-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ouroboros Date: October 20, 2008 Places: Igen's Weyrling Training Field and Skyspace; Fort Weyr's Skyspace, Central Bowl, and 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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kassi's Note: *Between*--it's Kassi's first time teaching it as a Weyrlingmaster. She's probably as anxious as the Weyrlings themselves until Salvadath, Dustenyth, and Mobeth all come through unscathed. A trip to Fort seems in order to celebrate and the Mirage riders meet A'riste again there; unfortunately, the visit becomes more about drama for Kassi than camaraderie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: Not many Weyrlings assembling today. Dali and Salvadath are one of the only two pairs expected--making up for being behind in some other things with a surprise flair for visualization. Kassima, for her part, is as formal as she's ever been but purposefully not wearing black. Her blouse is brilliant scarlet sisal, peeping out from under her jacket. And while she can't wear a sunhat and a riding helmet at the same time, her scarf is a cheery shade of pastel blue--with tassels. T'nnusen and Dustenyth wander out of the barracks with the other two, the blond giving his crisp salute once he and the back-blue dragonet have come to a stop at the usual distance. For his part? Still those red leathers with the rose stamped into the pants, though the jacket is finally fitting as it should instead of loosely now, thanks to all that firestone throwing. Undoubtedly both parts will need to be traded in sometime in the next few days, just to be safe. A shame. Maybe there are more pants with rose-imprinted butts waiting in Stores? It's a scary prospect; there'd be some kind of story there.... Kassima's mind is on other things. "*Between,*" she says once she's returned their salutes. "You're ready, or we'd nay be doing this. All the same, we're going t'be very, very careful, and you're going t'tell Lyss at once if'n *any* of you don't feel you can continue. Aye? We don't attempt this terrified, or tired, or angry, or aught but prepared this first time." Dali looks as nervous as if she thinks a giant 'snake might be waiting for her in the darkness. But when Kassima asks, "Are there any last-minute questions?" the girl shakes her head and Salvadath rumbles a terse negative. Tannu gives Dustenyth a hearty pat on the shoulder, well aware that they might both vanish *Between* and never come back out of it again. But he's a realist that way, just as he knows Alley may someday be killed at her own job. That's just how life is. "None here either," the blond says for the both of them. Kassima dips her chin. "All right. Mount up; take the places to either side of Lysseth; all the usual things--" She doesn't need to say it by now: check your airspace, stay in formation. "We'll go up as high as you should *always* go a'fore you jump. When we're there, each of you should visualize the Star Stones for your dragons and ask them t'pass the image on to Lysseth for approval, and when she's given it 'twill signal. And we'll go." The greenrider suits action to word and pulls herself up onto her dragon. 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. <*> T'nnusen mounts Dustenyth. <*> Lysseth waits until her Kassima's straps are all buckled and both Weyrling pairs are likewise in order, only then unfolding her dark wings. <*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up dust as she takes to the skies. You wing cautiously up into the Bowl. You leap into the sky. <*> Dustenyth leaps into the sky. IGEN-> Ch'ton says, "Hey!" IGEN-> Kassima waffles to Ch'ton, and Celane, and anyone else she missed! IGEN-> Ch'ton says, "What's up?" IGEN-> A'deth strongly advises reading the boards. IGEN-> Kassima grins wryly. Which is another way of saying, lesson tonight, *between*. You can both join us if you like. :) IGEN-> Ch'ton says, "I'd be delighted. :3" IGEN-> R'din says, "You should show them the entombed weyrling." IGEN-> M'tri, in a macabre moment, loves the entombed weyrling. IGEN-> Kassima says, "...Must've been a bronzerider." <*> Mobeth leaps into the sky. IGEN-> M'tri snickers. Dragon> Lysseth senses that Dustenyth, after a pause, sends a well-practiced image of the Star Stones. Dragon> Igen Weyrling Wing sense that Lysseth's crystalline forest flickers its light towards the Weyrlings. << Show me your image of the Star Stones, >> she says. << That is the first place we'll go. >> <*> Seated atop Dustenyth, T'nnusen worries his connecting straps between his fingers as Dustenyth sends their image, less concerned with it not passing than if it /does/ pass, to be perfectly honest. Dragon> Lysseth senses that Mobeth responds, his colbalt-and-sapphire voice tinged with excitement and a bit of nervous worry. The picture of the arieal view of the starstones forefront in his mind. The angle to where you can look through them and see the side of the weyr and the walkway leading up to their chest-high (to a man, certanly not to Ch'ton)stony circumfrences, and beside it the finger rocks that are, together with the star stones, the tell-tale markers to imminant threadfall. Dragon> Igen Weyrling Wing sense that Lysseth is briefly silent, studying each image as it's provided for the slightest flaw--anything at all that might land them in the wrong place, the wrong time, or the forever-dark. << It is well, >> she finally says. << You are ready to jump on our signal. >> Kassima casts one quick glance backward. Her bright blue scarf flaps in the wind, as pale as the sky itself, seeming to wave cheerfully to the Weyrlings in their places to either side of her green. All accounted for. All ready... the Weyrlingmaster lifts her hand, lets it fall. She and Lysseth blink *between*. <*> 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... <*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Dustenyth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Mobeth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Seated atop Dustenyth, T'nnusen and Dustenyth take their jump *between* and come out the other side, the blond blinking away the cold air from his eyes and then leaning down to pat Dusty's neck, the black-blue dragon roaring his victory over that first hazardous jump! They're intact! <*> Seated atop Mobeth, Ch'ton pops out of between, his eyes squeezed shut and his body rigid and clinging to the blue Mobeth. He slowly opens one eye, shivers, and an infectious grin creeps across his face. "YEAH!" he says, thrusting one fist into the air. "SWEET!" <*> One... two... three! Salvadath reappears just as her blue brothers do. As the Mirage riders reassemble those few crucial meters away from where they were, Lysseth greets them with the same roar of triumph she would give after flaming a patch of Thread. They've come back from *between*! They've at the same time discovered an ally and bested an enemy! Dragon> Igen Weyrling Wing sense that Lysseth's spires shine fiercely for their success. << Excellent! You've made it! We're very proud. >> She lets them feel the truth of that, a ferocious swell of pride washing through her sending as a river of light. << Now we'll go somewhere you've never been. You've practiced the visualization, but use this one I give you. >> The green projects an overhead view of Fort Weyr's Star Stones for them, like, yet unlike those to which they just jumped. The image is as clear and precise as the physical sight of Igen's below. << Repeat it back to me so I'll know you have it. >> <*> Seated atop Dustenyth, Tannu takes a moment or fifteen going over the image, and then Dustenyth sends it back as filtered through his rider and himself. Dragon> Lysseth senses that Dustenyth, after a much longer pause, sends back the image of the Fort Weyr Star Stones. <*> Mobeth rumbles, pleased with himself, and repeats the image eagerly back to Lysseth. Ch'ton, bouncing with excitement at going somewhere new, pats Mobeth's side loving and eagerly. Dragon> Igen Weyrling Wing sense that Lysseth gathers the images for quick comparison, and this time sends a wordless flicker of assent: yes, these will do. Kassima grins to the Weyrlings, even if they can't see it from such a distance. Since her green's rumble is so cheerful, for Lysseth, they can probably tell how pleased the elder pair is with them anyway--and Kassi again signals them to jump. Dragon> Igen Weyrling Wing sense that Lysseth, OOC: << dtu btw fortweyr this time! >> <*> 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... <*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> The Watch Dragon announces the arrival of Green Lysseth and Kassima from Igen Weyr. <*> Mobeth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> The Watch Dragon announces the arrival of Blue Mobeth and Ch'ton from Igen Weyr. <*> Dustenyth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> The Watch Dragon announces the arrival of Blue Dustenyth and T'nnusen from Igen Weyr. <*> Seated atop Dustenyth, T'nnusen is no less worried about that second jump than the first, and no less relieved to have made it in one piece when he and Dustenyth burst back into existence, this time in the colder airspace of the foreign weyr. <*> Mobeth pops out of *between* again, his rider still clinging and now clutching his jacket around him. "Ugh! Cold!" the boy isn't used to anything but the dry, hot air of Igen region. He looks around and beneath him, though, and grins. "Wow! Where are we? Is this.... Fort?" he asks, trying to recall his geography. <*> Lysseth waits until each of the Weyrling pairs has arrived before trumpeting her greeting to the watchdragon. It has a note of triumph as one might expect in the circumstances--the younglings have gone *between*!--and its echoes haven't faded before she leads them down to the waiting Bowl below. "A'course Fort," Kassima calls over her shoulder, almost laughing. "Best nay let any local riders hear you say you don't recognize it!" You spiral down lower into the bowl. You spiral down to the ground, and backwing to a landing. <*> Above the center of the bowl, Dustenyth spirals down towards the Center of the bowl, and backwings to a landing. <*> Above the center of the bowl, Mobeth spirals down towards the Center of the bowl, and backwings to a landing. 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. T'nnusen slides down Dustenyth's side to the ground. Ch'ton slides down Mobeth's side to the ground. Ch'ton slides down Mobeth and automatically does a once-over, and offers a congradulatory pat-pat and a few loving comments. Oh yeah! They did good! Dustenyth descends with the others and lands with what is now well-practiced grace, back paws touching down first and then dropping to all fours. T'nnusen unclips and climbs down to do his usual checks, first thing as always, before finally giving the Fort bowl an actual look. Kassima does a worse job at hiding her pleasure to have the Weyrlings here, safe, than she did at hiding any nerves before they jumped. Even Lysseth's eyes spin a faster, brighter blue. "Congratulations. You've made it through your first jump and your first jump into a new place both. This is, aye, Fort, the first place m'Weyrlingmaster took me more Turns ago than I'm ever admitting t'you." Once the delight has receded, if only slightly, Lysseth rumbles her greetings--with a bit of emphasis--to the dragons already here. Manners! Valioth glides in low, and A'riste swings down when his dragon's wings are still in mid-stroke, hitting the ground at a jog. And calls, "Welcome to Fort!" Valioth alights nearby, and watches attentively, and when Lysseth rumbles he rumbles right back. And arches his neck at a rather regal angle: dragon girls dig strong young bronzes, right? Mobeth rumbles his greeting as well, manners indeed, though a bit higher-pitched and less masculine than that of a fully adult blue. Ch'ton waves from beside Mobeth. "Igen Weyr's duty to Fort Weyr!" he calls in his high-pitched voice, the teeny boy waving. T'nnusen chuckles at both Valioth and his rider's antics, and gives a salute to all and sundry, Dustenyth rumbling as well. Probably in similar amusement. "Igen Weyr's duties," if possibly redundant duties, at this point. There's definite amusement in the cant of Lysseth's head and the rustle of her wings. She's in a good mood, and truth be told hasn't entirely lost her fondness for strong young bronzes... not that she needs to be obvious about it. A leisurely flick of her tail as she settles into graceful repose will do. Salvadath warbles exactly as she would to another green, naturally. "Igen Weyr's duties t'Fort Weyr and her queens," Kassima thirds with an approving glance at the Weyrlings. "G'day, A'riste--Ch'ton, T'nnusen, methinks you've all met, haven't you?" Ch'ton nods. "Yeah! He's the tall harper-turned-bronzerider, right?" duh, because his clothes don't scream HARPER! loud enough. "How goes? It's been... a while." the short Ch'ton says to the taller boy (though that isn't saying much. Ch'ton truly is teeny.) A'riste grinds to a halt, and flashes them all a brilliant smile. "We have," he says to Kassima. "First trip /between/? Valioth was saying that... Ah... I'm fineIt has. Have you gotten taller, then?" This, he says to Ch'ton. To T'nnusen, he just grins wryly, for some reason, and shrugs one shoulder. Valioth just makes a soft hrmphing noise, and shifts subtly closer to Lysseth. T'nnusen, for /whatever/ reason, gives Dustenyth a punch to the shoulder that on such a large beast is more of a warning poke than anything. Dusty snorts. What? "Behave," he says to the blue, and then moves away from him. "We did one test jump, but other than that, yes," he answers as to whether this was the first jump. Ch'ton snorts. "I've gotten wider." he says, indicating the muscle that weyrlinghood has given him. "Other than that, no. I'm still knee-high to a wherry." he snorts and rolls his eyes. "So, how's life treating you? We should visit each other more often..." Kassima asks Ch'ton, "Was it Zabreneva's Hatching? A'riste sang that song about A'deth, I remember asking you if'n any man wouldn't want such a gift." Great, of all the things to remind people about. "Second jump," she agrees with T'nnusen. "First trip. Everyone made it! Fort doesn't mind, does it, us dropping by and being a plague?" Lysseth nonchalantly stretches out a wing, displaying it to advantage. Because it needs stretching after the trip. That long, long trip... uh... *between*. That took eight seconds. Yes. A'riste grins at them all. To Kassi, he amiably shrugs a shoulder. "Of course not. We've klah and food if you all want it. It's not too cold for Fort, but this is what, winter for you lot?" Ch'ton, he looks over, nodding at the sight of added muscle. "You might still get taller. And, ah, now you can, right?" And to T'nnusen: "Did you bring your flute? I've been composing something..." Tannu eyes Ch'ton, silently shakes his head, and stays back where he is. "I didn't know where we were going until we were up in the air," the blond nods in response to A'riste, "but I figured it couldn't hurt to have with." For luck, maybe. T'nnusen reaches to his lower back for the flute case clipped at an angle to the belt there. "Composing something?" Kassima answers the question of visits first, "With appropriate supervision. If'n you want a trip t'Fort try asking Zacharath," she advises the Weyrlings. "He caught a green here a sevenday ago and Sh'sen's been grousing about when will he *forget* already, and a'course he'd forget sooner if'n Sh'sen didn't indulge him and bring him here t'twine tails, but never mind. Point being, he'll badger Sh'sen into escorting you. Always assuming you've gotten your *other* work done." She pulls off her riding helmet. "Mayhaps for these Igen-born 'tis winter--but refreshment sounds a good thing?" A glance to the Weyrlings. [Editor's Note: Ch'ton had to discon here.] "Voice and flute," A'riste informs T'nnusen almost primly. "Maybe gitar if I can be bothered to write a third part. It might not be too good, I haven't composed in a while, and not usually for multiple instruments..." And to Kassima, he sweeps a florid bow. "To the living cavern, then! I can serenade you while you partake of our fine things. And leave these," and he rolls his eyes at Valioth, "To do the same." Dustenyth pointedly fakes a yawn at that, earning an amused glance from Tannu. "This definitely feels like winter to me," T'nnusen comments, "which means hot klah would be welcome." Like it ever /isn't/ with him. The blond doesn't start forward, though, waiting for the /other/ blond to lead the way, or even Kassima for that matter. No use going in the wrong direction! Kassima slants an amused look the dragons' way. "*Dragons*," she says. It sums it all up so far as she's concerned--no matter how Lysseth may snort. "Living Cavern serenades! There's something you don't get every Weyr; don't expect it," Kassi counsels the Weyrlings. "Lead on, and we'll follow with all thanks." A'riste turns on his heel, his long coat swinging, and his gitar-case bouncing gently against his back. "I'm not good at the usual rider things," he admits airily, "So I just entertain guests instead. Much more entertaining than drills and such." A'riste heads into the Living Cavern. T'nnusen heads into the Living Cavern. You head into the Living Cavern. T'nnusen follows A'riste into the Living Cavern and salutes the people in here, too. He's nothing if not formal under these circumstances, though his eyes of course immediately drift towards this Weyr's Infirmary. Hmm. Kassima comes into the Living Cavern, and it's as it is whenever she goes one of those many places she hasn't been in a long, long time, but which holds some memory. Neither of the men know her enough to have seen that wistful recognition on her before, but it's fairly obvious in what it is. "Igen's duties t'Fort and her queens." The relatively quiet words are just in case anyone's listening. "--Igen doesn't have a lot of serenading, but one could ask about tabledancing. Our mops are *fabulous*." A'riste, half-turning to speak to them, catches each of their looks; his faint smile -- rather like another reprobate relation's -- is brief and thoughtful and then changes into something much more charming. "Really? I can serenade while you demonstrate and T'nnusen plays? I doubt anyone would object." Tannu glances at Kassi at /that/ comment, of course, but it's a very brief glance at that and he doesn't otherwise react. "I doubt I know any songs by heart that have words," he replies to A'riste with a pleasant smile, "I haven't played any I /used/ to know in a very long time." "Methinks... if'n 'twere T'nnusen 'twould rather see, or hear, this thing you're composing, and I'd only embarrass it by trying t'dance." Kassima's smile is faint as Kassi's smiles go. "Nay t'mention embarrass *me*. 'Tis other Igenites you should look to for skill there, m'dancing's a poor and disturbing thing." "I doubt it. You're both being conveniently modest... But I'm trying," A'riste admits mildly, his smile never wavering and, yet, somehow genuine "To pretend. Fortunately, the feeding of one's face can fill up the awkward silences. Now... what would either of you like? Klah? Wine? We've got Benden somewhere. Food?" T'nnusen peers past A'riste towards the wall lined with tables of food and things, "I can just pour myself some klah if that's acceptable," he offers quite cheerfully, "there's no reason for you to play waitstaff with me. Besides, by the time you carried it over it would be going cold, in this place's air." Something about A'riste's phrasing puts a look on Kassi's face like she's trying not to laugh. And not surprisingly, it doesn't work; she does, under her breath, and mumbles words that might be, "Among other things." More audibly, "Horrid 'twill be and have a cup of Benden Red if'n you'll spare it, thankee, and--aye. I can get m'self food, but a recommendation on what's good wouldn't go amiss." For Kassima, A'riste rattles off a few conveniently easy dishes-- light things, soup and finger foods, and leads the way toward the meal tables. "You're so delicate," he adds to T'nnusen. "You're bigger than me, and look at you, shivering like a naked baby. Eat something warm. Food, not people." Tannu flicks his fingers at A'riste, "And you would /melt/ in desert, if you didn't burn to a crisp first," he chuckles, "It /is/ cold." So there! But he ladles out a bowl of soup, balances a piece of bread on the edge of the bowl, and then pours himself some klah. Kassima helps herself to not dissimilar victuals: soup and a slice of toasted bread with herbed cheese melted on. That and a cup of Benden Red and she's satisfied with her lot, considering the available tables. "'Twas sorry t'miss those games Fort held," she mentions. "Were you there, A'riste?" A'riste has that fair look that, unlike Tannu, won't result in a fine tan. And he shudders at the thought. "I don't know if I /want/ to visit in the summer. I'll die, I'm sure of it. It's probably more deadly than tunnelsnakes. No, you'll all just have to visit here." And to Kassi, he shakes his head slightly. "I'm not... It's not at such things that I'm... competitive. I didn't want to put the Weyr to shame..." Despite his self-deprecation, though, his crooked grin is just amused. "There wasn't anyone I really know to cheer on anyway." T'nnusen finds a table with plenty of room for the lot of them, and heads that way, precariously-balanced things being precariously balanced as they are. And not just the food and klah in his hands, at that. "I'll be able to, now," Tannu says of visiting, "at least with supervision." Kassima shakes her head. "I doubt you'd have shamed Fort. Tug-of-war, where's the shame? Everybody ends up with mud in their pants and down the backs of their shirts and in their mouths, probably. Nay t'everyone's taste," that much the greenrider allows. She lapses silent for a time to see to her food. The hollows under her cheekbones are still there, her hands still look thin, and her jacket doesn't fit so well as Tannu's these days. Eating is serious business. Which, perhaps, truly why A'riste had made the offer... but to admit /that/ would've been unspeakbly rude. "You'd think," he chirps cheerfully, "That a rider should enjoy, ah... physicality? I do try. Drills, training." He fetches himself a bowl of his own, and that cheesy bread, and klah. To Tannu, he beams. "Splendid. Fort needs livening up. We need more musicians. The best I can manage is to let these philistines bang on pots." It could also be why none of the weyrlings have protested to every place they've gone ending in an establishment that served food and drink. Or maybe that was T'nnusen, who would be even more silent about such things than perhaps A'riste. "You could teach the rest of my class to bang on pots, it would be an improvement," T'nnusen comments to A'riste, glancing back at the stragglers. "Though the first lesson may have to be 'no, no, /not/ with your face'." "Do we figure farmers enjoy swinging scythes around? I like competing. Chasing greased porcines, throwing frying pans at fake proddy greenriders, gnawing out of aprons, everything Gathers want you t'do for prizes. Rider tests, too." Kassima sips appreciatively at the wine. "That's me. I didn't hear many from Igen went, either, pity though 'tis." Chew, chew... pause. She swallows her bite of bread and levels a look at T'nnusen: "Your Wingmates aren't stupid. But if'n you're going t'think so, 'twill nay serve anyone, yourself most notably, t'make it so obvious." A'riste conveniently discovers that he did indeed acquire food, and sets to digging in with much intent attention. "Of course," T'nnusen says with an idle sort of pleasantness, instead of elaborating on his remark. "I must have forgotten the company. My apologies, Weyrlingmaster." And he digs into his food, finally, before it really /can/ go cold. And oh look, he has klah. Kassima's voice is mild, but it's the sort of mild that bodes not well. "The company worries me less than other factors. This isn't the place or the time, however. We'll discuss it later." She picks up her spoon again. "My apologies," she says quietly to A'riste, before raising it to her mouth. "'Twere saying something about Fort and musicians?" A'riste says very quietly, "I used to say sharp things back at the Hall. I was frustrated at the incompetence -- what I thought of -- as the incompetence of my peers. And it was true, a lot of them were more interested in chasing each other than chasing their career. But... Now, look. Maybe I should've spent more time chasing them, too, even if they weren't anyone I liked, or was like... Most of my fellow Weyrlings chose to go South. Even those who've stayed are never here. I didn't know how to grapple them to me, or to the Weyr." And he pauses, and opens his mouth, and closes it. And then says, "I and another lad were the only ones Searched from the Hall who stayed on, but he went South, too. There's the Weyrharper... I haven't seen her very much, though." He fiddles with his fork. "But I haven't gone looking much." "I highly doubt it was anything to do with you, A'riste," T'nnusen says quietly, "You haven't chased me off, at least. As for my fellow weyrlings," and he says it as though it's /only/ to A'riste that he gives the explanation, and it very well may be the case, "I've had one jump on me while I was playing the flute against a rock wall once and almost bashed it against it as a result, which I'm sure you can visualize what would have happened to it as easily as I can. And /another/ one jumped /onto/ me from behind, through the air, while the case was on the ground and might have been stepped on or landed on," he makes a vague gesture with his soup spoon, "Musically, I haven't seen a hint of interest or sense from any of them, except perhaps Neiravi. And that's fine, but it certainly means you'd have to start at the /very/ basics if you taught them to beat on pots and pans." As for Kassima, he glances her way and settles for a simple, "Not everything I say or do has some insidious meaning behind it, Weyrlingmaster. A'riste here is my friend, and there's no one else in earshot at the moment. I do know how to be discrete." "It isn't this single occasion, T'nnusen." Kassima collects her bowl and her cup. "'Twill return these to the kitchens when I've finished with 'em, A'riste; I'm going t'check on Ch'ton and Dali. We will let the Weyrlings know when time 'tis t'leave. A pleasure 'twas t'see you again." She inclines her head to him. "T'nnusen--later. G'deve for the moment t'you both." Taking the food with her, she departs. You head outside to the bowl.