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Ask Me Your Questions, Bridgekeeper!


Date:  March 19, 2005
Place:  Telgar Weyr Living Cavern
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:  Riadur's probably not having what most would consider
an easy time of it.  Insulted into Candidacy, tricked into Impressing 
a fire-lizard, he's beset by unexpected complications at every turn--
and his Searchrider arguably does not make matters easier for him by
embarrassing him half to death, however good her intentions.

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The Log:

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

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

Riadur sits at one of the tables next to a pair of recently vacated seat.
Now that he's got a break from the conversation again, he's taking the
opportunity to feed the small blue firelizard sprawled across his lap a
little bit more meat.

There's a clatter of footfalls as prelude to Kassima's entrance, two
sets--one boot-clad, one much lighter, both fast. But just as a plump
five-turn-old boy with a mop of touseled black hair runs giggling into the
Cavern, his mother catches his hand to slow him and they both fall to a
breathless walk. "Nay running in here any more today than any other day,
evil child," the woman informs the boy, and lets his hand go to tweak a
flyaway strand of dark hair. "Go on, off t'Simaeva with you t'show off your
prizes." Kaisan manages to keep to a walk until he's most of the way
through the room and far from his mother, at which point he breaks into a
run again and disappears into the Inner Caverns. The greenrider,
unsurprised, just shakes her head and heads in the direction of the food.

The noise alerts Riadur to the entrance of Kassima and her child, and he
pauses in what he's doing to look up. Eyes watch the little boy's progress
with a smile. "Good evening, Kassima," he offers the wingleader. "Was that
your son?"

Kassima throws Riadur a grin over her shoulder. "The youngest of 'em, aye.
Kaisan--I'sai's lad, too, which might explain much if'n you've met that
august personage. I blame *everything* about that hyper child on him." She
turns back to surveying the food table, her expression falling a little
with every dish spotted. "Nay spiderclaws? Scallops? Pasta of any kind?
Cheese that isn't on *tubers*? Bloody shells." Packtail must be an
acceptable substitute since she starts heaping a plate with it, although
not without a remark of, "I normally don't care much for this. Smells good
tonight, though. How's Candidacy treating you, Riadur?"

Riadur quirks his brows slightly. "I haven't, I'm sorry," he tells the
wingleader. "He's a cute little boy, though. How old is he?" He pauses a
moment, then adds, "It does smell good, although I don't care much for
fish. Candidacy is... well, it's been largely good. How have you been? I
enjoyed watching your firelizard's eggs hatch, although... Well." He stops
himself, glancing down at the blue in his lap ruefully.

Kassima finishes scooping this and that up onto her fish-intensive plate
and pouring a glass of milk, and takes these things over to her usual seat,
hooking her foot through the leg to pull it out. "Five Turns," she answers
with pride, setting plates and self down. "He looks a lot like him. Is, I
mean. I'm nay a big fish person m'self unless I've caught 'em and cooked
'em, but...." She eyes all the fish on her plate, shrugs, and takes up her
fork. "Better than chutney. I've been as well as can be expected. Glad,
aye, that Zabre's hatchlings were pretty, healthy things. What've you named
him?" Looking up lets her catch the rue in his glance. "'Twill nay be so
bad. And good practice. Dragon hatchlings are far more demanding than
*they* are--I've half thought Candidates should be encouraged instead of
forbidden t'Impress 'em, early on, t'get some practice."

Riadur smiles, glancing back the way Kaisan ran off. "Reminds me of my
brothers when they were that age, at least in the way he acts. Although I
suppose that could be said about most kids," he notes wryly. Glancing down
to the blue again, he tells Kassima, "Ebillan. He /is/ demanding, but... I
think I can handle it. He's my responsibilty now, anyway."

Kassima snorts a soft agreement. "At least if'n mine are aught t'go by.
I've had exactly one child who wasn't usually that bouncy, so far; and one
out of eight... well, eight and some fraction... isn't very telling. Kris
has always been in a class of his own." She tucks away a few bites of fish
before speaking again. "Ebillan. I like that. You can; believe that you
can--'twill be a challenge, but that's nay going t'be news t'you. Believe
it or nay, I had six of 'em when 'twas Searched and Impressed another as a
Candidate, and I managed. A'course, 'twas a fourteen-Turn-old with little
between her ears but air and a fair amount of sweetener in her diet. It
probably helped. How many brothers d'you have?"

Riadur grins at that. "Eight is quite a lot to have them all turn out so
much alike," he observes. "My siblings and I were always quite a bit
different. I have two younger brothers, and had one older. Plus, I have one
younger sister and two older ones. I was right in the middle," notes the
candidate with a shrug. He seems impressed with Kassima's tale, though.
"Six by then? That's quite a fair. I think one is more than enough for me,
really, especially as, well, I have to chaperone this one some."

Gustive saunters in the canverns like he's looking for something, seeing
the rider his face falls for a moment before he waves her at her and her
companion. Coming closer he sees it's the young lad he met earlier. "Well,
hello you two. Having a good evening?" He glances about half guiltily and
then eyes Kassima and grins.

"Well, nay exactly alike. But most of 'em energetic like that. They'd
rather run than walk; they'd rather fly than run--ask me about Kharisma
deciding she'd swing the vine at Boll sometime when she was seven; she
nearly killed me. At least Kai doesn't like t'roughhouse. *Too* much.
Kaswyn--he's seven--and he wrestle around sometimes, but that's t'be
expected." Kassima spears her fork through a few green beans. "Seven!
That's respectable. M'kin would approve of your parents, I think... and
m'sons would commiserate over all the elder sisters. Chaperone him?" She
stuffs the beans into her mouth, so her greeting to Gustive comes out as a
wiggle of fingers and a muffled, "Mrph gmlph!" Post-swallow: "G'deve,
Gustive. 'Tis fair enough. Are you up t'something?"

At the voice, Riadur looks up and smiles at Gustive. "Hello again," he
greets the other candidate. "Kassima and I were just talking and having
dinner. Care to join us?" He extends the invitation, waving a hand toward
one of the empty seats. "M'kin?" he wonders. Then, continuing: "They
weren't so bad, really. Depa was too girly to bother any of us, and Nuria
was like a second mother. I... stayed out of trouble, for the most part. I
wasn't very... anything, really. Except quiet."

Gustive shakes his head at Kassima. "Not me, I'm not up to anything.. I was
just thinking. Well I guess it doesn't matter what I was thinking does it,
I'm not doing it at the moment." With a quick change of subjects he smiles
broadly at Riadur. "Hoi, I ran off during your lecture, are you set to
scrub latrines for a month? And I overheard a little of the conversation,
talking about family, are we?"

Kassima gulps down milk. Enunciates a bit more clearly: "My kin. M'family.
They believe in having lots of children, most of 'em. Weren't aught? I
scarcely believe that. Quiet doesn't mean you aren't aught. What'd you like
t'do? If'n you don't mind me being all curious and nosy here." Gustive,
perhaps unsurprisingly, gets eyed. "Speaking of curious and nosy. I'd like
t'know what 'twere thinking all the same, if'n you're of a mind t'share;
you've got m'curiosity wound up now. Aye, 'twas boring Riadur horribly with
talk of m'children, and he's fascinating me with tidbits about his sibs in
exchange."

Riadur arches his brows. "Not thinking at the moment," he remarks
teasingly, grinning up at Gustive. "But no, actually. They let me off very
easily." Does he really sound disappointed about that? "I only have to keep
the meat fresh in the barracks for all the young firelizards and to keep up
with the chores I already had." A shrug follows. "You weren't boring me,"
he hastens to reassure Kassima. "Really, it's interesting." He does blush a
bit as he misunderstands her accent, though. Finally, he tells her
uncertainly, "Well, I played with my little brothers sometimes, or talked
to our harper and helped him out. Different things, really."

Gustive clears his throat and keeps smiling at Riadur. "Siblings? Do you
have a lot of them? Must be like my family, I hope you ended up with more
boys." His eyes twitch at Kassima for a second but he just plows on with a
big smile plastered on his face at Riadur. "Lucky you to get off to so
easy. But my little fellow will be all the more pleased for it. "He gently
strokes the little brown firelizards head as it lies curled up around his
neck. "Sweet thing really, if a little critical sometimes."

"Oh, that's easy. Pierron keeps bowls of the stuff handy--meat--since there
are plenty of us running around with the greedy-guts." Kassima flicks her
fingers towards one of the hearths, where several fire-lizards lounge to
enjoy the warmth of the fire. "You won't have t'butcher it or aught like
'twill if'n you Impress. Unless you end up on tunnelsnake-hunting duty and
*want* t'feed 'em snake. Better cut it up first if'n you do. You'd probably
have liked Kris, then--Keveris. M'quiet son. Harpers fascinated him, too...
and music. Are you much for music?" Aiming her fork at Gustive, she informs
him, "I'm nay going t'forget m'question, y'know. You're just making it look
as if'n you're up t'*something*. He's faring well?" For the little
fire-lizard, with a smile.

"Six," replies Riadur. "There's four boys, including me, so we just barely
edged out my sisters." To Kassima, he shrugs again. "Not really. The harper
was... mostly just a safe place," he admits. "Someone nice to talk to who
didn't mind me getting underfoot. And the other kids tended to keep away
from him outside classes, so."

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

A few moments pass in which Kassi doesn't say much, just works at her large
meal. At length: "Shy," she wonders, "or d'you just prefer your own
company?" Her eyes follow Gustive out of the Cavern. "Huh. High odds are on
a prank of some kind, methinks. Or other form of mischief."

Riadur watches Gustive's exit as well, nodding. "I hope it's nothing
that'll get them in trouble," he frets, frowning slightly. Then, shaking
his head, he tells the rider, "A bit of both, actually. Or, well, not so
much preferring my own company as finding it safer than most of the other
boys near my age."

"He'd best be prepared for trouble if'n he pranks. They tend t'be caught. I
knew one group where when they *couldn't* find out who did it, they
punished everyone alike... I didn't agree with that, but 'twasn't
Coordinator that round." She excels at reassurance, does Kassima. "Hmm-mm.
Grew up with a bunch of brawlers, then? Or was it that 'twere the teasing
types?"

"Some of both," confesses Riadur. "They brawled with each other, but I
stayed out of most of those. I was just the teased one, mostly." He blushes
at the admission, but shrugs. "It's not important, though. That was turns
ago, and most of them are grown up somewhat by now. Anyway, none of them
are around here, anyway."

Kassima gives a rather slow shake of her head. "Children can be cruel," she
observes. "Well, obviously--who doesn't know that?--but, y'know. It doesn't
mean much. Half the time the teased child grows up t'be the most successful
of the lot. A Crafter, or an artist--or," with a gesture of her glass
towards him, "a Candidate. Being a Candidate's a bit like being with a
roomful of siblings, I guess, but I doubt 'twill have that problem. You
might nay be the oldest, but I don't think you'll be one of the youngest,
either."

"In the middle again," Riadur notes good-naturedly. He shrugs. "I don't
think I can be the most successful, really: my oldest brother was a
bronzerider; my older sisters got properly married and had a family; and
the rest of them are still finding their own lives and growing up. I gave
up on competing with them a long time ago. It doesn't do any good." He
shrugs philosophically.

Kassima agrees, but with a tilt of her head to the side and a half-shrug of
shoulders, "Possibly. Upper end of middle. You never really know what sort
of range 'twill end up with--all depends on what the dragons favor. Ah--I
see. Your family teased you. I thought you might mean your age-mates." Her
grimace is for herself, her own assumption. "Ill-spoken of me, then. You're
right: you shouldn't focus on competing. Which isn't me saying I don't
think you *can*, only that it could make life bitter. I didn't know you'd
rider kin. Any others in your family?"

Riadur blushes, ducking his head. Hastily, he attempts to reassure Kassima,
"No, don't. It's okay, really. Everyone has their own difficulties with
family, I think." Again, he finds himself shrugging. "My mother was
searched, I think, but I think she and my brother were the only ones. Were
any of your family riders?"

"Probably." Kassima tears a roll in half, nibbles on its edge. "'Twas an
only child m'self, but m'mother and I have always had a strange
relationship, so there you go. Nay--" A headshake. "Nay a'fore me. Nay for
a few generations, anyway. After me, there were a few... I've several
cousins who ride, now, and one of m'daughters flies a brown at Ista.
Another was Searched by Benden, but didn't find her lifemate. She came home
more relieved than aught."

Riadur nods slowly. "An only child?" He wrinkles his nose at this foreign
concept. "I can't imagine that: not having at least a couple of siblings..
I can't remember a time when I didn't have at least four, and I can't
imagine not having any at all. I still find it a bit strange not to be
sharing a room with my brothers, and all four of us haven't been together
for over five turns now."

Kassima grins over her mostly-cleared plate. "'Tisn't such a bad thing. For
one thing, you can get spoiled--and I have plenty of cousins, *reams* of
'em, so there were kids enough t'run around with. I just didn't have
t'share a room or m'parents with 'em so much as that. Was it five Turns ago
your brother was Searched? Or was it something else that broke up the
arrangement?"

Riadur shrugs. "About that long, I think. He got his own room for a while,
then left the hold for the Weyr, got searched, all that stuff," he says
vaguely, making a vague gesture with one hand and earning a squawk from a
disturbed Ebillan in return. "Sharing a room was... Well, it was an
experience. It was awful some night, but other times, it wasn't too bad. I
remember..." He doesn't finish, but bears a wistful smile.

Kassima nudges her plate aside to leave room on the table for propping an
elbow, the better to lean her cheek against her fist and listen. "Left the
Hold for the Weyr *a'fore* getting Searched. Which Weyr, anyway?" Then,
"You love 'em, aye? Teasing and brawling and quite possibly snoring and all."

"Southern," replies Riadur with a shrug. "He was always the... independent
sort. I think Weyr life suited him better, in the long run." He pauses to
fiddle with one sleeve, tugging on the cuff idly. "I... do, I guess.
They're family; you /have/ to love them. Right?" He smiles crookedly.

"There are people like that. There are people in Weyrs who'd be happier in
Holds, too. Nay shame in either--nay matter what some Holders say about
Weyrs being gaping maws of corruption," says Kassima, grinning rather
mischievously, "or some Weyrfolk say about Hold life being repressed and
fit t'bore you t'tears. I know for fact that all sorts of interesting
things go on in Holds. Have to?" The rider gives this some consideration.
"I don't think so. Nay just from blood. One of m'sons and one of
m'daughters hate each other, pretty much. Nay that sibling love-hate; just
hate. But they weren't raised together. I suspect the shared background and
shared memories make true hate more difficult."

Riadur frowns at that. "I can't imagine hating someone, especially someone
I'm related to, for whatever reason. Even my brother, and he and I had
more... disagreements than anyone else," he admits. "There are people I
don't like, but I don't hate them." He falls silent a moment before noting,
"I think hold life suited me. I'm not so... free as Weyrfolk seem to be.
You know... Well." He shrugs and blushes. "Least, that's what I've always
heard. Some people, back at my hold, really do see Weyrs as--what was
it?--gaping maws of corruption."

With a wry face, Kassi assures, "I can. 'Tis well for you if'n you never
meet anyone who makes you change your mind. Kyjain and Kisai just couldn't
stand each other from first sight, pretty much--didn't have much t'do with
each other when she was a baby; and then she made the mistake early on of
telling him he was pretty. She was trying t'be nice, and she was just a wee
thing. He's really sensitive about that, so it didn't help. He hit her.
They just avoid each other, now, and I'm happy t'let them do it. Which
brother is this one?" Her eyes study him for a moment or two prior to her
comment of, "Nay everyone is that free. There are pairs completely
monogamous outside of mating flights--and pairs in the Lower Caverns for
whom those aren't an issue. We don't all go out and have orgies in the
Bowl, y'know," but it's a gentle tease; she wouldn't seem offended. "Your
Hold isn't the only one. Listen, is there aught *you'd* like t'know about
it? You can ask me if'n you want to. I'm a greenrider; believe me, I've
heard a lot of odd things, some likely worse than aught you could ever think."

Riadur frowns, cocking his head. "Kisai? Kisai is your daughter? I didn't
realize," he queries, surprised. Then, blushing fiercely, he mumbles, "My
oldest brother, Sh'drian. He, er. Well. It's--no, ma'am. I, er, I'm good.
You don't--" He ducks his head, flustered to the point of being unable to
even look at Kassima.

Kassima's eyebrows arch up. "I'sai's and mine, aye, Kaisan's elder
full-sister. You've met her? Tell me she didn't cause any trouble for you?"
Ah, parents. Always to be relied upon to suspect the worst of their
offspring. "The bronzerider, then. You don't have t'speak of it if'n you'd
rather nay. Especially if'n you're going t'forget and call me *that word*."
She flashes a quick grin, though. "But there's nay call t'be embarrassed.
*I* should be embarrassed, for having made you turn colors. You'd only nay
have been the first Candidate t'come to a Weyr with... the wrong idea. Or,
in some cases, the right idea. If'n you Impress, there's nay going back to
Hold life--nay ever--so if'n you're ever concerned about life here, better
t'find out a'fore Standing than after."

"At Boll a while back," answers Riadur, still not meeting Kassima's eyes.
"When they had that monsoon? She was very nice, not that we, er, had much
time for small talk." A shrug ensues while he fights down at least some of
his flush. "Well, it's just that, well. Where I'm from, we don't exactly
talk about that sort of thing," he admits painfully. "Leastways, not and be
proper. It's just not done. I mean, it is done, but talking about it's not
done, and--oh, shards." He sighs, blush returning as he stumbles across his
words.

Kassima's brows draw together as she assimilates this new information. "She
did mention a young man... well, she mentioned a number of people. Since
you say 'very nice,' I'm guessing you're nay one of the ones she beat at
dragonpoker. Were you in the stables, then? With Cailin? I'm glad you found
her so. She's a love, but a bit spoiled, fortune bless her." Her index nail
taps against the milk glass she's picked up. "That's one of the
differences. I'd nay say people talk about that sort of thing in *detail*
in public, usually; but it can be discussed. In generalities. I'm nay
suggesting you ask me if'n dragonriders do *specific things*, if'n you get
me--you'd make *me* blush! But if'n you ever do find yourself wanting
t'know aught about how we live, or whether certain things are true--plenty
of people about would be fine with talking about it, aye?"

"No, I wasn't," Riadur says, shaking his head slowly. "I didn't know of any
games going on, or I might have gotten into it. Well, the betting might
have been a bit over my head: I like playing for fun, not marks. Too
risky," declares the young man. "But yes, we helped in the stables. I
think... Cailin sounds familiar. Most of that night's a bit fuzzy; it was
terribly hectic, really. But, er." He falters to a stop again. "I will.
Ask, that is. If I ever get curious. Not that--but--you understand."
Blushing again, he gives up with a sheepish sort of smile. At least he
manages to look up this time.

Kassima laughs under her breath. "'Tis what I thought a'fore I rode. Since
then I've made most of m'fortune from gambling, which just goes t'show that
you never know--Kiss came home with a pretty handful of marks, anyway,
methinks meant t'make up for that ruined Gather blouse. She really thought
I'd be *upset* about that. Silly chit." The words are said with much
love--as much as one would expect from a mother who not only loves but is
proud of her daughter. "If'n you like the game, 'tis always easy t'scare
one up here. Harder mayhaps without marks. But surely nay impossible.
Cailin's a Journeywoman Herder; a friend of mine, as it happens, and 'twas
glad Kiss ran into her. It sounded rather nightmarish." Again that laugh,
but there's no mockery in it: "I understand."

As the topic of conversation shifts somewhat, Riadur's blush fades to
almost nothing again. "I think all of us ruined our gather best," he notes
ruefully. "I never could get all the grime out of mine. Now they're just
plain work clothes, since they weren't that fancy to start with. Do you
gamble a lot, then? I always... kind of wanted to do it, but I never had
the courage to stake my marks on my luck. I always stuck with friendly
little games with no wagering."

"Pretty much incessantly. Dragonpoker, clutchings, and Hatchings, mostly,"
explains Kassima, with a tap for a pocket of her jacket; odds are from the
bulge that there's a deck of cards inside. "Runner racing every now and
again, or dice and the Trader's Wheel at Bitra when I want something really
random. How much 'tis pure luck depends on what you're wagering on. D'you
know, if'n you'd like t'try it out but don't want t'stake marks yet, you
could gamble favors with the other Candidates. Like... play with Gustive
and put up, instead of a thirty-second piece, oiling that fire-lizard of
his one morning."

"Is that allowed?" asks Riadur curiously, tilting his head to one side as
he studies Kassima. "And--he's Bitran, I think. I'm not sure I'm ready to
face a Bitran," he admits with a wry smile. "But... it's certainly a good
idea. I might see if one or two of the other candidates are interested.
Thanks for the suggestion."

Kassima asks in return, "Which, t'gamble? T'wager other than marks? Both
are fine. Don't get in over your head, is all, because nay anyone's likely
t'bail you out--doesn't sound like 'tis apt t'be much of a worry with you.
That's right, he did mention coming from somewhere around Bitra." This
causes an odd expression to cause Kassi's face. There's amusement in it,
but rue too, and something harder to define. "Better t'start out with an
easier mark. You're certes welcome. If'n that works out and you decide
you'd like t'wager a bit on the eggs later, you know where t'be finding me."

Riadur nods slowly, a slight frown overtaking his features at Kassima's odd
expression. He doesn't comment on it, however. "Oh, I will. Is... is there
a way to tell what color might come out of an egg? I mean, I've looked at
them, but..." He shrugs. "Maybe I just don't know what I'm supposed to be
looking for."

This gets one of Kassima's chuckles; she admits, "There really isn't.
Except a gold egg, and I swear, the queens are getting sneakier about those
every Turn--the other colors, 'tis all hunch and guess. With Benden-blooded
dragons, some, self somewhat included, have it that the red eggs tend t'be
Hatching greens and bronzes tend t'Hatch from pure whites. You're still
just guessing even with that, though. It's been a favorite game of mine for
long and long, and I'm still nay as good as I'd *like* t'be at it."

Thoughtfully, Riadur digests this bit of information slowly. "I see," he
replies. "I'll keep that in mind; it can't really hurt me, after all."
Pause. With an almost sly look in his eyes, he inquires, "Could you ever be
good enough to be satisfied?"

"Volath's egg was a grey, in the last clutch, which only goes t'show--but
then, I don't think there were any *pure* whites--" Kassi's caught in
reflection, a smile crossing her face unbidden at the name of the bronze;
after, "There's knowledge out there that could hurt one, but dragon egg
theory isn't apt t'be that kind." Surprised by the question, she blinks at
him once--then bursts out laughing. "Caught! Probably nay. Unless, and only
then *mayhaps*, I could guess every one right in every single clutch. That
might leave me content. Except for the part where nay anyone would bet with
me then, and I'd be very sad."

"Volath," repeats Riadur, eyes narrowing as he tries to place the dragon's
name. "The Weyrsecond's bronze? Ah." He nods at that. "You'd have to miss
one every once in a while," he decides after a moment, "so that people
would hold out hope that you'd be wrong this time. There's no fun in being
infallible, really." He grins at that, straightening slightly. In doing so,
he disturbs Ebillan, mostly asleep in his lap. The blue emits a noisy yawn,
creeling. "It's getting late; I should head back to the barracks for the
night. It's been very nice talking to you, though, and... Thanks. For
everything. If I, er, do have any questions..." He trails off with a small
little smile, shifting Ebillan to his shoulders as he stands.

Kassima's nod is a confirmation seconded by her, "Vel's--V'lano's--aye.
And... aye. They already complain sometimes that I always win. I only got,
what, four or five of the eggs at Ista right? 'Infallible' is *nay* the
word. Still won nine and three-quarters marks off M'tri, though." Is she a
little smug about that? Well. Maybe just a *little*. "Any time, Riadur,
truly." She flashes him a warm smile. "Both for the talking and the
questions--if'n you ever have them. G'night, and a good night's sleep t'you."

Riadur lets out a low whistle. "Nine and three quarters? That's quite a
take," he marvels. Then: "Good night, Kassima." With that, and a parting
grin, he turns and heads back for the inner caverns.