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Filling Awkward Silence


Date:  March 9, 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:  This is a scene dear to me.  The last time A'deth ran 
into Kassima, he expressed a certain interest in her she didn't feel 
able to oblige.  Everything might've ended with her refusal.  It 
didn't, because A'deth perseveres in his gentle way, and with paintings 
and memories he makes her think again about which decision she'd 
regret.

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The Log:

A'deth walks out of the infirmary.

Kassima has commandeered one of the unaligned tables, and covered it
with... things. Forks. Spoons. Little bowls of salt. Asparagus spears,
because nobody wants to eat those anyway. Plotted out in an assortment of
formations, the goods turn a simple Living Cavern into a war room. "But the
Thread might nay strike there. It might strike *here*," she tells Weyrling
Ol'dra, and waggles a forkful of spaghetti over a broken place in the line;
"Then what happens? The raisin blinks *between*, but the piece of cheese
isn't in range t'catch."

A'deth sidles up behind her, and peers over her shoulder, trying to figure
out what's what without any explanations. "...That's really quite clever,
actually," he remarks.

"We're going over variations," Kassi explains, craning her neck to peer up
and offer a grin. "Ol'dra's wanting t'know more than what works and why;
why other patterns don't. He came up with this one. 'Tisn't half bad." The
Weyrling in question ducks his head, mumbling something about the broken
line. "--Aye, and it doesn't work, but there's some logic behind it.
Logical thought's nay t'be scorned--would you agree, A'deth?"

A'deth steps aside, and then around the table, peering at the design.
"Logical thought is never to be scorned, but... Is there logic behind
/these/ falls?"

Kassima says, "About as much as ever," and taps the top of a chair in
invitation to join them. "They go roughly on schedule, they react t'weather
the same. Windspeeds and direction play the usual part. The Weyrleader can
plan for that." She snorts. "'Twould be more convenient if'n they'd always
follow schedule, but Faranth forfend things should get too easy. Relatively
speaking."

"A comet isn't a star... there's no reason it should follow predictable
patterns." A'deth is no Starsmith, but he's old enough to have paid
attention. "Though we've had erratic Falls before." He finds a clear spot
on the table, and sits on there, feet on the seat of 'his' chair.

"Is there a reason it should've hung about this long?" Kassima shrugs, not
in argument but acceptance that she doesn't much understand. "The
Starsmiths made the schedules and they do work, most of the time. The
Star's nay really a star either. I keep meaning t'be looking up Trie and
getting a better explanation, even if'n 'twould soar over m'head." She tugs
a few asparagus spears further out of his way. It changes the formation
they were in, of course, and Ol'dra frowns thoughtfully at the new pattern,
reaching to nudge it around a bit and lost in thought. "I've heard," Kassi
says, "you'd know about that."

A'deth tilts his head. "...Know about...? the Red Star? It's not really,
though nobody knew that before proper distance-viewers were rediscovered..."

Kassima clarifies, "Erratic Falls. I recall: F'nor's attempt, 'Brekke's
Lament.' Someday--" She hesitates. "Someday I might like t'look for m'self
and see it. If'n one can, now."

"Direct experience, yes," A'deth murmurs. "If you can't, I'll paint it for
you if you wish."

Kassima slants him a look with both curiosity and compassion in it. Doesn't
ask more questions, though, perhaps because Ol'dra's still there if not
paying much attention. Instead, "You've seen the Star? And you paint?"

A'deth just nods. "I'd've thought that everyone would've tried to take a
turn at a distance viewer. And I started to sketch when I first took up
dragonhealing, since I wanted newer references, it's so easy to botch
drawings from old hides. I learned how to paint a few turns after that,
because I wanted color references. All I did at first were those..."

"You'd've thought," Kassi ruefully agrees. "Cousin t'Starcraft's
Craftsecond once, wanting t'die by meteor strike, and I never did. Later
you started other things?"

"Go anyway. If you can't see it, ask to see other things. It's worth it to
see what other celestial bodies co-exist with us in our sky." And A'deth
shrugs slightly. "I didn't see why I shouldn't. Once I started recording
injuries, and then dragons, and lizards, I just... started recording things
that caught my attention."

Kassima nods. "I should. I like stars, I've always wanted to, I don't know
why I've never gone. You can even own farviewers these days; there's nay
excuse."

At this point Ol'dra shakes himself out of his reverie. "I should get
back--" He scoops up the hides he brought with him, a handful of raisins
and cheese-wedges; despite this, with some juggling, manages a quick salute
to A'deth. "Assistant Weyrlingmaster. Sir. Good night," and he's off,
munching the raisins as he goes.

Kassi watches after him a moment, then turns back to A'deth. "Nay reason
nay to. In that case, you've probably painted the Star a'fore?"

A'deth salutes the weyrling, and then says to Kassima, "I did, but I'm not
as satisfied with my older works. I'd hate to show you the scribblings of
an amateur." He's a vain man, after all!

"I'd still be impressed," Kassi avows. "Probably. I've nay talent for
drawing 'tall, unless you want stick-figures of annoying Wingmates being
set on fire, in which case I'm your woman. Did you keep up with the
painting on your beach?"

"Not much else to do," A'deth confirms quietly. "I painted everything I
didn't want to forget. The ore silver turned up in my hair, the more I
painted."

A quiet sound of disbelief. "You remember those horrible lies about
fur-stealing. I don't think your memory's going anywhere, whether your
hair's silver or gold or green with pink spangles." Kassi flicks him a
quick smile. "There must be many paintings, then. I'd certes like t'see a
sample if'n 'tisn't trouble. I've an artist daughter--but she does
commissions, mostly."

A'deth's shrug is quite diffident. "Whenever you like."

Kassima slants a look sidelong. "Do I offend in asking?"

A'deth slants a look back. "I just don't want to raise your expectations."

"Whether or nay the work's technically good," Kassi says, "'tis yours, and
would say something about you, and you're a friend, so 'tis bound t'be
interesting. And if'n you've kept at it and would offer t'be showing it,
'tis more likely good than bad."

A'deth nods, his cheeks actually showing a hint of red. He slips off the
table, and then strides away... and since no farewell was given, presumably
he'll return in short order.

Kassima made A'deth turn red! They should hand out some sort of medal for
that. Or a trophy. A golden statuette over which she can make a teary
acceptance speech. She puts the time to use straightening up the table,
returning forks and knives and cheese bits to their rightful place. The
raisins she'll keep. The asparagus she'll sneak onto the plate of some poor
soul who's gone to find ketchup.

A'deth returns some small time later with several canvases tucked under his
long arm; these, he sets down on the table. The very first, and old enough
-- and early enough in his career -- is the Red Star, the contraction of
sometimes incorrectly-applied oil causing cracks in a few places, but the
thing itself alost glowingly vivid in a sea of black. Some areas are dark,
and some are light, and some spots might even be clouds, but even A'deth's
work can capture no definitives. The strokes are not as practiced, either,
as an advanced artist's might be-- but the swift, sharp strokes are
definitely those of a man gripped by a vision which must be exorcised.

Kassima leans in for a good look, interest caught just as she promised;
picking it up with care, if he permits her, and at length shivering a
little. "Y'know from the stories 'tisn't all baleful malevolence to the
eye," she says. "It looks... odd. Hot. Cold. I certes don't want t'go
there... and this is early work?"

A'deth nods again, having offered up no protest. "Several Turns in. I
didn't want to do it properly in several layers, so as you can see, there's
been deterioration."

"It looks--" Kassi hunts for the words she wants. "As if'n you wanted t'get
it all down quickly, and layers are slow. Colors don't look faded 'tall."

"Yes," A'deth says very softly. "I was afraid that I might forget how
afraid I was when I saw it so closely. I haven't, but there it is."

"All that black around it," Kassi murmurs, and sets it down. "It should
look *worse*. We shouldn't be killed by something--placid. You caught the
emotion you wanted, nay question."

A'deth bows his head, accepting the compliment as it is meant, and with
visible gratitude.

The next painting is of Fort's Hatching Sands, and of a Queen and a clutch
of eggs on the sands. The immediacy of the first painting is absent;
indeed, the lack of cracking and the calculation of the strokes implies
much more time having been taken. One of the eggs matches the stone inset
in one of the rings on A'deth's hands, rose and gold and tinged with sky
blue as pale as the dragon which had hatched out of it. It also, unlike the
haphazard arrangement of the others, sits perfectly straight. But this must
have all been at least partly painted from memory, given when he'd
explained his acquiring of his own skills.

Kassima smiles for this one as she couldn't for the last, finding out the
egg more for its position than color; "Either the clutch you Stood for or
the first one you ever saw. Or both? That's Lrisseth, though," gesturing
fingers over the queen, without touching the surface. "I remember her."

"Both," A'deth agrees. "Somewhat. I checked against another clutch to
insure proper realism, but the eggs are from my own memory. But..." And his
smile is faint and melancholy, "Who's around to contradict my recollection?"

Kassima's eyes narrow in the way they do when she's ransacking her memory.
"D'ru still lives," she finally says, "doesn't he? The only clutchmate of
yours--if'n I'm remembering the clutch right. I used t'make it a study. The
only clutchmate I ever knew, so far as I know now." She sighs slightly.
"But none at Igen."

A'deth looks faintly relieved. "I haven't gone asking."

"Understandable." Kassi leans back in her chair. Picking up raisins, she
offers him one. "But lonely t'be alone in remembering."

A'deth takes it, and then eats it. "Something like that."

There are a few more canvases tucked beneath the one scene, but he makes no
move to show them off.

Kassima, master of the obvious: "I never rode at Fort, nor Igen a'fore your
retirement, so I daresay there's limits to the usefulness of this, but if'n
you ever feel in a reminiscent mood--there might be things we both recall
that didn't happen just a Turn agone." So he won't show them off; she's
still curious, more than willing to set the clutch carefully aside so she
can get a peek.

She reveals a painting of a young man by Fort's lake, this time, strong and
tanned and in swimming trunks, standing by a bronze dragon of such a dark
hue, like wrought iron, that he's almost black: Marinth, of the same clutch
as Jaelith, which must make the rider Rh'lain. The war summer sun, less
strong than Igen's by far, shimmers almost golden over them both.

A'deth looks on, his expression as mild as ever save for, perhaps, a slight
tightening around his eyes.

Not, after all, made of stone, Kassi finds this canvas easier to look at
than the Red Star too. "I don't know him," she decides at some length. "Or
I don't remember. He's very well done." And before she says another thing
she glances up to see his expression, which is fortunate. "...Someone you
knew, nay a casual study."

By the very attentive strokes of that brush, almost barely visible, the way
that it's lingered over every gleam of sunlight on skin and hide alike,
that's probably a fair assessment. But A'deth only nods.

Kassima continues to study it, but interest in the puzzle posed has
replaced aesthetic appreciation. "From a strictly visual standpoint," she
finally says. "I applaud your taste. Whatever happened after, I'm sorry for
it."

"Just about anything I show you from before ten Turns ago will probably
garner that kind of sentiment," A'deth remarks with deliberate lightness.
"Don't worry about it."

"The same would be true if'n I could paint," Kassima parries, equally
light, though the sardonicism beneath not far buried, "and painted similar
subjects. 'Twill show you Kharisma's renditions of some of her siblings'
sires someday, if'n you like."

A'deth nods quietly. "Certainly. Perhaps I'll learn something."

Kassima's smile is crooked. "Nay so much. I didn't paint them," she says,
"Khari--or Syraemia, come t'think on it, for most--did, without the same
eyes." She touches the edge of the painting. "This one tells me what you saw."

A'deth's gaze, for the moment a very soft and gentle green, lingers on that
painting. But he says nothing.

In moving this one, Kassi hesitates, but after a pause places it to the
side where he can still see it if he chooses--or not, if he chooses.
"Thankee," she murmurs. "'Tis an intimate thing t'be sharing."

"Of course it isn't," A'deth shrugs. "My past isn't sacrosanct. Did I not
place it in there? Order these as I did?" The final painting is a one of
Jaelith, poised on her own ledge at Igen, her ghostly-pale color in sharp
contrast to the bronze-black of Marinth in the previous painting-- and the
red and gold sandstone of the desert. She doesn't quite seem to belong
there, too cold for the summer heat, staring off at something unseen. It
perhaps underscores the pairing shown in the previous picture- she icily
pale, thin, scarred; her former mate dark, vital, warm... perhaps much like
she and Marinth's riders, too? And, yet, who's lived on?

"Fair enough," Kassi concedes, if not before a pause. "Perspective makes
all the difference there. I'll thank you anyway, since 'tis lovely work,"
matter-of-fact and not flattery. Jaelith: so different from Kassi's own
dusty-dark lifemate, interesting for that contrast as well as for the other
and for herself. "I wonder whether 'twould look quite the same if'n I
didn't know she's Fort-born," the rider murmurs absently. "Perhaps.
A'course she's beautiful."

A'deth simply bows slightly, she having had the right of it and he having
been too casual about it to be truly casual. He says very softly, "I just
wanted some other kind friend to remember that day, too. Thank you." And
about Jaelith, he shakes his head. "I don't know. This one probably says
too much about the artist, too."

That motive resonates so strongly with her, Kassi closes her eyes a moment,
bows her head. A soft touch of smile on one side denies it's--quite--in
sorrow. "I'll remember. Honored. You're welcome, m'friend." She returns her
gaze to the last painting, and her expression's nearly normal. "It has
things t'say, aye. Under the theory when we see our lifemates we see part
of our souls particularly. Nay at home. Looking elsewhere... I still say
beautiful, mind you."

A'deth straightens. "Thank you, Kassima." His voice is so soft that it's
just above a whisper, a gentle caress.

Kassima inclines her head; "A pleasure," she says, "A'deth." She hasn't the
talent for caressing with voice alone, or if she has can't use it in such
setting, but she can speak almost as gently, with mouth gently curved.

A'deth abruptly pushes off from the table again, turning to get himself a
glass of wine. Is that another trace of red on his cheeks?

"Can I beg Red while you're up?" Kassi asks, back into normal voice--and
with any amusement at having raised a blush carefully tucked away.

"Of course." A'deth doesn't /quite/ clear his throat before saying it. But
his movements as he collects glasses and pours for them both are quite
steady; he's far too old to go fumbling like some callow boy with an
inrequited crush. When he returns, his countenance is quite normal.

Kassima murmurs thanks when she accepts her glass. For her part, she can't
seem to lose the faint, not-quite-crooked smile, at least not until she's
taken a gulp of wine. Not that it's gone then either, but it shifts to an
amused thing at her own foibles. "So," she says. "How about that weather?"

"It's nice," A'deth mutters. He sets his glass aside and stacks the
canvases back together. "But that's a terrible way to fill an awkward
silence."

"Beyond all doubt terrible," Kassima agrees, "and if'n you know a better
one, I absolutely defer t'you."

"Stop feeding me lines, Kassima!" A'deth exclaims, amused and frustrated
all at once.

Kassima drops her forehead into her hand, fingers splayed through the
forelock, and gives in to laughter--a warm variety, not the mocking sort.
"Oh, shells, 'twill try, but I can't promise--anyway, 'twasn't thinking
'awkward.' 'Charmed,' almost, only awkward if'n prolonged. Even so. Weather
was pretty lame."

"I'm very sorry," A'deth states sincerely and honestly, "If my interest
proves tedious. I feel no ill-will towards you in any way."

"A'course 'tisn't tedious." Kassima's surprised, almost startled.
"Reminding m'self why 'tis probably a very bad idea and I shouldn't be
tempted is tedious. Entirely different state of affairs."

A'deth glances sidelong at her. "You've been ill-treated, it's true. I
would never want to make you go through more such troubles."

Kassima shakes her head. "I don't fear you'd be cruel, deliberately. At all
if'n you could help it. I wish--" She pauses. "I've been wishing I could
undo the Rodric mess for Turns now. And that's part of it."

A'deth picks up his glass, and bends his head a little to study it. "If you
wish to explain," he says after a moment, "You may do so. Or don't... I've
no right to pick over what's in your heart."

"Your paintings showed me some of what's been in yours." Kassima swirls the
red wine around in its glass. "I don't mind. 'Tis an old, familiar story."
Her voice takes on a sort of wry amusement; not false, not entirely, at
least not here and now. "Serial womanizer meets monogamist. Serial
womanizer propositions monogamist at Turnover. Monogamist takes awhile
t'think about it, discusses it with Ista, decides t'take him up on it; 'why
nay,' thinks the monogamist, 'we both know where we stand.' Serial
womanizer declares love for monogamist. Monogamist is horribly confused,
wants t'return feeling as unrequited love sucks dead green eggs, convinces
herself she does; serial womanizer gets bored and dumps monogamist at worst
possible time. Monogamist would give almost all she has t'go back and
decline." She drops out of the storytelling sing-song. Quietly,
reflectively, "You aren't Rodric, a'course."

A'deth winces. "But I'm no monogamist, either." And he looks up. "And I'm
truly very sorry, Kassima, for what happened, or for dredging such memories
up if I have. I don't want my ridiculous urges to cause you any kind of
grief, and you've had enough in such matters as this."

Kassima, of all things, chuckles. "'Twasn't being much of one m'self--and
M'rek was probably right, 'twas settling; had I but known for *what*. 'Twas
still happy for a time. Albeit on false pretenses." One of her half-smiles,
and she hitches a shoulder. "There's naught in the world," she repeats,
"that you owe me an apology for. Well. Mayhaps one thing. 'Ridiculous'?"
Teasing him a little, her dark eyes finding their sparkle.

A'deth glances back up at her. "Perhaps not so very much. I've been
intrigued by very few women," he states quietly, "Over the years. A
handful, no more. To be truthful, it isn't so much a woman's body that I
often find of interest -- though you are a very comely woman, and moreso
now -- but her character, and in this you've surpassed many a man."

Kassima's neck again curves, head bowing down. "'Thankee' is inadequate,"
she says softly, "but heartfelt. Especially for that from you, now, when I
don't think you're seeing me at m'best. I'm attracted t'wit; you have that,
and humor, likewise, and brilliance of a kind, and physical allure since I
have m'shallow moments--I think," she says abruptly. "I think I've two
questions, and one's for advice of a kind."

"Ask." A'deth's voice is very gentle. Her compliments have touched him,
too, given that there's no sharpness to his expression at all, only
attentiveness and affection.

"I'm damaged," Kassima admits readily. "As, I gather, have you been... but
d'you regret more, or think you'd regret more, what you've done on impulse,
or what you haven't done for worry?"

Were most others to ask that of him, A'deth might have answered promptly.
But this is Kassima, so he takes several very long moments before he does.
"What I haven't done. I'll go /between/ with sad and joyous memories
both... but when I do, it's the good memories that'll warm me, and the cold
of, ah, Oblivion..." and yes, it's a nod to an earlier conversation,
"...will make nothing of the cold of my regrets."

Kassima laces her fingers through one another on the table, her eyes, once
he's answered, drifting to them. Her slow nod is unsurprised. Thoughtful,
regardless. There's a long--not, perhaps, that long in fact, but long in
context--silence, spent weighing her own regrets. And a long exhale at its
end. "All right," she says, "second question." One corner of her mouth
twitches upwards. "Tell me truth: when you offer is it primarily as a
concerned friend who thinks I could use company, or--?"

A'deth shakes his head so emphatically that his hair swishes. This time, he
answers without hesitation. "If it were that, I'd just get you drunk and
ship you off to your weyr to sleep."

"So there's desire involved, just so I'm clear." Kassi turns her head,
gives him a slow grin that's both amused and bright. "Forgive m'need t'be
asking, but the alternative's horrid t'contemplate. Pity. Ugh, spare me."

"I've endured enough unwelcome encounters that I've no intention of
subjecting myself to any more," A'deth assures her. "I desire you very
much." And he leans in very slightly towards her. "Has that not been plain
to see? Embarrassingly so, I think?"

"I've said I'm nay lady," Kassima allows with far too much primness to be
real, "--but I'm still nay gauche enough t'*look*." Mmm-hmm. Reassured, and
so decided, she mirrors his lean and tips her chin to look at him warm and
sidelong; "In that case. I reiterate what I said a'fore--about deferring
t'your judgment, in filling awkward silences."

A'deth leans in further, reaching up to, if she permits, ghost fingertips
over her cheek. And purrs, gaze agleam, "There are many iniquitous,
salacious, and deliciously unladylike ways in which one can fill an, ah,
awkward silence, my dear Kassima."

Kassima's turn to lean into a touch, and go one better, turning her head to
attempt to brush lips against his fingers. "Tell me of them, do," she
suggests, dark brows arching. "--Only perhaps elsewhere? If'n rumors got
back to the Weyrlings of us putting this table t'any particularly
interesting use, I'd have the worst sharding time getting 'em t'lay out
vegetable formations on it later."

A'deth arches a brow. "Says the lady who arranges asparagus spears with
such flair?" Delicately, he traces one fingertip over her lower lip.
"...Though I'm in agreement, though it would be the /best/ use this table
might ever have been put to."

"This? This is me, nay making any comment about asparagus spears, or the
arranging thereof, despite the many, many such that beg t'be made." Kassima
ducks her head and laughs; not before nibbling the fingertip, being a woman
of priorities. Color flushes the tips of her ears. Probably for the
location. Else she'd not try and catch his hand, press a kiss to the palm
and murmur there, "'Best.' I should certes hope so."

A'deth doesn't quite go pink -- again -- but almost. Aren't they cute? His
breath catches just a little, and he lightly fits his hand against her lips
and cheek. "...Elsewhere. Yours or mine? Mine reeks of paint."

They are, and it's a wonder there hasn't been any commentary from the
peanut gallery that comes inevitably with being cute in the Living Cavern.
Kassima admits, "I've never heard of paint as an aphrodisiac. Though you'd
know better than I--" Another kiss. "If'n 'tis, why, yours, by all means.
Otherwise, mine's pleased t'be at your disposal."

"It's /slippery/," A'deth manages just a little breathlessly, "But it's no
aphrodisiac. But the work's almost done, so should you favor me so again..."

"Hrmph. Cart a'fore the runner," Kassima teases him, but that grin is
promising; having made up her mind once.... She'll complete the lean, shall
she, to claim a kiss from his mouth, a light one in deference to place--and
rise from her chair after. "Just so y'know," she mock-warns. "If'n you
change your mind when you see the knife-rack, I'm going t'be most put out."

"I place myself at your mercy," A'deth murmurs and, once they've risen,
claims a gentle kiss from her in return. "Entirely."

Kassima rests her finger against his lips for a moment, chiding him,
"That's dangerous." It'd be a more effective warning if her eyes weren't
gleaming. Or less--depending on how one takes it. "Haven't you heard? I
don't have any." She drops her hand to catch one of his; exeunt, stage left.