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Fields
Fields stretch off in various directions in various states of growth though at the center of all this several tents appear to be set up and various odds and ends surround the tents as if a small tent city has come up or a refugee camp. People in farmer knots of all sorts of ranks seem to be in the camp doing all sorts of camp duties, or other things. [OOC - Farmers feel free to @sethome here.]
It is an autumn afternoon.
To the south, you see one person.
Gliding about are Byron, QuiGon, and Raspberry.
You see Farmer Main Tent here.
You notice Seriprotus asleep here.
Larisa and Aerrin are here.
Obvious exits:
Paved Road     Rorie's Cottage     Farm Yard

Graiham enters from the farmyard.

Aerrin pulls Snowflake up as they reach familar territory, her hands light on the reins. The runner tosses her head and tugs, and Aerrin allows her to lower her head to nibble at a stray patch of grass as the Master herself takes a moment to scan the familar scenery. The moment of nostalgia passes quickly, though, and she turns in her seat to peer toward the two apprentices. "Still alive, you two?" she questions.

"I shall never father children." is the somewhat wan comment of Morallen, sliding bonelessly from the rather choppy-strided gelding he was assigned, and giving the beast an exceedingly wary pat.

All the way down, Graiham's been sort of clinging to the saddle horn and proclaiming that someone intentionally gave him a mare with the jauntiest trot on the face of Pern, not to mention a tendency to throw her head and not a tie-down in sight. So Aerrin's question is met with chagrin. "I guess you could call it that. I don't suppose there's any chance we could WALK back, is there?" Getting down from the mare is a whole other adventure as she shuffles in step while Graiham tries to swing down.

"It would be terribly irresponsible of me to leave my apprentices behind, easy prey for holdless and wild animals, now wouldn't it?" Aerrin returns with an amused smile as she dismounts with ease and loops Snowflake's reins upward - evidently the mare is allowed to wander - Aerrin's taken her to the fields a time or two before.

Larisa has disconnected.

Morallen eyes his runnerbeast cautiously, before following Aerrin's example with the reins somewhat hesitantly. "What if I send my kid sister a firelizard, and get her to give us a lift back?" he tries, before eyeing the numbweed plants with a mild air of interest. "They look very... green." the non-Herbalist comments intelligently.

"Don't they," says Graiham after Morallen without bothering to pretend he knows what he's talking about. "So. Which ones are we supposed to - " He pauses to get jerked by the mare in one of her happy tosses of head. " - pick up?" he concludes, holding tightly to his own set of reigns lest the uppity mare go for a stroll without him.

"And how would the runners get home, then?" Aerrin questions, tone lecturing. "You'll survive another ride. If you can't, you need to get out and do a bit more activity, then." Her ramble trails off as she wanders toward the plants, bending to peer more closely. "Well.. I wouldn't suggest touching any of them anywhere you don't want numbed..."

"Easy, Master Aerrin ma'am," quips Morallen, gingerly making his way down the row of plants. "You can ride back, since you're so much better at it than us, and take our runnerbeasts in tow..." he trails off to give a more serious nod at Aerrin's caution, although a far-off look in hazel eyes suggests he's probably thinking of sitting on a few specimens before he undertakes the ride back home.

Graiham stays well away from the plants, keeping his hands on the reigns and thus out of any trouble. "So," he begins speculatively, "if we can't touch the stuff, how are we supposed to cart it all the way back to the Hall?" Seeing as his runner wants to go look at something near the edge of the field, he gets to go along as well, trying to keep her still but mostly failing.

"We /aren't/ carting it back," Aerrin replies with a stern glance over her shoulder as she crouches next to a plant. "No harvesting, remember? And I didn't say we couldn't touch it at all. Just not anywhere you don't want numbed." Well /duh/. That said, Aerrin reaches for her pack and tugs it toward her.

Morallen's idea about draconic transport not being shot down vocally, the elder of the two senior apprentices allows himself to continue hoping, giving the gelding a dirty look as he attempts to nibble some of the numbweed. "Daft beast." he mutters. "G'way from that... it's not to be taken internally... So... we're just looking at it, then?"

"So," begins Graiham, thoughtfully dubious, "we came all the way down here to LOOK at some numbweed?" He turns to eye his feisty mare for a moment, then looks back over to the Master with a minor degree of incredulity coloring his expression. toward Morallen, he adds, employing all his keen subterfuge for a stage whisper, "Y'know, I bet if you let him munch on some of that, he won't be fit to ride back to the Hall..."

"I /heard/ that," Aerrin throws over her shoulder with a frown. "And yes, we did. It'd be rather bad to haul a harvest workgroup up here only to find it's not ready, wouldn't it?" Aerrin points out firmly. A few moments of rummaging in her pack produces a vial of redwort, and she tosses toward Graiham - simply assuming that he's going to catch. "Here. Wash up." IE - you're going to have to touch the plant. Oh, the horror.

Morallen prudently moves to the far side of his runnerbeast, ostensibly to keep the chestnut gelding from consuming any more of the harvest, but also putting him out of range of redwort-tossing. He hopes. "So... now what do we do?"

The fact that Graiham catches the vial is pure luck, as it hits him lightly in the chest and he makes a quick grab to catch it before it falls to the ground, still holding his mare's reigns with his free hand. What skills he has! "Why?" he calls to Aerrin suspiciously, shooting a glance to Morallen just in case he has a little more insight.

"/Because/, I'm going to teach the pair of you to recognize numbweed that's ready to be harvested," Aerrin states with exagerated patience that says quite clearly that it ought to be /obvious./ "You to, Morallen," she orders.

Morallen's expression is rather saturnine as he abandons the runnerbeast with a friendly mutter of "Fat lot of help /you/ were..." and obediantly trots over to wait his turn with the vial of redwort. "Well, now that I know that, of course I'll help out."

Graiham puts the reigns under one arm so that his hands are free. It's not a very dextrous way to go about this chore, but he sets to it nonetheless, spilling a considerable about of redwort on the ground before he hands the vial to Morallen. "What'm I supposed to do with this nag?" he calls toward Aerrin.

Aerrin ponders Graiham's mare for a moment with a frown. "Well.. If you leave her loose, she'll probably stick around Snowflake." Uh huh. Let's trust /that/ decision. "Or you can take her over to the fence and tie the reins. Either one." A sharp frown begins, and deepens as she catches sight of the wasted redwort. "And /shardit/, apprentice, be /careful!/" And Aerrin actually /sounds/ angry, now - something Graiham probably hasn't heard before.

Morallen winces slightly at Aerrin's tone. Erk. Something is marring the peaceful vibes of the field, man... something called AngryAerrin. The happy beach bum of a young man can't allow /that/ to happen. "Begging your pardon, Master Aerrin ma'am..." he ventures cautiously. "But Graiham kind of had his hands full there... he probably didn't try to spill."

Graiham looks duly cowed by the anger, but mutters under his breath even as Morallen makes a more appropriate explanation, "Excuuse me. Try putting on redwort with a jerky mare's reigns and..." Yeah; you get the idea. He loops the rains loosely for now, and watches to see if the mare is going to run off; having found a patch of grass nearby, she seems content to stick around. For now.

"Then get rid of the jerky mare's reins first, hmm?" Aerrin responds tightly with a carefully-controlled tone. "Redwort takes too much effort to take and is too valuable for you to be dumping it on the ground because you can't figure out which to take care of first." And that easily, she's fine again - the lecture, evidently, let out enough steam. "Morallen? Try to take a bit more care, please."

Morallen isn't exactly sure what he's supposed to be taking more care with, but gives an "Aye, ma'am," none the less as he applies the redwort oil by pouring a little in one palm, then rubbing them together and over his hands.

Blah blah blah. Graiham continues grumbling to himself, but has the decorum to keep it from travelling to Aerrin's ears, anyway. "So. Enlighten us, Master Aerrin," he adds expectantly.

Aerrin takes the redwort to cover her own hands - /carefully/ - and sends a sharp gaze towad Morallen. Keep sounding like herbs are a painful experience, and Aerrin /won't/ like you. "Take a leaf and bend it carefully.. you want to watch to see how the sap oozes out." Oh-so-technical.

Morallen just said 'Aye, ma'am'? He apparently can't win today. Ah well. At least he isn't grumbling. Outwardly. As ordered, he crouches and selects a particularly leafy plant, bending it very slightly, and then with steadily increasing pressure until the promised sap begins to flow. "

"This one isn't giving very much," he pronounces.

Graiham keeps half his attention on his mare, who's straying along, chewing busily on green stuff that - hopefully - isn't part of the crop. "How much are we looking for?" he asks, following Morallen's lead and kneeling down next to a plant to snag a leaf between his thumb and forefinger.

Aerrin hovers over Morallen, expression twisted into a thoughtful frown. "Well...That one's probably not quite ready... but here, look..." She reaches to grab a slightly greener leaf of the same plant, bending it slightly. The sap, as expected, flows more quickly in a thick ooze from the arrow-shaped leaf. "This one is ready... what do you think? Is the rest of the plant close to harvesting, or is that one branch more mature than the others?"

Morallen pulls back to sit seiza and examine the plant in question from a better distance and angle. "It... looks like it's more that branch and its' fellows." he decides at last. "It looks like maybe that side of the plant is getting better light, since the other half has that tall one right next to it."

Graiham leans to one side, peering toward where Aerrin and Morallen are camped to try and get a look at what they're seeing. He squeezes his leaf a little longer, screwing up his expression as he watches the sap ooze out before he pulls away his fingers and shakes them off violently. Sticky sap. Yay.

Aerrin nods in agreement. "I'd say so.. Graiham?" She turns, moving the few steps toward him. "Does yours look ready?" Now she's peering over his shoulder, dipping a finger down to test the sap with recognition born of turns of checking numbweed plants. By this point, Aerrin can nearly tell just by the look of the leaves.

Graiham's still a little hung up about his sticky fingers, and so is a touch delayed in responding to Aerrin. "Sure," he guesses straightening up and moving a little to the side so Aerrin can get a better look. "I mean, the sap seems to be pretty copious," he adds, finally giving up and just swiping the lingering sap on his trousers.

Morallen flashes Graiham a quick grin. "Copious sap, eh? Practicing writing case reports?" he jokes, attempting to make the mood of the excursion a little less solemn. "Patient displayed copious discharge of numbing sap when flesh was irritated. Postulate defensive mechanism?"

Celeste enters from the farmyard.

N'sync appears from ::between:: in a cloak of dark blue and a flash of polished talons.

Kylianna enters from the farmyard.

Aerrin rolls her eyes, though an amused laugh follows. "Yeah, that one looks ready. Now.. we seem to have a plant that is and a plant that could use another sevenday or two. Judging from these two, what do you think of the rest of the field?" she asks, completely emerged in lecture mode.

"They've /gotta/ be here somewhere. They told me they were coming." Celeste's voice arrives in the fields before she does. After a moment, the girl's form appears. "Look! Kylianna! And... riders! They're over there!" She motions toward the gathering, and breaks into a trot. "Hi," she pants, out of breath, as she draws closer to the Healers. "This rider..." Pause. "I dunno his name. But he was looking for Morallen, and I knew you were here, so we came." She leans forward, beaming. "And I rode on a /dragon/." Hah. No runners for Celeste.

A familar rider - to some - appears, expression tense and stride purposeful rather than his usual swanky saunter. "Morallen!" N'sync calls sharply as soon as the apprentice is sighted. "A word with you." His voice is tense, and the rather ominous advent of his arrival is exagerated by the looming bulk of Backstreeth behind him.

Ever-so-thoughtfully, like he has even the first clue what he's talking about, Graiham says, "Well. I'd have to say that the whole field could probably wait at least a few more days, so that we don't wind up having to harvest a bunch of under-ripe plants." To Morallen, he offers a sidelong smirk and might have said something except that Celeste decided to burst onto the scene, and now he has to be indignant. THEY rode on a dragon; how fair is that?

Auri enters from the farmyard.

Morallen rubs his jawline thoughtfully, a touch of light stubble reminding him that he forgot to shave after last night's shift in the Infirmary ended. "I'd say the field looks mixed... And I agree with Graiham's reasonin-- Oh good skies, it's you again, is it?" /Such/ respect for dragonriders he has, neh? Well, not this particular one again. "What is it this time, did my kid sister threaten to geld you?"

"Gelding?" Auri perks up. "I watched a gelding once. Such pretty stuff comes out of it, all that nice shiny decorative stuff you can wear. Or wait...was that welding? I forget." The little greenrider plants her feet, throwing a wide beam to everyone in attendance. "Did you find who you were looking for, Sync-y?"

"Yes, dear. Dragons. That they are." Again with the droll tone to her voice, but Kylianna's considerably perked up as she strolls 'cross the field. A faint tilt of the eyebrow is offered Aerrin-ward. "My favorite Master. Good day." Of course, another quick look is cast at N'sync... Mrowl. Purr. Pity she's old.

Aerrin nods as Graiham speaks. "You're probably right... so by the time we get a group together, it'll be ready for us to be back up and..." Her earlier strict frown appears as the riders.. and Celeste and Kylianna.. appear. "Can I help you?" she questions sternly, drawing herself up to her full height to stare at N'sync - it's really too bad that the rider's tall, lanky form still hovers over her. "Kyli? Celeste? What's going on?"

Celeste nods happily, mostly in Graiham's direction, then Aerrin's. "A dragon. Yep. This rider guy," Again a hand is waved at N'sync. "He was in a hurry. And the other rider girl was with him, so me 'n Kylianna brought them," she explains. This is pretty much what Celeste already said, but it never hurts to rephrase.

Miravith enters from the farmyard.

"She did /not/," N'sync answers tightly. His gaze on Morallen is rather distasteful - the Healer apprentice is a neccessary evil, at the moment, and one that's making the usually cool and collected brownrider somewhat nervous. "I need to /talk/ to you," he states pointedly. Aerrin's question is shrugged off with a quick glance, and wonder of wonders, N'sync doesn't bother with his trademarked Smile of Boyish Charm

Graiham opts to occupy himself by going to collect his mare, who's starting to wander away now that she's eaten everything in the immediate vicinity. Seeing as he seems to be the only person who doesn't know the riders, he's much happier watching from afar and letting them all sort out whatever it is they're all doing here.

"I am," notes Morallen to N'sync easily, although with flickers of fraternal overprotectiveness starting to leap in the backs of his eyes. "In the middle of a bit of a training lesson right now... you'll have to ask Master Aerrin if you can borrow me."

Celeste doesn't know the riders any better than Graiham, she's just nosey. And noisey, too. "Sorry if we interrupted Master Aerrin, but the rider seemed to act like it was important." The apprentice pauses and flickers a gaze to Kylianna. "Besides, Kyli said we could come." When in doubt, blame the mentor. Her job is done, and with that final addition, Celeste wanders oh-so absently Graiham-wards. "What're you doing?"

Aerrin's eyes flick toward the wandering Graiham, and then toward her own runner, who's starting to get a bit antsy as a looming brown dragon and another of the green persuasion make their appreance. "Graiham and I can finish up..." she trails off a bit uncertainly as N'sync is now studied. "If you're fine with talking to him, Morallen, feel free..." She shakes her head, turning to Celeste. "Checking out numbweed... see if Graiham can remember how to tell if it's ready?" she suggests with a somewhat wicked smile.

Graiham looks across the intervening distance toward Aerrin with a very, very bland expression: Gee, thanks. "Yeah, we're checking out the plants to see if they're ready to be harvested. When we're not chasing down stupid, feisty runners, that is." Appropriately, the mare tosses her head right then and Graiham gets jerked rudely to one side as he's still clinging to the reigns. Doesn't he look thrilled to be here?

Backstreeth is evidently tiring of his Looming, and instead decides to check out the mares. His large brown head swings toward Graiham and his already-skittish runner with interest as his rider approaches Morallen. A curt nod is given to Aerrin, and N'sync's brows rise expectantly. "Now, apprentice?" Oh yes. Way to get on his good side.

"/Senior/ apprentice, thank you." drawls Morallen, not generally one to stand on his nebulous rank, but willing to make an exception for the brownrider. "And if you're going to order me around like some kitchen drudge, I don't see why I ought to feel fine with talking to you." Ooooh, the affable beach bum has a bit of a temper peeking out of hazel eyes which are suddenly sharp and intent, although not mean. "But since you probably aren't going to take no for an answer, let's take a walk."

"How can you tell when numbweed is ready?" Celeste questions dutifully, beaming at Graiham with an honestly interested expression. "Do you -- " She breaks off, to eye Backstreeth's large head. "Oh. Hi," she greets the dragon. "Graiham, this is the dragon I rode here! Isn't that neat?" She eyes Graiham's mare. "Is that what you rode here?" Celeste's ride looming behind Graiham's ride makes a rather interesting picture indeed. Thank Faranth for that extra pediatrics class.

"Yes," says Graiham drily. "Very neat." He might have thought it was neater if he hadn't been struggling to keep ahold of his stupid runner who's that much more agitated to have the brown looming so near. "Don't suppose you could ask him to wait over there - " He waves vaguely off in some other direction. " - could you? Then I'll show you how to tell." Because it just won't work while he's arguing with a mare that wants to bolt.

Aerrin moves to grab her runner's reins before the mare decides that Backstreeth and Miravith are a bad combination. The skittish mare rears slightly, but the Master tugs her downward firmly, leaving the others to themselves.

Backstreeth certainly isn't listening to Graiham's complaints, and N'sync's much too busy to pay attention to the apprentice. Consequently, the brown lowers his head to runner level and peers intently toward her. Hm. Friend or foe? Or food? N'sync, on the other hand, nods curtly and somehow restrains himself from a sharp comment in reply. "Walk." And then a tilt of his head, to indicate that Morallen should lead the way. Serious buisness, this.

Celeste blinks at Graiham. "Could /I/ ask him to wait? I just rode him. He's not mine. You could ask him just as easily." She turns to face Backstreeth, and bobs her head in a polite greeting -- looking oddly formal for herself. "Brown, sir, would you mind waiting a little ways away? I think the runner's a little nervous." She beams at the brown, then turns to wrinkle her nose up at Graiham. "See? Just like that." No awe in this one, despite it being her first encounter. "But it doesn't mean he'll /listen/."

Morallen snorts slightly at the continued high-handedness from the brownrider, but, biting his tongue in forbearance, the young man jerks his head in the direction of the roadway. And leads off, hands in his pockets.

N'sync is silent and sullen as he trecks after Morallen with swift strides. Backstreeth is left behind to Loom as he chooses. The brown's attention shifts from runner to Celeste, and with a loud whuffle, he settles his massive head next to the girl, eyeing her upclose and personal. Hi there.

You go to the Paved Road.

N'sync slips in from the Fields.

Morallen's shoulders are tense, and his hands are still jammed gracelessly into his pocket as he marches along, but he attempts to keep himself fairly even-tempered as he flickers an eyebrow and asks of the brownrider "So, now that we're away from prying ears, what's so important that you had to track me down across half of Pern, brownrider?"

"Your sister is making me slowly lose my mind," N'sync states the instant they're out of earshot of the others. He stops, turning to face Morallen with a frankly pitiful expression crossing his face as his hands shove into his own pockets. "And I can't figure out who else to ask."

Morallen turns to face N'sync with a hard look on his face, obviously disbelieving, until the physical therapist reads something in the other man's posture, or the expression on his face, and his own features soften a little to look wry. "So you came to me for advice...?" A low whistle. "Brownrider, when it comes to women, I'm just as clueless as any other guy. But could you give a little more detail?" he asks. "I'll give trying to analyse my sister a shot."

"Who else am I supposed to ask?" N'sync questions somewhat sharply. "Everyone at the weyr is convinced that my motives must be shady, and every time I talk to.. your sister, she twists everything I've ever said into something sordid and shallow..." And none of that is his own fault.

Morallen continues to walk, taking his hands out of his pockets, and clasping them behind his back. "Hmm." he puzzles thoughtfully. "Well, what the folks at the weyr think is likely based off your reputation. I can't help you there. But what's Wyn up to, to drive you here to talk to me? Last I heard, she was being frigid, but not quite maddening. She change tactics or something?"

N'sync laughs shortly and picks up his pace again. "To say the least. That's what's got me so confused." His head turns to regard Morallen with an expression that's almost pleading. "She decided a few days ago that the only way to work this.. thing.. out was to.." He pauses, swallowing hard as if, wonder of wonders, the word were almost distasteful. "Have a fling."

Morallen struggles manfully not to burst out with an 'Ewww!' or something similar as highly unsought images of N'sync and his sister... entangled... dart through his head. After a moment of mentally reciting the most dry and dull textbook he can remember, the disturbing image has been forgotten, and he walks on again, swiping his hair out of his face. "So forgive me, brownrider, but I wasn't under the impression that you, uh, disapproved of that sort of thing." he notes, playing for time as he flips through a few data chains. "Huh. Well, I think I can guess what she's up to, but she'll kill me for telling you."

N'sync turns angry eyes on Morallen, and his steps halt. He watches the apprentice take a few more steps before he speaks. "You've known me for all of... what? A fifteen minute conversation? And already you can make judgements about what I am and am not opposed to?" His head shakes angrily, but Morallen's next words send him scurrying to catch up again, lengthening his lanky stride. "I won't tell her you told me," he tries.

"Look, N'sync, you aren't some unknown dragonrider who never pokes his head out of his weyr but for Fall." notes Morallen with a level gaze. "You've got a reputation for bedding more than a few of the ladies. I'm hardly offended by that, I'm weyrbred myself. So yeah, of course I've got an impression of you. Everyone has impressions of everybody else. It's how people work." the Healer philosophizes, waving one hand casually as he continues to walk. "And just not telling her isn't good enough. Swear on your name's honour you won't pass this on to another soul, and I'll tell you. My sister's personal life isn't fodder for the gossips, you hear."

N'sync isn't happy with Morallen's answer, but he's much too curious about whatever Morallen's willing to share to argue. His displeasure shows on his face, though, as he turns a sullen nod toward the apprentice. "On my lifemate," he swears solemnly - with only a slight sense of the irony that swearing on his name's honor would have held. "I don't intend to drag her through the mud, you know."

Morallen halts in his walking to regard N'sync with a steady and possibly unsettling gaze, all the sharp intelligence usually so artfully concealed behind his hale-fellow-well-met ways brought to bear on the brownrider, as he searches his face for signs of untruth. At last he nods. "Right. I think I actually believe you about that, strangely enough. Well, where to start? Wyn, as you probably know, is no stranger to the, er, more intimate aspects of life. She was a week past fifteen when she had her first time. I know this because it was with a bronzerider who was ten years her senior, had just broken up with his weyrmate, had a reputation for being a bit of a playboy, and used the fact that she was shook up after our Da'd gotten a bad score for the first time she could remember... Seeing any similarities here?" he asks after trailing off.

N'sync isn't.. but that's because the prettyboy brownrider can be rather dense at times, as well. His brow knits, forehead furrowing, and he stares at Morallen, halting as well. And then, suddenly, something clicks on, and his eyes light. "It... didn't end well?" he finally asks after a moment, very, very softly.

In the skies overhead, Miravith takes off from Farm Yard

In the skies overhead, Miravith floats ::between:: calmly. She'll miss you. Flutter.

Morallen shakes his head, just as softly. "No." he agrees quietly. "Not at all." His voice returns to conversational norm as he elabourates, with the odd slashing gesture with his hand. "In part, that's my fault. I was eighteen at the time, and when I found out he'd loved her and left her and she was in tears, I marched over, gave him a piece of my mind and a broken nose." he sums up. "Did I mention he was the Weyrleader's favourite son? Long and short of it was, I ended up getting my arse booted off to Healer Hall, and Wyn was left without her closest friend when she needed me most. I didn't see her for another 4 turns, and when I did, she's the Wyn you see today."

N'sync mutters something under his breath, much too soft for the healer to make out - probably something about the Wyn he sees today. "Screwed her up royally, then?" he finally questions with a sullen, rather disappointed frown. "And left her.. what? Not wanting to trust anyone? Not wanting to trust me?" He shakes his head, and turns away angrily. "How in Faranth's name am I supposed to compete with that?" he questions, voice growing louder. "I can't fight her past! Not when she's determined to dismiss me categorically."

Morallen breathes in and holds it for a moment, considering. "No... left her with the idea that she can't trust herself." he ponders. "You remind her too much of H'dar. But I think she's smart enough to realize that. And that, brownrider, is why I think she propositioned you. She's trying to get over that, and perhaps clear her judgement of you." the lanky healer theorizes. "Don't get a swelled head, though." he cautions. "That's just her way. She doesn't like knowingly having blind spots."

"Swelled head?" N'sync rounds on Morallen rather angrily. "Swelled head? I'm supposed to be.. what.. grateful? Honored? That she decided we needed a sevenday or so of sleeping together to clear her system?" he questions harshly.

"Oh, for Faranth's sake, brownrider!" snaps Morallen suddenly, pausing again and wheeling to face N'sync. "Quit snapping at me every time I say something that doesn't perfectly support your line of thinking! It's bloody wearing when you're trying to have a bloody civil conversation." And just as suddenly, the storm passes, and Morallen walks on. "She's giving you a chance, don't you see?"

N'sync falls into a somewhat stunned silence and stops in his tracks. His expression is open as he stares at Morallen, and he shakes his head slowly, forlornly. "No.. no, I don't see. What I see is that she's convinced herself that if she and I.. if I agreed to her proposition, she could rid herself of me.. love 'em and leave 'em, don't they say?"

"There is that chance," agrees Morallen steadily, but with a calm look in his hazel eyes. "But just because she's convinced herself doesn't mean that's the way it has to be. You've got nothing to lose, and a lot to gain, from where I'm standing." Because his kid sister is a prize catch, you know. Disagree at your own peril. "I know you're probably not used to the concept, brownrider, but put a little effort into winning her over. Not just showy lines and good moves in the sack, put a little work into trying to get her to open up. Keep your temper, if you can. Share a little about yourself, too. I'm no expert on the heart, but I do know that trust has to flow from both sides."

N'sync watching Morallen quietly. His hands twist into each other in uncertainty as he speaks, and then lift to brush hair away from his eyes. "You think I should, then? Because I have to tell you... I'm not sure. She accuses me of jumping at anything female. Doesn't this.. wouldn't going to bed with her just prove her point?" Nevermind just how oh-so-very-much he wants to.

Morallen rubs at the stubble on his jawline thoughtfully. "Hmmm... you know, I don't think so. After all, she asked you. You, from what I've heard, haven't offered a single pick-up line in her direction in months. So she's thrown down the glove, you picking it up wouldn't count." he theorizes. "Or at least that's what my other sister explained to me were The Rules."

"She has rules?" N'sync questions, now rubbing a frustrated hand through scruffy hair. He sighs heavily, nodding. "Of course she does. So.. accept. Win her?" He's talking to himself more than anything, now, and nodding as he does. "Maybe I'll.. maybe I'll stop and see her tonight?"

"All women." notes Morallen in a tone of tolerant puzzlement. "Have rules. And apparently the rules change whenever they want them to. But yeah, that's one of the more constant rules." he sums up, before raking his hand through his own hair. "It's your call, what you do," he notes. "You're a big boy. I wish you luck, though. I think you'll try and be good for her, at least."

N'sync nods slowly, thoughtfully, and then straightens. "I suppose I should give you a ride home?" he questions finally, with a somewhat sheepish smile. "Backstreeth says the others left already.. something about spooking the runners."

"She likes to dance, you know." adds Morallen consideringly. "She really loves it, but it's the rare fellow that actually works up the nerve to ask her..." he trails off to blink, and then chuckle. "Yeah, a lift would be appreciated. I work night shifts in the Infirmary, and I need to go pass out for a bit before that."

"Dance?" N'sync questions in surprise. If there's one thing he can do, it's dance. And... well. We won't mention his other talents. "Oh... right. Backstreeth's still in the fields. Just a..." he trails off, eyes unfocusing, and when they focus again, the brown is loping toward them down the road. "Go ahead up.."