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Bringing In the Weed


Date:  October 24, 2001
Place:  Sky Over Southern; Clearing Somewhere In Southern
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:  Let me tell you, it's only for I'sai--all right, all 
right, and for her own nagging impulse towards occasional community
service--that Kassi would tail it down to Southern to help harvest 
numbweed.  And even then she might not have done it if Taralyth hadn't
*tricked* her by tempting Lysseth with the promise of a warm place, 
the fiend!  (This is said with great affection, if you can't tell.)
In seriousness, it wasn't really Is's fault OOCly or ICly that I went,
and even if it had been I'm glad I did; it was fun, the stench aside,
and Kassi got to chop stuff up.  What more could she ask for?

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The Log:

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth visualizes as invitation a deep, cobalt 
stretch of Southern sky, hazed with heat above green, green jungles and 
golden sand lapped by azure waves - and just happens to leave out the stench 
of cooking numbweed still perceptible even here above.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's attention is caught, as well it 
might be; it's *warmth* he offers, a striking counter to the chill of a 
Telgar ledge. Such sparkling as lights her crystals would seem affirmation, 
yet on rider's bidding--at rider's memory of another invitation, not so long 
distant--she must needs inquire: << There will not be any blueriders dancing 
around without clothes, will there? >>

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth glints the brighter back for it, too - 
but pauses long enough to ask, and then answer with some care, << He does 
not -believe- there will be. >>

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth and hers must have some faith in he 
and his, for while another brief pause ensues, it's followed by a glinted, 
<< We'll come. >> But woe, woe betide him if any random Healers decide to 
drop their pants.

You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly. You 
grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower 
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered foreleg.

<*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up dust 
as she takes to the skies.

You spring from Lysseth's ledge with one downsweep of your wings, soaring 
into the sky above the Northern Bowl.

The rim of the bowl falls away from you and you soar into the open skies.

<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.

Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear 
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...


Sky(#11392RJe$)
Deep, cobalt blue stretches out across this peaceful Southern sky. 
Cloudless, the sky still seems to shimmer as if someone had rippled it with 
extended fingers, though its likely to be the heat that is causing it to 
haze. Beneath you, the broad, flat ground is coated with a layer of verdant 
greenery -- the dense jungles of the Southern Continent extending for miles 
around. Emerging from the lush olive-greens are the golden-yellow sands and 
pale azure-blue of a Southern shoreline -- the odd shadow moving in the 
deeper water as it disappears to merge with the horizon.
Contents:
Taralyth
Obvious exits:
Down  


<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> Taralyth drifts on the Southern winds, prismatic wings swept wide to 
soak up the heat; at last he vanes his wings to arrow down, down and around, 
toward the clearing and the healers - but it's only after trumpeting welcome 
to the newest arrival as well.

<*> Taralyth backwings to a landing.

<*> Lysseth echoes trumpet with her own clarion call, greeting to him, 
notification of her arrival to those below--given a heartbeat before she 
folds her sails to trail down a lazy spiral.

You backwing to a landing.

<*> The first thing to assault you is the smell. And this isn't some light 
wafting on a breeze, on no. This is the strong, pungent, bring tears to your 
eyes fog that so many try to avoid during this time of year. But you're here 
voluntarily, so you get what you get. Various stages of the numbweed 
rendering process are underway: vats for boiling, tables for cutting and 
cleaning, stations of potting, and the various piles of the broad leaves 
harvested by the assistants escaping into the lush jungles of Southern to 
gather the plant itself. Wesit stands with a small group of apprentices, 
instructing them on how to separate the good leaves from the bad leaves, 
eventually leaving them to their own work.

<*> I'sai's holding his nose even as they land, tenor whining gone nasal 
thereby - there's voluntarily, and there's _voluntarily_ - and intelligible 
only to the poor beast who tosses his own head, and is slow to vane his 
wings entirely. "'elgar's 'uties," carries not a little resignation with it.

"Ghglmrphgh." That would be Kassi's audible reaction to that delicate 
perfume, accompanied by a few quick swallows and a hasty change from 
breathing through her nose to breathing through her mouth. Not that tasting 
the fumes is apt to be that much more pleasant. "Methinks you forgot 
t'mention," she calls stuffily to her bronze compatriots, "the numbweed." 
How kind of him, really. "Duties, duties," she manages to echo all the same, 
and rather than turning to flee, she instead unbuckles her straps... if a 
bit slowly. Lysseth is less polite. She's covered her downbent muzzle with a 
forepaw.

<*> Wesit shades her eyes as the dragons land, a very stiff and proper 
stance to her lanky frame as she turns to regard them. "Healer's to Telgar 
and her queens, sir." She doesn't seem to mind the smell, forgoing the masks 
others seem to cling too as they pass through the area. "Have you come to 
help, or are you simply dropping off?"

You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles, 
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.

Nadja was here all the time, yes she was - stirring the giant pots, checking 
the fires underneath. Checking the apprentices don't prank each other... The 
healer blots streaming eyes and sniffs as the dragons land. "Welcome."

I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

I'sai aids his heretofore turtle-hunched passengers with their straps before 
slipping down likewise, sending them off to unbuckle shell-heavy coats; "Ah, 
dropping off, mostly. Unless there's... I suppose, if there's need - Nadja!" 
Turning, "That you?"

Kassima slides down from the piny heights of Lysseth's neck, though she 
stays close to her dragon yet, and eyes those so-near processes warily. 
"'Twill let I'sai answer that one, methinks," she quips as best she can 
while still trying not to breathe. "But I've a nagging suspicion 'tis the 
former. What are you needing help with, precisely?" She wiggles her fingers 
to the streaming-eyed Healer, greeting in exchange, "Master Nadja, 
heyla--you don't happen t'have any mint sticks I could steal handy, d'you? 
For old times' sake?"

Nadja shifts the oh-so-flattering mask a little and peers through the fumes, 
leaving her current pot to approach the riders. "I'sai, Kassima. Good to, 
er, see you," she squints and grins over at the greenrider, "I don't think 
they'd taste all that good. But if you go back to the hall, you're welcome 
to steal a jar. Just don't tell anyone I said that."

Wesit gently rests her hands on her hips, watching the exchange between 
Telgar and Healer affably. To I'sai, now that confirmation of Nadja's 
identity has been established, she mentions, "You're welcome to stay, if 
you'd like. We can always use another set of hands. Dragonriders 
-especially- should appreciate the value of rendering numbweed correctly." 
While her smile is both polite and even flattering, there's a certain 
pointedness to it.

Telgar Weyr> Tieren idly mentions that there's happy numbweed boiling going 
on at healer should other Telgari care to join in <g>

Kassima lifts her hand to solemnly if nasally avow, "Cross m'heart an' hope 
t'die, stick a dagger in M'rgan's eye. Far be it from me t'be squealing on a 
good informant; 'tisn't *profitable*." There's actually a grin at the end of 
this, though it's a bit weak. At least she has her goggles to shield her 
eyes... for now. "What precisely are you needing help with?" she echoes from 
earlier, to Nadja this time and with a vague wave towards yon boiling 
pots-o'-goop. "Since I'm thinking it must be what we're here for." No, she 
doesn't give I'sai the evil eye just then, really.

Nadja slides a sideways glance towards Wesit. Her expression is droll, 
though she masks it quickly, popping behind her gauze face shield, "Well, 
you can chop...." she indicates the large leafy piles of harvested numbweed, 
"Or you can stir and help pour the finished product into smaller vessels."

Tarlo steps down off Cariath's neck by way of an offered limb, and quickly 
divests herself of extra clothing. She looks around, shading her eyes to try 
and find someone who could direct her to well...wherever it is that help is 
needed.

Wesit's expression is painfully honest, feeling no remorse for trying to 
shove the blame on the dragonriders. Being posted a weyr has taught her this 
trick. "Or," she adds to Nadja's list, with a quick glance to her superior 
first of course, "I was just about to lead another group back to the 
harvesting fields, if you've got a hand for pruning and packaging."

I'sai hesitates. "It's good to see you, Nadja, as much as we can; but -this- 
way..." he buys time through Taralyth's amiable, far-too-amused warble to 
the latest arrival, adding, "Undoubtedly we, ah. Appreciate it. The 
numbweed. Yes. Pity it doesn't work the same way, sticking it up one's nose 
to help plug away the smell... which is the least smelly of the tasks? And 
do you have spare gloves? Won't be using my good riding pair for -this-."

Telgar's former weyrhealer is in the process of coercing Telgar riders into 
helping with this mammoth undertaking, along with Wesit, master of emotional 
blackmail it seems. She waves a hand at Wesit, "That's fine too." The healer 
flips a mock salute at Tarlo, "Take your pick then. Harvesting, boiling and 
pouring or chop, chop." she pauses, "For which we're extremely grateful of 
course."

"Chop," Kassima immediately volunteers. "'Tis what I'd be best at, I rather 
suspect. And if'n you by any chance have another of those masks handy--oh, 
heyla, Tarlo," she turns a bit to greet. Lysseth rumbles to the other 
dragon, though the sound is muffled: both forepaws cover her nose now.

Tarlo grins back over to her. "Whatever you need very limber hands for. 
Harvesting, maybe?" Her face is contorting as the smell hits her.

Taralyth's doubly-lidded by now, and he tries the forepaws-shield thing too, 
paler tail curved 'round by balance. "Chop," his rider mutters. "I believe 
it. Chop. Just be glad they don't need to be sewn up, Tarlo."

Nadja indicates a pile of spare gloves, aprons and masks, "Help yourself," 
the healer rummages in a bag and pulls out a couple of large knives, 
reminiscent of meat cleavers, "I won't insult your intelligence by warning 
you of their sharpness. There's no need to test them," her pointed look hits 
a junior apprentice square between the eyes. He cowers, nursing a bandaged 
thumb. "I guess you're in charge of harvesting then Wesit."

Wesit gently nods toward the master, folding her hands gently behind her 
back. "You said you'd like to join in the harvesting, weyrwoman?" The tall 
girl addresses Tarlo, either having missed her name, or a stickler for 
regulation. The former is a pretty good guess if her expression is anything 
like accurate.

Kassima doesn't need further invitation to do just that, snagging up one of 
each item to shield hands, clothes, and mouth; while she takes her riding 
helmet--and jacket--off first, she leaves the goggles right where they are. 
"The sharp ones are the very best kind," she opines, rather too cheerfully. 
"How fine d'you want the bits? I admit, I tend t'hide from this when 'tis 
done at Telgar, so m'experience is on the meager side."

I'sai gussies himself up in the offered gear to replace his own, and if 
Keara's name is muttered upon donning the apron, at least it's quietly; all 
he says is, "You should get Katlynn in on this. 'Numbweed harvesting, 
weaver-fashion style.'"

Cariath rocks back on her hind legs, straining her neck as high as she can 
in an effort to get above the air of the stink. She moves to outfit herself, 
and once doing so, notes, "Right, then. Wesit it is." She heads torward the 
girl. Upon arrival she smiles, "If you don't mind. Call me Tarlo, please. 
Just tell me what to do, or let me watch how you do it a few times, and I'll 
pick up."

Cariath rocks back on her hind legs, straining her neck as high as she can 
in an effort to get above the air of the stink. Tarlo moves to outfit 
herself, and once doing so, notes, "Right, then. Wesit it is." She heads 
torward the girl. Upon arrival she smiles, "If you don't mind. Call me 
Tarlo, please. Just tell me what to do, or let me watch how you do it a few 
times, and I'll pick up."

"Finger length bits, or smaller," Nadja replies, shrugging, "Small enough 
for them to be easy to stew." She watches tensely as a pair of burly 
apprentices start to pour the latest batch into large vessels for cooling. 
When they don't scald or numb themselves she turns back to the riders, 
picking up her own knife and a sack of leafy shoots, which she carries to a 
trestle table.

"Be careful what you wish for," Kassi mutters sotto voce to the gussied one. 
"She'd have all the equipment covered in pink lace. As would Keara, most 
likely." Her nod to Nadja is amiable, and she hefts her Cleaver +4 vs. 
Numbweed thoughtfully, admiring it a moment before following Nadja and her 
burden to the tables. "Finger-length bits. Methinks I can be managing that."

Wesit nods, her smile polite and even bordering on camaraderie. It, however, 
never touches her eyes. They remain sharp green flints of intelligence and 
duty. Looking over her shoulder, she waves a group of apprentices to join 
them, bringing the total up to five. "It's actually one of the simpler parts 
of the process," the blonde explains, moving the little party off toward the 
further edges of the field. "The important part is to make sure the sap 
doesn't run onto your hands." She doesn't explain -why- this is important, 
but the weight in her voice seems to indicate that this would be a Bad Thing 
To Do.

"True, true, but that'd be that much less pink lace she'd try to put on 
-us-," I'sai mutters. To Nadja, imploringly, "Which finger?" He displays 
his. "And how've you been, anyway? That one apprentice sure looked scared, 
all right."

Tarlo nods. "And if it does, what should I do? In the event of an emergency?"

Nadja's expression says it all, "It doesn't really matter as long as they're 
not giant. And cutting it into tiny, tiny pieces would be pointless, seeing 
as the heat can do the job for you," she extends a finger, her own index 
finger, "like that?" she glances at the bronzerider, "I'm fine, I miss 
Telgar of course. Seem to have become the bane of all apprentices," her 
smile indicates she's joking.

I'sai crooks his matching finger to compare, studying - "Oh, all right. Not 
that I plan to become an expert, y'understand... tapped any Specials yet, so 
you can be their particular bane? And any messages you want sent back?" 
Stalling, thy name is I'sai.

"We render the numbweed to bring out its potency, but we also do it to 
lessen it's more dire effects." Wesit explains, reaching their destination 
and producing gloves and shears from her pockets. "The sap, while the actual 
numbing agent, in its raw form will deaden a nerve in less time than you can 
take in a breath. It doesn't have any -lasting- effects, but your hands will 
be pretty much useless for the next eight or nine hours to come."

Kassima retorts under her breath, "Want t'*bet*? She'd try t'make us wear 
these aprons in the next fashion show i'truth... probably with naught else 
beneath 'em. And while you might carry off that look, I certes wouldn't." 
Her eyes, above the rim of her mask, are entirely merry. She helps herself 
to a place at that trestle table as I'sai and Nadja talk, and lets her 
attention wander briefly towards Wesit and Tarlo and the safety lecture in 
progress.

Nadja's eyes bulge slightly at Kassi's comment and colour rises to her 
cheeks, "That would be quite spectacular," she glances down at herself, "And 
very, very, frightening." Her gaze returns to the chopping and the very 
sharp knife, "Well, you can tell Wingleader Macami I miss teasing her. And I 
certainly miss all those mutual birthings we attended," her tone is sly.

"I'd much, much rather have it be you," I'sai promises the good wingleader, 
glance flicking momentarily after hers, toward the lecture; when it's found 
Nadja again, his own knife still not yet in play, "I, ah, shall pass it 
along. To Macami. And as for the rest, well, you're right; I've given it up 
till you get back."

Wesit continues to explain to her group how to harvest while Tarlo takes a 
moment to confer something with Cariath.

"Because you're an evil sadist," Kassi agrees, serene, if slightly rose 
beneath the face mask. "I can say the same of you, I could assure--and 
pardon me while I try nay t'get so distracted by laughter at that last 
comment that I chop off one of *my* fingers." Not that this seems unduly 
likely; she's a good if slightly-overenthusiastic chopper, wielding that 
cleaver with skill if not perfect expertise. "Frightening, Master Nadja? 
Tsk. I don't know if'n frightening would be the word. I'm sure there'd be 
plenty of women who'd pay t'see him like that. Katlynn likely being one, 
come t'think on it."

Nadja laughs at Kassi, "I was thinking of myself actually. That would be the 
frightening part. I'm sure I'sai , however, would do a fine job. I've heard 
things you know, about dressing up...?" Her eyes go down to the chopping and 
then over to the harvesting, where Wesit is toiling.

I'sai's turn to flush, rallying for, "Never in pink lace. That's - what's 
his name? V'sha's job," and he carefully -doesn't- look at the harvesting; 
no, instead and at last he reaches a gloved hand for a few of those leaves 
that certain other people are much more diligently chopping up already.

"You likely sell yourself short--but then again, mayhaps nay," Kassi 
reasons, using the knife to scoot a small pile of segments to the side. 
"Anyone sane would be frightened by the prospect of *themselves* in the 
lace. Do tell me what you've heard?" She spares an upward glance, what 
little of her expression is visible telegraphing innocence. "I'd be 
interested t'know how it compares with the rumors I know." Yes, that's 
Kassi. Diligence incarnate. "Tarlo ought t'be good with the harvesting," she 
speculates at random before conceding, "So 'tis. But surely 'tis a big 
enough job for two men."

"Not two big - " mercifully, I'sai stops talking and, as for those rumors, 
chops. Loudly.

Nadja glances over at Wesit, "Need a break at all?" she calls over, you can 
always get some apprentices to relieve you and change jobs for a bit!" eyes 
flick from Kassima to I'sai, "Seems I lead a very boring life at Telgar..." 
the healer answers, imitating a prudish demeanor but, mercifully, she 
doesn't reveal details.

I'sai's sharp brows lift; chopping stalls. Again. "So it's less boring now 
that you're at Healer?"

Kassima actually pauses chopping at that to let her gaze rest on I'sai; and 
while she may try to keep it sober, the dancing eyes give her away as 
always. "Big," she repeats, sweetly. "How d'you know this about V'sha? Do 
tell, oh, please." She makes a quiet 'pshhhh' sound. "What, a Healer, bored 
at Telgar? With all those spawnings and all those people running and hiding 
from you?"

"We're actually done here," Wesit's voice carrying clearly through the din. 
She gathers her supplies, and her apprentices, and heads over toward the 
sorting piles. Again, she instructs the difference between Good Leaves and 
Bad Leaves, and what to do with themselves when done with that. Brushing a 
hunk of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, she finds herself a 
water skin before joining the battle once more.

I'sai mutters something noncommittal about flavors of speech and diligently 
chops beneath those dancing eyes. Chop, chop, chop. Only, then there's the 
slosh of a 'skin - turning, "What's that you're drinking? Any more of it?"

Nadja raises a hand, "Life was never dull at Telgar, I assure you... I 
watched the chaos from afar and it suited me," she smiles battleworn smile 
at the returning Wesit, "Thank you, great job." Back to I'sai, "Of course, 
there's plenty of chaos to be found here too, just of a different nature."

Wesit takes her fill and simply offers it to the bronzer, "Water, from 
'Reaches, if I taste it correctly. And cold, too. Was probably brought down 
as ice. But, it beats the numbweed flavored water you'd get trying to fill 
anything up here."

"Flavors of speech," Kassi prompts, reaching for another set of stalks to 
decimate. "Meaning...? Glad t'hear that at least, Nadja; i'truth, I'd feel 
as though we'd failed you somehow if'n you'd really been all that bored."

"Bubbly and porcine," I'sai fibs Kassi's way. "And - what kind of chaos?" he 
buys further time by asking, before reaching to accept the wineskin and 
drink in turn - and drink deep and long. "Yeah," he eventually agrees with 
not a little relief, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, in turn 
employed to cool his forehead before the heat licks the moisture up. "'s 
good. If you healers should, ah, require some more water? I could get that, 
instead of chopping - "

Kassima makes a face, though it's hard to see, and aims a kick at Is's leg 
under the table; she does, however, cease her line of questioning. "Just 
don't go t'Benden or Telgar for that water. I'm doubting the lady Healer 
wants t'be ending up pregnant."

I'sai attempts to drown the whole pregnancy issue in yelping, "Ouch! - She 
kicked me!" and giving the healers blue, brimming eyes. Brimming with laughter.

Nadja's smile is dry, "Oh, apprentice based hilarity most of the time," her 
knife works in a steady rhythm, "The oh-so-never-done-before numbweed in the 
porridge prank. Ha, ha, ha. It's so fun to see the master's drool." Kassi's 
comment gets a bark of laughter, "I drank Telgar water for seven turns and 
escaped unscathed. A minor miracle."

Wesit takes the skin back from I'sai, her mouth turning up in a wry 
expression. "I'll keep that in mind, though I think we're okay. Coming along 
well with the chopping?" Extending her arm across the table, she silently 
offers the water to both Nadja and Kassi, should either want to take a quick 
break.

I'sai reluctantly lets the skin pass, and admits with little more cheer, 
"Not very well at all. My dented shin, it's distracting," and the wingleader 
gets a wink to bely that. He gives a few more token chops: "So, Nadja, do 
they use the straight sap or the cooked-up stuff?"

"Whereas I just have t'look at the stuff," Kassi sighs, most woebegone. 
"Some people do have all the luck. A'course, whether that's me or you is up 
for argument--and remind me t'be glad I'm nay a Master Healer, hey? I 
wouldn't *want* t'drool." She sets the knife down a moment to flex her 
fingers, accepting that waterskin with grateful eyes and a murmur of thanks. 
"Just what you *deserved*, I'sai," she retorts after she's swallowed, 
indulging in a raspberry to him before she pulls her mask back up and offers 
the 'skin to Nadja. "Methinks the chopping goes well--'tis fun, and there 
are a lot of little green bits from the looks of it, though it probably 
won't seem like so much once they're boiled."

Kassima gives I'sai a *look* then, but can't entirely stifle a laugh. "Keep 
it up," she warns, "and you'll have bruised ribs t'match."

Wesit passes the water over into Kassima's care, a sidelong glance given to 
I'sai with a serendipitous dip down to check out his shin. She's fairly 
certain he'll live. "Well," she mentions to the man, taking up a cleaver and 
some stalks of her own, "We all must suffer for our craft, hmm? So with 
blows to the shins, others with -- well..." Her eyes drift over to the 
assembled dragons, but come back to the task at hand quickly enough. "Think 
of it this way: your banged shin is a far cry the pain of thread lancing 
down your leg. It's all a mater of perspective."

"Now, that's an extreme: Thread hurts more than pretty much anything 'less 
it's just killed you," I'sai opines, his tone light but flat of affect as he 
slides chopped-up numbweed to the side with his knife's back, the better to 
make room; he hadn't followed that glance, not with Taralyth observing the 
more closely for it, headknobs pricked against the sky.

Wesit nods in a crisp fashion, her fingers dexterous and efficient as she 
dices, slices and chops the plants. "Exactly. So, a boot to the shin is a 
very small price to pay for the relief your work here will bring you later 
on down the road." Isn't she a charming young woman? There is very little 
gray ground for her, but lots of Blacks and Whites.

Lysseth, alas, can be said to observe nothing, curled up into a green ball 
of numbweed-fume-avoidance as she is--not a single facet of a single eye in 
sight. "At least," she quips beneath her breath, "you should be glad I 
kicked your *shin*, Is, and nay elsewhere, or the metaphor would have been 
even more painful to think on. Or so I assume." Tapping her knife-blade 
against the table to jar a few tiny fragments of green loose, she observes, 
"A'course, he's mostly right. Though I'd say a Threaded dragon hurts a rider 
more'n aught else m'self."

I'sai lives in gray; his fractional nod to Kassima concedes the last point, 
at least - "Do you think you could kick my forehead?" he can't help but ask 
for the first. To Wesit, though, "Not an ordinary price; and certainly not 
one for the numbweed itself. Unless I'm being sent home with an extra jar, 
beyond the Weyr's tithe?"

"Depends. While I'm sitting? Nay unless you want t'get down on the ground 
t'let me. While I'm standing? If'n you're on the ground again, certes; 
standing yourself... that would be difficult. Mayhaps a side kick, but I'd 
probably pull a muscle in an unfortunate place." Kassi manages to stay 
entirely deadpan through this. Focusing on the chopping helps. "Hardly fair 
t'be charging the Healers for *my* kick. If'n you're determined t'have an 
extra jar, I'll rummage up one."

"Wouldn't want you to pull a muscle," I'sai agrees after semi-thoughtful 
consideration of the rest. "I wouldn't intend to be on the ground, surely... 
but as for charging, it's the healer - what's your name, journeyman? - who 
suggested it be the price."

"We've had an exceptionally large crop," Wesit mentions, her attention fully 
on her fingers. "I'm sure if Telgar wanted an extra jar for her help, the 
hall could manage it." Though, is she offering it to Kassi's helpful kick or 
I'sai's helpful avoidance. It's almost like humor, but then it isn't. Too 
dry, too obscure.

Kassima agrees ever so sweetly, "The ground's generally too muddy or too 
dusty for your tastes, 'tis nay so?" More numbweed bits are nudged towards 
her accumulated pile. "'Twill nay speak for the needs of Telgar; I'sai's 
cousin's one of our Weyrhealers, so he'd know more than I. I tend t'be 
avoiding the Healer-folk at any given Weyr, even the sane and pleasant ones 
such as Master Nadja was--and is, 'twould presume. Nay offense t'anyone here 
meant."

Nadja uses her knife to scrape her pile of severed numbweed chunks together 
on the table, "I think we've got enough to start a new potful," she 
indicates a recently emptied vat, now cooling in smaller vessels, "Let's 
load the chopped stuff in there." Her expression is amused. Evidently, the 
healer has been following the conversation, though not contributing.

And Wesit's 'her' earns a crossed-eyes glance from I'sai, but he only agrees 
with Kassi - and without rancor, at that - "Or slushy. Though that's not the 
trouble here... imagine numbweed-goo-mud. Ugh. Nasty." He straightens on cue 
to load up his own platter for vat-delivery with what'd become a 
decent-sized pile once he'd gotten going.

"Wesit," self-identifies belatedly, having had a difficult time with a bit 
of stubborn root. Now that she's carved it away, she gives a more detailed 
account. "Journeyman Wesit, Mindhealer, Ista Weyr." And don't you go 
fergettin' it. She slides her cuttings towards Nadja, already turning to 
pull more stalks to her. "I think that avoiding weyrhealers is common 
practice. Or, it's been some of my more recent experences anyway. Then 
again, my partner in Amaryllia." And this should explain it all.

"You'd *smell*, and you wouldn't feel it then nay matter where I kicked 
you." Of course, that last makes Kassi look thoughtful for a moment even as 
she obediantly starts scooping her large-ish pile onto a carrying 
receptacle. "Well met, Journeyman Wesit," the greenrider replies as she 
works--and give her credit, for she manages to keep her flinch at 
'Mindhealer' a small one. "I don't believe I've had the, ah, pleasure of 
meeting this individual. But I can believe 'twould be common practice; it 
seems t'be at Telgar."

'Mindhealer' - I'sai won't forget it, if the faint twist to his mouth is any 
indication, a sharper mirror of Kassi's; "Nor have I met this Amaryllia," 
and his pale glance checks with their once-Weyrhealer for clarification.

Wesit nods gently, smiling again at the greenrider. "Thank you, Kassima of 
Telgar. It's my pleasure, to be sure." Cutting a fresh batch, the otherwise 
stoic healer's eyebrows go up a bit. "Oh... Amaryllia. She's a rather... 
severe woman; strict; doesn't like to waste time. She's also likely to clip 
your knees if you get in her way. Or, don't get out of her way fast enough. 
But we work well together." It's also probably a first for both young women.

Kassima starts to open her mouth to protest 'of Telgar,' but after a moment 
closes it again. "Sounds like just the sort of Healer I prefer t'be 
avoiding," she agrees readily enough, likely grinning back behind her mask. 
"Still, she also sounds the sort who'd likely be a competant woman... and 
Pern truly can't have too many competant Healers."

Wesit nods quickly, depositing a fresh pile of cut up pieces towards the end 
of the table. "She's an /excellent/ healer with a brilliant mind for 
pharmaceuticals. She just lacks certain people skills." And if Wesit is what 
they sent to help this problem, you should all take a moment to feel sorry 
for Ista right about now. "I find, on average, the infirmary is avoided at 
great lengths, but that I'm easily accostable in my office. Slowly, I'm 
easing Ista isn't a less... volitile healer relationship."

Nadja sticks the side of her hand in her mouth to prevent an inappropriate 
laugh at Wesit's comment and removes it suddenly with a chagrinned 
expression, "Water, quick," the master mumbles, much to the amusement of 
surrounding apprentices. Her mouth washed out, Nadja removes her gloves and 
presses a corner of her lower lip, "Only a bit numb." the corner droops a 
little.

I'sai supposes slowly, "Nothing wrong with not wasting time - er, with not 
wanting to waste time," standing back from the pot. "Why would anyone, er, 
'accost'?" and certainly he makes a good show of -trying- not to smile 
Nadja's way, murmuring, "Let me know if it's too much for you, and you'll 
have to esca - er, _recover_ back at the Hall."

Kassima mutters something about Healers being even scarier in their offices, 
but breaks off the thought to glance towards Nadja with concern. "Will that 
wear off soon, Master? So you won't have t'drool a'fore Apprentices?"

Wesit's eyebrow arches into a point as she watches Nadja and her droopy lip. 
Sliding her eyes down, she remains silent on the obvious, schooling her 
featuers to go about her work. Yup, nothing to see over there. Nope, just 
plain ol' Nadja. "Oh, I use accost in a more possitive way." Talking to 
I'sai about work is safer than watching her hall master leak from her face, 
should that be the case. "Ista provided me with a fairly large amount of 
space, so I divided it into part office and part quarters. I hold sessions 
in the office part, and that's open to public. Ista knows that if they find 
me at my desk, I'm theirs for the listening."

Nadja growls, "I won't drool."

"Promise?" I'sai can't help but ask, and make a show of scrutinizing the 
good master to see; to Wesit, without looking at her, "What good's listening?"

"Aye, I should have guessed nay." Kassi's agreement isn't patronizing, just 
very--well, agreeable. "Though methinks I might, if'n I had a numb mouth... 
and don't you get any ideas, I'sai. This is the pot we're t'dump the 
cuttings in?"

"Listening is two thirds of a mindhealers job," Wesit informs I'sai, her 
tone casual and without inflection. "When you break a bone, we can see it; 
when you cut yourself, we can watch the blood flow. But when you have an 
imbalance in your emotional state, there isn't really a ready clue to watch 
and observe. So, we listen, and from there, we careful set to right whatever 
threw you off."

Nadja flashes I'sai a murderous gleam but strides off purposely with her 
large pile of numbweed chunks supported in her apron. Approaching the large 
empty pot, she tips her cargo in, indicating that apprentices should start 
adding water.

"What makes you think you'd under - " but under that gleam, I'sai quails 
back a step, and heads the other way from Nadja to confer with a 
mutter-identified 'friend of Issy's.'

Kassima sing-songs to I'sai in the same childish tones Kisai might be using 
in another few Turns, "You're in trou-ble, you're in trou-ble." She refrains 
from adding 'neener, neener, neener' after it, however, instead adding her 
own pile of bits to the pot. "This is where the smoke and fumes come in?" 
she supposes, eyeing that pot a bit dubiously.

Nadja nods enthusiastically, "Yes. This is where the smoke and fumes come 
from. What an education."

Kassima mutters, "Glad I have the goggles and masks, then. Don't get me 
wrong; as a Wingleader I'm particularly thankful for the benefits numbweed 
gives m'injured riders and all that, but 'tis a pity something so useful has 
t'be *stinking* so much."

[Editor's Note:  At this point everyone in the scene had to split, so
the log stops here; ICly it can probably be assumed that the task
completed and everyone went back to their respective homes to try and
scrub the numbweed smell away. ;) ]