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Care For a Spot of Tea, Dearie?


Date:  January 7, 2005
Place:  High Reaches Weyr's Hatching Galleries
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:  V'lano certainly is getting his share of visitors.  
Both Kassima and T'bay drop in on their favorite clutchsire on one
particular evening, and so naturally that clutchsire finds himself 
both teasing and being teased mercilessly.  Although Kassi and Vel 
are as warm towards each other as usual, there are a couple of hints
of possible trouble or at least talk to come; but that falls to the
wayside in favor of three friends bonding over contraceptive tea.

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The Log:

You stride through the tunnel, emerging in an enormous cavern. You walk up
a short flight of steps into the galleries.

The drizzle has driven many of the usual loiterers away from the galleries,
or perhaps that function was fulfilled by earlier torrents - where the
hatching grounds are open to the sky beneath the great dragon ledges, the
sands have been churned and pockmarked by heavy droplets. Soaked with
waterm, they'll accept no more; puddles have formed in the dips between
swells, steaming with the heat beneath. The dragonpair tending their brood
has troubled themselves to shelter the eggs from some of the storm, but
dragon eggs are sturdy and the walls of the open-topped cavern protect them
from the chill of the winds. Those walls protect the galleries, too, and
though the cool from above and heat from below can make it a sickly-strange
place to try to maintain an even body temperature, V'lano has taken shelter
here while it's relatively quiet. A stack of hides, half-unwrapped from a
bundle of oilskin to protect the ink upon them, rests next to him on the
bench closest to the rail; one hide is draped over his upraised knee, boot
supported between a pair of rail-supports. Paying no mind to his apparent
work, he gazes dumbly out at the damp-sanded eggs, musing mumblishly to
himself: "But then there'd be a gap between first and third. And the
corners sort of rounded off..."

A young man with hair of brownyorange trods slowly up the steps, an
expression of marvel on his face. He comes to a halt near a particular one
of the cool stone benches, by this time having removed his flight jacket,
seeming to find his temperature comfortable enough. He stands still for a
moment, admiring or perhaps blinking in terror at the scene before him.
Idle droplets of water puddle around his feet, quickly to dry, and one hand
traces the outline of his wingbadge with restless fingers, worn edges
indicating the frequency of this motion. Finally, he gives in, and,
standing behind his friend and former holdmate, gives in to the desire to
shake the coat, spattering droplets toward the darkhaired clutchdaddy-person.

A drizzle doesn't seem enough to keep Kassima from investigating the
galleries, though she does so with shoulders slightly hunched and the
faintly disgruntled look that being caught in rain can give one. "I know
'twas warmer at Ista, Lyss," she mutters under her breath. "Shush." The
spectacle of the wet and steaming Sands catches her eyes first; her tongue
clicks in her cheek, an automatic, unconscious sound of slight dismay for
the plight, before she tears gaze away to scan the benches for... ah-hah.
Down there. Her footfalls might be heard as she picks her way down, since
she's not particularly trying to be stealthy, but they pause when she spots
T'bay--and what greeting she might have called to him, to them, is
forestalled entirely by a whoop of laughter.

The splattering of droplets - which includes V'lano's neck in their array,
likely sinking cold from there down his back - achieves a yelp and a sudden
uprighting from the bronzerider. Apparently thinking himself alone, his
first instinct is to look up - but no, the dragonledges hold no suspicious,
cruelly-amused firelizard or dragon faces peering down, and the skies
continue their steady drizzle - so the sire's rider whips around, yelling a
reply to that telltale whoop before his eyes even catch up with his motion.
"Kassi! What'd I do to you to des - " Except that's not Kassi, that
likely-smug face, and it takes him only a sputtering breath to revise his
tune. The actual article goes unnoticed a moment while the fixture of
Reaches' sands draws back a fist and throws it forward - but aiming for his
onetime holdmate's shoulder, and badly at that. It's a blow not meant to
land, but to open an embrace. "You brass tack! Is that how you greet me
after -so long-?"

T'bay tries belatedly to turn the motion into an arm-extended yawn, his
hands reaching outward and stretching fully. "Hey, woah, that one got away
from me, sorry. Thought maybe you weren't wet enough. And it isn't fair
that I'm drilling and you're not; had to share the pain." He reaches out,
opening one arm for a greeting and to return the embrace, which comes out
formal of word but is accompanied by a well-meaning proud-papa style pat on
the back, "Telgar's duties to Reaches and her queens. Oh, and to you, too.
How's the Egg thing going? If you don't mind an intrusion--" he looks
quickly back and forth between Kassima, who also earns a wink and a grin,
and Vel, searching to see if his timing has interrupted anything.

"Naught, naught; naught t'*me*!" Kassi answers through laughter, the
epitome of helpfulness if ever there was one. Less smug than delighted, and
unrepentantly that. "What you've done t'T'bay is what I'd be asking! Stars,
T'bay. I hadn't realized until now the depths of your evil. Forgive me for
ever doubting you? A beautiful move 'twas." She finishes her path down to
that last row of benches and grins at both men. The grin shades into a
warmer smile when turned on V'lano, but T'bay still gets a quick headshake:
no interruption. "Sounds as if'n he's glad t'see you t'me, and I always am."

The bronzer twines his arm with his friend's, finding a spot to thump
heavily with a fist just behind one of the brownrider's shoulderblades.
Friendly-like. "Isn't fair. Bah, I have an idea as to how hard you're
worked, my friend." Grinning, he'd go on, but then past T'bay's shoulder
V'lano follows that back and forth gaze to catch sight of - whoops!
Suddenly sheepish, he covers with, "Of course, I figure if anyone can give
a wing a good working-over - " It's a lame effort, and he knows it, turning
a brilliant smile as his defense upon Kassima as he unlocks his one-armed
half-embrace half-wrestle from T'bay. "Well, I'm sure I've done -something-
to him somewhere along the line. But I don't dare mess with him now. I
mean, word around is they can fly pretty fast, and he's bigger than I am
now anyway." Not that T'bay was not the larger of the Lemos-hailed pair
before, but now it's bigger in a more -intimidating- sense. But it's a
jibe, not a compliment, and to emphasize the point he adds, "Or was that
purely on benefit of acrobatics, T'bay?"

T'bay whoops a cheerful one himself as he bats Vel, gently of course, on
his shoulder in return, then takes a step back to survey V'lano, mostly
missing that lame effort but catching that sent-past brilliant smile. "My
my," he croaks in an old auntie voice, "Haven't you just grown all up." To
his Wingleader, he offers a pleased salute to Her Evilness. "Thank you,
thank you. As I tell you, I've learned from naught but the best." It's only
a touch of red upon his cheeks, one hand reaching up to scratch at one as
if to banish the flush, that indicates he's heard Vel's comment at all.
"How about that rain, hm?" He grins, a pathetic effort at distraction not
really intended to have any success.

Kassima chortles with merciless glee at all this thumping going on. "He's
working, he's working," she protests to the bronzerider, "I promise you
he's working. We do still have drills; I find time for them *somehow*." The
humor in that is of a borderline wicked sort, but the smile she beams on
him in response to that grin? Pure innocence. Right. "Oh, now. Don't tease
unless you want t'be teased back. I'm sure T'bay can think of nay *end* of
things t'tease about," she says, looking towards the brownrider hopefully:
tell her a story, too! For once she laughs rather than groans at the
salute, and returns it, then gives him a deep bow. "Thankee, thankee. I do
try. Unless by 'the best' you meant Vel here, in which case I don't know
whether t'be heartbroken and run off t'cry, or look smug and agree with you."

"Oh, sure I've grown up." V'lano rolls his eyes and turns incrementally
sideways, but his dismissive snort over T'bay's familiar old-auntie routine
turns into smug gleaming at the topic of rain. "Maybe he means Dianneth,"
the bronzerider suggests, scooping up and placing atop the oilskinned pile
the hide he'd been not-really working on. After giving the damp pile a
friendly pat he hand-vaults over the bench and skips a level upward toward
the greenrider, turning once he's near her side to draw her by the gravity
of his own form closer, as if by clumping the three could better fend off
the cold above, the heat below, or the gathering hilarity in the middle.
Prodding further for reaction from T'bay, he jabs, "After all, I learned
plenty from -my- Searchdragon. I bet Sarevith's still learning from yours,
right, T'bay?" So much for being told not to tease. Wicked glee gleams in
dark eyes, flicked toward Kassima for a check-in just in case she might
warm up to smack him one in defense of her wingmember.

T'bay nods sagely at Kassima's words, though he is sending that scarlet
tinge on his cheeks upward to his forehead, a telltale unhappy accident
which might comment on some of his uses of his private time of late. "Er,
ah, well. Of course, my Evilness, I meant you! Vel's just mashed tubers in
comparision. Chewed firestone. Yesterday's flight news. You know." His
jacket's given another shake, this time the droplets aimed at the open air
and a passel of unlucky benches before said outerwear is draped over his
arm. "To tease about. How about..." turning toward Vel's own daily
bench-hopping excercise regiment, he smothers a flat-out gawk. "I...she..."
Cue cracking voice here, followed by throat clearing. "Yeah. You could say
she taught him a few things. Like if you want a woman, tell her to run from
you. It's bound to be a hit." Big smile, followed by a taunting smirk, "So,
what's the rumor? That your searchdragon's bedded this one before you? Or
is that just a fable?" Right back at you, pal.

"Couldn't possibly," Kassima defends, tossing her nose in the air in a bare
moment's pose of hauteur. "Lysseth's better. Nay that, y'know, *bias* or
aught." Of course not. It doesn't take so much gravity to draw her in; she
might as well be an iron filling to his magnet, hooking an arm around his
waist should he allow it and grinning her thanks. "Wait, wait, Vel," she
has to ask, "you learned *that* from *Taralyth*?" Oh, wide eyes. Wide,
laughing eyes. A smackdown is probably not in the cards; a taunting,
though.... "So long as you realize my greatness, as a Wingrider should,"
she tells T'bay loftily. He might see her shoulders quiver with telltale
humor, though; certainly V'lano can't miss it. After an amused, lifted brow
for the gawk, and another suppressed snicker-quiver, she says, "Tell her
t'run. That sounds like a story *too*. Details, man! Explanation! And hey,
wait a second, which 'one' are you referring to?"

"Mashed tubers!" Pause. "What would Pierron say?" But T'bay's on to juicier
topics, so as the bronzerider leans into Kassima and matches her
looped-around arm with one made around her waist with his own, brows quirk
upward. Focus sharpened on the brownrider, V'lano jaws in edgewise a
rejoinder - "So is that -his- technique or yours?" - but quickly enough the
subject's overturned, and a tanned hand comes up to the backmost of the
butcher's son's glossy curls. He scratches at his neck, surely to displace
still-clinging water droplets there, and attempts to mutter something to
the effect of, "Don't mention that name here - " Except Kassima's already
getting in on the subject, and it's all he can to do turn his head toward
her shoulder, knees bending to bring him to a point where he can pretend to
bury his face against her knot. "Shhh," he hisses through laughter into the
woman's shoulder, grin visible in profile to T'bay. "Lhiannonth will -hear-
you!" And remember, no doubt. Better to turn his head and uncurve his back
to carry on with Kassima's effort: "So about running? Come on, I hear
Dianneth's a real force to be reckoned with." Pause. He can't resist, and
tosses his head, hand dropping from the back of his neck to a pocket for a
jauntier pose. "Probably reflects her rider."

T'bay's laugh is outright, a good-humored appreciation of a rider's defense
of her dragon's worthiness. "I'll have to leave the ascertaining to you on
that one, I suppose." His eyes roam over the pair as though it were
belatedly dawning on him that there might be a leeeetle more to it than a
mentorship, and his head shakes in appreciation of that fact. "You always
did draw in the ladies, didn't you? Got one down there, or your dragon at
least earned you a temporary companion, got this one up here, one back at
Telgar...Though it sounds like someone's name is taboo at least. Best hope
it isn't yours by this time next turn." A casual whistle indicates he's
going to hold his own in this teasefest even if it strikes, well, below the
belt. "The story, then. Ah, well. Sarevith...told Dianneth to not get
caught. To just outrun them all. I'm not sure if it was a ploy, a
technique, or a tactic, so he could catch up, because, well, he's slower.
Or if it was sincerely his opinion that none of the chasers were worthy.
He's addled that way." For some reason, he even adds, "And in the dark?
Even I'm pretty." Pointed shrug. Someone's going to defend Dianneth's
rider, at least a liiitle bit.

Kassima answers this most sweetly: "He'd nay say aught. He'd be too busy,"
she informs, nudging his shoulder with her own in tease, "swooning in a
lustful frenzy to even remember what words *are*." Clearly, however, the
greenrider's gone slightly soft with this particular target, since she tips
her head to set cheek to shoulder almost immediately in a moment's apology.
"Oh, oh, that's the way of it, is it?" she answers back with a smothered
laugh, bringing her free hand up to pat at the back of his head that moment
he's leaning into her shoulder: poor, frightened baby. "At least for now,"
she agrees, dropping her hand and turning her grin on T'bay. Her cheeks may
be warmer than the rest of her for a moment, to judge by the flush there;
but she doesn't step away from Vel for that look. Hugs a bit closer, if
anything. "It's the eyelashes," she informs the brownrider serenely. "I for
one was helpless t'resist. Hmph; did he tell Lyss that? Shame. Shame. If'n
sincere 'twas, anyway," which is good-humored enough. "Who knows with
dragons. It worked for him, whatever 'twas... ach, I suspect reflecting her
rider in *temperament* might've been meant. Yselle has her formidable
moments. 'Tis nay so?"

"Draw in the ladies," snorts V'lano as if the very idea is both ridiculous
and new to him, but a flush rivalling T'bay's appears in his cheeks. "Don't
figure Josilina's among them, is all. She's a very busy woman." He can't
help a half-stifled giggle on that, however; he's said it enough times that
it's starting to come out in a snigger before he even gets to the word
'busy.' But his head tilts a bit over the threat toward his own name,
sending him silent while his notoriously one-note brain works over what
T'bay's said - the better to listen, too, for the tale of Sarevith's
success. But toward the last he protests, "Hey, no one said she's not worth
looking at. Particularly from the neck down. Besides, the difficult women
are the best - " Except he's got his arm around the waist of one, and with
his usual clever timing he's aware of that just as his mouth stops speaking
and starts grinning. Grinning's safer. So is echoing: he lifts his free
hand from his pocket to his forehead, knuckling its back against his brow.
"Er, excuse whatever I was just saying," he murmurs in wobbly tones. "I'm
swooning in a lustful frenzy here."

T'bay nods agreement as his mouth settles into a comfortable smile. "You
two are adorable, if I may say so. Turning my Wingleader into a cuddle toy.
I don't know whether to laugh, or to...laugh harder." The brownrider's
flight jacket is scooted just a trifle more upwards on his arm to stablize
it, one hand pushes back any forward-straying strands of hair and plasters
them down with help from the rain. "It is for certain you are. Tell me if I
should politely look away?" Nudge nudge. "Oh, and speaking of polite, or
rather, of not polite, can you believe what this one guy said about Yselle
during the flight, right when he was standing near her?" Warming up with
this one, he rubs his hands together. "He said he'd always thought she
looked like a wherry! Can you believe he'd say that at that moment? I mean,
I'd not thought of her like that precisely before, but ..." His brow
furrows, perhaps recalling flight-controlled recitations of his own. "Hunh.
Is it rude to talk about someone's flight? Afterward? I guess I mean that
as a question for my Wingleader, instructor in all things that use that
ettiquette thing. Unless she's in a lustful frenzy too? I can come back."
Cheerful smirky grin.

Kassima turns her head to fix a *look* on this man she's beside, making a
show of trying to scowl--not getting there, but her frown at least might
seem terrible if one doesn't pay much attention to the sparkle in dark
green eyes. "You had just better nay be swooning in lustful frenzy over the
thought of Yselle-below-the-waist while you're holding on t'me, bucko, or
they're going t'be digging all over those Hatching Sands t'find where I've
buried the body." So there! Her frown's become a grin already by the time
she turns her face back towards T'bay; and if it hadn't already been clear
she was teasing about her murderous intent, the fact that she's still being
a cuddle toy probably settles the matter. "Why, thankee, T'bay--methinks.
For 'adorable,' that is. For laughter I'm nay sure 'thankee' is the right
response so much as--" A raspberry, apparently, since she blows him one.
"Huh. What, was this guy asking for death? There are occasional maleriders
like that. Who seem t'*want* a greenrider's hands around their throat and
squeezing. 'Tisn't rude by me, T'bay, though I'd probably avoid too much...
ah... detail in public conversation, if'n you get me. But in general,
they're gossip-fodder enough anyway." Despite an exaggerated and
good-natured eye roll, she deadpans, "Oh, aye. Terrible lustful frenzy. But
who says you have t'leave? We can bring you in on it too. Three lustful
frenzies for the price of two, right here in the Galleries, and we'll
scandalize Lhiannonth and Volath beyond repair." Pause. "I am, for the
record, teasing."

"Adorable?" Another concept V'lano has yet to absorb. He loosens somewhat
from Kassima, unfurling his arm from her waist, but does not actually move
to put any space between she and himself, cheery enough to laugh over
T'bay's revealing of certain things said at Dianneth's flight and even to
snork indelicately at the idea of the current trio being, well, a trio,
particularly in the rainy galleries. "And Josilina'll have every good
reason to think of me whatever she does," he tacks on for the others'
benefit. Kassima's warning-but-sparkling tone is worthy of deeper thought,
however, and a soft murmur of "Bucko?" is tossed her way, audible to all
but meant just for her. Uncertainty troubles his dark eyes for a moment,
and a look that's precariously balanced between affection and cogniscance
is turned on the wingleader at his side. After a moment he collects
himself, puts a presentable smile on his mouth, and plays the part again:
accessory and accessorized, and offering to both, "You should be hungry,
unless you stuffed yourself before coming between. Should we go for food,
you think?"

T'bay's attention drawn by Kassima's words, he looks out at the eggs being
rained on out there on the sands, and at the woeful clutch parents doing
their best to keep them someone tended. One brow raises sympathetically,
and he reaches out his tongue and slups some water off of his upper lip
before speaking. "That is a good enough answer, t'is true. Oh, that sack of
dung?" His expression darkens, a true scowl harshly altering his tubby baby
features. "That guy wasn't the only one. Another manhandled her hard enough
for bruising--if I ever catch him in a dark tunnel, well...I wouldn't feel
bad if I failed to get all the tunnelsnakes clear before pushing him in."
Ohh, what a terrible threat. Once it is voiced, he cheers up, however;
"That's probably a good thing. Because I don't think they'd be the only
ones scandalized, and I'm just aiming to see explaining to K'ran why we
three were disrobed in the Galleries of another weyr when there were no
flights at hand." A contemplative expression at the mention of food. "How's
it compare to Pierron? I've been spoiled all my life, you know."

Kassima looks back towards Vel then, and lets her own half-embrace... not
fall, but slacken, enough to be easily stepped away from should that be his
desire. "Teasing," she murmurs. "Would you have preferred another word?"
Matching uncertainty there; matching both his, and that in her own eyes, as
if she's not sure what to make of this reaction. She offers a crooked smile
after a beat, and takes up the other subject. "'Twill defer t'the gentlemen
on this matter--I had a drink at the Sandbar, but nay food; it can wait a
bit longer, though. Manhandled. Oh, please tell me she kicked him where it
counted, and hard, and that he ended up doubled over in agony all through
the flight. Ah, well; personally, I think what we'd have t'explain t'K'ran
is why we didn't let him join in." Her brows waggle. Outrageously. "He'd be
so heartbroken, I'm sure."

"Manhandled her? Before the flight was even - ?" V'lano, too, shows signs
of horror at the idea; whatever the pair from Lemos have absorbed about
flight etiquette, pawing the femalerider before your dragon's won you the
right doesn't seem to be included in the classwork. "Any idea who it was?
I'd help." Both hands free allows him to ball one and tuck it into the palm
of the other, a slow-motion and gentle mimic of the slammed fist that might
be suggested by the shapes. "It's - different. The weather's not so far
off, so I'd figure similar food - but a little more variety in fruit and a
little less in meat, seems." He dodges a look at Kassima, blending worried
eyes with a smile that's meant to be reassuring, and tacks on a quick shake
of his head in the negative just for clarification. Poor woman. "So wait,"
he addresses her directly, as concern's put aside for an ominous later in
favor of a current merriment. "You expect me to do what with T'bay and
K'ran?" A brow-waggle of his own, for that. "The -Weyrleader?- Talk about
performance anxiety."

T'bay shakes his head. "He was trying to get her to the guest weyr, you
know? She struggled, and probably left him with a few marks of his own, but
..." The Lemos-born boy struggles with this idea of K'ran joining in, his
mind wandering far too much down Hold-forbidden paths, but at last he
shakes the visual out of his mind. "I didn't know the guy. Real peach, I
tell you." He banishes the curl of his lip, thus delaying any aging
rock-star in later years references, "Hey, you seemed to be just fine with
a Wingleader and a weyrwoman. It can't be so different."

"There are some femaleriders happy enough t'be manhandled even then," Kassi
observes, momentarily thrown back into dispenser-of-informative-tidbits
mode. "But, well... you'd have known if'n she didn't mind, I'd say. If'n
whoever-'tis should turn up with a black eye, 'twill nay say aught about
who might be responsible--for what that's worth." Such an amalgam of
signals doesn't leave Kassi's worries entirely soothed, but she latches
onto those latter two and finds a real and warm if slightly rue-touched
smile for him, her hand lifting again to perhaps touch his cheek a moment
before falling: later. "T'bay and K'ran and me," she confirms brightly,
swinging back to the sunny side with the ease that is her trademark. "Don't
even think of leaving me out! I'm sure you could manage. In fact, you can
trust me on that point. Indrath once caught Lysseth. If'n I can do it, you
can, too." Waggle, waggle, waggle, wink; and then she slants T'bay an
amused look, clearly deciding how to respond. "He was just fine," she
finally decides on, "but how did *you* know? You haven't been sneaking
about and spying on him, have you? Wait until Her Busy-ness hears about that."

Satiet walks up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

"Ah. Well, he should have been good about it, but if she wasn't going on
her own... I mean, what else are you supposed to do? Just have the whole
thing out in the sauna or where-ever the female's rider happens to be?"
Although he can't help sneaking a grin at Kassima on that note, and it
softens into a smile at the vanishing touch on his cheek. "That was
different," he then informs T'bay with mock archness. "The weyrwoman was in
flight circumstances. And Kassima and I had a lovely icebreaker." Both
hands find pockets while he talks, setting his elbows out a bit - though
less between himself and the greenrider, not to nudge her in the ribs. Just
to be -ready- to nudge her in the ribs. And the possiblity that someone
would have spied on Josilina at that particular time gives him cause, but
he resists valiantly and chortles out reply instead: "No, no. T'bay spying?
Never!"

T'bay takes this tidbit of greenriderly advice with a befuddled nod, and
images of reflected sharp pokey knives can almost be seen dancing in the
light of his eyes, as though the lad recalled some other instance of a
green flight, and were pondering that rider's preferences. "Her Busyness?"
he's playing this one over in his mind, trying out various identities for
fit. "I haven't been spying, no. I don't need to--I have a big brown spy
who can't keep a secret even if he tried. But--ah, he wasn't spying then
either." As Vel comments, T'bay flushes up at the twined-armed pair. His
jacket is still cast over his arm, and he stands, rain-dampened, hair
slicked down, off to one side, profile to both of the other Telgar riders,
as well as to the sands below.

Kassima comments with guilelessness marred by something suspiciously close
to a stifled snicker, "Could be interesting for those who wander into the
sauna or wherever. On second thought, if'n 'tis a Telgar flight we're
speaking of, I could be one of the wanderers. I can live without seeing
that!" She grins back at V'lano all the same, before, "Lovely icebreaker?
Which d'you mean, Vel--mentordom? The grabbing of a certain ankle?" She
does have the grace to pitch that warm-with-amusement query low enough that
only the trio might catch it... always assuming no one's come up close
without her notice. "She's a very busy woman," she clarifies for T'bay with
one of her more impish grins. "Well. Good. I don't have t'be spontaneously
exploding from the force of the blush I'd blush, then. And none of you need
get greenrider bits splattered all over your persons; aren't you glad of
it?" She stands at Vel's side, an arm loosely around his waist still, which
makes her ribs only too accessible for potential nudging.

The late hour combined with the spate of weather would keep most sane
people away, but candidates sanity may be questionable at best, especially
the one of the dark-haired girl making her way up the shallow steps to the
galleries. A sweater-clad arm extends, the sleeve trailing across the
railing and picking up droplets as Satiet comes up, and pauses at the top,
as she's prone to do, to glance at those gathered - sparse. So it's no
wonder her attention drifts immediately towards the three riders
congregated near the railing, and soon her short-spaced strides bring her
close by, alongside the Telgari brownrider. Her greeting is pitched lowly,
her half-smile barely indenting the dimple in her right cheek. "Evening,
sirs, ma'am." Recognition lightens her eyes quickly at Kassima and V'lano,
but the baby blues linger on T'bay with a questioning lift to one brow.

"I think I'd've noticed if your big brown spy was there," V'lano grins
toward his friend. "And you, for that matter, since I doubt he'd have
ignored Lhiannonth. Unless he's less the flirt than I remember." Lower, for
Kassima's benefit, he tries a murmur of an answer: "All of those. Maybe we
needed several icebreakers. Maybe I needed practice." But his gaze becomes
furtive after that thought escapes his lips, skating away toward the eggs
below as one hand comes up to rub away redness from the peak of an ear. Oh,
look: a candidate. For once, perhaps the first time, the Telgari bronzer
looks relieved to have Satiet sashay into his line of sight. "Good evening,
candidate," he replies with perfect propriety, and the rhythm of the dance
of respect drains from his cheeks and ears all trace of sunburn. Fitting
that hand, no longer needed at his ear, in the small of Kassima's back, he
smiles, "T'bay, this is Candidate Satiet of Tillek-or-thereabouts," which
is blended as if it's the name of a subcothold of Tillek, "who'll stand for
Volath's clutch. Lhiannonth's clutch." Only a teensy slip of pride there.

T'bay shakes his head, sending droplets outward from curling strands of
wetted hair. "I think he meant icebreaker, as in, practice. Before later
sessions. If I may venture a guess." His gaze strays back to the pile of
oil-slicked hides, a slight frown on his face. "Perhaps...I'll skip
greenrider bits all over the place. Considering I know some very nice
greenriders. And yeah, no kidding. He'd flirt with a rock if he thought it
would enjoy the attention." Cue affectionate eyeroll. His direction of
focus brings the newly arrived girl into his sight, so he takes a moment to
study her. Slowly it dawns on him that the sir might be directed at him,
but as Vel responds, his eyes widen, no longer able to pretend the
egg-babies are not for real. "Wow. That's cool," he murmurs. Louder, he
adds, "I mean, Telgar's duties to Reaches and her queens. Well met,
Candidate...Satiet. T'bay, Sarevith's."

Kassima muses with far too much mischief, "Well, but mayhaps if'n they only
came over at the very end, once it shot through the dragon grapevine that
Volath had caught--came specifically *to* see your legendary prowess at
work--" She evidently likes living dangerously, or maybe her ribs at least
do. She leans in a little to catch that murmur; she might try to tuck her
grin away, but it's a presence still in the twitchings at the corners of
her mouth that she's not able to express. "A mentor's job 'tis, t'be
practicing along with her mentee. And practicing. And practicing." Murmured
just as low, but even if words aren't caught her own cheeks flame a brief
rose ensign to suggest the nature of the conversation. Ah, and here's
Satiet! At least that's distraction. "Candidate Satiet," she greets in her
turn, polite, cordial, amiable if not warm. "Evening." She won't smile too
openly at the bronzerider's touch; it wouldn't do, but he at the very least
would be able to see the softening in her expression for it. "Oh, well, in
that case," she agrees with T'bay, "a lovely icebreaker 'twas. Would he?
Y'know, May and I once painted a set of rocks gold, and positioned 'em in
the vague shape of a tail, t'see if'n Solarith would try t'twine his with
it. I don't think he ever did, more's the pity. Should we try again for
Sarevith?" asked a moment before a smile flashes across her face.
Egg-babies are, indeed, cool.

"High Reaches duties to Telgar." She's slow on the traditional greeting,
but there's a distinct lack of hesitation in the sudden demureness that
melts over her alto directed at T'bay. "Satiet, as Volath's rider was kind
to introduce me as. Tillek's duties as well then, if it comes to that."
Trace amusement surfaces, the eggs on the sands glanced at, "I suppose it
is cool," her reply coming closely on the heels of Kassima's own answer.
"That someday, hopefully sooner than later, those fat things out there will
spew out dragons that will become as lovely as your own." Satiet's gaze
rests on Kassima at that, her smile blandly reassuring. "Evening, ma'am. I
thought I saw you earlier in the living caverns. I would've come over to
keep you company, but there were errands to be run, chores to be done,
people to be seen. Unless, of course, it was a figment of my mind that you
were there." V'lano and the spare space next to him receives a passing
glance, but the candidate apparently elects to stay near the brownrider.

"Cool?" V'lano flicks a curious look at T'bay. He's had a couple of weeks
to acclimatize to the reality of those eggs out there, see, and the fact
that these kids in white knots keep showing up at his dragon's doorstep. Or
his own, but that's another matter. A blank look levels toward Satiet, but
is followed by a smile - whatever words she had with him earlier, he's
mostly fooled and willing to keep fooling, it would seem. "I don't know
about sooner. Volath's certain the rain's slowed down the hardening." While
speaking, he slips his hand off of the greenrider's back and toward his hip
again so he can gently offer her side a bruise - since she's earned it.
"Watching. Prowess." The great bronzer, rider of clutchsire, admired by
many and loved by all or something sort of like that, giggles quietly,
lifting his other hand to filter the little laughs through his fingers. And
more, for gold-painted rock-tails. 

All of the comments about his Wingleader's practices just roll off T'bay as
one more droplet of rainwater, the less he dwells on the pair of them
twining tails or anything else. "I don't think he's all that crazy about
just the mating part, you know? He's just...he loves other dragons. Greens,
blues, browns, you name it. He wants to be their friend. So he'd probably
try to get the rocks to go flying with him, and be sad if they wouldn't
budge." A soft sigh, then he's looking again out at the eggs as if he'd not
seen them before, and perhaps he truly hadn't. A step carries him toward
the railing. "Yeah, cool. Like, amazing? Indescribable, maybe even. Hmmm.
Spew out dragons. Who would've guessed that late-blooming Volath would
sire? Not I. I would've lost marks on it, if I'd bet, Kassi." Thoughtful in
silence for a moment, he leans forward toward the railing. "Chores. Yes.
The joys of candidacy. I hope you've some good people to share the work
with, that it be all the more interesting."

Kassima returns Satiet's smile with a lazy one of her own, not
seeming--outwardly, at least, and if it's only a pose then it's an
excellent one--to require reassurance. "You likely did," she confirms,
"since 'twas there on and off through the day, by invitation. I really
wouldn't worry about the company if'n 'twere you. For all that the thought
is most kind." She takes the bruising she's due with good spirit, laughing
low and bringing her own hand around to poke at his ribs while they're
exposed--or is that tickle? Perhaps intending the one and getting the
other. Or intending both full well. "You never know," is her teasing
insistence. "A pity you didn't, then, T'bay--at least with me! That
could've put me at two for two on the win-marks-off-goldflights game. But
I'd nay want t'see Sarevith sad." A smile crosses her face, fondness for
the brown clear in it. "We'll skip the rocks. He has a good heart, does
your dragon, or must t'be so broadly affectionate. I like him. Did I ever
mention it?"

A shrill pitched whistle echoes from the bowl, and the thoughtful tilt of
Satiet's head in regards to T'bay's final remark rights itself. "There are
good people to share the work with, definitely. I fear that's my cue to
exit. I only wanted to sneak a look at them before bed, and my friends,"
she emphasizes the last word with a smirk, "Say another cotcheck might be
due. Good evening."

Satiet walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.

V'lano puts his hand into the small of Kassima's back another time and rubs
a brief, gentle circle there. Afterward, he disentangles from her to follow
his friend to the rail, laying a hand atop it once there - but he turns his
body somewhat away from it, leaving a space at his other side for Kassima
should she move into it. "Spew," he grins, "Is not the word I'd choose."
Satiet's abrupt departure earns a wave, though the girl can move fast when
she's inclined, and he's left wearing a crooked smile as his hand returns
to the rail. "Oh, as if you'd have bet on Volath for Lhiannonth," the
bronze's rider snorks greenrider-ward, the smile becoming more crooked yet
as an eyebrow lifts, setting creases into his forehead in its effort. "It
was chance he was even here, never mind that he'd actually persist that
long - I half thought, when I woke up, I'd find him with his wings worn
clean off." He raises hands from the rail another time, crossing them over
his chest to rub at opposite shoulders in memory.

T'bay continues to study that batch of baby dragons-to-be out there on the
sand, slowing in hardening by the dropletfall. "It has to be like
parenting, only not quite. I've got a hankering for some good strong tea,
you know? The kind that prevents--" As Satiet departs, he looks curiously
after her, breaking off to hear her telling about the whistle-call-signal.
"Ingenious, that. A code. Wish we'd thought of something like that. Oh--I'd
not like to see him sad, either." He continues even after she's gone,
knowing the other two will understand the references anyway, "Dragon sad
face. Hardest thing to resist /ever./ Other than dragon mating face. Can't
resist that one very well either." Can't miss a chance for a jibe, he adds,
"Apparently, Vel, you can't either. So what are they like? The candidates,
the Reachians, the Eggs? Tell us everything."

Kassima shifts towards the bronzerider automatically, her lips seeking his
shoulder to press a brief, warm kiss there, whether he can feel through
clothing or no. There's little to surprise in the fact that she follows his
suit, standing in that place he made for her and folding her arms so that
elbows rest on the railing. "What word, then?" she wonders on a grin.
"'Issue forth'? Although that's more of a phrase." For Satiet, there's only
a polite nod, and... funny. She doesn't seem too distressed at having
missed. "I might have! Had I been here t'know he was chasing, as 'twas at
Ista; and had I nay decided on Svaroth, which I have t'confess I might have
done. Given how his rider and hers are. Volath's a good flier," which
compliment is offered not as tease, but as simple if grinning fact. "He'd
have t'be. Wait a moment, wait a moment, T'bay--" She turns towards the
brownrider in a mix of surprise and mirth. "Seeing eggs makes you think of
contraception? That has t'be a genuine first. 'Twill be kind and nay even
mock-glower at the very thought of a Thunderbolt rider preventing; I hope
you appreciate it. Err, but if'n *you* can't resist a dragon mating face,
mayhaps contraception's the best thing. The giant chicken is going t'be
hard enough t'be explaining. I am however all for clutchfather stories."

V'lano, for some reason, begins choking a little bit there, leaning over
the rail to cough into his balled fist while the other hand clenches around
the wooden inlay. "Like. Parenting." A little more coughing, between which
he manages to suggest, "Hatch. Hatch is a good word." It shall be his
battle cry. He turns around, putting his back to the rail and the eggs
below, sheltered beneath increasing rain by outstretched dragonwings of
gold and bronze, while the owners of said wings make mixed efforts to nap
and nuzzle with varying levels of success. "Might have saved me an awkward
moment or two if it -had- been Svaroth, Kassima." Finally done choking
enough to actually grin with suppressed pride for T'bay's apparent interest
in 'everything' being told, he begins in fits and starts at it. "And there
won't be a chicken. Or if there is, there won't be for long." A low hiss
might be the wind tossing rain against the sands, or else it could be
Volath's thoughts on the matter. "Anyway - you have to feel bad for
Josilina. I think mayhap there's a reason she's so busy: I might not have
much impressed her, that morning." While color rises in his cheeks he
notes, "I won't say so sure about the evening. But morning was when she
found out I'm from Telgar, which is a dash against - and by the way, you're
right about..." He stealth-spies left, right. No Josilina, no Reachians.
Even so, he whispers. "I'sai." Louder, continuing, "And then that I was
still in the weyrling wing. So if I ever do this again and I want to hole
up with the woman a while, I promise I won't be telling her where I'm from
or what wing I ride."

T'bay continues to stare out at the sea of sand and eggs lost in the
misting rain as it thickens in its fall. "Seeing these future babies makes
me think of...being careful." Seems he can't quite even say the words
related to the act, so he sticks with vague connotations. "Er, right. But
I--yeah. Well. I think the rest of Thunderbolt makes up for my lacking?"
Resting his chin on his hands, then his elbows on the bar, he sighs.
"Wonder how many of each you'll get, when they 'issue forth from their
great eggs and spew out onto the ground.'" Mixing descriptors brings a
smile to his face, one which turns worried at the mention of a giant
chicken. "This can't be good. Ohhh, no, Vel, none of that sounds any good.
I'sai? And a weyrling. And a bias against our own Telgar? Say it isn't so.
But still--sigh. I'll promise to keep your secrets safe, my friend.
Cause--chickens? Alas, it saddens me that you've been here only a dozen
sets of sevendays, and they're thinking of feathering you already."

"Or three, or four," Kassi concurs, with a wry glance off in the direction
Satiet took. Coincidence? "Volath's going t'eat his son, the chicken," she
clarifies for T'bay in perfect sobriety. "Nay matter how many times I tell
Vel that 'tis just wrong, wrong, wrong." She shifts position so that she's
leaning on one elbow, the better to face V'lano and listen. "Her loss," is
all she murmurs about that; also no tease, although there's a smile with
it. "Mayhaps on both counts. I'd heard rumors that she doesn't care
for...." She pauses. An expression of delight, shading rapidly to mischief,
breaks over her face, and she suggests, "Call him 'Merry.' That she doesn't
care for Merry. Don't know why, though. But I didn't visit much then."
There's a crooked eyebrow at him for hole-up-with-the-woman, but even in
that there's amusement; perhaps a slightly more sardonic sort, but
amusement nevertheless. "I suppose it makes sense. 'Tis a vast thing,
parenting, even for dragons in a fashion... but nay such a horror as that.
I'm taking wagers on colors and spread if'n you'd like t'place any." She
had to mention that, and brightly too. She'd not be Kassima otherwise.
"Feathering Vel? They'd best nay. Else Volath might munch on *him*,
thinking 'tis the chicken, and *then* where would we be."

"T'bay. Come on." V'lano, grinning, puts an elbow toward the brownrider's
side this time, then settles both elbows on the rail, back to the eggs and
side to Kassima's, turned opposite ways but shoulder to shoulder. "They
were thinking of feathering me as soon as Volath caught her. Trust me. I
saw it in their eyes." As if he was looking at malerider eyes at the time.
"And he holds that any chicken out there is not his son. He'd say it's
Lhiannonth's fault, but he doesn't dare." Sidelong glance focuses oddly on
the greenrider. "Merry," the bronzer remarks. "Merry." Wrapping his mind
around that one. It's a snug fit, and in the end he returns the idea to the
store, gigglingly unable to make it work in his wardrobe. If Kassima's
given him a look that equals his earlier unbalanced discuss-it-later
expression, he lets it slide, or misses it. "Didn't someone say he wanted
tea? And didn't we discuss food?" Pelting droplets occasionally sweep in
under the hang of the ledges now, making the galleries as wet as the
exposed part of the sands. "Because while this is the traditional spot for
egg-betting, I think if T'bay's hungry he'll be at a terrible disadvantage
to the bookie." There's a wink for each of them on that.

T'bay's face contorts in a disturbing reflection of the thoughts playing
through is mind. "That's...really oooky," he settles, pondering this and
casting it aside quickly in order to think about anything, even betting.
"Weeeelll, I'm not very good at guessing things like the colors of dragons,
or which ones will go with which eggs. I haven't had turns and turns of
practice at it, you see, and I'd be at a gross disadvantage regardless, and
on an empty stomach? Helpless." Slipping on his damp coat as protection
against the rain, he gestures out across the bowl. "Sarevith's starting in
on a good nap, so I'm all for that snack you mentioned earlier. We can head
inward, away from this increasing torrent, and maybe warm up, too. I'm not
as insulated as I used to be, see." Overexaggerating his state, he starts
toward the steps downward, then waits for Vel or someone who knows the lay
of the land better to lead, "Onward we go. Though you or Kassi'll have to
lead me to the food. My sniffing-device isn't as attenuated as it once was,
either. Then you can tell more about this ...chicken. Or the bets. Or
something."

Kassima chortles her appreciation for feathering, nudging her shoulder to
his; and for Merry.... "The alias he used at Ofira's bachelorette party."
Pause. "While he was dressed as a woman." Because there has just not been
enough brain-breaking yet tonight. She holds up her spare hand as though to
silently swear to what she's just said, eyes dancing. Not such a look as
that; enough reaction only that one might note she noticed the comment, but
if there was more to it, she too has let this pass. "Aye, let's all bond
over a steaming pot of contraceptive tea," she agrees, with something that
sounds rather like a giggle of her own. "Hey, hey, hey. Nay outing m'clever
plan t'do him out of all his marks, Vel--" So wounded she is! "Sigh. Foiled
again. Or mayhaps nay! I can tell you about it, T'bay. 'Tis easy. Really.
Over food, aye; dinner has a good sound to it as far as I'm concerned, even
if'n it does lessen nefarious advantages."

V'lano is quick enough to leap after T'bay, putting out an arm to hook
Kassima's if she'll let him. Mustn't leave the bookie behind, especially
while one's broken brain is busy stifling giggles, sputtering the word
'Merry' repetitively, and directing the feet on how to handle stairs
leading toward the bowl. "Now -that- sounds lovely. Put sweetener in my
cup. And honestly, Kassima, you don't want T'bay's marks - not all of them,
anyway. Would you want him -broke- on your account? And think before you
answer, because I've known T'bay when he was broke." This, he suspects,
will earn protest from his longtime friend, but by then, they've made for
the bowl with supper, hopefully, ahead.