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.

03-08-01: It's a cheerful life
R'yn maybe never will give up his teasing pursuit of Lydiere's charms.

Lydiere wades through the edge of the cove, wandering along from the direction of the main beaches, closer to the Weyr itself. Her hair has fallen free from its usual binding, and the somewhat ragged hems of her trousers are soaked--even up to her knee--but she is, at least, smiling as she walks, peering out towards the water, as if hoping to catch sight of the dolphins that supposedly visit around here.

Lounging is what R'yn does best, and lounging is what he's doing now, having burrowed a curve out of the sand so he lies easily, hands behind his head, huge trademark straw sombrero over his face. At the sounds of another wading through the water the sombrero tilts a little, and silver-grey eyes regard the goldrider from below its brim. No words, though.

Lydiere bends down towards her feet, attempting to roll her somewhat saturated pant legs up from her feet, the process of which is hampered, to the point of almost impossibility. Giving up, the woman--who hasn't noticed R'yn, yet--rises, happily kicking water about in a moment, or five, of childish amusement.

R'yn stays still a moment longer, lips curving to a slow smile, then he props himself up on one elbow, before rising entirely, his back and legs caked with sand. He's stripped down to a pair of shorts himself, proff positive that the weyrleader doesn't only wear clothes the weyrwoman describes as 'designed to flaunt himself' when he's in company. A laugh announces his presence, as he saunters slowly down the beach. "It's that sort of day, isn't it?"

Lydiere doesn't so much jump as glance up, eyes darting towards R'yn with some surprise, her passage through the slowing-to-nothing waves halting as she responds to his words. "I didn't realise you were there. I guess it is, as much as any day is." She brushes sand from her rather dilapidated outfit, shifting her weight as she regards the bronzerider. "I guess you've caught my childish side now, huh?"

"Always knew it was there. I display my own often enough, so it's about time somebody showed me theirs." He comes to a halt at the water's edge, allowing slow waves to swirl about his ankles, before retreating once more, the bronzerider's bare toes wriggling down into the sand. He tries out a smile on her, not in any hope that it'll work any more than usual, but more likely simply out of habit. Female Sighted = Boyish Grin. It's instinct.

Lydiere's grey-green eyes roll with hinted mirth, as she sinks hands into pockets, wiggling one finger through a hole coming clean through. "You would say that," decides she, laughing. Her foot is nudged into the sand beneath the water, heal pointed upwards. The smile is greeted with further mirth. She, evidently, has been around in the world long enough to understand that boyish grins have no relation to anything, except for that unchangable thing known as gender.

R'yn affects innocence, widening quicksilver eyes to regard her with an easy grin, wading out a couple of feet further, although still a couple of feet from that sharp drop. "Why would I, in particular, say that? Defend yourself, weyrwoman. I think I've just been unfairly accused of something-or-other." For reasons unexplained, the weyrleader seems to be in particularly high spirits today.

Lydiere pulls hands out from her pockets, holding them up in defeat--"Guilty as charged. Although if you continue to call me by my title, I'll be obliged to splash, and it won't be pretty." She raises her shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, adding, "And why should I tell you, anyway? If you don't know, well, it's very sad." She, too, is all of a cheerfulness, her grin broad, if not beaming.

R'yn seems to consider all of this, biting his lip as he eyes the other sidelong. "As you wish, Lydiere. It's a very pretty name. Should be used more often, shouldn't it?" Again, reflex is a frightening thing to behold. "Humour me, though, hmm? Am I that easily predicted?" Well, R'yn, yes. He absently offers a sort of a pout, wading another foot out towards the ledge. "I'm disappointed. I could stop admiring you altogether, if that'd add a little more mystery?"

"Appreciated," decides Lydiere, although her tone assures relaxation; she's not so stressed about it, really. "It should, yes. Not because it's pretty, but because it's *mine*." She gives a nod of her head, a rapid one, then pauses, regarding R'yn carefully. "Well," begins she, "I guess the easiest way to answer that, R'yn, would be--yes?" By reflex, she ducks, adding, "You could. If you wanted. I'm of no mind either way." And there's a chuckle, low, as she splashes with her toes.

R'yn laughs ruefully, ducking both hands under the water to scoop up a double handful, tipping it over sand-mussed blonde curls, and flattening them against his head. If there's anywhere the weyrleader's at home, it's probably the beach. "Perhaps I'll have to alter myself overnight, although I doubt anyone would believe it - or that I could keep it up. I'm used to being the way I am, and I think the weyr's probably used to me by now." He shrugs, stretching slowly as silver gaze scans the horizon for shipfish. "Makes things a bit irritating, when one's reputation gets in the way of convincing someone one genuinely feels for that you're not simply flirting, but I suppose that's just one of life's challenges, no?"

Lydiere resumes cuff-folding, as best she can, commenting, whilst half crouched in the water, "I think people'd miss the R'yn we know and," pause, "like. I think. If it came down to that. It's a matter of complaining about everything. People do that." She raises her gaze, commenting, "Is it? Irritating, I mean. I suppose it is, although I've not much experience in that area." She uses one, salty hand to push her hair away from her face.

"No, I imagine not. You've only to look at the poor young men, and they swoon away away en masse." He's sidling away, ready to dive for freedom if necessary. "After that you've only got to persuade them to revive, and believe their good fortune in having you fancy them, and you're set." He's teasing, tone playful, as one foot comes up to kick water through the air, sunlight catching it in a gleaming arc.

Lydiere's eyes roll, and she laughs, hands returning to their comfort spot, stuck deep within her pockets. "Oh, I'd just *love* to see that one happen. Could be a real gather event." Mirth playing upon her face, she steps back slightly, commenting, "You, of course, would have it no differently; surely they all swoon at the force of your--charm? appeal? whatever you define it as."

"Luck. That's how I define it." And turns upon turns of practice. "I'll oblige, then. Look sidelong at me as though you fancy me, and I promise it'll have be swooning into unconsciousness before you could blink. Most obligingly." Cheerful indeed, he is, kicking up another bout of spray, and edging forward to peer over the ledge's edge.

Lydiere's mirth escapes once more, "Luck, of course. How silly of me to offer such a misnomer." Her eyebrows raise, her hands pulling out of her pockets as she crosses her arms, considering slowly. "I rather think the effect would be spoilt, if I did it now. Because you'd be expecting it. All put on, I'm sure. Besides," she adds, as she wades out of the water, onto the sand, "Llysereth's not impatientl, even if it comes down to the same thing, so I'll have to disappear anyway. Fare well, oh great and lucky Weyrleader-type."

R'yn laughs, raising a hand in farewell as the goldrider departs. "Farewell, O loveliest of Junior Weyrwomen, then. I'll wait another day to find your favour." And indeed, he does watch her go, although exactly what R'yn thinks, only R'yn knows. And then he's diving off the deep ledge's edge, to stroke out, away from the beach.