles are fine... so long as they go back to
their parents, in the end." He gives Tarlo a wave, gesturing her towards
the table he's staked out, at the edge of the tableau.

Jazmin has no qualms about reaching for L'mir in those few moments between
painful pushings. She takes a brief pant of a breath, oddly silent instead
of wailing screaming and swearing. Her expression wrinkles up as she
returns to her pushing, face going red as she pushes.

Kassima gives a long, rather exaggerated sigh. "Shardit, it doesn't sound
like any Weyrling in this class wants t'spawn--how I'm supposed t'pick
Wingriders from such a group eventually, 'twill swear I don't know. What
happened to the days when men were real men and sired hordes worth placing
betting pools on? Don't youngsters properly idolize F'hlan anymore?
*Really* now...." She is not, it might be noted, watching per se. She's
nearby in case anything is needed, but she draws the line at watching.
"Nay, afraid nay. I don't keep up much with things in the South; don't know
many people down there... I can sympathize, though; A'lex could sympathize
more. He'd his hand in a sling once."

L'mir is a WingLeader, so he's used to doing several things at once, but
snatching one of the cloths to drop to the floor and snagging Jazmin's hand
to hold onto it tightly is a new one for him. "Mmmph." he grunts, angling
to push the cloth into just the right place, then returns to his watchful
pose. "Moonsweep's light enough with my Second just back from a trip to
Cove, let alone losing a bronze."

Kichevio would answer, but things are progessing. "Head's practically out,
Jazmin. One more good push, and all shall be well." If having a screaming
infant to care for can be termed 'Well'--but whatever.

K'ran throws back his head and gives a laugh. "Who wants to sire hordes
worth placing bets on?" he asks. "Who wants the headache? I hardly need a
troop of littles to prove I'm a man."

Jazmin mutters something that likely really didnt need to be heard by folks
at large and she wriggles a little, getting more comfortable and retrieving
her hand back from L'mir, restless for just a few moments before the next
contraction gets her attention back in full, she gasps a little and pushes
down hard.

"Well, nay; streaking the Living Cavern is always another option." So
generous of Kassima to grant this. Of course, she *is* distracted by this
birth business; maybe she's not serious. "C'mon, Jaz," she coaxes, "you can
be doing it! One more! Go, go, go!"

"Or stealing J'lyn's trousers, or any number of things," K'ran says
reasonably, hiding his grin behind the lip of his ale mug. He's still
managing to assiduously avoid becoming a witness to the so-called miracle
of birth.

Tarlo wrinkles her nose. "I've helped take care of my twin brother and
sister, so I really dont want to spawn anytime soon, thanks."

L'mir is released now, to place both hands around the little's head. It
seems he's not uncomfortable with any of this as what he shows is the
broadest grin he can muster. "Black hair! Ahh, look! Amazing. Jaz, the.." A
slow angled twist frees the babe's shoulder, so close...

Kichevio gently frees the babe's other shoulder. "Lovely black hair,
too...just a nudge more, Jazmin. Not even a hard push."

Kassima makes a vague, indulgent gesture. "Well, that's all *right*, you're
a golder; you can't fly with Thunderbolt anyway, but we're supposed t'be
the most prolific Wing and where I'll get new spawners out of this lot--"
She breaks off in order to ask, with interest, "Black hair? Oh, that's a
good sign!" Trust her to think so. "And I *suppose* Jal's pants would do
the trick, aye. Though nay only men can wear those buttless pants,
according t'him; he got *me* a pair, which I'll never be wearing."

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan unidles, looks at the LC window and acks! Jazmin, what
table are you on?!?

Telgar Weyr> K'ran begins to snicker.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima .o0(Please say Skyfire, oh, please, oh, please....)

Tarlo looks down at herself. "I'm thankful, my eldest sister got the
breeding hips. I'll probably be childless, or maybe manage one."

Telgar Weyr> Jazmin smiles to M'rgan. :)

Telgar Weyr> A'ser's Scarf is at that table, you know.

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan acks some more. "Skyfire?!!!!!!? NoooooOOOOOOOoooooo!"
*makes arrangements to switch the tables with Thunderbolt.

Telgar Weyr> Kichevio eeeeeks! Stay away from _that_ table then! ;)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "No can do, Mart! Kassi's prolly carved her name
in the table just to make sure you can't get away with that. ;)"

Jazmin harumphs something or other, obligingly her nursemaids with another
push, insistant to have this over.

Telgar Weyr> M'rgan just smiles mysteriously at Kassima before turning
around so that he can cackle freely.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Awww, c'mon, Mart. Take Dawnslight's. Neliea
will never know."

Telgar Weyr> A'ser switched Nelly's baby with a sack of pea shells wearing
a bonnet once. She's blind as a bat; she'll never notice. Go on, do it.

L'mir's whole being seems to register joy, surprise, amazement as the babe
frees itself of her <ahem> Ma to fall neatly into his hands. Even though
he's not new to such things, he startles a little, sitting back on his
haunches with his daughter resting in the crook of one arm. "Jaz! We've a
daughter to bring up!" There's no way he'd look anywhere than that face
that scrinches up to send a loud wail into the Telgar air, and there's no
way you'd get him to say that scrinch was anything other than the most
beautiful countenance in all of Pern.

Kichevio busies herself with a few other details, cords and towels and
things, but pauses to check and confirm L'mir's observation. "Yes, a girl,
and a fairly big one." Is that a smile? Nah...

Kassima only winces slightly at that wail, having known to expect it; her
own expression is... well... mushy. Let's face it. "Awwwwwwwww. You *did*
it, Jaz--and she's beautiful!" Okay, so the kid's no doubt a mess, but
she's a mother herself. She's obliged to find newborns beautiful.

Cambria walks here from the Inner Cavern.

"A girl, wonderful, congratulations," says K'ran, with enthusiasm that's
only slightly forced. He pushes away his plate, shivering slightly in
answer to the newborn's wail.

Cambria sticks to her philosophy, and heads towards the tables to eat
dessert first. She selects a piece of pie, and settles down to eat it.

Kichevio finally sits back on her heels, necessary things done. "Feel like
taking a look at her, Jaz?" She beckons to L'mir. "Come let her see little
whatever-her-name-is..."

Jazmin rests her head against her arms, "Told ya." she comments to L'mir
with a tired, but decidedly happy smile. She moves from squatting to on her
knees, lifting her head to see the baby, "I'm getting too old for this."
she sighs contentedly.

Kassima's grin at the Weyrling's discomfiture borders on the fiendish, but
she's kind enough not to make any jokes. Either that, or she's distracted
by the presence of an infant. "And nay a flower petal in sight... shells,
Jaz. And here I forgot t'be placing marks on her."

Cambria walks towards the inner cavern.

L'mir only now looks up, barely able to take his eyes off the lass, then
leans over to place a kiss on Jazmin's lips. He could care less who's
looking. "You were remarkable!" he says with that huge smile, then offers
the little to her Ma.

Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Chaeth sounds disappointed << It's not
green. >>

Kichevio gives the baby a onceover, checking responses, before finally
collapsing into a chair and peering about hopefully for some water to wash
with. "So is she Jazmir or Lamin or what? She needs a name." And Kich needs
a nap.

Jazmin returns the kiss before snuggling the little close to her, still
settled on the floor.

Jazmin looks up to Kichevio, "Zaemina." she grins, "That was the one we
both agreed on."

Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Lysseth consoles Chaeth with a flash of
sympathetic emerald. << Human hatchlings are always pink. Dull color,
really--but she'll be green in *spirit*. >>

Kichevio smiles, and nods. "Zaemina. That's pretty..." And that's the
extent of her language capabilities right now.

"Lovely," Kassi decides, grinning ear to ear. "Or as lovely as a name can
be without a K. Felicitations, Jaz, Wingleader; she's a bright, bonny
bairn, and nay mistake." Reaching to snag another mint-stick, she adds
before chomping on it, "Good job you did there, Kichevio."

Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Sielth offers helpfully. <<Or we can
paint her?>>

K'ran rises, smoothly, to pick up his dishes and ferry them kitchenwards.
"Lovely entertainment, for a meal," he remarks pleasantly, to no one in
particular.

M'val walks in from the bowl.

Kichevio murmurs a soft, "Thanks..." before ambling toward the exit. Time
for the weyrlings to go to bed--especially the ones who had
an...interesting evening.

Jazmin chuckles tiredly to Kassi, "Not every good name needs a K." she too
looks to Kichevio, "Thank you for helping."

L'mir sighs deeply then moves to shuffle up to a standing position. It's
there that he offers a hand to Jazmin and his new daughter. "I think you
need to rest, Ma, don't you? I'll take you back to your weyr. I'm sure
Brielth'll be pleased to give us a lift up. Good night, Kichevio, and thanks!"

M'val drifts into the living cavern and then hesitates, glancing around
uncertainly. "Kichevio," he greets her.

"Could've been worse," Kassi philosophizes, finally abandoning her hovering
place to retreat to her Wing's table and let the new family be alone. Or at
least as alone as they can be in the middle of a Living Cavern and all.
"She could've needed an episiotome. 'Tis a fine name, Jaz, i'truth. You're
both blessed." And does she have the faintest wistful expression as she
says that? Nahhhh. Glancing towards the door, she lifts her mint stick in a
hail. "Duties to Igen Weyr and her queens," she calls.

Jazmin nods, accepting L'mir's help in getting up off the floor, Zemina
tucked in close, "Definately time for a nap."

M'val brightens immediately as he's greeted. "Igen's to Telgar," he replies
happily. "I take it I missed some excitement?" He glances towards Jazmin
and L'mir - and the child. "Congratulations," he adds.

K'ran exhales softly as he rinses dishes and restacks them; it takes him a
moment before a salute towards M'val is forthcoming. "Sir."

L'mir begins to lead Jazmin to the opening, nodding to the Igen bronzerider
with a very pleased expression. "Thanks!" he says before leaving the cavern.

Jazmin beams to M'val, "Thanks."

Jazmin walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

L'mir walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Kassima affirms, grinning to the visitor, "Missed a spawning, so if'n that
falls within your idea of excitement... g'deve, Jaz! Wingleader! Kidlet!"
That's called after the retreating trio, along with a likely-unseen wave.

Telgar Weyr> Alessandra blinks. Oh, yeah, I come back right after the
actions over... *sighs*

Telgar Weyr> Kassima congrats Jaz on the new kiddo. :) Just two more and
you'll be even with M'kla! ;)

Telgar Weyr> A'ser bursts into tears. M'kla! ;-; I want her baaaaaack.

M'val gives K'ran a puzzled look for a breath or two, then lets out a
surprised 'oh'. Crisply, he returns the salute. "Weyrling," he adds.
"You're - um -" he glances out towards the Bowl, "K'ran? Congratulations,
albeit much belated."

Telgar Weyr> Jazmin smooochies.. not sure I'll manage 2 more.. Jaz is 42 at
this point. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Fiora says, "Twins!"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima cajoles, "Just one more set of twi--Fiora, get outta
my head." ;)

Telgar Weyr> Jazmin has one set of twins already.. gah after that set you
think I want /another/! ;)

"Yes, sir," says the young man, wiping off his damp hands on a rag. "K'ran,
weyrling to bronze Indrath. Thank you, sir." He steps back to his chair and
sinks into it, now that the impromptu floor show has been brought to a
conclusion.

Telgar Weyr> Fiora snickers. ;)

Alessandra returns finally, saluting those ranking her as she re-enters.
"Good evening... I see I missed everything. Kiyoth demanded my presence..."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "What if you could get F'hlan to sire 'em, Jaz?
I know the player's said she might let him produce a couple more while he's
still kicking.... ;)"

Telgar Weyr> Jazmin oh mys.. now /that's/ tempting. ;)

M'val tells Kassima, "I _like_ children. Babies are cute. Except when
they're _really_ loud."

Kassima leans back in her chair, looking heartily pleased with the world. A
baby was born, she got to see it, and *she* didn't have to suffer through
any primal agonies. Life is good. "What brings you to the Icy Wastes,
bronzerider?" she asks M'val curiously. "Is there aught we can be helping
you with? Oh, I'd agree--nay that I'm biased or aught, with five. This one
only screamed *very* loudly for a little bit. Have you any of your own yet?"

Kassima then asides to Alessandra, "'Tis oft the way of greens, it
seems--'twas a lass, if'n you're curious. Zaemina's t'be her name."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima is still tempted to suggest a Kahlan, herself. I've
been tempted ever since I read the Sword of Truth series. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Fiora hees.

M'val shakes his head, with a slightly mournful look. "Alas, no. Not yet.
No one's volunteered to actually _have_ my children." He gives Kassima a
grin, then lifts one shoulder. "I came to see the weyrlings, of course.
I've just been cleared for betweening again after a cold, and I figured it
was time..."

This admission of M'val's throws a bit of startlement into K'ran's
expression. "Why come all the way from Igen to see us?"

Alessandra nods slightly, settling near Kassima and the others quietly.
"Zaemina... Gorgeous name..." Children? Nope. "I doubt I'll ever have them,
myself... I'll let Whinde have our kids... Shop around for the guys like
Adaria seems to enjoy doing for Ceria."

"Ah, well--flights may be taking care of that?" Kassi suggests, and not
without sympathy. "All of mine have been more due t'flight and drink than
anyone *volunteering*... I can't imagine why." And how she manages to keep
a straight face while saying that, the first queen alone knows. "'Tis sense
you're making. D'you know any of 'em? Kichevio Stood at Igen--" A pause
while she consults with Lysseth. "--With your lot, didn't she? Ach,
Alessandra, you're young yet. Y'might be changing your mind."

Alessandra shakes her head slightly, leaning back with her klah. No wine
for a while yet. "I hope not. Why should I have them when Whinde's more
than willing..."

M'val shoots a grin at K'ran. "Because young dragons are also cute, just
like young humans? Honestly, because I know some of you a little. Kichevio
and I Stood together," he confirms with a nod to Kassima. "Laidan, and, er,
I've met Tarlo and Talisha before. Flights might, Kassima. Mostly it's that
my partners don't feel like they're ready to be mothers quite yet, I think."

"I problem I hope to have 'til the end of my days," says K'ran, raking a
hand back through his hair. "Seems like I'm the only one who hadn't made an
impression outside Telgar."

Kassima murmurs, "Except that young dragons are less red and wrinkled." She
considers her mint stick, then abandons it to rise and meander over to
where real food awaits. "Anyone want aught, while I'm up? 'Tis a fair time
t'be visiting the 'Lings--they've just started first flights. Nay quite so
small and cute as 'twere a few months back, though. And that's
understandable, if'n they're young. Mayhaps even if'n they're nay." While
scooping spiderclaws onto a plate, she wonders, "You've nay urge t'be
propogating your own blood, then, Alessandra?"

Alessandra shakes her head slowly as she listens to the others, then looks
back up at Kassima again. "Oh I've the urge, all right, but not the urge to
go through such pain. Thankee kindly."

M'val ruffles his own hair and settles into a seat. "Which problem, K'ran?
Oooh, first flights. Not mounted yet? Or are you?" He looks at K'ran and
Alessandra.


15   Jazmin            Wed Dec  6 22:47 2000 Excitement in the living cavern

Almost a sevenday behind schedule, and with the useless Ushu on duty in the
infirmary, Jazmin's latest little decided to make her appearance in the
living cavern. Fortunately the evening meal was well over and the cavern
was mostly empty, but Zaemina arrived just under the Skyfire table, no
doubt something that'll be reminded to her in turns to come. :) Many mucho
thanks to Kichevio, Kassima and L'mir of Southern and thanks for the
patience of the spectators. Mum and baby are fine, back in Jazmin's weyr,
and Chaeth is still trying to figure out why all human hatchlings are red
and not proper colours.
......................................TGW.....................................


Alessandra beams over at M'val, nodding slightly. "Mounted, sir, and oh,
it's glorious..."

A hint of pride slips into K'ran's expression. "We're mounted," he says,
very softly. "Still only under supervision, but shards, it's the best."

Kassima hides a grin at the Weyrlings' answers behind a mug of juice, then
carts her platter of goodies back to her table. "Methinks most new riders
would be agreeing with that assessment. Ach, Alessandra--'tis worth it,
i'truth; look at me, I've five of 'em now, and I'm hardly *fond* of pain."

M'val flicks a glance out towards the Bowl and nods understandingly. "Wind
in your hair, dragon beneath you, oh, I know. I agree." He gives both the
weyrlings a grin.

Tarlo comes back from the kitchens and promptly salutes all riders present
before sitting down again. "What are we talking about?" she inquires
curiously.

Alessandra waves to Tarlo cheerily. "Children and first flights!" Her voice
is too much of a chirrup--looks like she's had one of those sickeningly
good days.

M'val bounces back to his feet to return Tarlo's salute, then flops down to
a seat again. "Flying! And children. Hello. Congratulations. Belated as it
is." He gives her a quick grin.

Tarlo grins. "Congratulations on Impression, or on my first mounted flight?
It was today." she beams.

Kassima returns that salute by reflex, not even flinching. Well, all right,
only flinching a *little*. "Spawn and flying--or what the others are
saying, aye." She spears a fork through a hapless spiderclaw. "More flying
now, methinks. Felicitations t'you on that, then."

Tarlo sticks her tongue out torward Alessi. "I'll pass on the children,
thanks."

M'val wobbles his hand in the air. "Both," he says cheerfully. "What, no
children? But children are so *adorable*."

K'ran leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest, that
hint of pride still lingering in his eyes. "Of course, now Indrath wants to
fly just about everywhere, even where legs would carry him just as well."

Tarlo grins torward Kassima. "Thank you ma'am." she makes a face at M'val.
"They're adorable until you have to change their nappies, or feed them, or
burp them. And then you only get peace when they sleep. I know, I nannied
my twin brother and sister. I've said before and I'll say again, thank
Faranth that my sister got the breeding hips and I'm slender like my da's
side of the family."

"Nay a single Weyrling I've spoken to ever wants any children," Kassi
confides to M'val, woe incarnate. "I don't know *what* I'm supposed t'be
doing for m'Wing. M'rgan should be thrilled, mind--ach! Kassima, Kassi, or
Wingleader, please, but nay ma'am. Aught but ma'am. Call me Sir
Dung-For-Brains if'n you must; someone once did, and 'tis still better than
the M-word."

M'val flashes another grin. "I wanted them; you should've talked to me
while I was a weyrling. I didn't want them _then_, though. Foster, Tarlo.
Riders can foster their children to the lower caverns."

Alessandra drains her mug, then rises long enough to go get another. Dark
eyes sparkle mischeviously as she peers over her shoulder back at the
others--"Kassi, wear your--ah--bottomless pants, and I'm sure you'll find
plenty of suitors outside of drinking and flights..."

Tarlo counters, "Yeah, but I'm still grounded for at least the time that
I'm carrying, and longer if I decide to wait until I'm done nursing.
Children just aren't convenient, but well - I've resigned myself to the
fact I'll likely have one or two. I mean, Flights and all. I just wish
someone else could do the breeding for the weyr." she wriggles her nose.

K'ran rocks his chair back, to balance on its rear legs, and laces his
fingers behind his head. He looks entirely too smug, amid all this talk of
bearing children.

Kassima returns the grin, lifting one finger. "Ah, but Igen would have been
miffed if'n I'd stolen you away for Thunderbolt, methinks. A pity. I can
always use more men t'uphold the Tradition; women can *try*, but we're at
the disadvantage. Alessi!" That, unsurprisingly, gets a glare. Or an
attempted glare. You can't really glare and flush at the same time
effectively. "I buried those things *deep* under the sand at Shipfish,
'twill be having you know, and nay anyone will ever make me wear 'em."

Tarlo snorts at K'ran. "You wipe that smile off your face. You'll probably
double Telga's population before Indrath's first flight." she smirks.

"He'd best not," quips Kassi around a mouthful of crustacean. "Maylia would
be asking for the loan of m'Emasculator then."

M'val blinks at Kassima. "Stolen me for Thunderbolt? Why would you do that
just because I wanted children?" He grins again. "Well, _someone_ has to do
the breeding, Tarlo."

Alessandra bites her lower lip -hard- to keep from giggling. "Sorry!" the
greenling chirrups, utterly unrepentantly.

Tarlo looks to M'val and asks with a wide eyed air of solemnity, "Can it be
someone other than me?"

M'val studies Tarlo and smiles, a slight, slow smile. "Nope. You'll do just
fine."

Oh, dear. Kassi's been given a cue to talk about one of her favorite
subjects. She brightens perceptibly, setting down that fork. "'Tis a Wing
tradition, y'see. Since we were founded by F'hlan, legendary for his
virility and might and whatnay--and since we happen t'have been the Wing in
which most of Benden and Telgar's most prolific people have flown in one
time or another--why, 'tis only right that we be the most prolific Wing on
all Pern. I encourage m'Wingmates t'be having as many offspring as they
can, particularly the men since they don't have t'go through that
*grounding* business." Alessandra just gets a *look*. An 'I'm not buying
either that innocence or the bridge it comes with' sort of look.

Tarlo sighs, and leans back in her chair. "Wonderful. I'll be knee deep in
children unless I'm too slight to be a good bearer. Here's hoping. I'd just
as soon be everyone's favorite auntie, that way I can give 'em back when
they stop being cute."

K'ran's smirk only widens in reaction to Tarlo's admonition. "I've no
desire to have thousands of squalling brats spitting up all over the weyr,"
he declares. "As I said before, one doesn't need to have a troop of littles
to prove he's a man. To hear T'kar and A'len, it's measured more by the
number of women you bed, than by the number of babes you sire."

Tarlo says "Why is it that the enjoyable part of it is what makes a man,
but the painful part of it is supposed to be what makes a woman? It really
doesn't seem fair."

M'val points out, "We men can't _do_ the painful part of it. So that could
hardly be what makes a man."

Kassima now turns that *look* on K'ran. "You," she informs him, pointing
the fork, "have been listening to entirely the wrong people. And if'n
T'kar's slept with so many women other than Meri, 'twill eat an ovine,
fleece and all--so does that make him nay so much a man, then?"

Tarlo says "Yes, but you still get credit for the fun, while we get credit
for a long, enduring amount of pain."

Tarlo looks to Kassima, saying wryly, "Don't get K'ran started, or we'll
hear his whole presentation on how he's an expert on women. We'll be here
til dawn." she giggles, and throws K'ran a mock-apologetic look.

K'ran rocks forward in his chair, now, putting it back onto all four legs.
He actually seems like be might launch into that very sermon -- until Tarlo
preempts him, and his cheeks fill with color.

M'val studies Tarlo again, the blue eyes slightly pained. "You get admired
and honored and respected, _I_ would think, for that painful part."

Aisling walks in from the bowl.

Kassima waves one long-fingered hand in a negligent, airy gesture. "Oh, let
him preach, if'n he wishes; I make a hobby out of trying t'make mincemeat
out of such arguments. Certes I know something more about women than *he*
does, unless he's one in disguise and Indrath is very confused." Smiling
faintly, wryly, she murmurs, "One would hope," and turns in her chair
enough to wiggle her fork in greeting to Aisling.

Tarlo looks to M'val. "Whereas you get admired and honored and respected
for the fun part, and how often you do it, and how many partners you do it
with. Do you know what a woman who enjoyed herself frequently and with
multiple partners is called when it's not her dragon's rising? It's not a
nice word. But men are complimented. It hardly seems fair." she rises and
salutes to Aisling.

Alessandra giggles softly as she returns with her klah, watching K'ran
blush. "You know, I didn't think that particular color was possible unless
you were a new-born little, K'ran..." Ooh, Aisling. "Good evening, ma'am!"
Alessi calls, saluting the assistant weyrlingmaster.

"Lucky," Kassi tosses in as an answer to Tarlo's question. "At least in a
Weyr."

Tarlo points out to Kassi, "Not outside the Weyr, though. So I suppose
we're lucky for that."

M'val says firmly, "Women who enjoy themselves frequently and with multiple
partners are called women, by me. Just like women who stick to one partner
or don't even want any partners are called women, by me. There's nothing
wrong with enjoying yourself in whichever way you prefer to do that."

Aisling slips into the cavern, walking almost sideways as she peers behind
her at... something. A few footsteps into the cavern, she stops and peers
into the cavern, looking a bit startled to see people there. "Oh." She
mutters as she looks around and returns Kassi's wave ,only with her hand.
The weyrling's salutes are returns with a smile before she intones. "Life
isn't fair." Perhaps she has heard that a time or two.

"Ma'am," K'ran mutters, half-rising long enough to salute Aisling, perhaps
grateful for the interruption.

M'val adds, "The Weyrs have never been the same as Holds and Crafts that
way, Tarlo. Their loss. Their needs are different, though, and I admit I
don't understand _their_ approach to their men's behavior given their
approach to their women's behavior. Hello, Aisling."

Tarlo smiles to M'val, "No, there isn't." she agrees. "But not everyone is
as enlightened as weyrfolk." She sits after saluting Aisling, and
occaisionally smirks in K'ran's direction. You bet she's enjoying her score
on him, oh yes indeedy.

Kassima gives a shrug in response. "Nay by those who aren't understanding,
nay; 'twill grant you that. But how much do the opinions of those who don't
know you matter? I'm one of the most prudish riders in the Weyr, and
there're plenty who'd point fingers at me for having five children by four
differing sires. 'Tis just the way of things." Aisling's intonation gets a
nod, and a lift of her juice glass in a pseudo-toast.

M'val gives Tarlo a return smile. "Enlightened. There you go. We're
enlightened, comparatively. A good word."

Tarlo salutes M'val with her mug in response.

Aisling sighs as she spots the empty tables. "Once again I seemed to have
missed dinner.." She grumbles as she pads closer to the others. "What are
you all discussing?"

Alessandra lifts her mug as well, that self-same bemused look still on her
face. She pauses to look up at Aisling, grinning brightly. "Life in general."

M'val grins at Aisling. "Children."

Kassima sets down all utensils to tick off on her fingers. "Children, first
flights, men and women's differing roles in the production of offspring,
and various other things. Come sit with us, Ais? The spiderclaws are good,
if'n there're any left."

"Mess, wonderful, The way it is." Aisling succintly states her views before
brightening at Kassi's offer. "I would kiss you, but I wouldn't want to
offend."

"Ridiculing K'ran, also," K'ran puts in pleasantly. "A favorite topic among
the weyr's women, apparently. Keara says to avoid the stroganoff, but it
wasn't bad."

Tarlo informs the young bronze rider, "We only do it because we care."

"I'll take the thought in the spirit 'tis meant," Kassi promises in good
humor. "Ach, K'ran, what were you expecting, saying that the measure of a
man is how many women he's bedded... in front of a bunch of women?"

M'val puts in, "K'ran just said that - who was it? T'kar and A'len? - said
that, I thought, not necessarily that he believed it."

With a disarming laugh and a dismissive wave, K'ran answers Tarlo: "Of
course. If you cared any more, I'd be checking my bed for tunnelsnakes." He
lifts one shoulder in a vague shrug at Kassima's words, venturing, "This is
what my mentor and one of the Assistant Weyrlingmasters tell me. Who am I
to disregard their lessons?"

Aisling's light in mischief before she just shakes her head. "And they
would know?" Aisling notes with a soft snort. "I think you need better
advisors. "

Kassima inclines her head in acknowledgment of both points. "True, M'val;
mayhaps I'm quick t'judge. A lad can't really be faulted for listening to
his instructors... the *instructors*, now, someone should be having words
with. I should tell Merielan what T'kar's said on the subject. She'd likely
be better able t'rearrange his way of thought than I."

Tarlo actually looks a bit disconcerted. "I'm not that vicious, K'ran." and
with that, she gets quiet, and attends to her klah.

M'val gives a pleased smile. "There you go. Blame them, not him."

"I would like to be a vtol on the wall for that discussion." Aisling notes
before she eyes M'val. "I haven't heard -your- views on the subject."

M'val cocks his head. "What, on women or on what makes a man a man?"

"It's possible I've misunderstood them," says K'ran, his expression
suddenly gone serious, perhaps even alarmed, at the prospect of his tongue
getting either A'len or T'kar into trouble.

Kassima lifts her glass in another toast. "I shall, henceforth, and thankee
for the correction. K'ran," and here she turns to consider the Weyrling
with dark, thoughtful eyes, "what d'you think--independant of what they've
told you--is what determines the manliness of a man?"

"Both." Aisling says with the merest hint of a smile, falling silent as she
hears Kassima's question.

K'ran's eyes narrow pensively, and he's silent for a few moments while
likely contemplating the question. "Duty," he finally says. "One does his
duty, no matter the cost, no matter the odds. He protects those who need
protection; he is loyal, respectful, and lives by his word."

Kassima smiles at that, her expression approving. "I'd say that more
determines the worth of a person in general... but in the end, they're like
as nay the same. 'Tis a fine answer. And much finer than that other, I'd
say." She turns her head, then, to listen curiously for M'val's response.

Aisling nods, offering K'ran a thoughtful look that slowly warms into a
smile before her attention moves back to M'val.

M'val opens his mouth, then looks over at K'ran, making a slightly pouty
expression. "Hey, you stole!" Then he turns back to Aisling. Quite
seriously, he says, "Women are wonderful fun, and should be respected just
as men should be respected. I don't restrict myself to one partner, and I
don't expect that anyone else do so either. I _like_ women. I respect them.
As for what makes a man a man - he has to be..._respectworthy_. Which is
what K'ran said, really. The measure of a man should be whether he's
trustworthy, to those who should be able to trust him, and respectworthy to
those who should be able to respect him. They're not necessarily the same
thing, those two."

"You can trust a scoundrel t'be a scoundrel without respecting him any,"
Kassi agrees dryly. "Welladay. I expect those who've promised t'be
restricting themselves t'one partner t'be doing so, but otherwise, I'd
agree with both views all around. What makes a person a worthy person
doesn't change with gender."

Tarlo offers quietly, "I've got another question for the both of you. From
a man's point of view, what makes...womanliness, I suppose is the word, in
a woman?"

K'ran nods his head slowly, his lips still pursed in a thoughtful frown. "I
have a good teacher," he says softly. "I wasn't much for obligation and
responsibility before Impressing." Tarlo's question pulls him out of his
reverie, and, again, it is a few moments before he formulates an answer.
"That's... not something I've actually given very much thought to."

M'val gives Tarlo a thoughtful look. "A strong sense of _herself_. A
respect for herself and a certain amount of joy in her life."

Aisling nods her agreement to Kassi before her expression brightens at
Tarlo's question. She pauses for a moment before she asks. "What does that
mean? Sense of herself?"

Kassima lifts a brow at that, surprised. "'Tis the first time I've heard it
defined so, though I'd nay be objecting. Mayhaps 'tis a concept that
shouldn't be confused with femininity--that's what tends t'get catagorized
as the tendency t'wear lace and frills and toss your hair a lot. And giggle."

Tarlo admits, "While I giggle, and occaisionally toss my hair, I can't say
I'm one for lace and frills."

K'ran nods earnest agreement with M'val's words. "Hold your own, with me,"
he says. "Don't be some wilting spring flower, some blushing Healer
apprentice."

Tarlo says "So you look for an equal?"

M'val fumbles rather obviously at Aisling's question. "A, a, a feel for who
she is and how she fits inside her skin. A comfort with that. Some men like
tall willowy women, or women with lots of curves. That's not what makes a
woman attractive to me. If they're comfortable with who _they_ are, and
what their worth is all by themselves...not just as someone's appendage or
extension." He coms to a halt and shrugs helplessly.

K'ran's expression screws up in distaste, likely at the imperfection of
words, here. He rakes a hand back through his hair and ventures, "An equal?
A partner? A challenge?"

"And what if I told you I was once a Healer apprentice?" Aisling notes,
keeping her expression perfectly straight and most deliberately not looking
towards the bowl. A brief flash of relief at M'val's question before she
nods in agreement. "I like that."

M'val adds to Kassima, "I don't want lace and frills. That's...that's...
Maybe it's feminine, but it's not my ideal of feminine."

"I'd say that you're not one anymore," K'ran answers Aisling, with a grin.
"And I'd have a hard time imagining you wrapped in lace and frills."

Kassima smiles a faint, rueful smile, and ducks her head to attend to her
plate. "'Tis a fine thing when anyone can be happy with who they are and
what life's made of them," she murmurs. "Without regrets. Or so I've heard
told. Aye, aye--I'm nay disagreeing," she hastens to say, looking up. "I've
known plenty of women who were certainly female without being a coquette. I
once had an argument with Asrai about it; she was trying t'tell Kharty that
a woman should wear skirts and frills to a Gather in order t'look her
finest. Rather silly, really."

Lysseth> Taralyth backwings for a landing.

Aisling opens her mouth to speak, her expression pure mischief before
suddenly she glances towards the bowl and her shoulders just slump. Poor
Pitiful Ais mutters something under her breath. "umm"

Tarlo looks over. "Aisling, are you alright?"

M'val admits, "I like skirts a lot of the time, for women. But I like them
in riding leathers or just regular clothes too - whatever's _appropriate_.
I don't like 'em for Fall, for instance." He flashes a quick grin towards
Kassima. "I suppose I don't mean without regrets, but - but..." He trails
off. "I don't find women who're totally unsure of themselves attractive.
And that's the type that's so cringing they have to cling as well as the
type that pushes everyone away."

Lysseth> Taralyth lands in a tidy thump, powdered snow dusting up about his
paws and the trailing edges of his wings; the latter at least he can swing
up again, out of the way, and investigate the others with bright
single-lidded blue eyes. Meanwhile, his rider fumbles through the
unstrapping, wearing mittens over his gloves as he does.

Lysseth> Sielth is staring rather intently towards the living cavern,
rumbling very softly. If anything she sounds rather disappointed.

Tarlo purses her lips. "What's the difference," she asks suddenly, "Between
a woman who is 'unsure of herself' and a woman who simply knows she's not a
beauty?"

Lysseth> Talisha walks here from the north.

Lysseth> Riolth warbles a cheerful greeting towards Taralyth.

Kassima grins back, a wry expression. "Just as well that, too--I can't
think of many people who have *none*. That's making sense t'me. A'course,
there are likely young women still unsure who could be given confidence in
fairly short order--*without* having t'result t'frills and lace." With some
pride, she adds, "Kharty ended up telling Asrai she was going t'go in
leathers and find a man who *liked* leathers. If'n she'd just ended it
there a'fore she danced naked on the bar, I'd have been proud. Aisling?"
Concern colors her tone as she looks towards the greenrider. "Is aught amiss?"

Lysseth> Taralyth tilts his head to follow her - and his neck with it, so
his rider clutches onto the straps, till at last the neck curves low enough
that he can slip off.

"I was never a Healer apprentice." Aisling states almost sullenly with a
look towards the bowl that clearly states, 'happy?'. Fortunately her mood
doesn't last to long before she offers. The one that is sure of herself,
wouldn't care what people thought of her."

Lysseth> I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

Lysseth> Lysseth lifts her dark head from her dark curl, greeting the
bronze with a quiet rumble of the drowsy kind. Hello, hello, hello.

M'val blinks at Tarlo. "Depends. Does she hate that she's not a beauty?
Does she accept that for some people she might be - like the people who
love her? You can be not-a-beauty and still be comfortable."

Lysseth> Talisha wanders through rather quickly on her way to the living
cavern. A slight pause in her step, and she salutes I'sai quickly before
trying to hurry on her way.

K'ran's expression screws back into that pensive frown. "I'm not sure I
understand the question," he says to Tarlo, his attention also wandering
towards Aisling. "I mean, is she happy with herself, her life?" He nods in
vague agreement with M'val's words.

Lysseth> I'sai hails, "Cold enough to freeze your teeth off, isn't it?"
Talisha's way, finding his footing and racing her to the caverns.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth snorts a playful breath her way: but,
as ever, her living illusion of dust stays put. << What do you watch,
Lysseth, what do you have? >>

Lysseth> Talisha glances back at I'sai, her own feet quickening her pace.
"Teeth...chatter.. cold, yes." she calls across, then dashes into the
living cavern.

Talisha walks in from the bowl.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth breathes a cloud of frost-warmth
back, vague amusement filtering through her sleepiness. << Oh, I watch not,
I have not; I drowse only, listening to my rider and hers. It was a busy
evening--Chaeth's, she had a hatchling. >> Pause. << It was pink. >> As if
there were other options.

I'sai walks in from the bowl.

Tarlo takes a deep breath, trying to determine how much she should explain.
Honesty seems the best option. "I'm not unhappy with myself. I mean, I
honestly think you need to have a really strong sense of self to even
Impress in the first place...you can't be weak in spirit to be a rider. But
getting down to the physical," she shrugs. "I used to be told I was never
the beauty my sisters were, but that it's alright because I was such a
talented seamstress. And when I was at Weaverhall, well, there was this
pair of girls who...they used their femininity almost like a weapon. I'd
never seen anyone like that. I was envious of them, but contemptuous at the
same time. They thought I was just this drab thing. But Cariath thinks I'm
beautiful." she smiles, her eyes lighting up. "So at any rate, I just came
into accepting that I'm not going to have a horde of hangers-on at Gathers,
but that's alright."

Tarlo adds with a touch of playful snobbery, "My designs are pretty, at any
rate."

Kassima frowns perplexment at Aisling, but lets that go. "If'n anyone's
unhappy, I suppose they must be less attractive," she muses. "Though you'd
nay know it by some *men*--well, mayhaps women are more apt t'find
melancholy attracting." Another smile curves her mouth as she listens to
Tarlo, but she adds nothing beyond a single nod of acknowledgment; then,
she turns to wave I'sai's way.

Talisha hovers in the entrance for a moment, stomping her feet quickly then
peeling off the extra bulk of clothing. Tarlo's words float across, and she
furrows her brows slightly, wandering through and towards the serving table.

"You'll have to satisfy yourself with a horde of shiftless bronzeriders
during Cariath's flights," quips K'ran, pressing a kiss into the palm of
his right hand and then blowing it towards Tarlo.

M'val glances around as Talisha comes in, and smiles slightly. He nods at
her, and then turns back to Tarlo. "Beauty isn't - isn't - beauty doesn't
define a woman's femininity or attractiveness or the way people will like
them. It can help, for some things, but not for friendship or long-term
relationships. That's personality."

I'sai shivers after Talisha, thumping M'kon-sized mittens on his thighs to
knock off the trace snow that dusts them, and doesn't so much as bother
with removing any of his outer gear just yet; his pale gaze sweeps the
cavern, Skyfire's table first, but eventually meets Kassima's gesture with
a nod.

Aisling's nose wrinkles slightly. "As if one judge's ones worth by the
number of hanger-ons at a gather?" She asks in disdain before offering
I'sai a wave. "Care to answer a question?"

Tarlo points out to K'ran, "That's my dragon, not me. Unless certain
dragons put more effort into it because their riders want it more than
others partially because of the partner." she smiles. "It's a good thought,
though." she says cheerfully. She looks to Aisling, "Of course."

K'ran shakes his head firmly. "No," he assures Tarlo. "That's you."

Kassima waggles a finger at K'ran. "You're leaving out the shiftless
brownriders, and 'tis nay fair t'them--" A pause while, glancing back, she
sees Talisha also and waves to her a bit sheepishly. "Lyss, you could've
told me *all* who were coming in," she mutters. "Really. That's truth,
though: friendship goes beyond outward appearance. Casual lovers, now, they
might only be interested in beauty. But even women who aren't ravishingly
gorgeous can have plenty if'n they wish 'em, if'n they've the right
attitude and manner t'make 'em alluring."

"What makes a woman beautiful?" Aisling asks Tarlo, then extends the
question to all there, looking a bit startled as she spots Talisha. "I
didn't even see you walk in." She notes apologetically.

M'val runs a hand through his hair. "Well, it's hard to determine. I know a
goldrider...she was fourteen Turns old when she Impressed. She's convinced
- or was when I talked to her about it - that no one would want her for any
reason but for her dragon. She's wrong, but..." He shrugs. "It's very
frustrating. She's pretty sure of herself otherwise. It's _not_ true.
People may notice you for your dragon," he assures Tarlo, "but it won't be
only for Cariath that they'll be interested."

I'sai fidgets a glance over his shoulder, "Talisha, y'mean?" he asks of the
weyrling's master, though quick steps take him near, near enough to glance
at a gambler's hand along the way and be swatted for it. "...Oh. Tarlo.
Attitude."

Talisha fixes herself a plate of food, grateful for the lack of notice,
since she hadn't saluted. She wanders over with her plate, and oh course a
mug of klah towards the others, plunking herself into a seat with a small
amount of grace.

Tarlo salutes I'sai after noticing his presence, and sits back down,
expression thoughtful. "I know what makes clothing beautiful." she says to
Aisling. "It's harder to say what I think makes a woman beautiful. My
eldest sister is considered beautiful...she's very gentle and warm,
though...in addition to being well, pretty. I suppose esthetics play a big
part." she looks around. "The answer depends on whether I'm a cynic or not.
I guess the safest answer is that I don't know."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth lets the cloud filter over his facets,
spiked with bits of ice: << Here? Here, pink? >> Snow, cliff, stone and cold.

Kassima listens to this with great interest, though she's focusing her eyes
on her food and not contributing much; not much to add, perhaps? Or perhaps
she doesn't know. "Most riding women," she does comment, "have men looking
at 'em at one point or another--or women, if'n that's more their thing. Or
both."

M'val says "Tsk!" He gives Tarlo a flashing smile. "K'ran and I didn't go
for safe. I'd like to hear, really. Cynical or not."

"Anyone that has an opinion." Aisling notes in reply to I'sai before
nodding to Kassima. "I don't think riders follow traditional definition of
-anything-."

K'ran half-rises to afford I'sai the mandated salute. When he returns to
his seat, he simply watches Tarlo, a faint smile tugging the corners of his
mouth upwards.

Alessandra walks in from the bowl.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth delights in this image, and crowns
her facets with frost-coronets to match: regal spires, lent grace by cold
weather. << Here, >> she confirms, << here. >> Sandy Bowl, soft snow, the
chill rippling across folded wingsails. Light-- << Inside, in the place
where the humans gather. >>

Alessandra wanters back in, looking a little frazzeled. Salutes are given
where needed, along with a rather tired "Evenin'."

Tarlo looks to M'val. "I'm not at the place I was when I was younger. To
me, my sister was the paramount of beauty because everyone said so. I used
to think that beauty was more then just esthetics. At least as far as
people are concerned. But I've seen people who were less beautiful in
spirit and more beautiful in face than she, who attracted just as much
attention."

I'sai recognizes the weyrlings with a collective nod, automatically leaning
his elbows on the table so mittened knuckles can afterward serve as a
chin-rest - only jerk up at the cold, mutter, and start to scrub off
mittens to reveal a set of gloves beneath. "Beautiful - when?" he asks
without looking up from his task.

M'val says, cautiously, "More beautiful physically attracts. It's a natural
response to be interested. But it doesn't mean that the person is
attractive for more than the few moments it takes to find out how shallow
they are, or how mean they can be."

Tarlo purses her lips. "So are we discussing beauty...or what makes a woman
attractive? Isn't that two different things?"

I'sai contributes to his mittens, "Or how warm they are. Or aren't. And
both of those sound dangerous."

"Unless," Kassi puts in, dusting the last crumbs of bread from her
fingertips, "the person attracted is likewise shallow, or perhaps very
foolish, and decides to prize the physical over the spiritual. We're
discussing female beauty in general, Is--what would you say makes a woman
beautiful?"

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth fidgets at it. Snow - blood - smell -
and there's a prismatic rainbow for those spires of hers, rather more
appealing.

M'val smiles at I'sai, "Warm is good, up here. Brrr! Um. There's what makes
someone _notice_ a person, decide to pay attention to them - that's where
beauty comes in, that's where dragons come in sometimes - and there's
_attractiveness_, which can include beauty but isn't by any means limited
to it. Personality is important."

Lysseth> Valrieth backwings for a landing.

K'ran rises from his seat, now. "Ale," he mutters. "This is definitely a
two-mug conversation. Anyone else, while I'm up?"

Tarlo offers her mug. "If you please?"

Tarlo says "But not ale, klah."

Lysseth> From between Valrieth's neckridges, Lanryi dismounts, wraps her
arms around herself, and heads for the warmth of the living cavern.

Aisling rests her chin on the palm of her hand as she listens, picking up
one of the spiderclaws. She is mostly silent now, shaking her head in
response to the question.

Lysseth> Lanryi climbs off from between Valrieth's neckridges.

Lanryi walks in from the bowl.

Tarlo rises and salutes Lanyri while offering her mug to K'ran.

M'val glances towards the Bowl, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Talisha props one elbow on the table, listening with silent interest for a
long while. The food is picked at, and as she watches Tarlo salute, she
rises from her chair, sketching a quick, polite one towards Lanyri then
dropping back down.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth darts queries: blood, blood? No
hunger, no blood-lust (nor other-lust either; Kassima must be so relieved),
only curiousity. Where blood? She'll take blood's hue and put it in that
rainbow, which she refracts from crystal to crystal in prismatic pyrotechnics.

Alessandra, still standing, salutes Lanryi before she finds an empty seat
and plops into it. "So attractiveness is the current topic?"

I'sai waves a stray mitten K'ran's way with a, "Tall one, please. After
Bitra, I need it." He adds, "Still haven't answered me, Kassi: beautiful,
when? When you're just looking at her, from across the cavern, like - " at
the recurrence of salutes, he turns, and his grin Lanryi's way is sudden
and wide as it is brief.

"Well, I do nay understand it," Kassima decides abruptly, with a
quicksilver grin. "So I am glad that it is nay an issue t'me; let others
wonder about beauty. 'Tis a worthy matter t'ponder. Thankee, K'ran, but
I've enough juice t'hold out awhile yet." Leaning back in her chair, she
replies, "Always, I suppose. When you're looking at her, when you know her,
when you're bedding her, whatever. G'deve, there, Lanryi."

K'ran collects Tarlo's mug after giving Lanryi a quick, polite salute. Klah
then ale then a skin of wine, and he returns to the table to distribute
drinks. "So. Now we've almost figured out what makes a man a man, and what
makes a woman beautiful. What questions of life shall we ponder next?"

Tarlo grins. "I want to hear I'sai's answer."

Lanryi shivers and returns the weyrling salutes, then offers "Good Evening
Everybody." With that taken care of she shrugs out of her jacket and heads
toward the conversation, plopping down in a chair with the group.

Aisling offers Lanryi a grin before that same grin is turned towards I'sai.
"I believe you have all of our attention."

I'sai makes a show of lolling back once his fellow wingsecond's stepped
past, boots crossed at the ankle, and even unbuttons his collar a few
notches - then reconsiders, and fastens one back. "All of your attention,
truly? And I'm supposed to waste it with something like that?" His gloves
must be fine quality, the way he snaps his fingers even through them;
"Time's up. Well. Looking at her, just looking: yes, looks. What she's born
with, what she's made of them since, including if she's all hunched over to
try an' make her chest look big. The rest, now, that's a bit more
complicated."

I'sai teases, "A very little."

Tarlo laughs softly at the response.

K'ran, in the middle of a long pull from his mug, practically spits ale
across the table. "Lovely."

Alessandra listens silently, giggling softly as she cradles her glass in
her hands. "Lovely, Is..."

"Hunched over," Kassi repeats, her nose wrinkling. "That sounds...
uncomfortable. And a wee bit ridiculous, nay offense to any present who
might've done so at any point. *Do* elaborate on these complications, Is?"

Aisling is silent while she mulls that over before she nods , "I suppose
that is true. Just like I can't say what makes any man handsome, really."
She seems to be weighing her words thoughtfully.

"Honesty, sincerity, and happiness makes a man handsome," Alessandra
offers, dark eyes peering over at Aisling. "You can see it in his eyes...
that makes a man handsome."

Tarlo says "I'd add confidance."

"Honesty, sincerity, and happiness," repeats K'ran, contemplatively. "I
think I could manage the first and the third, but the middle one might be a
challenge."

M'val asks, "Is honesty different from sincerity?"

"As opposed to, oh, hunching over to pick up a little's spat-out
shutter-upper, which is of course the most meaningful sight a man can
witness," I'sai follows up to their most gratifying reactions, his sweet
tenor just shy of saccharine and paired with a straight face, no less.
"Because motherhood is the pinnacle of what makes a woman a woman,
especially if she's nursing - those big, ah, wineskins, remember - just as
being a rider is ... what? Fine." He shrugs, a lighter gesture, voice
suddenly cooled to detachment. "Honesty isn't always beautiful. Most of the
time it's not, even if you want it. Happiness, confidence... is she
enjoying herself? Is she enjoying me? Would I enjoy her," and that last
lighter yet.

Kassima shakes her head, bangs falling into her eyes. "I'd eliminate
happiness as a general requirement. Some of the most seemingly attractive
men are those who mope and act dolorous--and behold, they've a dozen women
on either arm. Odd thing, really. Nay that I can be talking... big
*wineskins*." She liberates a breadroll from a neighboring plate to lob,
lightly, towards I'sai. "Wineskins. *Honestly.* I suppose you would know,
though, as well as any."

Tarlo rolls her eyes and grins, despite herself. "We're devolving into
stereotype, I think." she teases in general, with her eyes on I'sai. "Big
wineskins indeed." she snorts.

Alessandra shakes her head slowly. "Honesty may not be beautiful, I'sai,
but I can think of nothing I'd rather see in someone. Anyone. A person
might be gorgeous, but... Honesty makes them more than beautiful. And yes,
honesty is different than sincerity... but I can't exactly explain it, M'val."

"The beauty is only enhances by a number of screaming littles grabbing at
her shirt and legs?" Ais asks innocently

K'ran tilts his head slightly. "So -- are these things that make a man
attractive, and the things that make a man a man -- are they exclusive to
one another?" He takes another long pull from his mug, and then rephrases:
"Is a man who holds to duty, to honor... is such a man doomed to end his
days companionless?"

Telgar Weyr> A'ser runs into Kassi's Dragonlist by accident and just stares.

I'sai catches and, heedless of Kassima-contamination, gnaws. "What you want
to see, I won't argue you there. But honesty, honesty's hard, and dir -
mmm, _yes_, Ais. Pulling off that shirt, of course." To Tarlo, "What, am I
to give a recipe as to what, what makes me want to touch a woman, that the
Weyrs' cooks might provide? Or steal away the ingredients, one or the other."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima chortles.

M'val says to Kassima, "I suppose for a while it can be interesting, but
I'd hate to have to be around such a man - or such a woman - for very long.
Now, grief is one thing, or legitimate sorrow, or being sick...but being
down all the _time_? People would be spending their time trying to cheer
them up instead of _being_ with them."

Lanryi props her arms up on the table and and half burries her face in her
hands. "I don't think I even want to try to figure out just exactly what
you all are discusing." she offers, mumbling from behind her hand, "Yeah,
don't forget her wineskins Ais."

Telgar Weyr> A'ser says, "I'm thinking I should be applauding you, but my
natural instincts are just -screaming-, "Run! Drop the baby as bait and
/run/!""

M'val looks around to I'sai again. "Honesty's hard?"

Tarlo says with a wicked grin. "That's just it, I'sai. We're baking women
to order in the kitchen and I'm getting the recipe ingredients for Timbril."

"Try it sometime." Aisling notes almost morosely before shaking her head to
K'ran. "No, you just need to find a woman that values those things."

Alessandra continues softly, expression bemused. "Yes, honesty is hard,
yes, it's dirty, yes, it hurts, and yes, honesty is the single most
attractive thing I've ever found..."

"I had noticed this," Kassi allows, rue lacing through her tone, "in m'sole
relationship, aye--though t'be fair, he wasn't down *all* the time. Just
most. There are those who seem t'be finding it extremely attractive,
though, who go after it time and time again--I don't pretend t'be
understanding." K'ran's question gets an emphatic headshake. "P'tran has a
weyrmate. F'hlan has." These being her heroes, evidently. "Men of honor can
have love, and so can honorable women. I presume. I'd be interested t'know
this recipe, I'sai, just so I could share it with the next lady I catch
mooning over you with large eyes and sighs."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Running is perhaps not a bad idea. Else I will
someday start trying to coax *you* onto the tree. (This applies to
everyone, sadly. ;)"

[Editor's Note:  The Tree in question would be my Spawning Tree, the
Yggdrasil-To-Be. ;) ]

I'sai lifts pale eyes, "Of course it's hard. Unless you did everything
right. Or don't care. Or maybe ... _enjoy_ how your 'being honest' excuses
all the harshness you could ever dream." The baking joke pulls his mouth to
one side, half a smile, half smirk. "Timbril'd play along, too, did you but
say it where she could hear... and Kassima, Kassima, you're one of the
women I'd least want to know it. Kind as you are."

Telgar Weyr> A'ser says, "It's like a nightmarish christmas tree, with
victims dangling from very nearly every branch...."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "That's... that's pretty apt, actually."

Telgar Weyr> Alessandra says, "appropriate image, A'ser."

Aisling shudders. "Just as long as you don't include that one woman that
wanted his eye to put in a glass. Whatever happened to her?"

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth returns to pair blood with pink with
newborn hatchling little and yowl-yowl-yowl! in human memory.

Telgar Weyr> A'ser says, "Why, thank you. Comes of so much torture lovingly
invested in me by all of you. ;)"

I'sai twitches. Drinks his wine.

Kassima suggests, mild, "Mayhaps a distinction should be made between being
honest and being tactless--telling the truth isn't the same, necessarily,
as telling *all* the truth *all* the time. Oh, Aisling, don't *remind* me."
And she shudders. "I spent a fortune t'save you from her clutches, Is; you
should really be more grateful t'me."

Telgar Weyr> Tarlo says, "You'd certainly put an interesting spin on our
current discussion. ;>"

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth flares comprehension, though she does
not--mercifully?--return the yowl; in fact, she throws a cloak of shadow
around it to muffle it. Not much blood, she corrects reflectively. Not much
mess. Just... noise.

Alessandra rises, filling her mug again. "I still treasure honesty over
anything." She pauses, voice dropping a bit. "Why do you think I still love
Leelson?" Another pause, and a bit of a shake at the shoulders, and Alessi
settles back in her chair. "Tactful honesty, aye, Kassima." That said, she
falls back into silence.

M'val nods towards Kassima, still looking at I'sai. "What Kassima said.
Honest is not...blunt. They aren't at all the same things."

K'ran leans back in his chair once again, holding mug of ale at the ready,
and observes, "I'd agree with I'sai, actually." He gestures absently with
his free hand. "I can list some of the virtues I'd look for in a woman, but
at the end of the day it's more an art than anything. I can no more tell
you what makes a woman beautiful than I can command the clouds turn to
butter and fall from the sky."

I'sai rolls a squint up at Aless at that young man's name, and abruptly
shakes his head; dry as the white he drinks, "So there's honest, tactless,
and purposefully picking the worst truths instead of the best." To K'ran, a
toast, though he adds, "And I hope you never do. Greasy. And later, rancid."

"What -is- honesty?" Aisling asks, as if her question is aimed towards
another ear. "When is a lie a lie?"

Alessandra giggles softly, lifting her gaze up from the rim of her mug. "A
woman is beautiful if she is Whinde." No bias there, no... "But also if she
is sincere, and honest to herself most of all. And good question, Aisling."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth prods blithely at the blanket,
distracted: will it move? Can he pounce? And if he does, will it go
rustle-and-squeak?

Tarlo stays quiet, obviously feeling ill qualified to answer but no less
amused. She pauses suddenly, murmuring, "It's late. You want to go up there
/now/? Perhaps in a bit. Let me drink my klah."

Kassima glints a half-smile I'sai-wards. "But a'course. You didn't think,"
and this a drawled rhetoric, "that everything was in black and white, did
you? When is it ever?" She rolls her shoulders then, shrugging. "Honesty's
something I'd expect, I think, if'n I ever sought a match. I don't know
whether I find it beautiful, but 'twould agree that 'tis needful."

M'val says, thoughtful now, "Honesty is speaking truth. Most especially, it
is speaing truth that, not spoken and found out later, would hurt. Not
concealing things that will hurt when it's found they were hidden."

"And slippery, when you step on it," agrees K'ran reasonably, lifting his
own mug to answer that toast.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth twitches a blanket-corner, limning it
briefly in darkling blue--oh, he can *try*. But can he catch? That is the
question.

I'sai murmurs, soft as the brush of broom over stone that's the drudge
cleaning nearby, "When you've had too much to drink, or not enough." More
conversationally, "And I'd suppose you'd include - M'val, is it? - things
that will hurt no matter when they're heard, be it now or be it later, and
perhaps better postponed for it. If that wording isn't too..." a brief
grin, "slippery."

Lanryi just fades into the LC background, chin proped up in her hand,
listening in on the conversation.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth poises - then calls, teases, <<
Lysseth! See what Sielth does, with her snow? >>

Lysseth> Taralyth swings his muzzle into blue-eyed, bright-eyed tilt
towards young Sielth, though facets spin enough to spare.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's facets gleam brief understanding of
the tactic--distraction, is it?--but indulgence reigns; a split-second, no
more, before she obediantly turns to look. << Does what? Where? >>

M'val inclines his head slightly. "M'val, yes. Yes, if they will hurt
whenever they're heard... Well, if they'll hurt more for not being spoken
then, yes. I'd include saying those things too."

Lysseth> Lysseth darts her slim head in search of that same green,
obediantly to investigate the snow nearest her.

Aisling is silent now, mulling over the various comments. From her
expression, it is likely that she is also engaging in an internal discussion.

"Such as telling someone when their weyrmate has been unfaithful, after
promising otherwise?" Kassi muses, though more to herself in real question.
"I do nay think anyone's ever been pleased with the one who provides that
honesty--oh, I'sai, I envy you. Mayhaps with too much... but never without
enough."

M'val rubs at his eyes, then opens them wide again: fighting off
sleepiness, it seems. "Who promised otherwise? The person who told, or the
weyrmate?"

Lysseth> Sielth looks between the two, eyes whirling light shades of blue.
Someone seems rather content with the discussion within, her warble almost
smug.

Tarlo says "The question of honesty then wouldn't be that you confessed,
but you were unfaithful to your weyrmate."

"But is keeping quiet the same thing as being dishonest?" Aisling asks
quietly.

Tarlo says "Situationally, I would say so."

"Nay, nay--'tisn't the one who's unfaithful who's speaking," Kassi
corrects, breathing out a sigh. "The weyrmate promised t'be faithful;
finding out about their deceit, someone else might perhaps let the deceived
one know of the situation did they think it would be well. That's honesty,
but rarely appreciated."

I'sai drinks a deeper draught, and thereafter supplies archly, "Why, you
almost sounded as if you were talking about a genuine example, Kassima. A
troubling one. And, you're right there; they might thank you, but
afterwards, they'd likely curse your name. Even if you were right, eh?"

M'val taps his fingers against his thigh. "That's not a necessary honesty,
though. The sorts of honesty that I think Alessandra means are the sorts
between the two people in question. It's the weyrmate who's betraying twice
- once by not being faithful, and once by not being honest about it."

I'sai half-turns; "Aless?"

Lysseth> Riolth lifts his muzzle and snakes it over one leg to look at the
other dragons, unlidding his eyes except for the very innermost lids.
Taralyth, particularly, he gazes at for a long time.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth must live for distraction - given his
rider - but instead, << See? >> and not pounces, but - tosses, thought
weighted like a firestone sack to skid across snow.

"Shooting the messenger, eh?" Alessi murmurs softly, then drains a good
half her mug. No, she's not getting drunk--she's matched too many people in
drinking matches to do that. "Unfaithfulness is the first dishonesty.
Lying--or simply not speaking--is the second. Lying to yourself is the
third. I think ... I think honesty to yourself is something I rarely find
in people, and therefore I think that's why I find it so attractive. The
courage to face the ugly truths about yourself is so rarely found... that
finding it in someone means that someone is to be treasured."

Kassima replies, bland to parry archness, "Imagine that. Though i'truth,
I'm nay--quite; in the example I think of, the person in question did nay
tell, only threaten t'be doing so if'n the dishonest parties didn't beat
her to it." A slim smile. "My, but they yelled. I don't know that 'tisn't
necessary, M'val--if'n you see something that will hurt someone you care
about, and you do naught about it, are you nay being dishonest too?"
Another rolled-shoulder shrug. "But a query. It doesn't really reflect on
the aspect of romance or attractiveness, granted."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth leaves her thought-cloak supine for
one moment, two, then--tosses back, to catch rather than be pounced, and
snag sack in shadow-folds. << I see, >> she crows, black night triumphant.

M'val counters, "But you needn't _tell_, to be doing something about it.
Even in your own example, the person _did_ something - convinced the
unfaithful weyrmate to tell. Or so it sounds. That's doing something."

"But what happens if there is extenuating circumstances?" Aisling asks
thoughtfully. "Like a flight, not that they won. But it just happened?"

M'val's lips tighten slightly. "Weyrmates ought to understand that,
Aisling. Flights just _are_. There's no question of faithfulness in them."

Tarlo nods her agreement with M'val. "Flights aren't an issue. They're
instinctual."

"I suppose," Kassima grants. She sips her juice. "But I do wonder what
would have happened if'n she'd had t'follow up on that threat; that might
be the sort of honesty I'sai means. Bluntness rather than aught. That's
differing, Ais... flights are flights, and you can't blame anyone for what
they do unless mayhaps they do real *harm*."

I'sai doesn't look at Aisling, but his sharp expression thins. "Some people
are fools enough to say, losing a flight, that doesn't count as, as flight,
as -flying- her. Some people aren't."

Lysseth> Taralyth could mimic a sphinx, so tidy is his perch, so fine the
arch of his backswept wings - were it not for those wings' restless rustle
at their very tips.

Aisling raises a finger, falling silent as I'sai puts her thoughts into
words before continuing, "Weyrmating is not simply about sharing a bed
exclusively. There are many more things involved."

M'val rubs at his eyes again, and stifles back a yawn. He gets to his feet
at last and picks up his gloves and helmet. "I've really enjoyed the
conversation tonight - I'm glad I came to visit - but I shouldn't like to
fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. And I need to find out if I'll be
back on sweeps yet." He smiles around at everyone. "So I'd better go home
now."

Lysseth> Sielth considers for a moment before she mimics Taralyth's
position, even her wings still.

I'sai allows humor to tinge his voice, light as behooves a digression,
"Besides, you can forget 'exclusively' when firelizards are involved, and
they want to warm up their taloned toes." Then, "Unless it's Igen, I
suppose. Well. Clear skies to you, M'val, since there's no point wishing
crackdust."

Aisling offers M'val a quick grin. "Clear Skies."

Kassima peers into her glass, pensive. "I'd have said that once, methinks,
but enough Turns have been changing m'view on that somewhat. Too many
otherwise respectable people have broken their word under flight-influence
for me t'discount it as a weighty thing. Mayhaps these fools you speak
of--" She glints a brief not-smile at him. "They may change perspectives
too. Who's t'be saying?" She turns her head then to offer M'val a genuine
grin. "Come back any time, and mayhaps we'll debate the ultimate meaning of
life or some such thing. Duties to Igen and her queens, and fair winds
t'you and Riolth, M'val."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth murmurs, stars to night, << Do you
toss it back, Lysseth, or do you keep it for your own? >>

M'val chuckles. "Clear skies to you all, riders." He tugs on his helmet and
then his gloves and starts towarsd the Bowl. Just barely within hearing, he
pauses and turns back to look at I'sai. His voice is soft, wistful -
appreciative, perhaps. "No one - not even our weyrlingmasters - ever asked
him who he was before." That said, the young bronzerider strides out to his
dragon.

M'val walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Lysseth> M'val comes out and leans briefly against Riolth's leg before
climbing up, resting and yawning widely. Finally getting to the bronze's
back, he clips himself in and stifles another yawn.

Lysseth> M'val climbs up Riolth's leg, onto the bronze's neck.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth flicks back in a whisper of breeze,
star-touched, << That would depend, Taralyth, on whether you wish it back
or not. >>

Aisling looks a bit perplexed as she glances after the bronzerider, her
gazes to the others at her table before she asks. "Did anyone get that?"

Tarloshakes her head. "Not yet."

Alessandra drains her mug--again--and shakes her head as well. "Not I, Ais."

"Dragon conversation?" Kassima supposes, with a Bowlward glance of her own.
"Taralyth can be... profound, upon occasion."

Lysseth> Taralyth does not lift his muzzle, but sparkling eyes' focus rises
nonetheless at the other dragon's preparation for departure, for - more
importantly - flight. Still, he can hold his wingtips still like Sielth,
and does.

"So Sielth tells me." Aisling notes before settling back in her chair.

Lysseth> Riolth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to
carry him aloft.

I'sai glances askance, and then away. And says - a twinge of
self-consciousness there? - "He does like to ... know them." And leaves it
at that.

Lysseth> Sielth watches the bronze as he prepares without shifting her
postion, a mere tilt of her head.

Lysseth> Cariath comes out, crooning a greeting to the others.

Kassima smiles into her cup. "'Tis a worthy thing, Is," she assures. "Nay
fault--but I did nay tell you, did I, that Jazmin spawned?" And how's that
for subject-change? "Though I think Lyss might have."

Lysseth> Taralyth's posed sphinx-fine, muzzle to paws and wings swept up
out of cold snow's reach - and surely he's not imitating _Sielth_. Oh, no,
she must be imitating him.

Lysseth> Above, Riolth glides into a circle, then lifts higher into the
sky. Now in the air, M'val takes off his helmet and ruffles out his hair,
despite the cold of the breeze.

Lysseth> Sielth is posed in a position similar to Taralyth. Just because he
assumed it first, does not mean she is imitating him.

Lysseth> Lysseth watches, watches--only that, still coiled comfortably in
her dusted circle. If amusement perhaps glints in those blue-spun eyes,
well....

"Is -that- what was going on?" Aisling notes. "I figured it was some sort
of firelizard hatching. Althought I had never heard the dragons carry on
about that."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth lets the whisper whisper back -
whisperwhisperwhisper, do the stars whisper so? - and would she keep it
close to her, were she to keep it, or - there thought goes blunt, flat, <<
Let the weyrlings step on it? >> Or land. Squish. Flat. What fun is that?

Alessandra looks up curiously, head canting to the side. "What's going on?..."

I'sai shakes his fair head, "You did not, 'neither did yon Pierron,'"
mimicking her tones for that last, "And Taralyth doesn't pass everything on
to me. Was it very messy? You'd have had a different tone if they weren't
all right."

I'sai lifts his shoulders Aless' way, lets them fall.

Lysseth> Taralyth's headknobs angle the least bit forward in a breath -
with a breath, but when it passes, they do not fall.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth threads the echo into something like
music, whisper-song--do they whisper, do they sing? Do they tell stories to
themselves, in flickers and flashes of fire?--and brushes flatness with the
whispered cloth. << Why? >> Simple query; complex concept, perhaps, and
still she hordes that captured prize.

"Oh, now, there's a fair on imitation; brush up your inflection and add a
few expletives, and you'll have me to the life," Kassi praises, or
mock-praises; with her, it's hard to tell. "'Tis what 'twas, Ais; she gave
birth right here, to a daughter by a Southern Wingleader evidently. Nay
much of a mess. Kichevio attended rather than Ushu, for which 'twas
grateful--but they're well, hale. The lass's name is Zaemina."

I'sai's lip frankly curls. "Here?" twitching up from the chair as if he'd
forgotten to look for blood and worse fluids before he'd sat.

Alessandra snickers softly, covering her grin with one hand.

"Under the Skyfire table," Kassi affirms, only too sweetly.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth skips whisper, skips flicker and flash
in favor of a sniffed, << Because. >> Because because because because
because of the wonderful things -

"Here?" Aisling notes looking fairly startled as she looks around, perhaps
looking for the baby. "She delievered in here while people were trying to
eat?"

I'sai twitches again - has he caught a palsy? - and bears up with a show of
grinding his boot heels against the stone.

I'sai tosses to his former wingmate, "Now, people have -joked- about J'lyn
eating babies, but it was only for breakfast."

Kassima confirms with entirely too much cheer, "She did. Can you blame her?
Ushu was on duty--who would wish to face him, did they nay have t'be doing
so? And J'lyn doesn't eat babies, or he'd never fit into those horrid pants
of his."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth steals a corner of the cloak to
touch, puzzled. << You are petulant. I do not know why. >>

Aisling peers at Kassima. "Under the skyfire table?" She questions before
shuddering to I'sai. "I can think of better things for breakfast."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth plays with the sounds as his rider
might: petulant, petal-lent... << Why do I need a reason for you, Lysseth? >>

"You," I'sai accuses the wingleader darkly, "Should know better than to
bring up -those pants-." To Aisling, "Now, next you'd have me ask, arch as
a maiden who's ... who's ... who's all _buttery_, 'Like weyrlings?' But I
won't."

"I asked her to," Kassi sees fit to point out, bright. "Though I don't
think she did it because of that. Still, Mart should be pleased, don't you
think--and I didn't bring up *your* pair, I'sai."

Alessandra rubs her eyes slightly, tired mind trying to keep up with the
conversation--and getting stuck on 'J'lyn' and 'pants'. "Are you all
talking about J'lyn's bottomless pants again?..."

"Speaking of which," Aisling begins. "Who won that one bet. Talisha or
M'kon?" She just eyes Kassima doubtfully. "At least it wasn't -on- the table."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth gives a 'plink' to mark each
transformed syllable, a jewel falling into water. Plink. Plink. Plunk. <<
Well, if you are petulant because of me, then I should like to know why, >>
she retorts in star-spray. << If you are not, then why act as though you
are? Have I done anything to you? >>

"Close enough," I'sai mutters, tenor the least bit petulant, "And why
should he be pleased, anyway? Not that I'm complaining. I don't think. Yet.
And no, Aless, I at least am trying very hard not to talk about them.
And..." when at last he smiles Aisling's way, it speaks smug volumes.

Tarlo says delicately, "I really don't like to contemplate the idea of
I'sai eating me for breakfast, thank you."

Alessandra suddenly chokes on her drink, eyes widening as she very, very,
firmly shoves that thought aside. "Ahem. Goodness."

Kassima breathes out a sigh. "It is called sarcasm, I'sai." She starts to
push her chair away from the table, gathering plates; she pauses, though,
at mention of a bet. "What wager was this?"

I'sai's freckled features get a workout today, what with the wrenching
shift to outrage; he sputters, "_Aisling_. Aisling-Aisling-_Aisling_. I
don't have _anything_ to do with you. ...You lot, I mean."

"When did you become a ba- err." Aisling begins before wrinkling her nose
as I'sai. "I had something in the mind of redfruit. Talisha bet M'kon that
she could talk him into wearing those pants." The last is to Kassima as way
of explantion. "I think that is how it went. It seemed a bit backwards to me."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth hints at warmth - not yet, not ... but
once-upon-a-time, yes - but then he's back to glinting cool again, deep
again, though the jewel's fall slows as water becomes ice: << Must I pick
bits apart, like Riolth does? Let us just _be_, Lysseth, just _do_. >>
This, coming from _Taralyth_.

I'sai's nose just wrinkles that much further at the thankfully-ended
thought, though he hasn't yet found words again.

Kassima's brows arc upwards at that; she regards I'sai with renewed
interest. "That's nay a bet *I'd* have made," she comments. "I can't
picture him in those pants. More, perhaps, is the pity."

Lysseth> Taralyth abruptly rises to all four paws, swings his wings down
along lean flanks and then higher yet - his soft exhalation's half a hiss
at the cold along their sensitive span - and looks all about: _he_ shan't
longer just sit.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth holds confusion, flurrying through
mind-winds in a numbing snow; still, lightly drowsy, amiable, she
accomodates. << You may be, >> she grants. << I may be--but do, do what? >>
Not understanding, but willing to try.

I'sai finally blurts - but that's all - "Different pants."

Aisling offers Kassi a look that is a mixture of relief and gratitude. "I
was beginning to wonder if I was the only female in the weyr with no desire
to see I'sai in those pants. No offense." She notes as she eyes I'sai. "Oh."

"Time to cue the 'oh, I wouldn't like to either,' people," I'sai says
shortly. "Ble-e-eaugh. Besides. Would you want to see your weyrmate in
them, or would you hope T'dan would have more sense?"

Lysseth> Sielth is still for a moment longer, before she nonchalently makes
her way to the warmth offered beneath bronze wings.

"Oh, I don't know that I would mind seeing I'sai in those pants," corrects
Kassi in a near-drawl. "It might be... interesting. But I can't imagine
that he'd ever consent, if'n you ken--and I'm nay sorry for that; if'n he
won't consent, then I know I'll have nay trouble refusing either."

Alessandra curls her legs up, knees at her chest, as she listens. "I want
to see you in purple velvet pants that have green stripes, I'sai," Alessi
announces playfully. Nevermind that she's not exactly keeping up on the
conversation with the best of them.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth shrugs off confusion with that roll of
his wings; amiable, amiable he can do. << Fly. >> Even a sped-up flick of
toss-toss-toss. Or - wait. Sielth. Startlement.

Lysseth> Lysseth notes that green movement; says nothing, but--turns, turns
away, presenting an elegant line of back and furled wing. *Let* them get
cozy. *See* if she cares.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth has exchanged water, depth, snow,
night, all for bland mirror-polish, blank-crystal: << Why, you may fly, if
you wish. >> With Sielth, perhaps.

Aisling ponders that for a moment before shuddering. "No." She states
emphatically before offering Kassi a grin. "Very good point. I just can't
see how they would be comfortable. Unlike velvet. That is soft"

Dragon> Lysseth and Taralyth sense that Sielth pauses for a moment before
she points out <<He has two wings>>

Lysseth> Taralyth pauses on the tips of his paws, startled: but - but - but
he'd been about to _fly_. And then he snakes his head under that wing to
peer: Sielth? But - but - if he matched jump to downsweep, it'd bop her.
Maybe even in the head.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth scratches at the crystal,
scritch-scratch-scratch: but, but, he's trapped!

I'sai looks faintly vindicated. Faranth alone knows why.

Lysseth> Taralyth and Sielth sense that Lysseth reflects back a blank white
thought. She's not listening, la la la la.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth considers, considers, and graciously
concedes: crystal melts away, transient as snow, and still as colorless. Go
free, then, if that be your will.

Lysseth> Taralyth tries flapping his far wing, the near tucking
instinctively about the smaller dragon; all he does is lean. And look
plaintive.

Lysseth> Sielth croons softly as she is peered at. Who would bop something
as small as her. With a long dragon sigh she does pad forth from beneath
the wing and shivers. Alot.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth bats at the crystalmelt, futile though
it is; exasperated, << Not _that_, Lysseth. >> What fun is that? All flat.
No colors. It is not _her_.

"Velvet is soft, but if velvet were embarrassing--as I'm guessing the
velvet in question is...." Kassima crinkles her nose. "Much though I hate
t'be admitting it, *I* wouldn't wear it, so how could I cajole another to?"

Lysseth> Taralyth rumbles. Protectively. Likely it's not so much that the
young dragon changes his mind, as that he believes - embodies - multiple
things at once.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's thought slips around batting claws,
elusive. Not her--no more her, perhaps, than petulance is him? Well, now
she is petulant, and let her return like for like.

I'sai mutters under his breath, since the bet's safely won, "Purple yes,
green no, and very ... _small_." He does add, "Shards, Kassima, why let
that stop you?" When does it ever stop him?

Lysseth> It doesn't take Sielth but a split second to regain the spot she
had so reluctantly given up. No, her croon is not smug. But warm and
toasty, almost entreatying towards the other green.

Kassima lifts her shoulders in a shrug, frowning slightly. "Honor, I
suppose--although, granted, I guess I'm usually nay worrying about it. Put
it down t'the aftereffect of all this weighty conversation, then."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth warns of winter's roar, its bone-deep
shiver: that's what waits beyond. Beyond him. Them.

Lysseth> Lysseth only curls in tighter on herself. She can keep *herself*
warm; *she* doesn't need anyone, no, not at all.

"I think we covered just about all of them." Aisling notes. "And I came in
late to the conversation."

I'sai asserts, "It's not wrong for me to convince... convince... -Aless-
here to wear a dress and to not wear one myself." To Aisling, "About all of
what?"

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth does allow one spark, sullen. And why
is it that he can be temperamental without penalty, cool to her, while if
she returns the favor there is this freezing? That scarcely seems fair--

Lysseth> Taralyth tips his muzzle towards Sielth's, the better to brush jaw
to jaw as if consulting: does Lysseth -look- warm? Does she shiver yet?
Poor Lysseth.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth lights on the spark, fans it grandly
sun-bright through his thought's diamond lens: << Be warm with me, Lysseth,
>> for outside, -outside- is the freezing; the doing of it is none of his.

"Aye, 'tis," Kassi returns promptly. "Because why should she wear a dress,
if'n she doesn't wish to? Mayhaps she doesn't *like* dresses."

Lysseth> Sielth offers a soft croon in reply, eyes whirling slowly. No,
Lyseseth does not look warm, but if Taralyth were to take a few steps
-that- way, she too can be warm.

I'sai argues, "She can say no. If she really doesn't like them. Doesn't
like them enough. It's only if she's weak that she'll be convinced even
when it really-really-really isn't her, and she's not."

"All of the weighty topics." Aisling replies. "Oh, and its your job to test
just how weak she is?"

I'sai cocks his head, avian-light; "I didn't say that. But it sounds
interesting. Who else can I do? ...And those topics, the way you put it,
seems like people are trying to find out about you," and he exaggerates the
truth of a shudder.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth lets the brightness wash over her
lifeless snow--picking out glints of crystal in it, perhaps, but what's
that to her if she doesn't deign to notice? Or admit? Warmth has, she will
grant, appeal... but not group-given; no groupie, she, no flirt-gill, no
skainsmate. Proud green. Though pride is a cold consolation.

Lysseth> Taralyth could: he looks, and looks. Would Lysseth... bite him?
Nip? Or, worse, slink away, or play statue-cold?

Kassima fidgets; picks up a fork, sets it back down. Frowns. "I suppose,"
she allows, distracted. "But really, I do nay know--who else can you do?"
*That* gets a blink. "Shells, Is, haven't you done enough people already?
You'll need more spawn in time, but five in as few Turns as you've managed
seems a fair amount. Best nay tell M'rgan if'n you're seeking more."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth homes on the crystal, and if he can
melt the rest - << Why not? We are just us - >> what he does not say, what
does not so much as enter his consciousness is that none are proddy here;
they are just themselves, and might as well be warm all together as
anything. (A small echo, rider-remembered: a pile of weyrling dragonets
that he insists had been them.)

Lysseth> Lysseth could be a statue, really, did she not breathe, those
occasional clouds drifting across frosty air to disperse. She's not here.
Or you're not here. One or the other; she can pretend either way.

"I think I would like to be there when he does." Aisling notes with a
slighty cheerful note. "M'rgan gets the best expressions on his face around
I'sai."

"Done?" I'sai's turn to blink, and color rises high on his cheekbones; "Not
like -that-. Unless..." and suddenly rapt, studying Kassima as he is,
"...Unless you think it is a testing of weakness to, ah, ...do someone. As
you put it." If only he had a microscope.

Lysseth> Sielth's croon takes on a questioning tone as she settles onto her
haunches, clearly not knowing what to make of this.

Lysseth> Taralyth suddenly shifts into chancy humor, though he does not
confide its source; mental confirmation touches Sielth. Let's go there:
just as she'd planned. Right up to - he moves slowly, and will pause if
Sielth does - Lysseth.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth is not, though, the sort of dragon
who likely piled with her cohorts when young; single-minded and jealous,
she might play well with others, but 'share' is a differing concept. << Us,
>> she repeats. << You. Plural. Yes. >> Enough said, digging herself deeper
into that snow-pile, attempting to bury crystal likewise. << Be warm, >>
she bids. Hold no concern for her, for what need has she of concern from an
Us?

Lysseth> Sielth moves just as slowly, if only to keep beneath that wing.

Kassima's wits aren't quite at their sharpest; she keeps looking
half-distracted, her thoughts visibly elsewhere. "What?" she asks, drawing
back to the conversation. "Oh--well, if'n you say so, but it *sounded*...."
Her brows furrow and quirk in turn at that study. "I suppose it could be.
'Twould be depending on what weakness you're meaning, and how you attempted
it."

I'sai sits back, and his smile's slow, though it's not owned wholly by
pleasure; "Interesting."

Lysseth> Lysseth doesn't twitch away, grant her that--though it's less a
positive than a simple refusal to admit that she even notices their
existance. La, la, la, la, la, she can't heeeeear you.

Aisling settles back into her chair, glancing back to offer Alessandra a
quick smile before she considers the two, amusement flickering across her
face.

Lysseth> Taralyth glints another glance at Sielth, and then wanders up with
her towards that statue, that good, stay-right-there statue: closer,
closer, closer - and then snakes a lick at poor Lysseth's paw.

Kassima shrugs, discomfited. "Don't be asking me, Is. Remember: this is
precisely m'area of *in*expertise." Pause. As always, curiousity wins out:
"What had you in mind, anyway? Testing whom, why, how, what?"

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth lets it be known that he accepts the
bidding - for he'd meant to do such anyway - and carols, << Warm! >>

Alessandra looks, quite frankly, exhausted. She's not following the
conversation at all, and she only barely catches Aisling's smile. "I
think," she murmurs softly, dragging herself to her feet, "that it is time
I went to bed. I think I'm finally starting to get used to a normal
sleeping schedule..."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth tucks the last wisp of thought
beneath ice's blanket. Good. She's glad for you. Really. Keep rubbing it in
and she might change her mind, mind....

I'sai's pale glance registers the wingleader's reply - and then he passes
the mark; "Aisling was the one who called it testing. Of Aless, to find out
her weakness, to get her to wear a skirt... not that it's practical to fly
in, hmm? Night, Aless, and our best to Kiyoth."

Lysseth> Sielth may have instigated this, but notice that she keeps to the
far side of the statue, lest she suddenly rediscover their presence.

Lysseth> Lysseth twitches claws, reflexive; tense wings furl tighter. Poor
Lysseth, indeed; she can't even grab that tongue, or show affront, lest she
give up the game. And to give up is to *lose*.

Alessandra just blinks slightly at I'sai, then gives him a wan smile. "Is,
the last time I wore a dress, I had it taken right back off me and dumped
on the floor. So much for that... But goodnight..." What -is- it with
people and trying to get her into dresses anymore?

Aisling glances over at Alessandra to offer her a smile, "Sleep well." She
offers before turning to I'sai. "But when did testing become doing?"

"But getting her t'wear a skrit has naught t'do with doing her in the sense
you meant," Kassima points out, ever-pragmatic when it suits her, or when
she's not thinking not to be. "--Clear skies, then, Alessandra. G'luck in
avoiding the dressing hordes."

I'sai, after a startled brow-arch at the dumping, points silently at
Kassima. Only it becomes not-so-silently, "_You_ meant. You meant -that-
sense. You-you-you. Not me."

Alessandra nods slightly to Kassima, obviously too asleep on her feet to
catch any innuendo, innocent or ... not, and heads out the door.

Lysseth> Taralyth warbles pure pleasure: she moved, she moved, he saw it,
she moved. ...Of course, her paw is cold, and as that sinks in his tongue
retreats, only to stare hopefully at Sielth: her turn now, hm? Neck, maybe.
Headknobs.

Alessandra walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

"I *started* it," Kassi will allow, "but you're the one who asked about
testing--did you mean that doing Alessandra would test her weakness t'wear
a dress? If'n so, Is... then you're even weirder than I thought."

Lysseth> Sielth tilts her head as if searching for just the right place.
Finally she decides, creeping forward until she is able to snake a lick
against the green headknobs, drawing her head back almost as the deed is done.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth radiates warmth, solicitous as ever -
almost ever; rub it in, hmm? Where? Such fine dark edges she has to her
wings, so clever in Fall.

Lysseth> What Lysseth is willing to tolerate for the sake of the game from
a male, she'll do less willingly from a female--there's a definite
movement, a jerk away, and a sound of protest. Not snarl, but no happy
sound, either. They're *licking* her. Isn't this against some rule, somewhere?

Lysseth> Sielth warbles happily, forgetting that the object of the game was
to cover the green beneath Taranyth's wing, replaced by a new game, make
that green move. She snakes her head about to consider's Taralyth's reaction.

I'sai begins to squint, now. "Are you misunderstanding on -purpose-? If
you're so caught up in -doing-, -you- ...'do'... her."

'Perhaps you should define do?" Aisling asks helpfully. "I think you may be
using variations of that word. Or something."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's thoughts have dark edges, too,
darkly mistrustful of such concern--flattery will get you... well, all
right, so she's susceptible enough to flattery to even be showing as much
emotion as can be viewed in darkness. So sue her. The shadow is still
grudging, still snow-cold: not real flattery, not sincere. Just buttering
her up so he can get more warmth for *Sielth*.

Kassima focuses enough on the conversation at hand to make an exasperated
gesture and protest, not without redness of her own, "I'm *distracted*;
Lysseth's being a moody wench, and she's strong-minded, y'know. But I
certes shan't be doing anyone female, thankee very much."

Lysseth> Taralyth warbles distinct approval, made louder than he'd meant by
such close quarters: she moved again. Of course, she didn't sound happy; he
twists so he can peer sideways at Lysseth, blue eyes flowering ever so
soulful. Be warm. Feel the warmth. Both sides are warm, but one side has
Sielth, the move-move-move Sielth.

I'sai mimes astonishment - strong-minded? never - and then tells Aisling,
"Right. Different. She's talking about, ah, 'riding the wild tunnelsnake,'
only without the tunnelsnake, only not riding after all; I wasn't having
anything to do with that. Because, you know - does this tone of voice sound
noble enough? - 'Maylia wouldn't approve.'"

Lysseth> Sielth obligingly moves so that he can move that -other- side to
offer Lysseth the same warmth she had been enjoying.

Lysseth> Lysseth is *aware* of that; tension bespeaks it, the malcontent
she radiates bespeaks it, the red glints in her eyes--when they peek,
briefly, from the ball of dark dragonflesh she's turned into--bespeak it.
The cuddliness she could live with, try to ignore, but now they are
*licking* her. And one of them is female! How undignified. Maybe she
*likes* being cold; so there, so there.

Aisling shakes her head. "I don't think that Maylia would have an opinion
one way or the other. Unless." She quickly amends, "It was one of her
weyrlings."

"'Tis enough; 'twill serve," Kassi mutters agreeably, bringing a hand up to
rub at temples. "As nobleness goes--and 'twill grant you, you'll have
t'wait to... test... Alessi until later. Mayhaps never, i'truth--she
doesn't want children, y'know, and with your raging virility and all...."
Spoken with humor; she finds it amusing.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth knows better, knows her, his clear
tenor's shadow-blurred to a purr that shows it: she likes warmth, hmm? (And
sulky-sulky-sulk, 'tis true. Lyssy-yssy-ysseth. With neckridges that jut so
nicely when she arches her neck like that. )

"Which Aless is - one of her weyrlings - though since this was all pretend,
what-if, we could pretend she wasn't," I'sai supposes; he doesn't rub his
own temples, his sore spot's not there. Nor about what he speaks,
precisely: "And _shards_, Kassima, don't you think a man has better things
to do than wait around after women? And weyrlings, no less." He slides
what's left of his wine - most of it - away.

Lysseth> Taralyth doesn't now lick Lysseth, quite, there's only his warm
breath to see - with Sielth as witness - will it condense about warm hide
should it touch her, or freeze to ice?

Aisling listens carefully to I'sai, before offering "Well. If you really
want to pretend. You could wait for a pretend girl, weyrling or not. Then
you don't need to wait very long."

I'sai growls and tugs at his hair - only yelps when the gesture becomes too
real, and has to quit _that_.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth likes cold. She does. Or tries to
convince, unconvincingly; her normal mind-signature is a warm thing for all
its crystal, underlit by the river of blood and fire. Only, of course, all
is hidden now beneath that blanket of black-and-white. (Perhaps she hasn't
had enough to drink.) Cold, cold, cold. And she's not *sulking*. She's...
um... she is doing something most unsulk-like. Give her awhile, she'll
figure out what.

"You could pretend," Kassi grants, grantingly. "If'n you wished. Well, Is,
I'd nay be knowing--but if'n nay her, then find another? I could name two
dozen who'd accomodate you without thinking of it."

Lysseth> Lysseth isn't actually an ice statue, for all her pretending;
she's a warm-blooded, hided creature, and condensation is more apt than
freezing. She can't even complain about being breathed on, really. Oh, woe.

Lysseth> Sielth scoots closer, if only to duck benath the sheltering wing
where its -warm-.

Aisling peers at I'sai. "Why did you do that?" She asks before nodding to
Kassima. "I don't think it would be that hard"

I'sai does not, will not cringe. "Faranth's splintered shells, Kassima, I
don't want to, it's not -funny-," his pale gaze fixes on a not-too-distant
wingrider who's very much thinking it otherwise given the way he's laughing
himself halfway off his chair, then flinches away into a more controlled
rise. "-I- am going to go now. And I'm going to go see my -weyrmate-. And
I'm not going to lurk for anyone, female or male or weyrling or -wher-. And
I'd appreciate it if you'd just lay, both of you, and by that I mean, lay
-off-." And, in high dudgeon, stalks out.

I'sai walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Lysseth> Taralyth'd begun a warble close cousin to a croon, but when his
rider had stood, focus had altered; now he spares a mental glint of regret
to them both, but then he bounds closer to the approaching man and greater
wingroom to boot.

Lysseth> I'sai swings up to Taralyth's neck.

Aisling watches after him. "Touchy, isn't he?"

Kassima does cringe at that; evidently the distress-causing was not, for
once, intentional, since she looks somewhat bemused and perhaps a bit hurt.
"Welladay. Someone remind me again," she bids, "why I decided 'twould be a
good idea t'come out of m'weyr and back into social life, hey? I did less
damage the *other* way." And she gathers her plates and things together, at
least polite enough to clean up after herself in preparation to departure.

Lysseth> Taralyth waits a painstaking few moments till his rider can fumble
a good clutch at the straps, if not wait to buckle on, and then jump
efficiently up into the night.

Lysseth> Taralyth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to
carry him aloft.

Lysseth> Above, Taralyth flies more slowly in the snowy sky, but even now
it's straight for their ledge.

Aisling may not have intended to mimic, but she too picks up her things as
she readies for departure. "I was as much a part of that as you." She says
quietly. "And he is my wingmate, well, he was. But will be again. I hope."
She adds after a brief pause.

"He wouldn't seem t'think so." Kassi's mouth is thinned into a line; her
eyes are dark. Hurt *does* lead easily to anger, doesn't it? Particularly
when one's lifemate is contributing. "G'evening, Aisling; I hope your next
encounter with him is more favorable, unmarred by any contribution of
mine." She snags her black cloak and shrugs it on, vanishing out the door
in a swirl of crimson-trimmed night.

You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.