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Harper's Tale 2 - Wednesday, October 09, 2002, 8:16 PM
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Quiet Corners
Thick woolen tapestries dull the noise from the rest of the caverns, turning this well-lit little room into a welcome escape. The stairs up place it against the bowl wall somewhere above the living caverns, carpeted against the winters chill or left as cool stone floor in summer. Some high and narrow windows can be opened to the world outside, or secured with their heavy metal-sided shutters and blue-threaded curtains.
Glowlight gleams, brightening the well-cushioned stone couches and lighting the weyr residents half-finished projects: knitting undone, sewing only started, leathers being worked soft, and even a hide of sketches or half-finished Thread-chart spread out across one of the tables.
Curled up amongst the baskets of wool are four firelizards.
Obvious exits:
Inner Stairs

Fyria slips in from the little door.

Wyn is once again surrounded by a plethora of half-finished scatter pillows, much like Jillian Jiggs and her little stuffed pigs. Wyn, however, prefers pillows to porcines, and so is busy plying her needle to finish off a delicate fog grey one.

"...and if you even /do/ that again, you're going to lose more than the 3 marks you lost the other night..." Fyria glares at someone outside of hte entryway before shoving the curtains aside and slipping into the little room. "Idiotic bluerider..." She glances around for empty pillow space, spots Wyn, and tosses a half-wave at her. "Hey Wyn."

"Are you sure you ought to sit so close to me?" is Wyn's greeting, dryly amused although decently welcoming. "You know what happened to Ciera, Siannen and Skylark after all..." The grey pillow is given further attention, before she looks up again to survey her clutchmate. "Aside from that, how are things?"

Fyria gives Wyn a rather blank look. "Ciera, Sia---wha?" Pause. "Oh /Faranth/...you're not kidding." With a wry grin, she edges away a half-step, only to flop onto a pile of pillows across from Wyn. Gently. "I swear, Wyn... I'm at the point where I'd /welcome/ that. Being pregnant is not fun. And that's how I am." Fy nosewrinkles before continuing. "No klah, no wine, no ::between::....it sucks, plain and simple."

"Don't welcome it /quite/ yet," warns Wyn, suffering a momentary lapse back into Healerish thinking, along with a pricked thumb from an erring pin. Sucking on the wounded digit, a twinkle appears in her eyes, however, and she comments around it that "True... but it /also/ means you can engage in certain /other/ activites without worrying about a pregnancy..." She offers nothing so overt as a wink, merely a simple quick widening of her eyes.

Fyria rolls a look towards her fellow clutchmate. "This is true Wyn, but eventually I'm going to look like an egg myself, only with arms and legs to boot. Not an attractive thing to wake up to the morning after. Especially naked." She runs her fingers over her only slightly bulging stomach, fingers tapping softly. With a chin-nudge, she asks "What about you? How're things going on your end?"

"Ah now," chides Wyn sagely and with a quiet smile in her eyes. "I still consider love a mutual delusion, but to continue my theory, I /do/ think it's a sufficiently /strong/ delusion that those so affected tend to be drawn more to personal qualities than to looks." This Wynnish piece of advice delivered, she ties off the finished seam and eyes the scatter pillow critically. "It needs something more," she muses, before turning her gaze back to Fyria. "Myself? I have more scrolls to read and less N'sync to avoid, Vorkoroth flies well, and I have three half-siblings all living in the weyr here now. So therefore I'm quite content."

Fyria's lips crack into a wry, knowing, gossipy little smile at the mention of N'sync's name. "Ah yes, so I've heard some...discussions...regarding you two." Snagging a pillow herself to hug against her chest, she leans forward a bit with an eyebrow wiggle. "Less N'sync to avoid, eh? Did you manage to, how shall I put it, shrink his ego a bit...among other things?" She means nothing by this, of course. Truly.

Wyn looks elegantly pained. "Kindly do /not/," she urges, "Refer to us as a 'two' of any sort. And I tried, but my surefire plans rather backfired. His ego is intact, but I can make him quite lovely and angry. But he doesn't go /away/ when angry." she shakes her head. "Masochistic tendancies, perhaps."

Fyria's smile simply widens at Wyn's reactions. "Now now, now need to get all..huffed. Besides, so the boy likes you?" At least he doesn't like Fyria. Thank Faranth. "Tell him you're not into...stiff men, so to speak. See if he takes that as a final hint?" She runs her fingertips along the whip by her side and adds "Or, alternatively, you could borrow this." Cough.

"Fyria," notes Wyn, more dryly still. "You've never /seen/ me 'huffed'. But I have indeed told him he's not my type. In no uncertain terms. /He/ rather resents being typecast, I'm afraid..." She trails off to eye the whip with a quiet, but completely unholy amusement. "I might just... Or would he like it too much?"

Fyria shrugs as she reclines amongst the pillows behind her. "He might. Certain men /are/ attracted to such things, or so I've heard." Toying with it's tasseled end, she winks. "However, if you manage to flick it just so that it leaves a lovely little red mark on his rear, I think he might think twice about harassing you again."

Wyn drums her fingertips together consideringly, seated cross-leg'd amongst the pillows with her back straight and the air of one meditating hanging about her. "I shall have to consider this further... First, I need to determine /why/ he's acting so, before I can properly rectify the situation, after all. Tactics." In an ex-Mindhealerish sort of way. This /is/ the brain that produced the Boot Chessboard, after all.

Fyria cackles audibly at this, tossing her head back with a smile. "You know, Wyn... one of these days, you're going to meet some guy who's going to totally floor you, and actually leave you speechless. But in a good way. /Then/ you might be coming to me for this, but for other reasons?" Her expression goes sly again, followed by a sigh. "Tell me birthing isn't going to be a pain. Literally."

"Mmm, perhaps," is Wyn's comment to that, once again cool and serene although humour remains in her eyes. She considers the pillow again, but inspiration strikes not, and she lowers it again to her lap as a sly look to match Fyria's. "But to be honest, stone floors are /most/ uncomfortable places to be, when a male is involved in the equation." She settles her nascent humour back into it's jar to answer Fyria's last comment, though. "It... isn't exactly /comfortable/... but there /are/ techniques to make it more bearable."

Fyria pales, though ever so slightly. "Techniques? Like what?" She fidgets a little, trying to get more comfortable, before reaching for and tucking another pillow behind her. "I mean, I've seen folks give birth before, but... either way, it looked bloody. And shardin' /painful/..." Fy nibbles on her lower lip a bit worriedly.

"A caution first off," Wyn lifts a hand. "I haven't been a Healer for a decent period of time now. I was also no Journeyman. Kariel can no doubt fetch you scrolls detailing the /exact/ techniques." Qualification made, Wyn returns to her lotus position on the couch and proceeds with her telling. "There are... breathing exercises one can learn to manage the pain. One can also try a water birth. I've heard those can be quite effective. There are such things as mental visualization techniques, and herbal remedies such as red raspberry leaf teas. Oh, and /walk/ as much as possible."

Fyria nods slowly, though she's quite focused on what /Wyn/ has to say. After all. Wyn is a fellow woman. "I know, but he can get rather... overprotective at times. In other words, if he could keep me all propped up and fed for the rest of this thing, he would." Her expression is soft, however, as she looks out towards the bowl fondly. Fy grins back at Wyn though, then blinks. "You think I should walk?"

"Well, that's when you get Urzketh to leave him stuck in the weyr while you do what you please, now isn't it?" replies Wyn with the utter lack of humour that can only mean she's joking. "But yes, walking is definitely advisable. When you are /in/ labour it often helps it to progress, as well as loosening things. And the more loose, the easier the child can pass through, and the less pain. Walking /during/ the pregnancy is good for circulation, and can help prefent such things as varicose veins..."

"Loosens things? Loosens /what/ things?" Fyria's eyes widen a bit, just a faint hint of Healers-are-indeed-mad-and-I'm-weyrmated-to-one in her expression. "The reason why I'm pregnant is because, well...things were loose enough!" And no, we are /not/ going further than that.

Wyn rolls her eyes slightly, a hint of Non-Healers-just-don't-GET-it apparent in the movement. But then proceeds to quite calmly explain "The muscles of the pelvis, the vaginal walls, the abdomen... The ligaments holding things in place as well. All will be stretched by the process of passing something the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of a cantaloupe. If they are loose, they will stretch more easily."

Well, if anyone doubted Fyria could turn the colour of white marble, they won't doubt anymore. "Good Faranth Wyn, you don't have to go into /that/ much detail..." Unfortunately, Fyria's imagination has run off with her, and the bluerider utterly /grimaces/. "Shells...isn't there any other way to get it out of me? Like...just between it out of me? Or? Something?" Please?

"Put your head between your knees if you feel faint," offers Wyn helpfully, reaching over to pat Fyria on the shoulder gingerly. "But honestly, would you rather have me lie to you, and be utterly unprepared?" she defends herself, she of the unfailing taking of contraceptives. "And no, betweening the baby out is alas not an option as of yet... But for your comfort, I might note that the discomfort can be managed, and that the human body does not remember pain. Once it's over, it will be /over/. And you'll have a new infant to coo over.

Fyria wrinkles her nose, batting a hand at Wyn, though with a smile. "I'm fine, I'm fine... shells, I've been /stabbed/ for Faranth's sake. A little birth won't... get to me." Steely determination sets in, and she grins. "Too bad we can't between babies out. Be a lot less bloodier. Though you're right, I will have a little darling, be it girl or boy, yes?" Is that a motherly glow about her? Perhaps. "Do you think you'll ever have kids, Wyn?"

Wyn eyes the motherly glow suspiciously, well aware that the next step after that is a matchmaking one. Serenely, she attempts to dodge. "Myself? Have children?" A shake of her head, somewhat amused as she squashes the pillow on her lap. "Are you sure you want to think about the consequences of creatures carrying /my/ blood running about Pern?"

Fyria's smiles simply widens as she waggles a finger towards Wyn. "Now now, I thought the same thing - and look where I wound up. You never know... the very next person to come walking through those curtains could be your future weyrmate and father of your children..." She glances quickly at the curtains, than back to Wyn. "And trust me - if /T'am/ can have kids, certainly yours will be little dolls."

"If it's one of the kitchen drudges that emerges through the curtain next," notes Wyn. "I think I shall be forced to laugh." She returns to the conversation with a little lift of her shoulders. "Ah, I believed T'am proved capable of siring offspring, yes... that doesn't mean the children will be stellar citizens of Pern... Although I admit the triplets are amusing."

As if on cue... a familar, lanky form appears in the doorway, waltzing with a purpose that fades with remarkable swiftness the instant Wyn is indentified. N'sync's sure smile slides away, leaving only a rather sad, wary expression. Aw.

"Well look at that Wyn! Faranth be praised - it's the man himself..." Fy's eyes narrow with blatant amusement, a slight nod given towards the rider. "We were just discussing you, N'sync. And your preference for leathers of /all/ types...." Idly, she fingers the whip clipped to her belt, but says nothing more; instead, a glance is given towards Wyn. The ball is inevitably in your court, my dear.

"Fyria, my dear esteemed clutchmate and fellow bluerider," drawls Wyn, after a split-second flinch as she processes N'sync's arrival. "I believe I shall skip laughter and simply hurt you. Hello N'sync. No, I haven't changed enough to care for you yet. Goodbye, N'sync." She then promptly turns back to the pillow she'd been ignoring. Pillows are excellent props.

N'sync stares at Wyn coldly for a moment. "Believe it or not, I have other reasons for passing through this room than stalking /you/, my darling ice queen," he states with equal iciness before a short gaze is tossed toward Fyria, and he stalks out. Evidently he doesn't appreciate having the entire weyr laughing at him.

Fyria leans her head on her hand, elbow resting on yet another, firmer pillow, as she watches N'sync's little operatic display. She finger-waggles a wave after his departing self, only to turn a stern, yet amused, look upon Wyn. "Wyn, tsk tsk. I think you hurt the poor man's feelings!" The goal is to /hurt/ the man.

"Good." replies Wyn shortly from amongst her pillows on the couch. "Kindly be about it, then." He's already on his way out, so Wyn feels quite safe about firing a parting shot at the brownrider's heels. Especially when the only likely comeback is 'Yeah! I will!' She calmly returns to chatting with Fyria. "Of course I did. Would /you/ want to sleep with someone who treats you like that? As soon as he leaves pursuing me in favour of pursuing someone else and ignoring mr, I can go back to civilly ignoring him. It worked /well/ that way."

Fyria cants her head sideways a little and gestures from the empty doorway towards Wyn. "How exactly did this little...tiff...between you two start, anyway? Forgive me - I'm rather out of sorts considering /someone/..." Names shall remain nameless... "...has been keeping an ever close eye upon me...." A snort is heard from the bowl. So much for nameless.

Wyn looks up from her pillow-construction to turn her hand over and examine her fingernails for a moment instead. Assured that they remain neat, short, and clean, she gives another little twitch of her shoulders, signifying a shrug. "Oh, simply enough. After the Firestar Fall, I was in a weak emotional state and N'sync took advantage of that. We slept together. The morning after, I had returned to myself and gave him his walking papers. Words were exchanged, and he's been fixated on me ever since." she sums up, before fidgeting with a bit of corded trim. "I believe he fails to understand why I am upset about such a thing."

Fyria listens quite intently, offering appropriate nods as needed. "So. The sly wher took advantage of you at your weakest, and suddenly finds himself caught instead? How ironic." She fingers the cording on the edge of her pillow a little, only to add "To be honest, the boy should be lucky you didn't serve more than walking papers to him. In other words, something on a silver platter..." Ahem.

Larnat comes up the stairs.

"I was," admits Wyn. "Sorely tempted to at one point. Alas that I'm attempting to keep to my old healer's Oaths as much as possible." She looks a little troubled over something as the recollection brings the morning-after scene back to her attention. "Still... At one point he muttered something... couldn't quite make out what it was... Bah, it's ridiculous anyways. So," she changes the subject, picking up her needle again. "I never /did/ congratulate you and Kariel on weyrmating. Although I suppose it was inevitable enough to be expected."

Oh no, Wyn's not sidestepping this topic. Fyria's curious. Fyria's pregnant. Amazing what hormones will do to one's persistence. "Something? What do you think he muttered? Come /on/, Wyn!" Fyria grabs a smaller pillow and flings it towards the girl with a smile. "You brought it up, you /have/ to tell me!"

Mutterings? From older-sister Wyn? Larnat has no excuses of pregnancy, however convenient they are (we all know Fyria's probably just nosy, of course), but Larnat's guilty to the same. "Wyn. Fyria. Talking about N'sync?" Lar'd say something else, but those rolls held in the basket which lies in the crook of her arm must be digested at some point, so she pops one in.

Wyn catches the pillow and squashes it next to the other one, before calmly continuing to sew. "Well, since if I don't tell, you'll likely sit on me..." she drawls, hoping that hormonal shrieks of outrage will drown out the next quiet and quickly-spoken words. "WewerearguingandIaskedwhyinFaranth'snameheshouldbeconcernedaboutmesosuddenly. And I /think/ he said 'Who said it was sudden'. Hullo Larnat, are those fresh rolls? Fyria, have you tried Larnat's rolls, they're marvelous."

"So, the boy has liked you since he first set eyes on you then? Awww, Wyn.... N'sync has a thing for you! I think it's sweet, personally..." Fyria does tuck this information into the recesses of her mind, for discussion later. "C'mon now, he's not /that/ bad looking, is he? And it seems he's generally int--oh, hello there Larnat!" Fyria finds herself looking upon Larnat, and her basket of rolls. She gives Wyn a look, meaning that their discussion /will/ be continued.

Sabeicea appears in all her glinting emerald glory -- from ::between::, of course.

Larnat, led aside by common flattery, scrutinizes her rolls more closely, prodding one to test for overall fluffiness of the finished product. "Why /thank/ you, Wy- hey. Wait. N'sync has a /thing/ for you?" Cocking an eyebrow, Larnat shakes her head and lightly tsk's. She's feeling the pity factor for her dear old sister, although Fyria is given a nod. "Suppose." That he's rather attractive, that is.

"Gossip about this, and I'll hide the willowsalic when you /do/ deliver," vows Wyn with a look of terrible conviction in her eyes. "And make /you/ babysit Jack." she adds to Larnat, before dropping that in favour of benign blandness. "He's attractive, and he's a good bedmate, but his morals or lack of them offends me." she sums up, before reaching over to grab a roll from Larnat's basket and tuck in.

Fyria chuckles at Larnat's expression, only to outright laugh at Wyn's expression, idle threat or not. "Wyn Wyn Wyn, it's so obvious that you like him, why don't you just admit it?" Fy rises slowly, brushing imaginary lint from her tunic. "And let's be honest - that look on his face was enough to melt one's heart, now? Just think of how much of a Healer you'd be... if you healed that poor boy's heart?" And with that, Fyria departs, a slight chuckle following in her wake.

Larnat presses a finger to her lips in silence, nodding knowingly to Wyn, giving a mischievous grin to the bluerider. "You can keep the rolls - maybe N'sync'd like them as a present." After all, rolls are the perfect gift. As they all must know. And *poof* - just like Fyria, she's off.

"Your hormones are imbalanced." calls out Wyn, another parting shot before snorting and burying herself in her sewing, muttering "Utterly preposterous... completely absurd... That shallow twit!!" to herself as she works.