The Dragonriders of PernŽ is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Sunday, January 3rd, 1999, for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.

Questions

Weyrling Barracks
The large covered entryways open into two immense U-shaped caverns that stretch back deep into the rock of the cliffside. Glow baskets lining the cavern walls cast a soft light dispelling the shadows and illuminating the home of all High Reaches weyrlings. Stone couches, some smaller for the greens and blues and some, for bronzes and the occasional gold, so large they have to be climbed into, rise up to loom over the walkways of well-packed dirt.
Along the walls nearest the entrances, shelves and pegs sport several sets of leathers and various books and tools needed when teaching and practicing; crates and supplies also take up residence in various nooks and crannies. Toward the back, a large, man-dug pool for use by the dragonets and their lifemates and several large containers kept full of fresh meat serve as conveniences for the busy residents of these barracks.
Crammed shelf-high twixt leather and awels are Zoot, Skids, Autumn, Primavera, Iwatabem, Jonic, Torey, Miryam, Nocturno, and Blossom.
Green Zaqith, blue Sardrinth, gold Ysbryth, and bronze Alarth are here.
You see Weyrling Progress Record and Kiara's Sketchbook here.
You notice Salea, Thesy, Rade, and R'sli asleep here.
Areiah and C'lan are here.
Obvious exits:
Staff Office Bowl Couches

C'lan just wants to..."Hey, can you hand me that rock? That little one? I need it to make sure the yarn doesn't go where it's not supposed to go."

Pyrene sneaks in, peering rather carefully around, "Umm, hi!" There's no brats in here after all, where else would you expect the reluctant assistant nanny to be? The pair get a second look, "Er, what??"

Arcing an eyebrow at that, Areiah nods, reaching down and taking up the indicated rock, rising again and walking over to C'lan. "Here. Can I ask what you're doing? I.. oh, Pyrene!" And the girl brightens, waving her friend into the barracks rather enthusiastically.

C'lan's bending down with the tail of a big ball of yarn in one hand. "Straighten out, Alarth," he says testily, and the getting-bigger bronze obliges, footfalls heavy in the cavern. "Thanks, Areiah." Down goes the stone on the tail of the yarn. "I just need to anchor it." And, slowly, "Put your neck out straight, Alarth, yeah, totally straight," he unwinds the yarn, packing off the whole length of his dragon, smile getting wider all the time.

"You're not planning on knitting him something, are you, Con?" Areiah asks, unable to resist the grin that quirks her lips at that notion. "A big.. sweater or something? Or a blanket?" That would be an awful lot of knitting.

Pyrene slips gratefully to Areiah's side and hugs her, "I've hardly seen you since you impressed!" she smiles at Ysbryth and peers at C'lan, "Are you trying to prove something here? Because I really don't think anybody cares." She's a little stressed tonight, and not sure she's up to masculine obsessions with size.

C'lan just keeps rolling out the ball of yarn, pacing out the distance. "Hm? Nope, nope, nope. Do you have a knife? Scissors?" And finally, he reaches Alarth's head, where Alarth's eyes glare at him from their position too near the floor. "I know, I know. Hot air rises. Just a minute more, please?"

Areiah wraps an arm around Pyrene, hugging her gently in return and nodding emphatic agreement. "I know, I know.. it's been ages. Isn't she getting huge?" And a nod goes to Ysbryth at that - maybe the size thing isn't just a male preoccupation? Nah. We all know it's not the size of your dragon that counts; it's what you do with him/her. "What're you doing out here, anyway, Py?" Then, hearing C'lan's next question, the 'ling nods and releases Pyrene, one hand snaking its way down to her back trous pocket, fishing out an almost dainty pocketknife. "This'll do?"

Pyrene has a knife about her at all times (don't ask) and holds it out obligingly, "Poor Alarth... You really ought to talk to him about this."

Alarth rumbles the draconic sigh of the long-suffering as C'lan takes the pocketknife from Areiah. "Thanks-- shells, what do you do with this thing, pick your teeth?" No matter; it cuts yarn. "There." And he hands both ball and pocketknife back to the goldrider. "Do you see this yarn, Alarth? You are /this/ big!" Alarth just looks tired. "Yes, you can lift your head now."

Pyrene shrugs at Areiah, "This is about the one place in the weyr I could think of where there wouldn't be any children around. 'Cept young dragons and they're not my responsibility." She looks at the yarn and hmms, "It looks bigger when it's a dragon." Coherent as ever then.

"Not going to measure him 'round the waist?" Quietly chastised by Ysbryth's soft whuffle, however, Areiah shakes her head, taking first the yarn, then the knife, the latter tucked back into her pocket. "Nevermind. Why are you measuring Alarth, anyway?"

"So he can see how big he is, of course," C'lan replies. And so he can see if Cairhoth is bigger.

Pyrene walks over to Alarth and, bending down, stage whispers to him, "Don't tell Con, but it's easier if you just turn your head and see how much room you take up."

Alarth, first-lidded, stares complacently into Pyrene's eyes. He knew that, of course, but telling would be, well, telling. Tail thumps.

Areiah laughs outright, unable to help herself, shaking her head. "Good grief, Con.. couldn't resist, could you?" And again, she gives a ripple of soft, gentle laughter, nodding to the tables rather pointedly as she looks to Pyrene. "Have a seat? Tell me how you've been lately?"

C'lan winds the Alarth long piece of yarn up around the fingers of one hand and repositions his runnertail as he moves toward the tables without being asked. "Have we got warm klah yet?"

Pyrene sits down with an exaggerrated sigh of relief, "Over-worked, abused, under-appreciated..." unfortunately her vocabulary only runs so far, "...er, neglected, forgotten... and you?" A thought occurs to her and she peers at C'lan, "You owe me cookies."

C'lan blinks. "Why do I owe you cookies?"

"I've been well. Tired, really, but aside of that, well." Areiah replies lightly, nodding to C'lan and motioning toward one klah pot in particular. "That one. We only get it late evenings and early, early mornings."

Pyrene nods, "You said you'd get me a cookie! For something or other." She remembers the offer anyway. Hmph, trying to get out of it is he? "So, how long's Cairhoth's yarn?" she asks sweetly before swinging back to Areiah, "Well, that's what you get for impressing, work! Least you get a dragon out of it. I just got a room." Poor wretched child that she is. Actually having to make herself useful.

"Cairhoth's string is surely fair sized.. he's getting just huge." Areiah remarks, shrugging lightly at the latter, grinning lopsidedly. "Busy, then, I take it. What are you up to work wise lately? I heard something about position shifting after Rade Impressed, but I missed the particulars somewhere." Likely in mucking her couch out or somesuch.

C'lan bristles at Areiah's remark, but wisely goes on to the innocuous topic of cookies. "I don't have any right now," he hedges, "but I'll steal you some. I promise."

Pyrene frowns, "Well the idea was that if I kept the weyrbrats behaving Mirisae and Phaedra would forget that we didn't have a head nanny any more but that didn't work." Pyrene's ideas rarely do of course, "So they made Kostya head nanny and I was just trying to be helpful by telling her stuff about the other brats," she does have the grace to blush here, "But I think I overdid it, and now I'm assistant nanny." She assumes a tragic expression which is only lifted somewhat by C'lan's assurance.

C'lan shakes his head, barely managing not to wink at Areiah. "I met her with a new weyrkid out in the bowl a sevenday ago or so," he informs. "She was, er, teaching some interesting skills."

Pyrene snorts, "I teach them important stuff. /I/ know what you need to survive in the weyr. I'm a good nanny, they just don't /understand/ me." And yes that last was said in the traditional whine.

Areiah grins sidelong at C'lan, watching her dear friend - the other one, not the bronzerider - whine about responsibility and work. Amused almost as she nods, searching out a mug and filling it with klah that is, by some miracle, hot. A look is sent to'ard fellow Weyrling as she reaches for another mug, and then another, eyes flicking next to Pyrene in silent query.

C'lan nods, of course. "Thanks, Areiah. Would you be a dear and pour for me?" He's running fingers over the yarn again. "And if they understood you, what would be different, Pyrene?"

Pyrene sighs and folding her arms on the table, rest her head on them, "N'thanks," she murmurs to Areiah. She looks at C'lan, "They'd give me a bigger room and they wouldn't have made me clean up after Wint was sick." Pyrene spends /hours/ listing her grievances to herself, she's not going to be tricked that way.

Areiah is a dear. Along with the now-full mug, she passes to C'lan a matching pair of sweetrolls, nodding to Pyrene and taking her own mug up in both hands, sipping lightly. A wrinkling of pert, dainty nose with the current topic, then a rueful grin. "Try mucking out a dragon couch for sevendays on end."

Pyrene glares right back, "Try changing all the cot rushes after somebody has the bright idea of telling scary stories after lights out. At least you know your dragon cares about you."

"Thanks, Areiah. Oh, Py, it can't be all that bad?" C'lan tries not to patronize, he really does. "Can't you tell them you don't want the job? Tell them you're too young or something?"

"That would work. The age thing, I mean." Areiah offers helpfully, not rising to the bait of cot rush changing and scary stories. "Who gave you the job, anyway?"

Pyrene sighs heavily again, "But that would be giving up. And then I'd be a weyrbrat again and the others would just be even meaner to me." She'd lose her room too. Nope, /can't/ do that. "And don't call me Py," she belatedly remembers to add before peering around, "Any juice anwhere?"

Sweetie-Py. Redfruit Py. Sweet tuber Py. "What's wrong with Py?" C'lan wonders. "There's usually some. Citrus today, I think. We were up at breakfast?" Yes, it's a question. "Can you convince them that you're old enough to do something else? Away from the kids?"

"Over on that other table, I think. One of the brownriders brought a pitcher over earlier." Breakfast. Not sure. Areiah missed that herself, having opted for a nap, however painfully brief. "Maybe you could assist Nyara in the kitchens?" Providing of course Pyrene can cook.

Pyrene blinks at C'lan, "Er, being a nanny means that you take care of the kids. You can't be a nanny if you keep away from them." Ignore what she's doing right now. "And I can't cook."

C'lan flips the runnertail behind his shoulder, brushing an imaginary bit of hair back from his ear as he does so. "Well, you're old enough. Have you thought about apprenticing to a craft?"

Pyrene sighs at C'lan, "The point of this is that I don't /want/ to work. How's joining a craft going to help that? Besides which, I have no talents and my only experience /is/ looking after kids." She blinks at her own words, "Oh, shells! I never thought of it like that. I'm doomed!" Tragic again, she takes the jug and pours some juice into an available mug and prepares to drown her sorrows in her underage way.

Areiah smothers an amused chuckle, sipping from her klah mug again, peeking over the rim of said vessel to watch the two converse. Pyrene is deciding her future with C'lan. Hmm.

C'lan clears his throat. "You could, um." And he thinks. "Areiah, what did you do before you got Searched?" He taps thick fingers on the table. It's not /his/ fault he's a little slow, you know, at thinking things out. "Can you read and write well?" It's a legitimate question.

"I was just a resident." Areiah replies, shrugging her shoulders lightly. "I wrote poetry, I spent time with Fionchadd, I sang, I watched the sky from Star Stones.. that was about it, really."

Pyrene is lost to all reason now, and hopelessly moans at random, "Oh, yes, I'm qualified to read bedtime stories. And clean cots and rescue drowning brats." And you thought she had no talents!

C'lan nods. "If you're qualified to read bedtime stories, you're probably qualified to do what I used to do," he supposes, after a long pause to wet his whistle. "Besides, all you would have to do is enter things into a ledger and tell Nuff you did it. She never looks."

Pyrene peers at C'lan, "I'm not sure I'm allowed to quit being a nanny now.

C'lan barks a laugh. "Sure you are. Just march up to them," whoever They are, "and say, "I Quit," and then walk off. They can't exactly chain you to the nursery."

Pyrene peers at c'lan, "The nannies in Igen ruled with a very light hand didn't they?"

"I did whatever I wanted," Con replies, whethe or not it's true. "Besides, you'll be handfasted to some great old crafter soon enough, won't you?"

Pyrene jumps at that. "What?? Why would I get handfasted, then I'd have to have kids and I'd never escape!" And it's quite obvious by now that C'lan doesn't know Kostya. Or Sabrina for that matter.

Who does C'lan know, besides Alarth? It's hard to tell. "Don't you want to get handfasted off? I bet the weyrleaders could find you a nice seacrafter from down hold." Is he trying to infuriate her, or just dense? It's hard to tell.

Pyrene glares at C'lan, "If I ever get /handfasted/" and you could make ice cream with that word, "it /will/ not be to a seacrafter! That was the whole point of me running away from home in the first place." Well, one of the points anyway.

C'lan nods. Blandly, "A baker then. But you need to find something to make you happy, Pyrene."

Pyrene considers, "Bakers tend to sweat a lot. And why do you automatically assume that I need a husband to be happy? Maybe I don't want to get handfasted or weyrmated. Maybe I want to be my own person." Maybe she's been listening to too many harper tales with melodramatic heroines.

Having had a lot of time to think about who he is going to be for the last eight months, C'lan is all right with this line of conversation. He puts both hands on the klah mug-- for emphasis, you understand-- and leans forward to study Pyrene in all her assistant-nannyness and teenaged angst. "And which person would that be, Pyrene?"

Areiah hides a grin as C'lan leans forward, biting hard upon her lower lip. No comment from the goldrider. No comment whatsoever.

Pyrene considers, "My person, I don't know. Somebody who doesn't have to answer to anybody," she smirks bitterly, "maybe I'll make head nanny someday. And what about you? Except it's different for you of course." It's /always/ different for other people.

"I don't know," C'lan replies vaguely. But he does, really, doesn't he? "I'm going to spend the rest of my life fighting thread and being a slave to this fellow." Alarth obligingly blinks at hearing his name, but makes no other sign that he's heard. "And everybody has to answer to somebody, you know." Our Boy Is A Philosopher.

Areiah tries. Really she does. She's kept quiet for a good twenty minutes now. "You never said anything about /yourself/ in the Weyrmating department, Con." she points out, one hand used to punctuate the statement, the other used to hold up her klah mug; nothing hiding that almost teasing lopsided grin now.

Pyrene grins at Alarth, "It's not quite the same thing... And you know what I mean..." in other words she doesn't have a viable explanation, "Besides, you get to choose so much now." she picks up on Areiah's words like a shot, "You can choose just about anybody you wanted for a weyrmate simply because you're a bronzerider." She's heard the drudges gossip, not necessarily understood it, mind, but she's heard it.

"Me?" C'lan shakes his head. "No. /Alarth/ can choose, but girls pick who they will. Girls have more leeway about that sort of thing than guys do." He takes another drink from the mug, nearly half empty now as he sees it. "I don't know about weyrmating; I haven't thought about it. Alarth doesn't really think about it, so I don't have to." Give it ten months, Con. Ten months from now it's all Alarth will be thinking about. "Besides, who'd want to weyrmate a boring guy like me?"

Pyrene shrugs, "E'ren?"

C'lan sputters. "That is /not/ funny, Pyrene."

"Boring?" Areiah seems startled. Then, she laughs, and perhaps a bit too hard. Cheeks flush, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth, eyes positively sparkling with mirth. Bubbling, musical laughter now more or less contained, she slowly, slowly lowers her hand, grinning broadly at Pyrene. "Come now, there must be girls left right and center that would be interested in Con.."

Con? A guy whose two claims to fame before Impressing Alarth were that he made soft toys for children and played with his food a lot? Really. "So far I haven't bumped into any."

Pyrene smirks unrepentantly, "Well, where do you see girls getting to choose?" She looks to Areiah for backup, "Girls have just as much trouble as guys, probably more. Anyway, you always have Thesy, she's already kissed you once. Maybe she'd do more?" Eyes twinkle and she starts cheering up somewhat. C'lan teasing does that to her.

Yes, laughter is effectively smothered. Areiah just contents herself with a grin and a shake of her head. "Ah, there are, Con.. you just haven't realized it yet." Thesy? "I think she's after that greenrider.. oh, what's his name.." A sigh, then, almost exasperated. "I give up. My memory's been awful lately. Anyway. Some greenrider."

Pyrene reaches over and pats C'lan on the shoulder, "Never mind. I'm sure someday you'll find a girl who isn't too fussy--maybe a blind one would do--who'll be willing to call you Connie in dark corners."

C'lan sighs. "Thesy got me out of a tough situation with E'ren. It's not like I was salivating over her. I only kissed her that once. I don't think any girl is going to follow me around because I kiss her once. L'guardia? Is that the one?" He shrugs. "Oh, come on, Pyrene. You know the score. If a girl had walked up to me, you know, a Turn ago, and said, 'Conlan, I have a huge crush on you and I want to sleep with you,' I would have just jumped at the-- Hey! Don't call me Connie! And we'll see if we can't find an exact match of that blind guy for you, Pyrene, in a deaf guy: that way that tongue of yours won't kill him the first Turn."

"Con, you're.. oh, forget it." And the goldrider chuckles, sipping her klah again, relenting and falling silent once more. A sweetroll is then fetched, picked at, Ysbryth given a pointed look - the dragonet is comfortably dozing, curled not a length behind her lifemate.

"I'm what?" C'lan wants to know.

Pyrene raises her brows at C'lan, "I didn't call you connie, the blind girl did." So she made up the blind girl, it still wasn't her doing the calling, "Anyway, there are only deaf girls in the weyr I think. No wait, I believe Sarali has a deaf brother, maybe I'll have to go and visit him. Entice him into my room... privacy could really come in handy..." She trails off thoughtfully. This is what getting into the practice of playing along with kidlets does to you.

"Nothing, C'lan. Really. Just forget it?" It's so much easier that way for Areiah. "Who're you enticing into your room, Pyrene?" Changes of topics are good. Changes of topics are very good.

C'lan sighs. As usual, he never gets Pyrene when she gets him. "Oh, sure, I bet that'd be just great for you." And he lapses into silence.

Pyrene frowns, "I don't remember his name... And I think he lives in Ista anyway. Like K'lis. All the good men seem to be Istans." hmph

C'lan rolls his eyes. "Just like you to decide you want to take a guy into your room and not even know his name."

Areiah folds her legs up beneath her, then, jacket shucked off and placed into her lap as she settles into this new position. Tis safer and easier to listen.

Pyrene is righteously indignant, "What??!!! How dare you say that! Name me one occasion when I've had a guy in my room whose name I didn't know! Hmm? You can't, because I haven't had any guys in my room! Because nobody want's to be involved with a girl who's got to look after 600 kids." And yes it comes back to the nanny again. Absolutely nothing to do with her rather tender turns.

"Isn't six hundred a little bit of an overstatement, Pyrene?" C'lan takes a mental step back from this righteous indignation. "Besides, you're too young."

"Shells, I didn't think we had /that/ many Weyrbrats." More or less the same thing, really, but Areiah comments anyhow. "And she's not too young, Con - how old are you again, Pyrene? I think I've missed a Turnday somewhere."

Pyrene sniffs, "I'm 14. Some girls my age are 'fasted. And think about it, there are what 2000 riders alone at the weyr. Their dragons have flights and well." she blushes, she really is a little young for this, "That sort of activity is going on. And then there's all the non-riders. We have at /least/ 600 brats." Not that anybody's counted since Zirade.

"Fourteen?" C'lan does math in his head, isn't he clever. "I've three Turns over you."\

Pyrene just fixes him with a level stare, "Good for you."

"You're too young." C'lan is firm.

Pyrene blinks at both riders, "for what?"

"To have a deaf boy in your room, of course," C'lan replies, nearly raising his voice.

"Ah. Fourteen isn't that young. I just turned eighteen a couple of months back." Areiah says lightly, shoulders lifting and falling in a scant shrug. "Old enough to be 'fasted, if you ask me - old enough to be pregnant, even. I know a girl a Turn younger than you with a pair of twins." Well, she doesn't know her directly.. but she knows /of/ her from a friend. That counts, right? "Oh.. I don't think you're too young.."

C'lan stares bleakly at the table, marries finger to finger against the curve of his klah mug. "Fine, you're not too young. Go find that deaf boy and put him in your room at once, Pyrene."

Pyrene pouts, "Well he wouldn't come anyway." Areiah is given an uneasily grateful look, twins? "And I'm old enough to be an apprentice, get searched and lots other stuff too."

Pyrene drinks the rest of her juice off and hmms, "Well, areiah? what about you? What did you do when you were my age?" She doesn't dare be more specific with A Man there but they've entertained Areiah enouh, it's time she gave some back.

Areiah blushes, then - this is Pyrene's idea of amusement? "I.. well, I wasn't really.. I mean, there was Jake, but.. no, no, no. I wasn't involved with anyone. I had good friends back then, but that was about the extent of it." Blush deepens, then, as sapphire eyes shift to Ysbryth. "It has nothing to do with the way I look, thank you very much."

Where else had Pyrene ever got her amusement from? "The way you look? What's wrong with the way you look?" Pyrene is frankly quite jealous of Areiah's looks, "'Reiah's pretty isn't she Con?"

C'lan takes a minute to regard Areiah, clear-eyed, objective. "Sure," he replies, almost a drawl.

Pyrene glares at C'lan, "There's no need to ogle her," she informs him primly.

"Ysbryth tells me I'm too thin. Too delicate." Nose is wrinkled, and Areiah leans, nudging Pyrene with an elbow. "I.. well, thank you." she stammers finally, burying her expression in her mug. Or at least partway. "Oh, Pyrene, leave him alone, he was just trying to answer you."

T'lendel comes out of Cairhoth's couch.

C'lan shrugs. "You have to look in order to judge." At which point he turns a similar glance onto Pyrene herself.

Pyrene pokes Areiah, "Tell Ysbryth that you know what people are supposed to look like better than she does." Diplomacy with your dragon, oh yes. She squirms under C'lan's gaze and turns to t'lendel for a below-the-belt distraction. "Evening! How big's Cairhoth now?"

C'lan sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. "Hi, T'lendel."

"Ysbryth seems to think I would look better if I were less thin. Less breakable." Blissfully ignorant, placing it under affectionate concern, Areiah sips again from her mug. Lips are licked, gaze shifting to T'lendel before coming back to rest upon her lifemate. "He what? I.. oh, good grief. Must you always be so defensive?" Exasperated again, Areiah looks to Pyrene - distractions are good. "Cairhoth is probably just as big as Alarth."

Pyrene sighs, "He's not bigger? Oh well. I bet Ysbryth's bigger than the both of them." She pokes disconsolately at the table before looking back up at Areiah, "Eat more cookies and sweet stuff. I'm supposed to tell the kids they'll get fat if they do that, and that their teeth will rot, but maybe that's just a myth." It's up to Areiah, after all.

C'lan shrugs. "Golds are always bigger than bronzes." It's the bronze-to-bronze ratio he's worried about. "I think you should have as much sweet stuff as you want, Areiah. And you too, Pyrene." Might as well share the wealth.

Pyrene beams at C'lan, "Well get me those cookies you owe me then." Yes they're plural now, "And why /does/ size matter so much anyway?" The age old question...

Ysbryth is indeed bigger than both Alarth and Cairhoth - though it's certainly nothing to boast about. "Having a bigger dragon makes bathing them more difficult. And cleaning couches more of a hassle. And feeding, and.. and oiling, too." A pause, then a grin, this directed at C'lan. "That's a good question. Why does it matter how big Alarth is?"

Pyrene thinks back to somethin she overheard one of the drudges say that she didn't understand. But it sounded grown up sooo... she nudges Areiah and nods wisely, "Well you know what they say about men who ride big dragons...."

T'lendel blinks, as if just truly awakening, and stares at Pyrene in confusion. Where in the world did /that/ come from? Still, an amused smile finds itself on his lips, even as he casts grayed eyes only briefly towards dear friend Areiah.

Areiah flushes again, crimson's kiss filling her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, even her chin and forehead with this statement of Pyrene's. "No, actually, I don't." she sputters, finally, shaking her head swiftly. Wishing silently that perhaps the stone would be so gracious enough as to open beneath her and swallow her whole, a look - a scant look - is directed at T'lendel, shifting from her suddenly uncomfortable position.

"Did I promise you cookies?" Suddenly, C'lan looks vague again.

Pyrene tries to bring out the llama eyes again, but somehow this is getting harder as she gets older. "You said you would! You said you'd /steal/ them for me! Didn't he Areiah?" Pyrene turns woebegone face to goldrider.

Areiah is /certainly/ not going to be helping Pyrene now! "I didn't hear a thing." she says simply, taking another sip from her mug, finding it surprisingly empty. Hmm. "Anyway. You could always ask Nyara. She usually has a batch stashed away somewhere."

Pyrene sighs. "Nobody understands..." she mopes, "How big /is/ Cairhoth, T'lendel?" She wants all the Connie ammunition she can lay her hands on, by fair means or foul.

"I didn't say I'd steal them /tonight/, Pyrene," C'lan asserts, hanging himself.

T'lendel blinks, still not sure where this conversation is headed, and still not entirely awake, and shrugs, "See for yourself." C'mon lifemate-mine...

Cairhoth comes out of Cairhoth's couch.

Cairhoth
Antique brass is hammered and bent, rendered by some cosmic forge into a new alloy: age-darkened bronze, tarnished by an oily rainbow of residue that mottles his haunches and belly with slick iridescence. Bulky muscle dominates despite his thinly serrated wings, where paler, threadbare fabric stretches to span each fragile 'sail. His heavy-girded body is molded either end into a thick neck and tail, and over-large feet balance his blunted muzzle's pugnacious thrust. Only along neckridges, talons, and his wings' knobby spars is the dulling polish rubbed away, revealing that brassier foundation; the effervescence of illuminated flamboyance.
Cairhoth is 8 months and 10 days old.
He is 21 meters long, with a wingspan of 35 meters.
Cairhoth seems to be listening.

Pyrene peers, "Can you get them side by side or something? It's hard to see."

Alarth
Grizzled bronze heightens the raiment of blackened copper worn so easily by this large and lumbering dragonet. 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 bredth of his high forehead and salient headnobs, 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 is 8 months and 9 days old.
He is 22 meters long, with a wingspan of 36 meters.
Alarth seems to be listening.

C'lan nods. "Sure, you can if you want to, Alarth." And Alarth, who was listening to Pyrene, goes to stand next to his clutchbrother, offering a playful headbutt as his friendly hello.

Cairhoth seems almost to smile, as much as a dragon can, as he holds himself proudly next to clutchsib. He's not concerned about being smaller. He /knows/ he's wonderful.

Pyrene walks critically up and down the bronze pair and finally gives hr verdict, "Alarth's just that /teensy/ bit bigger" Demonstrating something like an inch with her fingers in an attempt not to inflate C'lan's ego too much, "But Cairhoth'll grow. Besides, whatever they say about men who ride big dragons, it isn't good." She thinks. Just pick one condolence, t'lendel and stick with that instead of trying to understand.

T'lendel shrugs, declining speech. He'd still like to figure out what's going on, afterall...

Areiah still claims innocence. She doesn't /want/ to know what they say about men who ride big dragons. Or, wait. She can tease here. "What would that say for Con, then, Pyrene? If he rides a bigger dragon?" Hah. It's Pyrene's turn.

Pyrene gives Areiah one of those looks and starts thinking fast, "It means that they have big straps." And you can take /that/ however you like.

T'lendel is definitely amused. His mouth twitches at Pyrene's comment, but still he says nothing.

Areiah will take it innocently, of course - you expected otherwise? "Well of course they have big straps. Bigger dragons are harder to mount. But still - you didn't answer me, what it says for Con, as his rider."

C'lan, whose dragon is nice 'n' big, thankyouverymuch, just watches this little show. And, perhaps under his breath, but loud enough for Pyrene to hear: "You're still to young." And never mind what Areiah says.

"Too young for you, personally, perhaps, Con.. but not too young in general." Loud enough for everyone to hear, apparantly. Areiah is now officially suppressing laughter, gaze flitting lightly 'tween friend and friend and friend alike.

Pyrene patiently repeats herself, "It means he has big /straps/." She's discovered that if you emphasise something enough the other person will assume that they're being stupid and just go along with it. C'lan isn't given so much as a glance, just a comment that may or may not be to him, "You'll be old and grey before I will be."

C'lan purses his lips and glares at Areiah. "Who said anything about me?"

Pyrene draws herself up in response to Areiah's comment, "I'm too a lot of things for Connie. Too good, too sensible, too intelligent..."

Areiah blinks, then widens her eyes at C'lan. "Isn't that what you meant? I mean, personal taste? We all base our opinions on what we think and feel, right?" Innocence personified tonight, that girl. Then, to Pyrene, Areiah simply shakes her head.

Alarth's superior size forgotten, all his earlier smugness tossed awry, C'lan's klah mug meets the table with an altogether unsatisfying *THUNK*. "And what do you know, anyway, little miss teach-the-weyrbrats-to-throw-mud-at-dragons? What do you know about anything? And who said who was too good for whom? Shells and stars, can't you just shut your mouth for once and keep the lizard's tongue inside it?"

T'lendel seems to be waking up. He laughs softly at Pyrene. No klah, no speech...

Areiah stares, and rather blankly, too, directly at C'lan. A temper. A genuine temper. Who knew. "Con.." Soft and soothing, she tries the affectionate nickname, her own lips pursed this time, though not in annoyance.

Pyrene leaps to her feet trembling, "I know a lot more than you! And why should I shut my mouth? I can say what I like. Faranth knows I'm meant to be telling the weyrbrats stuff, and I'd like to see you try being me for one day! Just one day!" Tired, stressed and now on the verge of tears.

T'lendel peers curiously. They like each other? It's all in his expression.

C'lan's gaze flicks onto Areiah. "Oh, and it's not like you've not been helping her, either." Arms folded, nearly expressionless, he turns back to face Pyrene. "No, don't go yet; I'm not finished. Do you know what you just did? after two Turns of constantly picking on me, you finally made me mad. Congratulations." Oh, dangerously low is that voice, baritone a hiss at the bottom of the young man's throat. "Did it ever occur to you, Pyrene, that I have feelings?"

Pyrene blinks, shocked out of her own tears. Truth to tell she hadn't, "I know you have feelings," she mutters, ducking her face and, ever unwilling to fight her own battles, looking sidelong at Areiah for assistance.

"Well, I do." Con moves the klah mug finally, examines the table beneath. "See, I dented the table."

"I wasn't.. oh, shardit, C'lan, I wasn't.. I'm sorry. I certainly didn't mean to hurt your feelings." And Areiah certainly didn't mean to help Pyrene do it, either. Despite mild bickering with her dear friend, she will, however, come to her aide. "You've been stressing all night the fact that she's young - she's given to make mistakes, right? I mean.." The goldrider really doesn't know what she means - or if she does, she's not willing to say.

Pyrene blinks again, with a nervous laugh as she peers, "So you did." Perhaps more impressively, he just earned Pyrene's respect. Which is definitely not an easy thing to do.

C'lan sighs, then takes a long breath and relaxes his arms, finally. "It's all right, Areiah. It's all right, Pyrene." What else to say? He doesn't know. He runs a finger along the dent in the big table. "I should have controlled my temper."

Pyrene is still shaking but smiles weakly at C'lan, "Why? Most people don't bother... I'm sorry..." said as much to Areiah and T'lendel as C'lan, a quick hug for Areiah and a nod to the others she all but retreats back to the caverns.