Central Bowl
Seven spindles brush the clouds -- quite literally -- overhead, a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half mile in both directions, and although sometimes a bit of a stretch, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece: carven, hand-worn and foothold-full, it gives a bit of centerpoint to the otherwise vast emptiness of the area. To the north lie the hatching grounds and leadership weyrs, while the lows of herdbeasts mark the feeding pens to the northeast. A flurry of ever-present activity marks the living caverns to the west, and another time-traveled path the ground weyrs just adjacent to the southwest. Southeast, a glint of blue shows the lake, glittering and cold. It is a summer midmorning.
Bronze Nhamarath, green Kelitath, green Zaqith, brown Revnath, green Yshanth, and green Alymath are here.

Lis walks in.

Pyrene walks in.

Pyrene
Slight and spindly, from skimpy legs to the pointed chin, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Lank tendrils of dark brown hair plague a pert-nosed, thin-lipped face as they escape the limp plait that struggles to keep them under control, only serving to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from underneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
A patched but stout brown woolen dress stretches to mid-calf, providing protection from Reaches cold. Although it may drape over the beginnings of curves, it is not to be worn to show them off; the cut stubbornly being for more practical purposes instead. Kernow watches from Pyrene's shoulder in wide-eyed curiosity.
A tangle of black and blue cords usually suggests High Reaches Weyr, and their tattered configuration seems to be that of a head nanny, so that's most likely Pyrene's home and job then.
She is awake and looks alert.
Pyrene is 19 Turns, 7 months, and 18 days old.

Pyrene appears, as so often, where she is not wanted. Or at least, where she soon won't be wanted. Just be glad there aren't any kids with her today. "Lis...." she coos over her friend--a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How /are/ you?" All the sweetness of /sincere/ concern is in both tone and expression. Really.

"I don't /care/ what Sigmunth says. I'm not moving in with F'reud." Ah yes, another typical argument between Lis and Alymath, the former glaring up at her lifemate who rivals her rider in ditziness by watching all those beautiful male dragons fly overhead. Throwing her hands up in utter exhasperation, the pink-leathered greenrider stalks over to Pyrene. "I'm /sick/ and /tired/ of her insisting I reciprocate with the riders what she does with their dragons." Wonderful mood she's in, really.

Pyrene bites her lip carefully. "Well... I notice that you refrained from /Geko/ when Revnath caught Alymath...." She trails off without needing to say the next bit. Surely such horror would be more than branded on Lis' memory.

Lis gives Pyrene a sudden, wary glare, eyes narrowing to near slits. "/Geko/ was in her weyr. And she's a girl besides." This greenrider does have her limits. "And I don't see what business of yours it is what I do when Alymath flies," adds the rider haughtily, doing as best she can to stare down her nose at the nanny - in spite of a small difference in height.

Take lessons from the expert. Despite the fact that Pyrene's a good deal shorter than most riders, she can look down her nose at all of them should she wish. "Lis, I know it's none of my business.... but well, I never thought that dragon-induced passions were /that/ strong... I mean, well, if you need to talk about it?" Her voice gets progressively more shrilly strangled, and she finally has to stop, expression decidedly awkward as she does her best not to dissolve into laughter.

"What do you mean, 'talk about it'?" The poor greenrider suddenly blanches at Pyrene's offhand mention of 'dragon-induced passions'. Surely she can't know... "Exactly what's been spreading around the weyr, Pyrene?" she demands, belligerantly stepping up to the nanny as her arms fold tightly across her chest and her scowl just /darkens/. [Lis]

Pyrene takes a long moment to answer, one hand covering her mouth although those shaking shoulders make such concealment useless. Finally she swallows hard and manages to reply oh-so-carefully. "Oh, well, you know how gossip always keeps track of whose dragon catches who in a flight--and well, after Alymath's first flight, gossip was rather interested in who caught /you/.... And there /were/ witnesses, Lis dear...." That's all she can say for now, as she goes back to shaking with inheld laughter.

Lis paces back and forth in front of her tormenter with a slow shifting of feet, bootheels kicking up some dust as she watches Pyrene with narrowed eyes. "I don't see what's so amusing about who caught me. /And/, I think you've got an unhealthy intrest in gossip, dear." As if she - the unofficial gossip queen - should even be talking about such!

Pyrene isn't the least bit fazed by this. "I spend my days looking after the weyrbrats," she points out. "I'd say I'm sharding well entitled to a few vices." Or several. She regards Lis a moment longer and then finally gives an only half-mocking despairing sigh. "But Lis, really... /D'renn/!"

Lis has only one thing to say; well, three, actually. "So? He's male, he's good-looking, and he was close and available." Her only criteria for picking a man, it seems. "Just because he's a bluerider doesn't give you the right to slander him..." Defensive little wherry, this greenrider.

Pyrene spreads her hands. "Look, all blueriderhood aside.... Lis, he's /D'renn/.... He's--he's--well, he's who he is. Was he /really/ the best choice available to you??" She's sympathetic, really... but this is well... insanity in her eyes.

Oh, now Pyrene is insulting Lis' opinions - as flawed or influenced as they may be. "Yes, he was, and I'm sorry if it bothers you," quips the greenrider, tossing her hair as she snaps off those last few words. "You're just a nosy nanny - what do you know about greenflights?" Hiding is always an option, when Lis gets like this.

Pyrene spreads her hands hastily. "Nothing... nothing--and..." a glance at the sun, "Well... I have to go soon, but first, I must ask--How was he?" A wink, as she lingers by the cavern entrance expectantly.

"How... was he?" Now there's a question Lis didn't expect from Pyrene. "Pretty good, I'd say. Not like I've got much for comparison..." Shoulders bob in a helpless shrug as the greenrider answers the nanny's question honestly - and no doubt further incriminates herself as well as start more tounges wagging.

Pyrene raises her brows, "So pretty good against T'sin, that'd be then..." she murmurs, then slipping away before Lis can take the words that Pyrene put there back out of her mouth.

Pyrene goes home.