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Planting Notions


Date:  March 20, 2005
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Weyrgardens
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's next encounter in the Weyrgardens is far 
different from her last--but then, since it's T'bay and Claret rather
than Vel or Roddy she runs into, that's to be expected. ;)  The 
brownrider finds his Wingleader munching on secret treats while 
checking his plants one shady afternoon.  He joins her, and they talk 
of matters both light and decidedly not-light over the fruitful 
bounty.  Claret arrives later, and this gives Kassi a chance to bestow
a much-belated graduation present upon her erstwhile mentee.

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The Log:

Kassima is evidently taking full advantage of the life of a lady of
leisure: she's seated on the grass, propped up against the stone wall of
the gardens and tucked between two shelves with their array of plants;
she's brought a small snack out with her, various fruits with some sort of
brown dip and a glass of what looks to be cider. Munch munch munch. Read,
read, read. There's a book in her lap, a real one with paper pages and
everything, and she seems to be totally absorbed in it.

T'bay's arrival is without fanfare; Sarevith circles lazily several times,
then backwings to the ground far enough from Kassima that the pages of her
book are likely to be unfluttered. Sheilding his eyes from the bright
sunlight, T'bay strolls up the rocky hillside, leaving the brown to sun in
quiet while he approaches the upper area of the cascading gardens. Moving
with sun-blinded vision yet, he fetches and fills a water pail, lovingly
splashing a few weaving sprouts sheltered in a growing field, then is still
a moment, appreciating them. After another moment passes, he leans his ear
downward, listening, seemingly, to the plants. He raises his head, looks
around at his eye level, then frowns, puzzled, listening again to the
plants. "Funny," he murmurs. "I swear I can hear someone chewing. I didn't
think you needed to chew water, little plants, but that just proves to me
that arborist stuff is truly not my calling after all."

The plants allow their leaves to be rustled by the breeze and contrive to
look secretive. Or perhaps not that last part; they're innocent, and don't
contrive much at all, but they also aren't doing much to explain that
crunch-crunch-crunch sound for the brownrider who addresses them. That's
for Kassima to do. She startles at a voice, jumping enough that a gooey
dipped apple slice starts to fall from her fingers and she must scramble to
save it from a fall into grass and dirt. Once she's craned her neck about
and gotten a glimpse of the source, she grins and pitches her voice so that
it's rather squeakier than her norm: "Aye, sir, this water has a lot of
minerals in it, y'know. Our poor roots! They've had t'grow teeth on 'em
just t'help us digest, and half the time when we're trying to take a bite
of wonderful, refreshing water, we get a big old bite of bug instead.
Dis*gus*ting."

T'bay, adventurous and curious, pokes his finger amid the tiny fronds of
his project plants, then wriggles it around before pulling it up close to
his eyes, peeking intently at the dirt. "No trundlebugs. No wriggling wormy
bugs, either, chewing away at the pretty littles." But the somewhat altered
voice of his Wingleader carries in his direction, and he dips his head to
see under a greenhouse-styled trough to get a look at Kassi before raising
his head to comfort the plant babies. "Worms aren't so bad tasting," he
reassures. "Once you get used to 'em." Shrug. He's a boy; he's likely eaten
worse in dares...but then, so has Kassi. "Your roots will get big and
strong from eating up those minerals, so don't let me down, okay?" Then the
broad brownrider pitches his voice up high, squeaking his falsetto out with
some effort and more than the shadow of a grin, "Oh mommy, mommy, don't
drop that piece of whatever gooey stuff you're eating, we really want
more!" Touche.

Kassima's green eyes peek merrily under the trough at him. Discovered or
not, she obligingly keeps up her half--as it were--of the conversation.
"But they *wriggle* so! Our little teeth are very tiny, so they don't kill
'em, you understand, they just sort of... get stuck, and the bugs wriggle
and wriggle, and 'tis horrifying. You won't let bugs get stuck in our
teeth, will you Uncle T'bay?" She can't make the plants look plaintive at
him, but can and does pop the fruit slice into her mouth to leave her hand
free to reach over and rustle the leaves of the plants nearest her for
emphasis. "Mrgle glmrph--" Not a wise move. Kassi gets a bit of apple in
her throat, and her coughs break off the charade until she can grab for her
cider to wash it down with. "--Now, what's this 'we' business, m'dear?" she
asks instead, giving her still-flat stomach a poke. "I'm counting on you
nay being twins this time, nor triplets, since that'd be nay *end* of
havoc. Just imagine."

T'bay obligingly replies to the adored little plant-growths, "That's what
the dirt and water are for! They will help keep those nasty globs of worm
and goo from sticking." He patpats the fragile would-be blooms gingerly,
avoiding the folding of any leaves under his broad palm. The
pseudo-ventriloquist's choking draws him rapidly to her side, though, that
same hand ready to pat her on the back to help clear her windpipe if
needed. "Ho, there. Careful! Can't have them saying I knocked you off, can
we? Besides, Vel'd kill me if he even thought it." More seriously, the
stout lad kneels by her side, concern in his green eyes. "Really, though,
are you all right?" Half sheepishly, he runs his other hand through his
hair, ruffling it. "We stuff. Uh. Plants are plural, since there are lots
of 'em from the seeds. I guess most of the time, babies aren't, so, uh. I
dunno? Just imagining you and Lani with littles at the same time, and the
'we' just slips out."

A pat or two might help, and Kassi casts a grateful look at him for them
over the rim of her glass. The first gulp is more a splutter, but the
coughing doesn't take long to pass, and it's soon after that she's able to
talk again; nor long after that that she's smiling her thanks to her
Wingmate. "'Twould at least be a surprise--I don't think anyone's expecting
you t'be the one who does away with me. I imagine there are some who'd
throw you parties," she teases, "and name their children after you, all in
gratitude. I'm absolutely fine. Just shouldn't try t'be a plant and eat a
plant at the same time, is all. The apple was taking its revenge." One slim
hand gestures towards the plate of fruit-bits to illustrate. "I can see how
'twould be. Bit of a shock, wasn't it? Finding out that Lani's going t'have
a baby already." Her voice is carefully casual, cheerful, belying the
shadow that darkens her eyes at the memory. "Anyway. I never realized
'twere so fond of plants and growing things."

T'bay indeed offers the patting, careful about the positioning of his hand
so it lands in the proper place to not lead to bruising if he thwaps a bit
too hard. "I could just as well do without having any children named after
me," he returns, quickly enough that it is clear that it is those words
which hit closest to home. "And so, I 'druther not. And even so, parties at
someone's demise are not something I'd like to be involved in, whatever the
circumstance." He frowns again, though dons a smile quick enough to keep
the words and tones light, lest the conversation sound of gloom and doom.
"Besides, you have T-bolt to protect you. Never fear, T-bolt is here! And
with the way most of us reproduce, we'll take over the entire planet before
long." A wink wink accompanies this, and he settles into a sit at her side.
"Remind me: never underestimate a plant's revenge. Sage advice. And it
doesn't really seem all that soon; we've been graduated almost a turn,
maybe more? And they weyr'd up pretty immediately after graduation, so it's
been coming. M'tri'll make a fun papa, I think, and the security does him
good. And plants? Just a hobby, but one of the most relaxing. Claret and I
discussed starting these troughs when we were still Candidates, turns ago,
and they're still a point of fondness for me, so I come out when I've the
time."

"Mmm. That does go with your fondness for contraceptive tea," Kassima
murmurs, astute sort that she is. She slants him a sidelong look without
yet commenting further--smiles, genuinely, at the thought he might not
party at her death. "If'n Fax came around again, I could probably stand
t'party at his demise if'n he was as bad as legends say. Hard t'think of
anyone else I'd be so happy about, jokes about jigs of triumph around
people playing dead aside... ah! So you'll be m'protectors, will you all?
And assist me in all m'plots for world conquest? That *is* good t'know. So
fine, 'tis, t'have a Wing that one can rely upon." She sets her book aside
and draws her plate up into her lap to make sure there's plenty of room for
him, and to offer it to him once he's sat: "The dip's caramel," she
explains, confesses. "Help yourself if'n you'd like any. I guess you've a
point--'twas thinking more that Lani's so young, I guess; it seems soon in
her lifetime for it, even if'n she's nay *shockingly* young. M'tri as a
father is a scary thought. In the amusing way." There's a pause, where
she's clearly considering saying something else. She doesn't. "Does Claret
tend 'em too?"

"Ah, yeah." Another flick of his hand through his hair to cover his
nervousness, then T'bay shrugs gamely. "It's certainly better to play a
rabid feline being slain, in any case, than any living person. And we did a
Fax reenactment, once, at Lemos, as a teaching measure, I think, but I was
just a guard who died early on, so I don't remember much. Ohh, caramel."
Eagerly, he accepts the offer, taking another slice and sending it for a
swim before bringing it to his mouth and dropping it in, whole. After
chewing and various admiration sounds, he swallows, then adds, "I don't
really think it will be scary, M'tri as a father. He's got sense in there,
and he and Lanisa pair well. Riding suits him." As if T'bay's got any
working sense of judgement of such things, but so he seems to feel.
Cautiously, he continues, words slowing in rate of delivery. "I think, if I
knew them both as close as I know Vel, it might seem more surprising to me.
Might even cause me to gape in surprise upon the hearing of it, you know?
But that doesn't mean I disapprove. It wouldn't be my place to, or
anything, even so. But, uh. Just, surprising." Stepping neatly around the
issue, he aims to be reassuring even in his vagueness, just testing the
waters while skirting the lake.

Kassima is intrigued: "A Fax *reenactment*. What a glorious idea. There's
something t'be learned even in being someone who dies early, aye? Since
'tis the way of the people who actually died too--killed, lives cut short,
never got t'find out how it ended either. And that's why I might dance at
his death. Cider?" She shifts her hold on the plate to one hand, to be able
to pick up her mug with the other. "I've only one cup--but there's a
pitcher, so there's plenty of it if'n you don't mind sharing a vessel."
There aren't just apples on the plate--redfruit, blueberries, grapes,
bananas, some things that seem natural in caramel and some that don't;
Kassi subjects a helpless strawberry to the same treatment, looking
blissful as she chews. "He does. He wanted children, too, y'know, which was
a bit of a surprise t'me. I'd nay have thought it. But then, until he and
Lani were so clearly a couple, I wouldn't have thought him the pairing-off
type. He really is wonderfully good to her." While those slower words come,
she breaks off a piece of banana for dipping. She doesn't have three hands,
of course; she's either passed the mug over or set it back down by now.
"Well. M'tri and Vel are very different," she eventually comments. Hello,
Ms. Obvious! "I haven't heard of anyone running away in speechless horror
from the concept of Trii and Lani reproducing yet. So mayhaps 'tisn't M'tri
who's the scary one. Or mayhaps 'tis Lani that isn't." A small smile is
summoned.

T'bay nods, slowly, not having really considered the deeper implications of
the teaching activity until now, since its occurance was several turns
back. "The reenactment did end with a celebration. I kinda remember that
part, but it was a small one and my mother thought it was my bedtime, so I
didn't see much of it." He smiles vaguely at the memory of home, and of
protective mom, helping himself to a blueberry or three and subjecting a
banana part to the dip once the strawberry is clear. "He is, and they seem
content. Though," his eyes cloud just slightly, then study Kassi closely,
uncertain of her reaction to the thought, "I can't guarantee really that
they are, uh, a strict couple, even outside of flights. You know?" Not able
to find words to explain further, he lapses into silence, leaving his
meaning unspecified. Instead, he fills it by swigging from the cup, which
indicates that he must not might the sharing. Belatedly, he adds, "Yeah, I
think Claret tends them too. Sometimes, there are shapes in the dirt around
some of the sprouts, like dirt-drawings, and I think she might do those,
but I'm not sure. It seems like her, though."

"There may come a time when someone does something so horrible they forfeit
certain rights... such as respect for the dead; pretending if'n nay feeling
remorse. With someone like Fax, there'd have been plenty of reasons
t'celebrate. Vengeance achieved for all of those who'd died because of him.
The release of seven Holds from under his boot-heel. And for other Holds,
release from fear--nay having t'worry that he'd come for them, kill *their*
people, husbands, fathers, wives, families. Sort of like how we rejoiced
when the Pass ended, aye?" Kassima seems to realize that she's waxing
unnecessarily deep, since she pulls back from it with a moment's sheepish
smile in interests of swirling a blueberry through caramel. "I haven't
asked them outright. I believe, though, really believe that they are--" She
gives him a look; not surprised, particularly, but curious. "Is there
something in particular that makes you think nay?" He doesn't mind, she
doesn't mind; she gulps cider thirstily, refilling the mug one-handed from
the pitcher once she's drunk her moment's fill. "Another thing I didn't
know about m'ersthile mentee. That she drew. I still need t'find her, one
of these days; I still need t'give her her graduation gift."

T'bay sits back, resting his free hand on the ground and leaning on it a
bit while she speaks. His face gradually releases any trace of a smile,
leaving behind the more hardened expression he wears more often. A solid
breath is taken in, then released, displaced sorrow about the unfortunate
under Fax. "I guess so. As a candidate, then a weyrling around that time, I
didn't see most of the celebration there, either, but I understand it was
memorable." Head still somewhat down, he half shrugs. "I...well, maybe I
misunderstood them, the situation, or maybe he's all talk, I dunno. Just an
inkling. And, I don't know so much that she draws, but absently makes
finger-tip shapes in the dirt around the plants. It's different than
drawing. But I suppose she could draw in other places, too? I don't know
her all /that/ well, especially not since graduation, and now we don't
spend as much time together, drilling and such." He sneaks a surreptitious
glance in her direction, aimed at her middle, though he pretends he's
studying the dish of fruit. "How...about you? How are you...doing?"

Kassima turns her head to watch her younger Wingmate, both as she speaks
and afterward. "I've done an ill thing," she says after awhile. "Merriness
suits you better, and I've brought dark thoughts t'you. 'Tis nay something
we need t'be thinking about all the time now. Just something t'remember, I
guess, in case another Fax ever rises--why 'tis worth fighting against such
a man. I didn't see much of the celebration either, t'my *immense* dismay."
Her right leg twitches automatically. "I heard all sorts of things about
it. Wine flowing like water, people dancing on tabletops, sixteen bairns
born nine months later. Between you and me, methinks *some* impish spirits
were making some of that up." On the other subject, "M'tri is very much
talk, if'n nay all talk. Methinks he still has an eye for pretty women,"
she confides without particular dismay, turning her face back forward,
leaning against the stone wall behind her. "His heart, though. That's
different. Y'know? I wish then that you and she had more time. I don't see
much of her either; I regret it, a bit." Pause. Thought. "I'm--well. Very,
very tired of the bloody diet they're trying t'foist on me," which might
explain why she's stashed herself here with her treats, "with them keeping
such close watch. Worried, some; frightened, some; sorry, some. But also
happy. Mostly, even, happy."

T'bay blinks a few times, confusion on his features. "Done an ill thing?
You feel ill?" He looks at the fruit, looks at her belly, looks for a
bucket, then realizes that isn't her implication. "Oh. No, no. It's good to
think on it. Keeps me from forgetting the importance of our duties, of how
some people are forced to live. From taking things for granted." That seems
to be a good statement to describe T'bay's entire outlook, far beyond the
scope of Fax reenactments. "I think I've just been under a cloud of too
many dark thoughts, of late, and they're making me unpleasant. I just don't
get it, sometimes, how--well. I don't wish anyone ill, and wouldn't want to
be hurtful, so best to just not take my own good fortunes for granted."
Repeating it must make it so, or at least, he'll aim for that to be true by
strength of repetition. "Though I wouldn't be surprised, about the babies
being born. And, yeah, I probably misinterpreted M'tri's talk, if that's
the case." He doesn't pursue the Claret topic, instead seizing on the talk
of her diet. "Ugh. I'd never do well on a diet. I'll sneak you treats, as
long as it doesn't hurt you much or anything. Is there--is--er, is there a
big chance of something to make them worry?"

After a moment's hesitation, Kassima--after scrubbing her fingers clear of
any traces of caramel against her trousers--sets a light hand on T'bay's
shoulder, if he lets her. "Just don't think about it *too much*. Brooding
is nay better for a person than taking things for granted--'twas
m'predecessor who told me so, or near enough; take his word for it, if'n
nay mine--and there's naught wrong with just enjoying what you have
sometimes. Anyway, I don't know about this 'making you unpleasant'
business. In general." She doesn't name the specific that she might think
exception. Probably doesn't need to. "If'n you'd like t'talk about...
whatever-'tis that bothers you. You're always welcome. You do know that?
I've worried a bit for m'friend T'bay who hasn't seemed *quite* the same
since a certain trip t'High Reaches, and I'd do aught t'help him that I
could." The greenrider lets that offer hang in the air a moment before
breaking into a beam. "Treats! Oh, wonderous brownrider. I shouldn't have
klah or alcohol, however I complain, but shards if'n I have the least
intent of doing entirely without sweet things or drinks other than *milk*.
I hate milk. You understand, aye? Ah, well--that," she says, and permits
herself a wry grin. "That. *I* don't think so. Nay denying though that I've
had a few more children than some feel sanguine about, although if'n you
ask me that's more *benefit*. And, well. Nay twenty. But that's *all* there
is."

T'bay accepts the reassuring contact, and dons a smile summoned specially
to cover any trace of surliness that lurks beneath. His brows do a dance of
struggle with himself, and a few breaths are taken, hesitant to become
words, and are exhaled each time, a surrender, through his nose. At last
he's gathered enough to murmur, in soft, confessorial tones, "I've been a
guilty of brooding, I know. My lot in life's not so bad to excuse my
wasting away thinking envious thoughts about someone else's, yet I've been
guilty of that, too." He shakes his head, sending hair in need of a trim
forward where the tips almost but not quite reach his eyes, creating a
shadow in the sunlight that obscures some of his expression. "And, here's
my superior advice in return for bending your ear: milk's better when its
warmed. Or taken with cookies. That's the secret, two cookies before bed
and you'll feel better in the morning. 'S always worked for me. Well, most
of the time, anyway." He chooses, respectfully, not to comment on her age,
figuring that she knows better about what her body can cope with than he.

Kassima's squeeze of his shoulder isn't painful, is in fact fairly gentle,
but doesn't come with the reassured expression that would suggest she's
taking that smile at face value either. Her eyes flicker over his face in a
study of him during his silence. "Tell me," she murmurs softly back. "What
is it you envy so? 'Tis human enough, I assure, t'pine for jealousy or just
over what one doesn't have... I should certes know. Sometimes telling of it
helps ease it a little." Another squeeze, even gentler than the first. "Vel
said warm and with klah, but that's out too. I have tried it warm... only I
find it vile, and vile warmed over is still vile, but cookies have certain
promise. Any particular sort of cookie you recommend for the trick?"

The glance T'bay makes covers Kassi's face, holds there for a moment, then
looks away, his courage waned. His voice is hesitant, yet honest, and
trusting as he musters words and looks her way again, sufficiently
reassured by her expression and the squeeze. "I'm not sure I should talk
about it with you. Vel's my friend, you're--Vel's friend, and more, and
you're my Wingleader. It seems like there might be a conflict of
-something- there for you, in listening to me whine, especially if it is in
any way about him. We just haven't gotten along in the same way that we
used to." He tugs a wrinkle out of his trous, freeing his leg, which he
stretches, then he takes another sip of cider, wetting the throat that has
dried with his words. "I think it is just like you said, something about
what he has, in general, not in specific, and what I don't. But I have
Sarevith, I have a weyr, a place, and I shouldn't be wasting my energy
being envious of him, or his promotions, or that he has girls falling all
over themselves for him, and dragons swooning over Volath. Not that I'd
want that, in earnest. It just looks good from far away." Little does he
know about Vel's relationship troubles, but he's at least self-aware enough
to understand that, deep inside, he doesn't really want what his friend has.

"He's something t'me, aye, and I t'him; and you're something t'him, and he
t'you. Think you that he'd want you unhappy over him or aught
else--*really*, nay matter how touchy things are now? 'Tis scarcely a
betrayal of him t'listen." Kassima says this in a low voice, with some
intensity that isn't anger but will: encouraging, willing him to believe
her. She scootches a bit on the ground so that she can sit more facing him
to listen, not turned entirely towards him but also not turned entirely to
the side. "Vel has an interesting plateful of stuff," she rather
understates. "I suspect you know 'tisn't really as bonny as it seems, aye.
That promotion business--he knows he's raw for it and that plenty of others
know it too. He came home thinking people were going t'treat him like a
freak when Volath caught that gold. Things haven't been all roses between
him and Breena, or him and me either. And the baby--" She breaks it off
there. "I don't know that he'd be entirely happy with me for saying all of
that, but... there are things nay t'envy. But even knowing that probably
doesn't help so much, if'n some of these things are things you'd want for
yourself, or Sarevith."

T'bay presses his lips together, the effort of a man who's said more than
he'd intented trying to prevent the rising flush of a fool for speaking so
freely, for gushing out his 'feelings.' "I dunno. He's enough caught up in
whatever's going on, grand things, beyond me, that we hardly see each
other, except in passing, and it always seems like a situation where what
he has is plain over what we don't." Ignorant of V'lano's woes and all the
stress on him, T'bay considers Kassima's words carefully, perhaps weighing
them against his friend, perhaps becoming aware of the scope of the issue
far beyond his estimation of it. Softening vocally, he muses,
grudgingly-almost, "I guess it must be hard for him. I tried to tell him
I'm here, y'know? Old times? But it never turns out that way when we try to
talk. We always end up angry with each other, no matter how good my
intentions are. Do you have anyone you know like that? Where you just can't
be rational even if you try?" His eyes lift, seeking the advice from
experience that accompanies Kassima's years, and he dares another berry,
sans caramel. "I think," he finishes, quiet, having spanned an emotional
gamut in the last few sentences, "I just don't want Sarevith to feel like
he picked wrong."

"Bloody shells--grand things *beyond* you?" Kassima repeats... and laughs.
It's nearly-silent laughter, and not really of the mocking kind, although
she still hastens to find breath for words to explain it. "Most of what
he's doing is *hidework*. Very little grand about it, and certes naught
beyond you by aught save the Weyrleader's whim. What other things I know of
that he's involved in, even peripherally, are naught you couldn't be or
have been. Work-wise. The romances, now. I can't say those aren't grand
things," and a soft smile crosses her face as she admits this, "given
givens, but that isn't *beyond* you either." His grudging-almost gets a nod
that's rather solemn now, all the laughter gone. "'Tis hard. He--well,
trust me that 'tis. Methinks that he could use your friendship, personally,
if'n he'd just realize it and this thing that's between you could work
itself out. I thought he was interested the other night in fixing things;
but I saw too how you acted with each other... I don't know what the
solution is. I haven't anyone *just* like that. All the people I have the
most trouble being rational with, I mostly just don't *like*. That isn't
your problem. Or his." Quite certain she sounds. "Which does make it more
likely that if'n you can ever just *talk* to each other--stop sniping long
enough t'hash this out, get through it, there'll be the friendship on the
other side, waiting for you. And Sarevith would *never* feel he's chosen
wrong. *Never*," she repeats, and now her fingers do dig in a little to
emphasize the point, to keep him looking at her. "However many greens he
flies or clutches he sires, if'n he even flies a senior someday--would you
ever, ever be able t'wish you didn't have Sarevith but had Volath instead?"

"No, no," protests T'bay, waving his hands, palms down, trying to explain.
"It may be -only- hidework, but it seems so much more, hm, -significant-
that he's doing it, like it is elevated in importance. Er, that sounds
wherryheaded, I know, since I don't even like the smell of old hides,
but--" he breaks off, partly ashamed, partly laughing at himself. "Yeah, I
suppose we should keep trying. I hope for good results, that he'd still
want to be friends, that we'll still get on well after all we've changed
since coming here." A glance is given down the hillside, where Sarevith's
visible in the distance, rolling over in the afternoon sun so the light can
hit his darkly-toned belly, and despite himself, T'bay smiles warmly toward
his lifemate. "Trade Sarevith? Not a chance." He gives the intent hand on
his shoulder a nod, not aiming to remove it. "I kinda wish Sarevith
wouldn't win flights, since I keep friendships better if he doesn't, but
that's more my fault than his. Ohhh, nooo. I don't think I'd get along well
with Volath, from the way Sarevith relates him. They get on just dandily,
but he's not a match for me. Still, I can't help wonder how Vel and I are
so different? Like what makes him so suited for --well. He's always been
better put together, more organized and the like, so I don't really need an
answer to that." A wink of encouragement to Kassima, and he adds, "I hope
Sarevith doesn't get the inkling that he'd trade me, but...I worry about
it. Probably needlessly. 'S bad for the complexion, my ma would say. Worry,
I mean. And probably bad for your baby to overhear me worrying."

Kassima grins over at the brownrider, confesses, "I've felt that way. I
don't *want* Weyrsecond; I don't make any secret of that, but then he gets
it straight out of the Barracks, and it did make me feel odd at first. A
little inadequate. Why's he better than me, y'know? Answer: he probably
isn't, or it could be that he's better *at* this one thing, who knows. I'm
certes nay going t'blame you for feeling it too!" She gives a vigorous nod
to the next and agrees, emphatically, "Keep trying. Do. 'Twill be worth it,
mark me on it--and I told him once, the person he was a'fore Impressing is
still there. Same, methinks, with you. So the foundation's still there."
Maybe she's overly optimistic, but she'd seem to truly believe this. When
he looks to his brown, then to her hand, she gives a last soft pressure of
fingers and finally a pat, and lets that hand fall away. "Don't take what
happened with Yselle as any more typical of flights than what happened with
Vel and I," is her wry suggestion. "See? You and Sarevith *fit*. He won't
regret you; he'd find the idea patently absurd, I warrant you nigh aught,
and... some of it may be true, that being organized is a help, but some of
it might also be fluke of luck and twist of fate. You're a worthy man.
Whether you're ever Weyrsecond or nay." And she winks right back. "He'll
never be ashamed or regretful or sorry. There've been times I thought Lyss
would be better off with someone else too. But she always acted like I'd
suggested she'd be better off as a wherry. I don't think the babe can hear
yet--" Automatically, one of her hands comes to rest over her stomach. That
age-old gesture. "And if'n it can, well, 'twill hear plenty of worrying
a'fore all's said and done. Don't fash yourself on that score."

T'bay blinks at Kassima for a moment as if she were an alien race, then his
face flushes with a level of understanding he'd surely lacked before. "Oh,
shells of Faranth's Egg," he half-wails, dramatically. "I didn't even think
about other people's mourning about the promotions. There must be three
dozen qualified riders who are thinking the same thing, and I was so busy
moping and feeling sorry for myself, I didn't see the forest for the
hardwoods." After another glance toward his lifemate, he nods. "He can't
understand why I'd want such fuss and bother. He'd have no sunning time, he
says, and no time for hide and seek with Dianneth, or any of his other
hobbies. Like sleep. Or eating. Or trickery." A mischievous smile, pride,
flashes, then fades away. "We're doing all we can to keep Yashira on her
toes in your absence, ma'am," he reports, cheekily. Her hand-to-tummy's
granted a smile, too, that of a potential or perceived uncle concerned for
the welfare of a friend's babe-in-womb. "It's the least I can do to
minimize my contribution, then, to any such stress. I shall try to make
myself the anti-stress magnate. Or at least, I shall try. Eat up, another
berry for you both."

Avrieth has arrived.

Claret slithers down from her perch on Avrieth's neck.

Kassima doesn't laugh when he blushes, but does start to chuckle when he
wails. "Probably at least that many," she admits, "wondering what makes
*him* so much better, even if'n they didn't really expect it. He's awfully
inexperienced--and that goes back t'things nay being so bonny; methinks
he's nay only aware of it, but aware there are other people thinking it."
Although she delivers this wryly, there's more understanding for the
sentiment than distaste in her expression. "He might have some time. Rank
can be a bother, though, a regular pain in the tail, and he's right on that
score--aigh! As you illustrate! Nay ma'aming!" One of her hands attempts to
catch a lock of his hair and tweak it in revenge. "Never ma'aming. Do,
though, give Yash a challenge; I'm sure she'll enjoy that," uh-huh, "and...
well, there's something t'be said for anti-stress. 'Twill if'n you will."
Without waiting for an answer, she picks up a berry from the plate on her
lap, which they seem to be sharing, and dips it in caramel before eating.
She's seated nearby her brownriding Wingmate on a patch of grass. There's a
book lying abandoned nearby, and a pitcher and glass mug.

T'bay is seated on the ground next to Kassima, near the wall of the upper
part of the terraces. Not far from them, a greenhouse tray of small plant
shoots and a watering can indicate someone's been doing amateur gardening.
He's mid-laugh in reply to Kassima's refusal to be ma'am'd. "Yeah, but he
can learn, I suppose. Oh! Sorry, sorry! I forgot. And definately, one for
all, all for torture, Thunderbolt!" His arms raise in the air, mock
defensively, and he nabs a berry from the plate while Kassi's eating,
popping it into his mouth by toss into the air and catching it. "Triumph!"
He takes another berry, pulls a hand back to toss it toward her. "Now you
try."

With a downsweep of her wings, Avrieth touches down lightly, which is more
than can be said of her rider, as Claret slides off her neck and to the
ground with a rather ungainly thump, and a couple staggering steps that
send her right back into the green's side. Giving her a nonchalant pat,
Claret looks straight over in T'bay and Kassima's direction, and if
Avrieth's craned neck is any indication, her notice isn't due to her own
observational capabilities. For a moment her nose wrinkles in surprise, but
she breaks quickly into a cheery smile, walking over towards them with a
wave and an enthusiastic, "Hullo!"

"Can, will. He has enormous potential, methinks," and if Kassi's warm tones
suggest a bias on the subject, well.... "More potential than anyone else in
the Weyr? Probably nay. But he'll suit in time, if'n time's fortunate
t'him. You *forgot*! How could you ever forget? Just a measley few
sevendays away from drills and you're already losing all the *important*
things--" Woe, woe, wurra wurra and woe, but she can't even try for the sad
face. Just wrinkles her nose at him instead. Obediantly, she opens her
mouth in preparation to catch the berry--but then looks over to call back,
"Claret, g'deve!" which might not help the attempt.

Just as T'bay's about to let fly the berry, Claret approaches, and his aim
is thrown off. Alas, the berry is not going toward it's target exactly, but
it is still vaguely directed at Kassima. "Woah, whoops!" is expressed as
the berry takes off, T'bay's face starting a wrinkle of wince at the
possible forthcoming impact, or at the very least, the waste of a berry,
though he most cheerfully hails Claret in return. "What, ho! Claret! We
can't be in the same place at the same time! It violates the laws of how
Pern works!" After this exclamation, he softly adds to Kassima, "I have
every faith he'll do very well. He's from Lemos, after all. Hm. Must also
explain the lousy memory when it comes to not saluting one's wingleader. Or
maybe that's just me. Eh, sorry. About the berry."

Never one not to ask the question, Claret pipes in curiously, "Who'll suit?
And you've not got drills?" Shaking her head as if the world had come to an
end, Claret plunks herself down near the pair, though not in time to hear
T'bay's answer for her first question. "Shocking, isn't it? Although I am
quite sure it's just a temporary wrinkle, and we shan't set eyes on each
other for at least a few months. After all, that is the way of Pern."
Nodding knowledgeably, she gives both another smile, repeating her
greeting. "Evening."

Kassima gets thwapped in the temple by a berry, which causes a momentary,
rather inevitable look of surprise, and an attempt to snag the berry before
it falls. Unsuccessfully. She plucks it up from the grass, buffs it on her
shirt-sleeve, and pops it in her mouth all the same. "You just have good
memory when it comes t'your Wingleader preferring nay t'be saluted," she
murmurs to T'bay around a mouthful of pulp. "Mmm. Nay apology necessary.
'Tis a good berry, head-besmacked and all." She has better manners when it
comes to talking to Claret, swallowing both fruit and mouthful of cider
first. "Vel will suit, as Weyrsecond. And I don't--I'm grounded. Pregnant."
Pause. "One of these days I'm going t'get used t'saying that. What's this
about wrinkles in the nature of reality? You two can't be in the same
place? Should I expect the world t'combust around me?"

T'bay's shrug comes easily, though he does look around as though waiting
for time to collapse inward upon itself. "What she said, see. She's found a
way to get out of drills for almost a turn at a time. Not fair, that, and
especially since I don't have the avenue open to me." A woeful headshake.
"Though..." he trails off, watching the berry's clean and polish, grinning
as Claret comes to rest near them. "Not that I'd want the, ahem, joys of
birthing either. Must've been a reason ma has a small family, and I'd wager
it relates to the birthing part. Though Kassima shouldn't have too much
trouble, since she's turns of practice." His words are hopeful,
encouraging, and he takes another berry, this one aimed at Claret. "Catch a
berry, get to eat the berry. What say you?"

Claret nods her head gamely, though her answer isn't as sure as her
expression. "I expect it might. You just never know with these things. The
oddest things occur at the oddest times! I wonder what it would feel like
to combust?" That thought is given a proper few seconds for consideration
before she's nodding again. "Bet V'lano will be just fine." Flicking her
glance over at Kassima, she gives her a tentative smile. "That's good,
right? Especially the no drills part. -I- don't much want the joys of
birthing. But won't that make nine littles? I should have perished if I
were you." Dismissing the matter from her head with a wrinkle of her nose,
she shrugs her shoulders up, telling T'bay, "Well, it sounds well in
theory, but I won't get any berries because I'll miss."

"Out of drills while Healers chase me around trying t'keep me from drinking
aught but milk or eating aught but the healthiest of foods," Kassima drolly
reminds, "and while I can't drink, and blow up 'til I'm as big around as
Pierron; and then, after hours of primal agony, have a small screaming
thing keeping me from ever, ever sleeping... nay so unfair as *that*. Nay
that 'twould trade it either." That brings the return of that particular
smile she tends to wear whenever speaking of a child of hers, born or not,
and her hand finds itself over her abdomen again. "Very *hot*, I should
think." Presumably she speaks of combustion. "Probably somewhat painful,
too. Aye, a good thing by me--aye, too, t'nine, and I plan t'do m'level
best nay t'perish of it. Far too dull and commonplace a death for me. I
still mean t'meet my end by getting hit by a meteor."

T'bay looks to his Wingleader for a reaction to Claret's words, though he
can't quite disagree about the reticence to bear littles, and the pregnant
woman's description of the process only serves to wrinkle up his face
further. "Ugh. Sounds like combusting, really, is close to childbirth. I'm
rather amazed you choose to do it again and again, and still seem to like
it even though you know what it entails. And come to think of it?" He eats
the berry instead, robbing Claret of her chance, though he readies another
for launching, readying a change of topic. "I'd rather be doing drills. And
you can eat the ones you don't catch, too, but you'd have to find them
first. Who's up for a catch? Kassima, second effort? Claret, round one? Or
T'bay, round two?"

Likewise, Claret's nose wrinkles even more, if that's possible, and she
gives a little grimace. "I hope that doesn't happen to -me- nine times.
Combusting almost sounds better. Meteors sound better! Although..."
Knitting her brows in thought, Claret observes, "Wouldn't being hit by a
meteor be kind of like combustion? I bet it would hurt. While it lasts,
that is." Dipping her chin in conclusion, Claret waves a hand in T'bay's
direction, pointing at herself. "I at least want a chance to go scrounging
through the grass for a berry. I bet I could find one much better than
catch one.

Kassima only grins, the grin of someone who's heard this before and doesn't
entirely disagree; but, "'Tis the wonderful end-results that I like,
mostly. Mostly. There are other things. 'Tis all very cliche, I'm sure, but
knowing I'm making life makes me feel... very feminine, unsurprisingly, but
also *powerful*. 'Tis an amazing thing. And once the babe starts moving
about and I can feel that, 'tis even more amazing. Now I'm getting into
standard motherly sentiments, though, so 'twill stop and," taking up a
berry, "prepare for T'bay, round two. Which sounds as if'n it should follow
Claret, round one, and be followed by Kassima, round two. Really, 'tis only
eight times since two are twins." Because eight is so much better than
nine. "I figured 'twould kill me on impact, y'know? Just... splat. Throw me
right off Lyss's neck. Very memorable and exciting, only since 'twill nay
have time t'know what's happening I don't guess I'll be *excited* exactly."

"I'd think they'd both hurt. Probably much more than I could tolerate. I
don't even like having a sliver. If I notice it, that is. A meteor? Would
be far worse. And I bet it would feel powerful, too, but not like making a
life." The brownrider shivers slightly at this new-life talk, then turns to
Claret, eagerly. "Hey, did you hear the news from M'tri and Lanisa, too?"
With that tease, he aims, prepares, then flicks a berry in her direction,
then takes up one to send toward Kassima, ready for simultaneous launch,
looking back only after he's spoken to see where it landed. "I have to warn
you, I used to be good at this useless skill of food catching. Best floor
cleaner my mother ever had. Though I'll likely miss if you keep up that
talk of moving babies poking you in the belly and all that motherhood stuff
followed by death by meteor. I'd think it would burn. Hot hot hot. White
hot. Like the feeling in your cheeks when you realize you slept through
half of a class, and you'd best get to the other half, but then you'd have
to explain to I'sai why you were late kind of burning hot."

Claret duly considers the matter, tapping her nose as she mulls--if
briefly--over Kassima's words, announcing, "Well, I suppose I ought to give
it a try before I decide how awful it sounds. Maybe it'd be lovely.
Although I haven't any idea how I would manage it." Lifting her shoulders
in a light shrug of dismissal, she turns her attention to catching the
launched berry, rather too belatedly to have any success, as it goes
glancing off of her ear and onto the ground. Wrinkling her nose, Claret
focuses her attention on hunting for it, though she speaks while she
searches. "Bet you were," she tells T'bay. "I remember all those crumbs
under your bed in the barracks. And I didn't hear about M'tri and Lanisa,
precisely, but I heard talk about Thunderbolt, and well, I rather guessed.
Bet you'd be smoldered up and gone too quick to feel how hot it was. Unless
it just got your leg or something. Then you'd be rightly caught, and it
would take much longer to die."

"I do apologize, O m'Lord of the Contraceptive Tea." Kassima is just never
going to stop teasing T'bay about that. She fares better this time: her
head darts forward and the berry is neatly captured, drawn fully into her
mouth, and reduced to pulp and sweet juice. Before she's even swallowed she
lobs her berry to T'bay, as soon as he's facing the right way. "Good at
food-catching, tending plants, having the most bruised rump of all time...
you're a Wingmate of unexpected talents. I never had quite that experience,
thankfully--either explaining t'I'sai why 'twas late, for class anyway, or
the whole white-hot burning." To Claret, cheerfully: "'Tis awful. *And*
lovely. Awfully lovely; magnificently awful. 'Twill spare you m'explanation
on exactly how you'd manage it, since that'd probably have me at least
white-hot blushing, and methinks a meteor's probably too big t'*just* catch
your leg. Probably. Although, y'know, I'm nay really sure. Say, d'you think
the world would combust if'n I finally gave you your much-overdue
mentor-t'mentee graduation gift?"

"I think the manage it part is supposed to come naturally. To mothers, I
mean. Not to, er, everyone." To cover the flush that touches T'bay's cheeks
at both Claret's wonderings and Kassima's ribbings, he shoves back his hair
with one hand, not succeeding in smoothing it down at all, just rearranging
the curled up ends of his short to medium cut. "I left crumbs?" he repeats,
aghast. "What a waste. And see, leader of mine? Thunderbolt's reputation
preceeds it yet again." He's quiet as he focuses on catching the berry
coming his way, and it bounces, first off of his forehead, then into his
mouth, where he just about swallows it whole. "Ha! That's right. Why am I
worried about being respected? I've the most important set of skills, to be
sure. And, er, yeah. We maybe shouldn't have /that/ talk here, if Claret's
still not certain how to go about it." Claret's given a teasing cheerful
look. "Ohh, right. Perfect timing, too, since you were just talking about
that, Kassima." Eagerly, he watches for the presentation, all smiles. "Is
it ok if I watch? The gift-giving, not the child-getting."

Claret looks up from her fruitless search for the berry--just long enough
to give it a proper squashing under her hand. The sadly warped berry is
given a rueful sigh, but it's not enough to keep her from inquiring with
interest, "Contraceptive Tea? And that's not quite what I meant," Claret
informs Kassima practically, though perhaps a hint of a blush lingers on
her cheeks already, though she gives T'bay an exaggerated sniff. "I know
perfectly well how to go about it. Although, as far as meteors are
concerned, don't you think that if you were right on the edge, it might get
just part of you? Something is just under it and just not, because it has
an ending." Dismissing that topic, Claret nods her head sententiously. "You
left -plenty- of crumbs. It was disastrous come inspection time and what's
more, a little bit smelly. Oh, and don't forget seat-warming!" she adds in
disjointedly. "Do you come up often to tend the plants? And no, I don't
suppose it would -combust- exactly."

Kassima claps her hands together, exclaiming, "Oh, nice! See? Never sell
yourself short. There aren't many who could bank a berry off their heads
like that." Gentle teasing in this, emphasized by the light aim of one of
her elbows towards his ribs, but sincerity too. "Hah. Yselle did once say
that mayhaps what I needed t'do t'set off m'Wingmates was get knocked up
m'self. I don't think there'd be any 'watching' the other, T'bay. Unless
I'm much misremembering, if'n child-getting were t'happen right here, right
now, you'd definitely have t'be one of the participants." Her deadpan humor
is replaced by a grin and nod--he may watch--and she has to pat through her
jacket pockets before locating the soft black leather pouch, which she
tosses to Claret. "I've been carrying that around for yonks. I don't know
whether 'twill like it; I had a couple of ideas, but--T'bay likes
contraceptive tea. He likes it a lot. Ask him about it sometime. Anyway,
wouldn't the meteor be on fire? So even if'n 'tweren't squished, you'd
still be in flames?"

T'bay tries to force down the flush on his face, though it has crept to
round his ears and neck. "Uh, yeah. I have this tea? Yeah." That's about
the extent of his explanation, and he can't quite look back at Claret as
she proclaims her knowledge on the subject, instead thinking about the
meteor's landing. "I dunno. Would it be like Thread? All hot and burny? Or
would it be like a river rock, all cold and smooth? Cause it depends on
what it's--" He dissolves here into a sputter just as Kassima reaches
'knocked up', incredulity in his expression, then that turns to coughing
and choking at the next few sentences. His recovery is weak, and only his
interest in the gift brings his eyes back toward Claret, but he can't look
at her face. "Sorry about the smells?" he says, sincerely apologetic. "I
didn't realize. You should've said something--I would've done something
about it if you'd asked." Realizing that sounded a bit too adoring, he
winces, looking toward the baby plants. "Er. Yeah, every few days or so.
Watering, weeding, the like. Whatcha got?"

Claret doesn't seem to know quite where to begin with any response she
could possibly come up with, so instead she aims straight towards the least
complicated. "Me too," she offers with a cheery smile. "To help out," she
clarifies, gesturing towards the plants. "Although I suppose I'm a bit too
forgetful to come every few days. Even so, it just makes it odder that we
never come across each other." And in the end, it's quite a bit easier to
ignore almost everything Kassima said, instead wrinkling her brow
thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose you would be all in flames, wouldn't you? So
you wouldn't have long, but it would be quite long enough, to my thinking."
Shaking her head readily in T'bay's direction, she informs him, "Oh, no, it
only smelt if you were -under- your bed. Not if you were standing or
sitting properly. What about the tea?" she prompts obliviously, turning the
pouch over in her hands and pulling it open. "Bet I'll like it, whatever it
is. It doesn't feel disastrous from the outside."

"Oh, *you* have the tea! You have your own personal supply of the tea! This
I did nay know." And it seems likely that T'bay may end up wishing Kassi
still didn't know, as entertaining as she finds this. "I'd assumed the
hot-and-burning variety. So as t'go out in a big burst of fire and light,
y'know." She'll just subside into shameless brow-wiggling as he chokes,
shall she? Yes? Yes. That and the offer of some pats on the back similar to
those he gave her during her own coughing fit earlier. "Falling flaming
from the sky, I guess. Since I planned t'get knocked off of Lyss by the
thing. I hope I'd be in too much shock t'feel it... Claret, out of sheerest
curiosity, *why* were you under T'bay's bed?" Although she's genuinely
interested in the greenrider's answer, she's even more interested in her
reaction to the gift, and falls silent to watch the opening rather hopefully.


---

Opening the pouch will allow a chain of gleaming links to fall into one's
hand. It's a bracelet, slender and supple, glittering with gem-weight:
small marquis-cut peridots, emeralds, and deeply green jades have been set
in a line between links of gold, each stone about half a carat in size.
Loose enough to move easily on the wrist but not so large as to slip off
when the clasp is set, it offers plenty of flash and sparkle for something
so light and narrow.

---


T'bay leans his head forward toward Claret, as though he'd misunderstood
what she said. "Under it? How exactly did you know that?" Though he sounds
almost as though he doesn't quite want to know that for sure. "And I agree,
about the plants. I thought you might make the lines, the little ones?
Around each grouping of seedlings, but I wasn't sure." He's working an
conquering the flush, and he shoots Kassi an almost stare of 'you're
embarrassing me!' for all the good it might do. "Of course I do! My parents
sent it along, as soon as they knew I'd be staying at the Weyr." Wince, too
much shared, there, and he accepts the backpats, which seem to help his
breathing, leaving him silent to observe the graduation present, only a
mouthed oooo of admiration offered aloud.

Claret lets the bracelet drop out of the pouch and into her hand, which in
itself is quite a feat of coordination, as it nearly goes sliding off. As
she gets a firm grasp on it, her mouth rounds into a little o, once she has
the opportunity for inspection. Giving Kassi a brilliant smile she informs
her, "It's about the loveliest thing I've gotten in ages. And it's pretty
besides. That's ever so kind of you, and after all of this time, too. Thank
you!" Jumbling all of her words together in an enthusiastic rush, she
finishes with another smile, stating simply, and quite unrelatedly,
"Cleaning. Under my bed wasn't the nicest, either. I got in trouble. I'm
pretty sure you were down there too," she reminds T'bay. Eyeing the
seedlings reflectively, she nods. "Probably. Because that's the sort of
thing I do when I'm distracted," she explains.

Too much, indeed. Kassima can't help it. She curls in on herself a little,
distracted for a moment from watching Claret by the need to shake with
ill-suppressed laughter. "I take it," she gets out, "that one, they don't
want grandchildren too soon. And two, they think the Weyr is full of
alluring women. Thank 'em for me? Just on general principle?" She has the
mercy to temper the tease from her grin at him, though, making it fond. As
for her grin to Claret, that's not properly a grin at all: it's a beam,
relief that very quickly becomes outright delight. "Thank the stars you
like it--it seems you like it--I hoped, but I really wasn't sure. I *am*
sorry about the time thing. Better late than never, I hope, and either
road, you're absolutely welcome."

T'bay reaches his hands out to put them a distance under Claret's, should
the bracelet slip through, but she catches it, which renders his aid
unnecessary, so he draws them back toward himself, though he holds them
still for a moment, just in case. "It is very pretty. Look at the way it
glints in the light. And green, just like Avrieth. Well, not just like, but
similar to. Would you like to wear it? I could help clasp it for you, if
so?" The back of his neck holds the pink tone and emanates heat, which only
increases as he winces. "I'm sure I was. I have vague memories of trying to
hide my sweets stashes, and not entirely succeeding," he agrees with
Claret's statement, sighs helplessly at the antics of his parents.
"Exactly. They meant well, at least."

Claret smiles happily, noting, "Well, like as not it's mostly my fault, for
not spending so very much time out in places where other people seem to
be." Considering the matter of the tea, Claret concludes, "Well, that's
awfully nice of your parents, T'bay. I didn't even know there was that sort
of thing. Although, it's kind of unfortunate if you're a Thunderbolt rider,
isn't it?" Giving T'bay a warm smile, she drapes the bracelet around her
wrist and extends her hand. "Thanks ever so. I always have trouble doing
these things myself, although I figure I should know better by now." Gaze
wavering back to Kassima, she says, "Well, if I didn't like it, you'd
probably have figured it out, for I'm not the best at pretending, most of
the time. Anyway, I don't see how I could not like it, don't you think?"

Chuckling low, Kassi murmurs to the brownrider, "If'n it makes you feel any
better, I'm half-surprised m'mother didn't try sending some sort of
fertility herbs at any point a'fore I finally obliged her with the seven
grandchildren she'd always wanted. Parents are parents." And thus by
definition weird, runs the implication. "I'd say 'twill just be a chance
t'see whether Thunderbolt's power is stronger than tea," she quips to
Claret, and laughs. "But i'truth, 'tis truly fine if'n T'bay has nay
children, however I tease him. I didn't choose him for fertility, but
because he's a bloody fine rider." A little pointed, that? Maybe, but
warmly so, with a significant look for the man in question. "That's a
point. Some people don't really care for jewelry, was the risk; didn't know
whether 'twere one of 'em, but you never struck me as the sort militantly
*against* ornament, so I took a chance."

T'bay, delighted, leans forward to very carefully figure out the clasping
mechanism and attempt to make it work, keeping his head low so he won't
bonk Claret in the face with his efforts. "Right, it's very nice of them,
especially considering the Thunderbolt cur--er, gift. I didn't know there
was, either, for men, but I'd heard of it for women. It seems to, er, work,
though." He squinches his eyes shut, then opens them, finally figuring the
clasp out and leaning back to admire the shiny bauble. "Glittering. A
lovely choice from a mentor, a lovely gift for a mentee." His eyes drift
back toward his Wingleader, gratitude in his expression, and he sits up a
little taller.

"Bet my brother would have sent something or other like that if the thought
occurred to him," Claret comments. "I hope it doesn't. Thanks," she repeats
for T'bay with a grin, turning her wrist from side to side to make sure the
bracelet isn't about to fall off. "I don't wear jewelry generally," Claret
agrees, "But mostly because I've always been afraid I'd lose it, and
besides, I couldn't ever get it for myself. But I bet I'm better at looking
after things now. I'm pretty sure less things suspiciously disappear."
Wrinkling her eyebrows in puzzlement, Claret looks from Kassima to T'bay,
trying to put her finger on the undercurrent, but only grasping part of it
she remarks, "'Course you're a good rider. And you're nice."

"I hadn't heard of it for men either," Kassima volunteers. "Perhaps
obviously, given the nine children. Mayhaps just as well that Vel's father
doesn't seem so dead-set against... I wonder whether Vel's told him. I'd
still like t'meet him sometime." Also on the subject of families, "Your
brother doesn't want nieces or nephews, then?" She lifts a curious brow at
Claret. "Huh. I don't know whether t'envy you both your nay-spawn-fixated
families or nay. Here's hoping that doesn't go missing... mayhaps your wee
blue lad could go a-hunting it if'n it did, if'n he's capable. Why couldn't
you get it for yourself?" She splits a glance between brownrider and
greenrider, towards the end; and simply smiles, the moreso for T'bay's
silent reaction.

T'bay pushes back his hair, a good gesture for when he's not quite sure
what else he should do, and he takes a deep breath, which is exhaled
slowly. This concerted effort manages to return some of the neutral
coloring to his neck, and he smiles genuinely at them both, a partial
return to his cheerful normal personality so dampened of late. "I'm not so
sure about Vel's dad. I only knew him vaguely, as a worker-boss kinda
thing, with me being a very lowly worker, so we hardly talked much. Hmmm,
yes. Less suspicion is good, Claret. I mean, er, less disappearances is
good. You know what I mean. But! It looks like that is a good, solid clasp.
Should hold well." His abashed gaze goes from Claret to Kassima, then back
to Claret. "Thanks. You're...you're nice, too."

Claret gives a long-suffering sigh, telling Kassima woefully, "Nobody would
ever give me marks. They said I was too irresponsible, but I think that was
just an excuse. No marks, no jewelry! And now I've got some but it just
didn't occur to me. Most things don't occur to me." Shaking her head, she
puts in, "No, I think he'd be pleased as punch to have nieces and nephews.
-If- I were weyrmated. But my da doesn't care either way." Looking
delighted at Kassi's suggestion, Claret says, "Bet he could find it! That's
immensely comforting. Once he gets a bit bigger, anyway. And stops making a
racket. And you'd be surprised how I can manage these things," Claret tells
T'bay in a sepulchral tone.

Kassima flicks her fingers in a dismissive gesture--the friendly variety,
rather than snide. "Having marks takes getting used to, for plenty of
people other than you--now you don't have t'let anyone else tell you how
t'spend 'em. Plenty of things you *could* buy if'n you wanted. What d'you
think you'd want?" she wonders. "--Ah, that sort of argument. Understood.
Have you," turning to look at T'bay, too, "named them? I did see the
Impressions, even if'n I didn't congratulate then--congratulations, or
commiserations, whichever is due. We talked a bit about going t'Lemos t'see
him, Vel and I. A'fore I told him about the other. Vel thinks he'll like
me." The thought, for whatever reason, causes amusement. "You're both quite
nice people. Nay question."

With a slow nod, T'bay continues to be all smiles, though his mind has
drifted just enough from the conversation that it takes him a minute to
return and parse what the subject is. Once he's caught up, he adds, "It
gets to be your decision, now, at least. That's one good thing about being
away from home; my folks aren't pressuring me to settle down with a nice
Holder girl. Not that I'd've minded, if I lived at Lemos still." He shifts
about, taking another bit of browning banana from the tray, then looks to
the ladies. "Hungry, either of you? I'll happily share Kassima's snack,
see. Oh...the firelizards! No, I haven't named them yet. I don't think the
bronze one likes me very much; he keeps vanishing and only reappearing to
lord around and eat. The green's much sweeter, and sings beautifully. Most
of the time. But yours could help you find things, Claret, true enough. I
hadn't thought about trying to teach them things--do yours do useful tasks,
Kassi?"

Claret shrugs up her shoulders uncertainly. "I'm not really sure. They just
seem to collect themselves and go mostly unused, because I can't decide.
Avrieth has all kinds of suggestions, which means she's completely
unhelpful. Luckily my da was never much for ordering me around, just my
brother, and I could ignore him. I guess if you have littles, sometimes
it's easier to decide, huh?" Twitching her mouth into a wry smile, Claret
replies, "Commiserations for me, congratulations for Avrieth. I named mine
Bumble. Seemed to suit. He's still too little to be much more than
annoying, but he's awfully funny and I feel sorry for him sometimes." At
Kassima's last comment, Claret is startled into a laugh, adding, "And
you're nice too."

"Incessantly," is Kassima's sighed answer to the question of her hunger.
"And depending on the temperament of m'stomach later, sometimes
unfortunately. All seems well for now." She nibbles on a caramel-dipped
grape. "Hah. Kyril's sometimes like that. Some of them do--Kayvist's the
one I usually use for messages, a blue; Kyril, sometimes, and he's blue
too. Most of mine are. Kazander and Zabreneva are clever, but quite content
t'let the blues do tasks for 'em. Quixote would rather hang around me than
aught. Darvan, Koreyn, and Kevazyr are useful t'guard things, since they're
bloody mean for fire-lizards." Of course, there are a few 'lizards perched
here and there around--most sunning and minding their own business, but
there are a couple of sleepy chirrups as names are called. "Huh. Well,
there is jewelry, a'course. Furniture for your weyr if'n there's some
special piece you'd like--tapestries--rugs--artwork; clothing, a chess set,
dragonpoker cards, knives, plenty of things. So your families both wanted
you t'marry." Just a hint of question there. "I guess that's common enough.
Bumble... aye, it fits, poor little lad. I'm glad he went t'someone who
probably has the patience t'put up with him."

T'bay's warm laugh is shared at the mention of Avrieth's helpfulness in
suggesting ideas. "That sounds like her," he agrees, "which can't really be
helpful in the end. You might find new leather for straps for Avrieth, or
gift items to send home, or a new bit of furniture, right, even one you
could commission for your weyr, Claret? As things to spend marks on, if
you've a notion. Otherwise, I'd say it is good to save them up, just in
case." He hefts the dish, holding it closer to Kassima's reach to
facilitate follow-up grape-ing. "I'm hoping to add a new set of curtains to
mine, to cut the draft somewhat. It can be mighty cold in the mornings, but
at least there's a small floor rug to keep my toes cozy until I get the
rest of the way dressed." The brownrider follows the chirrupy voices as
some wake, but doesn't see familiar small attitude-filled shapes, so he
looks back at his conversation partners. "Mine were hoping. You know,
minecraft, I think, or woodcraft, since I'd done work in both. Patience!
That's a perfect description of what it takes to care for a firelizard. Not
quite enough mental connection that they want to do what you say; just
enough that you want to try to say it anyway. Oh." This last to Kassima, an
echo, "And you are nice, too."

Claret tries to count each firelizard on her fingers as Kassima names them,
but giving it up she holds two fingers of her own out prominently. "I've
just got two now, Heracle and Bumble. Herc's handy enough for messages. One
for delivering and one for finding!" Chewing on the corner of her lip,
Claret answers hesitantly, "Well, yes, sort of. My brother did and I know
it would have made my da happy, especially since I wouldn't join the craft.
Although he wouldn't have forced me." Tilting the corner of one mouth up
into a smile, she realizes, "I could commission something from my family.
My weyr's still a shambles, and Avrieth is always after me to fix it. But
if I did everything she was after me for, I'd never even have time to
sleep." Claret, too, leans forward, snatching a grape off of the plate and
popping it into her mouth. "I bet I wouldn't be as patient if I didn't
think he was cute. If he were nasty or like."

Kassima offers in her ever-helpful fashion, "I plan t'buy an island with
mine, when I decide t'retire. Buy it, go there, and stock it with a bunch
of loincloth-clad bronzeriders paid t'feed me grapes, fan me, and tend
m'every whim. I've had that plot for... Turns and Turns, now." Which might
be why she sounds as much reminiscent about the idea as anything. With a
smile for T'bay, she takes a grape--three--and dunks them, munching happily
away. "Some of those sorts of things are in Stores, a'course. Furniture,
textiles. But you never know what you're going t'get with that. You mined?
And did woodwork? Did you ever mine jade?" A flashed, touched smile follows
the question, directed to both riders. "Thankee both. I appreciate your
good opinions; they're worth having. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I
have thirty of the little stomachs looking t'me; all the names, 'twill
spare you, but that sounds a solid scheme of training." She nudges the
grape-bunch closer to Claret. "Which Craft? And... aye, well. That's the
way of the world, isn't it just. 'Tis surely why most infant things are
pretty cute--so you get good and attached a'fore you know what you're about."

"That sounds like a great idea! It would make Avrieth happy, and involve
your family being able to create something for you. Perfect!" It seems to
dawn on him belatedly that he could do the same, and he plants the hand not
holding the dish against his forehead. "That seems so obvious. They're
probably insulted, my family, that I haven't asked them for anything." As
Kassi's 'plot' and his current position as plateholder begin to click in
his head, he looks down the hill toward Sarevith. "Don't get an falutin'
ideas about going bronze, 'k? Cause she said bronzeriders, which makes us
exempt from a life of servitude. Though the warmth might be nice. If you
like that sort of thing. I prefer the cold. Being heavier, I overheat
easily." He leans back on his hand again, still proffering the plate. "I
worked a tumbler that smoothed the stones. As a seasonal helper, that's
about all I participated in. I was, ah, too big to go very far into the
mines to be useful. The really skinny kids did the dangerous work." That
explained, he's earned a berry of his own, and down it goes. "That has to
be it. Trap your heart while they're helpless, stuck for life."

"Don't see why you have to pay them," Claret remarks with faint humor.
Snagging herself a clump more grapes from the tray, she sits back again,
munching in between words. "Maybe I'll have a rummage. It's probably easier
than the trouble of sending home. It was woodcraft," Claret supplies,
nodding towards T'bay. "That's where I lived before I came here, and my da
and brother are both in the Craft. Maybe I would have entered it if it
weren't for Avrieth, but I don't think so." Pulling a face, Claret gives
her head a decisive shake. "I hope I never have even a fraction of that
number to look after. But I'm sure Avrieth will have more of a say in that
than I do." Apparently, Claret doesn't need parents to order her around
when she's got her very own grandmother living in her weyr. "I like the
cold too," she echoes randomly. "Except when it's really, really cold
because I hate hats."

"Does your family do the mining, or the woodwork? I feel like I'm just
realizing how much I don't know about either of you, history-wise," Kassima
admits with definite rue. "Ach! Didn't mean t'be implying you, T'bay.
You're just being very kind. Anyway, I'd pay 'em for the service--I doubt I
could get 'em t'do it without," she explains for Claret. "Unless mayhaps I
could lure down a really fabulous Baker, and a wonderful brewmaster, so
they'd do it for the food. I grew up in a fairly temperate place, and I'm
usually a bit of a stick, so cold's always just something t'endure. Lyss
prefers heat, too." She has orange slices on the tray too, peeled; one of
these goes into the caramel next. "Oh, I get it." Thoughtful, not
censurious. "I worked a bit now and then in the granite quarries, but
quarries are rather different. Nay obligation t'go into a Craft just
because your family did, I don't think--although I suppose some Crafters
would be disagreeing with me. Was it just that woodwork didn't suit you,"
she asks Claret, "or was there something you liked better? Bet the riding
helmet's really fun for you, then."

Agreement comes from T'bay in the form of nodding his head and mumbling
past a redfruit bit. "Mmm hmmm, woodcraft," is the only intelligible part,
indicating he remembers her potential occupation from earlier
conversations. After he finishes the bite, he considers, adding
intelligently, "I don't like hats, either. They make me overheated too
quickly. Keeping my hair cut short helps in the helmet, though. And it is
worth the tradeoff--I'd hate to take a lump of firestone from a high-tossed
sack to the head unprotected." Regarding his family's occupation, he
half-shrugs. "Da's a minecrafter, ma bakes. Mostly sweets, some regular
breads. Fantastic pies, if she can be wheedled into doing one." The
mischievous grin suggests he fancies himself an expert in that field,
though he hangs his head dramatically. "Alas, I did not pick up the skills
in that craft. Hence my status as a taster. Ach, orange and caramel? Is
that really good together?" Is seems the other items are acceptable, but
this one draws concern.

Claret tilts her head to the side consideringly, remarking, "Well, I dunno,
I bet some of them you could bribe other ways. Or threaten, in the nicest
possible way." Flashing Kassima a smile, she agrees, "Aye, the helmet's
bliss. And it particularly adds to my desire to wear hats the rest of the
time. But I guess it has its merits. Avrieth likes the sun too. But the
weather at Woodcraft was mostly like it is here, so I'm accustomed."
Shrugging lightly, she notes, "My trouble was that I didn't know what I
liked best. Woodcraft was all right; I just didn't want to spend forever at
it. But I didn't have anything better-that's why my da, at least, would
have liked me to get handfasted, so he didn't have to worry about it any
more." Tucking her legs solidly underneath her, Claret slants a curious
glance over at T'bay. "Did you try to bake cakes and things yourself? I've
barely tried cooking anything in turns. There's something to be said for
that."

Kassima has to allow, "I might like the helmet better if'n I could part
with the hair. 'Tis a bit torturous as-is. But 'tis m'vanity, always has
been, so it stays; and I put up with a helmet made a bit big t'fit over all
the extra padding. So what you're saying is that if'n I ever am down that
way, I should wheedle your mother?" Amused. Definitely amused. She takes a
bite of the dipped orange and closes her eyes, sighing with something like
contentment. "In normal circumstances? Revolting. Right now? Wonderful. But
right now, caramel poured over pasta sounds good." Pause. "Really good.
Quick, distract me a'fore I decide I should try and *get* some of that."
Now her eyes travel towards Claret and fix there, intrigued. "Threaten in
the nicest possible way. This I have t'be hearing more about. Lyss just
drags us down t'Boll any chance she gets, t'get her sun in, and I don't
mind too terribly much--didn't have t'worry anymore?" She gives a soft
snort. "Ah, well. At least your future would've been settled, if'n naught
else; but being a wife's work of a kind too, and what if'n you hadn't liked
that? Oh! Speaking of cooking, T'bay, don't let me forget. I still owe you
and V'lano a breakfast."

"There's nothing wrong with that. You didn't have to choose, after all.
Avrieth chose you. And now you have an occupation. Solved things up for me,
as well," T'bay agrees. "I helped with the trees at Lemos, too, and some
with the stones, but nothing stuck. So this was really the best thing, else
I be wandering around yet occupationless and past my twentieth turnday."
Rising, he stretches, looking down the hillside toward his lifemate, who is
now decorated with a pair of recently arrived young firelizards, who
chirrup insistently. "Uh...it seems my current occupation is 'slave to the
stomachs.' Which for me, is apropos, somehow. And...ugh. Over pasta. Yeah.
I did try my hand at baking, like ma, but I didn't have the 'touch' for it.
Wai, wai-- And you owe us a breakfast? Since when? I'll have to take you up
on that! Be sure you bring the fan, the fruit trays, the whole deal." As he
scoots a few paces away, he realizes he's still holding the food, which he
returns to Kassima with a solemn, "thank you. For listening. And advising."
And to Claret, he adds, hopeful, "There was no combustion. We were safe.
Maybe we'll cross paths again, soon?"

Claret reaches a hand behind her neck to touch her own very long hair,
admitting, "Me too. It's so bothersome short, anyway, almost as bad as a
hat." Claret gives her head a disparaging shake, an expression of
forbearance on her features. "Fathers aren't always the most sensible
creatures. I'm sure I should have been miserable doing housework and
things, and always tied to one place. This is much better." Tucking her
hands under her chin, Claret enlightens Kassima, "Well, you know, if you've
got something to hold over someone, or something to threaten with, you can
just explain the whole matter very sensibly to them and maybe they'll agree
to you. Of course, I think that sort of thing is best left for very extreme
circumstances. As a rule, I avoid it, but in theory, it sounds useful,
doesn't it?" Following T'bay's glance towards Sarevith, she sends one of
her own to Avrieth, ruefully untucking her legs from beneath her and
standing. "Guess I'd better look to the same thing. And you're right, no
combustion. Maybe we will cross paths. I hope so!"

Kassima bobs her head agreeably. "'Twas the same for me. I couldn't make up
m'mind, and Chaeth found me and brought me t'Benden and solved the whole
conundrum. With me 'twas the question of Baker versus Harper versus Guard,
mostly, so. This is me, nay saying a thing about stomach-slavery." She's
grinning about it, however. "Part of a bet made with Vel that backfired. We
bet a breakfast; he paid, then we found out I'd actually lost, so now I owe
him two--and he wanted them for him and for you. This being after a certain
High Reaches visit, hmm? Think on that if'n you ever doubt he still calls
you friend in his heart, at least. Sweets and meats in plenty there'll be."
Accepting her much-diminshed food with a smile of thanks, the elder
greenrider promises him, "You're welcome. Any time. Any time you need
t'talk--you can look me up wherever, and talk we can. Your company's always
a pleasure." In unconscious mirroring of Claret's gesture, she touches the
end of her almost-knee-length braid where it lays beside her on the grass;
quips, "I can't remember it short, thankfully. 'Twas m'mother who was that
way more than m'father--methinks it may be a parent in general thing, at
least half the time, and... oh. *Blackmail*. You should've just said so!
A'course there's always blackmail," and so chipper she sounds about it,
too. "Truth, as soon as I've finished off these dainties, I should look for
sleep and food. It's been a true delight seeing you both, though. I hope
'twill nay be so long ere the next time!"

[Editor's Note:  Everybody was on the tired side, so we let
the scene end here. :) ]