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Riadur's Search


Date:  March 13, 2005
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Central Bowl
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  When a protective Lysseth follows Kassima from the 
Lake to the Bowl, the rider isn't really expecting her dragon's 
mother-hen instincts to lead to a Search.  Particularly not one 
involving insults to poor Riadur's masculinity.  But then, how long 
has it been since Lyss Searched in the usual time or manner?  Thanks,
Riadur, for being a good sport about this; I hope you had as much 
fun with it as I did. :)

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The Log:

You head in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.

"Aren't they all," Amelliane chuckles softly and carefully begins placing a
few marks on the soft, yellow cloth. "It's all dragons. And things to do
about dragons. But I guess that's the way it is," she shrugs lightly. "Back
in Jerba sheep and cows were important. And Kittal you say? I'm sorry, but
I never heard it, it must be as small as Jerba." The wind sends a few
leaves over to land on the cloth, and Amelliane brushes them off with a
swift movement of hands.

Lysseth lumbers into the central bowl area from the lake shore to the north.

"Most people haven't," Riadur tells Amelliane with a mild shrug. "Even
those that live down around it." Continuing his meal meticulously, he adds,
"We had herdbeasts, mostly, and various crops. And... that was about it, to
be truthful."

"...*stop* following me. I'm fine! Were you this worried about Tasayli's
welfare when she threw up on your neckridges? Nay, you were nay. I
distinctly recall that your only reaction was violent disgust." Pause. "All
right, so that *is* warranted. And we'll grant I had the good sense nay
t'be sick on you. But even so, the moral of the story is--" Kassima's
oh-so-delightful, rather one-sided--as far as audibility goes--conversation
with the green dragon who prowls insistantly just behind her is put on
pause when she realizes that she is not only looking and sounding like a
lunatic, but doing so in front of actual people. "Great," she mutters to
Lysseth. "Now they'll *know* we're nuts. 'Tis nay fun when they're
forewarned." The green's sigh says much of exasperation, and hasn't yet
finished when Kassi lifts her hand to wave to the duo and greet, just a
little sheepishly, "G'dafternoon, Riadur, Amelliane."

"Then we must have more in common that we think," Amelliane cannot help but
burst out and laugh. "Nobody ever heard of Jerba either! I'm still
surprised my Journeyman found his way there; he claimed he did it on
purpose," she smiles wryly at Riadur and taps a finger against her nose
knowingly. "But I still think he just got lost and lied about it." Turning
back to the cloth, a few more marks is placed on the yellow and soft
surface, then the woman straighens up and regards her work carefully. The
sound of a voice, carrying the one half of a strange dialouge, makes her
turn around. "Good day Kassi," she nods and smiles to the other woman. The
dragons earns a wary glance, but she doesn't move away. "I'll try to forget
what I just heard, if you want it," she winks humorously at the rider and
places her hands on her hips.

At the persistant conversation behind him, Riadur turns, smiling at the
wingleader and her green. "Evening, m--I'm learning," he breaks off and
corrects himself with a self-effacing look. "And--" he cuts his eyes
sideways to Amelliane "--I think I can forget it, too. Memory like a sieve,
you know." He jokingly points one finger at his temple, pausing in his
dining. To the girl near him, Riadur questions, obviously surprised, "Lie?
Why would he do that?" The concept seems foreign to him.

Rarely one to shy away from throwing her unasked-for thirty-second's worth
into a conversation, Kassi quips, "Craftmasters send their Crafters some of
the *weirdest* places. You should hear some of m'cousins rant--only you
shouldn't, really, because that's dreadfully boring. Ach, don't worry about
forgetting. You'd have found out that I'm a nutter sooner or later. This
way, you just miss being surprised by some of the stories." Lysseth has no
eyes for Amelliane, nor Riadur; now that her rider has stopped, she's
resting her chin on and above the woman's shoulder and looming rather like
an oddly-shaped bodyguard. Kassi, sighing, sets to rubbing her lifemate's
muzzle. "Indeed you are learning, and I thank you for it. Is it mealtime?"
She's noticed the food.

Amelliane lifts a hand to her mouth and giggles, although she's hardly a
young girl anymore but a grown woman. Yet, her good humour continues as she
nods to Riadur. "Right. Like a sieve. Mine as well. And I still think that
Owigden got lost really, it would have to be a really wicked craftsmaster
to send him into Jerba... nothing there but sheep and herders, but we're
proud of that." A glint in her blue eyes suggest that she'd not take kindly
to anybody suggesting something else than that being a proud profession.
She flicks a glance at the dragon, and moves to the other side of the
yellow cloth on the ground. Continuing to place marks on it, the woman can
now still see both Kassi and Riadur. "You've not had supper yet, Kassi?"
She asks conversationally.

Riadur shrugs, answering Kassima, "For me, at least. I ducked into the hall
to get some dinner, but it was so nice I decided to eat out here." The
hovering dragon is given a curious look, but Riadur suppresses whatever
questions spring to mind in favor of scraping up the last of his food.
Finished at last, he sets aside the plate and takes a sip of his drink to
wash the meal down. "I don't know," he tells Amelliane. "They really do
send people strange places sometimes, I think. Everyone needs crafters,
after all; and they have to send them somewhere."

Kassima argues cheerfully, "But that's just why they might send someone.
T'bring something to the Holding that isn't just ovines; give the local
children some knowledge of other things, mayhaps tempt any who have an
inclination towards Weaving t'investigate that life outside by going to
Apprentice... like you. Aye? All part of their sneaky master plan." Her
grin turns into a grimace, though, as she vigorously shakes her head.
"Speak nay of food t'me. I had lunch, aye, only it didn't stay put, and the
idea of trying again is... nay particularly appealing. Unless they're
serving something in mint-sauce?" she wonders, eyes rather wistful as they
turn towards Riadur. "By any chance?" The sentinel that is Lysseth marks
that curious look. Her head rises so that she may loom more efficiently,
giving Riadur a long eyeing of his own. "Lyss," her rider sighs. "Behave."

"A very sneaky master plan," Amellians grins at Kassima and looks up from
her crouching position on the ground. "So sneaky I had to force Owigden to
bring me with him, and listen to his complaints about not being able to
travel alone for the first two weeks." Yet, there is a glint of uncertainty
in her blue eyes, something suggesting that she'll have to go over what
happened then again some later time. "You're not ill, are you?" She raises
a brow at the mention of it not being appealing. "I'm not sure there's mint
sauce today," she turns to Riadur with a questioning voice and a glance at
his plate. The weaver straightens up at Lysseth's mien, eyes flicking to
the nearest entrance to the caves.

Mention of mint sauce is almost enough to make Riadur green, to judge by
the grimace he hastily aims at the ground. "No, I don't recall anything
like that," he tells Kassima, seconding Amelliane. "I'm sorry you don't
feel well, though." Uneasily, he regards the looming dragon, finally
asking, "Does she often do... that?" He waves a hand vaguely to define 'that'.

"Well, sure. Would he have been *obvious* about it? That'd undermine the
whole... whole... y'know, sneakiness." Kassima makes vague gestures which
might be intended to illustrate the concept of 'sneaky,' but goodness alone
knows how. "Ill. After a fashion, I guess 'tis what you'd call it. Don't
worry that 'tis catching, though; you're safe," she assures them both,
rather wry in tone. "Does she...? Oh," flicking a glance up at her dragon,
"that. When she's in overprotective pain-in-the-arse mode, she does. Though
between you and me? I'm nay sure she's being protective at all. Methinks
she's just enjoying playing with your heads." Lysseth gives a vigorous
snort as though to deny, but paces a step forward regardless to better
stare at both. It may be that she has some mercy, if she senses Amelliane's
nervousness; she turns her gimlet gaze more on Riadur. "You can poke her in
the nose if'n you want," her rider helpfully offers.

Amelliane shakes her head and laughs, lifting a hand to adjust the fine and
patterned headband that holds her locks neatly away from her face as she
works. "I will have to talk to my Journeyman about that," she admits and
brushes some chalk-dust of her fingertips. Her gaze swivel to look at
Riadur, expectantly waiting for an answer to his question. "What do you
mean, the catching?" She looks at Kassima curiously. "Are the rumours true,
then? I only returned from a visit in Igen weyr, and everybody there was
very vague about it. Is one of the queens ready to take flight?" She flicks
another glance at the green Lysseth, relieved that the dragon looks at
Riadur and not herself.

Riadur nods slowly at Kassima's reassurances, offering both her and Lysseth
a slight smile. "Oh. Oh, no, I think I'll pass on that," he demurs,
glancing between rider and dragon. "I wouldn't want to... you know."
Frustrated at his inability to say what he means, he frowns and glances
back to Amelliane. "It's not contaigous," he clarifies for her.

Kassima is drawn from any more exasperated looks for her dragon from now by
the need to give Amelliane a look that's confused, instead. "What? I mean,
the sickness I have is nay catching. You can't catch it. Right, what he
said," pointing towards Riadur. "I surely sharding well hope there won't be
a gold rising--Mirrath just rose, and her clutch is on the Grounds now;
another one would be chaos and havoc and none of it the fun kind." There's
another pause. A small, reminiscent grin hovers on her mouth. "Well. *Most*
of it nay the fun kind... wouldn't want what, for her t'yelp like a little
hatchling because you poked her nose? She *would*, y'know. She so would.
She doesn't have half the dignity she pretends. Go on, do it!" Even though
she doesn't have facial expressions, the glance Lysseth turns her head long
enough to give her rider speaks worlds' worth of disgust. Nevertheless, she
refocuses on Riadur and stays in nose-poke range. Just daring him, maybe.

"What? What is not contagious?" Amelliane looks at Riadur, curiousity
clearly seen in her blue eyes. "I wish people would tell me stuff," she
complains, but cannot help smiling still. "You're affected by the hatching,
Kassi?" A direct question, maybe, but the woman looks like she's determined
to get some answers. But there's a glint in her eye that may or may not
indicate that she already had her own thoughts on the subject. "If you're
going to poke her nose, then let me escape first?" She grins, but her hands
fidgets nervousely with the hem of her dress still.

Riadur lacks the necessary courage or initiative one to respond to
Kassima's goading; giving Lysseth another uncertain look as she insists on
daring him so herself, he then proceeds to act like nothing's happening,
focusing intently upon Kassima and Amelliane. "A nice clutch it is,
though," he remarks, "but I imagine it would be difficult to deal with two
at once. A few turns back, I know Southern Weyr--where my hold was
beholden--had two clutches on the sands together. I didn't see it myself,
but my older brother impressed then and I heard about it endlessly from
Mother." A slight frown flickers across his face, replaced with a rather
forced smile. "Her illness," he explains to Amelliane with a note of
good-natured exasperation.

Kassima shakes her head, but her answer's not entirely denial. "Nay so much
personally. 'Twill eventually tap a Wingrider or two from those the dragons
choose, but that might be the crux of m'involvement this time. I doubt
Mirrath would care for sharing the Sands with another queen and her clutch,
is more the thing. Southern did?" Riadur earns himself fresh interest from
her with that tidbit. "Did the golds cope well, or gnaw each other's tails
off? M'illness," she echoes at the end. "Which is t'say, pregnancy. Nay
catching. Nay from *me*, anyway. If'n you want t'catch that, talk t'him,"
and she points so very helpfully towards much-abused Riadur. Speaking of
abuse, Lysseth seems rather disinclined to be ignored, and quite inclined
to keep herself in the young man's line of sight no matter how she has to
contort her neck to do so. "You want me t'tell him *what*?" The rider gawks
at her dragon, nonplussed. "Lyss, that's... mind-numbingly stupid. I'm nay
going t'say--well, I know I did, but--for Faranth's sake." Exasperated
sigh. Addressing Riadur again: "Her Ladyship wishes me t'inform you that
if'n you haven't the nerve t'poke her nose, you are, and I quote her on
this, a 'sissy scared girly-man,' and please do nay ask me where she got
those terms. They're probably m'fault, but I wasn't thinking them about
*you*."

A sigh, and Amelliane nods at Riadur - the woman obviously giving up
getting any sensible answers from him. "Well, then. Oh, and I can see how
two clutches would be a problem," she smiles and places her hands on her
hips, flicking a glance toward the far end of the Bowl where the entrance
to the Hatching Grounds can be seen. "Congratulations, Kassi," she turns
toward the greenrider with a warm smile. "It will be nine, then, before you
know of it!" Her glance instinctively moves to the woman's belly, and she
immediately moves it away again - to look at the dragon, and to hide her
glance that might be thought of as indiscretion. "Well... I -know- how that
stuff is caught," at Kassima's gesture toward Riadur Amellane instinctively
looks at the young man, but looks away quickly again - so much for
discretion, again. A smile plays on her lips, though; she seems to find
this whole conversation amusing. "Sissy scared girly-man," she raises a
brow and looks at the dragon. "I didn't even know they -knew- such words!"

Flustered and embarrassed, eyes widened in surprise, Riadur turns bright
red when Kassima points at him. He glances down at the ground, shifting his
weight uncomfortably and looking for all the world like he'd like the earth
to swallow him up. "I don't really know, since I, er, wasn't there to
really see it. Congratulations, though," he finally gets out in a strangled
voice. Tugging on the neck of his shirt, he gulps and cuts his eyes upward
at Lysseth. The green's words, as relayed by Kassima, only cause him to
flush further, looking thoroughly miserable. Finally, though, he lets
himself be bullied into extending one finger to very gently touch Lysseth's
nose, should she not draw back. It's not much of a poke, though.

"Seven, eight months, give or take," Kassi agrees with a grin; if it's
indiscretion, she wouldn't seem to mind it. "Which will, if'n experience is
aught t'go by, seem like both more and less time than it really is. Oh, she
knows--or can know--every word that I know; normally she doesn't *use* that
kind, but she must be... I don't know. Really, terribly bored? Stark raving
bonkers? So many potential explanations." Sadism might be another. But for
all the misery she has caused with help from her lifemate, Lysseth accepts
that touch quite calmly. Her hide is warm, of course, and soft; gleaming
too, from a recent oiling. Her gentle croon could be read as encouragement.
"I hope you're proud of yourself," rider mutters to dragon, albeit not
without sheepishness of her own. "I am sorry. I'm teasing you, y'know, and
I'd *guess* that's what she's doing, although she's being so bizarre that I
can't be...." Green eyes travel towards green dragon as her words trail
off. "...Sure. All right, Lyss, this is warped even for you. Would you like
t'know," she asks them both, "what she'd like me t'say now? I don't think
'tis terribly embarrassing this time."

Amelliane doesn't notice Riadur's blushing; for some reason or other she
seems very intent on brushing a hand over the soft, yellow cloth on the
ground. She looks up, though, as he touches Lysseth's nose - an almost
admiring glint in her blue eyes at Riadur's gesture. Her gaze swivel to
look at Kassima as she speaks, and a smile begins to curve her lips -
widening more and more. A nutter she might say that she is, but it is clear
that Amelliane finds her idle chatting with them both and Lysseth rather
amusing. But, then again, the dragon's teasing words hasn't been aimed at
-her- yet. "I've never touched a dragon, what does it feel like?" The
weaver's hands halt their motion over the cloth as she looks at Riadur
curiously.

Riadur withdraws his finger quickly, though Lysseth doesn't seem to mind
his touch. Regarding her warily and rubbing the back of his flushed neck,
Riadur remains silent until his blush starts to fade. "I... suppose," he
answers the wingleader dubiously, as though not quite sure he trusts her
judgement of what is and isn't embarrassing. After all, she didn't seem to
find her earlier comments as mortifying as he did. "It's... soft?" he
hazards to Amelliane. "I don't know. Can't describe it. You should try it,
though--especially if I have to." His smile is still a bit wan, but
recovering.

Kassima may not have been the one the question was addressed to, but she
gives an answer regardless. "Warm, soft... they're a pleasure t'touch, I
think, although you can guess that I'm biased." Her palm finds her
lifemate's side, and although the contact can't be much to a creature
Lysseth's size, the dragon still thrums a pleased note; her throat vibrates
with it, visible as her head lifts now that her challenge has been met.
"Right-o, then. This time the Lady Fair would have it known that since you
have proven yourself nay only courageous but tolerant of the whims of
dragons, you might, just might be a credit t'her as a Candidate, which is
where I'm supposed t'be going all formal: Riadur," she intones, standing up
straight and clasping her hands behind her back in a far less casual
posture, "will you do Telgar Weyr the honor of Standing for Mirrath and
Indrath's clutch? --I'm assuming that you're nay over twenty-five,
a'course, nor handfasted. And you can say nay. But you'll have t'explain
t'*her* what 'nay' means if'n you do, because Faranth knows I've never
gotten her t'get the idea."

Amelliane nods thoughtfully to both their answers, her fingers rubbing
against each other as if testing out the sensation. "Oh, I will leave you
the honour," she grins and nods to Riadur. "Your description is good enough
for me...," she's about to say something more, when Kassima's words make
her head snap to look first at the greenrider, and then back at Riadur. Her
eyes sparkle - but she says nothing, although there's no doubt that she
would like to. But somehow, the importance of the situation holds her
tongue as she waits expectantly for him to answer, blue eyes intent upon
his face.

Riadur gives Kassima a deer-in-the-headlights look at her words, eyes like
dinner plates, mouth forming a soundless 'o'. "You--her--but--I?" he
sputters, peering from rider to dragon and pointing at each in turn, then
himself. He blushes again at the praises the wingleader relays, but this
time he doesn't look down. "I--I'm still only twenty," he admits in a small
voice. "And not married or anything." Why that makes him blush more is
anyone's guess; it's probably just an ingrained reaction by now. "I
would... I would be honored to stand," he says, putting a bit of backbone
in his voice and attempting to match Kassima's formal stance from his
sitting position. The sideways look he shoots Amelliane, though, is pure
scared little boy, in over his head.

Telgar Weyr> TelgarW_Bldr welcomes Riadur to the knot as a candidate!

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Congratulations, Riadur, on being Lyss's latest
victim. You poor, poor thing. ;)"

Telgar Weyr> Riadur beams. Thanks! :)

The thoughtful way that Amelliane gently chews on her lower lips makes it
painfully clear, that -she- is glad it's not her standing where Riadur
stands. But as he looks at her, she tilts her head up a little, sending him
an encouraging nod and glance. Her blue eyes still turn from Kassima, to
Lysseth, and back to the chosen candidate, intent on the situation.

Kassima flashes Amelliane a grin. "If'n you change your mind, there're
probably dragons enough in the Weyr who'd be happy t'have their eyeridges
scritched; who'd even shamelessly encourage it." Her wink is probably less
inspired by dragon-scritching as a conversation topic than their situation,
particularly as it's given just before she's facing Riadur again. With too
straight a face, she takes each fragment in turn: "*I* am inviting you
t'Stand. *She* is an incorrigible wench. *But*, she has a good track record
of choosing Candidates, and *you* are the latest one she's chosen. If'n
that helps?" All teasing is dropped upon his assent, in favor of a warm and
broad smile from the woman. "Thankee for that. I'm sorry she was such a
beast about it--" Lysseth isn't. She's practically preening. "But I hope
'twas nay too humiliating. Congratulations, Candidate."

Telgar Weyr> Breena says, "Congrats, Riadur! :)"

Telgar Weyr> Riadur says, "Thanks. :)"

"Congratulations, Riadur!" Amelliane bursts out, now that the most formal
part of the choosing seems to be over with. "I'll be sure to be there and
cheer for you on the day of the hatching," she grins and nods to Kassima.
"Oh, they like having their eyeridges scritched? Well, I could take up
position as official eye-ridge-scritcher if I can't make it as weaver," her
eyes glint and her cloth still lies on the ground - untouched, forgotten.

Telgar Weyr> V'lano says, "Welcome!"

"I--I think it does," Riadur notes slowly, still getting his bearings after
the shock the pair has given him. He glances over at Amelliane, smiling.
"Thanks," he tells her. "And thank you." He rises to his feet and peers
earnestly back to Kassima. "It really is an honor," insists the young man.
"It, er, was rather... humiliating, but I'm not upset." Somewhat abashed
because of his earlier behavior, he nudges a stalk of grass with the toe of
one boot.

"Almost all of 'em do, though some are picky about who gets t'do it.
Lysseth doesn't like t'be touched by just anyone." Kassima caresses her
lifemate's side again, and throws her a glance; the dragon is still being
smug, and this would seem to amuse her rider. "That still leaves plenty who
aren't so choosy, believe me." She gives Riadur an understanding nod first,
then a shake of her head--then laughs, and turns to words to clarify. "'Tis
all right--I don't blame you. I guess you just caught her attention on a
bad day for it. If'n she hadn't been in too-high spirits, she might've just
knocked you on your rump t'signal her interest, as she does as often as
nay. She doesn't *really* think you're a sissy scared girly-man, for what
that's worth." Indeed, the dragon leaves off her puffery of pride to warble
melodically to the young man. Almost a croon, though not quite. "Nor do I.
If'n aught, I think you a stoic sort for putting up with her."

Telgar Weyr> TelgarW_Bldr welcomes Nikadis to the knot as a candidate!

Amelliane squats down and carefully brushes away a few, green leaves that
the summer breeze has dropped on the yellow cloth. Then she carefully
begins to fold it, lines and markings left by the coloured piece of chalk
remaining on the surface. "I saw K'ran's Bronze once," she comments idly as
she works, "I'm almost sure the dragon wished me to scratch it's neck, but
I'm not sure... maybe he was just dozing. I'd like to go and see the eggs,"
she finishes folding up the cloth and straightens up. "Any of you want to
come along? Unless you've got things to discuss," the woman smiles at the
other two and awaits the answer.

Telgar Weyr> V'lano says, "Welcome, Nikadis!"

Telgar Weyr> Nikadis says, "Thank you!"

Telgar Weyr> Riadur grins. Ooh, company already. Congrats! :)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima waffles to Nikadis. Welcome to the Lunatic Fringe. :)

Telgar Weyr> M'tri says, "Welcome to both of you!"

Telgar Weyr> Nikadis grins. Thanks again!

"Well, at least I was already sitting," comments Riadur, regaining some of
his usual good humor. He glances toward Lysseth, and even manages to offer
his tormentor a grin. "I'm glad you don't think that about me," he tells
her shyly. "But stoic might be stretching things a little. More like...
agreeable, maybe." He glances between Amelliane and Kassima then, finally
saying reluctantly, "Maybe later, if you're still there? I suppose I have
to move my things into the candidates' room--barracks, I mean?"

Kassima agrees, "Better safe than sorry when 'tis coming to such things.
If'n you think they want t'be touched, you could try holding your hand out
and seeing how they react to that." For all that she does give the Hatching
Grounds a considering look, she decides, "'Twill make m'bets later... enjoy
'em, though, Amelliane. I haven't seen 'em yet, but I daresay they're
impressive." Grinning to Riadur, she's again agreeable: "She might've had
t'knock you on your back instead or something--mayhaps that's why she came
up with a back-up plan. Never underestimate the value of occasionally being
agreeable." A wink for Riadur, and then she says, "Aye, 'tis so--d'you want
or need help in that? I can provide it, or you can do it yourself, whatever
you're more comfortable with."

"I think I'll be there for a while," Amelliane nods to Riadur. "My work is
done for today, I only need to get this back into a pack at my cot," she
gestures at the folded piece of cloth beneath one arm. "I can work on the
dress tomorrow, the eggs are more interesting. I'll remember your advice,"
she grins at Kassima. "And mayby I'll see you on the Hatching Grounds
later. Farewell, both... and, good luck, Riadur," a gesture of farewell and
the weaver walks away in the direction of the living caverns.

Amelliane walks off towards the Galleries.

Riadur smiles, nodding. "It helps sometimes," he says, "although--" He
doesn't finish, instead taking up the greenrider's latter questions. "I
think I can handle it--I don't really have that much stuff to move--if
you'll just point me in the right direction," notes the new candidate.
Glancing at Amelliane, he nods again. "All right. Good day, Amelliane. I'll
drop by later and see if you're still around. I think I--I need to start
getting used to the eggs, anyway."

"Sometimes 'tis better too t'be a *little* disagreeable," Kassima supplies
as a possible finish, with a flicker of grin and a wave after Amelliane as
she departs. "All right. The Headwoman can be giving you your knot, then,
and the rules and chore roster will be posted in the room--'tis through the
Inner Caverns," and she gestures towards the Southern Bowl, "nay so far
from the Living Cavern. Go in through there, and...." She rattles off a
quick set of directions, not too complex. "Pick out a cot for yourself.
Should be plenty t'be choosing from, since if'n I don't miss m'guess you're
the first of the lot. If'n there's aught you have questions on, you can
come find me t'ask me, aye? Or your Candidate Coordinators."

Riadur's smile is wistful as he nods to her first words. "Yes," he answers
simply. Then, brows knitting in concentration, he adds, "Yes, I think I
know where you mean. I've been by there before, I'm sure. Thank you. And...
I'm the first?" He seems surprised, noting, "I would have expected there to
be many already." A shrug. "But I will. Ask you, or one of the
coordinators, if I have any questions. Thank you," he repeats.

Kassima's expression softens into one of understanding. "I hope this won't
be one of the times you might regret being agreeable," she tells him. "I
truly do. Candidacy can be a wonderful experience; I'd hope for that, for
one Lysseth has found. Unless some have been brought in and I've missed
it--I'd nay be too stunned, since t'tell the truth m'thoughts haven't been
primarily on the Barracks of late; only usually we do hear. Won't be quite
so many total with the clutches getting smaller. You'll hear all about that
soon or late, I'm sure." Her head-bob is, dare it be said, agreeable. Her
tone, warm. "You're very welcome--congratulations again. Thank *you* for
letting m'lady have her way."

Riadur smiles, shaking his head. "I don't think I'll regret it," he admits.
"It will just be... an experience. That's it." He glances toward the Weyr,
then to Kassima and Lysseth. "I'll just go get settled now, I suppose. And
you're probably tired of hearing this, but really, thank you. I really am
honored." He smiles, then bends down to pick up his plate and glass, half
forgotten by this point. Turning, with one last grin for the pair, he heads
toward the living cavern.

The greenrider gives a smile back to him, opining, "Good way t'be thinking
of it. Impress or nay Impress--you'll always have been a Candidate. So.
'Twas our pleasure and honor t'find you, Riadur." On this, she sounds
perfectly sincere. As he turns and goes, she calls after him with a laugh,
"And if'n you see any mint in the Cavern as you pass through, tell 'em
t'save some for me!"

Riadur walks south.