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It's All Rock and Paint To Me


Date:  August 28, 2008
Place:  Igen Weyr's 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:  Kassima hauls out the rocks and paint-pots again and
recruits Candidates to help her in that old, favorite task, painting
stones to make a model of whatever clutch is on the Sands.  This was
the first Candidate event of the cycle--thank you all of you who came
out to play! :)

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The Log:

You head into the Igen Weyr Living Cavern.

Neiravi ambles out from the inner caverns.

Kassima carries a satchel around with her half the time anyway, that's
nothing new; a ruined sheet spattered with paint draped over her arm?
That's new. And that bundle of hides held with care could be anything from
tomorrow's Candidate duty rosters to love letters from Josilina to W'adru's
pants. "Oh, good, there's a table--" She legs it to a good-sized specimen
that happens to be empty, and sets down satchel and hides to shake the
sheet out over it.

Salitra ambles out from the inner caverns.

"Once a week or so." Desdinova replies to Hector, grinning. "They like to
keep up to date on what's going on, and if I write them, they write back,
which is how I know things like I have another sister getting married, or
that my brothers still haven't gotten their wives pregnant. Not world
shattering news, but... It's my family, I like to know." She looks over,
spotting Kassima. "Ma'am." She says, politely.

Neiravi is eating dinner in a quiet corner. It's a good dinner, she's
earned it, and she's trying very hard to be inconspicuous in case the head
stableperson comes in to point out another spot in the stalls she missed.
Despite all her intentions, though, she cannot keep from peering curiously
at Kassima's sheet, and finally asks "Is it something your children
fingerpainted for you? Ma'am?"

Salitra walks up to the meal table and takes some Seafood Boil, Ginger
Applesauce and a Herdbeast Rollup. Walking towards a table, Salitra sets
her food down, going back for some juice. Finally sitting down, she nods
politly to Kassima and Neiravi, with a smile on her face, as if she has
just found out the most wonderful news.

Hector puts down another badly-peeled tuber and reaches for another. The
pile of peels in front of him is far from being elegant, long strips. It
looks more like mulch or something headed for the compost pile. "Right,
well. I guess if your family is happy to hear from you, too, that helps."
He's not at all sure if his father would be happy to hear from him,
especially since it didn't look like he was doing much with his life as is.
He spots Kassima come in and waves a tuber peel at her in a friendly manner.

"I'm putting up a note beside the rules and rosters in the Barracks,"
Kassima sighs, tugging at an edge of the cloth. "'Ma'aming Kassima is
automatically worth one day of latrine duty.' 'Tis just Kassima. Nay,
Neiravi, this is a dropcloth t'keep the Headwoman from beating me head
t'toe with a spoon." A wrinkle smoothed here, a fold twitched out there,
and she surveys the results with more satisfaction than they deserve.
"Otherwise 'twill get paint on the wood. I swear they hate that worse than
when someone gives birth right on the Caverns floor, although wouldn't you
think 'twould be the other way around? Childbirth's so unsanitary."

A faint flush creeps up Desdinova's neck at the rebuke, and she quickly
reaches for another fingerroot to hide it. "Sorry, Kassima." She says,
"Force of habit, that's all. Half the people in the weyr demand it, half
the people refuse it, it's hard to keep track. And it feels rude not to
call the person you report to ma'am, it's something you deserve." She looks
over at Hector, fowning a bit. "Your family doesn't want to hear from you?
That's rude. You are still their son, after all."

Neiravi blinks. Unsettling mental images, must stop them..."Has that
happened often, people giving birth here in the living cavern? I don't
think it's happened in the Turn I've been here." Perhaps she just missed
it. "You're brave to risk the wrath of the Headwoman, just to paint." On
the way to return her plate, she can't keep from pausing to advise Hector
"Peel away from yourself, not toward."

Suddenly remembering something, Salitra turns to Kassima and says
something. "Kassima, if you're in need of paint, I have some in the Female
Dorm." Taking a drink of her juice, Salitra smiles to herself at speaking up.

Hector gives half a shrug to Desdinova. "My father wouldn't be very
impressed, I think. My sister probably misses me. When I wrote them when I
first arrived, I didn't mention where I was. I wouldn't mind my sister
knowing, but I wouldn't put it past my father to take the letter from her."
He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. The alternative, however,
seems to be a conversation about people giving birth in the living cavern,
which seems a little confusing. He shakes his head at Neiravi. "It's not
the peeling toward or away from that's the problem. It's making the knife
behave itself."

Kassima wrinkles her nose. "It makes me feel old," she explains. "It has
since the Candidates for the clutch after mine started using it, and 'twere
*older* than me--tell me that isn't unnatural. You can 'rider' me if'n you
really want to, but informality's fine with me. Once I've cleaned up
someone's pee--uh, nay you, a'course, that was a Barracks-mate, but how
formal can you be with Candidates after that?" She opens up her satchel and
starts setting things out: paint pots, thin brushes. Smallish ovoid rocks
polished smooth, probably by water, at least two dozen of them. "Thankee!
I've got some paint, but more orange might go over well, if'n you have
that? There are so many eggs with a bit of orange here or there. Nay here,"
she assures Neiravi. "That I know about. 'Twas at Telgar that happened,
right on the floor in front of Pierron and everybody."

Smiling, Salitra gives her empty plate and mug to a passing drudge who is
taking the dishes to the kitchen and replies "Ok. I'll go get it right now."

Salitra walks out to the Bowl.

Neiravi almost offers to demonstrate the Proper Peeling of Tubers to
Hector, but Faranth knows she's peeled enough of them in her life, and she
doesn't feel like adding more to the tally. "It takes practice, is
all...you could send a runner, and make *sure* he or she delivers the note
just to your sister. Runners are very good about that." She's sympathetic,
at least. "My father's ecstatic about my Search and is already laying odds
on me. My aunt is convinced I'll never find a man now and will die a
spinster, possibly with felines. I keep telling them I'm sure I'll find a
middle ground." She eyes Kassima's rocks and paints with interest. Maybe
some recreational painting would be fun.

Salitra ambles out from the inner caverns.

Salitra walks in with a bag of things that keep hitting each other. Walking
back to the table, Salitra dumps out paintbrushes, paints and a painting
she's still working on.

Desdinova says "A respectful title llike ma'am has aught to do with age,
though." Desdinova replies, argumentative as ever. "It's jsut that it takes
most people that long to earn any real respect, so it seems like people who
get it are old. But getting called ma'am younger just means you are an
exceptional woman who achieved much, early." She offers Kassima a sweet
smiles for a moment, before turning back to Hector. "You should tell them."
She says, "After all, being Searched is no small honor for any Hold or
Craft. I think they would forgive where you are, knowing you'd been tapped
by the Weyr as a potential rider. And Faranth knows, if I was better, my
marks would put you on a brown.""

Hector could probably use a class in the Care and Feeding, er. Proper
Peeling of Tubers, but he is too proud to ask for it. He'd rather keep
ruining pots of tubers until the cook decides to pick on someone else to
give the peeling job to. He gives Desdinova a little shocked look at her
remarks. "Brown? Shells, I doubt I'll Impress at all. But even so, I
wouldn't mind my sister being there at the Hatching. If I let her know." He
shrugs and looks away. Kassima, however, looks like she's doing something
interesting. "Hey, what's that?" Looks better than peeling tubers, anyway.

Kassima is helpful enough to volunteer, "You could Impress and be a
spinster both! Fire-lizards work out better in a weyr than felines, mind
you, so just Impress a lot of those instead. Leave little dishes of cut-up
tunnelsnake bits around the place instead of milk." The hides are next. She
lays them out one by one on the cloth, and they prove to be sketches of
Lhiannonth's eggs done from various angles; chalk has been used to color in
most. There's a watercolor or two among them. "Well, but as with any
respectful title, 'tis nay respectful if'n 'tis going against the wishes of
the person you're using it on. I'm reminded, speaking of age." The woman
pauses what she's doing to look to Desdinova. "I'd heard a thing about you
mayhaps making cracks about a rider's age t'him. I'm going t'paint a model
of the clutch, Hector. D'you want t'help? The invitation goes for any of you."

Neiravi firmly believes the tubers will survive Hector's treatment of them,
and so leaves them to their fate with hardly a qualm. "She's not fond of
fire lizards...which automatically tempts me to find a few. Bad me."
Leaving her spinning moral compass to worry about another time, she studies
the egg-sketches with fascination. "I can probably paint a rock, though any
proper Artist would laugh."

Desdinova flushes again and nods, "Yes, ma'am." The reply is a summary of
the conversation on titles, as well as an admission about her comments.
"But it was in line with the conversation at hand." Still, the offer about
the painting seems to draw her attention and she stands, moving towards the
area being set up for it. "Did Sylotra do the drawings?" She wonders. She
is very talented."

Hector sets down his knife and a half-peeled tuber. He'll probably be
scolded for leaving most of the pot unpeeled, but he doesn't care. "Yeah, I
think it would be fun to help." Just about anything would be more fun than
kitchen duties. He heads over to the table with the rocks and the paints.
"I don't think I'm much of an artist, though. It would probably be a lot
easier to paint them all one color, like all purple or something." Though
then they wouldn't look much like dragon eggs.

Looking at the sketch, Salitra closes her eyes and thinks about the eggs in
the sands. Opening her eyes back up, Salitra nods and smiles. Though not
saying anything.

"Nay respectful if'n it goes against the wishes of the person," Kassima
repeats, reminds Desdinova, but gently. "Making cracks at people who rank
you isn't a great idea. As a Candidate, the rule's t'be respectful. This
time I'm just warning nay t'make a habit of that. Age in particular's a
cold thing t'cut a rider about. M'daughter Khari did the drawings." She's
willing enough to change to the lighter topic--and she gestures towards the
brushes and paints. "Grab one if'n you want, anyone who wants! Trust me, I
can't paint worth a shard either. You should've been here for the last
clutch," she asides to Hector with definite amusement. Spotting Salitra's
painting, she asks, "Is that something you're working on?"

Looking at her own painting and smiling, Salitra replies, "Yes, back on the
farm I was painting in my free time. Now I've started to paint the lake
whenever I go out."

IGEN-> Meilyn waves :)

IGEN-> Hector says, "Hiya :)"

Neiravi approves of the all-purple plan, but her bias for purple is known.
"There's an egg or two with some purple in it," she encourages Hector
cheerfully. "And one that's solid blue, and one pure orange. Those should
be easy enough. I still really like that amber-orange sunsetty one, and the
pink one, too." Maybe she'll be brave enough to try shading and
color-changes. For now, she starts blending red and yellow into deep orange.

IGEN-> Neiravi beckons Meilyn. We have paint!

Meilyn ambles out from the inner caverns.

IGEN-> Desdinova approves of Neiravi's love of the purple.

IGEN-> Meilyn is mighty tempted :)

Smiling, Salitra looks at all the paints she has, never even knowing how
much she had until now.

Desdinova looks ove the drawings and gives a nod. "They are well done." Her
tone is careful now, cool and polite. "I've no talent for art, myself.
Would it be ok if I just watched?" She doesn't say ma'am, but her tone
carries the word regardless. "It looks like it wil look lovely when it is
complete."

IGEN-> Neiravi grins. Someday soon, when Ravi has need of a formal outfit,
she's going for electric purple.

Sighing Salitra realizes that she has stayed longer than expected. With a
frown, she says without warning, "I've got to go..."

Hector hesitates a moment, then picks out one of the smooth rocks. All of
them look sort of similar to him, so one doesn't look much better than any
of the others. He takes a little more care picking out the brush, choosing
a smooth, medium-sized one which looks easy to control. "I seem to remember
orange in a lot of them." He looks over the drawings and scratches his head
with the brush's handle tip. "You should join in, Desdinova. It's just for
fun. Maybe none of them will end up looking like the real eggs, but at
least we'll do them together."

IGEN-> Desdinova says, "That is awesome. :)"

Kassima settles into a chair once she's satisfied that everything's laid
out just so. One of the brushes gets claimed, and the yellow paint, and one
of the smooth rocks besides. No blending here; she starts dabbing on the
bright yellow straight from the pot. "A'course," she says to Desdinova.
"There'll probably still be rocks later if'n you change your mind. I'm
thinking two of each, for a better shot at one good one--or y'know, could
make two sets. One for Josilina and one for B'yan?" In waving her brush
after Salitra she manages to splatter her hand with yellow, oops. "'Tis
well there isn't a grey egg. Although that'd be easier t'paint than some."

"A grey eegg would be easy, yes." Desdinova agrees. She finds a seat and
settles into it, reaching out for one of the rocks. Not to paint, it would
seem, so much as to examine and have something to fidget with in her hands.
"I am sure they would both like that. A decidedly solid reminder of a
lovely clutch."

Neiravi adds, "And they can be weights for your notes, or for record hides,
or just decorative. You know, for the foot of personal space around our
cots in the barracks." She's carefully dabbing orange onto one of the
rocks, testing the consistency and drip factor of the paints. "Are there
painted rocks that look like famous eggs, Kassima? Like that one you
mentioned to me a while back that looked like--" She pauses, modifies her
turn of phrase. "--someone's backside?"

Hector isn't quite sure what he wants to do with his egg, er, rock, so he
dabs on some white and yellow, mixing them to make a cream color. He goes
slowly, trying to mimic the circular swirls and the pattern of eggshell.
"It would be a pretty interesting candidate chore to have to paint rocks to
look like copies of the clutch. Imagine if you had to do dozens of sets. I
bet you'd get pretty good at certain ones, though you might end up hating
some of them."

Meilyn wanders, somewhat aimlessly, into the living caverns, a rogue strand
of hair blown back into place by what looks to be a well practiced art, the
only downside being the foolish look crossing the girl's face. Her reverie
is distracted, however, by the gathering of white-knotted candidates over
at one of the tables, the young girl's gaze settling on the group as a
whole, a brow raised at the rocks and paints much in evidence. With her
ambling gait, Meilyn approaches the others with a look of cautious
curiousity, no immediate reconition of those assembled. Stopping nearby she
asks quietly to none in particular, "What is going on here?"

"I can't remember whether...." Kassi's brush threatens to drip on the cloth
while she pauses to think. "I don't believe I tried making an egg set of
that one. Faranth help me if'n I did, because I can't remember it. That
particular egg would've been a pain in the rump--how fitting--t'paint, its
coloring looked almost like plaid. I didn't mention 'twas a clad backside?"
Now, it's clear from her widened eyes, she's imagining the alternative. "I
couldn't have painted *that*, either," she mutters. "What I'm thinking is,
if'n we get a good set and then mayhaps some carvings shaped like
Lhiannonth and Jaireth we could set it up in here as a display. Assuming
nay anyone minded--then give it t'Josilina when they've all cracked.
'Twould certes hate an egg that looked like someone's behind if'n I had
t'paint it over and over," she agrees with Hector, sort of. Meilyn gets
another wave of the yellow-loaded brush: "Painting rocks t'look like eggs!
Pull up a chair and a paint-pot if'n you want to."

Desdinova offers out the rock she is holding towards Meilyn, apparently
still unwilling to lift a brush herself. "Here." She says, offeringly."
They're for the weyrleaders, apparently. It would be interesting if they
ended up somewhere we could all see, though." She says, thoughtfully. "So
we can all remember what this clutch looked like. I've a terrible memory
much of the time, and I just know that a few turns down the line it is
going to just be a vauge memory, something I did once turns ago."

Neiravi looks away from her art to answer Meilyn with a smile.
"Egg-painting. It's apparently a tradition. And we're lucky; we have an
attractive clutch, as opposed to...plaid backsides." Maybe it's a Telgar
thing. "I'll try and paint two. Then one can go into the clutch for the
Weyrleaders, and I can keep one for myself." She nods agreement with
Desdinova. "We can show them off to our children. Or our fire lizards.
Whichever we have."

A plaid egg that looked like someone's rear end? Hector can't quite imagine
it. "What kind of dragon hatched out of an egg that looked like the seat of
someone's trousers? Do the paterns on the eggs show any indication of what
the color or personality of the dragon is like?" He takes a dab of green
onto his brush and begins mixing it into an area of cream-color on the egg
he is painting. No, it doesn't look much like the real thing yet, but he
tells himself it's still in the early stages.

The explanation of the activity does little to sate Meilyn's curiousity,
the small splatter of yellow paint now gracing the front of her shirt not
doing anything to help. She gives a downward glance at paint spots before
looking back to the table with a shrug. The brush being offered to her is
taken gingerly, the girl taking a seat with a glance up and down the table,
refusing to commit to anything until she fully understands what the task at
hand happens to be.

"I don't think so," Neiravi answers Hector, "except for queen eggs. Those
are usually some shade of yellow or golden, from what I've heard and read."
But she'll let the actual dragonrider give the knowledgeable answer to
that, and just enjoy her painting.

Kassima taps her chin with the end of her brush. No, this isn't helping her
not get more yellow on her hands. "That makes me want t'check Records and
see whether they keep sketches of particular clutches. They should, if'n
they don't, for a curiosity. If'n Khari doesn't want t'donate these mayhaps
Sylotra or that lass who brought more paint would be willing." By now,
although there's nearly as much paint on her fingers as the rock, the
Citron Peel Egg is starting to be recognizable. Kassima grins at Hector and
quips, "I can't remember, but probably a bronze. There've been
superstitions--may still be, about what eggs would Hatch what when the
clutch was Benden-blooded, but I haven't a clue about High Reaches' blood.
They used t'say in a Benden-blooded clutch the white eggs would Hatch
bronzes and the black ones Hatched greens. Didn't always work," she admits,
nudging the yellow pot aside and dabbling a new brush into the white.
"--Ach, Meilyn! Sorry about that! I'm wanting t'make a set, or two sets, of
rocks shaped like eggs, painted t'look like the clutch out on the Sands.
I've got sketches for referencing and people are being kind enough t'help
out."

IGEN-> Neiravi regretfully slips offline for the night. Later, Igen!

IGEN-> R'din says, "Later!"

"Lotra says she's got sketches of the clutch." Desdinova says. Still having
a rock in her hand, she pulls it back and continues to roll it between her
fingers. "I'm sure she'd be happy to do more, or donate them. She's always
looking for a way to make her sketchings feel more sueful to her, and they
are really good." She sighs and reaches out, claiming a brush. "This isn't
going to be pretty." She comments.

Hector picks another brush and another color, blue this time, and the egg's
overlapping wagon-wheels begin to form. "It would be interesting to see if
there's any kind of trend. "Well, you can at least tell the bigger eggs
belong to the bigger dragons and the littler ones belong to the little
ones, right? Because they always say a gold egg is bigger than the rest."
Virtually everything Hector knows about dragons and their eggs comes from
gossip overheard at the Weyr, which may or may not contain any truth. he
grins over at Desdinova. "Just do your best. You'll never know what's
possible unless you try."

The apology is met with a small smile from Meilyn, the group of candidates
seeming to be daunting to the girl, if her shifting gaze is any indication.
She gives a nod of acknowledgement, though with all her gestures thus far,
the movements are nearly imperceptible. Reaching over to grab a rock at
random, the girl looks at her arbitrairy pick, the smooth surface getting a
testing rub by the girl before she places it carefully on the table and
reaches for the selection of paints. An orange is regarded at first, then a
yellow before she settles with a light green and white, perhaps a specific
egg in mind? Getting to work, she looks immersed in the task, though the
small shifts of her head indicate the conversation above her head is not
being ignored.

Kassima snorts in rueful amusement and holds up her own. "This is?"
Particularly with the ring of too-large white dots around the apex now.
Kassi hasn't Mother Nature's delicate hand. "I'd like t'see a set done
sometime by someone who actually *can* paint." She's nosy sort enough to
crane her neck and puzzle at which egg Hector's painting--when she
recognizes it, she nods satisfaction and concentrates again on making a
mess of hers. "Queen eggs are larger. Otherwise, it doesn't hold as well as
you'd think. Bronzes squeeze into little eggs sometimes, big ones end up
with tiny greens. M'favorite egg of Dyinath's clutch was a little one that
looked like someone had scribbled all over it. T'lar's bronze came out of
it, but by then I had Lysseth and I couldn't exactly be disappointed!" Of
course she has to ask, "Which egg are you doing, Meilyn?"

Desdinova takes up a paint brush, and slides a pot of paint towards her,
though she doesn't dap the brush in as yet. "I don't know which one to do."
She says, blandly. "There's so many,and they are all so intricate. There
needs to be, like, an egg that is all one uniform color, like wherry eggs.
They are all white, or brown. It's more boring, yes, but... A lot easier to
paint."

Hector looks at the drawing of the egg he is doing, then the painted rock
in his hand. He couldn't begin to guess what color dragon was it in. It had
too many colors on its shell, and it just looked all wild and crazy, not
matching any color stereotypes at all. But maybe that was why he liked it.
It was an unlikely pick. He grins over at Meilyn as she joins them. The
more the merrier, as far as he is concerned. "I'll be curious to see what
all comes out of these eggs. I guess we'll get really close looks at all
the baby dragons when they first hatch." Now /that/ will be exciting. Or
terrifying. or both.

"It's the wierd bright green and white white with all the spots," Meilyn
replies to Kassima's question with a worried smile. "I don't know if I can
make it look as pretty as the real egg though..." She dabs the brush into
the paint before applying it with light strokes, the concentration evident
on her face. A glance is shot over the crowd, perhaps an attempt to pick up
a few tips to make something live up to her level. She gives a soft sigh
before returning to the rock at hand...

Kassima repeats what she said to Hector earlier, "You should've been around
for the last clutch. Most of 'em were almost solid purple. Well," she
amends, "solid in color, but they had shades and patterns. I don't think
anyone's doing yet the mostly orange one, with the bits of cream?" At last
she's done with her... uh... artistic representation of the yellow egg, and
sets it aside carefully to dry as best it can. "You don't want t'get *too*
close or you're risking a goring, but you'll see 'em well enough. 'Tis...
indescribable, really. Even last time when 'twasn't out there as a
Candidate I loved seeing 'em hatching right *there* in front of me." She
offers Meilyn an encouraging grin. "You'll do as well as any of us, I'm
betting."

Hector smiles at Kassima. "I wish I had been around to see that. I bet it
was something. I loved watching the runner foals being born in the spring,
especially when the gangly things finally stand and suckle from their
moms." He hums softly, sounding a little worried. "Do many candidates get
gored? Or do they just run away when the baby dragon gets too close?" He
imagines a bunch of dragonets chasing candidates they want to impress, but
the candidates won't let them get close. Maybe the candidates who became
riders were the slow ones, the ones who got caught.

Desdinova nods, and reaches for the yellow pot. "Yeah, I was jsut thinking
of that one, it seems to be the easiest of them." She dabs her brush in the
paint, applying it to the egg carelessly. "Purple. I would have liked to
have seen that one, I think. Purple is a lovely color. And a lot easier to
paint!"

"'Twouldn't say many, but it happens often enough." Kassima uses a corner
of the dropcloth to try and scrub yellow off her hands--emphasis on try,
mind, and it doesn't work that well. At least she doesn't leave
fingerprints on the new egg she picks or the blue paintpot. "The problem's
when they don't dodge. You won't see a lot of running around, but if'n a
dragonet's barreling for you, for Faranth's sake, step aside. 'Twill come
back t'you if'n it wants you! If'n it doesn't, you're just in the way."
She's answering Hector, but includes all the Candidates in that advice.

Hector looks a little pale at Kassima's advice, and he presses his lips
into a thin line as he tries to focus on painting his egg. After a moment,
he says, "Sounds like we need to practice dodging. Jumping around quickly.
Falling down on the sand and getting up really quickly to start running."
And if that sounds funny to hear, just iamgine Hector practicing it, which
he is seriously considering doing at this point. "Those baby dragons sound
pretty tough. I guess it keeps some candidate from cornering a dragon and
trying to make it Impress him."

"Would anyone be that stupid?" desdinova asks, looking skeptically at
Hector. "I've only seen firelizards hatch, and only the once. But I'd very
much say that if someone tried to force it on them, they'd come off without
a face." She winkles her nose, dabbing her bush ineffectually at the rock.
"Have there ever been any truly mean hatchlings? That've /tried/ to hurt
candidates?"

Kassima says, "They don't particularly mean t'hurt a person, but they're
big, they're clumsy, they have sharp claws, and they don't care about much
but finding the one they need. You couldn't make a dragonet Impress you.
They'll die a'fore they take someone who's nay right for 'em. I suspect,
if'n anyone was fool enough t'try that, they might end up the dead one."
While she speaks she sweeps strokes of mingled blue and a touch of green
onto the stone she's chosen. "There've probably been some who shoved a
Candidate aside quite on purpose. They're too intent on getting what they
want t'be going around savaging people for fun, but if'n they see you as
being between them and their rider?"

Hector picks another brush and another color, adding to the layering of
pattern on his egg. "I've known kids who were pretty dragon-crazy. They
never became candidates, but if they ever did, I could imagine them doing
something stupid like that. Not that it would work, but you couldn't tell
them not to do it." A pause, and some more dabbing of paint with his brush.
"How long does it take for a baby dragon to find the one he's looking for?
You say he'll die if he doesn't find the right person, well, how long does
he have before he runs out of time to do it?"

"So it's instinct, not intent. That makes sense. Desdinova says, taring
hard at the egg in her hand. "Ywllo isn't the right color." She comments,
pointing out the obvious. She glances at hector, "I can't imagine anyone
making it through candidacy with that outlook, though. It's Kassima's job
to make sure we're all there for the right reasons, and not apt to get
ourselves killed, isn't it?"

"The stories never have 'em leave the Hatching Sands. If'n their person
isn't there that day, they die. I don't know how long a'fore they're sure."
Kassima doesn't sound too happy; on this subject, it's not surprising. "I'm
certes t'make sure you're nay apt t'get yourselves killed," she agrees with
Desdinova. "As best I can, since in the end that's up t'you--right reasons
isn't as much m'thing, though. Once someone's Searched, they're nay removed
from Candidacy unless they want t'be, or they do something serious enough
the Weyrleaders don't want 'em Standing."

Hector focuses on painting a half-moon of purple. "The dragons pick
candidates, don't they? How do you know if they care whether people are
stupid or if they have 'the right reasons' or whatever? They say no one
knows why the dragons pick who they do. Who knows if they weed out the
stupid people." Though it's true that he has trouble imagining a dragon
picking a stupid person for one of their babies. "I hope these baby dragons
all find their right people. Will be something to see," he says again.

"They almost always do, though?" Desdinova comments. "I mean, when was the
last time you heard of a hatchling going between from the sands?" She sighs
and sets her poolry painted, not remotely beer-colored rock down. "This is
silly." She says, "I'm useless at it. I think, perhaps, I will leave this
to people who have some concept of color and skill with a brush." But she
offers a faint smile to Kassima, trying to take offense out of it.
"Artistic pursuits just don't work for me, m... Kassima, I'm sorry."

Kassima answers readily enough: "They don't. Stupid riders exist. You
should've seen one of m'Wingmates of old, he kept trying t'claim he
couldn't do dawn sweeps because it was cold and he'd lost his underwear.
You can be stupid and ride, if'n you're brave enough t'face Thread, if'n
you've enough love in you t'put your dragon a'fore yourself, and there
happens t'be a hatchling who wants something other than sharp wits. There's
stupid and then there's stupid, though, and a rider who survives t'graduate
into a Wing must have enough brains and guts for the job." She dabs blue
onto the very tip of her rock. "They don't go *between*--" A pause. "I
don't think they go *between*. I've only heard they die. In m'entire riding
life I have never, ever seen or heard of this happening--nay once, nay
ever." Desdinova's words don't offend the greenrider. "'Tis fine," she
tells her, with a quick, wry smile. "This is only for fun. I appreciate
that you tried it out."

Hector looks over at Desdinova's egg. "I think yours is pretty good. I
mean, it's certainly not worse than mine." He holds his up, which is
covered with blotchy circles. "Your wingmate kept losing his underwear?
After he did it once or twice, you should have kept an extra pair for him.
That would get him out to do his share of early morning duties." Faranth
knows Hector has done plenty of pre-dawn chores himself.

Desdinova offers Hector a warm smile for the compliment, and gives a quick
curtsey to the pair. "If you will excuse me, then. I'll see you later,
Hector." Another smile at him, and the woman is away, making her war off
towards the inner caverns with a faint, melodious humming.

Desdinova strides through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.

"There is nay point in history in which L'cher's underpants ever were, or
ever will be, in m'possession," Kassima feels a strong need to declare.
"Besides, he'd lose 'em too under some Hold lass's bed, or Weyr lass's, or
he'd fling 'em off the Star Stones if'n he thought it might *possibly* get
him out of dawn sweeps. I occasionally thought about flinging him off the
Stones if'n it'd get me out of one more conversation about his underwear,
so I understand the impulse." Her second egg wasn't looking that bad--it's
hard to mess up solid blue--but once she starts trying to add little yellow
pinpoints? The effect is perhaps not what she might've wished. "G'deve,
Desdinova!"

Beli ambles out from the inner caverns.

Beli is glancing backwards as she enters, perhaps having just passed
Desdinova in her departure. Luckily, she doesn't trip over anything in her
path, though it'd seem likely. Instead, she turns to regard the caverns,
and gives a little nod upon doing so, as though something's been confirmed
for her.

Hector can't help laughing at the image of a rider throwing his undies off
the star stones. For one thing, where would the things land? Imagine
finding that lying around. Ugh. "Did he ever learn to do his share of dawn
sweeps without complaining? Or did he just get enough senority that he
could push those duties off on someoen else?" Still paying somewhat close
attention to his egg, he takes a brush and turns it over to use the sharp
tip of the handle. Trying his best to keep a steady hand, he draws in the
spokes of the wheels, scraping off the brightly colored paint and leaving
the cream colored paint he had used as the undercoat. Hrm, not quite as
pretty as the real egg, but it was an interesting effect.

Kassima shakes her head. "'Tisn't how Wing duties work--he never stopped
complaining, but I made him do 'em anyway. With a partner, eventually, so
he'd stop knocking up a Hold lass every trip out. Please imagine how
popular he was with Lord Telgar." She pauses. "Um. Meaning that Lord Telgar
didn't like all the Hold lasses pregnant, nay... ugh, I'm going t'have that
mental image haunting me for *Turns* now!" Beli's arrival comes as welcome
distraction! Having learned her lesson about waving the paintbrush, she
waves the rock at the girl instead.

Beli approaches without delay, eyeing the painted rock projects at work.
She's a poor critic, since everything seems to prompt a nod of enthusiastic
approval - up to and including Kassima's greeting, though that's not so
much a nod as a greeting, itself. "Hello Kasssima. I'm glad I didn't miss
the painting, although I'm sure they've all been done by now. Has someone
gotten Lord Telgar pregnant?" As if inquiring about the weather. Hector
gets a nod, as well. "I've seen you about the barracks. I don't know your
name," it's stated as an interesting observation rather than a question,
but probably serves as both.

Hector looks up at the newcomer, trying to recall if they have met before.
He can't recall, though she's wearing a candidate knot, so they must have
seen each other somewhere, sometime. "I'm Hector," he answers her. "I don't
think I know your name either." If he had ever heard it, he wasn't paying
attention. Then, to the rider again: "Ugh, I bet Lord Telgar would have
banned him from the Hold if he could. I bet the girls weren't too pleased
to find out their babies all had the same father, either."

"If'n anyone could," Kassima tells Beli, "'twould be L'cher, but nay. 'Twas
only telling tales of his escapades of old." There are a few finished eggs,
but more unpainted than painted; those painted... it's an amateur art,
that's obvious enough. Kassi doesn't mind. "Nay so displeased as the babies
were when they grew up," she says to Hector with a straight face, "and
found out why they couldn't marry."

"Beli," the girl supplies. "Well met, Hector. I hope you're not the one
with the unfortunate respiratory sleeping habits." She takes a free seat,
looking over the paint supplies and those already-decorated rocks. "L'cher?
Escapades." She nods. "Sounds like it." The last, she doesn't comment on,
but clearly buys it, judging by the turn of her expression - lots of
intrigue, but with a touch of horror.

Hector chokes at Kassima's last comment. "You're kidding. So he ruined an
entire generation of a Hold? And past that, since even if those kids
married others, /their/ children would have trouble finding someone they
weren't related to." How complicated. "Good to meet you, Beli. Maybe we can
muck out some stalls together or sweep the Center Bowl tomorrow or
something," he jokes. Yes, he loves chores. He finally puts the finishing
touches on his egg, though, and sets it down near the other finished ones.
It isn't a great job, but one can see the resemblance to the real thing.
Maybe. If one squints. "Anyway, I've got to get going. Got to get these
tubers back to the kitchen." Yeah, the ones he was supposed to peel like 3
hours ago.

Kassima offers Beli one of the remaining not-yet-paint-covered brushes.
"I've heard Kaveshun's the snorer," she offers. "I *am* kidding...
probably. Let's say the scenario hasn't happened so far as I know, but if'n
it *did* happen 'twould nay surprise me a whit." Glancing to Hector's
abandoned tubers, she stifles a smile: "Good luck with the kitchen workers,
Hector. Thankee for your help."

Beli considers Hector's addition to the story with equal interest. "And all
told, those people are bound to give their children unfortunate names."
Like L'cher? "Oh, perhaps," she replies to Hector, with a believable note
of excitement. Chores, schmores. "I wonder how long that takes, the
sweeping." She nods for the tubers, glancing kitchenwards in support, and
then turns back to accept the paintbrush from Kassima. "Thank you," and
grab a rock, too. "Kaveshun, is it? He ought to do something about that
imbalance."

"I don't know who the snorer is," Hector says, "but I feel like he followed
me from the resident barracks. It's hard to sleep with all that noise. I
keep trying to imagine I'm listening to the ocean." He gathers up his pot
of tubers. "Thanks for the entertainment, Kassima! And see you soon, Beli."
He heads into the kitchens to face the cook. Or maybe drop the tubers and run.

Hector wanders into the Weyr's kitchens.

The sound Kassima makes is definitely amused. "I have yet t'be assigning
any Candidates t'sweep the Bowl, there'd be nay point in it. All the sand
would just come *back*." As if it ever goes away to begin with? Her hands
are all streaked with blue, yellow, even a bit of red now, and once she's
set that second egg down she finds this a good time to take a break. "What
sort of imbalance?"

Beli has mixed a lovely shade of gray together for her chosen palette, and
sets about painting the already gray rock with great deliberation. "There
is a lot of sand," she observes somberly, and: "A spiritual imbalance,"
with the same tone. "It's not half as bad as Lesnof, though. He'd stop
breathing altogether sometimes - just for a few moments - and it took
Sherri and Grandma Fel both together to settle it." She looks at the
egg-rocks, and then asks the rider, "Do you have a favorite egg? Or rock,"
she adds, an afterthought.

For a moment Kassi confuses these two ideas, and her expression suggests
that an imbalance of sand in Kaveshun's nose making him snore is something
to picture indeed. "What did they do?" she has to ask. And, considering the
small collection, "Mayhaps one nay anyone's painted yet... the red one,
that turns into gold and has that little bit of green. Or the one with all
the colors. I'm nay even going t'try and paint that, given an out."

"I like the one with all the colors," Beli agrees, though clearly, she's
not painting it. She motions with the paintbrush - thankfully not dripping
- to imitate the fallen blades of the one she means. Then goes back to the
gray. "They worked on his aura a bit. I think Grandma Fel made him a
restorative tea of some sort." With a note of regret: "I never did learn
how to do that. Sherri says it was easy, but Gran says it was the only time
she was sorry Sherri married him." That's with a bit of a smile slanted
Kassima's way.

Kassima props her chin up on her fist. "Which egg is that?" she finally
asks, when it's clear that yes, she's painting the egg gray, rather than...
whatever else Kassi thought she'd do with grey paint. "Your Gran was sorry
Sherri married Lesnof because Sherri stopped his snoring--wait, why? Why
want him t'snore?" There are so many questions to ask. They will go
unasked, though, because a particularly young Candidate boy runs across the
room to stop at the edge of the table: "Kassima, Dali won't come down
because she says she saw the 'snake!" Oh, boy. Kassi doesn't even ask 'down
from where,' sometimes you don't want to know. "Can you keep an eye on
these for me while I sort this out?" she asks Beli.

Tannusen ambles out from the inner caverns.

"This is a representation of what they sound like right now. To be fair, I
haven't been on the sands yet, haven't properly spoken with them." Make
sense of that one. Beli explains the other, "Because it was such a long
process, getting rid of the imbalance, Gran was fed up with it. Really
she's quite fond of da and was being humorous. I think." She nods then,
"Certainly, Kassima." She won't ask down from where, either.

Kassima's curiosity about egg sounds wars a moment with her sense of duty,
but the latter wins--barely. "Thankee," she says to Beli, and follows the
Candidate boy to see what incident the tunnelsnakes have caused *now*.

You stride through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.