The Dragonriders of Pern® is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Wednesday, December 24th, 1999, for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.

[And so half a dozen people in High Reaches win their bets... or at least they would have done had anybody cared to bet against them. Travel spam deleted as appropriate.]

Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Tucked into a glowlit niche are Kate, Sin, Brannt, Tangaloor, Kelpie, Azule, Rappa, Lava, Dogma, Yum-Yum, Yakshini, Zephyr, Tigger, Shaber, Bow-Wow, Kynance, Unicorn, Oren, and Sonate.
You see Fantastic Triple Layer Bubbly Surprise, Tsunami Banner, Old Auntie sit-by-the-fire, Fluffernut, and Siai here.
C'lan is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchens Inner Caverns Crafting Area

Siannen walks in from the Central Bowl.

C'lan, with his feet propped up on a table, rests by the fire. Next to him on a low table are, in no particular order, a mug of cooling klah, half a loaf of bread, a bowl of soup, and fourteen little frosted cookies. Just right for a late night snack.

Pyrene stalks in. Eyes shadowed and dress... well, it consists of a robe really. "Siannen you should be in bed," is her observation to that child as she folds herself into a chair with dignity. "You should be too Con, but since you're up, you can get me some redfruit juice." He's sitting really, but he's in the right room.

C'lan shrugs. "Minute. Got my feet up."

Siannen puts two and two together, figuring that the unfamiliar bronzer must belong to the eaqually unfamiliar bronze outside. She does wave though, as she makes her way to the cookies and the juice. "I'll get it for you, Nanrene." And she does, too, pouring herself some as well, and bringing back a plateful of cookies too. "There you go..."

C'lan smiles and crosses one ankle over the other. Oh, good; let the brat do it. 

Pyrene glares at C'lan. "So you come down here from your usual little hidey-hole and still refuse to involve yourself in any weyr activity??" Because waiting on nannies is /terribly/ important. "Sian? Oh... thanks..." she peers at the child. "I wonder if Ris and Ty want to foster any more children..." Not that she couldn't do a better job if /she/ had time to devote to just one child.

C'lan never loses that slow smile. He ponders a moment, likely trying to decide which monosyllable will be best for tonight's deep conversation. He settles for a shrug. "Tired."

That's /almost/ two syllables. Good C'lan. "And I'm not??" Pyrene demands, the whine getting shrill. The glass of redfruit juice is downed as recklessly as if it were brandy and she filches one of his cookies. "Why bother coming out then... fire gone out in your weyr? I bet you don't even know who Siannen here is." My, isn't somebody glad to see him?

Siannen shrugs ath that comment, "You'd have to ask them that....not that I'd mind, no no..." Well, she might mind a little. "I'm Siannen. Ris an' Ty's fosterling." Hey, she's cute...

C'lan pulls his feet down from the table and pats the chair next to him. "C'mon and sit. You can introduce me." Any minute now, he may walk erect.

Pyrene was sitting near enough to reach the cookies anyway, and instead jerks her head at Siannen to take the chair next to the rider. "Well, this is Sian, Ris and Ty's fosterling as she said. Siannen, this is Connie, Alarth's rider." There. He asked for introductions, he got em.

C'lan tucks an errant lock of hair back into his ponytail and turns a kind smile upon Siannen. "That's a lovely name."

Siannen manages to /not/ scramble into the seat, instead just clambering up. Turning her own smile on the 'rider she offers, "So's yours. I like names that end like that...Rissie, Donny, well, Ty doesn't fit, but he's okay anyway."

Pyrene nods. "Ty's a dear... now /there's/ a bronzerider who behaves like a gentleman." And the way she glares at C'lan, you'd think it was traditional for bronzeriders to behave like gentlemen. "Oh, and that reminds me C'lan, has D'renn spoken to you lately? To apologise for lying?"

C'lan leans forward and looks at the little girl. "It's C'lan. Little Pye over there misses the honorific occasionally." 'Little Pye' gets a raised eyebrow. "No, but then he never has apologized to lying to me before."

Siannen covers her mouth with her hand, "Lying? What'd Donny lie about?" Then her attention returns to the 'rider, "But can't I call you Connie, please? I like it, I really do...."

Pyrene looks like she's about to flip a cookie at c'lan, but at the last minute she eats it instead. "I've still got that broomhandle somewhere C'lan. And I told D'renn that he had to apologise for lying to you. Because I don't even keep a diary." And we will not talk about the alleged contents of this fictional diary in front of Siannen.

Mirth sparkles in C'lan's dark eyes. "Siannie, you can call me anything you like, really." And he nods to Pyrene, apparently oblivious to his close call with the cookie. "I'll have to ask him about that, I guess. Anybody want some bread?" He tears off a big piece for himself, then offers the rest of the loaf.

Siannen ohs, then beams. "Really? I may? Hear that, Nanrene? I can call him Connie..." At the mention of food, she beams again, but remembers to ask nicely, "I'd like a bit, if I may....?"

Pyrene stares flatly at C'lan with just a touch of a gape. "How come /she/ can call you Connie when you sulk at /me/ everytime I mention the name. You've not even known her for five minutes!" Siannen's magic touch strikes again. "And no, C'lan, I don't want any bread. Got any more cookies though?" Fourteen don't last very long...

C'lan's expression softens. "Do you really want to call me 'Connie,' Pyrene?" And he puts the cookie plate on the larger table. "Here, take all you want."

Pyrene mopes slightly and makes a conscious attempt to look piteous. "I've /always/ called you Connie, you know I have." But since he called her Pyrene and not Py she doesn't glare at him again, she just takes a cookie and sighs.

Siannen never did get thet bread, but that's forgotten as she pulls a slightly crumbled cooky from her pocket. This should prove interesting, it really should...

C'lan props his cleft chin in his hand. "Are you real busy these days?" he asks Pyrene.

Hynolonie walks in from the Central Bowl.

Siannen ponders her feet. Strange things, feet are.....ah, back to Connie and Nanrene.

Pyrene gives C'lan another pathetic look. Fortunately those big eyes in that skinny face do help in this, even if they can't manage 'cute' anymore. "Of course I'm busy..." she mutters in traditional fashion, with a glare for Siannen--and the entering Hynolonie, before she sighs again, and wipes her hair out of her face. "Oh, you know... all the new nannies we got in and not as many brats were Searched as usual it seems, so we have more of them around right now. I keep having to change the duty roster--although at least I was able to work out some time for Perisienne to have her baby." Inconsiderate nanny--/adding/ to her work.

C'lan nods. He is so understanding. "I imagine you need someone to rub your feet."

Pyrene wasn't expecting that. She blinks at the rider and giggles suddenly. "Con... you're crazy, you know. And not just cause you Impressed either." She shakes her head and gives Lonie a more appraising look. "If Areiah complains, I told you that you should go back to bed, OK?" Pyrene's method of nannying: at least cover your bases.

Hynolonie wrinkles her nose.. and sighs. She can tell when she is loved. She wanders straight through the room, (not bothering to duck and scurry under tables..) and reaches up on tip-toe to grab a meatroll. She takes a bite.. sits on the floor and pushes herself under the table, where she has a pillow waiting.

Siannen holds up her hands. Hey, she managed to get herself fostered out, remember? A glance is given the retreating Lonie, she never thought of that. She was usually climbing over 'riders, not under tables.

C'lan nods. "I know I'm crazy, Pyrene." He glances over to Hynolonie. "Is it warmer down there?" he wonders.

"So why did you come down tonight?" Pyrene wonders. "I /never/ see you in the caverns... It makes it so /hard/ to get the gossip on you, you know?" A reproach for him at the last, before she wrinkles her nose at Lonie. "Faranth only knows what's in the minds of these kids..." she mutters.

Hynolonie shrugs.. hadn't really thought about the warmness.. but now that she did, the food warmers over her head did keep the temperature a little less nippy underneath the table. She chews her meatroll politely... before speaking up. "Tis easer to watch peoples when under a table.. They don't get that icky feeling of being watched this way..." She nods.. and smiles a bit shyly.. salutes with her meatroll and begins to eat again.

Gideon arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Rade jaunts in from the Central Bowl.

"I was hungry," C'lan says simply. "Nothing up in the weyr. Alarth's all over me about getting out more. He's a slug."

Hynolonie peers at all those who enters.. from under the table.. more directly under the meatrolls. 

Gideon exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Siannen waves as Rade makes her entrance, though she does remain quiet. Wouldn't want to disturb Py or Connie, now would we?

Pyrene pokes one finger at the bronzerider. "Alarth's got more sense than you then. I've not seen you since.... since before the hatching. It's been months." And speaking of old friends: "Rade! Rade... come and have some cookies... Connie doesn't mind. And I don't think the girls are eating." she flicks a casual glance to the children in the room.

The spring air rolls in on a cloud of Rade, her ringlets haphazard 'round her face, as she steps into the comfort of the living caverns. " Hullo," her hand rises to wave at C'lan, Pyrene, and Siannen. " What're you two up to? Oh, cookies?" The brownrider accepts the offer with a little smirk, " I haven't had anything this fattening for ages."

Hynolonie peers down at the floor after the cookie comment and sighs... Eh. She wasn't offered any, but its not like she'd get anywhere near Pyrene to get a cookie or two. She simply sits there, under her table studying the nicer people in the room.

Siannen purses her lips and swipes a couple of cookies herself, never having minded Pyrene at all.

Pyrene blinks at Rade. "Which two? And you may as well eat now--you've already done the hard bit," she points out acidly. Lonie's sigh is heard and the child gets a puzzled look for a moment, before, with typical carelessness, she's back to picking out her own cookies.

C'lan dunks a piece of bread into the stew. Nevermind it's cold and he's already had cookies.

Someone finally notices that little Hynolonie under the table, and that someone is Rade. " What're you doing under there?" she laughs, bemused to the core. With a flick of her wrist, she brings the cookie up to her eyes, giving it a rather kittenish look of apprehension, before bitting into a corner. " It's good." 

Siannen peers at C'lan's stew. Why? Even she doesn't know....reaching for a cookie, she leans a little closer to the bowl. Facinating...

C'lan nonchalantly tears off a piece of bread, rolls it into a little ball, and drops it into his stew. Stir, repeat. 

Sonate suddenly disappears ::between::!

Hynolonie twitches her nose and lips as she looks Rade over, trying to determine if she is nice or not. She shrugs a bit and picks at her meatroll. "I's Spyin'.." She nods a bit.. and smiles softly before looking serious again.

Pyrene watches C'lan's stew as well. "Y'don't make screaming people out of the bread anymore?" she wonders innocently. Does he still embarrass easily?

Hannah arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

C'lan swallows and looks down at the table. "Not usually." Not when people are looking. "They, um. I," and here's his desperate attempt to save face, "I started feeling sorry for them, you know, getting dropped into a hot bowl of soup." He babbles when he's embarrassed.

Siannen watches the bread go 'round and 'round, only dropping a /few/ crumbs into the soup. "Bu' It's not cold now, you know. It's cold."

Slipping in on silent feet, wide, almost fearful eyes sweep the room as the young girl nibbles on one bitten down nail. Hannah keeps along the wall, her thin frame stealing through the shadows of the room, angling towards the food. Eyes flick from person to person, resting on Pyrene momentarily, a flicker of relief flashing through them. At least one person she knows, even if it is a nanny. She knows she skipping out on bedtime, but... she /did/ hear voices.

C'lan shrugs. "It doesn't have to be hot to go down the pipes."

Pyrene bites her lips against the giggles. "Oh well," she manages, voice tight with amusement, "at least you're sympathetic to the plight you put them in..." And she doesn't notice Hannah, which is probably just as well, considering the struggle she had getting the children to sleep in the first place.

Rade's orbs wander over her much-too-sweet cookie towards C'lan. " Ya, well, screaming people dunked in hot soup doesn't sound too appetizing to me. Can't see how you like it." Pearly whites are flashed towards that new girl who just entered. " But it sure dawhs taste better when it's hawt." Her mouthful of the cookie makes her sound like a cowgirl.

C'lan is a Sensitive Guy, really. "Besides, people laughed."

Siannen drifts off, landing in Connie's cold soup with a *thud* *splash!*, which oddly doesn't wake her....

Hynolonie finishes off her meatroll.. and slips out from under the table. She grabs herself a small cup of juice.. and another hot meatroll and settles herself back under the table. She's good for another .. 20 minutes?

Hannah's own teeth flash brillant white at Rade, before ducking under a table, one grubby hand reaching up to pluck off a cookie. Crumbs fly out from under the table, making a little mess, but the child herself is neatly hidden, her thin frame folded up so that her head rests on her knees. Makes for good grown-up watchingm, as long as one is quiet and hidden.

Siannen falls asleep.
Siannen has disconnected.

The look on C'lan's face is eloquent. "I suppose," he says tightly, "I should get a new bowl of stew." And, with effortless strength, he picks the girl up and moves her to another bench, propping her head on a table. Then he goes about replacing the stew.

"Isn't that what you're here for though, Connie?" Pyrene asks, her face cruelly straight. "For light relief?" Bitter? Twisted? Well, she is tonight anyway.

" Yer blonde." Rade notes to herself about Hannah. " Like me." Isn't that something to be proud of? " It's hot in here, isn't it?" Rade undresses to the core of her leathers -- pants and a tunic -- and kicks back on a wooden rocking chair chaotically strewn in the pathway between tables. " C'mon, Py, being a Nanny isn't that hard." Is that another smirk we see on Rade's lips?

C'lan hears this upon returning to the table with a new bowl of stew and thanking the cavern drudge for clearing the old one away. He blinks at Pyrene, but does not reply verbally. Instead, he sits down and begins working at the stew with singleminded intensity.

From the darkness beneath the table, a pair of emerald green eyes peer out at the 'dults, the faint sound of a cookie being eaten drifting up. Wide-eye'd gaze remains on the nanny for a bit, though Hannah does give each 'dult a good perusal before a thin, small hand snakes out to get a cookie, but freezing in mid-grab when she hears Rade talking about her.. Oh, dear, a panic-filled gaze trips to Pyrene. Does this mean she's in trouble? Saying nothing, she hopes to not attract Pyrene's notice..

Hynolonie wrinkles her nose up good... and stares at the people.. and tries to figure out exactly what is happening here. She pulls out a bit of hide and scratches a note on it.. actually a picture, cause she doesn't know how to read yet.. to remind herself to ask Reia about the situation...

Pyrene stares at Rade for a long moment, jaw open slightly. "Rade... I don't get you, I just don't get you," she says finally. The kids are ignored as per usual, and her old nanny is ignored now too as Pyrene's conscience makes a rare appearance. With a sigh she stands, walks over to C'lan and sits on the chair next to him (having propped the sleeping Siannen in her lap). "It was a joke, Con," she offers lamely, but she does hold out a cookie by way of a peace offering.

Rade exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

C'lan brushes more hair behind his ears-- he clearly needs a runnertail clinic-- and looks at Pyrene. He even remembers to wipe his mouth so there's not herdbeast au jus running down his chin. "OK," he says, softly.

"No, really Con, I /was/ joking..." Pyrene urges. "Don't be put off ever coming down here again--I haven't showed you how to plait your hair yet..." 

Interest sparks in C'lan's dark eyes. "You think you could show me how to do that?"

Hannah munches quietly on her cookie, listening to the nanny and the other man talk while resting her head on her thin knees. One finger absently twirls a lock of her moonlit hair while her big eyes peer out from under the table.

Hynolonie wrinkles her nose as the 'dult guy wants to learn how to braid hair. Her hair hasn't been brushed in so long.. (and she thinks everyone's is that way).. that she thinks that would be the most painful thing in all of Pern..

Pyrene nods, eyes beginning to twinkle wickedly again. "But like I said, it's easier when the hair's wet..." she points out, not innocent, but smug. She's telling the truth.

C'lan blinks. "And you think I should stand out in the rain?"

Pyrene giggles, amused beyond reason--it /is/ late. "Well, it's not raining, so it might be an idea to try the baths instead? But just for the hair--I'm not scrubbing anybody's back." She's protested enough about that to get her point across she should hope.

C'lan swallows. "Um." 

Pyrene stands, planting hands on her hips, and fixes an authoritative glare on him. "You're big enough and ugly enough that I shouldn't have to harry you into the baths the way I do Crenash. C'mon, we're only doing your hair..."

C'lan stands up, not really sure why he's following these orders. "All right," he says doubtfully.

If nowhere else in the Reaches, the baths always promise to be warm...
Baths
Steam enshrouds, a misty curtain that veils the room. Pools abound, water constantly swirling, warm and inviting; soapsand waits on nearby ledges for easy access. Racks of clothes stand by the door, freshly washed clothing hang from some, and bundles of yet to be washed clothes fill mutliple baskets beneath. Large cupboard doors open to reveal multitude of fresh, soft towels, and plenty of bathing items -- sponges, pumice stones, and back scrubbers.
You notice Khia asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns

C'lan is but a blurr in the steam, moving quietly in from the caverns.

C'lan steps gingerly into the baths, letting his eyes adjust to the light. 

Pyrene grabs a sponge and soaks it in the water of the nearest pool. "OK, then..." she murmurs softly, advancing on him with terrifying innocence. She could let him soak his hair himself, but she goes for the more efficient method of simply dropping the sponge on his head (well, standing on tiptoe, then dropping) and pushing down with one hand. "There... now you just need to brush it out," she explains to Wet Con.

C'lan only jumps a little bit. "Hey!" and he pulls the runnertail out of his hair with practiced ease, letting it swing down nearly to his rear end. And he sits down on a bench. "It'll be easier if you do it-- it's hard for me to reach the very bottom."

Pyrene eyes him, arms folded and toe tapping. "If I make the children brush their own hair, you're not getting away with it. 'You'll never learn if I do it for you'," she recites. "Bronzeriders! They /are/ all the same, expecting women to do everything for them!" She squeezes the sponge again threateningly, although the drips only fall on the floor and her robe now.

C'lan leans his head back over the back of the bench, letting his hair brush the floor. "I know how to brush my own hair," he says quietly. "But I'd really like it if you'd brush it for me."

Pyrene wrinkles her nose at him, sighing in a display of exasperation--as much for his confusing behaviour as the fact that she's just being put upon. "You're so... /soft/..." she grumbles to him. "Like clay or something... Alarth bosses you around up in your weyr, and down here I have to. Or somebody else if I'm not around no doubt." If she has to brush his hair, she at least gets to snipe at him. Fortunately there are brushes to hand, and she sets too--with no care for pulling on tangles.

C'lan grits his teeth and leans his head farther back, enduring. "It's good you can recognize that about me." His voice is tight, but not because he's angry. He's just wincing against the pulling of the hairbrush. "When you get up toward the scalp, could you go a little easier? I don't want to be bleeding."

Pyrene continues pulling. "You've lovely hair actually... shame you're not a girl, it's wasted on you. And of course I can recognise that about you. It's blindingly obvious," she continues, tugging at a particularly vicious snarl. "And it's not right. You should stand up for yourself--even to your dragon. Only you can tell you what you want to do!" Him and Pyrene--Pyrene gets to boss around everybody and the world would be a better place if it listened to her advice.

C'lan closes his eyes and smiles. "Thank you," he says tightly, just as she hits the snag. "I don't mind my life. People are always assuming I'm much more forceful than I really am, but I like being this way. I don't wat to hurt people."

Pyrene gives another irritated sigh, "Con, just being forceful doesn't /hurt/ other people." And she rakes the brush brutally across his scalp.

C'lan blinks back tears. "If that was an example," he says, breathless, "yes, it can."

Pyrene pauses for a moment and then 'ahhs'. "Sorry... But it's good for you. Your hair's neat now," she assures him. "And no, you do need to stand up for yourself. Or do you want to moulder in that weyr with Alarth for the rest of your life?" Says the girl who's been sulking about her job for four turns--barring a few months when she was sulking about candidacy.

C'lan opens his eyes again. "Would you just," he asks softly, "would you just start right at my forehead and pull the brush, just once, all the way down to the ends?"

Pyrene chuckles in faint despair. "Well, at least you asked..." She complies being a wee bit tired now and less argumentative. "Feels good, doesn't it? Been awhile since I had time to really brush my own hair, so Faranth knows what I'm doing in here fussing over yours..." she mutters.

C'lan amends, "Slowly? And gently?"

Pyrene does do it slowly and gently. As she said, she was tired. C'lan can thank his stars for that.

"It does feel good. Thank you. When you're done plaiting, I could brush your hair if you like."

"Oh nonono..." Pyrene says quickly, sitting firmly down at the bench and at utterly the wrong angle for plaiting his hair. "The deal was that I teach /you/ to plait it." She does pull her own wispy tendrils out of her plait and run the brush quickly through them--she skips over any tangles. "C'mon, I'll demonstrate... just feel it as you go--try and divide it into three equal pieces..."

C'lan runs both hands down, smoothing as he goes, and separates the hair into three sections, as directed. "Does it matter if I hold them all in one hand?"

Pyrene shrugs, awkwardly with both hands raised, "If you want? Your hands are bigger than mine--as long as you can keep the sections separate, otherwise you'll have to start again. Now just try and plait them by feel--your hair should keep in the sections better when wet.." Her own's a little flyaway and the plait she makes is a fairly poor example of the type but she finishes it quickly.

C'lan carefully and slowly tries to imitate whatever it was Pyrene was doing. "So the point is to keep everything moving toward the middle?"

Pyrene nods. "Like a normal plait--you /said/ you knew how to do them," she points out. And then, like all good hairdressers she digresses, "So you're happy with your life then? You and Alarth? And maybe the odd girl to keep up that womanising reputation you're meant to have as a bronzerider."

"It's different when you're doing it backwards like this. Harder." C'lan completes a couple of turns successfully, though. "We're all right. And the bronzer bit, well. It's a smokescreen, OK, Pyrene? I almost never have girls up in the weyr."

Pyrene giggles, leaning to one side to see how the plaiting's going. "I know C'lan--y'know what the gossip's like in the weyr. There's never anything about you. But you're happy then? Fair enough--I suppose I ought to do something about my own life rather than just complain about other people's hmm?" she says carelessly. It's actually been bothering her for awhile now.

C'lan concentrates on braiding and makes it to about his shoulders. "Man, my arms are getting tired." He pauses for just a moment, then dives right in. "Well, you could do lots of things," he starts, hesitantly. "I should come down more often."

Pyrene grins. "Your arms'll get used to it with practice--can't be worse than firestone. And yes, I could do lots of things, but I dunno. I sort of /like/ being head nanny--apart from the kids--it was just, that was, well, I dunno. I never thought about... I always wanted to be Searched, then when I gave up on that idea, I /did/ get Searched. Didn't Impress--you know that, but I'm used to not Impressing I guess, it's just that it's like I've had my chance and I've not done anything. Only I don't know what to do." The most incoherent problem this side of Ruatha. "But you can come down more often yeah, get the gossip first hand."

C'lan swallows. "I was at your hatching. I was pulling for you."

Pyrene blinks. "You were there? I didn't see you afterwards." Does that mean he saw that whole blue thing? The brats certainly got a good enough view of it, and delight in reminding her. "But... y'know what it is, I realised a couple of turns ago that I wasn't rider material and I didn't do anything. And after the hatching I just went straight back to doing nothing with my life. The other candidates went back to /do/ stuff. Get /on/ with their lives." Of course, if Pyrene had bothered ot set herself an attainable goal, it might have helped. "What would you have done if Alarth hadn't come along, Con?"

C'lan pulls the braid around and tries to work where he can see his own hair. "Will this mess it up?" And he sits up and turns around to face Pyrene. "I went up to my weyr and went to sleep. I do that a lot. And I do think you're rider material, actually. If Alarth hadn't come along?" He ponders this for a minute, brow furrowed. "I think I would have gone back to messengering for the weyr, maybe. I don't know. I can't think of life without him." And, in the mother of all non-sequitors, he says without preamble, "I miss you."

Pyrene shrugs at the plait. "I pull mine over my shoulder for the end bit often--mind you, my hair's not as thick as yours. And I thought I was entitled to some wine after the hatching," she winks slowly. The 'I miss you' finally catches up to her and she blinks at him. "Well, don't stay up in your weyr if you miss us. Come down and talk from time to time. And don't tell me I'm rider material. I've never understood how that's supposed to be comforting." She raises her eyebrows and grins ruefully at him.

C'lan moves nearer to Pyrene, close enough to touch, and holds out the braid for her inspection. "What do you think?" Without asking, he brushes a strand of hair away from her face. "Want me to do yours?"

Pyrene eyes the plait critically and nods. "Not bad...." Her own plait has long since fallen out--it does help if you tie the things once you've finished--and she chuckles at him through the loose strands. "I'm not sure it's worth the bother... I'll be going to bed soon anyway--and I know you only want to say that you spent some time with a woman in the baths. Bronzerider to the core, after all." And still teasing, she gives him a very quick, very chaste kiss on the lips. Just a mocking gesture. He is /her/ bronzer after all... especially for taunting.

C'lan may be soft to the core, but his reactions are still swift. In one abrupt motion, he puts both arms around Pyrene's shoulder and pulls her body close to his, one huge hand resting just on the back of her neck. Awkwardly close perhaps, he is all shoulder and sinew and every bit as powerful as he looks. "You shouldn't," he says, voice ever-so-slightly rougher than his usually velvet baritone, "do that sort of thing unless you mean it. There's a toll to be paid."

Pyrene stares at him, suddenly wide-eyed. It's not like she can pull away after all, and after visibly trying to figure out how this happened, she comes to the conclusion that she got herself into it so she may as well make it look like everything's going according to plan. She squirms against him, reaching her own hands firmly onto his shoulders. "Oh?" she asks, still uncertain where this is going--although it would be blindingly obvious to just about anybody else.

C'lan's grip just tightens, not cruelly, but there's so much more of him than of Pyrene. His fingers curl, more gently than before, around the back of her neck. "Oh, yes," he says softly, even as he tilts her head back and lowers his own mouth to meet hers. Resistance is likely futile. And the kiss itself starts soft, but is by no means chaste. By degrees, he presses harder with his mouth and pulls her more closely to him. It's the sort of kiss that could go on for awhile, one of those stopped moments.

And Pyrene takes the kiss and gives it back of course. What else can she do? Her hands abandon his shoulders for his hair with reckless disregard for the plait that was the whole purpose of this little trip. She's not gentle--never has been--and she's not non-commital either. Surprised, yes, complaining, no. She can save that for later.

C'lan groans softly in his throat as he lets that hand caress the back of Pyrene's (Pyrene's!) head and draws her further in to the kiss, taking lips, breath, tongue, whatever she will give, as if he wants to have her completely for himself, even if just for this one moment. Softly, so softly, he retreats and brushes that strand of hair back from her face again. His eyes, usually so gentle, are intense, darker than usual if that's possible. "You, um." Swallow. "You want to come up with me?"

Pyrene, by dint of great effort, manages to come out of this 'development' with a composed expression, and when she meets his gaze, she holds it. She /is/ still in control here, isn't she? She's tense in his arms, but holds his gaze. "OK..." she says, careful. "If that's part of the toll then..." Her face is almost unreadable, challenging nearly, but not displeased. Not displeased at all.

C'lan's touch gentles on her back, her neck, and his fingers reach up to fondle through her hair. "It's not part of the toll," he says. "You have to choose it. But if you do, I'll carry you out to the dragon and lift you onto the rushes myself if you like. And you can leave anytime you want. Alarth will take you down." And so will C'lan, apparently.

Pyrene laughs then, a sudden helpless giggle. "Oh, Con, Connie, yes..." she half-hisses at him through her smile. "It sounds better than the nurseries and I've got the morning off tomorrow anyway..." Is that a clear enough indication of her wishes, even to this clueless bronzer?

C'lan smiles slowly, for real, eyes and everything. And makes the conscious decision that Pyrene does not need to know how often he's played this scene out in his head. "C'mon, then." And he offers his arms, in case she really wants to be carried.

Pyrene doesn't quite give in to the temptation to let him carry her--after all there may still be the odd brat sneaking through the caverns, but she does wrap one arm in her own, and, ignoring her robe and any sort of propriety, goes with him.

C'lan has had enough and slips back out of the baths, hopefully smelling better.

The steam makes you damp, even if you did not bathe, so don't catch cold!

Living Caverns
Hannah, Kh'et, Will, and C'lan are here.

C'lan, arm in arm with Pyrene (and with noticeably damp, touseled hair), slips in and then out; it's as easy as that.

Pyrene follows suit, clad most /unsuitably/ in a robe and nightwear, but at least her hair is dry.

C'lan exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Bundle up 'gainst snow or sun! The bowl is open to seasons' wrath.
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 before dawn. The few clouds have dispersed, and the moons have set, leaving only the light of the stars. An onshore breeze blows in off of the ocean.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are Zhaneel, Spice, Kier, Fiannan, Wilt, Tremayne, Quenn, Dratini, Tirone, and Aria Moon.
Blue Mrrdynth, green Yshanth, brown Azrieth, and bronze Alarth are here.
You see a wagonmaster, Emerald, TumbleWeed, and Wagon Two here.
C'lan is here.
Obvious exits:
Pens Northern Bowl Caverns Ground Weyrs Lakeside

C'lan gestures to the dragon. "You can go first."

Pyrene wraps her robe about her, smiling almost shyly at Alarth, but she scrambles up his side with little regard for decorum.

You step up onto Alarth's foreleg, then climb the leather strap ladder to rest finally between two grizzled neckridges.

Alarth [Central Bowl]
Grizzled bronze heightens the raiment of blackened copper worn so easily by this large and lumbering dragon. Dark along his sensitive snout and broad, sweeping chest, lighter where silvery moonlight plays along his portly sides, and dark again along the afterthought of his tail, burnt sepia and bronze scruff him, tip to tail. His profile is dominated by the breadth of his high forehead and salient headknobs, as his cumbersome frame is ruled by the low-lying silver of capacious wings: light catches the constellation of starbursts along the canopy of his sails, setting them adrift for all the fixed determination of his smallish eyes.
A well-oiled pair of riding straps are fastened to Alarth's neck. 
Alarth seems to be listening.

Alarth crouches, offering a foreleg to C'lan so he can reach the ladder of leather straps and lever himself up to rest between two grizzled neckridges.

C'lan fastens the straps securely, even though they're only going a short distance. "Ready?"

Pyrene leans comfortably into him, both dragon and rider. "Of course."

C'lan puts his arms around her, holding the straps almost loosely. "Yes, yes, she's coming home with us, you big lug," he says good naturedly. "Now hush and get going before she changes her mind."

You take off.

You soar in for a landing on Alarth's ledge.

Alarth's Ledge
Broad and level, Alarth's Ledge boasts no decoration, unless clutter counts. A couple of tired flowerpots sit on either side, but on the whole the ledge is made to sit on and observe from. It's wide enough for two or three large dragons.
It is a summer before dawn. 
On the perch is Morgan.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

You go to the Alarth's Weyr.

Alarth's Weyr
Deep stone eddies the edges of this cavernous, twilight weyr, adorned with hangings from C'lan's Igen home and piled with desert pillows. Heavy furniture, benches and a long table, make the weyr look more like a council chamber than home sweet home. There on the wall's edge hang Alarth's straps, and just on the other side of that, there's a long countertop, a brazier, and a little eating table. The couch itself is large enough fro a full grown bronze dragon-- and perhaps a friend. All right, two friends. Mostly, the rushes are clean, although blankets live in an untidy pile off to the side. C'lan's sleeping corner is a spartan alcove.
It is a summer before dawn. 
Obvious exits:
Ledge

C'lan pulls himself away from Alarth's grizzled neckridges, then climbs down the ladder of leather straps to finally slide to the ground.

Pyrene chuckles, shivering slightly against the bronzerider. "Before I change my mind?? Have a little more faith in yourself--and me, please." And she slips down after him.

You lift yourself over Alarth's grizzled neckridge, then climb down the ladder of leather straps and slide to the ground.

C'lan shrugs. "It's our whole dynamic." And he holds out a hand to Pyrene as she finally steps across this threshold of his.

Pyrene isn't all that much interested in the threshold of course, nor Alarth for once. It's the rider she came here with and for...

And C'lan, who does have some understanding of the way these things work, wastes no time taking her to where he's wanted her for a long time. Bed, him, the rising wave of breath and passion -- well, fill in the blank.

[And fade to black as both players had to get to their own beds.]