The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit of
members unable to attend.
============================================================================

June 9-10, 2000.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 22:39 on day 26, month 11, Turn 31, of the Tenth
Pass. It is a autumn evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, M'rgan, Banran; Merielan, Maylia, Neliea; Kassima

A play in three acts:  I. Three Men in Search of a Belt-Knife, II. Long
Day's Journey after Flight, and III. Promotion Becomes E'vrin.
============================================================================
Central Bowl(#298RL$)
The evening is quite cloudy, with only a few open patches to let the stars and 
the stars. The smaller Belior shines in half moon while Timor shines in half 
moon peek through. It is completely still, no winds blow and the fall air is 
cold. 
Contents:
M'rgan
Banran
--

E'vrin crunches through the snow towards the bowl's center, but remains distant 
yet, and dim in the gloom.

M'rgan lifts his head once again. "Already? You work fast. I'll have to pick 
them up tomorrow though. I've got plans for tonight." The man adjusts his scarf 
slightly before returning his attention to the ground being illuminated by his 
glowbasket. "Unless you've seen a belt knife out here?"

Banran smiles once at the compliment, or at least he takes it as such. To the 
question he can only shake his head. "Not really, but then I haven't been 
looking at the ground, sorry.."

E'vrin finally reaches the spot of light, and its two figures, and stops a 
polite pace away. "Something lost?"

"I don't blame you," M'rgan remarks with a chuckling sort of snort. "It's not a 
pretty sight this time of the year." He lifts one boot slowly, listening to the 
drawn out sucking noise caused by the mud from the afternoon rain. Stamping his 
boot back down to earth, he twists around to look back at E'vrin. "Yeah. A belt 
knife. It'll probably be easier to wait until spring to look for it but I didn't 
want to wait."

E'vrin scuffs a thoughtful boot into the snow, watching the arc it describes 
"...Probably right, but if it was an important knife..." He nods, friendly, to 
Banran, too, with a bit of a smile.

Banran nods to E'vrin at his approach. "Yeah, so it seems." He turns his 
attention to the ground and nods. "Yeah, but then won't it be rusted through by 
then if you do?"

"Not really important, no," M'rgan answers and then nods to what Banran said. "I 
just hate to let it go to waste. It wasn't a bad little knife. It fit my hand 
just right." He probes at a bulge in the ground with the toe of his boot before 
lifting the glowbasket so that their faces are illuminated. "So what brings you 
two out on this freezing night?"

E'vrin answers, "Fresh air," and wrinkles his nose as he huddles in his cloak. 
"Cold, but fresh all the same."

M'rgan gives both men a doubtful look and then he shakes his head as if judging 
the two to be a bit on the loony side. But then he's from Boll and cold to him 
is anything less that 75 degrees. "Whatever you say."

E'vrin grins, not quite mirthfully. "After spending all day cramped over hides 
and arguing about formations and so on ... even /cold/ is nice, M'rgan. I swear 
that I'm not yet insane, my wingleader's influence notwithstanding."

Banran grins at them both. "Really, this isn't that cold yet. Wait until the 
deep freeze sets in, then talk about it being cold."

The brownrider lowers the shade on the glowbasket a little so that the light 
isn't in their eyes. The hinge is a bit rusty though so he has to struggle with 
it for a second. "It's *cold* now," M'rgan insists. "And when the freeze comes, 
it's warm. Because I don't stray ten feet from a hearth." "Kassima isn't 
insane," he remarks in an afterthought to E'vrin. "Just odd. Unusual tastes and 
all that."

E'vrin answers, a bit smugly, "I have a stove in my weyr; no worries there. But 
... 'unusual tastes'? Just because she has that passion for kiwis--"

Banran snorts at M'rgan's comment and shakes his head. "Well, some of us can't 
quite stay in from of the hearth all the time. But if you did stray from it, 
you'd get use to the cold."

M'rgan says in a faux plaintive voice, "But why would I ever want to do that?" 
while giving Banran a wink. To E'vrin he arches one raven eyebrow. "It wasn't 
kiwis that I was thinking of." His blue gaze remains on the bronzerider an extra 
second to make his point before he also winks at E'vrin. "Anyway, I think I'll 
stick with jobs that leave me in front of a hot fire as much as possible."

E'vrin, to his credit, gives M'rgan a smile in return for that point (if a 
strained one) -- and changes the subject with him, casually. "What kind of jobs 
would that be? Banran and I should take notes from your example."

Banran nods along with E'vrin, the comments about Kassima go completely by him. 
"Yeah.. what kind of job could keep me in front of the fire all day."

M'rgan crosses his arms in front of him, tucking his hands under his arms as 
much as he can and still hold that glowbasket. "Well, winter's a good time to 
work on all the straps Ulie's going to need for the Turn. And that can be done 
at a table in front of the hearth. Plus all that hidework you..." His blue gaze 
flicks to E'vrin. "...were talking about earlier. And the arguing with the 
wingmates. And...making those arrow shafts." Now his eyes swerve back to Banran. 
"No reason to stray from the hearths, you see."

E'vrin chips in with curiosity now: "Why /do/ you want arrow shafts, M'rgan, if 
you don't mind my asking?"

Banran does seem rather curious about that as well if his expression is any 
clue. However, since E'vrin voiced the question he keeps his silence.

"For hunting," is the brownrider's quick reply. "I use a crossbow. Sometimes a 
snare or a net for the avians, but mostly the crossbow." He gives each man a 
curious look in turn. "Don't you hunt?"

E'vrin doesn't hide his surprise, and chagrin. "No! Should I?"

Banran blinks and then quickly shakes his head. "Nope, why would I hunt?" He 
seems quite puzzled by the question.

M'rgan's head swivels from one man to the other and he chuckles under his breath 
as he shrugs. "I guess not. I don't know. It's something one of my 
weyrlingmasters taught me." He shrugs once more, eyes dropping towards the 
ground. "I like it myself. Gets me away from the Weyr and gets me away from my 
responsibilities. No worries about Falls and Wings."

E'vrin says after a moment, light, "I'll try not to feel guilty about not 
contributing to the Weyr in that way."

Banran openly snorts at that and again shakes his head. "Some how I doubt I 
would be able to so easily get away from my responsibilities."

M'rgan's look at E'vrin is puzzled. "Why should you feel guilty? Anyway, I'd 
have thought you'd be a hunter. Being in Thunderbolt and all." His brow 
furrowing even more - what little that can be seen under his hat that is - he 
manages to look even more confused as he turns his attention to Banran. "What? 
Don't they give you any free time around here?"

E'vrin murmurs something about ought to give back to the Weyr /besides/ just 
riding a dragon, but leaves the floor open for Banran's answer. He'll just stand 
there and look serene or something.

Banran shakes his head to M'rgan. "No, Selaye did give me a sevenday off a bit 
ago. But generally there is so much broken around here, there is little time for 
me to have off besides just resting." He leaves unsaid who broke it.

M'rgan's confusion twists into a smirkish sort of grin. "Maybe that's my fault," 
he tells Banran. "With winter being here, I've given one of my wingriders a lot 
more time off. And since she's weyrmated to Malachai..." Another handyman at 
Telgar. "...he's probably been a little less...uh...available. But you should 
demand some more free time from Selaye. All work and no play..."

"--Makes Banran unhappy?" E'vrin fills in, turning wide eyes on the handyman 
present.

Banran grins and raises his hands, almost defensively. "If you will forgive me, 
I'll refrain comment on that. I'll just do the work I am assigned and not 
grumble about the lack or excess there of."

"You *have* to grumble," M'rgan insists despite Banran's raised hands. "Everyone 
grumbles. Like me. I'm grumbling about having to be out here, freezing my parts 
off over a stupid knife. Which I'd better get back to searching for."

You say "Or give up, and wait for spring."

Banran nods along with E'vrin. "I'd probably just wait too."

"But if I waited for spring, I wouldn't have anything to grumble about." And 
with a jovial wink and a waggle of his eyebrows, M'rgan resumes his task, 
wandering away from the two men.

[He left.]

E'vrin waits a beat after the wingleader leaves, then says a bit wistfully (and 
not at all manly, as he should be behaving), "Warmth does sound good, 
though...."

Banran grins and nods to that. "Yeah, it does." But a sigh escapes him. "But 
work must still be done."

E'vrin makes a rude noise. "Not /tonight,/ unless you were planning on going 
back to your workroom for some more labor? I surely wouldn't."

Banran blinks at that thought and quickly shakes his head. "Shell no. Its too 
late to be doing any work."

You say "Good! Then let's go get warm in the living cavern, hmm?"

Banran gestures in the direction of the living cavern. "After you. Definitely 
sounds like a good idea to warm up."

E'vrin tosses him a smile and leads the way.

[Travel deleted:]

E'vrin lets his cloak fall open over the dark, warm clothing beneath as he 
strides to the nearest klah pitcher. Gotcha!

Banran follows him in, making sure to stamp his boots as clean as possible 
before stepping inside. He happily follows to the klah pitcher, more than ready 
to help himself to a mug.

E'vrin pours two, then, and offers one of them. "M'rgan hunting," he says then, 
musing before he sips. "--It did sound like a fine thing, as he described it."

Banran sips his klah before answering. "I suppose. Although I am at a 
disadvantage in getting to the good hunting grounds."

E'vrin slides into a seat and waves his hand dismissively. "Get a rider."

Banran once again follows him, this time to the table where he seats himself. "I 
suppose I shall have to." He sighs once. "Must be nice not having to beg rides."

E'vrin snorts. "I beg rides, all the time. 'Please, Sharath, get up off your 
lazy belly so I can go visit my daughter. Please? Please?' And so on."

Banran can't help but snicker, finally something to find funny. "Really, it 
can't be all that bad."

E'vrin rolls his eyes. "You have /no/ idea. Do you think I have that stove in my 
weyr for my sake? I mean, I enjoy it, but it hasn't been easy hauling it around 
Pern, getting it installed, figuring out how to keep the smoke out of the weyr 
... all because my dragon doesn't like going to sleep or waking up with cold 
paws."

Banran turns to laughter now, finding this more and more funny. "Ah come on, I 
still doubt its all that bad."

You say "And he /snores./ He snores, Banran, as only a big bronze dragon can."

Banran serves up an innocent little shrug. "Really, I don't know how any dragon 
snores, much less a big bronze one."

E'vrin taps a finger to his nose, which (granted) isn't a small thing. "This is 
mine. You've seen how large dragons are. Imagine how big /his/ nose is, and the 
kinds of sounds it can produce. In the middle of the night. When I'm /asleep./"

Banran once again returns to laughter. "How about sleeping in a seperate place 
then?"

Merielan walks in from the bowl.

E'vrin sighs, leaning back in his chair near Banran's. They're sipping klah; 
they're laughing and chatting. But he's sighing, at least for now. "I sleep with 
him sometimes; I'd miss that. And where would I go? Another weyr?"

Banran smiles and nods to him. "Yeah, why not? Would he get upset or something 
if you did?"

Merielan slouch-lurches into the cavern. Her flight jacket is half-undone, her 
hair is in a disaray. Eyes are not Meri's usually calm, friendly grey are now 
sparking with white-hot electrical passion. Her lips looked parched, cracked and 
dry from lack of -something-. She spots E'vrin and Banran. Breathing?...check. 
Good enough for her, she lurches towards them.

Neliea walks in from the bowl.
Maylia walks in from the bowl.

Pierron twirls his moustache at the Weyrlingmaster.

E'vrin doesn't look unduly alarmed at a young woman lurching his way. He lives 
at a Weyr. This is normal behavior. He sips from his klah, shakes his head to 
Banran's question, and asks Merielan, "Flight, or are you just really thirsty 
for our klah?"

Maylia heads into the living caverns - a wonder, she's not dressed in riding 
gear, and she doesn't have her arms full of littles. Must be either Aurian's 
evening with the pair, or T'saren's got Tasayli.

Merielan nimbly drapes herself -all- over E'vrin. If she were any closer to his 
ear she'd be living in it. One hand fluffs through his hair as she makes 
"Flight" her answer, sound rather like the invitation it is.

Banran hmms softly at her behavior. He's seen worse, but still a bit startling 
each time. "Ah.. well.." He really doesn't know what to say about it.

E'vrin makes sure he can breathe, and that his klah's not spilled all over his 
nice clean cloak, and then he can worry about getting Merielan off him. "Is 
T'kar around?" he asks politely, and rolls his eyes to Banran: happens all the 
time; what can you do.

Merielan turns at the sound of another's voice. Breathing? Oh yess...She leans 
across the table to smile, in half-lipped saccharine invitation to Banran now. 
Her hip twitches agaisnt E'vrin "No, no he's not..." She answers, eyes not 
really own.

Forget the klah. Tonight Neliea's in need of something just a bit stronger, 
brisk steps taking her towards the nearest wineskin as she perks her ears to the 
word flight. Skin in hand, she settles into a seat near Banran, in no means 
getting near Merielan just yet. She's not as...um, straightforward, taking a 
long pull from the skin, settling for anything but alertness. Ooops, May? Didn't 
see you there.

Banran tries to supress laughing at E'vrin, at least this is one thing he 
doesn't have to deal with.

[Tempted the gods of rp fate with that pose!]

Maylia claims a skin of wine rather quickly, and turns back towards the caverns. 
Pouring herself -a- glass (Yes, she's still nursing Tasa), the skin is next 
offered to Neliea, but she's got hers already. Of course, her eyes find a 
weyrling, draped over a rider. Blink. Oh, really?

Really. But E'vrin's keeping his hands to himself, though he looks as if he very 
much wants to smooth his hair back down from Merielan's fluffing, at least. He 
settles for nodding. "Well, that's a shame. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you 
right now."

Banran glances once at Neliea and nods politely to her and then looks back to 
E'vrin, to watch his prediciment. A soft chuckle coming to his lips again.

Merielan's attention is diverted again. OOoo..Maylia..and she has -wine-. Meri 
walks towards -her-, hips-a-swing in a seductive rythm. Her un-focused, lust-
filled eyes sweep over Maylia and the room, everything about her is an 
invitation and then of course..she makes it verbal. She leans towards May, 
actually, yes licking her lips "Mmm...do you..and your wine skin..want to come 
up to my weyr? Or perhaps..-all- of you?" Meri's burning gaze meets each 
person's eyes in turn.

E'vrin sniffs at Banran -- wicked young man, enjoying this! -- and pushes 
himself out of his chair. "Not tonight," he tells Merielan with enough regret to 
make it honest. "Got some other things to handle. Good evening to you all, 
though." And may you all survive.

Neliea isn't about to stop with a glance though, Banran. Rule one when dealing 
with flight dazed riders, you know. Taking another pull from the wine, she 
daringly winks as she stands and crosses the distance between them. "Find this 
amusing, hm," she asks, voice definetly purring as slinks into a chair next to 
him. Now..who was hoping that he was in the clear?

Maylia's answer is a BLINK. If blinks could be loud, this one would be 
deafening. "I take it your weyr's shining from top to bottom, weyrling?" she 
inquires. "and that I could see my reflection on the cieling?" Um. Alright, from 
her tone, she didn't mean that like it sounded.

E'vrin slips out. He is not laughing. He is not.

You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

E'vrin does laugh once he's outside, though there's some rusty pain in the 
sound, then Sharath comes swooping out of the cloudy night, and they're up and 
off, together.

[Swoosh to Lysseth and Kassima's weyr:]

Bronze wings rustle, and bronze dragon hunkers, leaving E'vrin to hustle towards 
the weyr's entrance.

[Log didn't keep the LC stuff, so in summary, Maylia dragged Merielan off to
 calm her down or something, and Neliea invited Banran to take a walk with her,
 which he did, resigned to his fate.  Back to this scene:]

Kassima is seated in her chair this time rather than at the desk, but still at 
work; a comfortably large decanter of liquor is on the table, mostly full. The 
curtain rustles; she looks that way. "E'vrin," she greets, "g'deve."

E'vrin slips inside, carrying something of a pained smile with him. "Weyrlings," 
he says, just that, and then plops a stack of hides on the desk, since it needs 
to see some use without Kassima at it. "Finished studying those formations, and 
a few of us got into quite the argument about them, too. I suppose you were 
right about going over them together."

"M'rumor mill tells me that one or two have drifted into the Cavern and draped 
themselves on convenient riders," Kassi informs dryly. "I'm guessing 'twere one? 
Alymbrith didn't specify in his report. As t'me being right--was there really 
doubt?" She gestures towards that desk. "Feel free t'be pulling up a chair, or 
rock or box or what have you. Which points were you arguing about?"

E'vrin dutifully fetches a chair, turns it around, and eases into it, straddling 
with arms folded on its top. His hair, it must be said, looks a bit ... fluffed, 
but the rest of him's neat enough. "Poor little ones," he says. "Seeing Merielan 
latching onto Maylia was worth having her latched onto /me,/ though. Meri, that 
is, not Maylia." He shakes his head. "Points. Oh, L'cher was going on and on 
about how the staggered-box formation leaves too many holes, and /I/ was saying 
that it offers flexibility, for individuals and for the wingleader, and then 
someone cut in between us, and L'cher yelled at /her/ -- you get the idea."

Kassima observes, always astute, "Did y'know that your hair looks as though a 
chicken's been nesting in it? 'Twill have t'be expressing m'condolences 
t'Maylia. I rather doubt she'll follow Merielan t'bed, though if'n Tas were 
flight-lost too... well." A shrug, and she slips into business mode. "It only 
leaves holes if'n you've nay enough agile dragons t'dive in and cover 'em, which 
has never been a problem with Thunderbolt. We're strong in the faster colors. 
Let me guess--'twas Jirel, was it, who did the cutting?"

"Well, she was trying to be the peacemaker," E'vrin answers judiciously. "Just 
didn't work, with L'cher on his tear. Makes me wonder about his dragon-- Hmm? 
Oh, shells." Disgusted, he starts plastering down the fluffy brown hair, into 
nice, normal boring mode. "I was fondled. Couldn't help it. I'm sure Maylia can 
take care of herself, though, sure enough."

Kassima snorts quietly. "'Twould nay be surprising me if'n Leerth was already 
antsy for that flight tonight, whichever weyr 'twas at. He can detect a proddy 
green anywhere in the world--or so his rider boasts, but y'know Lach. He does 
boast quite a bit. Fondled, eh?" She can't quite hide a grin. "Must've been a 
treat. May will be fine. She can always wave a knife at her if'n all else 
fails."

E'vrin hitches a shoulder. "Reaches, I think it was, and that's probably it, 
yes. Maybe they even attended? Sharath didn't so much as twitch, as far as I 
know." He ponders that a moment -- broods -- then shakes it off. "...She didn't 
know what she was doing, that girl. I was there, I was male, and so -- fondling. 
I wouldn't call it a treat, though."

"Probably," Kassi conceeds, reaching for that pitcher of wine to pour herself a 
glass. "Want something t'drink? You shouldn't let me get away with being a poor 
hostess and nay offering straight off. Sharath has sense, nay t'be haring off to 
the 'Reaches when Faranth knows quite enough greens rise *here*." A sound 
escapes her--a cough, but it might, just might, be covering a laugh. "And here 
I'd heard men liked t'be fondled. 'Twill have t'be correcting Alicienne on that 
score, hey? Poor lass; first flights aren't easy."

E'vrin eyes her -- laugh, was it? Hmph -- and shakes his head, fingers tapping 
against his elbow's crook on the chair back. "I'm fine, thanks, Kassi. I'd wish 
Sharath would show /some/ interest in flights again, but..." Moving on. Now. 
"I'm not saying I don't /like/ fondling -- how did I get to defending this 
position? -- but by her, like that ... yes, first flights aren't easy, and I ... 
wasn't the one for her." He underscores that with a vehement tone.

[I thought adding a little bit of something with Sharath would be good for
 future rp directions.  Get the dragon more involved, etc.]

Kassima leans back in her own chair, then, swishing the rich red liquid 'round 
in its glass. "He will in time, nay doubt of it. Didn't you tell me he's been 
flirting and flattering with greens again? 'Tis surely a good sign, and if'n 
*nay*, it can't be that much of a loss--nay more flights, nay more losses, nay 
more *wins*." Her glass lifts: a toast. "T'kar would be the right one, I 
suspect. 'Tis what 'twere thinking also?"

E'vrin mutters, "Down South. Not here. --I did ask if T'kar was around. It'd 
make sense."

Kassima tips up a brow. "He doesn't think as highly of Northern greens?" she 
hazards. "His loss--ours are Benden stock, the finest dragons of Pern--but, 
well, nay accounting for taste. I've a three-mark bet on those two weyrmating, 
made with C'row a'fore it became blindingly obvious. It had *better* make sense. 
They'll pair off, live happily ever after, and she'll likely nay need t'worry 
about lost flights anymore unless T'kar's the one t'win 'em."

"If only life were so simple," E'vrin spins off, the least bit cynical about it. 
All right, no 'least bit' about it: the subject's getting to him, to the point 
of hunching his shoulders again. "He's fine," he clips off then, "and Northern, 
Southern -- green origin doesn't matter to him. He's just not interested these 
days, and I'll leave it at that."

"For some people, 'tis." Cut Kassi and she'd bleed cynicism. "Some of us don't 
have that fortune, admittedly. Now, on those greens...." Her eyes fix on him, 
shrewd emeralds in shadow. "You may want t'be leaving it, but methinks you 
shouldn't--'tis obvious that it bothers you."

E'vrin growls back, "Maybe he's fine with not flying greens because I do enough 
flying for us both. I'd /like/ him to be the way he was before we were injured, 
but then, I'd like to be able to walk without a limp, too. All right?"

[He's being sarcastic, of course:  he doesn't sleep around that much, and
 certainly not enough to satisfy his dragon vicariously.  More likely it's
 suppression or Sharath just doesn't wanna, probably the latter.]

Kassima grants him a thin sliver of a humorless smile. "That's always possible. 
And," here she relaxes, some, into a role more sympathetic, "understandable on 
both counts. 'Tis easy, 'twill confess, for me t'forget it might be bothering 
you because you both do so well in Fall that I nigh lose recollection of the 
injury. Does *he* mind this chastity of his?"

E'vrin pauses, reaching in or perhaps just centering. "...No, he doesn't. And 
there /is/ this young green in the weyrling class--" He forces a smile. "Doesn't 
matter. What will be, will be. Perhaps we can go back to discussing the 
formations."

[I was thinking of the green ridden by E'vrin's (male) admirer, an NPC run
 by Maylia, but it could be any green.  Not important for the storyline.]

"Well, then... when she rises, perhaps." A small smile from Kassi's end, but 
unforced. "What must be, shall be. If'n 'tis truly your wish, 'twill drop it, 
but... ach, I wish I knew what t'be saying. Unhappiness has never become you. 
For what 'tis worth, 'twould give Sharath all of Lysseth's sexuality quite 
willingly if'n I could." And if the green grumbles a draconic equivalent of 'I 
don't *think* so, Tim' from her couch, well, Kassi's content to ignore it.

E'vrin allows a smile in return for that, directed past her at the green. "And 
how /is/ the lovely lady?"

Kassima glances towards the dark lump of dragonflesh in question. "Quite as 
irascible as ever; always nagging me about this or that or the other. And 
Sharath, he's well, apart from the aforementioned thing?"

E'vrin snorts, nearly a laugh, close enough to be one for passing in polite 
company. "'Thing' -- yes, he's fine. Is thinking about enjoying his stove's heat 
on his paws later, but I must discuss the wing's work with our leader, so he's 
being admirably tolerant and patient."

"Tsk. All work and nay play makes Sharath a frost-pawed dragon," Kassi mock-
remonstrates over her wine. "I do believe you've grown stodgy in your old age. 
Or responsible--I never can tell one from the other. Well, then. If'n the 
subject's the Wing--tell me, what d'you think of Leya? Though you've likely nay 
seen her much in action, with this pregnancy of hers."

E'vrin allows himself to be drawn away down this path, and he props his cheek 
against a hand over his chair's back, so that he might better blink at the 
wingleader. "Did the birth go well? Rumor has it that it's a beautiful baby boy, 
and there were male hands aplenty to be crushed.... I haven't seen her fight 
much, I'm afraid, but I've been impressed by her bond with her brown. Good, 
tight stuff there." A rueful smile. "Contrasts with a bronze weyrling I 
remember. Oh, and she seems pretty levelheaded, too. I mean, with the baby's 
father off at Fort for most of her pregnancy ... well, many women might've 
turned it into an excuse to weep and wail, but Leya never shirked her work that 
I heard of, and she was pretty cheerful."

Kassima brings her heels up to rest on the table in front of her, work ignored 
in her lap in favor of conversation and drink. "*Male* hands... 'twas m'hand she 
crushed, I'll have you know, and that blackguard I'sai wouldn't even stand and 
be tortured as is the appropriate male role at a birth. But it did go well--and 
I don't know whether it contrasts so very much; I remember a young rider 
grieving over what he'd done to his dragon by shutting him out." She wears a 
reminiscent--and rueful--smile of her own. "Well, then. That's a good thing. And 
Kena--what're you thinking of her?"

E'vrin points out, with something of a grin, "I'sai is only weyrmate of the 
father, not the father himself, so it naturally devolved onto you, as 
wingleader, friend, and only woman present -- was the healer a woman? Doesn't 
count, even so -- to have the crushed hand."
After a moment, lost to memory, lost to time, with his words and hers, he 
continues more briskly. "Kena. /She's/ a crisp one. I like having her as 
wingsecond; I know we're going to come back from every Fall with you two leading 
us. And anyone who can live with M'rgan, and make him happy..."

Kassima casts her eyes up towards the ceiling. "Faranth preserve me from 
befriending any more pregnant women, then. Well." Sip. Listen. Consider. "A 
difficult task, I'll agree. He has certain ideas about what Should and Should 
Nay Be, and can be a bit... emphatic... about promoting 'em. As you nay doubt 
recall. Good. So would you say, if'n I had a certain Wing project in mind, and 
decided t'appoint you and Leya and Kena t'work with me on it, that you could 
work with both of 'em? And me, but I'm assuming you'll say you could work with 
me whether you could or nay. I *also* recall you giving over-glowing 
descriptions of your Wingleader in case she might hear word."

E'vrin just smiles, cultivating innocence. "Did I do that? Ah, to be so young 
again -- or, no, I wouldn't like that. Youth and stupidity: not fun. But, of 
course, I could work with you and them, Kassi. If I could keep L'cher from 
strangling Jirel, and her from trying to make it impossible for him to live up 
to his name ... why, you three--" his eyes laugh, if nothing else about him does 
"--would be a welcome vacation. What's the project?"

"You were a decidedly foolish young man," Kassi agrees, without rancor--amused 
reminiscence, rather. "A shame Jirel failed, anyway; you could've allowed 
*that*. L'cher's already fulfilled his duty to the Wing by spawning more 
children than I could count on five hands." She studies the bottom of her glass 
for several long moments, then dips a hand into her jacket pocket; drawn out, 
she opens it again to dangle a tri-colored knot. "Wingseconding. Are you still 
game?"

E'vrin loses a breath.
E'vrin then says, not as evenly as he might've wished, "Do you toy with me, 
Kassi?"

Kassima raises a brow, and tosses the knot towards him. "Aye, I spent a part of 
m'afternoon braiding knots just t'be teasing you with one of 'em." Igen has 
nothing on her for dryness. "If'n you don't want it, you don't have t'be taking 
it, but the offer's made in earnest."

E'vrin catches the knot without thinking, and spends a long moment, himself, 
turning it around gently in his long, rough brown hands. "...No, I didn't think 
you were anything but earnest," he says at last, still looking down, "but -- 
after so long -- and worrying and /wondering/ -- it was an automatic response. I 
meant no insult, Kassima.
"Thank you."

Kassima's mouth curves in a momentary hint of humor. "I'm glad. I may lie, 
cheat, steal, drink, gamble, and commit various other vices, but let it never be 
said I'm nay *earnest* about everything." There's a space of silence. "So. 
You'll take it, then? 'Twasn't sure. You didn't think Wingseconding Sirocco was 
something t'celebrate, but... you've the experience and the intelligence. Traits 
I like t'be acknowledging. And Lysseth won't let me rest until I recruit more 
help, the bloody wherry hen."

"I was young, and foolish, and stupid," E'vrin reminds her, not without humor, 
himself. He sighs, sits back, braces his shoulders. His gaze is clear. "Yes, 
I'll take it. I'm honored that you'd consider me worthy of it after -- well, 
after everything. And do assure Lysseth that I'll help see that you get more 
sleep and less work from now on."

"Y'know, it isn't doing much for m'ego, this insistance on stupidity," Kassi 
points out, wryly amused. A sharp nod then. "All right. M'thanks t'you for it, 
and congratulations... or condolences, as may be more appropriate. I'm sure 
you'll do well. As t'your worth--our history has naught t'do with your 
professional aptitude, y'know. You'll make a good 'second. That's all that 
matters."

E'vrin looks startled. "Didn't even think -- /our/ history. I was thinking about 
being bounced from 'second down at Igen, and the injury, of course, having to 
come back from that.... Would -- /will/ -- there be trouble over a promotion, 
when we have a private history together?"

Kassima makes a dismissive gesture. "Oh, that--shells, I'm nay caring about 
that. From what I heard, you're the one who stepped down from Wingsecond, and 
the injury doesn't matter when you're doing well *now*. Rest easy. If'n there's 
trouble, 'twill fall on me and nay you, I should think--but if'n nay, direct 
whomever's hassling you t'me and 'twill be taking care of it. 'Tis naught you 
need t'worry about."

E'vrin just eyes her, with old, suddenly (re-)familiar exasperation. "Work 
yourself into an early grave," he scolds her as he rises, that new knot gripped 
firmly in his hand. "You /will/ delegate to me -- us? I'm not young, foolish, or 
stupid now, and I /am/ doing well enough -- I can take it."

Kassima grins up at him, another familiar expression if with most of the old 
humor lacking. "Only the good die young," she reminds. "I'll live t'be one-
hundred and twenty, more's the pity. You may be assured 'twill; you'll take your 
turn doing hidework and running drills with the rest of 'em. I don't intend 
t'spend time lazing on the beach as Lyss might wish, but 'twould like more time 
with the children."

E'vrin smiles. "Yes. Kris may not be excited about this, but I'll have to show 
it to him all the same. --Tomorrow; I'm for bed. If you give me leave, 
Wingleader?"

Kassima rolls her eyes, but does snap him the crisp sort of salute that would 
make her old Weyrlingmaster proud. "Dismissed, Wingsecond. Clear skies t'you and 
your lifemate, and 'twill expect t'see you at drills tomorrow, as always."

E'vrin inclines his head and takes himself out -- where, oh, yes, a certain 
pleased rumbling counterpoints its mate's excited baritone, before wings' rush 
takes them both away.

[Log ends.]