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.

03-02-01: The great weed of doom
Working out at the training grounds really must do something special for G'wain.

G'wain exits the trining grounds, quite puffed, and looking like he's had a workout, or something of the sort. Mid afternoon, it is, and he's slick with sweat. Twirling a dagger in his hands, it's quite clear that he's come from a lasson in combat with such items, and in the centre of the bowl he slows to a halt, trying to decide where to go next. "I need a bath," He comments to the air.

It's such a sunny day. Warm, bright - lots of dragons about to keep a person company. It's hardly unreasonable, therefore, that Lydiere's settled herself upon the ramp that leads up to Llysereth and Ahreluth's ledge, hides in front of her. It really isn't fair, of course, that G'wain gets to be sweaty, and she just has to study. "You better believe you do, if you think you're coming home any time soon!" So easily distracted, it's amazing she ever gets anything done.

G'wain turns to Lydiere. He's sweaty because he has to learn combat for his wing duties. Not really by choice. Slowly advancing, he gestures to the ledge. "And who's going to stop me?" He asks, steps bringing him closer. Ahreluth watches on passively. "Llysereth? You?" He grins, and sheathes the knife with little flourish, but at least it's sheathed. "I'd like to see that."

Lydiere's is jealous, regardless. *She* doesn't get to learn combat at all. Her shoulders shift, as does her gaze, hide rolled up with thoughtless fingers as she considers. "Llysereth, mayhap. Or me. I--" Her eyes fall immediately upon the rolled-up hide, smile blossoming ruefully, "I'll beat you back with this here weapon, I tell you." Hide is brandished, mock-glare pasted into place upon her lips. "So there."

G'wain is rather cocky having just finished his training session. Thinks he knows it all, now. He doesn't. Not by a long shot. "Death by hide. How... original." He continues his slow advance, making his way closer. "At least it's not paper. I mean, I could get a papercut!" Another few steps and he'll be right in front of Lydiere. "C'mon... I dare ya."

Lydiere attempts to use her hide to give G'wain a push - although it's fairly feeble, and since the hide isn't as good quality as it might be, it really doesn't work all that well. "I can tan your hide, if you prefer it," says she, with lazy enthusiasm. "A papercut? My goodness, do you underestimate me, that much?"

G'wain stops, and looks over Lydiere critically. "No... I think I estimate you quite correctly." Grinning at the push, he looks at the hides.

G'wain stops, and looks over Lydiere critically. "No... I think I estimate you quite correctly." Grinning at the push, he looks at the hides, moving to brush them away with a hand. "You may have seacrafter tricks in the water, but not on land!" Glancing around, he spots a weed growing out of the earth. Oooh! Bounding over to get it, he holds it out floppily at Lydiere. En guarde! "You, however, understimate me!"

"I could make you read the bloody hides, and I'm sure that'd do nothing more than put you to sleep," retorts Lydiere petulantly, her nose well wrinkled. Pausing to say this rather distracts her, and thus her hand is brushed away, but regains its position rather rapidly. Her eyes fall to the weed, and she blinks. "Oh G'wain, Wielder of the Great Weed of Doom - I fear your power!"

Hey - It's +4 against Lydiere! G'wain, Wielder of the Great Weed of Doom lunges forward. "So you should. How are you going to make me read them, though, Lydiere of the rolled reports?" He's not as good at the 'title' thing as she is, it seems. Lunging again, he brings his weed around to hit the reports.

Lydiere pauses, even as her hide attempts to decapitate the Pitiful Weed of Bowl Floor. "I'll get out that rope, and tie you down. Make you read them, over and over again. Evil, evil, evil." Poke, poke, poke, goes the hide, in time to her words. "So there!"

The weed is supple... it is resistant! The weed is powerful and... pungent, when crushed! And smashed about like that constitutes a crushing. "Can't argie with that," He grins. "But I do't /have/ to read them. I'll close my eyes and just not look." Weed is stabbed towards Lydiere, though G'wain has to get closer now. His weed is all bent!

"I'll read them to you, then." It's like vogon poetry. The pain is excruciating. Lydiere grins wickedly, attempting to bat the bent weed out of play. "I think you chose the wrong weapon, there. Hides beat weeds, any day."

G'wain's lips twitch, and his eyes dance. "I think I see a flaw in your logic, Lydiere! You'll send yourself to sleep, too!" Batting at her, he gives up on the weed. (Say no to drugs!) "Hides may beat weeds, but hands beat hides!" He makes a grab for the hides. What beats hands?

"I'm immune," declares Lydiere deftly, attempting to shift her hide out of way - although she's not much quick, and hands are quicker. "Poor little weed. I bet you ruined its day, completely. Not to mention the rest of its days, too!" She hesitates, as if attempting to figure out how to beat the hands.

G'wain snorts. "Immune?" She has an answer for everything! He does, however get his hands on that rolled up hide. Mwah-ha-ha! "Poor little hide, really. I mean, there it was, minding its own business, and you go and push it at me! Of /all/ people!" Waiting to see what she does, he prepares himself - he's ready for whatever she does. Almost.

"Immune," agrees Lydiere decisively. "Poor hide? Are you kidding? You feel sorry for a *hide*?" She'd burn them, if only she could, and dance naked in glee. "Why of all people? Why shouldn't I push it at you? Don't you deserve it?" Hands are met with hands, although hers try to tickle: she lunges, almost tripping down the ramp, adding, "This really is rather silly."

Dancing naked in glee around burning hides could be arranged, and mihgt prove rather enjoyable at the same time. "It was an animal once!" Wasn't it? "And you're just pushing it at me like th--Ahh!" He wasn't quite ready for /that/, but he tries to make sure she won't fall. It's a little hard while you're laughing, fingers tickling, but he won't let her fall. Once sure that she won't, he'll go after her - the best defense is a good offense, yes? There is no response as to whether or not things are silly.

Lydiere's response is a smirk, one that fills her whole face, and would probably extend past the ears if her lips went that far. As it is, she's only got normal sized lips, even if her eyes do reflect the smirk, in a way. "An animal, just like those Ahreluth happily slaughters once or twice a sevenday. I'm sure the meat was used to make our dinner, as well. That's the way it goes. Some creatures have a use after death." Tickling fingers, now that it doesn't appear she's going to fall, work with glee. "Hah. Take that."

Is she not ticklish?! G'wain assaults with fingers inbetween laughs, breathing out somehting about becoming a vegetarian. Let the man speak! Or at least get some of his own back! Through sheer force of will, G'wain manages not to hunch over, and makes a chance to sneak fingers towards ribs.

Lydiere has only a few ticklish spots, because she's strong, and powerful and--refuses to give in. "Don't you dare," she retorts, finishing with some muttered comment about disliking the smell of greens, day in and day out, her fingers as diligent as they come. This is a job she can do with enthusiasm.

Unlike Lydiere, G'wain will give in. Of course he will. He's still sweaty, and hot and bothered, to a degree, and quite exhausted now. "Alright! Allright!!!" He cries from beneath the fingers. "I give /up/!" What is he giving up, though? There wasn't really anything at stake... "Stop...!" Tears are streaming down his face - He's having fun, of course, and can't stop laughing.

Lydiere's face falls, disappointed. "I was only just getting into it," she mutters, all lighthearted, withdrawing fingers with a deft wiggle. "Good. I know your weaknesses now, methinks." And that much is said with an eyebrow waggle, as she returns to her seat, gathering up her hides - just to toss them away again.

G'wain rolls his eyes, and follows afterwards, drying away the tears of mirth. "Just because /I'm/ ticklish," He jovially grumps, moving to flop down next to Lydiere. "And don't think that I don't know any of your weaknesses. I just choose not to exploit them as easily as you do to me!" Take the moral high ground. Ther.

"I don't have weaknesses," pledges Lydiere, leaning back, her legs oustretched in the sun, taking in the heat of the afternoon. "You just say that because you don't know how to exploit weaknesses that don't exist." Oh, sure. Lydiere's just *perfect*.

G'wain grins a little, and leans over Lydiere in an attempt to kiss her. Lets exploit weaknesses, shall we? Or rather, what he thinks is one of her weaknesses. He barely manages to keep the smile off his face, and even so, his eyes are dancing with amusement.

Warning: Weakness discovered, and exploited. Lydiere - silly girl - couldn't resist if it were the last thing she could do, her rather superior smile fading into a smirk, and then a rueful grin as kiss is accepted, and responded to in turn.

G'wain breaks the kiss after a few moments to smirk right back at Lydiere. "What was that about weaknesses?" He asks, and before she can respond, his lips request another audience. Hey, it's G'wain's weakness too... It's just that he was quicker to exploit it, this time.

Lydiere snorts, or would, except that with her lips occupied, as they are, it's slightly more difficult. As she breaks away, as if taunting G'wain, or just attempting to get in a word or two, turning her face out of reach, she comments, "A weakness shared is a weakness halved?"

G'wain raises an eyebrow. "No weakness of mine, dear." Yeah, right. He might claim that it isn't, but you just test him. He'll fail at the first hurdle. "Well... maybe a little..." He finally admits, still leaning over her. "Still, it's not that much of a weakness, if you look at it in the right light." Or the dark, whichever you want.

"Depends on how much you want to get done." Lydiere's eyes, turning back, fall briefly upon the hides discarded nearby, and then settle upon G'wain once more. "In my case, I don't consider it a weakness. I'm sure even Lymera will accept the excuse that I was too busy kissing you to finish my hidework."

G'wain chuckles, and nods his head. "Then it's settled. But you /are/ going to have to kiss me to get out of his hidework. I mean, I won't comfirm that you were, unless you do." It's a win-win situation. "I wonder if I could distract you from anything, and not just hides..." He muses softly, considering testing that theory later. Like, in the middle of the living caverns while she's giving a speech.

There's going to have to be a different duality to life here, if Lydiere's going to survive without interrupting everything for a kiss. Interesting times, interesting times. "You won't lie for me?" Pout. There isn't much the poor woman can do, then, except live up to her side of the bargain, and return the kiss.

G'wain shakes his head ruefully. "Nope, sorry." Further talk is interrupted by the kiss, and G'wain nibbles lightly on Lydiere's bottom lip before again pulling away from her. Does he /have/ to keep talking? Gah. "You /are/ going to have to do better than that, though." Blackmail. Bribery. All that fun 'extortion' stuff. Snicker.

"Why?" The question could be in regards to either of G'wain's statements, her eyebrows lifting as, somewhat disgruntled, she waits for him to answer before resuming the kissing. It's a hard life.

G'wain grins an evil, mishchevious grin. "I'd have to be truthful to Lymera, and say, 'Lydiere didn't do her hidework because I was kissing her.' Now, you see... I might get in trouble for that. Distracting you from your hides... And before, you /did/ distintly say that you were kissing me, yes?" He leans away from Lydiere, taking up her position, legs outstretched. Looking up, he grins. "I'm waiting..."

Lydiere sticks out her tongue by way of retort, nose wrinkling. "Oh, so *I'm* allowed to be at fault, and be considered a slacker, because I decided to kiss you, rather than do my work, but you can't distract me. That's rich. For that, I might have to just not kiss you. And--then where will you be?"

G'wain turns his head to look at Lydiere. "I'd be right here, and you'd be without kisses." Calling her bluff, he waggles his eyebrows. "And, dear, last time I looked, you /were/ a slacker. Making excuses abut kissing me to get out of hidework? Why should /I/ have to be the slacker?" He asks. Just hope that she doesn't call his bluff back...

"So would you." Lydiere's is a meaningful stare, eyebrows raised. "I'm hurt. Me, a slacker? Just because you were virtuous, and got all hot and sweaty thismorning, whereas I just sat here, and didn't read...that's cruel." She crosses her arms in front of her, pulling legs up from their stretched position, so that her arms can rest atop her knees. "I'll tell J'ran that you distracted me, and make sure you never get to go to bed, ever again."

Now /that/ is a threat. But he knows just as well as she the she won't. Or rather, he thinks she won't. He gave in on the tickling! "I wouldn't be adverse to being virtuous, hot and sweaty this afternoon, either... But if you're going to go and tell J'ran that I distracted you, and that I won't be allowed to go to bed ever again, I'll just have to go and practice some more."

The threat she's given, suddenly heard out of G'wain's mouth, causes Lydiere to giggle, her eyes rolling. "Maybe I'll let you off, this time, on that one. After all - well, it could get fairly tiring, never going to bed." Innocent. Hah. She blinks sweetly, adding, almost beneath her breath: "You have plans for being hot and sweaty - not to mention virtuous - that don't involve practicing?" Ooooh!

G'wain snickers softly. "Just this once?" He asks, before commenting, "With you, I'm guessing that it would be fairly tiring either way. So I'm not fussed." And to the last, 'sweet and innocent blinking and breathy comment', he offers an ambiguous grin. "Well, I /had/ plans... I don't know about them anymore. I mean, you're not even appreciative!" He snickers softly to himself.

Lydiere, somehow, seems to let G'wain off every time - she's just not strong enough, obviously. "Just this once," she agrees, firmly, although she breaks down with a wink. Several comments are left alone, as she stretches out her right leg again, rubbing at a patch on her knee, even as her hair is tossed from her shoulders. A pout. "No more plans? Oh. That's disappointing. I should be more appreciative, then. What should I do?"

G'wain rolls his eyes slightly. She's so elegant, scratching her knee like that. But he doesn't care. "You could start by kissing me so that you have an excuse for not doing your hidework, that's what." And here we are, back at the start. Well, almost.

This is what they call a circular argument. Well, almost. Lydiere pretends to consider this, for several moments, scratching at her bare foot to add another layer to her elegance. "Well," she begins, forgoing further words as she shifts herself, putting herself into the perfect position to lip-lock. Who said she wasn't turn 2651 compliant?

And why does that seem like she's a washing machine, or a fridge? Turn 2651 compliant.. She gets 5 starts in G'wain's book, at least! This time around in the argument, though, G'wain seems to be getting his way. All the better. He doesn't move - she has to kiss him, remember! Who cares if she's elegant. She's a good kisser.

Lydiere's the latest model in--well, whatever it is that she is. If she's a little put out that her efforts aren't really being assisted, she makes no comment, not that she's able to, with her lips rather, er, occupied. Elegance is long passed by - it's hard to be elegant, and a good kisser *as well*. Elegance usually means courtly love, and that's a waste of time. Pulling back, she comments, "Happy?"

If she's the latest model, perhaps she needs a test drive... or two... or more. As she kisses, he doesn't even help her there, letting her do all the work. As his lips are left to their own devices, he grins. "Infinately." Does that word even fit there? "Now that you've got your excuse... I need one, too. I'm still meant to be practicing, you see..."

"I suppose I'm supposed to be the evil seductress, here, who carries you away from your practicing, to excuse you for J'ran?" Lydiere snorts cheerfully, settling back against the sun-warmed stone. "Although, I suppose, we could probably just stand near him for a few minutes, and send him off to the necessary wretching...That would probably sort out the problem, don't you think?"

G'wain shakes his head. "Hmm. Let me think. Lymera isn't as hard a taskmaster as J'ran, from the sounds of it. So..." He ponders a moment. "I think it'll take a little more than just kissing you to get past him." Lydiere's comment is noted though. "If you wanted to just stand around him, though, I'm up for that, too?" Rolling onto his side, he props his head up with an arm. "Up to you." Hard decision.

Lydiere considers this, turning upon her hip so that she's in a good position to watch G'wain, without having to be all over him - at least, not yet. "Oh, so you think it requires something a little more involved?" Their surroundings are given a long, piercing glance, as are the dragons in the bowl itself - no doubt perfectly willing to gossip. "Standing near him might take a bit too long. A bit boring. Why don't we--slip up the ramp a bit?"

G'wain scratches his nose with a finger, and nods his head. "Alright then." Still lying on his side, he moves up the ramp about a foot, maybe two. "That enough?" He asks, grinning like a maniac. "Or did not want me to slip up the ramp /that/ much...?" She didn't have a problem with the hatching sands, did she? Admittedly, there /was/ a dragon for cover.

Lydiere sits up, using her hands to inch herself up, a bit past G'wain, even, so that she's right on the edge of the ledge. "Do you really want --detailed descriptions, passed around the entire weyr?" It's not that she's modest, it's that...Well, it's a rather peculiar thing, the idea of the whole bowl being able to watch.

Maybe the pair should start to collect locations. She might not be modest, but G'wain is, at least to a point, no matter how he acts. "Oh, /fine/," he says, begrudgingly scooting up the ramp. "It's not like those that were paying attention aren't going to know, anyway... But fine." He passes her and heads into the weyr, turning to look back. "Well?" He asks, before ducking inside.

Maybe they should do that late at night. Or when everyone else is at a hatching, or something. "Better," says she, following up the ramp, towards the weyr. "And probably more comfortable. I mean...really!"

You stride into your Weyr.

G'wain slips into the weyr ahead of Lydiere, and looking at the made bed (Drudges must have been in - or did Lydiere do it herself?!) he decides to seat himself on the edge, to wait. She shouldn't be too far behind. Leaning back to rest on his elbows, he glances around the room. Who would have thought, a scant two years ago...

That he would come so far.

Lydiere? Make a bed? That must be a joke. As she strides through the tunnel, she's already managed to unbutton a few of the buttons on her shirt, moving to sit down next to G'wain, eyebrows raised. Well - two turns ago, who would have thought that she'd ever find someone? Or get Llysereth to - almost - agree with it.

Buttons? Who needs buttons? That's what a wherhide vest is for. That, and it's rather cool on hot days, and during training. Discarding it, he moves to kiss Lydiere, though distracting is probably against his objective. He'll even try to help her with the buttons.

Lydiere thus gives up her buttons for the moment, instead moving to wrap her arms about G'wain, her hands against his head as she returns the kiss. Distracted. Far too easily. Tsk.

G'wain won't be distracted as easily, himself, his hands still on the buttons and the shirt. How does she manage to put this /on/ in the morning, or take it off at night? Maybe it's just his haste, and his clumsy fingers, and the fact that he's neither looking, nor paying much attention to them... Yeah, that might be it. He's only got three or four to go!

Lydiere disentangles her lips long enough to comment, wryly, "We could rip 'em off, but--" Wastefulness, tsk. Rather too enthusiastic to refrain from kissing for long, she returns to the activity, happily leaving the hard work to G'wain - that's what men are far, after all.

G'wain? Hard work? Hrrm... Finally getting all the buttons undone, he has to wait. Why? Because Lydiere's arms are right around G'wain. That makes for hard work getting the shirt off. Sliding his arms under the shirt and around Lydiere, he leaves that part up to her... He got the buttons!

Lydiere's now buttonless, fine. For the moment, however, she's not shirtless - because she's too busy, her hands too comfortable wrapped about G'wain. "I suppose you want me to do the rest," she complains blithely, in low tones, considering. "I really need to wear better clothes, I can see that."

G'wain chuckles softly. "If you woudn't mind." He intones softly, "But, I will help." The arms under the shirt and wrapped around Lydiere move up her back and tug at the collar of the shirt. "Yes, you do," He agrees. "Or just wear nothing?" The grin is there again, but this is too much talking. Lips are sought once more.

Lydiere disentangles her arms to aid the removal of her shirt, stripping it, and tossing it towards the floor, as well as that which sits under it. "Ooh, I'm sure the holders would love me for that," she murmurs, breaking very briefly from that kiss, her arms seeking G'wain once more, kiss returning in full force.

She'd never get anything done, though, with G'wain pouncing at her every other moment of the day. Pulling Lydiere close to himself, he reasserts his grip on her. Maybe he shouldn't have seated himself... It's going to make it slightly difficult to get these trous off. "I'd love you for it," he says, grinning as he breaks free to kiss her cheek, then trails kisses down to her neck. "And if they looked, I'd cut their eyes out. Or something."

"Ooh, I want to see that," murmurs Lydiere, between kisses, pushing G'wain backwards down onto the bed. "We must experiment, and see what results we get..."