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All Your Baeth Are Belong To Us!


Date:  April 29, 2003
Places:  Baeth's Base and Ozy's Cottage
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 log's a bit special, in that Ozy and I decided we'd
like to RP one of those visits to see his home that Kassi kept 
threatening/promising to make; rather than having Kassi visit SouCon,
though, we went with replicating his place somewhere else and RPing it
there. :)  And let me tell you, if anything could tempt Kassi to move to 
the South, it would probably be seeing the sort of extremely spiffy 
living space Southern riders get. ;)

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The Log:

Baeth's Base
	Ringed in by flowering jungle on three sides, this little clearing 
perched on the cliff's edge was likely once the home of a devoted gardener.
Certainly the winding cobbled path leading past carefully constructed beds
for flowers and herbs would imply that, as would the neatly planted Fellis
trees, complete with delicate ferns unfurling in their shade. Alas, the
current occupant's gardening skills show more enthusiasm than skill, but
the idea remains. Beneath the arching overhang of taller trees, a
well-tended depression marks Baeth's wallow. Nearby, a smaller citrus
'tree' has been planted, surrounded by upturned stones. 
	A slate-tiled cottage, taller than it is wide, is perched near the 
cliff's edge. It's been painted a cheerful sort of sky blue, and would all 
but blend in were it not for the brightly colored quilts serving as 
curtains for the oversized windows. A broad, low-roofed porch, complete 
with two rocking chairs and a battered hammock, serves as an entrance for 
the small building.
	The whole affair seems almost precarious, perched on the wind-swept
cliff--and indeed, the broken stone cliff-edge, complete with the root
marks of former trees and the hinted remains of a cottage foundation would
imply this isn't the safest spot on Pern. It's scenic though, and that's
good, right?
Contents:
Baeth
O'wyn
Obvious exits:
Cottage


It's Lysseth's turn, today, to make a not-entirely-accustomed form of
landing, and the slender green circles over the clearing once, twice, and
thrice while she considers the matter, before deciding upon a place that's
hopefully flower-free to drop herself neatly in. See? She didn't squish
*one* tree! She is such hot stuff. Thankfully, the need to lower her neck
so that her rider and her rider's scary, scary package can dismount safely
forestalls her from too much obnoxious preening, and once Kassi's on the
ground, the green is absorbed by the need to look dignified while her rider
shamelessly cranes her neck to look around with all the delight and lack of
discretion of any tourist. "See," she turns back long enough to throw over
her shoulder to the green, "I *told* you 'twould probably be as scenic as
Boll, but did you listen? You *never* listen."

Baeth is sprawled in his wallow as you approach, taking up even more space
than thirty-seven meters of dragon would normally manage. He's got a gift
for that. Frankly, it's likely best he -doesn't- have a ledge, or there'd
never be any room for anyone else to land, the way he manages to have limbs
and wings a'tangle. He shifts though as Lysseth circles, and offers a
congenial warble-bugle in greeting. O'wyn's seated tailor-fashion on the
porch, with assorted hides scattered about. On approach, he's laboriously
and slowly scrawling something, but this is given up at Lysseth's arrival
as well. He hops up to his feet, and lightly jogs down the porch steps,
expression entertained. "And heyla' there," he greets with a broad grin. "I
see you found the spot, then? And did I not tell you our weather was
better?" As even though it's fall, the weather's in the mid-eighties, and
the breeze is constant off the ocean.

And Lysseth's in a good enough mood to warble right back, sounding pleased,
once her head's lifted again, a somewhat friendlier sound than her usual
polite rumbling. Kassi casts an amused look back towards her dragon--and
one for the sprawling Baeth, for good measure--before grinning widely back
at you and cheerfully confirming, "The cliffside spot was distinctive! And
you have *trees*! And a house! And it's blue! And I know I'm being inane,
Lysseth, shut up." She's trying not to laugh though, and Lyss certainly
seems amused by the chide. "You did, and," she says as she sets the
gaudily-wrapped box down a moment to shrug out of her riding jacket and
helmet and hang these things on convenient pegs on Lyss's straps, "you
weren't remotely whistling the quaint regional melody. 'Tis beautiful! How
the shards d'you get any work done? I'd just want t'sit out with the
flowers all day and be warm and lazy."

And Baeth is even kind, and edges at least partially out of the prime
sunning spot, so it can be shared. He curls up, managing to be just as
compact now as he was sprawled before. He has a knack, yes. O'wyn simply
looks entertained, grinning all the more now. "It is kind of a distinctive
spot. Though, well, it's a lot like most of the places around here. A bit
newer, mind, but that's just because the previous cottage in this clearing
fell off a cliff, so I had to start from new." There's an amused sort of
shrug. "You get used to it, well enough. Though on a day like today, it
does occasionally tempt. Still, want to come on inside? Or at least onto
the porch? I've got juice, if you'd like some. I was just by the Weyrhall
earlier, so it's still cold even."

Never let it be said Lyss was one to look a gift sun-spot in the mouth: she
helps herself to that kindly-vacated place once sure that her rider's done
fiddling with her straps, and does her best to stretch out her long, slim
length for maximum sun-exposure while not taking up too much room
width-wise. Wouldn't do to abuse hospitality, after all. Once she's settled
in to her satisfaction, she rumbles her thanks. "Well, compared to *mine*,"
Kassi points out, laughing, "which is just one hole in a mountain like a
dozen other holes in a mountain... right, the potting shed! I have t'see
the potting shed while I'm here; I've never heard of someone *living* in
one." Pause. "Truth, I've never heard of someone *having* one either; this
owning buildings thing still strikes me as an amazing idea. I like it,
though. Mayhaps when I buy m'self an island when I retire, I'll have a
house built on it, painted green so Lysseth will like it and all." Hooking
the box up from the ground, she adds, "I admit, I brought something for
you--nay half as wonderful as the quilt, I'm afraid, and I'm nay sure
you'll like it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time... oh, aye, I'd
love to, and I'd love some, if'n you don't mind. Cold juice would be
wonderful."

Baeth is home, he's warm, he's all for being more generally pleasant than
he otherwise would be. He simply settles back down, content to bask for
now. O'wyn ducks his head, faintly sheepish, and nods. "You're not even
kidding those weyrs can be a right trick to sort out who's who. We have
cliffside weyrs here too, but there's fewer of them, which helps. I'm
trader-bred though, I wasn't in any hurry to opt for living in the side of
a cliff, no matter -how- spectacular the ocean view was." There's an amused
sort of nod. "The shed's back to the side of the cottage. It was a bit of
an adventure to live in, really. Especially during the winter rains. And
trying to get any hidework done in there was a joke, really. An island
sounds like a thought though, if you ask me. And hey, you didn't have to
bring anything, honest. But yeah, come on in. That way I can show off the
rest of the place too. I don't get to very often." He grins then, and heads
up the steps, across the porch, and into the cottage.

O'wyn walks towards the Ozy's Cottage.

You walk towards the Ozy's Cottage.


Ozy's Cottage
	A tribute to open space and light, this cottage is proof enough, if 
any were needed, of Ozy's distrust of enclosed spaces. It's a tall, airy
structure, taller than it is wide, with a triangular open 'loft' forming a
second floor of sorts. Against one wall, a high-stepped staircase built of
split-logs provides easy access to the upper level. Pale-yellow board
floors on the 'lower level' are scattered with the occasional bright
colored rug, and the huge open windows set into each wall are curtained
with bright-colored quilts--well, when they aren't open to the sun and the
view of both the ocean far below, and the all-too-near jungle.
	A narrower door leads to a short hallway, and some smaller rooms. A 
larger door gives access to the low-roofed front porch and the world 
beyond.
Contents:
O'wyn
Obvious exits:
Wallow


"I've lived in Weyrs like that all m'life as a rider, and I still find it
tricky t'figure out who's where sometimes," Kassi offers as she follows
after him, with a wry half-grin, "so I certes don't blame you for having
problems--we've had a few Trader-bred riders a'fore; come t'think of it,
methinks K'ran's one. I wonder how they took to living in rock. We don't
really have any options. Did the roof *leak*?" That, ostensibly, would
refer to the potting shed. "The island's been a plan for awhile. M'life
goal: amass great amounts of money, buy an island, do naught until I die
but laze about and be fanned and fed kiwi slices by bronzeriders in
loincloths. Admittedly, 'tisn't a very *realistic* goal." And she sounds,
yes, more entertained than serious, thankfully. "I wanted t'bring
something, though! Oooh." Her head cranes up at once to get a look at the
high ceilings, the loft, the staircase--"There's so much room! And windows!
It's so *open*--"

"Well, I've got to admit, my life as a rider hasn't exactly been that
-long-, as of yet," O'wyn admits, with a faintly sheepish sort of look. "So
I've still got more turns as a trader to work out of my system, I guess.
That is if one ever really does work one's breeding out. But I can't
imagine any of them would be big on the whole enclosed area thing, after
having all the space and sky to be under, most days." He shakes his head
slightly, amused. "Nah, but we get so much water, it tended to flood in on
the floor. And since I was also -sleeping- on the floor...well, you can
just imagine, I guess." He pauses, and breaks into quiet laughter. "Well,
the pass -is- on the sharp downward slide, who knows what'll be possible,
soon enough." He heads over to the work table, and hunts up a couple of
well-battered cups. Grinning, he nods. "I like the open. Some folks have
things a little more, ah, cozy. My Aunt Noria's place is like that. I like
the empty space." He pours both cups over, and brings one to offer. "Have a
seat though, please."

Kassima quips with wry humor, "I don't think I want t'be confessing t'how
long m'life as a rider has been. And I lived in a Holding a'fore that, all
stone walls, so it wasn't really that different. And why work it out of
your system? Where it doesn't conflict with being a rider, I mean. I don't
think there's aught wrong with preferring sun and sky, 'tis just a newer
sort of idea from m'perspective." She accepts the invitation to sit,
settling down with an almost-silent sigh of relief, and flashes a smile up
at him as she takes the cup with one hand and offers the parcel with the
other. "Thankee most kindly--you make a better host than I do, methinks.
You have actual *chairs*!" she teases. "Wait, wait, you *slept* on the
*floor*? Bright Faranth on a stick, I can't even imagine... I'm guessing a
potting shed was cozy enough t'last awhile."

"Aha, so yeah, you really have always had stone all around," O'wyn replies,
with a brief, thoughtful sort of smile. "We had slate roofing on the
wagons, but except in Fall or really, really awful weather, we slept
outside as a rule, when I was growing up. Southern does get nastier winter
weather, but we holed up in Karachi for the bulk of that as a rule. They
had a covered courtyard out back we used like a camp. I think the only
times I've ever lived anywhere heavy on the stone was weyrlinghood and then
one winter when I was a teenager, when I was pretty sick. And both of those
were pretty hectic." He moves to accept the parcel with a grin of sorts.
"Crazy idea, furniture, I know. It's beat up stuff, I couldn't say how many
people have owned it before me, but I like it." He nods then, amused.
"Wasn't room for so much as a cot. My feet stuck out the door, no less. I
kid you not, it's a tiny shed."

Kassima listens silently, with clear interest; she tilts her head as she
questions, "Was it strange staying in one place for one season, when you
were traveling around the rest of the time? I can't really imagine what
'twould be like--it sounds interesting, mind you, 'tis just so different.
Did you ever mention why you left it, anyway? Did a dragon come scoop you
up? What sickness did you have that got you stashed in stone?" The parcel,
by the way, is wrapped Kassi-style, which is to say the thing's as tacky as
sin: white wrapping cloth has been cheerily streaked with black, bright
green, and bronze streaks of paint, and the whole thing's tied with pine
green ribbon. You know someone has too much time on their hands when.
"Infidel," she impishly accuses as she takes a first sip of the juice,
which is followed the the flash of an appreciative smile. "Furniture-having
infidel! Do you push it aside when you want t'slide around on the floor,
or... oh, you're *kidding*. How in Faranth's name did you stand it?"

"Hmm? Well, it always was those first few weeks," O'wyn replies, after a
moment's thoughtful consideration. "But after that, it seemed normal
enough. It was something we'd done my whole life, it just...well, it was
the way things were, if that makes any sense?" There's an amused sort of
half-smile. "Goodness, that's a complicated sort of thing. Normally, well,
Jabari kids get sent away as teenagers to stay a turn or two somewhere
settled. To see if they don't like that life better, and all. Keeps things
simpler, weeds out the folks who don't want to be travelers. But my father
rather needed me around and all, and I was twenty or so when I got sent
off. Turns out I liked staying put. And, well, I wanted to be something
other than an acrobat, and there weren't many other choices for me with my
family. And I got lung-sick. It was reasonably unthrilling, to say the
least. One of the local girls my own age somehow decided -she- was going to
keep track of me, and she was...well, pushy is being kind." The wrappings
garner an entertained look, as he slides into a seat, to unwrap it. "The
colors are festive, certainly." There's an amused look. "Yep, that's me.
Awful and evil and table and chair possessing. And yeah, it all slides back
pretty well." There's an amused look. "I camped out with Baeth most nights."

"Aye, I suppose it does. Like nay flying Fall in winter," Kassi supposes,
"though that doesn't count as something I've done m'whole *life*. I can't
think of anything that *would*, so 'twill have t'do. T'me, 'twould be
bloody bizarre t'fly Fall all Turn long, while t'most riders between the
South and Igen and Ista 'tis likely the normal way of things. I'm sorry for
all the questions," she says then, somewhat sheepish and a trace abashed.
"I probably sound nosy, but that your family will be family to the baby too
makes me even more curious than I'd otherwise be, if'n that makes sense?
You can hit me if'n I get too nosy. It sounds interesting though--what did
your father do, and what did you want t'be, aught in particular? This is
making for quite a story." She flashes an entertained, mischievous grin.
"Mayhaps I should write a song, while I have the time. Oh, shells, *that*
must've been an adventure." Within the box is an item that might, at first
glance, be taken for an extraordinary variation on a child's mobile;
there's a certain similarity of form in its array of metallic strands
dangling from a horizontal circle, in the fanciful forms that dangle from
those lines. A second look, however, would be apt to make its true nature
more clear. At the center of the dangling melee are a series of thin, long,
hollow silver pipes, set sufficiently distant from each other that they
touch only when prodded by wind or a testing finger--but when they do
touch, they chime with ringing sweetness; and one might guess they'd make a
similar sound when struck by the silver shapes that circle it. These are
not pipes. They're fish. Six fish in fact, each one a different
river-swimming variety without a single oceanic specimen to be found among
them. Below and above them on the line, glass beads of aquamarine, sea
green, grass green, frosted white, and no color at all provide a hint of
color and some extra decoration. The entire apparatus is topped by a length
of wire, flexible enough to be bent and twisted into a loop with which it
can be hung, yet strong enough that it should retain its shape without
slipping once it's fixed in place. Kassi watches the unwrapping rather
hopefully; she also comments, "That certes sounds preferrable t'having your
feet sticking out in the rain from a *shed*. What a mental image."

"Yeah, exactly," O'wyn agrees, with an amused sort of nod. "It's just what
you're used to, is all. Oh, and hey, I don't mind questions at all. It's
hardly as if I'm required to answer them if I don't want to, and all," he
explains, with a bemused sort of half-grin. "And yeah, that makes sense
enough. Goodness knows the kiddo's grandparents are definitely going to
want to meet said kiddo. My father's an acrobat. And I wasn't...well, sure
if I knew what it was I wanted to do," he admits, sounding faintly abashed.
"It's kind of hard to explain. I just had this need to prove myself that
wasn't really something I could cover with the Jabari. I do better in one
place, anyhow." There's an amused sort of look. "Hah, hardly song fodder,
I'd say." The box's contents garner a momentary look of confusion, but then
realization dawns, and he looks highly entertained, as well as pleased.
"Okay, -this- is priceless," he enthuses. He shifts it around to hold the
pipes upright, so he can nudge them properly to set them to ringing. "I'll
have to put it on the porch, so the wind can always get it. The sound is
lovely. Thank you, this is far too nifty."

"A'course nay," Kassi agrees, mirroring the half-grin. "And they're more
than welcome t'be meeting, once 'tis old enough t'go *between*--'twould be
wonderful in fact, for him or her t'know *both* sides of the family tree,
hey?" There's sympathetic amusement for the abashedness; she shakes her
head. "Nay need t'explain. It makes sense as it stands. Shells, I'm always
amazed that there *are* people who know from the start what they want
t'do--I didn't know either, and half the people we pick up on Search scarce
seem t'know, so... oh, you'd be surprised. I could if'n naught else write a
song about all the things random Northerners ask me about you, believe you
me--you should've *heard* 'em the other night--but that might be cruel, and
you've nay given me yet any reason t'be cruel." The pleasedness would seem
to please her, as she smiles brightly. "You like it all right then?
'Twasn't sure you'd have a place for it, but I hoped--and, well, after the
idea struck me I just couldn't resist."

O'wyn brightens distinctly at that, and nods firmly. "The more family the
merrier, if you ask me. Which, well, you sort of did." He looks relieved
that you seem willing to take the story as it stands, nodding firmly. "It's
not easy to just up and decide what one wants to do with one's life. Still,
I was reasonably well sorted out before I got Searched, and then that threw
everything into a bit of an tiz, eh? Still, it seems to have worked out. I
enjoy what I do, even when it does have be running around like a headless
wherry." His eyes widen faintly, his expression both amused and disturbed.
"Should I fear the things these people are asking, then? And please, I do
indeed vote against cruel. Cruel is messy." He nods firmly, with a distinct
grin. "I indeed like it very much. And goodness knows, I've a half-dozen
apt spots. As much breeze as I get inside, I could keep it here, but then
Baeth would get annoyed I wasn't sharing."

Kassima has to grin at that. "So I did, after a fashion," she agrees, "and
I completely agree with you. I mightn't mind meeting 'em m'self sometime,
for curiosity's sake, if'n you don't think your folks would mind some
random nosy greenrider woman tagging along with their grandchild." Her eyes
gleam green with amusement at that particular mental picture. "Aye,
precisely so--there are so many things one *could* be. You went with the
Dragonhealing and the quilting, aye? And aye, Searching always mucks things
up *whatever* you do. Though I'm guessing you'd nay complain about the
results. At least nay where Baeth could hear," she teases, offering a wink.
"Should you fear... probably you should. 'Twas at Boll the other night,
y'see, and Is and Bronwynn came by, and he had this *shirt*... orange and
red and violet chevrons, can you imagine? I threatened t'steal it and give
it t'you because 'twas so bright, and that started 'em wondering what
'twere wearing to, ah, fish in, and whether you had a fishy smell." She
looks at once sheepish to be reporting this, and rather entertained. "I was
a tiny bit evil in m'replies, I have t'confess. Well, good--and I'm all for
sharing with Baeth, if'n he'd like it too. I'm glad."

"They'd not mind at all," O'wyn assures, with an amused look. "Yeesh, in
fact I might get threatened a fair tanning if I -didn't- bring you along as
well, for that matter. My mother's an opinionated woman, I'll just say
that." He nods then amiably. "The quilting was just sort of a placeholder,
originally, but that's how it worked out. And nah, I'd not complain now.
Well, some days, when it's freezing cold and we're flying sweeps I think
snide things, but that's about all." He winces faintly, though it's with
amusement. "I think that's scary even by my lights, and my lack of taste is
infamous." There's a pause, and an amused hmph. "And they say -Southerners-
are weird. Clearly we have nothing on you lot." He nods then, looking
pleased, and slides from his chair to carefully hang the chime in one
window. "This'll suit for now, I can put up a proper nail for it outside
later."

"Oh, dear--well, good t'know I'd be welcome, and I'll certes have t'go
t'spare you a tanning," Kassi laughs, raising her juice glass in a toast to
opinionated parents. "Should I fear your mother, though? And placeholder or
nay, you're sharding good at it, so if'n you like it I can see why you'd do
it. Nay often someone finds something they like t'do they can do well, hey?
The only problem is the whole it being hot here thing. Methinks during cold
sweeps you're allowed to be snide," she adds, clearly decidedly
entertained. "At least I *hope* so, or I'm doomed, doomed, doomed. See,
now, I *told* 'em you probably didn't really wear orange with violet and
red!" Pause. "A'course, I also told 'em when they asked what 'twere wearing
that you weren't wearing *aught*, obviously; forgive me? I figured 'twould
please them too much if'n I just turned red and sputtered, see. And I
withhold judgment on who's weirder until I see a *Northerner* in purple
leather pants." Turning her head, she watches the hanging of the chime with
open pleasure. "It looks good--'twasn't even anticipating the sky blue
house; I'm glad your house isn't *orange*, though. Then it might look a bit
odd as decorations go."

O'wyn returns to his seat, sliding into it with a quiet thump, and
re-claiming his cup, with an amused look. "I appreciate that, I do. And
well, she can be disturbing for some. She's a merchant in every sense of
the word, and she's one canny lady on the deal. But she's more likely to
torment me than you, goodness knows." He half-smiles. "I'm still not sure I
do this -well-, but I enjoy it, at least. And yeah, see, snideness is
allowed sometimes." There's a pause, and he breaks into laughter. "Well, if
memory serves I -wasn't- wearing anything, so you were just being honest.
And better stark naked than orange and violet and red all at once." There's
an amused sort of look. "Wait, wait, Telgar famous for leather pants with
portions cut out, and you're mocking some just because they're -purple-?"
There's an amused sort of look. "Though if it were orange, it -would- be
easier to find."

Kassima grins and observes, with amusement, "'Twill just have t'watch out
for her if'n I should want t'*buy* something then; she doesn't sound like
those poor little Apprentice Crafters I can convince t'sell me items at
half what they're worth. But ooh, ooh, I'll *definitely* have t'be there
t'witness the torment. And mayhaps I can provide moral support if'n it gets
too bad, though honestly? I'm likely t'be trying nay t'laugh m'head off,
if'n 'tis like most maternal torment." She has the grace to at least sound
slightly apologetic about this, even if amusement's still clear in her
eyes. "Pshhh--you're Weyrsecond *already*; you're dedicated t'doing your
work and I'd bet t'doing a good job on it; you manage t'be futzing with
hides even in such beautiful weather as this; I bet you've nay reason for
uncertainty, and I only bet where methinks 'twill win. Better t'be in doubt
than all puffed up with arrogance, mind, but somehow I can't really picture
that with you." A pause ensues before she teases, "The hair probably plots
t'keep you humble, after all--who'd want t'live on a swelled head?"
Grinning, she joins in the laughter for a moment as she agrees, "Aye,
honest, and I don't know what they *thought* the answer would be! I certes
agree in this case, though *some* people would probably look better even in
such a horror than in the altogether." She matches amused look for amused
look. "Well... all right, point. Especially given that at Telgar someone
has a white pair with rhinestones, I've heard. But *still*."

And that garners an outright amused look from O'wyn, and a short, sharp
headshake. "Ah no. She's not likely to cut anybody a deal that fine, I'm
afraid. My mother couldn't do a cartwheel to save her life, or juggle
enough to do the same, but she's a mean hand at the dicker, and at keeping
the books. My brother takes right after her too." There's an amused sort of
headshake. "Great, as always, I'm doomed." He looks faintly sheepish, and
rakes a hand back through his hair briefly. "Well, the hides thing is only
because it takes me so awfully long to get anything done. Still, my
handwriting's -almost- legible on first attempts these days. Still,
sometimes I wonder. But I guess everybody does have doubts, eh?" There's an
amused sort of look. "That's it. It's all part of my hair's master plan to
take on the universe." There's an amused sort of smirk at the mention of
rhinestones. "Then poor T'hren's scary apparel is indeed relatively
innocent by comparison. Hah."

"Alas, alas. But someone has t'do that sort of work. M'eldest son would
probably like her; he's a freak for numbers and accounts, though he can
throw knives, at least." Kassi's grin at mention of said son is
automatically somewhat fond, though it shades back into amusement soon
enough. "I'm guessing you weren't much for accounting yourself? Nay that I
blame you a whit--dreadfully *dull* business. Ah, nay offense t'your
mother. And a'course you're doomed!" She's so cheerful about it. "Still,
you don't slough it off even if'n it takes a long time, I'm deducing. And
I'm going t'hazard that 'tis good that you wonder. Someone who's been
recently promoted *should* wonder--exactly so, only people who think far
too much of themselves have nay doubts at *all*, y'know? So. Nay that it
stops other people, like me in this case, from saying they're probably
doing just fine, because they, and you, quite probably are." She can't
resist adding, "I *fear* a universe ruled by your hair. But if'n I helped
it on its road to domination somehow, d'you think 'twould let me live when
the revolution comes? Hey, mayhaps you should get him a pair with *purple*
rhinestones some Turn. For his Turnday. He might like that." She's *trying*
to sound innocent.

O'wyn blinks ever so briefly at the mention of throwing knives. Well, or
perhaps the phrase, 'at least' in regards to them. There's an amused sort
of nod. "I imagine they'd get on like a hold on fire," he agrees with a
nod. "She loves numbers. My brother is very much his mother's son. I'm more
my father's, in that. Alas, I'm no deft hand with the books, to say the
least. I can deal with them, but it's a fair sight slower." He considers a
long moment, and nods, with a faintly wry look. "If I didn't have doubts at
this stage, I'd be a nutter, I guess. Still, trial and terror seems to be
working, bit by bit. Still, by the time I half get things sorted out, we'll
end up with a new Weyrleader, and they'll want somebody else. That's the
way of it," he decides, snickering quietly. "I think my hair could perhaps
be kind to its supporters, yes." There's a pause. "Things I -never- thought
I would say." There's an amused look. "Only if he was proddy on said
Turnday. The rest of the turn, he'd die of embarrassment."

Kassima sees the blink, and helpfully, oh so helpfully, tries to clarify,
"Some of the children aren't as good with the knife-throwing. But the ones
who aren't are usually all right at knife-fighting, so it all works out.
Better this way than the other way around, anyway, with you and your
brother--'twould be a shame if'n your mother lost the one who's probably
going to take on the books when she retires, hey? Though, this way means
your father lost use of your services, so I guess it doesn't work out that
well after all." Although she can't suppress a delighted snicker at the
phrase 'trial and terror,' she comments, "You seem very sane. Y'know, I'd
nay say this if'n I didn't trust you nay t'go tell m'Weyrleaders since
they'd nay appreciate it, but I'm usually nay thinking much of new riders
who get promoted t'Weyrsecond--seems sometimes that they can scarcely fly
in a Wing yet, and I'm left wondering what the shells the Weyrleaders were
*thinking*. But while I obviously haven't seen you *fighting*, you do seem
t'have a good head for it and the proper sense of priorities. It doesn't
surprise me you'd make Weyrsecond even without more experience, you carry
it so well. So there's that. And even if'n it does prove temporary, 'tis
still an experience t'be proud of, isn't it?" Back out of serious mode:
"Then I'll have t'be sure t'proclaim its evil glory to the four corners of
the world, or whatever evil hair would *want* a supporter t'do. Oh, well,
that's better'n wearing odd leather pants *all* the time, 'twill say for
naught."

"Ohh," O'wyn replies, as if comprehending. Then he pauses. "Okay, no, I'm
still bewildered. Is there a great deal of need up North for the ability to
poke sharp pointy things into people and objects?" There's a wry sort of
look. "I think the opinions on that vary, yeah. Mom would agree. My
father'd point out plenty of other folks can keep books. I'm not hugely
fond of Wylie, so my opinion would vary, there." He looks faintly sheepish,
but amused. "Well, thanks for dubbing me sane at least. I sometimes wonder,
but I do try and cling to said sanity. And I'd guess in this case...well,
brand new Weyrleader, and a Weyrsecond retiring. I think he wanted somebody
who didn't have much in the way of pre-conceived ideas, somebody he could
train to what -he- wanted. But thanks, I think, though I'm not wholly sure
I agree with you. And sure enough, it's well something to be proud about.
And hey, even temporary, it's a story for my grandkids, at the very least."
There's an amused sort of look. "Not cut it, I'm guessing, though I'll have
to defy it and get it done soon enough." He nods, bemused. "Tah's terrible
sane when he's -not- proddy. Good guy, he is."

Kassima's shoulders shake with quiet laughter. "Ah, nay, nay as such, but
knife-throwing and knife-fighting have been nigh-lifelong hobbies of
mine--I'm nay bad with the throwing, at least--and so I taught all
m'children. I don't know if'n they've ever *used* it. Me, well, I usually
only use it when proddy in winter, since then I build snowmen and throw
knives at their nonexistant groins." Sheepish, yes, but amused and not
terribly repentant. "You should see the expressions, I'm telling you. Is he
a pain, your brother? I've heard that brothers are often pains." Setting
her emptied cup down with a faint tick, she leans back in her chair a bit.
"Always welcome," she breezily assures. "And, i'truth, you know better than
I do; I can only offer an admittedly limited outside perspective. But,
y'know, for what 'tis worth. Mayhaps the next Weyrleader will want a
similar thing; hard t'say in advance." She slants him an amused look. "And
here's *hoping* 'twill be a bloody long time a'fore you have grandkids,
given that your only child older than ours is nay older by more'n a few
months! Though speaking of that, we should probably debate names at some
point. D'you think 'twill scream when you cut it? Well, I feel a bit bad
for mocking his pants, then. M'apologies in spirit t'him, even though he's
probably unaware of the mockery."

And yes, now O'wyn looks distinctly relieved. "Oh, okay. -Whew-. See, this
is really rather the relief, I've got to say. Because if this were some
kind of needful thing? I'd be disturbed, I'll just say that." There's a
pause, and an amused look. "I imagine all the snowmen know great fear," he
deadpans. He sighs quietly, nodding. "Wylie's a right pain and a half. To
be fair, he likely says the same of me. I've sisters as well though, and we
get along all right. Mind also, they're younger than I am." He shrugs
faintly, and nods. "Who can really say. I'm not too worried about it.
Southern will be served, one way or another, Tel and Aithne and all will
make sure of that." There's an amused nod. "Well, yeah, it'll be an age,
but I have to start storing stories now. Debating names?" There's an amused
pause. "I vote you name the kiddo. I am -awful- at names. Somebody else
named Natesa, Pesky I named, Baeth obviously came with his...but as a kid I
had a stuffed runner named 'Runner', and later I named someone's pet
spiderclaw 'Lunch'. I should not be allowed to do anything so important as
have a hand in naming a child." He pauses a beat. "Well, maybe not scream.
But it'll sulk. And hey, he gets picked on all the time. It's required.
Maybe you can meet him at some point."

"We do have people who do hunting, who stalk game with crossbows and
suchlike, and the Holds have Guards a'course, but nay every Northerner is a
knife-waving fanatic," Kassi reassures, eyes dancing with merriment. "Nay
that it mightn't make life interesting, if'n *'twere*--oh, certes. They
shiver and quake in their frosted boots." She makes a face then. "He
doesn't sound like a treat. Mayhaps if'n we run into him, visiting your
kin, and *he* starts tormenting you, I could throw a fish at him? He might
at least be distracted or nonplussed." Gee, you reckon? She doesn't sound
terribly serious about this plan, at least. "A good attitude t'have towards
it, at least by m'reckoning. The Weyr being served's likely the important
thing. And you'd have, if'n naught else, more time and less hidework,
heya?" She snorts her amusement. "Aye, and the tree named Tree--though
'Lunch' has t'be m'favorite of all those, I must say. I'll think on it,
then, if'n you've nay preferences. You don't mind if'n whatever 'tis, it
starts with K? Since K is the Fortunate Letter? What does sulky hair *look*
like?" Trust her to want to know. "Aye, that could be fun; you speak of him
enough that he must be worth meeting, and he doesn't even sound too
terribly evil."

"We've got hunters and guards too, yeah," O'wyn agrees, with a faintly
sheepish look. "Though fewer of the latter, mind. But still, it's good to
know the lunatic population is low, as per knife-waving. All riders get
taught self-defense here, but I can't say as I was very -good- at it, see.
Wrestling, sure. I grew up scrapping with my brother and my cousins. But
arm me and it's a little more complicated. So it's nice to know I can still
manage to sanely visit the North." He pauses a beat, and then laughs
outright. "It's a fair bet that Wylie would be more than a little
disturbed, but hey, I'm all for smacking him with fish, sure enough." He
nods then, firmly. "A fair sight more time, to say the least. Goodness
knows, as is, I have little enough time." He looks sheepish. "And Tree,
yes, of course. Nah, I don't mind K's any, goodness knows. I'm as partial
to one letter as any." He grins faintly. "It droops a lot. And drips,
usually." He nods amiably. "I guess you'd say he's my best friend, these
days, now that Aeril's transferred off."

Kassima's expression takes on an apologetic cast, at the sheepishness;
"Sorry, didn't mean to imply you didn't--but aye, aye, the knife-waving
lunatics are mostly just me and m'children. So you can be relieved. Or nay.
Your choice." She's teasing there, yes. "Are you? Huh--we aren't, nay as a
standard thing. Most of the Weyr seems t'think I'm mad t'practice with
weapons, or spar with Yashira, or any of that. But aye, there's nay need
for weaponry t'visit the North--feel free t'come up free of weapons, though
you might want t'bring something t'*throw* at least if'n there's any chance
you'll run into Katlynn, or I'sai, or those others I told you about."
Grinning, she assures, "I'll do m'level best t'bring fish along, then. Just
in case. But aye for time; I certes understand that--have you been able
t'spend more time with... Zyana, wasn't it? How's she?" Considering, she
seems to decide it might be difficult to reach your ribs to poke them, so
aims a foot to try and nudge your leg instead. Not that this might still
not be too far off, but the thought is there. "Nay sheepishness for that! A
tree named Tree is comedy. A baby named Baby wouldn't be quite as comic, is
all, at least nay for the poor kid. Hey, that's a fair thing. Good friends
are a blessing. Who's Aeril? I don't think you've mentioned him a'fore."

There's a distinct snicker then from O'wyn, and an amused nod. "Can I say
that you're the sanest lunatic I've ever met, at least? But it seems I may
be doomed one way or another. But it's cheerful doom." He nods amiably.
"Comes standard with Weyrling training, yeah. But then we have more in the
way of holdless down this way, and folks who aren't happy with the system.
So riders are more likely to come up against a situation they can't quite
defuse." There's an amused nod. "Check. Well, I rarely go anywhere without
juggling bags, and they make marvelous projectiles, really." He
half-smiles. "Not much time as that. But Zyana's fine." There's an amused
look for the leg nudging, and a snicker. "It's just I'm awful and then some
with names. I assure you, Zyana's name wasn't my idea, any." He
half-smiles, if briefly. "A clutchmate of mine. Ae'lan, bronze Riath's
rider. He transferred to a less involved posting when the healers
discovered he had heart trouble."

Kassima brightens, pleased, and grins at him for this declaration: "I'm
terribly flattered t'hear that! I think. Anyway, I do what I can, even
without maniacal hair t'assist me in madness. And so long as the doom is
*cheerful*, that's what matters." However, the mental image of the computer
game Doom being played with happy clowns wielding the AK-47s instead of
some grim army guy? Sur. Real. "True enough. The one time 'twas in on a
renegade capture, it came somewhat t'violence, though nay as much as I
might have *liked* after that bastard tried to shoot Lyss, y'know? I didn't
even get t'knee any of 'em. Scarcely seemed fair." She's deadpan there, but
lets enough lightness into her tone to give away that, yes, she's probably
kidding about the kneeing bit. "I rarely go anywhere without knives, but
I'm *guessing* you'd mind if'n I vented your brother, so if'n I can't sneak
in fish I may beg one of those bags off you. Is it fun t'do, juggling?" Her
nod is rueful, possibly a touch regretful on your behalf. "'Tis a shame,
but any's better'n none. Hey, now, it could be worse--you should hear what
some of m'kin name *their* kids. I bet they'd out-awful you." Clicking her
tongue, she agrees, "Stress probably wouldn't help heart trouble any. Can
he even visit?"

"My hair is rather helpful in respect to my relative level of madness,
yes," O'wyn replies, with an amused sort of look. "And yeah, when folks get
their ideas out on another line, they often are willing to go to some
pretty...well, extreme extremes. Hah, I don't know as I'd -always- mind
Wylie getting stuck, but my mother'd have a fit, I guess. Just remember,
Wylie's got juggling bags -too-." There's a brief, thoughtful sort of
smile. "I think it is. It's relaxing. But I could juggle before I could
walk properly. So I may be a bit skewed." He shrugs faintly. "I don't know.
He hasn't that I've heard, but I've been awfully busy, I'm afraid." There's
a wince then. "And speaking of which. Baeth has mentioned a meeting, I'm
afraid."

"Indeed. And you, for the record, are one of the maddest sane people I've
ever met--which I mean as a compliment," Kassi offers, flashing a grin.
"Since you're in favor of m'throwing fish at your brother and all. I'll
leave your brother intact just to avoid alienating your mother, and do
m'best to avoid the juggling bags of doom; if they hit me, I will at least
draw out my death scene to long and annoying levels as revenge on him."
She'd doubtless do it, too. She tips her head to one side, to think, and
suggests tentatively, "Would you teach me sometime, if there's ever time?
It just sounds like a less disturbing way of keeping one's hands nimble
than flinging weaponry about. Ach, aye, and speaking of the lack of time. I
can skitter, nay worries." Easing out of the chair carefully, she says, "A
pleasure 'twas, though, as always t'see you, and also t'see your wonderful
home--I'm afraid I likely can't make it back a'fore I'm grounded again, but
thankee for having me over the once. I had a lovely time."

O'wyn pauses a beat, and then falls into laughter a moment. "Oh -dear-. I
appreciate that, I do. It's entertaining, certainly. But I think it's sane
enough for people to want to do evil things to their siblings." There's a
quick smile. "I can -try-, if you like. I'm not exactly an expert teacher,
I'm afraid. But I'm more than game to give it a shot." He slides up to his
feet as well, with a brief smile. "Well, hey, maybe after the kiddo's born
you can visit again. Goodness knows, I'd love the chance to show you more
of the place."

"Well, and thus why you're ultimately a sane person, but the throwing of
fish still lends a veneer of madness," Kassi decides, eyes sparkling the
more for that laughter. "Either way, always pleased t'be of service. And
nay pressure--trust me, you couldn't have a harder time of it than m'cousin
who's trying t'teach me gitar." She grins self-depreciatingly. "I can make
felines scream in agony, I do believe; and I don't think even the *worst*
juggling can make felines scream." Pause. "Though what an image, if'n it
did. Thankee any road, I'd appreciate it." After a moment's consideration,
she steps around the table to offer a hug, or at least as much of one as
she can manage, and says, "I'd like that--if'n naught else, I've nay tried
the floor-sliding yet, have I?" It's a tease; she's quick to add, "And I'd
love t'see the rest of it. For now, though, 'twill leave you t'your
meeting." Turning to start for the door, she pauses long enough to offer,
cheerfully, over her shoulder, "G'luck in nay being bored!"

O'wyn's eyes light a moment with amusement. "The worst I'd have to fear is
being pelted with beanbags. I think I'm safe enough from my ears being
split, at least." He steps to return the hug, and to try and steal a quick
kiss in the motion as well. "Hah, this is a point. Floor sliding's well
worth trying, I'll have you know." He grins outright, turning even now to
gather up scattered hidework. "Hah, and I'll need it. Thanks for visiting,
Kassi. I'll see you soon, I hope, as soon as I get time to bip back up there."

Kassima is certainly game for stolen kisses, and kisses back in like kind
before turning, honest. "*I* won't split your ears, I can promise you; if'n
they do get split, 'twill be someone else's doing," she cheerfully assures.
"I'll look forward to it! Both the sliding eventually and seeing you again.
You're a'course quite welcome; 'twas m'pleasure." And she offers a last,
bright smile over her shoulder before disappearing through the door, and
making her way back to Lysseth, who after a quiet warble of thanks to Baeth
sighs with faint regret as she sidles away from her sunning place, the
better to not disturb the bronze's basking with the inevitable
wind-stirring of her launch and ascent.

And Baeth offers a warble of farewell, moving then to sprawl into the rest
of the space.