All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright © Anne McCaffrey 1967,2000, all rights reserved, and used by permission of the author. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with permission. Use or reproduction without a license is strictly prohibited. For more information, visit the Worlds of Anne McCaffrey.

11-05-01: Mend
At last! Hanneke, with the purest of the pure of beaming smiles, resides in a chair--in front of a table,...

At last! Hanneke, with the purest of the pure of beaming smiles, resides in a chair--in front of a table, no less. Beside her, upon another chair is a basket of what might appear to be mending; an idea supported by the garment of brilliant purple in one hand, and the needle in the other.

Karei has... mending. Or something that might be mending, if it didn't look more like a ball of fabric with a few needles stuck in it. "/Mending./" Snort goes the Candidate, who plops irritably at a table. "They finally rotate the chores, and I get /mending./" Whine, sob, and then she pauses, peering towards Hanneke. "You have mending duty, too?" At least someone will 'suffer' with her. On'yon is accorded with a polite nod as she's noticed. Suure. All the people with ''s in their name don't /have/ to mend.

"Nothing wrong with mending!" announces Hanneke, rewarding Karei's whine with the most brilliant of smiles. "I like mending! Not as good as doing embroidery, but still--better than mucking, or--stuff." She peers at the garment she holds, her needle dipping into it once more; wow, something that she's good at, at last. Karei's nod towards On'yon is noted, and this candidate, too, turns her head to reward the rider with a brilliant smile. "Hihi!"

On'yon was banned from mending duties after sucessfully stitching the item in question to her own clothing repeatedly. Eventually, those that show unbelievable ineptitude for a certain task are relieved of the responsibility for their own safety and that of those nearby. The greenrider stands, rescues her mug from the table and saunters over to those who are permitted to play with small sharp objects. "Whatcha doin'?" she asks.

Karei shrugs. "I /hate/ mending. I can't do it. I was better at lifting things out of the kitchens -- but now I have to mend?" Sigh goes Karei, who mends despite her lack of talent and dislike of the skill. And such. Right. On'yon is peered towards, and Karei brandishes the sharp object she's being allowed to play with carefully. "Mending things." Maybe she should try stitching it to the table to get a new chore.

That's the reason why Hanneke is all but banned from the kitchens. Broken plates, bloody fingerroots and general mayhem are not appreciated, it can be noted. "What she said!" agrees this particular needle adept candidate, still beaming.

A furtive glance notes Urei before re-alighting on the sharp objects. A gleam twinkles in On'yon's eyes as she asks, "Would you be needing help?" Is there maybe a great big /basket/ of mending sitting about that is screaming for On'yon to tend it? Hmm?

Urei walks in from the kitchens, happy to note that he hasn't been banned, but only kicked out until the meal is fully prepared. Pulling out a cloth he unveils a hot, fresh sweetroll. A look over toward On'yon and nod before smiling toward Hanneke. "Hey!"

Hanneke blinks after Karei's hastily departing form--"She doesn't like *mending*," scoffs the girl, head shaking with disgust. Gaze turns, alights upon On'yon with thoughtful pause. "Oh! That would be fun!" It's like a quilting party--only worse. Urei's greeting is accepted with another of her bright smiles, as she adds, "Hihi!"

On'yon finds a convenient spot to tuck her mug away -- under a chair it seems. Hardly handy for anyone, but don't tell the greenrider that. Pulling up a stool she scootches near Hanneke with a blissfull look on her face. She may be hopeless at mending, but my how she likes to try. She peers over the candidate's shoulder, waiting. Expectantly.

Urei smiles toward Hanneke and nods, "Oh, mending duty. I bleed enough from just holding the needle. I'd feel bad for all the clothes that I stained red on." And that was quite a lot.

Hanneke's needle goes snicker-snack. Well, sort of. She keeps on working, seemingly oblivious of On'yon's expectantly waiting state. Grinning, she notes, "I did that with a knife, in the kitchen!" With pride -- visible pride -- she shows off a cut down her palm, mostly healed by now. "I don't think they like me much," she confides, shoulders shrugging. Now, where's On'yon? Head turns. "Oh!" There's On'yon! "Grab a needle?"

On'yon is virtually drooling with anticipation. Her eyes gleam with excitement -- oh so much like a canine. If she had a tail you can bet it'd be wagging hard enough to move her entire back end. "Needle?" Why sure, she can grab one. Or two. Or twelve. Noone will miss a few, will they? She spirits a few extra sharp objects up a sleeve or something, since they vanish almost immediately. Brandishing a single implement of sewing doom, she waits. Expectantly. Again.

Hanneke gives On'yon a vacuous stare, but misses the great needle heist entirely. Peering, the candidate adds, "And a piece of mending? From the basket?" The expectancy has a certain ambiance, which misses this particular candidate entirely, while she inserts needle into garment-requiring-mending once more.

Breathlessly anticipatory, On'yon is mighty quick on the draw. A hand darts out and in a flash, she has a pristinely white shirt in her hand that appears to have the tiniest of tears right near the long-sleeved cuff. Quite the simple repair job, one would imagine. Yet On'yon is frozen again, waiting. The greenrider is quivering everso slightly; coiled for immediate action upon proper instruction.

And meanwhile, ever oblivious is Hanneke to the importance of this simple act. Such poise, and such grace, as once again her eyes move towards On'yon, hesitantly curious -- but far too shallow to question -- as she speaks again. "And you thread the needle?" Again, her needle weaves a weft through the minor tear in her own garment of mending.

Ah. Thread. The bane of greenriders of little brain. How often they do get entangled in lengths and lengths of the stuff, much to their delight and the annoyance of anyone nearby. On'yon reaches for thread and then stops mid-reach, "Shhh, Breath -- I don't care if I'm not sposta." A determined scowl paints her less than attractive features making them virtually demonic, "I'm gonna do it anyway." Thread is deposited in her stubby fingers and she sits back, nearly vibrating with joy.

"I'm not breath, I'm--" Hanneke breaks off, and flushes. Realisation comes, just a little too late, and pretty pinky-red splashes paint her cheeks with their delightful colour. Thread--something that not even Hanneke can drop and break, it's charms and gifts are beyond listing. Peering towards her companion, the pink candidate adds, "Er, and thread goes through the needle eye?" Questions? Are? Good? For? The? Soul?

Ask and all shall be revealed. 'Least that's what they say. As for souls, well, who can tell? On'yon works up a good mouthfull of spit in preparation for sharpining the end of that thread and poking it through the eye of the needle. Not that this take much effort, really, considering all the drooling that's been going on. The gurgling is quite unapetizing. In goes the thread, out comes a dripping mess. Stubby less-than-clean hands (just look at those nails!) aim the saliva-laiden thread toward the target.

Hanneke opens her mouth as if the question this particular greenrider's actions, brows furrowing as the rather dull mind within attempts to wrap itself about concepts that escape it entirely. Defeat, retreat, and back to the drawing board: she nods -- encouragingly! -- still smiling, and allows her needle another attempt at pushing through material.

On On'yon's shoulder something moves. The dust about the rider puffs up just enough to permit a glimpse of something brown. It moves upward, ending up deposited on On'yon's scalp and clutching for purchase. The firelizard is as unkempt as the rider, and it's somehow fitting. Brown Roll peers downward, eyes zeroing in on the needle. Ooo. Shiny. On'yon somehow manages to connect needle and thread and all without loss of life. Smiling she reaches for the very very very clean white shirt.

At least the dust and dirt have avoided contaminating Hanneke, or perhaps that's not at all by accident; she's certainly slid slightly away from her companion. "Well done!" trills the harper-candidate, beaming congratulations, gaze avoiding the firelizard at all costs, and focusing upon the white shirt, and saliva-soaked thread. It's remarkable really, the marked lack of loss of life, as well as the ability for vision.

It's inevitable, as one might imagine. Take one grimy rider, add clean white fabric and liquid. Mix vigorously. On'yon's first efforts of mending such a simple tear yield the expected results. The sleeve rapidly browns with something clearly from the bowl that shouldn't be inside. Worse, it might be from the stables. On'yon hums brightly to herself briefly before smiling at Hanneke. Roll just watches the needle move, tensing slightly.

Hanneke returns the smile -- that's hardly unusual -- although a slightly concerned glance goes towards the sleeve. It's all dirty. Ew. Her chair didn't really shift slightly to the side, really it didn't. With a bubble of delighted laughter, she sets down her shirt, folds it nicely, and picks up another piece of mending from the basket. "How are you going?" Head raises, avoiding concentration upon the stain.

"Going? Going?" repeats On'yon before the actual point of the question sinks in. Concurrently, the point of the needle sinks right into her finger. Blood wells up and is added to the sleeve, sinking in quickly and setting permanently. "Oh /fine/," the greenrider says confidently. Roll digs in, tenses, then springs upward, taking a hank of On'yon's ratty brown hair with him. Yet it seems she hardly notices, continuing, "How are /you/ going?"

Blood. Ew. Hanneke winces, makes a bright, bubbling smile, and ers, "Fine? Er, great! Er, you're bleeding!" She didn't do it, had nothing to do with her. It was Grendella, who let the incompetent one mend! "Er, fine, yes. I'm doing fine!"

"Good, good," murmurs On'yon, who somehow didn't hear the bleeding part. Not that it's still bleeding, really. A little spit and dirt work clotting wonders and she's back to poking that needle in and out of the fabric -- such as it is. Soon it will be hard to recognize it for the shirt it is. Ony'on's stitching has progressed from the small tear to halfway up the sleeve, marching in uneven puckers and bunches. "What did you say your name was?"

Hanneke hides further winces, or perhaps they simply aren't shown--the ramifications of a shirt beyond the point of no return are hardly obvious things to occur to her somewhat limited mental capabilities. She smiles, which is second nature to her, nodding her head rapidly to provoke ease, while her stitches progress from good to halfway decent. "Er, Hanneke," she verbalises. "And yours?"

"On'yon," she replies, stitching in even larger stitches. Whoops. Out of thread. And somehow the needle has vanished, perhaps gone to join its missing companions up On'yon's sleeve. "That," gestures On'yon with a stubby finger, "Is Roll." The firelizard has alighted on the back of a chair nearby, chunks of hair and perhaps even scalp in his talons. Now where's the rest of that thread?

Hanneke attempts, and succeeds, at a brilliant smile, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Hihi!" Gaze avoids the 'mending' entirely, and she offers--"Er, perhaps it's time for a break?" That's odd; all the spare needles are gone. And where did that thread go?

On'yon is crushed. Her face drops; an unattractive visage becomes even worse somehow, as sullenness washes over it in a tsunami wave. "Break?" Do we have to? "We've just barely started," she assures Hanneke, gesturing with what is now most likely a new dustrag to the basket full of things just begging to be mended.

Hanneke swallows, and her usually beaming smile returns to it's customary position upon the centre of her face. "Oh! All right then!" Forget she said it. It's probably better that way, although how is another question altogether.

On'yon brightens, almost shines with relief. "Right then! Did you have another needle? I seem to have lost mine." Add kleptomaniac to the list of On'yon foibles.

And thus, the cavern shines with unnatural light, what with On'yon and Hanneke, together, and the latter of the two still beaming. Pause. "Needle? Er--there were some just here..." And they're gone. Frown. "Strange! They're all gone!"

Someone get poor Roll a pair of shades; the firelizard squints in the high wattage brightness, looking for something. Looking, looking. With a squawk he darts forward, claws at On'yon's sleeve and out falls -- a needle. Just one. It plummets to the cavern floor in slow motion, turning over and over in the air. With a whisper soft tinkle it meets the earth, and then is silent. "Oh /there/ one is," says On'yon, reaching for the wayward implement. "Now however did it get lost in the first place?" However indeed.

Hanneke positively beams. "Oh, look! There it is! Now we don't have to take a break, after all!" What a shame--well, really. "I wonder!" she agrees, nodding her head once more, and attacking her own piece of mending with renewed vigor; perhaps it takes away the rather woeful reality of the destruction of a once clean, almost perfect shirt.

"Lots of traffic through here today," mentions On'yon as she begins hunting for the thread. She's out of that too, remember. Finding something bright red she squeals with delight. Perfect! Thread procured, she resumes sewing -- pity for the thing that started life as a shirt and is now something much less recognizable.

"Er--" is that Hanneke, lost for words? Amazing. "Yes," she finally agrees, head nodding again. Nod, nod, it makes her look busy. "Oh! You found some!" New fashion statement--white shirt, red thread, dirt. "It looks--like it's going well."

Becoming bored, On'yon pokes the thread into the shirt. "Breath needs a bath," she says standing and dropping the former shirt to the floor. Stepping on it on her way out, it's clear why she's forbidden to mend. And who was it that practically encouraged her to do so? Not Grendella, certainly. All the way out to the bowl, she tells virtually everyone she sees, "That Hanneke, she's a good candidate, she let me mend!" Doubtless the news will get back to the Powers That Be, soon enough.

On'yon tromps out into the bowl.

[ Later ]

Hanneke, a basket of mending, and an absolutely ruined shirt sit at one of the tables in the corner of the Living Cavern. The candidate attempts to rub at the shirt--bright red stitches have covered a small rent in it's form, absolutely destroying any possibility of saving the item, when added to the grubby brown mess that covers it.

Dalas walks into the living cavern feeling pretty good about things,"Finally I got the inventory done in the infirmary, if candidacy doesn't do anything else its helped in that respect."Said to no one in particular as he goes over to the sideboard and fixes himself something to drink, spying Hanneke he smiles and walks over.

Hanneke raises her head, allowing a smile perhaps less brilliant than usual to cross her face as she hears Dalas' approach, noting, "Hihi!" as the shirt in her hands is given another disparaging glance.

"What happened to that shirt?" Dalas asks looking at the red stitching," I mean was it suppose to look like that," Thinking that he had better ammend his comment less he hurts someones feelings. The shirt really looks bad from what he can see."Well at least you can tell a healer didn't do the stitching there." He says with a smile.

Hanneke winces slightly, her whole body tensing as notice is brought to the article--"Some rider wanted to help mend, and they *ruined* it." Close to tears, the young woman adds, "She was all dirty, too, and I don't think it'll ever get clean. They'll blame me!" The horror.

Dalas looks at the garment and smiles,"Its not so bad, I think I have removed enough stitches to be able to take the red thread out and I think I even have some thread in my backpack that would match better."Dalas tells her, holding his hand out for the garment,"There is one thing though it will have to be washed again for certain."

Hanneke uses her left hand to wipe a tear from her eye, her face slightly blotchy, indicating that the whole mending business is taken very seriousness. Her delight is evident; "Oh! Do you think, Dalas? Oh, that'd be wonderful--I'd hate to get in trouble for some stupid rider." She hands over the shirt, adding, "Oh, yes. It'll have to be washed heaps! She even *bled* over it." And stole all the needles.

T'paz enters from the Weyr's bowl, outside.

Opening up the backpack he finds the thread he will need, the new needlethorns, and a small cutting knife kept honed to a razor sharpness."This will work and here are some more needlethorn for you." Passing over all but one of the needlethorns. Dalas then begins to remove the stitches very carefully so as not to make the rend in the fabric worse, after doing that he threads a needle thorn and begins sewing,"You know this isn't nothing like sewing up a wound or anything, fabric is much more pliable and delicate you have to be a bit more gentle with it."

Hanneke nods hesitantly, her face drying up, and slowly beginning to loose it's blotchy finish as she watches Dalas working. "Thank you!" she notes, taking the needlethorns and storing them carefully within her storage packet. "Is it?" she adds, perhaps less intelligently. "I suppose that's so."

T'paz moves into the room, for once, free from stiffness. He settles down on an empty bench, near the hearth, and stares into the fire a moment. He hears Dalas and Hanneke, and turns to glance at them. "Evening, you two." he says. He notices the ex-blotchy-ness of Hanneke's face, and inquires. "Hanneke, you ok, there?" A look of brief concern passes across his face.

Concentration is the key to the art of mending, whether it be flesh or fabric and Dalas is concentrating on the task at hand, though he can still hear and speak, his words a bit slow,"Yes its quite different but the stitching is pretty much the same, though its not as intricate as some of the weavers can do, we don't usually go into embroidery for injuries."Then hearing T'paz he raises his face from his project," Oh hello T'paz how are things, Jaspyth doing ok? Shards!" He exclaims as he sticks himself with the needle thorn, fortunately he was finished with the task so he didn't add his blood to what the previous worker applied.

"Hihi!" notes Hanneke, raising her head with a cheerful movement, her smile widening to embrace T'paz's entrance into the view of her eyes. "I'm fine--now. Some rider tried to mend with me, and ruined a shirt--and it can't be my fault, can it?" She stole needles, too, but Hanneke hasn't put two and two together, to equal a fairly obvious four. She nods enthusiastically towards Dalas' statement, bright grin made towards him.

T'paz rises from his seat and moves over to where Hanneke is, and sits down near her, and the mending Dalas. "Your fault? What could be your fault? A ruined shirt is not a huge thing to worry about. And Jaspyth is fine. He's just had a meal, and is sleeping like a rock right now. For the first time is days, I've got a break from his fanatical desire to practice drills and manoeuvres in the air." He looks at the shirt, and says to both. "It was a good thing that I had friends in my Candidate class to give me a hand with mending and folding and such. Laundry and I do not get along well. Sewing is just simply beyond me. Cooking now, tha's a different story..."

Dalas smiles at T'paz,"Well sewing is kind of a requirement for apprentices in my field, one of the things we get alot of practice with, we have even had sew up orangefruit believe it or not, part of practice drills for the apprentices." He tells them taking a drink of his juice,"Just one of the many things we have to learn, and now that I'm a journeyman I can do my own research and stuff, I wish I could examine some of the herdbeast over in Fort Weyr to see if I can't discover whats causing the bloat."

Hanneke explains, her voice indicating dubious understanding as to exactly why she blames herself, "'cause I *let* her do it." And didn't stop her. The young woman straightens her posture, smoothing her hair down, and recaptures her own needle, brandishing it towards the next item in need of mending--a pair of socks, with toes in desperate need of darning. "Really? They don't like me in the kitchens," that would be thanks to broken plates, and cut fingers, "But I like mending! Lots of people don't." She peers towards Dalas; once again, he's talking over her head, so she simply nods, her addition to the conversation.

T'paz hears what Hanneke is saying, and sighs. "Well, that does happen now and again. Some of the older riders get real jaded to the sensibilities of Candidates. They tend to just order you all around, without regard for your feelings. Fortunately, there are enough decent riders about to make this time a little easier for ya." He turns back to facing the Hearth, and leans back against the table. "Bloat at Fort? I hadn't heard that. Problem?"

Dalas nods at T'paz,"Their herdbeast are suffering from it, which in turn is affecting their dragons, their is a mineral that herdbeast get from the grass they eat, which is something that dragons seem to need,"Dalas tells the rider regarding the bloat,"I think that we could come up with a supplement if I knew just what most of the herdbeast eat that give the mineral,"Then in regards to the other statement he comments,"Thats true and with you being so fresh from weyrlinghood I guess you can still relate to candidacy."Then his train of thought reverts,"The only problem I see is getting the dragons to eat something besides fresh meat."

Hanneke lowers her head into a nod, then does so more rapidly--"On'yon, I think her name was." Nose wrinkles, grin fades not the slightest bit; "I guess so! Lots of decent riders." Happy, happy. The world is at ease, or perhaps that's just Hanneke. Once again, she turns her head to listen to Dalas, brows furrowing as, against all odds, she attempts to glean what he's saying, failing once more. With a bright shrug, she returns to her darning, concentrating on that as an alternative.

T'paz grins at Dalas' comments. "I tell ya..." he says, conspriatorially, "Most dragons rather enjoy catching wild beast, as opposed to the pennned in kind. And they are happy to catch fish too. But yer right, a lack of herds could be a problem in the long run. I'm sure the Healer there is on top of it, as much as possible." He stretches once, his long muscular arms reaching high into the air, and he rises to his feet again. "Well, I've actually got some scroll type work to get to, now that Jaspyth ain't stealing me away. Wullan is a stickler for accuracy, and I've got the best eye on staff for deciphering moldy old hides." He starts towards the door. "Hope yer mending and darning go well, you two. I'm off."

Hanneke bestows a brilliant smile upon T'paz, raising one hand in a gesture of farewell--"Bye!"

Dalas smiles as the rider stands,"Well thanks, and its good to have talked to you,"Then regarding Forts dragons,"yes well they are already suffering from the problem and its said they are starting to get lesions on their hides which as you know can be dangerous, for a dragon, when going between and such." Hoping to find a cure before it reaches Ista, or rather in case it does.

T'paz moves out of the LC, walking easily, gracefully. He turns his head and waves to the Candidates as he enters the night.

T'paz walks out of the Living Caverns into the bowl.

Hanneke's needle moves in and out of the sock in her hand, and she peers over towards Dalas once more. "You always talk about confusing things," she complains, a smile nonetheless gracing her entire face with it's presence. "I never understand."

Dalas smiles at Hanneke,"I'm sorry but if you have a problem with it just say hey your confusing me or something, I don't mind talking in laymens terms, as they say." Picking up another sock that needs darning,"Here let me show you something I learned on darning socks." He reaches over to a fruit bowl and gets a small redfruit and sticks it into the sock,"This way you can see the tear and mend it without sticking your fingers when your doing it."

Hanneke beams, placing the smile directly upon Dalas with some relief. "Oh, would you? I'd love to understand." Understanding the world would be another, big, step, but this is a start. She pauses, brows raising as she lets her eyes watch his trick; they light, with some delight. "Oh! That's such a good idea! You know so much, Dalas." Everything, even.

"The weavers have something similar they call it a darning ball if you can believe it, but thats where I first saw it, when I was in Southern Boll getting new linens for bandages." Dalas tells Hanneke, then with a smile he asks,"So what didn't you understand when I was talking with T'paz?" He asks her.

Seems Shabs can't get away from the stables even during Candidacy, as she comes in carrying a heavy-looking saddle with a bridle looped over her shoulder and a pot of what seems to be saddle polish resting atop a pile of rags on top of the saddle. "Dalas! Hanneke!" She squeaks, waggling a few fingers in greeting before flumping down into a chair, resting the saddle on her lap.

Hanneke allows her head to bob carefully, and she giggles with a waterfall of sound. Delightful. "Oh? I suppose they'd have things like that, yes." She nods, quickly, pauses, about to say something, before a yawn breaks through her expression. "Can I ask you later? I'm going to sleep!" Without waiting for an answer, the rudeness! she makes a run for it, waving to Shabheh on her way past. "Bye!"

You walk out of the Living Caverns into the bowl.