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Search and Marriage


Date:  July 17, 2004
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Lake Shore
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:  This I tell you, brother:  you can't have one without
the other!  Come to think of it, Lysseth's first Search took place at
a wedding too... so it's only fitting that the green should decide to
Search Claret, a very curious and entertaining young woman who's been
making her home at Telgar, shortly after Kassi and Metri are wed. 
Kind of.  Sort of.  Read on; you'll see for yourself. ;)

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The Log:

Metri heads over from the central bowl.

A groan is indicative that someone else is approaching; a mild curse, and
Metri walks into sight, scratching at his head and muttering to himself,
obviously not paying much attention. "This is stupid...all I want to do is
sleep." It could be thought from the conversation that seems to be occuring
between himself and himself that he might already have a dragon; however,
when he drops into a cross-legged sit only a few inches away from where the
waves lap onto shore, it can be said that he's probably just crazy. Poor
fellow. And even more crazy when he lays down on his side to eye the waves
on thier own level, his face on the sand and the particles of white sand
clinging to his clothes.

It's too late in the Turn for the Lake Shore to be the most comfortable
place on Pern, temperature-wise--but then, when is it ever? Kassi, being no
idiot, has thus retained her riding gear, and the leathers creak slightly
as she shifts on the rock she's chosen at a perch. She holds a dagger up
where the moonlight can catch on it, surveying the blade's edge with a
critical eye. "What d'you think?" she turns her head to ask Lysseth.
"Lethal? Enough to intimidate an obnoxious man at twenty paces?" The dragon
has more sense than to pay any attention to this, much less answer. And
look! Here's a convenient soul to provide distraction! "You're probably
never going t'get the sand out of your pants now, y'know," Kassi observes,
watching all this laying down with interest.

Metri rolls over, the sand making soft crunching against his movements as
he turns to face her. He actually blinks in surprise. "How did I miss
that?" he asks no one in particular after eyeing Lysseth carefully, then,
after a moment of looking at Kassima again, "Or you?" He takes her
observation with a vague shrug-like movement. "I don't mind; mostly used to
it, honestly," he notes, rolling back over half-way, facing the sky and
lacing his fingers behind his head.

"I really can't imagine. I mean, beings of such radiant gloriousness as
*us*...." Kassima drawls, very deadpan indeed. Lyss, though, takes a moment
to preen. You sing it, sister. "As t'how you missed the sand in your pants,
I'm nay sure of that one either. Are you *that* tired? Is being that tired
even possible?" Great, just what every weary Candidate needs: a greenrider
in an impish mood. "*Oh*. Well, aye, that might explain it. Pity for you.
How'd you get t'be used t'such a thing?"

Metri gives a roll of the eyes at that first comment, one which he hopes
isn't visible in the moonlight. As to why he can get used to sand: "Five
older brothers and an infinate amount of other boys who had seniority over
me. I've experienced it." Quite the understatement, that one is. "And I'm
so tired I can't see straight, thank you; I just can't seem to sleep in the
barracks at night. It's too--closed, I guess."

Kassima may not see it, but Lysseth's night-sight is keener. The rider
clasps her dagger to her chest in a pose of woe. "He wrongs us! D'you see
that, Lyss? He stands in doubt of our greatness, our beauty, our glory.
Clearly, he must now die." But since the knife doesn't go anywhere, this
probably isn't a sincere threat despite the attempt at a somber tone.
"Ahhh. Lads can be a pain i'truth; right glad I am that I lacked brothers,
and so lacked too sand in the pants. Nay used t'sharing quarters with so
many, then, even with the squadron of siblings?"

Metri grins at that, tilting his head back until he finally opts that
rolling over is probably a better and less painful option. He does so as he
speaks, ending up on his stomach and resting his chin on the back of his
hand. "Nah, I don't mind the people; it's the ceiling I think I have a
vendetta against," he admits. "Used to seeing the sky when I want to. I
wake up and it's all dark and there's no sky or moon or anything and I sort
of freak out."

Kassima picks up a whetstone from her lap to whisk the knife across once
more, then sets to polishing it with an oiled cloth. "Unusual complaint for
the Hold-born... so what are you, Trader-kin?" she wants to know. "There're
plenty who'd be horrified t'sleep under open sky. Though that's a fear
bound t'pass ere long."

"Guess it's not much different than Trader-kin," Metri says, scuffing a
boot-heel into the dirt. "I hate sleeping without it; been out here every
night since I got moved into the barracks, to be truthful." A thought
strikes him then, however, and he studies Kassima carefully. "What are you
doing out here so late?"

"But it isn't Trader-kin exactly." Kassi's interest has been caught. She
stops polishing the dagger in favor of cocking a curious eyebrow at him.
"So where *are* you from? I'm only guessing, a'course, that you aren't from
around here; but since you can't sleep under ceilings *and* were reluctant
t'bet, well, it does seem a logical conclusion. Y'know that if'n you
Impress you're nay going t'have an option of sleeping outside the Weyrling
Barracks, aye?" At the question, she rolls her shoulders and holds up the
dagger again. "Tending a few of m'knives. Easier in sunlight, mind you, but
the night's a more peaceful time. Think this one's shiny enough?"

Metri waves an okay at her. "Looks shiny to me; but it's pretty dark, so
don't trust my judgement." He gives this warning with a raise of the
eyebrows and a sage nod that dissolves into a dead-pan at the ground off to
Kassima's right. "Never quite know how anyone's gonna take to hearing that
I was Holdless. So far people here haven't swayed one way or another, but I
think I'm still adjusting to it; in a Hold they act like it's contagious."
He sneezes, then puts his voice at a higher pitch, wailing, "Oh, honey,
I've caught the Holdless, get a Healer!"

Claret heads over from the central bowl.

Kassima nods her satisfaction. "Good. I need it t'look very bright, and
very sharp, so that L'cher might cross his legs and squeal at the sight of
it, then run as fast and far as his feet can carry him. He likely knows me
too well for that, alas... but a lady likes t'have hopes. And so do I. So."
The dagger is re-sheathed with loving care. "Mmm. So long as you're nay one
of those who robs tithe trains and shoots at dragons and all that sort of
joy, I don't particularly--" She breaks off to laugh, rocking back on her
boulder perch. "Now, dearest," she squeaks back, attempting with limited
success to master the 'cowed husband' tone, "y'know what he said *last*
time! All you need's a good night's rest and a session of deriding Weyr and
Craft morals, there's a girl...."

Metri's eyes widen at the dagger's intended use; he stares at the weapon
before waving a hand and saying, "Well, I surrender now ahead of time, just
for the sake of being safe." A shake of the head and more widening of the
eyes--if it's possible--indicate that he wasn't /that/ sort of holdless.
"Nah, we made an honest living; working here, bartering there, working
more. No shooting at dragons. Occassionally greenriders, but that was only
when they started slathering and foaming at the mouth; it was for their own
good, you know." And again, his voice rises, this time a laughter beneath
it. "No, I need some numbweed and twelve pies. Hop to it!"

Claret drags her feet, scudding them along the ground as she makes her way
down to the lake shore, smothering a yawn as she approaches the water,
stumbling quite close to Kassima and Metri before she takes stock of their
physical presence, though she kept her ears wide open and attuned at the
first hint of a conversation. "Foaming?" she repeats curiously, peering to
see who the sources of the voices are, followed directly by a "Hullo."

Kassima puts on her most crestfallen expression. "But! But! That isn't any
fun at *all*. You're supposed t'put up a fight, or at least run and hide,
so there'll be some joy in the hunt!" She heaves a heavy sigh. "So much for
m'plans t'hold a raid on the Barracks and send the Candidates stampeding
next sevenday. What, you're telling me the slathering and foaming
greenriders *let* themselves be shot? Shameful. Just shameful. We should be
able t'dodge crossbow bolts and rip out throats with our bare teeth without
any effort at all; didn't they know that?" *She* is maintaining the
straight face admirably, but Lysseth has taken to hiding her head under one
wing. Her green sides quiver with laughter. "*Twelve* pies, lovey-sweetums?
Wait a moment! Is *that* why you've gotten so fat? You were lying about the
baby all the time, weren't you? And here I've been knitting little booties
with pink herdbeasts on them!" What a conversation to walk in on. Nor does
Kassi have much pity for poor Claret; turning to see the younger woman, she
greets her with a cheerful, "Aye, foaming. Have you nay seen a rider foam?
Quite a remarkable sight. And usually one followed by the messy death of
*something*, even if'n 'tis only a piece of baklava. G'devening t'you; can
you nay sleep under ceilings either?"

Metri is positively hooting laughter, however delerious it might sound with
his exhaustion mixed in. So many thoughts at once to process, and not one
of them without a humorous note has left the poor Candidate clutching at
his sides. Blame it on the weather and exhaustion; he sure will later on.
"Nah-uh, the ones we met tried to run away, but we were all hungry and the
babes were crying, and so we had no choice but to shoot her down and trade
off choice tid-bits with Tanners and weavers. Pity, it was; most of them
would have been worth a chance at marraige if it hadn't been for that
incessant growling and hiding in the bushes." A flash of teeth, a wink and
a salute greet Claret; however, after spotting Lysseth (he can't quite tell
if it's embarrassment or humor shaking the green dragon), he lapses into
another bout of laughter. "Oh, but you know I was only doing it 'cause I
know you have a fancy for that pretty little holder girl! You know, the one
with the hair? And anyways, the booties made good little napkins, if you
bunched them together...."

Claret stands still for a moment, looking utterly disoriented at the
barrage of highly unusual words--when placed together, of course. "Nah, I
never saw anyone foaming at the mouth before. Does it happen often? I
should like to see it!" Sounding quite enthusiastic about the prospect, she
pauses, trying to envision it. The vision doesn't last long, though, when
Metri's words bring images of people eating people or dragons eating people
or people eating dragons... Something beyond Claret for the moment, as is
just about every word that comes out of their mouths. And so giving a
little wave she rocks back on her heels for a moment to try to digest the
gist of the conversation, commenting only, "Couldn't sleep at all, actually."

Nor is Kassi beyond grinning, a little wickedly but also with plenty of
amusement of her own, at such paroxysms. "*Run away*! They deserved
whatever they got, then. Nay greenrider should be so cowardly! Though if'n
you ate 'em, *that* explains much; we're poisonous, y'know, and doubtless
all your kin have been made mad from snacking on greenrider flesh, though
you realize it nay. I'd bet you yourself go and foam in secret sometimes,
don't you? Better if'n you'd married--you could at least have hidden in the
bushes *together*, and growled for perhaps more pleasant reasons." This
just gets better and better. She does have the grace to grin sheepishly for
Claret--an apology for subjecting her to this, probably--before adding, all
indignation, "I do *nay*! Why, lovey, she could never compare t'you, nay in
the ways that *matter*. Besides, *you're* the one she's after. And I hope
you'll be very happy together, because I'm nay staying married t'some chit
who *derides* my *bootees*!" She gives her head a toss. "--Well, nay
*really*. When someone's proddy, mind you, it just might... Faranth,
another one. Must be a poor night for it. I hope you didn't come out here
hoping for peace and quiet; we're doing a miserable job of providing that."

Lysseth, meanwhile, finally pulls her head from beneath her wing, the
better to look openly, obviously, and no little bit exaggeratedly
long-suffering. Do you see what she has to put up with every day of her
life? Do you? Do you?

Oh, goodness. If he was tired when he arrived, Metri was only getting more
tired by the moment, but could do little more than giggle like a loon at
Kassima and Lysseth. "Perhaps /that's/ what's wrong with me," he offers to
Claret with an upturned palm, as though he is offering the comment up on
it. The more he sits thinking about it, the more he nods before saying,
"That has to be why Claret thinks I'm slightly crazy and more-than-slightly
daft." A nod, a grin: "But it wasn't that I didn't /love/ the booties! I
did, I did, it's just that with no babe coming I thought they should be put
to u--I'll have you know that's not what she told me about you, mister. And
I'll have you know that the little twit has no interest in me! And if she
does I'll have to rip out that pretty hair of hers." Well, not like any
dragon that may end up stuck with Metri is any better off, at this rate.

Claret swivels her head between Kassima and Metri, and the first thought
that comes to mind is vindication of her beliefs. In quite a satisfied
tone, she pronounces, "There you go! That's just what's wrong with you. You
must have eaten too many greenriders. But if you're inclined to that kind
of madness, I think you're more than a slightly crazy and much more than
slightly daft. I mean, really! Eating people!" Her tone is indignant as she
shakes her head disapprovingly. "I wasn't particularly looking for quiet.
I've come to the conclusion that the only really quiet place in this weyr
is the infirmary, and even there I've heard noise. Anywhere else you go
someone pops up and... Foams at the mouth," Claret fills in. "I think it's
-terribly- interesting, that way."

"Munching on greenriders would definitely make one more than *slightly*
daft." So speaketh Kassima, wise in the ways of cannibalism apparently.
"Methinks that may well explain *everything*." She was trying to sound
sage, but Claret's agreement--and perhaps phrasing--cause her to duck her
head so that her cracking up is slightly less obvious. "You used them for
*napkins*!" she accuses Metri in a deeply wounded tone. "How could you!
Slobbering greenrider blood all over them, I don't doubt! The chit
*lies*--and I'm starting t'think you lie, too; what will you do with her
hair when you have it, huh? Engage in some sort of depraved sexual practice
on whose nature I don't even want to speculate, I warrant! I don't know why
I ever married you!" Quite a mystery indeed. "She's a *cannibal*!" she
confirms for Claret, bobbing her head at this support. "Terrible, just
terrible, and you've clearly never been in there when someone's giving
birth. That's another excellent time t'see mouth-foaming... as I ought
t'know. You're in the Barracks too?"

Metri attempts to deadpan at Claret half as well as Kassi has been keeping
a straight face with him. He doesn't do very well, hardly enough to pass
for seriousness, but he looks at Claret levelly and manages to keep his
smile to a minimum. "Been thinking again, haven't you, Claret?" he asks
shortly, as disapproving as her own tone with him. He shakes his head
soberly, hoping that it helps cover up the fact that he's beginning to
chuckle again, a silent shake of shoulders. He fails at this hiding when he
spots Kassima trying the same thing; laughter is contagious, you know.
Dipping his head so the crown touches the sand, his entire body shakes for
a few good moments before he looks up again, apparently trying his best to
maintain a steady emotion while he's still awake. "You married me 'cause no
one else would, you dimglow. Even your /MA/ didn't want to keep you
'round." He points a finger at her, nodding and slitting his eyes in false
anger. "And I'd choke you with her hair," he concludes with a very vehement
nod of the head.

Claret nods her head, glad to finally have agreement, turning a sympathetic
look on Metri. "I knew you were a bit odd, Metri, but I never expected to
find out that the reason was cannibalism! That is just -beyond- the limit,
you know. Awful," she concludes, nodding at him and looking faintly
concerned. Not at all inclined toward laughter, she does double-take
slightly at Kassima's mention of marriage, but peering at the two for a
moment she concludes that it's something else she's just not going to
understand. Nothing so straightforward as greenrider consumption. "No, I
don't think I've been thinking very much. It's all very clear, you know,"
she informs Metri before answering Kassima's question with a decided shake
of her head. "Nope! Not me. Just him. Well, him and the other candidates."

"That's a foul lie!" Kassima cries, pressing a hand to her chest as if
stricken and then drawing herself up on the rock. "Why, there were *dozens*
of women--dozens!--who came to the Holding t'court me, but Mumsy wouldn't
give me her blessing to marry any pretty woman--she didn't trust 'em. Which
is how I ended up with *you*. And such a cold fish you are, 'tis little
wonder we haven't any babes yet! I can't imagine what the wench sees in you
at all! But she can *have* you, and you can have her hair, for all I care;
and you'll be left crying into your pillow at night, remembering what a
magnificent hunk of man-flesh you gave up." She tries striking a pose that
tries to hit 'martyred nobility,' 'righteous wrath,' and 'amazing
studliness' all at once and manages a grand total of none. Go figure. She
lets go of the stance to attempt to earnestly explain to Claret, "She's my
good-for-naught wife, and I'm her terribly handsome and gorgeous and
*quite* capable of making babies, thankee, husband. But now we're estranged
because she's caught a case of the Holdless and lied about being pregnant.
Or something. T'tell the truth, I've kind of lost track... aye, him and the
other Candidates, as you say. Aren't you a Candidate?"

"You too, eh?" Metri wonders of her through giggles. "Well, I know it's
your fault that we're arguing and I don't want to be married to you
anymore; I'll come crying to you later, swear it." It is with this that he
rolls back over, stares at his legs, and seems to will them to move. They
don't. Wait, there's a twitch. "Ah shardit." He pokes at a knee, gets
another twitch in response. "I'm going to try out the barracks again -
since the quiet out here seems to be doomed with us together." He gives a
wiggle of the eyebrows at Kassima, and his leg obediently bends in what
seems to be taken as a sudden movement by Metri. A poke at the other leg
and it follows suit, and soon he's rising not-so-elegantly to his feet.
"I'm sure I won't sleep any better, knowing I've lost that 'magnificent
hunk of man-flesh'--" a roll of the eyes and chuckle, because Kassima
certainly doesn't seem to be 'man-flesh'--"but I'm going to try this
sleeping in the barracks thing one more time. Need to get used to it, and
I'm opting sooner rather than later." He seems to make an attempt at
yawning at well, which comes out about as well as his legs did. "Well, now
that I'm not tired. Maybe I'll poke Lani with a stick until I am." He
plucks one off the ground for good measure, saluting them with it. "G'night."

Claret nods her head solemnly, in perfect understanding of Kassima's
explanation naturally. "Oh, I see! Well, everything makes -much- more sense
now. Only, of course, you two don't seem to get along very well at all,
which is just too bad if you're married. He--I mean, she--is not quite that
awful, is she?" she asks of Metri, turning a disbelieving glance and a wave
after him. "That's even worse than I thought!" Shaking her head again over
the vagaries of these particular examples of humanity, she corrects her
earlier statement. "Nope, I'm not a candidate. I seem to be meeting an
awful lot, though!"

Kassima gives a most morose nod. "Aye, and 'tis such a pity. Since despite
what I say t'her about being a cold fish," and she lowers her tone to a
mock-confidential level, "the truth is, quiet used t'be doomed anywhere we
were together for *much* different reasons, if'n you get me." She manages
one eyebrow-waggle before she has to dissolve in quiet laughter, waving
after Metri. "Sweet dreams, you cheating hussy!" she calls in his wake.
"Poor Lanisa. Faranth, is he *always* like that? Since you seem t'know him
better than I, marriage aside." A puzzled expression crosses her face at
this last. "Huh. That's strange, because I'd been told... I don't suppose
there's any way you could have been Searched and nay have noticed, is
there? Or nay recall it?"

Claret gives another nod of absolute comprehension, which may or may not be
present. "That's just dreadful. And to have a good marriage deteriorate
into bootie eating and name calling! I don't know what Pern could be coming
to. And he sure is always like that!" she informs fervently. "Or always
something not quite normal! I think he does foam, even if it's only in his
head," she confides. "The other day, he just about collapsed, and sounded
like he was choking to death. It was terribly distressing. I'm pretty sure
I haven't been Searched," Claret adds in a dubitable town, her brows
knitting together. "I get very forgetful once in a while, but I don't
expect I would have forgotten that, because it seems like it would be
important, don't you think? Maybe."

"I don't know whatever will become of us. Probably she'll run off with the
Holder wench as she said, but whether she'll also come crawling back...
whether I even *want* her to... I'm sure I could do better than her. Don't
you think? Why, I'm prime marriage material, me. All the pretty lasses
swoon in m'wake, wherever I go." Kassi sighs the sigh of the put-upon.
"Always such a mess. Well, the eating greenriders thing accounts for
head-foaming on his part. Collapsing and *choking*, though. I don't know
what could cause that. Unless 'twas a bone he was choking on; d'you think?"
Because no one would have noticed that he was munching on a greenrider
drumstick at the time or anything. Her own brows swoop down in thought; she
looks first at Claret, then at Lysseth, and then at Claret again. "That's
an oddity," she finally says. "Because Lyss is usually good about knowing
who belongs in the Barracks and who doesn't. I'd hate t'think *she's* going
mad now. You're dead sure you haven't been? There's nay chance you're just
denying it t'get out of chores or aught? You can tell me. I won't report you."

"Oh, naturally!" Claret agrees readily. "I bet you could have any girls you
like. It's too bad you're already married, because you can't get rid of her
now, can you? Even if she doesn't come crawling back, though perhaps she
likes you just as much as everybody else and is only pretending to hate you
so that you'll be jealous? But no, that would be far too sensible for her.
Alas!" Tapping her finger against her nose in thought, Claret shakes her
head. "Nope, pretty sure it wasn't a bone. He wasn't at all eating. I was
just saying something, and all of the sudden he falls over! You never know
what he could be hiding, though. Maybe it was his tongue?" Transferring her
finger to her ear, Claret gives it a tug, trying to remember if she went
sleepwalking and got herself Searched, somehow. "I expect I'm more likely
to be a bit touched than Lysseth, as people seem to say so rather
frequently, these days. So if I assure you that I'm quite certain I haven't
been Searched, you could be taking the word of a madwoman," Claret supplies
regretfully.

Kassima rubs her chin in thought. "I *could* always kill her. Then I
wouldn't have been sharpening m'knife for naught, at least. Only I'd have
t'explain it t'her family, y'know, and while I'm sure they'd be thrilled,
they'd *pretend* t'be upset t'try and get me t'pay marks in settlement or
some such. I can't have that!" Of course not; Faranth forfend murder should
come with a cost! "Jealous, now--that could well be! Unduly sensible though
'tis. She does have her *brief* moments of sanity. 'Twill bet that's it;
'twill just have t'go t'her and tell her, magnanimously considering all the
things she *said* t'me, that she doesn't need t'make me jealous. I'm a man
of honor, after all, and she *is* m'wife, even if'n she's a nagging hag."
Ah, love is truly in the air tonight. Kassima abandons her husband-pose to
chew on her lip, thoughtful. "Choking on his tongue. *That* sounds painful.
And for what 'tis worth, you seem sane enough t'me. So 'twill believe you,
but that leaves naught for it: *we* are clearly going t'have t'Search you
if'n nay anyone else has done so. Because Lysseth *can't* be wrong. The
world would come to an end." The greenrider rolls her eyes, then slips into
a slightly more serious mode long enough to confide, "Methinks this is the
lady's way of being stealthy, actually. Since I've gotten so exasperated
with her Searching ways a'fore." The air Lysseth has of being quite pleased
with herself would bear this out. She's watching both rider and Claret with
blue eyes that are much more focused than earlier, quite as if waiting for
the assent she's sure is to come.

"Well, after all, she has eaten many a greenrider," Claret points out
reasonably. "Perhaps you could champion one of those and then kill her? I
don't know the rules about murder, but I would think it far more acceptable
to murder a cannibal in defense of her victims, rather than a wife who's a
drag. What shall you do, though, if you go to tell her there's no need for
jealousy, and she tries to eat you? That would be a predicament. I should
hate to be eaten. Or to eat myself! Maybe that's what he was doing, the
other night? Not that I imagine tongues taste good. Although, he was
spitting out a few words now and then, so maybe he was just choking because
he likes choking? With Metri, you never know." As Kassima's more serious
tone soaks into her consciousness she blinks slightly, tugging away at her
ear again. "Search? Me? Like, becoming a candidate?" Claret sends a
skeptical look in Lysseth's direction. "Well, if she's sure... Though, if
she's always right, of course she's sure. I suppose that'd be all right. In
fact, that would be very interesting!"

"Nay t'mention that she goes around looking like a man most of the time,"
Kassima observes. "Hmmm. Kill her in vengeance for the greenriders. I like
how you think. But eat *me*? M'dear, deranged wife?" That
trying-desperately-not-to-laugh expression crosses her features again. "I
doubt I need fear that. After all, *I'm* nay greenrider, am I now? But what
if'n this Hold chit is actually a greenrider in disguise, and she hasn't
been *cheating* on me so much as finding snacks on the side? That would
explain so much!" Surely it would. And as further proof of how well 'he'
knows 'his wife': "Metri's the name, then? I'd wondered. And you're Claret?
I heard her call you so. Aye; here, let me do the formal thing--" She sits
up straight again on the rock, folding her hands in her lap and looking at
least a smidgeon more adult and rider-ly. "Claret, green Lysseth has found
you suitable t'Stand for gold Liabeth and bronze Alzaeth's clutch that now
rests on Telgar's Sands. D'you consent to the offer of Search? You'd
better. You *really* don't want t'try and tell Lyss that she's wrong." That
last is a bit less formal. When the assent comes, she grins, and grins
wide. "Oh, *thankee*! That's fantastic. I do apologize for the, ah,
somewhat unusual manner of it."

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

Telgar Weyr> Kassima yays! Remembered the command. ;) Congratulations! :)

Telgar Weyr> Claret applauds for herself? ;)

Claret waggles a finger warningly. "But you never know when her tastes
might change! After all, now that she knows greenriders have been driving
her slowly to madness, she might hunt for something a little bit more
bland. Something that won't slowly poison her senseless? I bet she's
snacking lots on the side," Claret assures, reinforcing the discomfiting
idea. Linking her hands together as Kassima reverts to a more formal pose,
she peers over at Lysseth with interest. "This whole thing is very
surprising, you know. But isn't being Searched always unusual? I don't know
because the only Search I ever saw was Metri's--yup that's his name, and
yup, I'm Claret!--and I'sai, I mean the Weyrlingmaster, made him put sacks
on and stuck him on Taralyth to do lots of spinny flying..." Claret breaks
off for a moment to accompany her words with appropriate expansive twirling
gestures, "And that was altogether strange, I thought."

Kassima affects a look of shock. "Are you implying--nay! Nearly stating
outright--that I am *more bland* than a greenrider? Madame, I assure you
that you've never seen a man less bland than me! I'm exciting, and spicy,
and wild beyond the wildest dreams, and... and... and a lot of other things
that mean 'nay bland.' So there." Raking her forelock back away from her
eyes, she admits, "Always unusual when Lyss is doing it, it seems t'me.
Probably always unusual for those nay Weyrbred, even if'n 'tis all done
according t'classic form. I'm nay surprised Is and Tear weren't according
to classic form." She flashes a quick grin. "Little they do is, thankfully.
Did he throw up? If'n Taralyth was being spinny, I'd nay be surprised--"

Claret puts up her hands in surrender. "Well, I guess so! Perhaps she'd try
to eat you knowing that you'd be just as tasty as a greenrider, only hoping
that she wouldn't go mad, since you aren't really one?" Claret suggests,
trying to rectify her stratagems explaining cannibalism. "I hadn't any idea
there even was classic form! Is that just saying what you said, when you
sat up? That'd be a terribly boring way to be Searched. I think one of the
best things about being at a weyr is how everything's all different. Or
rather, the people are all different. I don't think Metri did throw up, no.
We--me and Lani--were worried that he was going to be sick, and I thought
he might lose his brains or something, but when I asked him, he said he was
fine. Only scared." Cracking her mouth in a yawn, Claret covers it with her
hand. "I think perhaps I'll be able to go to sleep now. So I guess I ought
to, because it's -awfully- late. But thanks ever so for Searching me. I
mean, thanks Lysseth," Claret corrects, turning a nod on the green before
she heads off with a wave.

"You... have just made *perfect* sense out of everything," Kassima says,
with great difficulty, now, in keeping her face straight. "*Perfect* sense.
Now 'tis all explained. The bit I said was part of the formal way of doing
it, aye, though what's said may differ a bit; the classic methinks is the
dragon asking people t'line up, and looking 'em over, and picking out who
she wants, and the rider asks the question. I've done 'em that way, but Her
Ladyship hasn't deigned t'be *normal* in far too long. Anyway. Lucky Metri
t'have survived." She has to grin at the yawn. Sliding down from her rock,
she agrees, "The hour's late. But you're welcome, from both of us; and
congratulations--and g'luck, getting settled in. G'night!"

Claret heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering
lake.