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29-07-02: As young as ever
The turns have changed Weyrleader R'yn little -- he's still teasingly after every woman alive.

Away from Llysereth, R'yn is dragonless just now, traitorous lifemate most likely curled up near his egg-heavy queen. R'yn seems to be doing as little as possible, floating lazily out where the water must be about waist deep. Eyes closed, he's soaking up the sun, slowly, aimlessly, rotating in a circle. His daft little blue, however, is curled up atop R'yn's shirt on the sand, and sets up a screech of greeting as weyrwoman and queen arrive. For this, the weyrleader bestirs himself, opening one eye, and lifting a hand in a wave of greeting. This is enough to unbalance him, and he ends up with his feet on the sea floor, wading in towards Lydiere.
Away from Llysereth, Llysereth is first visible skimming above the treetops, gliding from the weyr. She crosses over the jungles, and then downwards towards the beaches, her wings furling about her as she reaches for a comfortable backswing upon the dark, glittering sands. Lydiere's hardly strapped in, if she is; audible is the sound of clanging buckles, in landing, and then, as she lifts one leg over Llysereth's neckridge, allowing her to slide downwards towards the sand beneath. "For me, you would interrupt what appears to be a charmingly lazy interlude," calls Lydiere, lifting her hand in greeting. "I'm honoured."

Llysereth's lowered forelimb proves a perfect perch, allowing you an easy advent to the ground below--where Llysereth's loving gaze captures yours for a brief moment of solitary adoration.

R'yn sketches a rather elaborate bow, insofar as that's possible when waist deep in water. "For you, my lady, I'd do far worse. If only that scoundrel hadn't got to you first." He briefly tries out a melancholy expression, then abandons it just as quickly, reaching ankle deep water. A kick sends up a spray of water, the sunlight catching it as it arcs. "You're here for your own moment of stolen leisure, I assume? Don't forget we're at that gather, tonight. Just a quick appearance, if you want, although I claim one dance at least."

"You had your chance," declares Lydiere, a teasing note to her voice as she discards her sandals, skipping almost childishly towards the water's edge. "And you didn't move fast enough. That, I'm afraid, is how it goes. You've got to be quick!" Inclined forward is her head, as her own toes reach into the water at last, a splash matching R'yn's own with a lazy stroke of one pointed foot. "That I am. Ah, yes - no I hadn't forgotten that. One dance it is, though I don't intend to stay longer than courtesy requires. Llysah needs me more, I'm sure."

"I'm sure she does, at that. When you're looking for a fostermother, I'd recommend the women we've got Myrela with. She's very good, Myrela's growing into a lovely girl. Probably better behaved than my other two, truth be told." He takes a couple of steps back, sinking to his haunches so he can pick up handfuls of sand, trickling them slowly down into the water. "Might be a good place to leave her, if you want. Long enough for me to claim a dance, and time for you to give one to a few fusty old Lords. Mind first, though. Only chance I get to wrap my arms around you." He adds a leer, for good measure.

Lydiere's eyebrows lift, smile quirkily amused-- she teases in response, "Well behaved? The daughter of you and Lymera? Colour me quite surprised." She pulls the legs of her rather faded, tattered breeches up, not quite bothering to roll them, as she wades deeper. "I will consider that, though. I know we need someone, although I'm unwilling to let go just yet. As for tonight... That might be a good idea, too." Again, her smile turns quirky, R'yn's leer met with a fluttering of eyelashes, "How deprived you are, my good Weyrleader. Such an awful shame."

R'yn nods, managing quite a credible mournful expression. "I know, I am, turned away by all my weyrwomen. At least only one of them tries to routinely maim him. He's still sulking a little over the fact that his arm ended up in a sling after Ysmalath's last flight. "Lucky I know none of you can resist me, deep down inside. It's my comfort. That, and that gorgeous bluerider from High Reaches we had here last night. Did you see her?" Well, before R'yn whisked her away to his weyr. Another leer.

"How very depressing," declares Lydiere, though not without true mirth; she can't keep a straight face as she says it, nor does she really try. "Although honestly, I bet those chromatic riders, and non-riders, are far better company. Less distracted by duties, that's for sure." She shakes her head, laughing, "That's right. Deep down, we're desperate to give in to temptation-- but we can't. How very sad. No, I didn't see her. Then again, I was around perhaps a little late for that, mmm?"

"Mmmm, perhaps. She was really lovely. This long, blonde hair - I don't know how she fits it all under a riding cap. Figure like this, too..." Hands sketch out an impressively curvy shape, eyes glazing over momentarily. Then, with a shake of his head that sends curls flying, the girl is dismissed. "What are my odds of claiming you for the toss dance?"

Lydiere ignores - or perhaps just smiles, wordlessly - at the description of the bluerider, her head just shaking quietly as she splashes the water about in and around her, toes digging in to the sandy bottom of the ocean shallows. "Considering the fact that I am in posession of an incredibly jealous, protective weyrmate? I'd say fairly close to none, I'm afraid, unless you can convince him it's a good idea. He's not coordinated enough to enjoy such a dance, for himself."

R'yn frowns thoughtfully, head tilted to one side. "I shall have to convince him that you must take part for the honour of the weyr, and that I'm the only one who'll keep you safe. And that otherwise some lordling with roving hands will be all over you. So really, I'll be doing him a favour. He should be thanking me." He might even convince him, you never know. "If that fails, I'll have Zippith bespeak that girl's blue. Provided one of us knows his name. She'd be nimble enough, I'd bet." With an almost too-smug smile, he scoots backwards so that he can once more float on his back. "Then I'll have to make up for the lordlings by roving all over as may Ladies as possible."

"You'll do the weyr proud," declares Lydiere sarcastically, "And ensure that the Holders are proud to use our services, and provide us with the food we eat." She continues to hover in the very shallowest of shallows, wet only up to the middle of her thighs, hands swinging downwards into the lapping waves. "Give it a try, see what happens. Now that Llysah's sleeping through the night, G'wain might be in a good enough mood to be agreeable."

R'yn grins, settling back comfortably. "You never know your luck, do you?" Tilting his head back so his hair is completely wetted. "And as for my dances with the Lords' Ladies, I'm not quite as hopeless as you think. There's not a one of them doesn't love it. Few of those were love-matches, and that much attention weakens their knees. And then they, in turn, weaken their husbands' wills, when it comes to tithe. After all, they wouldn't want that kind, handsome, considerate weyrleader with such good taste in women hungry, would they?" With a further grin, he rises to his feet. "It's all politics, my love. And I'm off to politically remind Lymera we're going tonight, provided Ysmalath doesn't drop eggs on us by then. Any day now." And striding up to the beach, he recovers his shirt, making ready to head away.

"And the weyr becomes overrun with candidates again, the joys," intones Lydiere, nodding after R'yn. "I do, however, see the logic to your argument. Flirt as you will, in that case, as long as the weyr remains provided for. See you tonight."

"I shall await it with breathless anticipation." And with a wicked grin, he's off, whistling cheerfully.