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Oven Mitts In Spaaaaaace!


Date:  May 27, 2008
Place:  Igen Weyr's Main Beach
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:  Kassima wants to be immortalized in the stars, but that,
clearly, is not going to work out if Cyme's right about what it 
requires.  Cyme's wish for a love like the one Kassi's found (not to
mention W'adru's desire for something to do) is a more reasonable 
expectation.

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The Log:

W'adru wades out from the lake, dripping wet.

For some reason the other people who've decided the beach is an excellent
place to cool down in an Igen evening have left Kassima a generous berth.
It may have something to do with the battered target she's set up, a wide
circle of dried straw marked with a series of rings and studded, in the
center and partway around the rim, with small knives. Kassi picks up
another of the light throwing daggers and throws it without seeming to
think about it--and there it is, beside the last, clean and direct.

Wandering into this tranquil...with a little exception, come Nergath and
W'adru. The Bronze carefully steps his way through to the lake and fairly
slithers in, head first. A most dragonly sigh issues forth, followed by a
gentle rumble of general greeting to anyone who might wish to be greeted.
The hulking body moves out into the lake and slowly shrinks as more of him
gets beneath the cooling waters. For W'adru, aside from a broad smile at
the sigh after entering the water, he seems a bit lost for a moment. First
he spies the Assistant Weyrlingmaster and a thought crosses his eyes. The
glint of blade as it whirls through the thick night air gives the young
rider second thoughts, deciding that perhaps safety is best. Settling down
on the edge of the ring of free space left for Kassima, he pulls off his
sandals and takes off the slightly too tight tunic. The loose fitting
shorts seem comfortable enough, however as he folds the tunic and plops it
to the sand, settling with his head on it so he can look up at the night sky.

Lysseth, no fool she, is a good distance from the display her lifemate puts
on--she's happier flicking bits of pumice into the Lake than being
skewered, if it's all the same to you. Kassima therefore has no second eyes
to tell her of the new arrivals, but the rumble is a clue! "Evening," she
greets without looking yet. Thwack, thwack; two more daggers hit the straw,
then she steps back and glances towards the sound. "Nergath, W'adru. Long
day?"

W'adru sighs tilting his head so he can see Kassima. "Just another day.
Sweeps were actually rather boring. Even drills were pretty uneventful. I
guess we were about due." he grins. "Stressful day for you?" he asks,
glancing at the target and the last couple of knives, buried to the hilts
into the target.

Kassima shakes her head in a leisurely way. Another knife finds its way
into her hand, and shortly after--flick!--into the target, the greenrider
grinning satisfaction at its placement. "Naught like. Early sweeps for me,
a brief visit with m'son after, sparring matches with Imlari and your
clutchmate J'mil--did you know he could fight? News t'me until a couple of
sevendays ago. Then Lyss and I washed off and now I'm practicing this. I'm
thinking you need more hobbies."

W'adru chuckles. "Right now, the only hobby I'm interested in is laying
here and hopefully keeping out of harms way." he grins.

"That isn't much of a hobby," Kassima points out, throwing him an amused
glance and roll of the eyes. "Lying around, nay a hobby. Nay getting
skewered, only a hobby in the demented minds of maleriders. You're always
sounding bored." She twists her wrist to catch sunlight with a knife blade,
inspecting it. "Mayhaps if'n you took up cooking or fishing or dancing the
dance of Marinda of Boll and her Seven Veils, you'd have more eventful days?"

W'adru listens, shaking his head as she keeps listing. The last he actually
laughs. "Eventful days. Sometimes its nice to have an uneventful one." he
shrugs. "Although sometimes it might be nice to have something to do while
Nergath is asleep..." his eyebrows lower thoughtfully.

Kassima looks back again to raise a brow at him. "Most of yours are
eventful? In that case you've got a point--" And so does the target. Thunk!
"We'll all have our share of less-eventful days now. Or whenever Thread
gives up and goes for good, stops straggling about. 'Tis a good time t'take
up something you've always wanted t'do."

W'adru nods. "Its an interesting thought. You know, come to think of it, I
don't know that I really have anything like a hobby."

Kassima weighs the last two knives in her hand, one by one. They complete
the even-spaced circle, lined up neatly with the rest. "Everyone," she
says, "should be having hobbies. Even if'n that means going out and getting
drunk, or getting impregnated by tables." She pauses. "Or impregnating a
table. I can't remember which way that went. Else what will you do with
your free time?"

W'adru chuckles, grinning at Kassima. To her question he lowers his eyes a
moment. "I sort of miss always having things to do, things to move around,
little errands to do around the Weyr. I guess my hobby was just talking to
folks. Now..." he shrugs, turning to get a better angle to look at the
Assistant Weyrlingmaster, but his eyes turn past her and then roll upwards.
"Oh, shards..." a figure in a dark green bikini approaches, carrying an
overly bright yellow towel, however no sign of Monarcth, just Ashryl
approaches.

Cyme heads over from the corral.

"Faranth knows you can be doing errands if'n you want to. Repair people's
straps for 'em for a mark piece here or there--make excuses t'run messages
t'Benden Hold and stop while you're there for a glass of wine, always works
for me--" Kassi makes a quick 'one moment' gesture and trots over to the
straw target to pull out the throwing knives lodged there. Of course, that
does leave W'adru somewhat to Ashryl's tender mercies. Accidental or
intentional? You decide!

Shifting along the sand and rock, her booted feet moving with unconscious
grace, Cyme makes her way to the lake shore - broad-brimmed hat tugged down
low upon her head. Noting the attendance of two dragons - and squinting to
make out the figures of what's likely their riders - the tall woman pauses
for a long moment. Something decides her, finally, for she's schlepping
closer, closer, until her form is easy to make out to even weak human eyes.

The arrival of someone coming up the lakeshore goes unnoticed,
unfortunately, as the broad fellow sitting up and turned around eyes a
green bikini clad woman arriving. Her dark hair seems out of place against
her deep, rich tan. She stops near the man and looks down at him. "Well,
well. Fancy seeing you here." she sing-songs at him, not in a good way. She
steps around him and slips in the sand, staggering forward a few steps,
sand flying back onto the mans back. "Whoops!" she says with a giggle,
heading off up the beach. Choosing a spot to set out her towel well back
from the lake she settles down, ignoring the glare from the man.

Kassima returns to where she stood before with knives bristling in her
hands like gleaming, lethal bouquets. "Isn't it good t'know some people
never grow up?" she asks W'adru wryly. "Or mayhaps she's drunk." She's done
with her knife-throwing and she settles cross-legged on the ground to start
polishing and examining the blades, but before she's really started she
spots another woman with a hat: "Cyme! Glad you made it back t'Igen."

Astute eyes take in the minor 'offense' of sand 'accidentally kicked' onto
the man's back, and as Cyme steps up closer to the little group, thin lips
open to murmur a low, "That was rude. And juvenile," towards the departing,
green-bikinied form. Quickly dismissing her with a shrug, the Starsmith
picks the final few feet towards the two folks, and gives a quiet little
bit of a smile to Kassima. "Hello again, Kassi. Starsmith's to Igen and her
queens." To the unknown of the man, a more formal dip of head is offered -
her lips leaving the little smile behind in trade for a neutral expression.
"Hello, sir."

W'adruturns from glaring at the green clad woman to look at the new
arrival. "Another of Kassi's friends. Seems like she has a never ending
supply." he chuckles. "That's Ashryl for ya. W'adru is my name. Bronze
Nergaths. And you would be?" he motions to the sand between himself and
Kassima. Safety perhaps?

"Nay more than most people these days," Kassima says, slightly surprised by
the notion. "Get out much and 'tis hard t'be avoiding it. I don't, really,
anymore. Met Cyme when she and her Master came t'Igen t'be doing a
viewing." Now the Starsmith gets a grin. And a knife waved at her; but
since Kassi goes back to polishing it that probably wasn't a threat.
"Duties t'Starcraft and her Masters. Come sit with us if'n you want to,"
she seconds the invitation.

"W'adru." Beat. A turn on boots to look up-up at the bronze. "Nergath."
Another bob of head for the dragon, and then the woman's turning to look at
the green dragon. "Lysseth." So formal. And then the two humans become her
focus once more, violet eyes studying Kassima's blade with a certain
offhanded interest before she replies to both riders. "Thank you for
inviting me. I was just coming over for a swim." Stepping between the man
and woman, she glances about for some kind of cover. "Is there a rock I can
get behind to change?"

W'adru looks up at Kassima as if expecting she is going to say
something....intelligent. He quirks an eyebrow at her, too.

Kassima points her dagger towards Lysseth now. The green is some meters
away--though well within view--minding her own business for the most part,
but those blue eyes do turn briefly Cyme's way. "You can hide behind Lyss.
I usually do. You shouldn't burn at this time of day, that's something."
Another grin flashes to life. "I met a new resident the other day about as
pale as you, already turning red and methinks she'd just arrived." Does
this count as intelligent?

Cyme appears to think about that offer for a long moment, then simply
shrugs thin shoulders and pads off towards Lysseth - no fear in her. Over
her shoulder, "Thank you, Kassi. No, I hope I don't. I have to be out in
the sun tomorrow, too." A small duck of chin at that 'whiter-than-a-sheet'
comment (well, in Cyme's eyes anyway), and she hurries a little bit to duck
behind the obliging Lysseth - looking around quickly before removing her
clothes. The green might overhear the softest, "Thank you, Lysseth."

W'adru watches the Starsmith head off towards Lysseth then turns back to
Kassima. "Always ready with a solution, aren't you?" he chuckles. He turns
his gaze out to the water where Nergath lounges. Slowly the Bronze makes a
turn and floats towards the shore.

A very quiet rumble serves as Lysseth's answer; the dragon doesn't peek,
might be thought to take no notice of the girl except that she subtly
shifts her position to keep her out of view from every angle with people in
it. "When it comes t'nay being naked in front of people," Kassi assures in
wry good humor, "always. I'm nay keener on it than she is. What d'you have
t'do tomorrow?" she raises her voice to call Cymewards.

Soon enough, the crafter slips out from behind the cover of her helpful,
polite green wall - giving a quick twitch of a smile up to Lysseth before
walking sort-of towards the other two humans again - clothes draped over
her arms - boots pinched between fingers. Clad in a simple, one-piece suit
of lavendar cotton, Cyme is...a major disappointment in the good-looking
category: tall, thin, spare, and nearly as white as A'deth. "I have the
first of my pre-exams to take..." is called out as she draws closer - then
suddenly setting down her stuff on a small rocky outcropping.

Nergath emerges from the water a ways down the shore and meanders up the
shore. He produces one rumble, aimed at Lysseth before leaning over and
stretching out his neck a little to eye the brightly colored human.

Kassima likes tall, thin, spare, and as white as A'deth! ...In a man.
Preferrably in A'deth himself. Cyme, alas, being female, cannot make her
swoon. "Pre-exams," the greenrider repeats, sliding a dagger into its
sheath. "For advancing t'Journeywoman, or is it part of Apprentice
training?" Lysseth dips her chin fractionally in greeting to Nergath.

Settling her hat ontop of her settled clothing - then wading slowly into
cooler waters - Cyme gives a great sigh of relief and pleasure, waiting
until she's up to her shoulders to answer back, "They're rather like exams
before the REAL ones." A few ferbile attempts at what might be
doggy-paddling, and then she resumes wading. "Not all apprentices have to
take them. I didn't have to." A pause as she stares at Nergath peering at
her. "But I wanted to. It's to see if you're really ready for the true
exams. You know, not only with what you know, but in other ways."

W'adru chuckles. "Nothing wrong with finding out what you are ready to do
and what you have to work on." he glances towards Nergath who lowers his
head. "There is always something you can improve on, if you just know about
it."

W'adru has disconnected.

Kassima supposes, fitting the last of the daggers into its place, "How you
do under the stress of it; whether you know how t'prepare? And there's a
difference in knowing things and being able t'repeat 'em in coherent,
logical fashion on cue. But," it occurs to her to ask, "why d'you have t'be
in the sun t'do it?" She chuckles low and nods agreement with W'adru. "Any
number of things. 'Twill probably never, at this late date, gain a *real*
understanding of intestinal parasites in ovines, for example. It makes me
so terribly sad."

Paddle-paddle, wade-wade. So goes Cyme's aquatic 'ballet' while she cools
down, looking up the beach at the humans and dragons. "Yes, that's it
exactly." Pause. "Well, it's more out in the daylight, I guess. When most
of the masters and enought of the journeyman are awake to give them." A
quirk of head when Kassima opines of ovines. "Were you a beastcrafter
before you Impressed?"

"I'd have thought Starcrafters if'n anyone would be more night people,"
Kassima muses. The knives are done, each in its place; she bundles them up
and gets to her feet to take them over to Lysseth. More precisely, the
pouches on Lysseth's straps. "Nay! Naught like. 'Twas a Hold lass, nay
Craft, wandering about Pern a bit while I decided whether I'd rather be a
Baker, a Guard, a Harper, or something else. Turned out t'be something
else. But that Craft knowledge is something I could improve in, if'n I
wanted and tried."

Cyme quickly 'reassures' Kassima, "Oh, we -are-. Many of us, especially the
most devoted and the younger of us." Trudge-splish-splash. "The masters
that are up more in daylight hours are the ones who are older, or perhaps
are taking some sabbatical time. They recruit Journeymen as they need to
help during the day." The crafter watches curiously as the other woman
stows those knives on board Lysseth's pouches. "I could see you being a
guard, or a Harper." Beat. "You're interested in alot, then?"

This makes some sense, and Kassima nods along. "Your Master's functional at
night," she hazards an observation. "Or seemed it, but then he's nay very
old. What do Starcrafters do in the day? Paperwork?" Of course, in a way
that answers Cyme's question. The greenrider grins over and does it again
anyway: "Curious about almost everything in some measure. Nay equally,
mind, I'd like t'know about gem faceting and how they make fireworks a lot
more than 'twould the ovine parasites... actually, I'm going t'confess I
*don't* care about ovine parasites. I'm sure that's awful of me, but Pern
will have t'survive."

"Yes, he is," Cyme calls out lightly, spinning around in the water somewhat
playfully. "He's in his thirties, I believe." Long legs contact something,
and the starsmith tugs them in rapidly - peering down into the waters. Oh,
seaweed. "Paperwork, repairs, helping to construct or move things. Whatever
is necessary." Slowly, the pale woman begins to wade in towards shore. "Me
too." Definite, concrete statement, which is quickly followed by a little
giggle.

"Oh, thirties," Kassima says at her very driest. The Igen desert itself has
nothing on her for dry. "That's *ancient*. Excuse A'deth and I while we
shrivel up and die of antiquity right here, right now. Unless you meant
functional, in which case good for him--I've been meaning t'ask you, how
does one get t'be a constellation?" Well, that's random. "Like the queens
in the Four Queens, y'know. I decided Turns ago I wanted t'be one and I'm
nay sure how best t'go about it." A laugh for her definitiveness. "Done
with the swimming?"

Cyme slogs her drenched and dripping self up onto sand, wobbling just a
little as the full tug of gravity re-exerts itself on her slender frame. A
small hitch of inward-drawn brows at Kassima's words of ancientness. "No, I
don't think he's old at all." Soft, serious are her words, and then she's
going just a little shy. "How old *are* you and A'deth, if I can ask?" A
small inner sigh of relief when words go back to business (her own
specialty, too!), and the crafter shakes her long, pale limbs about to try
and rid them of water - her lips touched with the softest smirk. "Why, I
think you might have to fly with Lysseth up beyond the sun. Beyond the
planets in our system - into space. And then you'd have to have her pluck
down your own suns for your own special constellation." Beat. Brows raise a
little. "Kassima the Curious."

Kassima clicks her tongue at Cyme. With that genuine if rueful smile,
however, quickly given after, it would be hard to think her seriously
offended. "I'm older than I wish t'be admitting. Younger than A'deth,
though... he's over six decades. 'Twill leave whether he wants t'admit the
exact number up t'him. In every way that matters--" She can't help and
maybe isn't entirely aware of the way her smile at once softens and
brightens. "In every such way, he's young. Well, shells, that's a lot of
work, isn't it?" she mock-grouses on the other subject, sets her hands on
her hips and sighs. "I can't just bring people forward from four hundred
Turns ago, nay, I can't even go back two thousand and more and see whether
any of the first dragons could catch Lysseth in the name of science, I have
t'be *touching suns*. I like having hands, y'know!"

Cyme sluices the dribbling water off her suit, now, actually smiling over
at Kassima. "Neither of you look your age at all. I thought A'deth was in
his fourties." A hand reaches around, slings her long braid over one
shoulder so she can squeeze it. "You two are...delightful to see together.
I hope I'm so happy later on in my life." Another set of giggles for the
greenrider's dashed hopes of timing it, of touching suns. "Oh, to be
certain, you'd get more than your hands incinterates."

A stroke for her lifemate's neck and Kassima meanders back to where she sat
before. "We're riders," she says, "we'll live a long time, fortune willing.
Sixty's nay worse than middle age anyway, and I agree, time's been kind
t'him." Of course she smiles the more then, brilliant and radiant as any
young teenager silly with first love. "I didn't think 'twould be. M'luck
with romance--say 'tisn't the best and you have the truth, mild truth, and
I couldn't tell you why he loves me, but he does make me happy. I can gush
about it without fearing 'twill embarrass him now, since he's nay here."
Putting on a solemn face, even morose, she nods. "'Twould burn up m'hair
too," she sighs. "And that I simply can't endure. You're hoping t'marry
someday, if'n I remember right."

Still braid-squeezing, Cyme replies first with a strange bit of awe in her
gaze, then with a shake of fair head. "I've heard of folks living near a
hundred..." She tries to project herself forward mentally to see that for
herself, fails. "I'm too young to properly understand, I think." As to
words of failed romances, "I'm sorry, Kassi." Soft and a little concerned.
"Well, maybe the bakers could make a gigantic oven mitt to stick both of
you in..." the crafter answers dryly. Blink. "Mhm, I am. But not too soon.
I want to go places, do things."

"Riders oft enough go over that if'n Thread or accident doesn't interfere.
So I'm told. I've spent most of m'rider life in a Pass, and elder riders
aren't so common." Kassima shrugs, bemused. "I don't know why--we get the
best food and always have skilled Healers, but that doesn't account for it.
I'm just grateful." Grateful, too, for Cyme's sentiment; a quick smile to
assure the younger woman she's all right. "You never know how 'twill end
when it begins, it feels like. I hope, if'n you do marry, you'll have
better luck, and I see nay reason why you shouldn't. Anyway. Oven mitt?
How's Lyss supposed t'fly in an oven mitt?"

"Ohh..." Cyme replies with understanding, done with ridding herself of as
much waters as possible without a towel. Since they seem to now be the only
ones in obvious residence, the woman sits down on a part of a rock that's
sun-free, then begins donning her clothes. "Riders need to best to stay
healthy so they can protect us." Another immutable statement. To thoughts
of (hopeful) marital bliss: "I know I'm picky, so it'll take me awhile, at
least to find someone. He needs to be -smart-." Another absolute, topped
off with a sage nod. "Oh stars, I didn't think of that..." is her little
grin of reply. "Hmm, maybe the Smith's could make something to coat her
wings?" The sudden image of a flying Lysseth-in-an-oven mitt with coated
wings stuck out the sides breaks the starsmith down into helpless snickers.

Kassima chides Cyme in an exaggeratedly prim manner, "You'll hurt Lysseth's
feelings laughing at her! Only I'm allowed t'do that. Even when she's an
oven mitt. Flying. In space." It sounds like a screen saver, doesn't it?
The greenrider's having an awful time not snickering herself--and it's
probably no surprise when she gives up. "What an image! You're smart t'be
picky. Marriage is worse than a rider relationship, you can't do much
t'dissolve it if'n you find you can't stand each other later. Chemistry
isn't enough. Liking him isn't enough. A'fore you marry a man, make sure
you *trust* him."

Cyme looks out over to Lysseth, coughing out, "Forgive me!" then continuing
in her giggling fit for a little while longer when Kassima joins in. A
small pain in her side ends that soon enough though - the starsmith digging
the heel of her hand into it. "Oh, jays! I haven't had a good laugh like
that in months!" Nodnod goes her head, tunic done up, pants now being
donned. "I'll remember that." All seriousness, and it looks and sounds like
she MEANS it.

Poor Lysseth. Long-suffering Lysseth. She's resigned to scenes like this,
and keeps her snort for her rider alone. "I'm never going t'stick you in an
oven mitt and fly to the stars, lump," Kassima calls. "That's an absolute
promise. D'you see? You should visit more often, we can be feeding you
Benden white *and* making you laugh yourself sick. Except mayhaps the
latter should come a'fore the former, there's nay crime like sicking up
good Benden. Good." That is far more serious than the rest; she keeps to
that one word, which says enough.

Her belt is the last piece of clothing topside, and so feet are dusted off
from clinging sand while Cyme smirks some and replies, "Unfortunately, I'll
have to indulge my pallate the next time I make it over, Kassi." Yes,
that's a sigh of resignation. "I'm supposed to meet my ride here soon."
Brows lift as a light sock is donned. "I've never gotten truly plowed
before. I know I'm a giggler when I'm a little tipsy, though."

Kassima takes it philosophically: "Another excuse for you t'be visiting.
Mayhaps you'll meet A'deth's granddaughter, the one 'twas mentioning who's
as pale as you. I fear I've been thoroughly sodden many, many times." The
woman rolls her eyes at herself. "Many, many, many. Ask me how the floors
of various bars are t'sleep on, 'tis likely 'twill know."

Some surprised is written on Cyme's features at that revelation, and then
quick dismissal of her own foolishness. "Of -course- he has offspring.
Silly of me to assume." Next foot, next sock - and then boots. "Oh, Kassi,
that sounds awful." A slightly screwed-up face. "I've been able to toddle
off into bed, thank stars." Beat. "Is that something that riders are prone
to?" Ingenue inquery.

"Some," Kassima cheerfully confirms. "Some! Many are the tales of drunken
rider antics, and they send bartenders t'cower in horror, or laugh their
heads off, probably the second most of all. Apparently he does. I only
found out when Ileste told me that I've even met one of his sons." She
shakes her head, all bemused wonder for the smallness of the world.
"Anyway, passing out isn't that bad. Passing out, waking up with someone
you didn't expect, finding out later you're pregnant... that's bad."

A press of fingers to lips to stifle her grin is Cyme's first answer to
Kassima, though those violet eyes glint with humor and a little mischief.
"A'deth must have oodles of offspring and grandchildren, by now..." she
ruminates lightly. "I think I want only one. MAYBE two. No more." With the
body she has, the unknowing young woman will be lucky to carry any at all.
A sudden splash of red over palest cheeks, and her hat is crammed on her
head - as if the thing might cover her embarrassment. "That's..." A
struggle for words. "But you didn't -have- to keep it, if you didn't want
to, right?"

Kassima shakes her head, though, abruptly pensive. "He's mentioned two,
methinks. He doesn't speak much of 'em in general." A thought to shake off,
for now, in favor of assuring--with a grin--"Them. I had three drunken
indiscretions, four children from it, but only one where 'twas so out of it
I scarce remember and have nay idea how it happened. I didn't have t'keep
any of m'children. I made the choice. And when I haven't wanted children,
I've taken the precautions. I don't think I'd recommend you have over a
half-dozen unless you've some very obliging family members willing t'help
you out."

The familiar sound of dragonwings approaching, then backwinging nearby -
and it seems as if Cyme's Igen conveyance has indeed made its arrival - the
blue's rider giving a quick smile and salute to the assistant
weyrlingmaster. "Pardons, miss, but I have patrols to do in a quarter," the
man calls out lightly to Cyme. The starsmith clams up some at the new
presence, but looks Kassima straight in the eyes, nodding from under the
protection of her hat. "I'll remember never to over-imbibe around men." If
it were only that easy, or that cut-and-dried. A whisper to Kassi: "I
believe in abortificant herbs and *betweening*, but you can't tell those
holder girls that." Eyeroll. A quick shake of head. "No, not that many. I
don't want to be worn out...and I have to much to do in life." Siigh. "Time
to go, obviously." A rare, gentle touch is offered upon the greenrider's
forearm, if allowed. "Thank you for talking with me, Kassi. I...I like
you." Shy smile.

Kassima waves amiably back to the bluerider; to Cyme, she gives a solemn
nod spoiled by the amusement in her eyes. "That," she says, "is a very,
very wise notion. For all that I regret none of m'children conceived that
way. *Between*," in a far softer voice, "does work wonders when 'twouldn't
be for the best." It's not something she sounds completely happy with,
though. She allows the touch, of course--she lets any shadow slide off to
smile brightly and say to her, "I like you too, Cyme. Talking with you's
always a pleasure--and next time, aye? We'll remember the Benden white."

Cyme notices that slightest unhappiness, her fingers gently squeezing
Kassima's arm. "I'm sorry I brought up unhappy memories. Forgive me." The
return of the greenrider's smile brings a smaller one of the starsmith's
own to pink lips, a flah of happiness to her eyes as she is befriended in
turn. "I'm going to look forward to that..." is states with relish, a touch
of tonguetip to upper lip. And then her hand lightly withdraws, and the
tall woman is backing away with a soft, "Fair skies, Kassi. Tell A'deth I
said 'hi,'" then pivoting on bootheels to jog over to her ride home.