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A Horse of a Different Color


Date:  March 1, 2005
Places:  High Reaches Weyr's Skyspace and Western Bowl; Lhiannonth's
Ledge; Josilina's Weyr
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:  The last time they met, Kassima and V'lano made sketchy 
plans to visit High Reaches and talk to Josilina about green runners 
together before parting on a tense note.  Tension or no, they're both 
as good as their word and soon head over to the Frozen Wastes to meet
up with Josilina and Sria once more in the wake of Matheny's shooting,
the better to share information and get a gander at the goldrider's 
newborn son.

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The Log:

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

<*> On the Star Stones, Llanarth warbles a greeting to Green Lysseth of
Telgar Weyr.

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

<*> On the Star Stones, Llanarth warbles a greeting to Bronze Volath of
Telgar Weyr.

<*> Lysseth gives a resonant trumpet in answer to Llanarth, the echoes of
which have only begun to fade when she begins her downward, westward spiral.

You circle lower in the bowl, towards the west wall.

<*> Above you, The trumpet's soon revived by the mere rumbling notes of
Volath, his own greeting far more subdued. He takes a little time, however,
to turn his wings sunward while sliding down in the Reaches air.

<*> Above you, Volath spirals downward in the bowl, towards the western wall.

<*> On the ground below, Sria strides out of the lower caverns.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Sruth, Lhiannonth, and Lysseth with << We come. >>
Abrupt, but not unfond, the Telgar dragon's greeting contains in turns
himself, his rider, and more - a Telgar green, encompassed in the
projection in sun-struck warmth, and her rider as well. << Mine wishes to
make greetings in person - may we meet? >>

Dragon> Sruth, Volath, and Lysseth sense that Lhiannonth welcomes the
visitors with a wash of light, warm and not altogether unsurprised at their
presence. << Welcome to you and yours. >> Such a greeting extends to both
bronze and green. << Mine says you are all welcome to come by our weyr,
unless there is somewhere else your riders would prefer. >>

<*> On the ground below, A folder of hides under one arm, Sria pauses
momentarily in the doorway to the lower caverns, then shields her eyes with
one hand as she glances up - and then to one side.

Lysseth> Sruth, Lhiannonth, and Volath sense that Lysseth waits until
Volath has made his greetings to make her own, crystal fragments glinting
under this less-familiar sky; << Our duties to High Reaches, and our
thanks. My Kassima would discuss green runners, >> as slightly amused
warning for brown and gold alike--or for their riders, more likely. << The
weyr is fine by mine. >>

You fly down to land gently on the ground.

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.

Dragon> Sruth, Lhiannonth, and Lysseth sense that Volath flickers light and
dark, reflections of stars on dark waters, in a moment's mulling over the
remarks of the green leading their flight trajectory before responding. 
<< And mine. >>

Dragon> Lhiannonth, Volath, and Lysseth sense that Sruth returns low
greeting and welcome, echoing the bronze's plurality, << Mine is near, and
glad to meet with yours. >> All of them. << They discuss much of green
runners. >>

In the sky directly above, Volath backwings to a neat landing on the ground.

V'lano slides down from Volath.

"'Reaches duties to Telgar and her queens," Sria calls, emerging from the
shelter of the weyr proper. One hand tugs loose the tie of her hair before
shifting to adjust the hides at her side. "Good to see you both - all -
again."

Lysseth may have taken her time about descending, looping long, lazy
circles through the sky, but once she's certain of her destination she
arrows for it straight: her landing is efficient rather than showy, ended
in flipped-back wings to permit her rider's dismount. "Here's hoping,"
Kassima says, voice raised to carry to both V'lano and Sria, "that this
visit is a bit less... eventful than m'last here. Duties to the 'Reaches
and her queens." She carries a medium-sized bouquet of flowers, which she
shifts from right hand to left long enough to do away with chin-strap and
helmet. "Thankee, Sria. I'm tagging along with Vel this time; I hope
'tisn't minded. Is there any news of Matheny?"

Volath's circles are somewhat slower, his descent more hesitant, but after
a moment he hits the bowl with a soft scurr of talons on silt and tucks his
wings as well. "Telgar's duties," V'lano echoes before even clearing the
grip of his straps. He's awkward getting down from the bronze's neck, a
leather carisak wound by its strap over his shoulder so it bounces against
his upper back, but eventually he's on the outstretched foreleg. "Much less
eventful," he murmurs, another repetition, before leaping to the ground and
offering Sria a faint smile marred by furrowed brows.

"Certainly hoping," Sria can agree, emphatic and not a little tired, but
she twists a wry smile soon enough. "Hardly minded. Weyrsecond," to address
V'lano, deliberate. "Not sure I ever got my congratulations to you, as to
that. Nothing new, last I heard," she answers Kassima. "We're all a little
calmer as it is, though no certainties on its usage as of yet. - I think
Jos'll be waiting," and eyes find flowers and sack both, though she says
nothing, indicating the steps to the Acting Weyrwoman's ledge. "After you
two."

"Barring an earthquake or something, at least the chances are good," is
Kassima's wry aside to V'lano, on the subject of hope; there's a flicker of
smile, too, before she gives Sria a more serious nod. "Naught new is better
than further calamity," she philosophizes. "I'm hoping for the best--which
probably goes without saying. Everyone doubtless is. Thankee--" She starts
for the ledge, after a glance to Vel; behind her, Lysseth settles in,
clearly anticipating something of a stay.

You go up to Josilina and Lhiannonth's ledge.

Lysseth> V'lano dips his head once at the Reachian 'second's very
particular greeting, the depth of his brows' drawn-down pull reduced by a
little more strength in his smile. "No news is good news," he remarks.
"Telgar offers its sympathies, and likewise hopes." The bronzerider fumbles
off his gloves, stowing them in the pockets of his flight jacket, putting
him a half-step behind the greenrider in ascending the stairs.

V'lano enters Josilina and Lhiannonth's ledge.

Lhiannonth warbles low to those coming up the stairs, shifting to further
clear the path from there to the weyr's entrance. Her tailtip flicks
towards the weyr's interior, an indicator that quickly becomes moot as
Josilina's voice calls out, "Come on in!"

Lysseth> Sria murmurs something about 'earthquake', casting her eyes
skywards before following the Telgar riders inside.

Sria enters Josilina and Lhiannonth's ledge.

Kassima inclines her head in greetings to the queen, and begins to nod to
this invitation before a low chuckle escapes at Josilina's seconding.
"Expecting us, i'truth," she agrees. "Thankee Lhiannonth."

You push back the curtain to walk into the inner weyr.

Lysseth> Volath settles too, but not before trodding the short distance to
what is, apparently, his favorite spot for two things: soaking up Reachian
sun and watching Lhiannonth's ledge. Both are done, after a time, somewhat
drowsily, befitting the lazy summer warmth.

Sria comes from inside out onto the ledge.

V'lano comes from inside out onto the ledge.

Lysseth> Lysseth isn't above sponging off Volath's idea of a good vantage
point, sidling a step or two that-a-way so that she can better see; better
gather sun with slightly-spread dark wings--and if it means being closer to
the bronze in the process, hey, bonus.

"Hi everyone. Kassima, V'lano, Sri." Josilina is cheerful enough for
someone pacing around a weyr, baby cradled against one shoulder. And if she
looks a little frazzled, well, probably goes with the territory. "Please,
c'mon, sit. Um... shards. Runner." She glances at the others, hesitating
before asking, "Would one of you mind taking Jorel for a minute? I put the
runner thing under the bed."

Kassima's step is slightly less hesitant this time, either because she's
getting to be slightly more familiar with this weyr or because she was
doubly invited. Or perhaps both. There's a mid-sized bouquet in her hands
of bright, tropical flowers, still looking fairly fresh. "G'day, Josilina,"
she greets back, with a smile that's all the warmer once she spots that
baby bundle. "I kept m'word about bringing something at least *vaguely*
present-like this time... I can be taking him? Are you doing all right?"
She looks over to the bronzerider who was behind her, offering him a smile.
"This is Vel's visit," she adds, "but he's letting me tag along, like the
shameless tagalong pest I am."

Sria shifts the hides she's holding to a corner of the desk - unwise,
perhaps, but for the fact that their work's much shared of late regardless
- and she waits a beat before holding out her hands for the baby. "I'll
take him if he'll have me," she replies, dry. "At least until one of you is
overcome with the desire to take him," she adds for Kassima and V'lano -
and relieved of the other burdens, perhaps.

"I haven't seen him yet," V'lano murmurs, obviously unaware that might be
construed as volunteering; his body language doesn't account for any such
recommendation, what with him sliding the leather carisak off of his
shoulder and unwinding its straps 'til it can be held low by them, then
slumped free on the floor near the weyr entrance and the easel. He leaves
it there for now and moves deeper into the cave, adding, "I'd meant to come
offer congratulations much sooner, when I heard. I - wish that's all I was
coming to do." It's an attempt, anyway, and he only fidgets the slightest
bit, clicking his left hand's thumbnail softly against the side of his
forefinger. At Kassima more than at the Reachians, though for their
benefit, he remarks, "Pest hardly. Shameless perhaps. Glad to see you 
both - " That, with glances at riders of brown and gold - "Even if 
circumstances are mixed."

"Thank you." Josilina half-blurts, moving to hand the baby over to the
first and closest volunteer - Kassima as it happens. "Or, one of you." She
tacks on at Sria's second volunteering. "Thanks V'lano." She looks slightly
confused, head tilting to one side as she moves to kneel by the bed. "What
else brings you this way then, dare I ask? - Here." She pulls out a sack
and, fishing around inside, draws out a green runner that rattles faintly.

"I can let you know when I'm overcome with desire," Kassima promises Sria
with droll humor. A pause. "Which qualifies as something I didn't foresee
saying on this trip, let me just say. Are *you* doing all right?" Directed
to Sria this time, accompanied by a glance towards that gift of hidework.
The offer of the baby, little surprise, distracts her somewhat, and turns
to give those flowers and a sheepish smile to V'lano, if he'll take them,
to leave both arms free for Jorel-gathering. If there's one thing she
knows, it's how to hold babies--and, unsurprisingly, doing so sends her off
to la-la land for a bit. There are moments spent smiling at and admiring
the child and not taking so much heed of conversation. "Always shameless,"
she absently agrees. "...The green runner. A'course. Nay anyone's come
t'you about it, have they? Nay anyone knows you have it?"

Sria's gaze slants curiously around upon V'lano's voiced desire, but she
takes the moment now free of hides -and- babies to sort a top section of
her stack into a free spot on the goldrider's desk. "Leaving these for
you," she tells Jos. "The rest are just sweep reports." She grins, now, for
Kassima's first, and even a little for the state the baby puts her in. "Oh,
fine. I've always wondered about having more hidework than I knew what to
do with," she drawls. "Truly, I'd rather replace unanswerable questions
than unfinished report work. But, they'll come."

V'lano does make himself useful, stepping quickly to Kassima's side to take
from her the bouquet even as the baby takes its place. He steals a grin at
Jorel, though, before moving off with curiously narrowed eyes, looking for
something - moving as if quite unfamiliar with the weyr, but not unfamiliar
enough with its owner to believe there won't be something container-like
just ideal for holding a thick gathering of flower-stems. "Vase," he
murmurs, helpfully, before interjecting for Josilina's benefit,
"Sympathies, some other official notes -" A glance at Sria on that - "and
to be in Kassima's way." Whose trip is whose here might seem to be in
question. "They can wait, for that." He dips a nod toward the runner, eyes
a bit merry, and goes back to looking for a vase, eyes falling thoughtful
on the effects that go with the easel.

Josilina pauses, green runner in hand to consider Kassima's questions.
"Actually, R'sel might've stumbled across it. I hid it with the baby
clothes. But other than him, no one knows, and no one's been by. And he
won't tell anyway." She lays the runner on an ottoman, as if on display,
glancing over towards the desk. "Right. I've got some things for you too
but they're..." she gestures vaguely towards a jumbled spread of hides,
"somewhere in there. I'll get 'em later." - "Don't have one." She answers
V'lano's search for a vase a little regretfully. "But, um, there're water
buckets near the paints, which could work."

Kassima doesn't look away from the baby, but her grin is probably more for
Sria; certainly her answer is. "Isn't it a happy, happy day when one's
curiosity is finally satisfied? And what will come--the questions? As if'n
you're ever in m'way," which is probably meant for the bronzerider,
accompanied by a fond look cast over. Serious sort of visit or not, Kassi
is holding an infant and this tends to bring her warm and fuzzy side out at
least temporarily to play. "R'sel should be safe. You'll *want* people
t'know you have it, if'n you keep it, once I've warned you of what 'tis
for. Where'd I leave off last time? I mentioned Vahara? You'll be wanting
him back, I suppose?" She probably means the baby, from whom she looks up
as she poses the question. A bit of regret there. Awww, Mom, he followed
her home, can she keep him? "Vel," added with a significant nod towards the
man, "has a green runner too."

Sria tilts against the edge of the desk, now, and folds her arms.
"Appreciated," for V'lano's sympathies, and she only lifts a brow for the
second - they'll come back to that, the lot of them - and she smiles for
the exchange between the Telgar riders. "The answers," she clarifies for
Kassima, "And yes, it's just thrilling. You know where to find me," she
tells Josilina, wry once again. "Who else has one?" she asks, at the last,
nodding for the information. "It was Telgar's M'tri who won the, ah,
contest, wasn't it?"

"As long as you won't need them soon," V'lano chuckles wryly, and
appropriates a bucket for the blossoms, which he fluffs the greenery of
somewhat ineffectively in an effort to make them look like they belong
there before straightening. A grin for the goldrider: "Nicely made one,
too, by the way. We'll excuse it being green and all. Must be a breed I've
never seen." His eyes are merry, and stay so as he cants a sideways nod of
confirmation toward Sria - though 'contest' gets a quirked brow and a dry
look at the greenrider. "Sometimes," he remarks, not unaffectionately, "My
classmates make me wonder."

"Vahara, yes. And the whole... kidnapping thing." Josilina agrees,
grimacing faintly for the related events. "If you're tired of holding 
him. - You've got one too?" That's with a glance at V'lano. "Why don't you 
start at, you know, the start. Why're you passing them out again?" She 
watches the greenery-fluffing for a moment before noting, "You can keep 'em 
near the paints. Maybe I'll paint 'em when there's, you know, time. Anyway, 
um, you all can sit, you know."

There's a moment's pause from Kassima while she weighs the question. "Best
all around," she decides, "if'n those who know what the green runners are
know where the false ones are, aye, in case there's ever word of one
somewhere *else*--M'tri won one, 'tis true. There was a SuSu-eating contest
at Ista some months ago." She meets Vel's eyes as she explains, and grins a
wry grin. "Nay just your classmates. I competed too, only I lost. But! I
out-ate M'rek. That's what I wanted t'do. And unlike him, I didn't throw up
on anyone's shoes. Anyway, Trii has one. Craftmaster Learan has one.
Masterharper Rodric has one. Vel has one. Josilina will have one--if'n you
accept it--" with a glance towards the goldrider now. "I have two left.
One's for Gerome, and one I'm going t'try on a friend at Igen. There's one
more, but I'm nay quite sure what M'rek did with it, whether he found
another way t'foist it on L'vor or what. I'm nay apt t'get tired of holding
him until he either wets himself or starts screaming, nay worries." Oh,
cheerful reassurance. "All right. Some months agone," she begins, while
edging over towards and settling into a seat with care not to jostle Jorel,
"someone or someones tried t'kidnap Vahara. One of the kidnappers was later
found rather... ah... colorfully dead, I gather. The name of the man who
hired him eventually came t'M'rek, and he and Gerome caught him in the
Sandbar. What I gather from M'rek is that once he was in a Bitran cell, he
told a story about a green runner figurine that 'twas believed Vahara owned."

"Classmates, and non-classmates," Sria adds with a smile, glancing to that
same greenrider - aware that Kassima doesn't quite fill that category of
relation. She nods next, "I'm at a loss to remember exactly where we left
off, but Vahara, aye. And my errand, if we're to get to it." Tallying the
names, and then: "Another way - was L'vor meant to get that one, then."
Half a question, and then a full one: "Which storyteller was that, do you
know the name?"

"Oh, Kassi." V'lano makes quite the face for that. "Don't give me images
like that. And don't - oh." His lips curve in overlapping turns wry,
soured, disgusted, amused, and he puts a hand to his mouth for a moment.
Finally he shakes his head and distracts himself finding someplace to sit,
leaving the bouquet fluffed in its bucket near the paints. "Wait, that's -
seven - no, that counts out," he decides, but looks a little uncertain of
the number, mouth pressed thin. He leans forward, elbows on knees, palms
loose between, and shakes his head.

Josilina nods as little at the list of names, kicking the now runner-less
bag of clothes back under the bed. "So basically they're all over the
place. That's smart." She grabs a chair from the back of the weyr, bringing
it towards the rest with a chuckle. "Lucky for everyone's ears, he tends to
take more after his father in his loudness. As in, he can't be bothered to
be, much." - "But what's the point?" Back to the runners. "I mean, wild
wherry chase and all, but what happens when they track one down to here, or
the Beastcraft or Harper or whatnot? More kidnapping?"

"Aye, I'd still like t'be talking about how best I can help you there,"
Kassima agrees with Sria. "Brigid, and the locating and questioning
thereof. Seems like he was--Trii winning was unexpected. I don't think
*L'vor* knew about this, mind you." Which is droll. "This was Osmor. The
bald man. He's the one who's escaped--someone broke him out; M'rek said he
had a friend with a crossbow...." The greenrider's voice turns slow,
thoughtful, as if an idea's just now hitting. "A'course, a crossbow's nay
such an uncommon weapon... sorry, Vel--just be glad you weren't *there*.
And weren't eating. On my life, 'twas the most disgusting thing in the
whole history of ever. I managed twelve of 'em," she adds with perverse
pride. "Eight runners total as best I know. Plus the real one, somewhere,
Faranth only knows where. Vahara doesn't have it anymore. She put it in
Stores, I'm told, and now 'tis gone--pinched, mislaid, who knows--'twill be
a task t'find it. Methinks the thought is that there's something inside
that they want; only last I heard, 'tis still nay known *what*." She
slouches a bit more in her seat and shifts her hold on the baby to one arm,
freeing the other hand long enough to rub the back of her neck. "I don't
think so. They *might* try t'steal it. M'rek seemed t'think they'd try
t'buy it first, and whoever has 'em should go ahead and sell 'em, and
mayhaps take good note of what the buyer looks like."

Sria slides into the desk chair, crossing her legs at the knee, watching
and listening. The propped ankle circles idly, irregularly, though she's
otherwise still. "Not one to Rodric, then?" she asks Kassima, first, and
glances across at Josilina's query. A gracious expression for the
Wingleader's first, which turns amused: "M'rek does a fair number of things
without the participants quite knowing. Osmor," decidedly more serious for
that, and recognition lights her eyes just as they're darkened by the
second part. "Right. It's thought this Brigid might know what's to be found
inside the original, or at least more about it. That is, if -she- can be
found."

"But Matheny would make an uncommon target, if I mark right," V'lano
remarks without acidity, apparently picking up quickly enough on Kassima's
trail of thought. "I can think of more common ones." That's a little
softer-spoken, and the end of it blends into a grimace - "Kassima, don't
tell me. Don't - I don't hear you." He raises his hands, sporting at
covering his ears. "I can't hear you." But the palms never come to touch
his head, so he must hear, and does hear, since he adds atop it all, "If
what's within's so valuable - Kassi, you told me not to let them open it
near or with me once the buyer's got it. But whomever's sent to buy - do
you think they're really going to be the buyer?" A brow twitches. "Maybe
they should be tracked." His head cants toward Sria on that, for what she
said: "For the first one, anyway. After that, I think it'll be a different
game played."

"A friend with a crossbow?" Josilina echoes, eyebrows arching. "Well maybe
if we find one we can find the other." She doesn't sound overly hopeful for
the eventuality however. "Stealing... but not something worse? I mean, of
what they might do?" - "We sort of doubt Matheny was the target." She
agrees, a bit grim, with V'lano. "Oh don't let them open it!" She's hasty
with that point. "There're only pebbles inside." She doesn't have much to
say for Osmor or anything else, though a furrow in her brow implies the
information likely won't be easily forgotten.

Kassima shakes her head at this. "One t'Rodric," she says. "He was my idea.
So was Josilina, truth be known. You did say you wanted t'know more about
'em," she explains to the goldrider, with a crooked grin. "You can be
turning it down, though. I can't promise there's nay danger attached to it,
although if'n I thought 'twas likely...." Well, that's a sentence that
doesn't need finishing, and she doesn't. She grins over at V'lano instead,
no little wickedly--for bugs, no doubt, not the first; that instead gets a
sobering and a nod of agreement--then says honestly, "I haven't the
faintest. It keeps sounding like 'tis a 'them'--this Brigid was one of
'them' a'fore Gerome turned her somehow?" she asks, looking to Sria for
confirmation. "If'n so, there might be several buyers, buying for someone
else. That's why I'm thinking it might be useful t'know what each one looks
like, whether 'tis the same person, aye? Just in case. But that's my idea
more than aught M'rek told me t'tell the runner-recipients." Her attention
returns to Josilina then. "What I'm thinking M'rek is thinking is that so
long as they can get ahold of it, they won't resort t'more drastic
measures. So 'tis important that you *are* willing t'sell it. Nay too
cheaply, but sell it. Mayhaps keep an eye on it other times... but if'n
they find a time you're nay around and try t'be stealing it, I'd just let
'em, personally."

There's a beat after Josilina's clarification of target, and Sria's
expression is measuring. "It being pulled off at Ista, for one thing." -
"Is it about creating replicas of the original, or creating lookalikes that
happen to exist, so that the seekers discover there's more of a hunt to it
than they might've thought. Am I wrong? As strange as a green runner
figurine might be, it's not anything so unusual to find in more than one
place." - "Right," she shakes her head, sorting. "You did say Rodric. As
for Brigid, well, it's difficult to say who's turned which way at Bitra.
But she may know enough that it'll be worth exchanging marks for the
information."

V'lano chuckles. "Colorful pebbles?" Can't blame him for hoping, or for
hoping to tease. He straightens from his elbows-on-knees lean and turns a
shaking of head toward Kassima, for one part of the ongoing conversation or
another. "Just my point. There'll be someone to follow them to, and that
should be consistent - but not my plan to make," he assents, taming himself
with a shrug, intensity draining from his eyes.

"No, I'm fine with them stealing it." Josilina says quickly, "They can go
right ahead. Can't say I'm particularly attached to the thing. Especially
since it's the one with the crooked foot." She eyes said slightly crooked
foot for a moment before shaking her head. "Sri's got a point." She agrees.
"What about when they've hit spot one, two and three and start to catch
on?" - "Some're pink." She admits, almost sheepish. "And a couple red. I
got tired of green paint."

"The Sandbar seems t'have more than its fair share of interesting and armed
people in it," Kassima mutters, and distracts herself by smoothing the
baby's hair, if he has any. Smoothing his skull, if he takes more after
Uncle M'rek. "That I don't know. I don't know what sort of replicas they
can be--how exact--if'n nay anyone's seen the original. Methinks the main
goal is just t'give them a lot of potential leads t'be following in order
t'distract 'em while M'rek finds the real one, but he's the one
t'ask--marks. Aye." The idea gets an unsurprised nod. "Hadn't thought of
that, but I should've. I assume the marks aren't a problem?" Her grin for
Vel's tease fades into an understanding expression, and a headshake of her
own; she says to the bronzerider, "Nay mine either. M'rek's the brains
here. He did tell me t'be letting those I give 'em to know t'be contacting
him when aught happened regarding 'em--or contacting me, since he has this
fool notion that he can't accomplish aught while he's stuck at Ista. Given
how much he's getting done, I find that a bit ludicrous. You said you might
go t'Ista--discuss it with him, if'n you've ideas? And let me tag along
if'n you do?" But of course. She sounds sincere about this suggestion. "I
don't know that either. It could be they'll stop following the false leads
and come up with some new plan. I'm just guessing, but I suspect this is
just t'buy time--you mean there *are* colorful pebbles?" She blinks once,
and then her shoulders hunched with laughter suppressed for Jorel's sake.

Sria's mouth curves for V'lano's tease, and the payoff on it from Jos. But:
"-Would- they catch on? So spread out, what is there to catch on to? That
might be just the idea, this artful dispersal. Right," to puncuate
Kassima's words. "Buying time, distractions; and no," slightly amused, for
the matter of marks, "I'm told I'd - we'd - be repaid." She pauses a
moment. "The thing is," to V'lano, "There are so many plans. One way or
another. I hope you're telling him as much," is lightly put for Kassima's,
"Ludicrous, that is."

"M'rek's the brains. Help us," V'lano laughs, but there's a thinness to his
humor which he in turn discards in order to nod to the Telgari wingleader,
suddenly solemn. "I will, Kassi," an assent that's vague at best. His gaze
turns back to Josilina, plainly pleased, though it's the greenrider he
still replies to, utterly deadpan. "Of course there are. Haven't you ever
looked at any? Rocks come in all kinds of colors. You should know that." As
if this is an important detail the woman's missed all of her life. "And
they come in even more colors if Josilina's had at them," he points out,
with a respectful - all right, perhaps grinning - nod for the goldrider.

Indeed there is hair - whispy auburn, at that, and Jorel has a soft gurgle
for the smoothing. "It would buy time, at least." Josilina muses, nodding.
"He won't be stuck at Ista much longer, I'll bet. I mean, no telling how
long these things take, but it's been a while now, hasn't it?" Again she
seems sheepish, though more amused now, for the pebbles. "I got tired of
painting things green! I had to try another color. The one with the longer
nose has blue pebbles, too." - "M'rek's got brains." She objects. "That
come up with risky ideas. But don't sell him short." The business with
colors does bring a grin though.

Kassima hazards, thoughtful, "If'n 'tis just one man doing the buying, they
might--mayhaps. If'n 'tis several, 'twould think 'tis rather less likely.
If'n they want it badly enough they might have t'follow up on every lead
even knowing most won't pan out... but 'tis likely important for those who
have 'em t'*nay* let on they know what they are, or rather what they
aren't. Aye? Innocent bystanders who found 'em at Gathers or got 'em as
gifts. Or prizes for eating melting bugs," a tease that's purely for
V'lano. "'Tis well. Although that reminds me that I need t'be asking M'rek
if'n he's still doing that dinner and smackdown thing, since a pair of
tickets was m'repayment for the kidnapper's name--I bought one for you,
too," is her cheerful explanation, again to Vel. "I tried t'tell him.
'Twill again if'n he fusses more. 'Twould nay put good odds on his
believing me, mind you... he has a good brain for twisted plots, methinks."
The nose-wrinkle Kassi gives Vel is not for brains, though, but for rocks:
"A'course! I've even painted 'em m'self, from time t'time, only I haven't
painted them and then put them inside a runnerbeast. For some strange
reason. I'm guessing," rather deadpan herself now, "that none were orange.
I'd stake about a month left on those eggs, personally. Mayhaps a bit more.
I wonder how drunk he'll get the moment Ulfianth allows him again?"

Sria drums the fingers of one hand against the armrest, just once, and then
unfolds her legs to lean forward. "Shouldn't be too long," she agrees. "At
Ista. A few more sevendays, a month, maybe. M'rek's nothing short of
brilliant when he wants to be," she adds, very casually. "Dinner and a
smackdown," she's only vaguely curious at that: "That'd be the bit with
Gerome, wouldn't it. They've held off this long." Now she's mock-impressed,
though perhaps a shade of true revelation. "Mmn, he's not so good at the
believing, at times." - "Very," she adds with a grin for the last. "Though
I'm fair amazed at Ulfianth's will, as to that particular issue."

"No telling," V'lano laughs, "If it's the queen you're asking." Rueful but
not displeased, there, and he raises his hands to fend off the goldrider's
objection. "I don't say he doesn't, Jos - just help us if - " His eyes turn
wary and slide to Sria. Midsentence, midflow, he corrects, "Josilina. - The
way she put that. -The- brains." He shrugs, laughs softly. "Risk, as you
say." Ears red by now, he turns his attention back to Kassima, which means
he's paying attention just in time to get that note of bugs and reply with
a grimace. It turns promptly to a faint smile: "Ticket? Seems to me
breakfast is still in the works from you, Kassima, but we've been busy. I
forgive you." So kind of him. "And if Volath'd kept me away from wine -
well, my stomach might have hurt less a couple times. Maybe he's got
something to learn." A brow crooks, again rueful.

Josilina lifts her eyebrows for 'dinner and a smackdown' and then a chuckle
for orange pebbles. "Good guess Kassima. None gray, either. - Ulfianth
isn't letting him drink?" There's surprise for that, a bit of news not
previously known. V'lano's floundering gets another eyebrow lift and she
shakes her head a bit, "Nevermind. I was just saying, he knows what he's
doing, I think. Most of the time."

"He is," is Kassi's simple agreement concerning M'rek's brilliance. "Was it
Gerome? I should've figured. Never got that many details; I came in on him
and Caritha discussing it once, and with seats at three marks apiece, two
in exchange for what I paid was a bargain for me. M'rek *hasn't* looked
beaten-up lately, has he." Quite as if she hadn't registered the oddity of
this before. "Methinks he is the main one working this out, devising the
plan... Gerome might be assisting." Yeah, that'll reassure. A soft laugh
and she's freeing a hand again to hold out to him, maybe try and catch his
hand briefly and squeeze its fingers if he's near enough; if not, it's
simply a fond gesture. "True, so true, so you'll need t'be talking to that
orange-haired clutchmate of yours about when he'd like t'be served. The
ticket's separate. I figured a seat at a fight and then dinner afterward
would be if'n naught else an *unusual* gift." Well. Yes. She probably has a
point. And the talk of gifts causes her to brush her fingers against one
ear and the sapphire dangling from it before curling her arm back around
the baby. "Isn't," she confirms. "So he's said. Nay drinking while he's
staying at Ista. I can but wonder why he hasn't gone mad by now."

Sria lifts a brow for V'lano's correction, but she only lifts one shoulder
halfway in reply, barely a movement at all. "-The- brains, maybe. Not that
he'd know it. Or admit it. Risk." That's only agreeing, if perhaps in a
different way, and she politely shifts her glance from his flush, to
Josilina: "Apparently. I hadn't heard about it til just recently -- I think
it was Gerome," now to Kassima, "They're an even match as anything. And he
hasn't, not since," swift replacement, "awhile. Until the other day, but,
he's been hit that way before."

"Does he -usually- look beaten-up, or just like he hasn't slept since
Impression?" V'lano's smile turns crooked, and on that he shakes his head,
lifting hands again - not this time in defense, but in acceptance. He
watches the greenrider's brush of her ear-bob and seems somewhat relaxed by
the motion, pleased, even. "No complaint here," he informs the other
Telgari, then falls silent - for all intents and purposes listening,
watching Jorel off and on.

Josilina tsks, oh-so-softly, "Not drunk or beat up in a while. I'm with
Kassima, I'm surprised he hasn't gone mad." But it's lightly said, meant in
jest. There's some grimacing for the repeated mention of Gerome's name but
she keeps from commenting, picking up the green runner instead and turning
it over in her hands. "So what do I do Kassima, if I take this? Just stick
it on one of my shelves and wait for some scary men to come and steal it?"

Kassima agrees with Sria, "I'm nay sure who else it might've been,
really--Rodric? That could've been a sight too. Anyway, I hope 'tis still
on; I've never seen him fight, and I feel oddly deprived. 'That way' in
what sense? By an angry Weyrleader?" By her tone, she finds this
possibility perfectly plausible. "These days he usually looks restless,
methinks," she replies to V'lano, thoughtful again. "Other days? Aye, for
awhile there it seemed like he had bruises whenever I saw him. D'you
remember how everyone but the Telgarian visitors was eating tripe during
part of the campout? Did you ever hear the explanation for that? M'rek and
Gerome were brawling and broke up the kitchen, and it vexed the Bakers
sorely. He got his nose broken that time." Ah, memories. Her eyes, looking
towards him, note the direction of some of his attention and she realizes,
"Shells, I'm hogging the baby. I'm terrible. It's been yonks since I've
held one so tiny and well-behaved, is all. Did someone else want t'hold
him?" The boy's auburn fuzz gets another stroke as she asks. Grinning wryly
Josilina-wards, she says, "Sort of. Keeping it on a shelf is fine. You
might let it be known that you have it. Talk about it in the Living Cavern
in front of the worst gossips you know. Make a fuss over it, mayhaps. Then,
if'n someone should approach you--anyone--wanting t'buy it, sell it to
'em... hmm. Methinks you should choose your own price. Then send word
t'M'rek--and send word too if'n *aught* odd happens with regards to it,
including someone just asking a lot of questions about it."

"I think he gave up sleeping a bit before Impression, actually," Sria
drawls to V'lano, amusement surfacing as she glances sidelong to Josilina.
The goldrider's words part her lips into a smile: "I'm sure he'll set
things right once the eggs crack. We'll not see him for a few days of the
bender, and then not recognize him for all the bruising." Said cheerfully
enough. "Mm-hm," she confirms for Kassima. "That particular Weyrleader,
even. Though the last time, the punch was even less deserved." She doesn't
comment on the next, not until: "I get my fill of him, aunt's privilege, so
go ahead, V'lano." Whether or not the bronzerider was really itching to
hold the baby.

"Mine's waiting for scary men to come offer me marks for it," V'lano
volunteers, softspoken, but he settles for nodding at Kassi for her
explanation after that, though he shakes his head about the campout -
either that's a memory unshared, or suppressed, by the slight merriment in
his dark eyes. Sria gets a less jovial look, though, either for her note
about M'rek sleeping, about M'rek being punched, or about the baby - and
look here, he holds his arms out to Kassima after that. "I will," he
murmurs. The man can be taught.

"I'm good at making a fuss!" Josilina is cheerful for that fact, at least.
"Tripe?" That echo is simply curious. "Or we'll recognize him better for
the bruising." She puts in with a sidelong grin to her sister. "You don't
have to, if you don't want." She puts in, watching V'lano as he reaches
out. "I'll take him back, if it's wanted." The runner is subject to more
consideration before she nods. "I'll take it. I mean. Life's not
interesting until you're waiting around for scary men to take some green
statue from you, right?"

"D'you suppose he'd accept company on any of this bender?" Kassima asks
with a sort of hopeful humor and a decided grin. "I haven't gotten sloshed
m'self in... shells. I don't think since Roddy and I did shots at the
Sandbar. Must be all the distraction." The green runner gets a glance at
that, yes, but so does V'lano, and her eyes dance with mischief. "Really.
Is that a story you can be sharing? I don't think I've heard this one, and
I'm curious now." Indeed. She wouldn't seem to find the concept of a
Weyrleader punching M'rek particularly scandalous, either; go figure.
Beaming at Vel, she rises in her chair a little to better transfer the
baby--setting him in those outstretched arms just so, with a murmur of,
"Careful of his head; there, now...." Looking over to Josilina, she laughs
outright if quietly: "Exactly so. Exactly. I'm terribly despondant nay
t'have one of m'very own, but I'm sure M'rek can find some other way for me
t'lure scary men if'n I ask him." She winks. "Thankee for that. Ach, you
hadn't heard about the tripe? After that fight in the kitchens, Master
Myriana put tripe in all the food at Bitra. Nay anyone was allowed t'eat
clean food except the visitors until M'rek and Gerome apologized, and that
took a bit with M'rek bed-bound for awhile."

Sria chuckles at V'lano's first, regardless of the look she then receives -
she's all guileless expression. "Point," allowed for Josilina, and then,
"Your company, Kassima, I'm sure he'd adore. Story? Mm, I don't suppose
it's any sort of secret, do you think, Jos? It's no long tale, really." For
the tripe, she adds, "A particularly spectacular fight, that one, judging
by the results. I heard the meal situation compared to the eel episode,
here - something of the same," she provides for the Telgari, "there was
nothing but Myriana's eel for -months-," and she tells it as if its been
told to her, rather than experiencing it firsthand. "Though I'm sure the
tripe couldn't have been as bad."

"No, I don't mind. I wanted to see him," V'lano protests, if something so
gently said can be a protest at all, while curving his arms - awkward,
aiming to keep Jorel's head higher in the crook of one elbow than the rest
of him along the length of the other forearm - around the baby. "Is this
not interesting enough?" He's transfixed by the child's face for a moment
before his heavy brows slide up, leaving him to gaze at the goldrider,
wide-eyed. A smile follows, a beat late. "But - I'll admit I practically
begged for that kind of interesting, so I can't blame you for taking it.
Kassi'd be ashamed to tell you how much I wanted that statue." Outside of
that pleasant, conversational smile, he's all but deadpan. Most carefully,
he doesn't actually look at the greenrider. Business of tripe and eels
slides by with only a grimace and a nod; business of Weyrleaders punching
bronzeriders - well, that doesn't even get the grimace, just the nod alone.
Besides, he's holding a baby; he can't express or talk or breathe -too-
much or the infant might spontaneously break.

"I'll lend you my scary men, if you want, when they come around." Josilina
offers, all bright and chipper. "Tripe? Ah. Sounds like when they served a
bunch of jerky here. And the eel legend." She nods at Sria's more detailed
retelling of the eel incident. "What she said. - Actually I think tripe's
pretty much grosser than eel." Jorel doesn't fuss at the transfer, though
there's a little wriggling and another gurgle. Clearly he has his father's
temperment. "Oh! Don't get me wrong. I'm all for the interesting of
visitors and... and... reports." She nods to the hide-cluttered desk. "But
scary men is an extra-special kind of interesting."

Kassima settles back in her chair; and just like she was initially
distracted from conversation by the wonder of holding Jorel, now she's
distracted by watching V'lano do so. She might be sheepish about the soft,
affectionate smile that she wears if she were aware of it. "'Twill ask him,
then," she decides, drawing her attention away and fixing it on the
brownrider instead. "Tales don't have t'be long t'be worth knowing. Were
the eels caused by M'rek *too*? Shells. I'm glad Ofira never seemed t'take
it out on us when someone misbehaved, or Faranth alone knows what we'd have
been eating after she had t'whack R'val with that frying pan. Even Lord
Vorlin had t'eat tripe. Talk about things I never expect t'be seeing
again." Her eyes linger on V'lano again, and perhaps now it's not his
awkwardness with the baby that makes her smile. In fact, it had better not
be, given that the smile has a certain amused and almost wicked quality.
"Oh, he wanted it," she blithely agrees. "Wanted it very, very badly.
A'course I had t'be obliging him. Ah! Will you, Josilina? That's just too
kind." This is said merrily, with gleaming eyes, but a moment later she
falls semi-serious. "I'truth. I don't anticipate this sort of problem, but
if'n the scary men *do* cause some sort of unpleasant fuss--you can call
t'Lyss if'n help is needed and we'll come. I really don't think it likely,
mind, but I'd nay feel right nay offering. There was jerky too?"

Sria watches bronzerider and baby, and there's a smile for the words,
"Would she be?" Lifting light eyes to Kassima, who does elaborate, if not
much. "Not so long-lived, though, the tripe. Some were afraid the eel would
never end, here, and no," she laughs, "Not M'rek. That episode was,
thankfully, before even my time here at 'Reaches, if just. Story, well.
S'rist had M'rek mistaken for a different rider, one who, shall we say, had
certain relations with the Weyrleader's daughter she'd not yet had with
anyone." - "And you know Sruth's always within reach, for Lhia," she adds
to Josilina.

"And Volath," V'lano adds, on the tail of Kassima's offer and Sria's.
Experimentally, he crooks his hand up over the bundle in his arms and runs
a finger tentatively over a tiny hand, along the edges of tiny fingers,
should they stay put for such curiousness. Looking up from the baby again
with, perhaps, some effort, he turns his gaze to Sria with a grin. "She
would be, I think, if I pressed. - I should, before I forget, make plain
Telgar offers any help it can give." He turns his head to sweep Josilina
with his gaze as well. "And I do, personally. Even if it's just stacking
hides and tallying records again," which is a tease, even reminiscent - so
little time past, and reminiscent just the same.

"I think the jerky was..." Josilina tips her head, thoughtful, "during
Lhia's first clutch. 'Cause I remember I couldn't get away from it. I think
that was then, anyway." She nods, falling more serious as well. "Thanks."
Another nod extends the thanks to Sria and V'lano as well. "I appreciate
it. I'm sure it'll be fine. And I know how to... throw things." Always a
helpful skill, after all. "And here I thought I'd scared you away
completely, making you do that the first time." She teases V'lano in
return, adding, "Thanks for that too. And to Telgar," a glance extends that
to Kassima.

"Ah." Kassima mulls over this and eventually offers, dryly, "That's the
first time I've ever heard of M'rek being taken for G'rad, if'n I'm
guessing my principle parties correctly. *Eel*. I wonder what it tasted
like." She's serious. Faranth help her. V'lano gets a quick-flashed smile
when he offers his own aid, surprised but approving, and merely a chortle
for the question of her shame or lack thereof. "Aye, I don't want
t'distract from your reason from visiting, Vel. Didn't you have a
carry-sack when you came in...? 'Twill second that offer," she tells
Josilina, after managing to look away again--none too speedily--from the
bronzerider-and-baby saga. "If'n there's aught I can do. I can at least
begin t'imagine how chaotic a time this is for the 'Reaches. 'Tis welcome
you are, a'course. What sort of jerky *was* it?" Another smile for 'throw
things.' Natch.

Sria nods her agreement for Josilina's thanks. "Appreciated," she says once
more, and she laughs for Kassima's dead-on reply, a touch surprised. "You
guess correctly. Eel's not so bad, just -that- much of it, I can imagine -"
She pauses, "Chaotic, not for how it settles but for the event itself,
really. Much appreciated all the same." She glances to the left-behind sack
as it's mentioned, and adds, "You've not too terrible aim, either."

"You didn't make me," V'lano laughs, softly, suppressing most of the
chuckle - Jorel might somehow fly out of his tenuous grip if he were to
shake so much. "I practically begged you. I don't think I do well being
idle, if begging for hidework and green runners is any indication," though
his eyes are a little solemn about the latter. Fascinated by the little
fist beneath his fingertip a moment longer, he tilts his head to look more
carefully into the baby's face before continuing with blithe
non-non-sequitur: "Eel is chewy, best oil-fried in batter, mild,
overpowered by wine." A look at Sria: "I imagine it gets tiresome." He
finally allows his attention to cast back toward the thing he'd unburdened
by the door, mouth widening from the pensive smile of baby-staring into a
broad grin. "Oh, that's for him," he explains, simply, and as there's no
other him in the room but himself, just looks simply at Josilina. "If you
want to take him back I can go get it?"

"I like eel." Josilina puts in on the subject, however unhelpful the input
is. "Not sure about the jerky. Just... jerky." She nods to V'lano, getting
up to take Jorel from him, the baby's gurgle taking on a vaguely plaintive
edge - as well as a gurgle can - at all the movement. "Thanks Sri." Said
with a grin as she settles Jorel back into her arms. "Somehow though, I'd
think your being Weyrsecond would dampen your urges to subject yourself to
even the thought of anymore hidework."

Kassima crooks a wry grin. "Emilly's an old friend of mine," she says by
way of explanation. "There was a time once when Telgar was infested with
fish that way, come t'think of it--I made excuses t'be eating out of the
Weyr every chance I got. Bless indulgent relatives who cook." She gives a
nod then, for the next. "I imagine 'twas rather unexpected, if'n naught
else. And, Vel--'twere scarcely *idle* when you begged for the green
runner." Very, very deadpan. Her dancing eyes just dare him to deny it,
should he dare look at them in the first place. "You've had eel? When,
where? I want t'try some. We had plenty of seafood available at Greystones,
a'course, but if'n eel's ever been served at Da's holding at least then
I've missed it--I can fetch it, Vel, if'n you'd like t'keep hold of him?"
But she's a bit too late, and has to smile when Jorel protests. "'Tis a
hard world sometimes, lad," she murmurs, with a soft laugh.

Sria makes a wide-eyed face at Jorel during the tail end of the transfer,
when he might see her, and proceeds to agree with V'lano, dryly, "I'd
imagine so." A nod for Kassima, now, though only: "Ah," for the first, and
she suppresses whatever comment might beg to be spoken as she notes the
exchange between the two Telgar riders. "Ranilia had that eel recipe," she
says to Jos, supplying the identification for others: "Our aunt."

V'lano makes of himself as little a nuisance as possible in the
baby-transfer, which means he mostly holds still while someone more capable
lifts Jorel from his arms. Freed from that weight, he rises stretchingly to
his feet and goes after the sack by the easel. "Most of what I do at Telgar
is reading," he sighs, bending to retrieve the burden. "And practicing my
name, and sorting for someone else's attention. Here, at least, I was doing
a little math too." His tone's wry, if a little weary, and he flashes the
greenrider a grin while he walks toward Josilina with the bag in hand.
"Can't say I have, or if I have I was a lot smaller, don't remember. I was
taught how to sell it." He holds the carisak by its strap and loosens its
mouth with the other hand. Fashioned of a sturdy, simple knit of a large,
not -too- fuzzy wind of yarn, the egg-shape he pulls forth is tied shut
with a string of green that contrasts nicely with its blue-and-purple hues.
The bronzerider tucks the bag beneath his arm to free a hand to pull the
string, untying it; inside's revealed a fat green winged shape, also knit
but of a finer yarn, reasonably sturdy and possibly chewable and
definitely, in worst case scenario, digestible, but round and squishy
enough that whether it represents dragon or firelizard or something only
somewhat like both is hard to say. He holds the thing out in an open palm,
the string trailing, as if Jorel might take it, or more likely his mother.

Josilina nods, pointing at Sria for the source of eel information. "Back
home. We grew up in a fishing cothold, our aunt sometimes made it." She
pulls a face for the mention of math, and tuts softly to Jorel to ease the
fussing, which dies away relatively quickly - either at his aunt's face
making, the tutting or his own will, it's hard to tell. "Shells, V'lano,
that's really neat - thank you! You didn't have to. And," she glances down
at Jorel, whose head plunks down against her shoulder, and she shifts to
take the held out toy, "he'd say thank you too, if he were able."

"Does she still?" Kassima wonders of eel. "And might she serve it? See,
Vel, this is why you should've held out for Wingleader. Then you'd get t'be
reading, and writing, and apologizing t'Lord Lemos for your Wingrider
knocking up one of his Hold's women yet again." Yet there's sympathy for
him behind the tease, and in her momentary smile. At least before all
that's lost in favor of, "Awwwwww!" Again: natch. "Awwwww. Vel, that's
*adorable*. Where'd you find such a thing?" Switching back to eel, "I've
had all sorts of shellfish and whatnay, and the occasional real fish, but
now that I realize eel has been missing all this time, I feel I really
should complete m'epicurean education."

"Good they've got you practicing your name," Sria says with a grin. "That's
key." She adds to Kassima's list, "Or apologizing for your Wingrider
getting half of Nabol's great hall passed-out drunk. Are you often
apologizing for the one you mentioned, Kassima? And I'm sure I could get
the recipe, though it's one I don't currently have." The gifting prompts a
smile from the brownrider, widened for baby's benefit.

V'lano chortles lowly, pleased as soon as Josilina seems so, if silent
until that very moment. "I had something like that when I was smaller. I
remember being too old to really play with it, but untying and retying it
over and over." He flicks a glance back at Kassima, then retreats from
mother, child, and knit egg-thing to pre-empt, dryly, "Nothing from you
about how that explains the way I am now. - Anyway, no idea what happened
to it - probably something involving mud - but there's a new one." He
smirks at Sria, then makes for Kassima's side to mutter two things - one,
"I did plenty of apologizing at Lemos already - " and two, words gruff,
swallowed, squashed, "Made the egg. Had to have a weaver do the inside. Too
hard, wings, head, stuff, I couldn't." Mumble.

"Nothing wrong with name practicing." Josilina puts in, utterly solemn.
"They had me working on my handwriting for months. Which is... not quite
the same thing, but still." - "Well I'm in the middle of a letter to
Ranilia - I could tell her to send the recipe to you Sri." In explaination
for the Telgaris she adds, "They won't send any to *me* directly anymore."
She turns the egg-thing over in her free hand as best she can, waving the
pudgy firelizard-dragon bit in Jorel's general direction, to which he
gurgles yet again. "It's terrific. He'll love it, when he can move without
his head going all wobbly."

Kassima supposes, with a grin to suggest she's not finding it a difficult
guess, "M'rek? I'm apologizing for him *all the time*. I swear, L'cher has
at least fifty children by now. I keep hoping the Turns will make him
less... him... only they never do." She'll just bite her lip, shall she, at
V'lano's comment, since if she'd not had a remark in mind before it's even
odds she does *now*; she leans in slightly to hear those mutters, grinning
for the first: "Did you?" she murmurs. "Someday I want t'hear what for--"
Her eyes widen for the second, with surprise and evident delight in the
revelation. Give her some credit for mercy, though, because in the face of
his obvious embarrassment, she doesn't openly rave. "'Tis beautiful," she
says instead, soft-voiced and catching at one of his hands if he lets her.
"That's wonderful. I could never have done it. A wonderful gesture, too."
All right, so maybe she does rave a little. Quietly. "A few months for the
wobbly thing," she quips to Josilina with a grin. "What happened that
they'd deny you recipes?"

Kassima appends, almost as afterthought, "Apologizing for L'cher, I mean,
nay for M'rek. I don't think there's much use apologizing for M'rek, even
if'n I felt the impulse, which I haven't so far."

Sria's doubly impressed when it comes to be V'lano's own handiwork so
revealed, "Well done," she says with a smile, low. A nod for Jos, before
she shakes her head to Kassima, laughing, "No, I never had the pleasure of
having M'rek in my Wing; he got my old knot after I got this one, but came
from Avalanche. I won't begin to think what further apologizing there might
have been, however, if that wasn't the case." And for what bevy of
offenses, if 'further'. "He did always claim to be Melata's -favorite-,"
with the sort of emphasis on favorite that such a claim calls for.

"Oh, L'cher," V'lano agrees with obvious pain, which distracts him a bit
from his embarrassment regarding the egg-thing - and a good thing too; his
hand's caught by the greenrider's, but other than that and the red in his
ears, he makes a decent act of pretending she's not raving over his novice
efforts with knitting, never mind anything regarding Lemosian apologies.
Better to reply to Josilina: "Right; I figured he's a little - little - for
it. But I have no idea what he'd want at this stage. To be held, I guess."
Which makes him grin a little, and the ears cool slightly, and he even has
enough common sense to let the recipe conversation go on without his input.

Josilina grimaces faintly, "There's no ...one specific incident. Sort of a
combination of burned stuff and some food they didn't... love." She shrugs
her free shoulder, "We don't share tastes, I think." It's with a laugh that
she agrees, "Oh, yes, Melata -loved- him." - "He's big on being held." She
nods to V'lano, "And lying in one spot. And making noises. But I've no
doubt he'll get pickier on activities as he gets older."

Kassima's whistle is impressed. "Faranth," she says, "High Reaches has
*two* of 'em? Who's the other, then? I have t'be doubting whether he was
correct about such a thing," wryly, "given how she reacted t'his
promotion--just as 'twere leaving for Ista, that time that ended up being
the flight, she came in and started yelling up a streak at him. A'course, I
guess it could've been because she regretted losing him so. That could well
be." She's not very helpful to poor Vel, threading her fingers through his
that way if he'll stand for it and simply grinning up at him with pleasure
in handiwork, blush, all of it. "Huh. Sounds a bit like m'mother, begging
pardon. 'Tis much of why I ended up working in the kitchen early on and
always. What sorts of food did they object to so? Is it prying t'be asking?"

"They don't share tastes," Sria chuckles, "as they -have- taste, and Jos
leaves hers behind when armed with a cooking pot." - "Oh, F'rild, not half
as bad - or as good - as M'rek," she says, sly. "But quite capable of being
a decided pain. Melata," she agrees, "will tell you she loses most of her
riders to bigger knots. She's secretly pleased, but don't tell her I said
such a thing." She glances ledgewards, now, and then to the remaining stack
of hides upon the desk, before refocusing on Jorel for a moment.

V'lano's quiet, perhaps wisely so, wearing a half-smirk as he is. He allows
the finger-twining, and only on Sria's look toward those hides does he
remind: "I'm willing to help if there's anything reasonable for me to
touch, Weyrsecond." It's a full smirk on that. "But if not, would you all
excuse me? I should make a couple more visits while I'm here."

Josilina closes her eyes for a pained moment, "Sria exaggerates." She says,
lofty. "My style of cooking is just different from the rest of... Pern's.
And so I'm not allowed to have recipes. Or in kitchens. Or near ladles."
She pauses, thoughtful and glances at the brownrider. "That's all, right?"
She shifts Jorel in her arms, resting him in the crook of her arm so he
faces the company instead of the back wall of the weyr. "Of course." She
nods to V'lano, adding with a smile, "And thank you again, for stopping by
and the... egg... thingie."

With what can only be amazement, Kassi marvels, "He got half of a Great
Hall drunk--and he isn't *half* as bad as M'rek. D'you know, I may have
been underestimating the bronzerider. Aye, aye, I sympathize to a degree; I
usually wasn't quite so annoyed when m'riders were tapped t'assist the
Weyrlingmasters as I pretended, but Is wouldn't have done little dances for
my amusement as bribes if'n he thought I didn't mind." She sees that glance
and seems to guess, correctly or incorrectly, at the direction of the
brownrider's thoughts; she asks, "So 'twill ask Gerome about Brigid when I
see him, then, and keep an eye out for her--is there aught else specific I
can do t'be helping for now?" Looking back to V'lano, she bobs her head
agreeably. "A'course, Vel. If'n I leave a'fore you or vice-versa, 'twill
see you back at the Weyr soon, aye?" With a squeeze of his fingers. "Huh.
Well, for what 'tis worth, I'm usually nay allowed in the kitchen either. I
can cook, but I once did so a bit... mmm. Enthusiastically."

The title - or the smirk - earns V'lano a grin, and Sria says, "We'll be
sure to seek you out when we've the need," but not now, apparently. "I
exaggerate, but only occasionally, and never about a matter so serious as
this. Don't forget klahpots. Enthusiastically?" And for the other matter,
"No, not that I can suppose for now. If and when you do find her, do let
Sruth know, won't you."

"See, that's why I thought Reaches' kitchens wouldn't care to have me,"
V'lano tells Kassima, grinning while he untwines his fingers - after a
returned squeeze - from hers. "Jos made them sound terribly picky. How was
I to know they wouldn't mind little old me?" He straightens to his feet,
noting sidelong, "That's no excuse, by the way," before nodding his head to
the goldrider - "Thingie works fine -" then to the other weyrsecond. "Thank
you both, and of course, keep me in mind if you do need anything." He heads
out then, grinning broadly again to Lhiannonth along the way.

V'lano goes outside onto the ledge.

Josilina's nod is prompt, "Right! The klahpots. That was only after that
cider thing though. And, well... the klah thing." Moving right along.
"Wait," she glances at Kassima, belatedly startled, "-who- got half a Great
Hall drunk?" V'lano gets a wave, or as close as she can manage holding the
baby, whose following drool could, in some light, be considered a farewell
as well.

Kassima's nod to Sria comes immediately. "A'course. Probably more of an
if'n, if'n you couldn't; but 'twill. Enthusiastically... ah." She coughs.
"'Twas preparing a wherry when 'twas first proddy, and I sort of lopped its
head off a little too vehemently. It flew into the Living Cavern. They
weren't very happy." At least she has the grace to sound sheepish rather
than indignant about or surprised by this. "He's got gumption," she
observes rather fondly of the departing bronzerider, "accusing me of
seeking excuses, when he took longer about making *my* breakfast--granted I
hadn't actually won the bet, but we didn't know that--F'rild? Was that the
name, Sria?"

Sria considers, even as she gathers those selected hides, and then says to
Kassima, "In case we've not the chance to talk then, or beforehand: as
M'rek told me, this woman knows Gerome - was working for him, when I spoke
about it last, but she doesn't know M'rek. It seems a delicate matter.
Needs to be asked nicely, that sort of thing. And she might not know, even
after it all. She was one seeking to purchase the original runner from the
holder, but Vahara'd gotten to it first." And she lifts her free hand, palm
up. Vague is all she has. "F'rild," she confirms, shaking her head.
"Beast." And whether that's for her former Wingrider or her dragon is left
unspecified: "I ought to get back to Sruth, and work. Again, good seeing
you, Kassima, and thank you. And you, always," for Jorel, with a quick
dusting of her fingers in passing, a smile for his mother.

"Right! F'rild." Josilina has a nod of recognition for the name, "I've
heard his name around. He was in your old wing, right Sri?" She's got a
wince for the story of the wherry head, "Bet that was messy. Shards." -
"See you Sri, I'll stop by later with those hides. Say hi to Sruth for me."

"Interesting," Kassima murmurs. She laces her fingers through each other,
now that both hands are free. "Mayhaps 'twill ask Gerome for his thoughts,
if'n it seems fitting. There'll be a way. 'Tis promising that at least she
only sought t'*purchase* it, I guess, and nay one of those who attempted
obtaining it more violently." This is wryly said. "A pleasure t'see you
too, Sria, a'course. I hope I can be of help t'you; good luck, either road,
and clear skies."

"Messy," Sria echoes, having refrained from comment earlier, now it's with
some amusement. "I will - and I'd take care with Gerome, too. Dueling
partner though he might be," and that's with something of a smile. "Clear
skies to you as well," and she slips out, hides in hand.

Sria goes outside onto the ledge.

"You've met Gerome, haven't you?" Josilina asks in a curious follow-up to
Sria's caution. "She... took the right hides, didn't she?" She adds,
sitting a little straighter and attempting to peer at the desk. "I can't
tell anymore, what's what."

Kassima admits, belated and wry, "'Twas messy. 'Twas covered in ichor, when
'twas done, nay that I cared. Which ones was she supposed t'be taking? I
could check?" She too sits up, in preparation to do so if wished. "I've met
him a time or two. And heard enough from M'rek t'know why Sria'd say that.
We haven't spoken very often... during the Weyrling campout, once; on the
night of that concert at Bitra, and then in the Sandbar after he and M'rek
caught Osmor. You've met him too?"

"The ones she brought?" If anything Josilina sounds as if she's guessing.
"Only.. not the ones she was supposed to leave. You know, nevermind. I'll
look later. I think she said the ones she was taking were wing reports." A
nod follows and there's a surpressed grimace, "I have. Well, once or twice.
He's... well, I'm sure you've seen. Not the most comforting figure, I don't
think."

Settling back in her chair, Kassi says, "Wing reports. Poor Sria. There are
several reasons I don't much envy Vel his new job sometimes, if'n truth be
known; although sweep reports are their own brand of treat." The grimace
wins an upwards quirk of her mouth, a wry half-grin that suggests she
understands it. "'Comforting' isn't remotely the word for him. I don't
think I've remotely seen him at his worst, mind--well, he was frightening
when confronting Osmor, but that's t'be expected. Tense situation. After
the concert we argued politics a bit. Someone t'be wary of, he; I admit,
I'm nay entirely looking forward to that runner delivery. I don't imagine
aught ill will come of it, but I've never sought him out a'fore."

Josilina shakes her head, "Never really envied Sri, myself. Well, I mean,
since the Weyrsecond thing. And now since she's getting all my extra work,
it's even worse for her." - "Osmor... the one who escaped the cell?" She
shakes her head again, "I've never seen him in any sort of situation like
that. Just at the Bitra dinner, a while back he was just, well I suppose it
was run of the mill violence for him, but it wasn't the -best- first
impression." To say the least. "I'm sure the delivery will go fine though.
M'rek wouldn't send you if he didn't think so."

"All your extra, or all S'rist's extra?" Kassima wonders, glancing towards
the Bowl. "I recall him saying he'd need her t'take on a share--aye, that's
the one. And Osmor's another I don't envy if'n Gerome finds him again,
methinks. Which violence counted as run-of-the-mill?" Oh, the questions
that Bitrans inspire. "I hope so. So far, I haven't had problems; but all
those I've given 'em to are people I'm at least somewhat familiar with. I'd
nay say I'm familiar with Gerome. Still, in a way 'twill be easier since I
don't have t'explain the story t'him."

"Well, S'rist's extra." Josilina spares another glance for the work
cluttered desk. "Basically, whatever work ends up in my pile that I
would've given to S'rist." For the violence she hesitates, deciding on a
shrug in the end. "Is it weird that I can't even remember what it was
specifically? He went after some person and then came right up to us to
offer welcome, real polite. It was bizarre." A nod, "That's true. Who else
do you have, after this one? I mean, besides Gerome?"

Kassima considers the matter. "Probably nay," she ruefully decides. "Nay
for Bitra, nay anymore. It's getting hard t'be remembering that the Hold
was once very different." If she was rueful before, she's rather moreso in
saying that. Her knuckles work at the back of her neck again. "I'm nay sure
he'll take it, but I thought I'd see U'yn, bronze Kismith's at Igen. There
aren't any others there--and I don't think he's someone M'rek would've
thought of. Which he seemed t'think might be a good thing."

"Mmm. It's true." Josilina agrees, rocking Jorel gently as he begins to
fuss quietly. "You know, Bitra had a reputation before, but now..." Jos
just shakes her head, letting it all speak for itself. "Probably not. I
mean, he probably wouldn't have thought of him. Got to say, I've not heard
the name much. It's good of you though, you know, to be passing all these
out." She adds, voice raising slightly to be heard over Jorel.

"It did, but under Lady Fil, and even the Lords and Ladies a'fore her...."
Kassima shakes her head, dismissing the memory, and makes a sympathetic
face for the fussing child. "Ach, poor lad-ling. He's put up with me
yammering your head off for quite awhile, goodness knows... mayhaps I
should leave you two in peace?" She's already rising from her chair, adding
apologetically, "I've kept you a long time. Ach, but I don't mind it. I
guess I feel the same way about it as you and Vel... 'tis interesting. I
like the interesting, and I like helping M'rek."

Josilina gets to her feet as well, "He's probably hungry, really. But
thanks for stopping by Kassima, and I'll be sure to, you know, fuss about
the runner thing. And yes, interesting, that's the best way to put it I
suppose." She grins at the Wingleader, "And clear skies and all that, I'm
sure we'll run into each other again eventually."

Kassima laughs under her breath. "Probably," she agrees. "If'n they aren't
sleeping or messing, they're hungry, isn't it just the way--he's an
adorable lad, though, Josilina. Beautiful. Felicitations t'you and R'sel
both." Starting for the ledge, she calls back, "Absolutely! I'll be curious
about that runner, if'n naught else--clear skies, and duties, and thankee
again!"

You move from the shelter of the weyr out onto the ledge.