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Even the Desert Knows Spring


Date:  May 6, 2008
Place:  Igen Weyr's Living Cavern
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:  'Young love for the aged,' that's what A'deth calls the
phenomenon that's turned both he and Kassima into silly teenagers.
Kassi's a little giddy with the spirit of spring.  All her flirting 
with her paramour has unintended effects on Cyme, down at Igen for a
visit, but it's a proposition from R'din that sends the young Starsmith
into flight.

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The Log:

You head into the Igen Weyr Living Cavern.

Kassima has, it would seem, spent some part of her day somewhere other than
the Weyr, unless the rock and dust of the Bowl have sprouted wildflowers
since yesterday. There's a crown of pale yellow and white wildflowers on
her head and a few sprigs of small pink blossoms stuck through her braid
here and there. Maybe her visit to wherever-it-is explains why she's
humming, too. A particularly scowly brownrider glowers at her as she passes
by but she pays him no mind. "Evening, Cavern!"

A'deth walks out of the infirmary.

Seated in one of the chairs by a hearth, Naara is curled up, looking like a
tangled pile of limbs as she feeds her blue scraps from her plate. She's
got a soft, dreamy smile on her face and her pale eyes look distant. A
soft, tuneless sort of humming can be heard from her, but only if one is
near and listens closely.

"Evening, Kassima!" choruses a number of the locals right back, some of
them lifting their glasses to her.

Kassima absolutely beams to be so addressed, and wiggles her fingers
cheerfully since she hasn't a mug to lift--yet. Give her a minute, she's
pouring one now. "I like Igen," she decides. A fair-sized fair of
fire-lizards follows her, flittering, finding roosts where they may. Odd
that one more should catch her attention, but it is a blue after all.
"G'deve," she offers Naara and her friend in particular. Not a loud
greeting as such things go, it would be easy enough to ignore.

Not loud, perhaps, but it seems Naara is more aware of her surroundings
than it would appear. The quiet greeting gains her attention with a snap,
her head turning quickly to stare at Kassima with wide, apple-green eyes.
"H-hello, ma'am." A softly spoken return of greetings given. The blue, for
his part, stands on the back of the chair protectively, sizing up the rider
as time progresses.


Naara:
When one sees this slight young thing, the first thought that comes to mind
is of a small runner filly. Small, thin, and almost all limbs, Naara looks
out at the world from behind large, apple-green eyes. She's classically
lovely, with smooth pale skin and even features. Long, ash-colored hair
falls in soft curls around her face, accentuating her small nose and petal
pink lips, which are often curved into a soft, dreamy sort of smile.


"How's life been treating you, then?" another brownrider asks Kassima--
N'orm, she might vaguely recall. Some of his tablemates snicker; it's
usually him getting the greeting, not him asking.

"I need a sign." Kassima pulls a wry face. "A sign, around m'neck, reading
'Please Don't Call Me That.' People would have t'be guessing *what*, but
that's more fun anyway. I'm Kassima. I'm nay, honest, respectable enough
for ma'aming. I don't know you, do I?" Keeping half her attention on Naara,
she turns a bit to wave her mug of juice N'orm-wards: "Today, as if'n I
have something it wants and it sees buttering me up as the answer! And you?"

Naara seems to consider this thought for a moment, looking off into the
space over Kassima's shoulder. "It would get heavy, I think," she observes
quietly. "Oh! I-I don't think so ma'am--er Kassima ma'am--" she stumbles
over the address before blushing an interesting shade of pink and shutting
up. "'M Naara."

"Like it caught me sleeping with its wife," glooms N'orm. But then someone
gets him another drink, and he beams.

Kassima considers this argument. "'Twould depend what 'twas made from. A
scrap of hide with a bit of writing on it would be nay burden t'speak of,
but big enough t'be seen? That's the question. Anyway, I'm serious--I'd
seriously, seriously rather be called by name, or nickname, or 'you
sharding wherryhead' than the M-word, which makes me feel ancient and
stodgy." The greenrider shudders. "Lysseth's egg forfend. Good t'meet you,
Naara." She nods towards the blue fire-lizard. "Who's he? Ach, N'orm,
again? Life's going t'geld you one of these days." But maybe it won't
matter, so long as there's beer at hand.

Naara follows the rider's gaze to where the blue sits perched over her and
smiles softly. "Riike. His name is Riike." The comments going back and
forth between Kassima and N'orm seem to puzzle her, but she says nothing,
content to sit and listen and pull her blue into her lap to coddle.

Kassima casts a glance back over her shoulder at the table. Decides, after
a moment, to shepherd some glazed wherry onto a plate, a moderate-to-small
amount with just a few noodles on the side. "'Tisn't a bad name," she
offers as she helps herself to a seat at a table near enough to allow
conversation. "He isn't from one of Kyana's clutches, is he?"

"Oh, no," Naara answers softly. "I found him as an egg all tangled up in
dry grasses." She reaches around to rub at Riike's eyeridges. "All by his
lonesome."

"I'truth?" Kassima pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Must've been
a green clutch. How he got away from his clutchmates, I'd like t'know. As
well for him he did." She regards the fire-lizard with renewed interest.
"He looks as if'n he's hale and healthy?"

"Oh, yes," Naara assures her quietly. "Cook says he's too big for his
color, but I like him just fine." She smiles softly and continues to pet
the blue's soft hide, said creature nearly melting into her lap with
contentment.

Kassima dismisses that concern with a wrinkle of her nose. She pauses for a
bite of food, a second, before answering, "What's too big? So long as he
can fly. Dragons have their different sizes too, some of the blues bigger
than some of the browns. I doubt that's aught t'worry about."

"Never heard anyone complain about theirs being too small before," A'deth
drawls from the entrance to the infirmary; he's leaning against the arch,
his arms folded, and has been eavesdropping. "He'll just have an edge on
the smaller ones."

Startled by the new voice, Naara's head whips up. Wide-eyed yet again, she
swallows once. "And edge, sir?" she'll ask quietly, glancing between he and
Kassima. "And....I'm not...complaining," she adds. "I love Riike."

Kassima turns in her chair; already cheerful, she brightens that much more
and casts the other greenrider a grin as warm as it is amused. "That says
something about the company you keep," she retorts, droll for drawl.
"A'course you do." That's to Naara. "I'd nay question it. All I meant was,
you shouldn't worry about his size, though I don't think 'twere worrying
anyway. Mayhaps I should say that the cook shouldn't worry about his size."

"In flights. He's still smaller than a big brown, but he'll be stronger
than the other blues, so he'll be able to last longer and still maneuver
skillfully." And A'deth wanders over to the meal table, perusing the klah
and finger-foods quite bemusedly. "And it does say many things, but most of
them are probably fit to be spoken in polite company: 'Why is he so small?
Should I feed him more?' or... wait, no, that probably sounds terrible,
too. Well, they do complain if it's when I've got the scalpel out. Then
they all like it smaller."

Nodding thoughtfully as A'deth and Kassima explain their respective
commentary, Naara smiles a little. "He is strong," is all she'll say on the
matter. The discussion between the riders, however, goes completely over
her head, and after a moment of blinking in confusion, she shrugs and drops
her attention back to her blue, letting the adults discuss...whatever it is
they're discussing.

"A'deth," Kassima confides to Naara, "is Igen's senior Dragonhealer, so
this is his area of expertise." What, fire-lizards? Flights? Scalpels? "And
you can chalk me up as another who'd prefer--nay scalpel at all, come
t'think on it, A'deth. Anyway. Subject change! You're from around here?"
she asks Naara. "Or are you visiting? Or newly arrived, but here t'stay?
We're picking up residents left and right these days."

Cyme comes in from the Bowl.

A'deth, wisely, just nods and wanders over with his meal. He perches on the
edge of Kassima's table, and gazes down at them both.

Looking up at Kassima, Naara has a funny sort of look on her face. Like
she's trying to work something out for herself. "No ma'--Kassima. I've
lived here my whole life," she confides quietly, then offers a shy sort of
smile. "Just most people don't notice."

The quiet, mostly inobtrusive presence of Cyme wanders inside, the tall,
spare young woman rubbing at her eyes a little as she waits for her vision
to properly focus after venturing in from the bright sunlight. Beneath her
broaf-brimmed straw hat, the starsmith's forehead, cheeks and nose can be
seen to bear tokens of a losing encounter with said yellow day ball.

R'din ambles out from the inner caverns.

Kassima smiles back, but hers is a sheepish one. "I don't know half the
people who live here," she says, "even now. Half the riders, I could only
pick out of a line if'n Lysseth helped me cheat. Please don't take offense
from it. I probably wouldn't have pestered you today except I noticed your
'lizard." Perhaps to distract herself from her own embarrassment, she tugs
a pink blossom from her braid to offer to A'deth. "How's the Infirmary?"

"It's an infirmary. Not too many injuries today. Lanced a few boils."
A'deth shrugs, and takes a bite of meatroll as if the thought of
pus-filled, well, pustules, wasn't much at all. "You'll get worse stories
from the assistants and the novices, I make them clean out the bedpans.
Especially the dragons', that's just disgusting."

R'din saunters into the Caverns in his usual customary manner, humming a
bawdy tune as he strolls idly towards the pitchers, "Greetings." He
comments to Cyme as he passes her, performing a bow to the Assistant
Weyrlingmaster Kassima, "Assistant Weyrlingmaster, Ma'am!" He greets
cheerfully as he pours himself a glass of juice.

Naara shakes her head. "Don't worry, I'm used to it by now." And that's all
she'll say on that subject. A'deth's talk of bedpans makes her shudder
rather impressively. "I had to help out once with the ones from the human
Infirmary and that was awful. I can't /imagine/ dragon bedpans." Quietly
and appropriately horrified.

A young firelizard zips inside from the Igen heat, making no sound other
than that of flapping wings as he buzzes the cavern. Cyme darts a look up
to the hulk of a brown, then making a soft buzzing sound with her lips.
Quickly, Shadow descends to the woman's hand, then settled safely on her
padded shoulder. Moving around in her quiet way, the starsmith spots a
familiar face in the small crowd, gliding over towards Kassima. "Hello
again, ma... Kassi." The others about Lysseth's rider get curious looks,
polite bobs of head, and a low, liquid, "Starsmith's duties to Igen."

"And yet," Kassima marvels, "they haven't yet murdered you, chopped up the
body, and hidden it in forty-seven clever locations around Igen, some of
which would only be discovered when they dug a ribcage out of the sand
another thousand Turns hence. Why?" As if anyone could answer that
question! "Do they have bedpans? They don't go in the couches? I--oh,
Faranth." The greenrider blinks twice at R'din, nonplussed and slightly
pained. "I should've made the sign. Please don't ma'am me. *Please*. I'm
going t'break out in hives any moment at this rate; I don't want t'go to
the Infirmary m'self, y'know, and Cyme! Heyla! Igen's duties, welcome back;
your timing's great. Come save me, I'm being ma'amed."

"Ooh, look at how polite he is. Make him drop and give you twenty," A'deth
advises Kassima, about R'din. To Naara, he remarks in a very deadpan tone,
"They're as big as the table. They just stick their tails over, and...
well, you can imagine--" And to Cyme, he says, "You're that Starsmith girl
who Impressed at the last firelizard hatching, right?" About whether there
/really/ are dragon bedpans, he says not a word. Let their imaginations run
wild, right?


R'din:
Tanned, well-defined arms hint at the lifestyle that this 42 Turns, 8
months, and 20 days old bluerider leads, a well-fitting deep blue
sleeveless tunic encompassing his broad shoulders and lean torso. Under the
tunic, a belt loops around the rings of his nicely-trimmed leather pants,
the curve of dark leather fits his legs and waist well, showing the
well-toned thighs and calves, the hem disappearing into heavy thick-heeled
boots reaching mid-calf. They proudly present the three straps on it, one
just above his ankle, another at the joint of ankle and foot, the final on
the top of his feet. A shoulder knot of gold and midnight black along with
a thread of sapphire-blue symbolizing his lifemate sits on one shoulder,
telling others that he is a Igen Weyr Bluerider.

His jacket serves to enchance his broad shoulders, with quite a few straps
and buckles hanging from various spots on the jacket, some merely for
decoration while others actually have a function. On a sleeve of the
jacket, the patch that was there, is now, oddly enough gone, leaving behind
a spot that's slightly darker than the rest of his jacket.

His shoulder-length spun threads of crimson fire has grown back, framing
his features of hazel eyes that seem to be sparkling most of the time, high
cheekbones and crimson lips, full of youth and life. In all, he's quite
handsome, but not the best-looking of the best.


Attention riveted on A'deth, Naara's eyes get wider and wider still as he
spins his tale. "That must take /ages/ to clean!" she whispers in shock.
But then, out of nowhere, there are People! Concerned and mildly
uncomfortable, Naara shrinks back into her chair, tucking her knees up and
holding Riike to her chest.

R'din tilts his head at Kassima, "Hives? That would certainly be
entertaining to watch. But I must accomodate whatever a lady desires of me,
therefore, I shall stop calling you Ma'am." A broad sweep of his juice
glass in the air, taking a gulp from it. "Starsmith?" Ears perk up at the
Hall's name, "Might I ask what a Starsmither is doing here at sweltering
Igen?" Naara's behavior is noticed and noted, "Something wrong?" is asked
as he makes his way over to the others.

Cyme quirks a hesitant smile to Kassima - which for her is more of an
outright grin. "See, I remembered. I didn't 'ma'am' you." A pause, and
violet eyes slip to A'deth, then Naara, then R'din. A hand raises to cover
an airy, soft giggle when the elder greenrider razzes the blue-riding man,
and she notes to Kassi, "How do you want to be saved? I could drag you up
to the Starstones again." Her slight smile vanishes into the woman's more
typical sober mein when A'deth addresses her, Cyme's head bobbing once.
"Yes, that was me, sir." Notice the polite caution around new people. "I
named him Shadow." A stroke of a fingertip to the quiet brown's head
produces a soft whurr of pleased sound." And then R'din is next inquiring
of her work, the tall woman's features lighting up a bit. "The hall isn't
really far from the Weyr, especially on a dragon, sir. And my Masters seem
to find me...getting out and airing myself here a good thing." Narra's
tucked-up form gets a slight headtilt, but Cyme doesn't badger the girl.

Kassima recovers quickly from the threat of hives; she must, or she
wouldn't be rolling her eyes at A'deth. "For whose enjoyment, I wonder.
D'you think 'tis the flowers?" She touches her flower-crown dubiously.
"Thankee kindly for that," this to R'din, "although I'm nay much of a lady,
I'm afraid." Now she turns to Cyme. What remains of her food is growing
cold, but she pays it no mind. "You didn't--thankee! That might do if'n
there's another viewing, I can make a pest of m'self t'your Master again.
In an entirely un-iniquitous way. I feel obliged t'clarify that, given the
company. Does everyone know everyone else or is a round of introductions in
order?"

A'deth just chuckles very softly at them all, and takes a drink of his klah.

"I--I'm okay," Naara tries to assure everyone, especially that bluerider
striding closer and looking concerned. "Really, I'm okay."

R'din shrugs at Kassima, "The definition of a lady is a woman who makes
those around her comfortable. Not necessarily a Lady Holder." To Cyme,
R'din smiles, "It's nice to see a Starsmither out during the day instead of
during the night. I find their complexions don't benefit from the light of
the stars." The two firelizards are noticed, "A Firelizard gathering?" A
shrug at Kassima, "Well, I've been away from Igen Weyr the last few Turns
Watchriding at Southern Boll. I've come back to find most strangers."
Another gulp as he seats himself.

The holdbred and craft-indoctrinated starsmith looks a little strangely at
Kassima, then shaking her pale head once. "I don't know why. You seem like
a lady to me." Hard to know what she deems to make up of one of those
breed, though. A soft hint of a smile. "You're welcome. Oh, not this time,
I'm afraid. I just got dropped off to...socialize." Sounds like -enforced-
socialization, coming from her mouth. A sudden small blush at Kassima's
wanting to clarify things, and the crafter quickly murmurs, "Sorry. I'm
senior apprentice Cyme." R'din gets a slight inclination of her head in
agreement with the take on 'lady'ishness, but then he's talking of pale
starsmith hides, and drawing attention to her near ghostly pale complexion
makes the starsmith squirm a little.

Kassima's nod to Naara is trying for reassuring. "Things've gotten busy all
of a sudden. Late dinner rush, probably." She elects to make the
aforementioned introductions, pointing to each person as she names them:
"A'deth, green Jaelith's, senior Dragonhealer; Naara, lifelong resident of
Igen; Riike, her fire-lizard." Jane, his wife! A second's vague-eyed pause
follows. "R'din, blue Daianth's; Cyme, senior Apprentice Starsmith. And me,
Kassima, green Lysseth's, who more often makes the men around her cross
their legs and squeak than be comfortable, so I still don't think I
qualify. Socializing's almost as good as a viewing. The wherry's good, if'n
anyone wants a dinner suggestion."

A'deth inclines his head to R'din. "I unretired a year ago, so I'm still
recquainting myself with my home. If we've not met, well, I haven't met
Naara either. Cyme not too long ago. Kassima, fortunately, I've known for,
ah, some time now." Exactly how long, well, he leaves that to the ages. And
ages, and.

"Well met," Naara acknowledges softly, a blanket greeting to all involved.
"I'm Naara," she offers, forgetting for the moment that she'd already been
introduced.

R'din waits, watching Kassima with a knowing look at that vague-eyed pause,
"Hmm. Igen's shirks to everyone." He waves his glass at all introduced,
downing the rest of his juice, setting the empty glass on the table. A nod
at A'deth, "Aye, I know that feeling. Came back to spinners everywhere in
my weyr. A good burst o' flame took care of that." As he finishes the
sentence, four firelizards burst out of *between*, a chubby brown, a lithe
brown, a blue, and a green. A glance at Shadow and Riike, "Hope your
firelizards don't mind, I invited mine to the gathering."

Cyme seems to be concentrating more on things outside of her mind than
usual, for she manages to peer at each individual Kassi names off and nods,
as if trying to commit them to memory. Good luck. A curious peer again at
Kassima. "Cross their legs? Squeak? What, did you kick them accidentally -
or on purpose, Kassi? You know...there?" A very vague motion of spidery
long fingers in her general groin direction. "If so, they must've done
something to really earn it, then." A quick shake of head to Lysseth's
rider. "I ate before I came over. I don't want the Weyr to think they have
to suffer the burden of feeding another mouth, since I'm taking up space on
its time, too." Nothing in her tone hints at anything other than simple and
concise earnestness. A grave inclination of head to Nara when she speaks
up, and then her own pet is looking up at the new arrivals, giving them a
low little warble of greeting, but staying planted on his human. A'deth's
mention of her name draws a glance of dark eyes, and soon enough the
crafter is sitting down, too - Shadow deftly balancing upon a shoulder -
and asking of him, "Does it take long to become a dragonhealer? Is it a
full craft, like the Healers?"

"Longer than I care t'be confessing," Kassima seconds A'deth with a wry
grin. "I'm thinking by the sound we're all otherwise recent acquaintances.
Relatively recent. I didn't actually kick them," she assures Cyme, if
assurance it can be called, "I only suggested I might, or mentioned the
Emasculator, which men are nay very fond of for some reason. But! One of
m'mentees at Telgar really, truly kneed someone when he tried t'get fresh
during a flight. 'Twas one of the proudest moments of m'life." She feigns
wiping away a tear of joy. "...Oh, for Faranth's sake. Igen can afford
t'feed you! And space you! Look at this, 'tis a big bonzo cave, and you're
a guest and doing us honor by visiting."

A'deth shakes his head. "Couldn't flame mine. Got wood, papers, scrolls.
The curtains alone cost me half my weight in marks. Too much of a pain to
move all the wine out anyway. And the brandy. And. No, had to hunt them
down by hand. And with a big stick." And to Cyme, he explains, "No. While
Dragonhealing was developed with the Healercraft, there is no central Hall
to administer it, as each Weyr must remain autonomous... though some weyrs
will cross-train if another has a shortage. And it doesn't take too long to
become a Novice, just interest, hard work, and aptitude-- a few months
later one can become a Trainee, that's probably a Senior Apprentice. A
Capable's about what you'd expect from a Journeyman or, later in his
career, as a Master." And Kassima gets an affectionate, crooked smile. "We
should have talked more, then."

Waiting until the opportune moment, Naara pulls Riike to her chest and
slips out of the chair, moving quickly through bodies until she can reach
the inner caverns.

R'din smiles at Cyme, "One more mouth won't even make a dent in the Weyr's
supplies. Time, food, and space is something that any Weyr has plenty of."
A nod to give his assent to Kassima's words, "She turned her weyrlings into
man-eaters. I turned my weyrlings into pranksters." A soft chuckle at
A'deth, "Indeed, my weyr's full of wood, but I took everything with me when
I moved to Boll. The problem now is getting the stench of firestone out."
His firelizards descend to the table in front of him, causing R'din to rise
and head towards the kitchen for a moment. Sounds of grumblings ensue
before R'din returns with a large bowl of raw meat, pointing at his
firelizards, "Fat one's Soar. Thin brown's Mercutio. Blue's Kaze and
green's Kusa. Perhaps Riike and Shadow are a bit hungry as well?" But the
disappearance of Naara and Riike has him nonplussed, looking around for the
girl.

Naara strides through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.

Kassi's reply appear to not only have Cyme ready to giggle, but also just
the tiniest bit concerned. Odd combination, but it shows mostly in her
eyes. Finger press to her lips to hold in the bit of 'rude' laughter, and
she comments to the woman, "Once, I saw something I shouldn't've - a
journeyman getting fresh with an apprentice girl. She did the same thing to
him." Ready to try and explain her (and possibly her Craft's) take on
things to Kassi, Cyme's suddenly shifting her serious countenence and ears
to A'deth's explanations, giving him thoughtful nods. A few moments to
digest what he's said, then, "I guess that makes more sense, at least from
what tiny bit I know. You don't need a Hall when your patients are always
in Weyrs." Beat. "I'm assuming its...well, potentially gory work?" So
caught up in present company is she that Cyme doesn't really notice Naara
slip away, her attention now moved to R'din. "I've heard weyrlings work
very hard. I supposed it's needed that they have some kind of outlet."
Hopefully she's speaking about the pranking. Choosing to forego the
bluerider's kind words of feeding her, the starsmith instead chooses to pay
attention to Shadow...who's now creeling softly as that bowl of meat
arrives. "Are you sure he can, sir? I don't want to impose him, either." A
look to each of the man's pets, and then her hand has to fall upon Shadow's
back to keep him from hopping down to join the feast.

Kassima suggests to both men, "Fire-lizards. Let your fire-lizards go after
the spinners next time, and if'n you're very fortunate 'twill also get you
out of feeding 'em for a day." She tips her head to smile back at A'deth.
Openly fond; ruefully amused. "I can't say 'twould nay get ruffled and
leave again in the circumstances... but I wish I hadn't." It takes her a
moment to remember the rest of the conversation. "The Weyrlings weren't
man-eaters! Except Ashryl, but I refuse t'be taking the blame for that.
*Good* for that Apprentice, Cyme." No, Kassi doesn't find the idea of
kneeing those of greater rank offensive. Go figure. "I hope she didn't get
in too much trouble."

"...I was too drunk at the time," A'deth shrugs, with a brief pause to
trace a fingertip down Kassima's cheek. "To apply the reasonable solution.
Not that I think they could've managed it. The things were even crawling
out of my old gitar." And to Cyme, he notes, "It can be very gory. We
haven't had anything that major in a long time, since Igen's Falls hae been
relatively light... and we'd never not feed a hatchling. On my honor, if
you're visiting and he's hungry, just ask. We'll feed you both to bursting,
Igen's not wanting for food."

R'din sets the bowl down, letting his 'lizards start to rip into the feast,
"Of course Shadow can. But he better hurry before my flying bottomless pits
eat it all." He offers a winning smile to the apprentice, agreeing with
A'deth, "Hatchlings never go starving here. Weyrlings do work very hard, if
they don't..." A shrug, "Their dragon will suffer." A pause, eyeing
Kassima, motioning to the females at the table, "Women have the brains.
That never even occured to me."

Cyme makes a slightly appalled face at Kassima's suggestion. "Yech! I
wouldn't let Shadow eat bugs. Not while I was around, anyway. I don't like
spinners and crawlers." Shudder. Thankfully the topic moves to other
things, and her quick little smile edges towards the smirking side. "I
heard he was going to say something...but he wound up -not-, since she said
she'd tell on him about making lewd advances to people he shouldn't have
been." Her frankly laughing gaze naturally turns to A'deth as he speaks to
her, but his gesture of fondness to Kassi makes the young woman duck in her
chin and look elsewhere. "Yessir..." is her meek reply to the dragonhealer,
and she glad to concentrate on Shadow, letting up her hands' pressure to
allow him to hop down on the table and tear into his own part of the
goodies. "Thank you, sir," she smiles to R'din, then peering oddly at him.
"They do? I mean, of course we do, but so do males. Jays, just look at all
the men in the starcraft. You can't be daft and get into it. Though we have
lots of smart women, of course." A little quiet preening.

"Ah, well. That's one benefit t'having more 'lizards, arguably, than common
sense. Naught survives five minutes in m'weyr that I don't want there."
That cheek curves the more, as Kassi's mouth does, for the touch. She
catches A'deth's hand to clasp a moment before letting go. "Necessity
breeds invention, 'tis all--I'm happy enough t'see mine eat *aught* on
their own. Tunnelsnakes. Scraps from Lysseth's kills." This point of Cyme's
story is where she applauds. "Good! Good! Nay good if'n he didn't get found
out--but probably someone told on him eventually. There's a limit t'how
lewd you can be without the world knowing."

"Lewdness," A'deth drawls archly to Cyme, ignoring the meekness, "Is best
done sideways, not up or down..." And then he considers his own words. "No,
I take that back. Only when it comes to /rank/ should it be sideways. At
least within one's own craft, though even outside of it... well... you'll
learn, I'm sure." And he hrmphs at R'din. "They are quite intelligent, but
I was /drunk/." And he considers Kassi, and then toasts her with his mug of
klah, and takes a long drink.

R'din winces at the "sir" directed to him, "Please. Like her," pointing at
Kassima, "I break out in hives if called "sir." I never let my weyrlings
call me that if nobody was around." The gestures between A'deth and Kassima
go unnoticed by him. Nothing unusual at a Weyr. "Sure, I'll grant you there
are some incredibly dumb, inept women out there, but I think the inept
males outnumber them. That Journeyman is a perfect example." A smirk at
A'deth, "Our fondness of spirits certainly don't help our sex's cause,
A'deth."

Nooo-no, not looking at behavior she hasn't really experienced yet. Not for
apprentices. Cyme gives another few rapid nods to Kassima's voice, and a
forgetful, "Yes ma'am," while she concentrates intently on Shadow's porking
out. But then A'deth says -that-, and the slightly naive crafter is truly
crimsoning - her pale skin flushing from neck up to scalp, her nearly
six-foot form appearing to crumple in on itself as she sinks even deeper
into her chair. She can't even manage a lucid reply to R'din, not daring to
look up into his face while she tries to pull herself together.
"Yessi...R'din. Men are stupid," she replies automatically, like a parrot.

The idea of Cyme learning to be lewd--the idea, in truth, of 'Cyme' and
'lewd' in the same room--leaves Kassima with a strange expression, as if
she can't decide whether to be entertained or vaguely dismayed. "'Tis a
point," she admits nevertheless. "Things might get complicated otherwise."
After raising her juice mug to A'deth, she says, "If'n liking t'drink is
the same as stupidity, I'm one of the stupidest stupids that ever did
stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Durrr. I don't think so, though--well," she
amends, "nay for *that* reason. Still nay a ma'am!"

A'deth eyes R'din. "You should see the drinks Kassima mixes." Cyme's
discomposure makes him laugh softly, helplessly. To Kassima, he chuckles,
"No! You are a genius of magnificent, uh, magnificence. You would've made a
marvellous bartender. Perhaps you should make poor Cyme something, look,
she's about to sink right through her chair and into the floor."

R'din grins at A'deth and Kassima's words, getting up to fetch himself a
citron. Returning, he shakes the citron at Kassima, "Then I name you a
honorary male!" he calls out in a loud, clear voice so all in the Caverns
can hear him before sitting down cheerfully to begin peeling his citron,
eyes now riveted on Cyme in amusement. "How old are you, again?" is queried.

Cyme jerks her spare frame up like some kind of sick marionette, pricked a
little at being poked fun at. Though she's still awfully embarrassed, her
hunched shoulders hold a proud neck and head up, the woman staring over at
Kassima as the men tease her. "Make them stop," she grumps darkly, then
jerking her gaze to R'din for just a second. "I'm nineteen,
thankyouverymuch." Sniff. Wince.

Kassima beams at A'deth, and why not? She's a genius of magnificent
magnificence! "I could certes fetch her something," she supposes,
considering Cyme with sympathetic amusement. "I've a kit in Lysseth's strap
pouch. 'Tis all right, Cyme... they tease, but don't mean harm. I daresay
they'll stop since they know you want 'em to. Naught wrong 'tall with
blushing a bit when people talk of lewdness." There's a lingering hint of
humor in that, but she's sincere. Then--then R'din makes his pronouncement!
And when she's done blinking she stands and clasps her hands over her
heart. "This is such a happy day for me. Today I am a man!" The flowers
crowning and strewn through her hair do not do much for her masculine
image, alas.

"...You've been man enough for me," A'deth murmurs, quietly irrepressible.

R'din laughs at Cyme's reactions to the teasing and again at Kassima's
acting, then again at A'deth's words, reducing him to fits of chortles.
After several moments, R'din calms down, "Aye, I could use some mixed
drinks." Nod, tilting his head at Cyme, "Holdbred? Once you become a
Journeywoman, why don't you visit Igen again? I could show you a few things
that Holders have no clue about."

Cyme sticks out pointed chin, nodding once when Kassima sort-of seconds
her, then latching accusing eyes to first A'deth, then R'din. "No matter
what I peronally think of...such things, I'm an -apprentice.-" As if that
explains everything. But what's that? Could it be a fractional hint of a
smile lurking once again at one corner of her serious mouth, in those
violet eyes? Good thing she didn't overhear A'deth, of the crafter might be
squirming again. Or maybe demanding 'take-backs.' The young woman
gratefully and graciously welcomes back a burping, drooping Shadow back to
her arm, and then up to padded shoulder, patting him fondly before he winds
himself around the back of her neck to doze. "At least -some- males are
good..." she notes softly, smiling at her pet. "Yes, I came from a small
holding near Highr Reaches hold, originally," Cyme informs R'din in a
matter-of-fact voice. And then he has to go say THAT. Not to someone else,
or even the air, but directly. to. HER. The starsmith's eyes boggle, her
mouth jerks open just a fraction, and a little mewl of aghast surprise
slips out. Looking caught between wanting to slap the bluerider and run
from him, she chooses the latter instinctively. Wouldn't do to hit your
host. Jerking upright from her seat in one fluid motion, Cyme sends her
chair skittering, then nearly bolting for the exit to the bowl.

Oh, look, it's Kassima's turn to turn red. Nevertheless, she pulls another
pink flower from her braid and tucks it neatly behind A'deth's nearest ear.
"May I continue t'be so. For long and long, honorary title or nay." It
isn't that she's trying to embarrass anyone. She's a woman in love, and
even the desert knows spring. ...Besides, it looks as though Cyme has far
bigger worries. "Shells--Cyme! You don't have t'be--shard and scorch it. I
don't think," very dryly indeed, as she leaves her chair to pick up the
fallen one left by the fleeing Apprentice, "she's interested. Poor lass. I
wonder if'n I should go after her."

"R'din, that's no proper way to proposition a girl!" A'deth actually looks
irritated, all of a sudden. "You stay away from him, young lady, until he
gets a few more Turns to learn subtlety, too-- shards!" And he slips off
the table when the girl bolts, but he's slow, and his left leg drags just
enough to make it tough to catch up. "I'll go, I'll go. Cyme," And he
hollers after her, in the voice of a man used to bellowing orders after
wayward underlings, "I've already sworn off all women but one anyway, and
you're not a man!"

Too late, the silly young woman has fled the hotbed of sexual innuendo and
proposition, likely finding some quiet nook to gather her wits about her
again.

Cyme walks out to the Bowl.

R'din watches thoughtfully as Cyme goes running off, "Ah, don't worry about
it, I'll make it up to her someday." is said "What do you expect, anyway? I
ride a blue. With you two giving her the blush, I couldn't resist." A
shrug, cheerfully munching into his citron as if this isn't new to him.

"Riding any color doesn't make that make sense," Kassima retorts, eyeing
first R'din, then the direction Cyme went. "She wasn't comfortable; what
man wouldn't know that? Probably she'll think all rider men are out t'be
leaping her bones now." She doesn't sit back down after righting the chair,
but nods to A'deth to yield him the task with a faint crease of worry
between her brows. "Apologize t'her for me too, if'n you catch her?"

"There's a difference between innuendo and outright proposition," A'deth
growls. "Folks right out of a hold, even a craft, aren't used to just being
asked, not like we are." And he heads for the bowl, and peers out, this way
and that. "...Damn. Gone."

R'din shrugs, rising up out of his seat once he's done with his citron,
heading out of the Caverns into the bowl as well, "What I did isn't any
worse than you two keeping up the innuendo when you both clearly saw she
was uncomfortable. Don't place all of the blame on me."

Kassima mutters, "I can think of some rider women who'd nay be comfortable
t'be asked like that either. Mayhaps 'twill visit Starcraft on the morrow.
She's a good lass, I'd nay want her t'avoid Igen, thinking...." She's taken
some measure of Cyme's embarrassment for herself: red, now, for having had
anything to do with the young woman's discomfort. Even so: "Beg pardon? We
may have been fluttering at *each other*, but I didn't once suggest t'Cyme
she should sleep with me. Nor did A'deth. The comparison isn't apt."

A'deth shifts aside to let R'din step past. His expression changes to
something... no, to nothing. Absolute neutrality. He draws himself up very
straight, and strides towards Kassima, though he stops after a few paces.
"Don't proposition her again. And apologise when you see her next."

R'din holds his hands out, palms upwards in a gesture, "Guess I've lost my
subtlety since moving to Boll, then. I wasn't being serious at all. If you
see her before I do, let her know that." A pause at the exit, considering
the pair. Rather than get into an argument, he turns and departs.

R'din walks out to the Bowl.

"I can see where it might've been a joke." Kassima's not talking to R'din;
he's already gone. "Meant as one. But 'twasn't well-aimed or
well-considered 'tall." Kassima: greenrider. Honorary man. Master of the
obvious. She's quieter in studying A'deth's expression. "I will go and see
her. When she's nay embarrassed, mayhaps I can explain and apologize."

A'deth resumes his course. "There's a difference," he says to her, when he
comes to a halt. "Apologise for courtesy's sake, if nothing else, but
that's all you need do-- you, of us three, were hardly the worst, and
there's no shame in some bawdy talk in a /weyr/, or all places."

Kassima is nodding before he's finished speaking. "Apologize on Igen's
behalf," she clarifies. "You and I--he's wrong. We weren't much worse than
m'mother and father might be over their supper table, for Faranth's sake.
But visiting Apprentices shouldn't worry about propositions; 'twasn't
couth, she deserves acknowledgment of that. Aye?" Very deliberately, she
reaches to lay the backs of her fingers against his cheek if he doesn't
move away. "I don't regret the rest of it."

A'deth leans down, steadying himself with a hand on the table, and kisses
her forehead. "'Aye'," he echoes softly. "I am in absolute agreement."

Kassima tips her head up to meet him partway; their height difference isn't
so terrible, when they both work to overcome it. Her eyes close, her mouth
takes on a soft curve. "That's settled, then." She'll seal it by stealing a
kiss. Light, of course--this is still the Living Cavern. "Another colorful
evening at Igen Weyr."

A'deth kisses her properly, then-- but lightly, lightly. "I will stay home
more often," he murmurs, his pale gaze gently affectionate. "It was nice to
see you today, even after all that."

Kassima chuckles under her breath. "I'd nay complain," both truth and light
tease. "Likewise. You're fortunate, y'know, because I almost wove you a
strand of flowers too. I find m'self very fond of springtime and all its
silliness this Turn."

A'deth sits down beside her, sighing softly. "I'd wear them. And that robe,
too, right in the living cavern. I'll set a new fashion trend. 'Young love
for the aged,' because we've both turned into silly teenagers, I guess."

"Just wait. Soon enough I'm apt t'write you poetry." Kassima, having
delivered one threat, makes good--in a way--on another. She carefully
removes her crown of white-and-yellow blossoms and sets it with all the
care and gravity it deserves on his head. "'Twas never in love as a
teenager, so you could call it making up for lost time. Mayhaps 'twill find
a Hold lass's dress and wear that with m'flowers, and we can hold hands and
stare into each other's eyes and the people who try t'talk to us will have
t'rap us on the heads t'get our attention."

A'deth looks very dignified. Or he might, were it not for the fact that
he's decked out like a fluttery maiden. Though, somehow, with his fine
bones and long silvery hair... it's not that bad. "It would have," he
murmurs, "To be a very long dress, if I were to wear it." He doesn't seem
averse to that proposition, either. Even his gaze seems quite serious.

It does nothing to reduce him in Kassi's eyes. Yes, perhaps they sparkle a
little, and perhaps a grin tugs at her mouth, but that subtle glow in her
face when she looks at him... young love for the aged. It's well-named so.
"'Twas thinking 'twould, since you've the robe. But I'd still make silly
mooncalf eyes at you in a dress. I doubt I'd notice it," she admits, "so
long as you're there."

"Would you wear the suit?" A'deth inquires cheerfully. "It would be
inconvenient to have to flip up /two/ sets of inconvenient skirts." His
smile is faint and sidelong, and now his gaze is amused-- he's joking, but
he isn't. What's pride compared to shock value? "While we're gazing into
each others' eyes... 'Oh, wait, is that your crinoline or mine? Damn, I
think I just tossed your garter!"

Kassima is agreeable: "I happen t'look smashing in a well-cut vest and
trousers. *And* flowers. You can wear flowers with a suit." Sure, why not?
So long as they're defying fashion conventions! "But then there aren't any
bits of frippery for you t'be tossing--I can live with that, I've got
yours. Would you mind?" She'd be perfectly proud, for all one can tell, to
stand by him in his skirts.

A'deth nods firmly. And then, he says more seriously, "I'd like to see you
in a well-cut vest and trousers." Perhaps he should commission something?
Hrm. "And flowers." And he reaches up, and takes the garland, and then
carefully places it back on her head, just perfectly /so/. "You'd be
magnificent. And you can toss my garters anytime you like."

"Then I'd like t'wear them for you." Not normally the sort of thing a man
asks to see her in, perhaps, but Kassima doesn't care. It's his wish that
matters, and they'd itch less than lace besides. "That, however, is a
dangerous offer." She tilts her chin so that she may peek up at him through
the drape of her forelock, flower-crowned. "You should never underestimate
how often I'd t'toss your garters given m'druthers."

A'deth, man of odd tastes? He beams at her, and spreads his arms,
magnanimously grandiose. "You may toss them any time you like."

Kassima lifts her head to tsk at him: "You do like t'be living dangerously.
Very well! On your head be it! This is where 'twould rise and scoop you out
of that chair and carry you off in m'arms, while all this Cavern looked on
in envy--" Or cheerful drunkenness, more likely, in N'orm's case. "I'm nay
sure a broken back would let me do much garter-tossing, though. It certes
wouldn't be very romantic."

N'orm seems to be very cheerfully drunk. He and another friend are talking
enthusiastically about something-- wait, no, he's mostly drinking, and his
friend's talking about, yeah, that one time, he did this and that, and so
this is why that's like this, and...

A'deth, for his part, considers her like he's thinking of scooping /her/
up. "...You're not that heavy..."

Kassima's first impulse is to ask whether that wouldn't hurt him, whether
his leg and his arm can really handle the weight of her--but she keeps
those questions behind her teeth. Trust him to know what he can do... so
she gives him a slow smile that's not a little warm. Scoots her chair out
too, which might be considered an invitation.

That faint hint of challenge in his gaze eases. He considers, gauging,
mentally weighing... and abruptly, he's out of his seat. He leans in to
scoop her up and off he goes, using momentum and determination to do it--
and he really is strong, for those moments, an echo of what he used to be.
He actually makes it all the way to the entrance -- amidst a smattering of
applause -- before he must, left arm a-tremble, set her down. And kiss her,
to pointlessly cover up for it.

It's been awhile, a long while, but Kassima's been carried before and
remembers something of how to wind her arms around his neck and shift her
weight to make this some little bit easier for him. Unconsciously;
consciously, she revels in his strength and his warmth and the moments
they're hers. He can hear her quiet laughter for the applause. And when it
ends she isn't disappointed at all, but kisses him with a will... they are,
after all, technically *sort of* out of the Living Cavern, aren't they? For
that, too, there's applause, and a whistle or two to heat Kassi's face with
a blush.

It's not even like they're tabledancing! Or that it's a post-flight mess.
A'deth is breathing hard when their lips part, both for the kiss and for
the effort. "You're not as bad as a firestone sack," he murmurs,
generously, romantically, ardently. (Truly.)

Kassima, arms still wrapped around him, leans in to laugh helplessly into
his shoulder. "I should devoutly hope," she says, "that I at least smell
better." Her mirth has a richness to it, a warmth that takes nothing away
from the moment. She could let go of him now. She doesn't choose to. "Shall
we explore the other ways in which I am nay like a firestone sack?"

A'deth purrs cheerfully, "Indeed. And where precisely you'll garland me."
And he reaches for one of her hands, reluctantly unwinding her arms so that
they might stroll out to the bowl.

"I can think of a few places," Kassima sunnily informs him as her fingers
twine with his, and they take their leave. Behind them, a few other people
can think of some too--and the bantered guessing will at least give them
something to do while Kassi and A'deth are so much better occupied.