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The Pole Position


Date:  April 28, 2003
Place:  Gather Beach of Southern Boll
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:  I'sai said, when he had to leave this scene, that he 
couldn't believe all our characters had this conversation without 
being intoxicated.  I kind of have to agree with him. ;)  Lysseth,
deciding she desires Taralyth's company, invites him to Southern Boll
where she and Kassi are enjoying one of their last days of travel, 
and Taralyth passes that invitation along to Fehuth.  Kassi, I'sai and 
Bronwynn thus end up spending some time socializing while their 
dragons soak up warmth, and discuss such merry things as dastardly 
tunics and, ahem, fishing poles.

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The Log:

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's presence is a languid, watery
tendril of sun-warmed thought, soft as beach sand on a hided belly and
carrying a hint of waves' susurra; and likewise carrying, eventually,
words. << Warmth, >> she tempts, mischief glinting silver-bright off foamy
crests. << Moonlight, and warmth, and water. Wouldn't you like to know
these things? >>

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth would - glitter for her warmth and
softness for heat - and he has his rider with him, conveniently enough, so
it's just a matter of stealing the image and _going_.

From the sky, Taralyth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

From the sky, Taralyth circles shallowly, wings flaunted wide - and then
curves, tucks, _down_.

Taralyth backwings to a landing.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth sparkles, if not shivers, with
antici... pation--and never mind the lack of rain; the air's calm,
perfumed, but wet only with sea spray tonight, and as warm as her
mind-brushed greeting to him.

From the sky, Fehuth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

Fehuth backwings to a landing.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth homes on _her_, landing, not languid;
so hot it is here, summer even at home.

I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

Lysseth lounges, sphinx-like sentinel, on a section of beach close enough
to the water that she might perhaps feel the spray on her neck--and that
may be why she goes strapless, the leather loops coiled up not far away,
near where her rider reclines in the warm lee of the green's side. Lyss
affords a sweet, satisfied warble to Taralyth, and then a congenial rumble
to Fehuth. Kassi for her part looks over and grins at both: "Was it a wish
for warmth that dragged you out here?" she calls. "Or has the Sky-Lady been
up t'mischief? Judging from that warble...."

Bronwynn slides to the ground, giving Fehuth a loving pat.

I'sai's, "When is she ever not up to mischief?" rides the air as a
compliment, as much as his dragon's throaty reply - which isn't to say that
he doesn't glance sideways at Fehuth's rider, leaving comment on the latter
be. "And you do look comfortable, if as overdressed as I am: long pants?
Here? Though I suppose it's easier than getting sand where it doesn't belong."

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth flashes light for welcome, and if
it's not quite as effective as a little man in a bright vest waving
glowsticks to bring a flier in, well, neither does *he* need such aid to
find his way. Better a Bollian summer than a Telgarian one; if only the
Ancestors had been sensible, and built a Weyr *here*, and perhaps found a
larger vine that dragons, too, can swing.

Bronwynn's boots hit the sand soundlessly, tossing dark hair over her
shoulder before she turns to give the other escaped Telgari a wave, brow
raised, "Seem Taralyth gave Feh an image that was far too inviting to pass
up," she explains with a wry grin. "How are you both tonight?" She turns as
she waits for an answer, tugging Fehuth's straps loose and gathering the
lengths of leather in her arms.


I'sai:
     Weatherstreaked blond hair sets the rangy young man's features into
sharp relief, caught up in a loose braid away from slanted brows and
cheekbones, with the rest left to drift to shoulders' blunter blades. His
nose is thin, and longer than it ought to be; his eyes reflect pale,
guileless marine bounded narrowly by turquoise; his fair skin, though more
prone to freckle than tan, has retained something of a warm sun-gleam; and
his height's as unremarkable as his Turns. 
     Red, violet, orange: bright chevrons drop down his 'Reaches-borrowed
tunic from similarly-angled collar to mid-thigh hems, and if the style's a
generation out of date, at least it's fastidiously clean. Beneath, he wears
a plain short-sleeved shirt that's been bleached to better contrast
midnight blue trous, and over the top, a leather belt secures a slate-case
as well as more everyday accouterments. His black boots are anonymous
enough, but his knot's that of Telgar's Weyrlingmaster. (+detail)


Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth images a firelizard as test for this
one, brown claws clutched and _swinging_ -

Kassima's grin widens with an appreciation doubtless shared by her
blue-eyed dragon, facets swirling just that much faster as she turns her
would-be regal head to nose first towards Taralyth, then towards I'sai
himself. Naturally, in the latter case, she aims to muss his hair. "I am,
since 'tis night--I'd scarcely wear a swimsuit with this shape, and even
short pants seemed a bit chancy. Material's light, at least... where did
you get a shirt that out-gauds that one in Stores?" Shifting in the sand so
she can better face Bronwynn, she brightly reports, "Fine, and enjoying one
of m'last days for travel! Lyss *would* nag me about making sure we stopped
at Boll, as if'n she won't nag again ere the month's out. And you? Are you
going to try yon vine, while you're here?"

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth provides the green whip-lash of that
noble Vine itself, and flicks--out, out, probably enough to send that poor
fire-lizard tumbling nose over tail with wings akimbo unless he's most
firmly braced himself. And what will happen if he has not, with the waters
rushing up to greet him?

I'sai doesn't look at his dragon; doesn't have to, with Taralyth humming
softly to beach and water and Lysseth just as much in his head. "...Ah, I
see. Someone took his cue from _her_." His upraised hand doesn't do a
terribly good job at fending off a certain green muzzle, but neither does
he work too hard at it, as she doesn't _seem_ ripe from a recent Fall and
ready to relieve herself from ash or even Flame - "I don't see why you
couldn't wear a swimsuit. What do you think, Bronwynn? Shouldn't she show
off her.." and here he inhales deeply, so as to pooch out his stomach as
far as it'll go. "Like that - " exhale, relief. "And it's left over from
the Reaches. I, ah, made off with it."

Bronwynn finds a nice spot for Fehuth's straps, sending the brown off with
a hearty pat. He heads over towards Taralyth and Lysseth with a happy
wuffle in greeting, tail lashing with delight at the sand and surf about
him. Brynn chuckles at the weyrlingmaster's flattering imitation of Kassi's
condition, "Oh, very nice," she teases him, rolling her eyes. "Well, I
don't see much reason for a swim suit, generally. Though I'm used the Weyr.
I know holders can get a bit uptight about riders running naked on their
beaches." Her silver eyes fall on I'sai and that tunic, "I wasn't going to
say anything but, well, let's just say you were easy to spot from the sky."

Nor does Lysseth seem inclined to keep it a mystery, irrepressably smug as
she is. And, fortunately, mild-breathed enough: not a hint of firestone's
sulfur, nor of meat fresh or rancid. The muzzle nudges against the hand
once it's done with his hair, as though helping itself to a quick rub,
before kindly retreating at last. "I should've known," Kassi mutters, with
amusement more than anything like ire or surprise. "Probably her answer to
his talk of sun and splashing--among other things--the other day, to tempt.
And I don't doubt she's pleased to have lured poor Fehuth in too, if'n
secondhand. Aigh, *I'sai*!" She's red again. A small handful of sand is
scooped up and lofted towards him, though halfheartedly; it likely falls
short of the mark. "As if'n you'd show such a stomach off if'n *you* had
one. Of all the things you could have stolen... you chose t'steal *that*?"
She darts a look of amused disbelief towards Bronwynn: can she believe this
guy? "I've never been much of one for running about naked anywhere, I
admit. Swimsuits or towels, always... methinks the Bollians are used enough
t'random nude people on their beach, though. Faranth help 'em if'n they're
nay."

I'sai wrinkles his nose back at Bronwynn - and doesn't bother with
Taralyth's straps, though he does double-check that his own riding straps
are buckled high; as explanation, "In case we have to leave in a hurry." He
does take off the offending tunic at least, and after waving it Lysseth's
way for the nudge - and after ducking the flung sand - trails it over his
arm. "Well, I didn't want them to -miss- it. Me, I like shorts for out on
the beach, if there's going to be any running or anything else like that
involved, but that's just _practicality_."

Bronwynn starts to tug at her boots, though after nearly falling over a few
times she plops herself down in the sand to remove her footwear, letting
out a sigh as the warm breeze touches her bare feet. "Poor Fehuth, nothing.
He's overjoyed to get out of our weyr." Indeed the brown's facted eyes
whirl with contented shades. "I really do need to get some short pants.
I've been spending far too much time in warm places not to have a pair."

"I'd think they're more likely t'*notice* something like that's gone--but
also more likely, mayhaps, t'be relieved," Kassima drawls from her sandy
seat. "Take the shirt off too now and I may have t'retract what I said
about nay showing off your stomach, though only if'n you walk about with it
poked out like 'twas for the rest of the evening. But don't *leave* the
tunic anywhere, else I'll be honor-bound t'steal it and give it t'Ozy,
bright as 'tis." Looking up at Fehuth, the greenrider has to laugh, and to
agree, "He certes doesn't seem discontent! Well, but I can't blame him
either. Stone walls can make for tedious surroundings. Have you ever tried
the Store Rooms, for short pants? They've something of everything in there,
though, truth, you're like as nay t'discover the pair in a color you like
having someone's initial branded on its seat if'n you're nay careful. The
*oddest* things get relegated to the piles."

I'sai follows Bronwynn's suit and drags off boots and socks at once,
carrying them up above the high-tide marker; "It's a -memento-," he says
with a frown that's at least mostly feigned. "It's not as if I get to drag
one of the weyrlings home with me, after all, though egg-shards I do have -
think it'd fit him, would he like it? If you like it so little, I'd be
surprised you want him in it..." Initials, branding, all that gets a moment
of silence. Only a moment, though. "There's always taking an old pair with
ratty knees that you otherwise like, and asking one of the caverns women to
cut 'em off short. How's that?"

Bronwynn tosses the boots, socks tucked inside, up towards the trees,
seeming not to care what sand gets in them. "Ozy?" she asks, head titled.
"Yeah, I should check the stores. Reye let me borrow a pair of her shorts,
maybe I can find some like those," eyes flickering towards the bronzerider
and then to the hole she's digging with her toes.

Kassima wiggles already-bare toes against the sand; her soft shoes must've
gone the way of Lysseth's straps at some point. "You could always *try*
t'drag a Weyrling. It might be entertaining," the greenrider suggests,
trying for innocence. "At least until the first time one of 'em, dragon or
human, had an accident in Taralyth's couch... *shards* are much more
portable and much less likely t'produce dung." Sagacious nod. Then, "Nay
sure of the fit, he's taller than you, but *'tis* a long tunic; as for
liking, well--it might be *too* bright. I don't think I've seen him in
orange and violet together yet. Still. And I only said 'twas gaudy! I
didn't fall over clutching at m'face and screaming, 'M'eyes! M'eyes!' now
did I?" She crinkles her nose at him before suggesting to Bronwynn, "Ask
'em t'hem it too, though, if'n you do that, else 'twill fray like nay
anyone's business unless mayhaps they're leather. And even then...." No
comment on Reye; instead, she answers, "Ozy, O'wyn, Baeth's rider of
Southern," as if that will explain why she'd be stealing shirts for him.

I'sai, as Bronwynn looks his way, "Red and orange and purple, y'mean?" -
"They're 'tweening now; they're safe enough. Dung-wise. Provide I take them
out for... what was the cotholder's phrase, the other day? 'Walkies.' Only
that was about a ferret. And right, that's what I'd meant, hemming too." He
gives his tunic another flap, as if to make it longer.

Bronwynn nods to Kassi, "He's the father, then right? And he has that
taste?" A hand gestures towards the loud tunic, "Well, I suppose he wasn't
wearing much at the time." She rests her arms on her knees, fingers toying
with one another. "Reye were just nice and comfortable, all broken in. I'm
sure there's something like them in the stores. None of my pants are really
suitable to be made into shorts."

I'sai lifts fine brows to interject, "Yes, do tell us, Kassi. What -was- he
wearing?" He takes Kassi's path with respect to the Reye-game; for that
matter, he doesn't stop, doesn't sit, just prowls barefoot about the beach.

"You should have them wearing collars and leashes for that," Kassima
sing-songs, leaning further against her dragon's warm, thrumming side and
looking rather as if she might thrum any moment herself; the dance of
teasing has provided her eyes with a rather feline gleam, her mouth with
the stretch of a feline grin. "What a *sight* 'twould make, and are you
trying t'tempt me into stealing that tunic?" Sliding her gaze to Bronwynn,
she admits readily enough, "He is, aye, and I don't know about *that*
taste. The things he wears are certes bright, but there's a line between
'bright' and 'mercilessly cruel,' aye?" She's teasing there too. There's a
noncommittal sound of agreement for the well-broken pants. "What was he
wearing *when*?" she asks after Is's interjection, though from her
still-amused but now-wary expression she has at least half an idea.

I'sai pauses now, if only to pick out a bit of shell from between his toes;
balanced awkwardly on one foot, "When Bronwynn asked, of course," he says
guilelessly. "And there's one I've still got that's, hmm, yellow and
turquoise and red, if you'd like that any better. But no collars."

Bronwynn shakes her head, shoulders bouncing, "Are you sure these tunics
fall n the 'bright' category? 'Mercilessly cruel' sounds a bit more
accurate for these combinations." She turns to the greenrider with a
somewhat apologetic smile, "I was just joking, figuring he wasn't wearing
the gawdy colors when your latest was conceived."

I'sai can't help but murmur, "But if he -was-, watch out, world. The child
might inherit it."

Kassima, being Kassima, of course takes on a hint of red flush across her
cheekbones at the question; but Kassima, being Kassima in a good mood,
nevertheless blinks wide, guileless eyes up at him. "Well, shells,
*naught*; what'd you think?" Bronwynn gets a similar answer, sweet-voiced:
"He wasn't. They were on the riverbank. And methinks 'twould only qualify
as mercilessly cruel if'n there were a nice sash of bright, vivid apple
green with magenta checks t'go with all that."

Kassima adds cheerfully after a moment, "And if'n you're *looking* t'get
rid of the red-yellow-turquoise tunic, Is...."

I'sai gives her wide eyes for wide eyes, "Nothing at all, with fishing
poles all around, and bait, and - who knows - _worms_? Kassi. How messy,"
quite as if that isn't part of the point. "I bet if you asked Katlynn
nicely, she'd have one made for you. The apple-magenta-pink-on-the-side.
And the sweater's red. It's separate. Good Benden Hold knit."

Bronwynn gags dramatically. "Yes, thankfully -that- color combination is
absent tonight," eyes flick to I'sai's tunic. "Take her up on it, I'sai.
Let her get rid of the tunic before it gets a life of it's own and prowl
the weyr scaring small children," a teasing smile for the prowling
weyrlingmaster.

I'sai says gravely, "I don't know; that might be quite entertaining.
Especially since she's going to have another - small child, that is, and I
think Kiss would be more delighted than anything at the hunt."

"You can't go fishing without a pole, Is," Kassi murmurs, dulcet. "Or
without bait either. Or rather, you *could*, but 'twouldn't be very
fruitful fishing, would it?" She's still red, perhaps even redder, but her
eyes are dancing wickedly as she looks back up. "Alas, alas, nay much use
for a sweater in the South--and I'll nay be asking Katlynn for aught any
time soon; I'll be *hiding*. *Bronwynn* can ask for such a sash." As if
she'd ever want one. "It might even *eat* small children!" she speculates,
grinning sidelong at the brownrider. "And 'twould mate with that sweater,
and raise a horrific brood, and they'd devour Pierron alive one night and
leave only a pink and orange-checked apron in his place... I'sai! Our
daughter wouldn't run wild eating children with the tunic! She knows full
well that littles are full of fat. Nay good for you."

I'sai inquires, light as anything, "Are you saying you were -looking- for
fruit?" He does the stomach-pooch routine again for a moment's held breath,
and adds a bit of a waddle to go with it; then, "For the fun of it, one
needn't necessarily have a pole - just ask Brynn, here, or Kat - but I know
I'd hate to do without. As for Kisai, well, she can eat whatever she wants
and then run it off, pretty much. I'd dare say she could inhale Slithereth
intact, if it were still around, but she's more likely to tell stories."

Bronwynn raises a brow at that, "Well, I can't say I do much fishing at
all, with or without a pole," she remarks. "Though I do like this idea of
child-eating tunic. Nah, I'd get tired of all the screaming. It wouldn't be
worth it. And between the two of you, you'd just keep populating the weyr
and the poor tunic would never keep up and I'd never be free from the
sounds of little people screeching."

Kassima shakes her head in leisurely denial. "Oh, nay looking, nay
looking--call it magnificent serendipity instead, O Most Wicked of Pregnant
Men. What, did you think 'twas stalking the riverbanks looking for some
hapless, handsome sort for breeding purposes?" She casts him a decidedly
droll glance before pointing out, "If'n *I'm* t'have fun of it, a pole very
much needs t'be involved. Which means you nay doing without was just as
well in certain past times," with a fond glance, there, traded between
Taralyth and Lysseth. "Don't you doubt it, but he'd need t'be coated with
sweetener first t'be t'her taste--and sing about it after, as you say.
Would there be so much screaming with all the children eaten?" she wonders.
"Oh, sure, at *first*, but if'n it went through 'em at a good clip... you
do have a point there, though. Except that I'm thinking m'spawn at least
need t'be off-limits t'this most voracious tunic."

"But surely it's memorable, the fishing you -do- do?" I'sai fishes, if only
for information. "And, see, not that I think Kassi's going to foster, but
she -could-, and certainly Kat's down at Boll, and we could just take over
the rest of Pern with our spawn instead of just the Weyr..." speaking of
Kassi, "Glad to hear it. Including that you appreciated the pole in
question. But I _could_ see you stalking the riverbanks, if it weren't for
the fishermen tending to smell, well, fishy."

Bronwynn laughs, "Well, I do hope your spawn would be off-limits. After
all, I appreciate the extra hands when it comes to my runner. Of course, I
don't have much experience with child-eating tunic. Tunic-eating children
maybe." Her eyes narrow playfully, "Now Kassima, is I'sai right? Did you go
hunting for this O'wyn? Let's see, loud clothes, fishy smell... You're not
really painting a pretty picture here."

I'sai goes so far as to confide in Bronwynn, "She -must- be hiding him; she
hasn't trotted him out for us to approve."

"I don't plan t'foster--Simaeva will likely have t'help me, but apart from
that, nay," Kassi quickly confirms; she's already considered this, it would
seem. "And what need t'spread the spawn wide t'take over Pern? We could run
with them in a great, teeming horde, and conquer the world Weyr by Weyr and
Hold by Hold; we'd set all the Crafters t'making everything we've ever
wanted t'own, for free!" She lifts a fist halfway towards the sky in a pose
that might be more successfully valiant if she weren't sitting, weren't
round, weren't trying not to laugh. "Oh, I appreciated the pole. I just
hope you appreciated what I did with it. And smelling fishy was *nay* a
problem in the least, I assure." With a reassuring wave of dismissal, she
assures Bronwynn, "Kimlyn and Kiss shan't leave your runner handless any
time soon, judging by their enthusiasm... I didn't! 'Twas serendipity! And
'twas *nay* fishy smell, and as I told I'sai--though he seemed t'take it
wrong--I didn't have any complaints." Her eyes glide towards I'sai to give
him a *look*. "Can you blame me? I know sharding well what sorts of things
you'd ask *him*."

I'sai, standing, can better get away with sketching her a bow - which isn't
to say that he's not repressing a laugh too; "Where's someone who can
actually draw when you need him? _That_ pose should be memorialized. And
ah, yes, I appreciated -that- time, times, though I'd thought that that'd
been clear... wait. Are we talking about the same pole? The non-fishy pole,
that is. Shells. Where were we? Aside from coming up with questions for her
fisherboy."

Bronwynn laughs, "Honestly, I think you're both losing me," she says.
"Between all the poles and tunics and well, whatever else you both seem to
be saying," eyes bouncing between the riders.

Kassima offers so magnanimously, "Find an artist later, and I can try
t'replicate it if'n you truly want such a sketch--but you have t'promise
your sketcher wouldn't draw *warts* on m'nose or any such thing. What,
*that* time?" She arches her brows at him. "Such emphasis would suggest
'twas a time you *didn't* appreciate; when did I do something awful with
your pole? Faranth, you'd think 'twould remember that." Behind her,
Lysseth's starting to shake from her muted, rumbled laughter. "That's the
pole I *thought* 'twere discussing. I don't think we ever did aught illicit
with a fishy sort--shells, Is, did we and m'memory's blocked it out and
*that's* what you didn't appreciate?" Her shoulders are starting to shake
too, for all that she's trying so hard to remain guile-free. "Oh... Is is a
better man t'be explaining the pole part t'you, Bronwynn, methinks."

Bronwynn snorts, "Oh, I'm quite sure I know which pole we're talking about
and I really doubt I'sai would be eager to explain it any more clearly."
She chuckles lightly, "And no, there really shouldn't be a fishy smell. Not
in my experience, thankfully. Of course, there shouldn't be one even
without a pole." That does get a bit of pink across her pale cheeks.

"No warts," I'sai assures. "Or, at least, the artist wouldn't get paid in
trade, then... and memorable, yes, awful, no. No fish, and nothing at all
with Mart's pillow - and she'll have to explain that to _you_, Bronwynn.
...Let me know how it goes, though; I'd best get back, early drills," and
he's already begun to head for his boots, pull socks and then them on.

"Trade of what?" Kassi wants to know, curiosity plain; the grin that
follows is accompanied by another notch of red, but nonetheless pleased,
and nonetheless amused. "Well. Good. I'd have been dismayed t'hear
otherwise, and could you blame me--oh, shells, I *can't* explain Mart's
pillow. Crazy brownrider man." She casts her eyes up skywards as if the
stars might explain it better. "'Twill be taking your word on without a
pole, Bronwynn. I'm a strictly pole-requiring woman. Now, if'n I can just
explain that t'*Katlynn* in a way she'll believe, hey? Thankee for coming
out, Is; a pleasure it's been, even if'n it *did* involve seeing that
shirt." Lysseth sighs light regret for the loss of half her male company,
but rather than protest she stretches to offer a last glide of muzzle along
neck to Taralyth, should he sit still for it.

Bronwynn watches I'sai get ready to leave, her glance a bit thoughtful and
her cheeks white again with her distraction. She turns to Kassima with the
explanation, "Well, I'd never really considered it myself before Fehuth won
Aminadath. Dossa was certainly that -last- person I'd have chosen at the
time, too. Aside from flights, I can't say I've had much experience in the
pole-less department."

"Whatever they want - that I'm willing to pay," I'sai says, and dons the
tunic, and wriggles back into it. The chevron stripes dip and sway, and if
it resembles a hangover... well, -he's- not the one looking at himself in a
mirror. Which isn't to say that he doesn't twitch, but that might have more
to do with the mention of Dossa... As for Taralyth, he leans out to touch
and be touched, just before his rider swings up and both take flight with a
last, trailing, "Good night!"

I'sai swings up to Taralyth's neck.

Taralyth hunches down before launching up into the skies, with powerful
strokes.

From the sky, Taralyth's momentarily silhouetted against Timor - and then
he disappears.

From the sky, Taralyth disappears into Between.

Kassima hazards, head tilting to one side, "You and Dossa didn't get on
well? I don't think I've heard this story--you've m'sympathies with
flights. First three flights, Lyss got herself caught by a male ridden by a
woman, and that... well, 'tisn't at all m'preference. I don't consider it
when dragons aren't involved." She watches the shirt-donning quite
cheerfully, and shamelessly, but at least she doesn't throw marks; she
does, however, call after them, "G'night!" even as Lysseth warbles.

Bronwynn shakes her head, "No, not then, anyway. She and R'yn had something
between them, to this day I'm not sure how far things really went. Fehuth
catching Aminadath was a surprise in -many- ways. I don't think I realy
expected him to ever catch. He really has terrible luck with greens. I'm
one malerider you probably won't have to stomach."

Kassima taps her chin with her thumb, absorbing this. "How odd. I don't
really recall that, but I didn't precisely have the interest in R'yn you
naturally would--Dossa and I didn't get on so well either, after awhile,
which is rather a pity. We've nay spoken much since she went to Ista; hope
she's happy there, though." There's a pause before a sheepish, abashed
smile crosses her face. "Ach, Bronwynn, 'tisn't a case of
*stomaching*--never is, when a flight 'tis. Flights are... flights. Does it
bother you that he hasn't caught more, or is it more of a relief?"

Bronwynn smiles, "Well, for me I guess it's a relief. I sometimes worry for
him, but he doesn't have the ego some do. It still makes me nervous, the
idea that I'll end up in bed with someone I don't know. You're right
though, flights are flights. It wouldn't matter much if I knew them or not
if Feh managed to catch."

"That's well," says Kassi, relieved herself. "I'd feel badly for you or him
if'n either of you *minded*--luck's just nay in it for some males, 'twould
seem, even if'n they don't fly 'tall poorly--but... there'd be a bright
side to it, nay having t'worry so much who you'll find yourself next to
come morning. Have you never had it happen a'fore, the greenrider being
someone you'd nay met?"

Bronwynn shakes her head, "Dossa's the only one. In some ways I still feel
like a weyrling. After nearly twenty turns I shouldn't be nervous anymore,
but I still am." She gives a shrug. Not -that- nervous. "Aside from Dossa
there's only been Reye and that was just because Fehuth lost a flight.
Normally I'm better at just getting back to my weyr and hiding out. "

Kassima rolls her shoulders in an amiable shrug. "Why shouldn't you be
nervous? Experience is what dispells nervousness, nay age, and if'n you
haven't the experience then I don't blame you for a bit of nerves. Methinks
I'm just as glad that I can't lose flights, truth be told. I doubt I'd end
up with any women, but men, mayhaps--or more like, I'd get terribly drunk
and do things I'd get teased about until the end of days."

Bronwynn laughs, "Well, I'm not sure of the circumstances, but I think I
remember a certain pink lace outfit that you were in while I was a
candidate or weyrling. Never really seemed to suit that Kassima who I think
I remember giving knife-throwing lessons. Of course, that was nothing like
I'sai's tunic or the 'interesting' things O'wyn must be wearing. I'm rather
fond of more muted tones myself."

"Oh, Faranth--'twasn't drunk for that!" Kassi protests, with a good-natured
groan and a laugh to follow. "'Twas bribed, is what 'twas; forty-seven and
three quarters of a mark they paid me t'wear that for a day. I couldn't
resist such a price as that! Is and Ozy, they wear these things for *free*,
though I truly don't find Ozy's clothes that objectionable. They're
*bright*, but the colors don't clash so much as on that particular tunic."
Pause. "At least nay that I've yet seen. 'Tis quite within the pale of
possibility that he has some violet-orange-red tunics in his closet and
puce pants t'nay match."

Bronwynn shakes her head, hair falling around her face, "For forty-seven
and three quarters of a mark, I'd have worn it too. It was certainly
memorable, anyway. Worth every thirty-second." She brushes the hair from
her face, glancing over at Fehuth who's been dozing quietly on the warm
sand. "I can't believe anyone would wear things like that. I don't know
about O'wyn, but I'sai is decent looking man. Too bad he wears those
hideous things. Of course, I'm not sure men are really all that capable of
dressing themselves," she jokes.

Wryly, Kassi says, "I *hope* 'twas worth every thirty-second for the ones
who paid for it--but even if'n 'twasn't, well, I won't be too upset. Their
decision t'buy. Good of Saskia t'think of the idea, though; I can say that
*now*, when the embarrassment of wearing that get-up is long behind me."
She chuckles low in her throat, leaning back yet more and lacing her
fingers momentarily behind her head. "I'd say Ozy's good-looking. As is
I'sai, aye. Nay that they look a thing like each other. Nay all the things
Is wears are hideous, truly; methinks he has a sense of style, 'tis just...
peculiar." She grins and agrees regardless, "But men do sometimes wear the
shardingest things. You should've seen the time A'lex came to a Masquerade
wearing naught but a loincloth. In *winter*!"

Bronwynn raises both brows, "Just a loincloth? Sounds like a sight indeed.
And not a bad one, either. I think I considered going to the Masquerade. I
was going to be a sandstorm and dress in gold sheers and gauze, but I
didn't have anyone to go with and things with R'yn were still a mess. What
did you end up going as?"

Kassima rubs at the back of her neck, eyes going a bit vague as she scans
through her memory. "To that particular Masquerade, I'm thinking--aye, I
wore the storm dress, with silver lightning bolts all over dark blue; I
remember because A'lex insisted on dancing with me, and 'tis hard t'forget
a scene like that! Oh, but a sandstorm, that sounds like a lovely costume.
If'n there's another Masquearde sometime, it might be an idea even so. You
don't have t'go *with* anyone. I don't know that I've ever gone to an event
with a man in a romantic sense; always alone, it seems, or with friends."

Bronwynn smiles, "Well, not so much -with- someone as just with someone.
I'm not really that close to many people," she admits a bit sheepishly.
"And at this point, having spent all that time at the Smithcraft instead of
in the Weyr hasn't helped any. Mostly I just talk to you and Reye. And now
that Omfaleth's risen she's the senior Weyrwoman and probably won't have
much time for some crazy Telgar brownrider," she chuckles here, but her
smile doesn't seem entirely believable. "I've been talking to M'teh more
too, outside of the regular drills and such."

"There's nay shame in that. We aren't all great lights of the social
scene," Kassi points out, amused, but sympathetically so. "I've had times
too when I just... spent time away, in m'weyr more than out, or elsewhere,
and found I scarcely seemed t'know half the people I saw. It sounds like a
platitude, but you can be building or rebuilding bonds with people if'n you
give it time. In the meanwhile, I'm glad t'be talking. Shards know that
while I'm grounded again I'll certes be easy to find!" There's a flare of
humor at that, before she drops back to sympathy. "Shells, nay reason t'be
thinking so. If'n you and she are friends--or whatever you are--then she'll
probably find time for you. Ozy's Weyrsecond, y'know, and *he* hasn't much
time either, but he makes some t'visit when he can. And you should see the
quilt he found time t'make for me somehow--but now I'm digressing, hey?
Anyway, the point is, whether or nay she has *tons* of free time I'd nay
fear you'll never have her t'speak with. You just might t'have t'go see her
more oft than she can come see you."

Bronwynn laughs, "Well, she's never come visit actually. We're only just
getting to know each other. I dare say she's more likely to visit I'sai
than me, though he's refused to breath a word of it to me. Now that she's
going to be busy, I'm not sure I should be bugging her anyway. She's got a
whole weyr to worry about."

Kassima's mouth corner quirks to the side. "Aye, well," is all she says,
before shifting tracks: "Had you considered though that she might like
someone t'talk to, who's nay from Ista? 'Tis surely a new role for her, she
might have worries or frustrations she'd like t'tell someone about who's
nay really one of *her* Weyrfolk, so t'speak."

Bronwynn shrugs, abandonning her spot in the sand and stretching out her
legs as she stands. "I guess we'll find out about that. I think I should
probably get back, get some sleep into before drills. Need a hand?" she
asks the pregnant greenrider. A silent word to the brown gets his eyes
open, whirling slowly with sleep.

"Truth. I do hope you don't give up on her, though, Bronwynn; even
Weyrwomen need friends. Or," Kassi repeats, with a wry, brief grin,
"whatever you are. And I'm *far* overdue for sleep m'self--ach, would you?
M'legs are half asleep, which doesn't help with getting up." She pushes
away from her lean against Lyss, the green not yet abandoning her lounge
but lowering her neck so that Kassi can get her straps back on more readily.

Bronwynn does her best to support the laden rider, her smile becoming
equally wry. "Ah well, whatever we are. A good way to put it. I think
friends is probably all I can hope for, there. She is a Weyrwoman after all
and not particularly inclined to people without fishing poles. And it seems
that I'sai has some claim to her." With Kassi up she goes about refitting
Fehuth's straps about his neck.

"If'n 'twere with her after a flight--*she* wouldn't have lost a flight,
mmm? So her inclination may nay be what you think." Kassi, once righted,
smiles her thanks and retrieves her straps, buckling them onto Lysseth's
neck neatly. "As for I'sai's claim, I don't see why you couldn't have one
equal. Isn't as if'n she's his only lady, now, is it? If'n you'd like some
sort of relationship with Reye, well... you probably shouldn't just let it
go, assume 'tis hopeless, until she's formally paired to someone else. I
didn't fight Laila for E'vrin, y'know. I just assumed I'd lost. And so I
had." With the last strap tightened, she snorts in sudden dry humor. "Mind
you, 'tis hardly as if'n *I'm* any relationship expert. Or known t'practice
what I advise. So you might want t'take it with a grain of salt."

Bronwynn chuckles, "Well, I suppose your right. What you say makes sense at
least. I'm just not fond of over staying my welcome, if you know what I
mean. Or of stepping on anyone's toes. I still haven't had a chance to talk
to I'sai and I don't really know what their relationship is." Fehuth
stretches his wings, casting Brynn in shadow. "It is encouraging that she
accepted me at all that night after Feh's loss. I just don't have much
experience with these sorts of things. Poles or otherwise."

Kassima bobs her head at once. "I do understand. I don't know if'n I could
do it m'self... probably nay, i'truth, but as an outsider I can say 'tis
the better thing t'do--to at least, aye, talk with Is about it. Methinks
I'll be hoping for you. But if'n this doesn't work out, mayhaps something
else will, hey? You had a weyrmate once, so you know love and being loved
*is* possible for you. 'Tis something."

Bronwynn laughs, "Too true. So shall we race you back to the weyr? Lysseth
may be green, but she's got all that extra weight to carry," she says with
a wink before climbing up to Fehuth's shoulder.

"Don't make me come over there and slug you in the shoulder," Kassi warns,
her amusement clear--if not so clear as Lysseth's, given her short,
rumbling laugh. "Nay male could ever outrace my lady, did she carry half
Fort Hold on her shoulders!"

You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.

<*> Bronwynn climbs atop Fehuth, giving him an affectionate pat as she
settles between his neckridges.

<*> Lysseth spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down with
a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.

You hunch down before launching up, with powerful strokes.