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04-08-02: Discussions up high
A single evening leads to discussion between G'wain, Lydiere and Lymera, and then G'wain, Lydiere and R'yn -- though the latter is perhaps less civil, in a way.

You climb down the short staircase, stepping onto the hot, black sands.
Lymera rubs one hand over her face, a groan rolling from her throat. "Oh, shards. She loves to mess with our minds, so to speak. And she gets so bored, that she buries them, and moves them around, and rearranges..." Ysmalath, meanwhile, looks smug; but with the people gathering, her tail begins to wind out towards the gold egg. She can be a good mother. Honestly. That is, until the eggs decide to crack. "Lydiere!" Lymera gives a wave, face twisted in a grimace. "We've got a renegade egg! There seems to be /eleven/ eggs now."

"/Eleven/?" Lydiere's hardly on the sands at all, merely hovering on the edge to watch - she's ever wary of not disrupting Ysmalath. "Fardles. Not that I put it past Ysmalath, but... I suppose she has to have something fun to do, to keep her occupied." Or something. Lydiere takes a hesitant step forward, moving towards the other two.

Well, no-one's disputing the fact that there are eleven eggs, now. G'wain looks over the eggs, and points to the offending one. "I don't remember that one. Do either of you?" He's trying to see which one's which... "At least she didn't hide the gold egg. That could have been... interesting, to say the least." And that's a fact. "She can... play with candidates, or something, can't she? We bring them out, she herds them, makes them scream..." He's joking, of course.

Lymera waves Lydiere closer, with a grin. "So long as we don't go too close to the eggs, Ysmalath will put up with us. I'm not looking forward to the egg touchings -- I'm afraid, G'wain you've hit rather too close to the mark. She's not a dragon, she's a renegade in disguise; Ysma is really, really looking forward to playing with the candidates." Lips press together for a moment, before a hint of a grin escapes. "Although, it can be funny -- no, bad Weyrwoman, bad, I shouldn't say that." Another sigh and nod. "Eleven it is, I'm afraid. That one?" Brow creases as Lymera considers the egg, head tilting to the side. "I don't seem to. But they always seem so similar to me. Round, and with shells."

Lydiere, conversationally, notes, as she follows Lymera's wave, coming to a halt beside the other two. "I've heard of it happening - a gold egg being hidden, and surprising everyone when it hatches a gold dragon." Hands slung into her pockets, she considers the egg G'wain points at, biting upon her lips. "I can never remember which eggs I remember seeing, and which I don't. I don't pay much attention, either, unless they really jump out as being striking. The bright coloured ones, usually." At mention of egg touchings, she grimaces, "I can well remember when /I/ was a candidate. Egg touchings were, in a word, interesting."

G'wain hides his hand behind his mouth, but the snickering sound does manage to escape. He finds it rather amusing as well... especially because he's not on the receiving end of the queen's attentions. "Llysereth wasn't /so/ bad, but, well..." He's biased. "She didn't kill anyone, I suppose." He shifts his gaze to the gold dragon, Ysmalath. "Only she knows. Which one were you... keeping safe, Ysmalath?"

"I've yet to hear of a queen that killed anyone, either. Though there /have/ been injures in egg touchings, I believe." Lydiere unbuttons the top button on her shirt, waving her hand around to cool herself, gaze sliding back towards Ysmalath - and more importantly, the eggs. "Llysereth's bad enough. Do you remember in that first clutch, G'wain, when she and Ahreluth decided that they wanted to bury the eggs? She's generally more placid, though, I think."

"I've yet to hear of a queen that killed anyone, either. Though there /have/ been injures in egg touchings, I believe." Lydiere unbuttons the top button on her shirt, waving her hand around to cool herself, gaze sliding back towards Ysmalath - and more importantly, the eggs. "Llysereth's bad enough. Do you remember in that first clutch, G'wain, when she and Ahreluth decided that they wanted to bury the eggs? She's generally more placid, though, I think."

G'wain nods his head. Of course he remembers! Who could /not/ remember? A response doens't come to his question from either Lymera or Ysmalath, so he figures that there isn't a response forthcoming, and leans against the wall, jacket in hand. "There have been candidates killed at hatchings, though, I know it. By dragonets, and by accident." A frown clouds his face as he remembers things he's heard.

Lydiere tilts her head to the side, querying, "Is there a difference between being killed by a dragonet, and by accident? I haven't seen any deaths myself-- injuries, yes, but not deaths. That's not say that it hasn't happened, because I know it has. I'm rather glad I've been saved /that/ particular experience." The toes of her left boot are dug into the glistening back sand, adding, "This is an awfully morbid topic of conversation. Not that it's a bad conversation, just-- well, morbid. As I said."

G'wain shakes his head. "Oh, no... I meant that they were dragonets and by accident, not seperately. I'm glad to say I haven't seen it, either." Clarifying, he pushes off the wall to stand next to Lydiere. "So, who's got Llysah today? I might head past and see her. She's really growing now, isn't she?" The beam of a proud parent lights the sands.

"Ah!" assents Lydiere, head nodding rapidly in understanding. "Of course. I can't imagine that any dragonet would intentionally try and kill a candidate." A smile is spared for her weyrmate, his beam echoed - if somewhat more placidly - in her own features. "Nurseries," she explains. "I had some meetings to attend to this morning, and Llysah may charm people with her smiles, but it's not entirely conductive to business." She adds, with a grin, "She's getting awfully big, yes. The healers say she's a good size for her age."

G'wain nods his head, and now that they're on the topic of his (and her) daughter, he's markedly happier. "That she may, but I can see how hard it'd be when you're trying to put someone in their place, and she coos... and you just melt." He shrugs his shoulders, and grins. "That's good to hear. I don't have many health problems, and since... the healers said that some things got passed on, just like hair and eyes... I think, she should be fine. The healers know what they're talking about." He concludes with a nod. He doesn't know much about all of that stuff.

Lydiere's expression goes distant-- blissfully happy, of course, but distant. It's a common expression of hers, when she's talking about either of her children. "Exactly. She's actually very good when I'm trying to get a positive response from someone, but if it's a more serious discussion..." Grinning, Lydiere adds, a nod made, "I think she will be. So far, she's not had any problems at all - which surprised me a little. I was worried that since the pregnancy was so hard, she might be... Well, not quite as healthy. But she picked up quickly, after she was born."

G'wain nods his head, and dances a little on the hot sands. Looking over to Lymera, who seems to be lost in thought - or in conversation with her lifemate - he jerks his head towards her as he speaks, "Perhaps we should leave them alone for the moment." He wants to stop his feet burning, he does. "She did. And even if she did start out somewhat like a dragonet," a little on the ugly side... "She's turning out to be just as fine as her mother."

Lydiere's eyes follow the jerk of G'wain's head, a nod marking her agreement. "It's too hot to want to stay out here for long anyway," she agrees. "Tropical heat is fine, without the added blisteringness of the sands." Her lips curl into a wry smile, while she remarks, "You just couldn't see the beauty that was there from the beginning. Though I think you exaggerate about the fine-ness of her mother. Llysah's got charm, at least - and she'll always be beautiful to /us/, no matter whether she turns out classically beautiful or not."

G'wain moves quickly to wrap and arm around Lydiere, and try to herd her off the sands. "Well, I never said she wasn't /beautiful/. I just said that she wasn't beautiful." Given the emphasis, they are two totally seperate things. Of course they are. "And since she's now at the Nursery, we've got some time to ourselves." Nothing in his tone hints at how he wants to spend that time.

Lydiere follows G'wain's lead, taking a step forward to move from the sands. "Of course," she agrees. "The difference is as enormous as-- well, day from night, if we want to be absolutely cliched about the idea." Comfortably falling into step, she adds, "Where shall we head, then?"

G'wain shrugs his shoulders as they reach the point where they have to make a decision. "I don't know. It's up to you. Home? I'm not feeling terribly sociable at the moment. Or we could head down to the beach. That's where Ahreluth is, at the moment. I swear, if there was a Weyr with a pool, or a waterfall in it..." Shaking his head, he leaves Lydiere the option of the direction to go.

"He just wants us to move to that cave around the island," declares Lydiere, hesitating thoughtfully before she decides, "Beach. I'm sure we can find a quiet corner and therefore avoid being social-- it isn't as though there aren't /enough/ beaches around the area. Come on."

You stride through the wide entrance to the foyer.

[Travel spam snipped]

You head down the stairs to the beach.

G'wain heads down the stairs to the beach.

G'wain walks with Lydiere to the Beach, making conversation as they walk along. Anything but the weather... That's so boring. "He does, indeed. But then that really would be being anti-social... there's no land access that I can remember, though I must admit, if we did move there, I wouldn't complain too loudly. It's a nice spot, and seclusion isn't such a bad thing. If we still had the weyr here, then we could stay here whenever we liked."

R'yn is propped up against a little mound of sand he's excavated for himself, several sheets of hide leaning against propped up knees. He's frowning thoughtfully, one hand trailing patterns in the sand as he taps his stylus on the hide in front of him, perhaps counting something. It's with a shake of his head that he looks up, not needing to turn his head to identify that voice. "I'll be devastated if you leave me, G'wain." The drawl that still betrays his Xanadu origins is lazy, as is his smile.

"Ah, we could migrate back and forth!" Lydiere's expression turns pleased at this, as she descends the steps onto the beach itself. Pausing, she draws herself away from G'wain's embrace to crouch, pulling off boots and shoes, which are discarded by the stairs for later rerieval. "I'm sure you'd rapidly find someone else to take G'wain's place in your affections, R'yn," teases Lydiere, pulling herself back up into a standing position, to wander closer to the Weyrleader.

G'wain's eyes light up with amusement at R'yn's words. "Why, R'yn," he says, aflutter, "I didn't know you cared!" He and Lydiere had excatly the same idea, and took the same meaning from the words. Removing his boots by standing on the back of them (so good for the boots, you know) he kicks them to the side and tugs off his socks, which head in the same general direction. "And we won't be leaving... We'll be... unavailable for a few days, many times. But not for a while, I don't think."

"I do hope not. Lymera would be more than a little distressed by the idea, not to mention myself. I'm sure you'll bring a proposal to us, when the time comes. There are ways such ideas can work, if properly done." R'yn stretches slowly, setting his hides aside, weighing them down with a small stone. "I couldn't absent myself for a minute, of course. The women of the weyr just wouldn't cope."

G'wain raises an arm to his forehead, "Nor the men!"

"It doubt it'll happen until Llysereth's gone grey enough that she won't rise any more, so I imagine it'll need to be taken to someone other than the pair of you," remarks Lydiere, complete with a cheerfully rueful expression. "I don't think I could manage to keep up with work, flitting off every so often for a few days at a time. This is for /retirement/." Digging her toes into the sand, Lydiere adds, "Surprisingly, I think we all might cope. With much bemoaning, of course-- but the women would find solace with the men, and you'd be quickly forgotten. Alas."

G'wain nods his head along with Lydiere. "Retirement, yes. For now though, it's good for a trip every now and then. And we can get there by boat, as well as dragon." Why he added that is anyone's guess. Kicking some of the black sand out of the way, he looks at it as it arcs and separates. "Probably. But I doubt we'll find out - R'yn's going to be here forever, aren't you?"

R'yn stretches lazily, offering another grin. "I am indeed, yes. As I said, despite Lydiere's cynicism - which I find distressing - I feel a duty not to leave the women of the weyr pining for me. It's refreshing, though, to find a pair who plan to be together in so long a time. So many don't consider it a possibility." There's a moment's wistfulness in his voice there, but Ista's Weyrleader is never one to betray such emotion for long, when at all. "Perhaps you'll have me around to dinner, if I'm very good. Where's this place you're planning on secluding yourselves?"

Lydiere sinks to a seat upon the sand, stretching out her legs in front of her - toes digging deeper into the black sand. "I'm glad to see that you take your duty so seriously," she avers, apparently with honesty, though her smile is nothing but amused, stretching broadly towards her ears. "I think the idea of /not/ planning to be with the one you love for the rest of your life is awful; it's sad, that it has to seem refreshing," she remarks, seriously, R'yn's reaction drawing a brief twist of her expression, though she makes no comment. "Ah, but if we told you where it was, you might steal it! If you're very, very good, and get invited for dinner, we'll show you then."

G'wain looks over to Lydiere, love lighting his features. He's hold-born. Spending your life with one, and one alone is natural to him. "You don't consider it a possibility?" His question is simple and innocent enough. He's curious. As Lydiere seats herself, he makes himself comfortable closeby. "Mmmhmm," He agrees, "We'll show you if you're good. And we'll make him go in on boat, yes?" Not everyone gets as seasick as G'wain, but there's a chance R'yn might.

R'yn reaches behind him to push his sandhill down into nothingness, so he can stretch out to his full length. "At one point I did, but I'm afraid I haven't any suitable candidates at the moment." The problem with R'yn is that he's madly in love with whoever he's with that night. And that he tried being in love, and found that being unrequited wasn't a bunch of laughs. "I suppose if someone presented herself, it might happen. Do you see me as the type?" The question is light, easy, as he stretches one leg up in the air, watching his toes as they wiggle, sending down a small shower of sand. "And if so, what sort of girl can you imagine catching me and keeping me?"

"I can't say that I do," admits Lydiere with honesty, filling her hands with sand and then letting it slide through her fingers, coating her palms in gleaming black granules. "It'd have to be a very open relationship, anyway. I mean - you might weyrmate someone, but you'd still flirt with anyone. I can't imagine you not doing that. It'd have to be someone pretty... interesting. She'd have to keep you on your toes, that's for sure." G'wain's comment about going in a boat draws mirth. "Are you a good sailor, R'yn? Ever actually been?"

G'wain considers the question a moment. "Hmm. I see you as whatever you are, myself. If you decided tomorrow that you wanted to settle down, then that'd be you." He's rather cryptic. "I think that it'd be the type of girl who /didn't/ try to catch you that'd end up keeping you. She'd lead you a merry chase. To keep you, though...Interesting, as Lydiere said. I don't know." He listens intently for R'yn's response. "Myself, I can't keep whatever I eat down long enough to enjoy it. Lydiere said, however, that it'd get better if I sailed more."

R'yn considers this, ending his sandshower as he lowers his foot. "Some do, the occasional one never quite conquers it. I'd be happy to help if you want a lesson. I sailed all my childhood - grew up by the water." Carefully adding another stone to his first paperweight, as a hide flaps a little in the breeze. "If I come across a girl who knocks me flat, I promise to confide. Well, one who knocks me flat longer than a day or two. Although I'm happy to detail the others. There's this harper girl, you know..." He breaks off with an unrepentant grin. "The future will bring what it brings. I've got Zippith, and he's all I need for now."

Lydiere's head is tilted to the side, at R'yn's comments. "Did I know that you sailed so much? I don't remember if I did, though it seems like something I would've picked up. Perhaps my memory is going. I think," she adds, for G'wain's benefit, "that you will get over it, when we have a chance to get you used to it, G'wain. There's no reason why you shouldn't, anyway." Turning her attention back to R'yn, Lydiere settles herself more comfortably, leaning backwards so that needs to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. "Spare me the harper girls-- although as long as you're happy, I suppose none of it matters."

G'wain nods his head emphatically. "Oh, I'd /love/ sailing lessons. I'm sure that neither you, Lydiere, nor I have the time, but between the both you, I'm sure we can get me doing more than just sitting on a boat. About all I know is how to watch Lydiere do everything." He seems a little disappointed in himself at this, though I suppose that Lydiere can't do some of the things G'wain can. A glance to Lydiere, "I guess you could talk to me of such things, if you had no-one else to talk to."

R'yn offers Lydiere a cheeky grin, lashes lowering in a wink. "Ah, but it's not just me that's happy. They're delighted, I promise you." Another stretch, and he swats at his daft little blue, who, excited by the movement, tries to climb up the rider's hair for a moment. "I doubt I've mentioned sailing. It wasn't a major part of life - just that all the children learned to handle dinghies, and I was fair enough at it."

"I wouldn't begin to doubt that they are," agrees Lydiere with a note of humour in her voice. "How /do/ you do it? Not that I have any need for the knowledge -" she pauses, to smile brilliantly at G'wain "- But I'm interested, all the same." Continuing, with another glance towards G'wain, "Between the two of us, we'll assuredly get you up and sailing, G'wain, I promise. Eventually. And in return, I'll get you to teach me all of those fun things you do with the wing that I have to miss out on."

G'wain chuckles a little, as he listens, and responds to the smile in kind. "Hmm. I'm interested too. Any... wisdom that you could impart would be greatly appreciated. Again, not that I need it, but suprising Lydiere is getting to be harder and harder. Have to be creative." He pauses. "Tracking, offense and defence... hand to hand combat, strategy, knifed combat... Far to dangerous, Lydiere! But if you really want to, you can come and watch?" R'yn knows way more than G'wain - he doesn't know what a dinghy is.

R'yn's eyes widen into boyish innocence, and, propping himself up on one elbow, he offers a practiced, charming grin. "How do I do what? Are you suggesting some sort of design upon my part? I'm deeply wounded by such an insinuation. Any success I might have with females is due to a charm I cannot help and the genuineness of my attentions." He is, at least, genuinely attentive, for a while.

Lydiere's expression turns murderous. "/Dangerous/?" Stunned silence follows, before she bursts out, "No way, G'wain. I'm nine turns your senior, and perfectly capable. There is no reason why I /shouldn't/ learn that. There are plenty of women in your wing, and you don't refuse to let them do things." She turns her head away, refusing to glance back at her weyrmate, gaze steely. "If you won't teach me, then someone else will." R'yn's response draws minor interest - but Lydiere's rather busy being infuriated, horrified, and downright huffy.

G'wain can't help but laugh at her expression. "Oh, alright... if you feel /that/ strongly about it, then you can join it." He'll just see to it that it's either so easy that she gets bored, or that it's so hard she just quits. He doesn't want her to do all that kind of thing! "I won't stop you... But it's hard work." R'yn is looked at, and an eyebrow raises towards his hairline before he shakes his head, a light smile on his face. Whatever you think, R'yn... whatever you think. He doesn't voice this, however.

R'yn doesn't really think anything of the sort, but it's the easiest reply. If he told the truth, where would he be then? Watching the pair with mild interest, he shakes his head ever so slightly. "I'd be careful there, G'wain. Underestimating women is a very serious mistake, and I've a suspicion Lydiere would be a very good example of that." Rising slowly to his feet, he gathers his hides, brushing the loose sand from himself. "I was in Search and Rescue for Turns, Lydiere, even if I've no time, nowadays. I'll teach you all that, when we're not teaching G'wain sailing, if you like." And ready to leave, he offers a cheeky salute. "You two take care, now."

Lydiere, just to prove her point, will stick with it no matter how hard, or easy, it is. She's not entirely soothed by G'wain's laugh, or his response, lips still pressed into a disapproving line that ensure her entire expression is less than appeased. "I'm not afraid of hard work," she says, darkly. A more pleased expression crosses her face at R'yn's offer, and she almost smiles as she nods. "Thank you, I'd appreciate that. Take care yourself, and find someone nice to flirt with."

G'wain waves at R'yn, left to placate the beast alone. "Maybe the next woman you meet'll be a keeper." A pause, then he turns to Lydiere. "Oh, don't be like that. I'm just concerned. The pregnancy took a lot out of you, and if I'm overprotective..." He shrugs shis shoulders. "I'm sorry. Training's fine, but I won't get you out there with the wing, taking off after renegedes, and Faranth knows what else."

Beast? That'll get you a long way, boyo...

He didn't /say/ it. ;)

Thinking it's halfway to catastrophe. But I'll leave you lovebirds. Night!

"No, I /will/ be like that," retorts Lydiere, as soon as R'yn is out of hearing range, her voice layered with frustration and anger. "Be concerned, fine. But do /not/ try and protect me from the big bad world. It's been three months since the pregnancy, and Llysah's not even waking up at all times of the night at the moment. If you /dare/ try and tell me what I can and cannot do again, I'm sorry but I will have no excuse but invoke my rank to get past you." Nose in the air, she pulls her posture straight.

G'wain frowns, and really put his foot in it this time. "Fine." Frowning still, he folds his arms over his chest, his brows furrow. "Look... I know you can do it... It's just that I don't want you to get hurt... ever. But... if this'll make you happy..." He pauses and thinks about it. "I could even teach you self defense, just in case." He tries to get out how he feels... "I don't..." He can't manage it.

Lydiere's expression doesn't soften, but she does nod, noting, "I know exactly what you mean, but - and this is an important /but/ - when did you ever earn the right to decide what was good for me, and what was not? That would be like me telling you that you have to give up your Wingleadership and join one of the shipping and transport wings, so that you never get hurt." She turns away, so that her gaze is focused out upon the ocean, rather than towards G'wain himself. "I don't need to be wrapped in cotton wool. In fact, that's the last thing I need, and I will not stand for it."

G'wain takes a breath, and his brain tries to make the words come out. "I didn't mean it like that." He starts rather lamely. "I..." He bites his lip. "I can't say anything here that won't get me into more trouble than it has already." He doesn't like this... this lack of words. "Come along when you can... I'll teach you self-defense and tracking with the wing. You won't get a better teacher." Begrudging, it is, as he tries to think of something that Lydiere might not want him to do, that he can learn from her. Again he fails to think of anything.

"I know you didn't, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what it comes across as, and that your intention even if it wasn't that, was still not exactly perfect." Lydiere stands, shaking the sand off of her breeches. "You're not in tro--all right, you are. But all I want for you to do is to think before trying to wrap me in cotton wool and protect me, please." She gives an almost wry smile, as she adds, "I'll see you later. I need to go feed Llysah before I start leaking everywhere, and there's work to do."

G'wain bites his bottom lip again, his arms unfolding. "I'm not perfect..." he mutters darkly - it seems that's what she wants him to be. Well, perfect enough to know everything. "It's just that I don't want you to learn a little, think you know everything, and take on a thief barehanded. It's happened. It'd be like me learning to sail for three weeks, then taking off across Pern in... in a dinghy." It's got to be small, for kidlets to use, right? "To learn all this properly, you'll need to drill daily, just as if you were in a fighting wing. And that's /hard/ work. On top of what you have now... As long as you're dedicated..." He sighs. "I'll see you later then. I'm going to stay here with Ahreluth." That is a bronze blip on the coastline, right?

Lydiere shakes her head, opening her mouth to burst something out - then thinking better of it. As she turns to go, she comments, "I only want to learn for the sake of knowing. I have a full time job as it is - and I know better than to be that stupid. I'm not some flighty child." Having said this, she begins to walk, gathering up her boots and socks on her way past, then ascending the staircase to the plateau beyond, expression set in a tight line.