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.

11-09-01: Ticklemonster
Respite from the sands in the form of a visit to the candidate's barracks ends up being less respite than intended.

You walk out to Weyrling's Tunnel.

Tracking sand in through the tread of her boots, Lydiere weaves her way through the passage from the black sands, between stone couches, towards the candidate side of the immense barracks. Hesitating, as if afraid of interrupting something, she watches, head turning between the various candidates about; "Evening, candidates. How're we doing?"

Gerwain sighs softly from a cot, his head under a pillow. He knows the Jr. Weyrwoman on sight, but since he can't see her, he just groans from under the pillow. Not the nicest of greetings, but one nonetheless. Restlessly turning over like the bedslug he is, he rearranges the pillow over his face.

Lydiere's eyebrows raise slightly at Gerwain's movements, spotted during the walk her eyes make across the room. "Nice to see you, too," comments she, dryly, shuffling past a few other candidates, smiles making greetings. She stands, watching, by the edge of the door, mumbling, "Far cooler in here; that's just not fair."

Gerwain blinks a little, if that's even possible under a pillow. Far cooler in here... Sitting up as it dawns on him where this 'female' has come from, he drops the pillow from his face, eyes wide open. "Ma'am!!" He bites his lip. "I'm... sorry!" He pants as he moves a quickly as possible to get dressed. "I didn't know it was you!"

Lydiere hesitates, then bursts into laughter--"Faranth, you really *did* jump there. And it's Lydiere, or, if you *must*, Junior Weyrwoman." She leans back against the wall, watching the room in general.

Gerwain continues to get dressed, and having pulled on his pants first, he struggles, getting tangled in the shirt. Head in an arm, and an arm where the head should be, Gerwain's having some measure of trouble. "L...l...lydiere!" He cries out as he falls over, having stumbled in his blindness into his cot.

Lydiere's mirth continues to spill out from her lips, expressed across her face, but, in her wisdom -- or not -- she shifts from the wall, moving closer to try and yank at the shirt; "Do you always have such trouble getting dressed?

As Lydiere yanks at the shirt, it's swiped clean off Gerwain, and there's a broad grin on his face. "Only when faced with beautiful women, Junior Weyrwoman." Charming. Taking his time, he moves to get the shirt back of Lydiere, that is, if she'll surrender it.

Lydiere shakes out the shirt, giving it a diligent glanceover, considering, "Hmmm," she murmurs, tossing it back to it's rightful owner--"Flatterer. It's Gerwain, isn't it?" She wraps her arms about her back, grinning broadly in response to Gerwain, "And it's Lydiere--remember?"

Gerwain almost beams at the 'Flatterer' comment, and actually does once the shirt's there to hide it. Muffled voice comes from behind the shirt, "Yes, Gerwain, Lydiere." Bright eyes peer over the top of the shirt - now with all the bits in the right spots - and with a jerk, it's down where it should be. "One of the new candidates, at your service."

"My service -- hmm, I wonder how I can use that..." laughs Lydiere, tilting her head towards Gerwain. "Well met, then, if we have, or have not, met before. And how is candidacy taking your fancy? No traumas, I hope?"

Gerwain shrugs a little, standing from the cot. "Not too badly, to tell the truth, not much is really different from what I was doing before, and yes, well met." He folds his hands behind his back and rocks a little. "And feel free to use me any way to see fit." Was that a wink?

Lydiere digs her hands into her pockets, as she moves back to her wall-leaning position, lank hair tossed over her shoulder--escaped from its binds once more. "I suppose not," she decides, head nodding. "Faranth! You *do* have a way with it." If she was less herself, she might cluck. Instead, she laughs.

Gerwain tilts his head to the side, not really understanding what she means. "Do have a way with what?" He asks, as lip is bitten once more. Innocent eyes... well not really that innocent... look over at Lydiere. "Please explain?" He requests.

"Nothing!" trills Lydiere with over-emphasised innocence. "Don't mind me; I'm a silly old bat, rambling on about nothing."

Gerwain knows all about innocence, and seeing straight through it, he advances slowly. "Nooo..." is intoned in a light, jovial voice. "Explain!" Is chuckled out soon after. "And I don't think you're a silly old bat. You barely look over 21 turns."

Lydiere sticks her nose in the air: "I'm not *that* green, thank you very much. Twenty-four, and I look every day of it." She winks, cheerfully playing along. "Why should I explain? What're you going to do, to make me?"

Gerwain grins and has a good idea of what he's going to do, and how he's going to get it out of her. Since she looks rather... playful, maybe she'll go along with it. After considering for a moment, he hmms softly. "Tickle you."

"Tickle me!" repeats Lydiere, eyes rolling. "Highly appropriate, I'm sure. And what if I'm not ticklish?" Her stance, back straight, arms crossed, leaning tightly against the wall, might indicate otherwise.

Gerwain raises an eyebrow. He knows the signs of one who is ticklish. He is too, so... "Most definately highly appropriate. And, I do think that you're ticklish. Most definately." He takes a step forward.

Lydiere's hands wrap about her without much disgresion, eyebrows raising as if considering whether he dares--or not. Finally, she shrugs -- although with some measure of rapidity; can't let him tickle! -- and says, "A way with words. Or, perhaps more likely, innuendos." Safe?

Taking another step forward, his grin takes a semi-malicious turn. "Not good enough!" He raises his hands, poised to tickle.

"You're evil, I tell you!" laughs Lydiere, nonetheless attempting to hold her arms up in defense, heedless of the stares coming from those others about the barracks--at least no one imporant is here to see.

Gerwain ah-has! And pounces, attempting to tickle mercilessly. "Tell me!" He says, not really all that sure what this is all about any more, anyway. But he likes to tickle, and even if he doesn't know proper manners to Weyrwomen, he's having fun. "Tell me, and I'll stop!" He bribes, stilling trying to get a hand in to tickle.

Lydiere squeeks, making an awful racket, attempting to bat Gerwain's fingers away from her--"Stop, stop! I tell you..." Tears stream from her eyes; yes, she *is* very ticklesh. "What more is there to say?"

Gerwain stops for a moment, and looks around to make sure that his fellow recruits aren't watching to closely. "You said it was an innuendo... But, what did you mean by it?" More tickling ensues.

Lydiere's hair tangles over her eyes, as her arms wave about dramatically--giggles sounding from within the curtain of raven locks. "I meant...you like deeper meanings to your words. It's just a thing, nothing important!" Squeek.

Gerwain lets up. "That's all you meant?" He queries, eyebrows raised once more. "Are you sure?" Hands again poised, Lyddie'd better make a quick answer!

"Too slow!" There go the tickles again, hands darting.

"Quite!" agrees Lydiere, breathing heavily, her eyes lit with a brilliant gleam--life. Then, a pause, and another yelp--"Evil, evil! Accosting me like that!" But it's mirth; she's not upset.

Gerwain lets up for the last time, and brushes himself off, and strong hands hold onto Lydiere's shoulders to steady her. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" His own eyes twinkle back at her, and he finally realises his place, letting go and taking a step back. "I'm.... Sorry..."

Lydiere emits a long sigh of relief, tears of laughter rolling down her face. "Not so hard. I think." Head shakes, her lips unable to hold her smile without stretching out of shape, now firmly upon the floor once more. Safe. "Don't stress about it, Gerwain; I'm not fussed. I haven't laughed like that in *ages*! Llysereth's mood slightly dullens my sense of humor, at the moment."

Gerwain uh-ohs, audibly. "Llysereth." His face pales, and he backs away again. "I... I didn't know... I forgot!" He tries to make excuses, despite Lydiere's reassurances.

Lydiere's eyes narrow, and she properly peers at Gerwain. "What's wrong with that? It doesn't make me any less human." Head shakes. "Stress less; I was feeling all relaxed. That's good!"

Gerwain relaxes a little, at this point just a little stressed and moody. "I... forgot who you were for a little while, there. I apologise." He seems a little calmer, but only just. "I'm glad I could be of service." That last is a little shaky, but a grin follows.

"I'm no one special," notes Lydiere, "And I'd rather you did forget; it's a much nicer feeling." She gives a wry smile, adding, "So am I: I needed that."

Gerwain is now reassured and once again returns to his charming self. Maybe slightly less charming, now, but charming nonetheless. "Alright, then. I'll forget, and tickle you whenever I see you?" It's a joke, really. He pays it no mind and continues. "And to tell you the truth, your hair looks better like that, all wild and uncontrolled." Lips curve upwards as a little green 'lizard flies in, shakily winging to Gerwain's shoulder.

Lydiere sticks out her tongue in a burst of childish amusement, tossing streams of hair away from her face. "It does? I'll remember that. Make it knotty, just for you!" Hah. Grinning broadly, as she composes herself, and gains control over her smile, she adds, "New firelizard?"

Gerwain sticks his tongue out, right back at Lydiere - He still is a child, at around 15, though looks like a man. "Yes, actually. One of the riders here was good enough to take me to Igen to visita friend, and lo and behold..." He raises a hand to scratch the eyeridges, which the green accepts lovingly. "Can't seem to think of a name for her, though."

Lydiere, alas, has no such excuse, especially not when she does it again -- out goes the tongue, followed by much giggled glee. "Oh! Congratulations, then. Eh, naming *is* hard. I named mine after seacraft things: I *was* a seacrafter, at the time."

Gerwain raises an eyebrow, not questioning this time, but interested. "And what are their names?" He asks, "I don't really have a craft I can name her after, and to be honest, I don't think she'd like it." Looking down her nose, the little one snorts as if she knows what's going in.

Lydiere, composed now, grins cheerfully, eyes watching the little green. "Mmm. This is true. Mine? Keel, for the blue, and Reef, for the green. Oh so creative, I know, but I'm not really very good at thinking up things, as I said."

Gerwain ahhs and nods. "Keel's te bottom of the boat, right? And reef is what can destroy the bottom of the boat?" He chuckles at himself. "On my travels, I've seen a few things," He offers in way of explanation for his knowlegde. "And neither am I. But I want to get it right... My first, y'see."

"Something like that," agrees Lydiere, impressed--slightly. "You've travelled? I'm impressed." Her head nods, rapidly, as she adds, "I know the feeling. I'm sure you'll think of something -- eventually."

Gerwain waves off the 'Impressed' comment, not really one to recount the tales of his travels at the drop of a hat. "Yeah, I've travelled. And I'm sure I will. Or else she can stay 'Little One' for ever." A grin shows that this indeed is a possibility.

Lydiere tilts her head, noting, "I suppose it's a lot easier to travel, these days. Nobody even remembers days when thread fell, and people don't worry as much. But--anyway. Little One? I think that could be cute, if you did leave it at that."

Gerwain chuckles a little. "Cute, yeah..." He shrugs. "Don't think she'd like that, either." Another snort, though this one is more an insult than disdain. "What's that, sweetie?" He looks at her and grins. "I havn't quite got the knack of reading her yet," He confessed.

"Possibly," agrees Lydiere; "Oh, don't worry--I don't think I ever have. Mine're mostly wild, these days, because Llysereth couldn't be *stuffed* doing anything with them, and they certainly don't listen to me."

Gerwain chuckles a little. "Llysereth has to do things with them?" He asks, looking over at his little one. "I'm sure you'd like to play with a dragon, yes? But not now." He turns back to Lydiere. "She listens to me, I think. Will be quiet if I promise meat. That's about it.

*Tack on a ".

Lydiere wrinkles her nose. "They're awful, the pair of them. Llysereth *could* keep them in check...but she doesn't." She nods cheerfully, noting, "Lucky you, then. If you keep at it, you'll get better at it, too."

Gerwain nods. "I wonder, is it anything like hearing a dragon? I've heard much about it, but no-one really tells me much once they get started n their dragon." He smiles a little. Anything you could tell me?" He says, with a pleading smile.

Lydiere leans her head up against the wall, hesitating. "Well. I suppose in essense--they can project images, which is a little bit, a very little bit, like hearing a dragon. But a dragon is clearer, uses words, much sharper." She flicks her eyes towards Gerwain, querying, "Does that help, any?"

Gerwain bites his lip, not really wanting to say no, but his own conscience won't let him say yes. "Not really, but if that's it, I suppose I'll have to wait an see, even if I do impress." He shrugs a little and sports a wry smile. "What do they sound like?"

Lydiere admits, ruefully, "It's hard to describe, and I'm not so good with words. Impression -- that's the best thing, you're right." She smiles, eyes flickering up towards the ceiling, thoughtful. "Each sounds different, or so I'm told. I've only ever heard Llysereth. She's light, airy, almost smells of sweet herbs when she talks, and has colours: silver, purple, pale gold."

Gerwain smiles a little as Lydiere explains. "You're doing awfully well describing at the moment, I think. But there's one thing that I don't understand. Smells of sweet herbs?" He tilts his head to the side inquisitively. "And colours?"

Lydiere blushes faintly pink, noting, "Thanks, then. I try. Or something." She hesitates, half closing her eyes again. "Well--I don't know. It's as if there's a smell, in your mind, that you can't *quite* sniff, but it's there. And flashes of colour, through your thoughts. I can't really describe it, I admit." She furrows her brow, annoyed.

Gerwain moves forward again, raising an arm innocently to touch Lydiere's upper arm. "Hey, don't worry. I understand... I think. It's like a smell that you can't smell but you... remember? And, colour that when you close your eyes you can see?" He tries to put it into his won words. "It must be nice."

Lydiere's eyes blink open, and she nods rapidly. "Like that! You've got a way with words, I'm impressed." She nods, solemnly, "It is. But it can be--not nice. At times. At first, I didn't like it." She's almost wistful, watching the wall. "But you grow to love it." She pauses, eyes going blank, then: "Fardles! That's Llysereth, now. Wanting me back on the sands." a wry smile. "As of now. I'd better run -- see you around, Gerwain!"

Gerwain chuckles a little and gives a wave. "Nice to meet you, Lydiere!" He turns back to his cot, contemplating. Chores, or more sleep. Chores, sleep. Chores. "Can't go back to sleep now," He says to the little one. "Going to come help me peel some tubers?" He grins as a CHiiiirP is heard. "Yes, and get you some meat."

"Same to you," agrees Lydiere, tilting her head towards the candidate, as she traipses back towards the sands.

You walk out to hatching sands.