Living Cavern -- Starmount(#38RDJLM)
A huge, vaulted dome of rock arches overhead, pocked in places with outcroppings and little holes where firelizards are constantly squabbling and eating various things. The floor of the cavern has been smoothed out by years of feet walking over it, polished to a shine except for the scuffs of table legs. The rough wooden tables are scattered around the room, chairs distributed almost as randomly. Dishes cover the tables, filled with all kinds of foods kept ready for hungry riders and weyrfolk, with firelizards swooping and playing amoung them, grabbing snacks as they will.
A wide tunnel to the east leads out to the bowl, while several much smaller tunnels lead off in various directions. One dark tunnel, sloping downward, leads to the lower cavern complex for residents. Another, judging from the delicious smells coming from it, can only lead to the kitchen. The last, a steeply upward-sloping tunnel, bears a small iconograph beside it denoting the record hall.

Deinha is staring rather vacantly into the hearth, not so much as batting her 'lashes at the flickerings therein. It's a fairly normal thing for Dei -- to be lost in thought -- but there's something subtly different about the crease between her brows, the notable /lack/ of fidgeting, as she sits. Fingers are wrapped loosely about a mug of some hot liquid -- tea, by the smell -- which rests upon one knee. The only clue as to how long she's sat as such would be the thin, gray haze of smoke rising from her mug; and, in truth, she could well have replenished her drink before now -- once, twice, any number of times.

O'kano's arrival is heralded by the clomp of heavy boots as he seeks the warmth of the caverns and escapes the chill drafts that pervade in the Bowl. Trailing quickly-melting snow behind him, the bronzerider shivers consistantly while he makes his way towards the hearth; dethawing his foremost concern, so perhaps it's only a coincidence that Puo approaches Deinha and quirks a brief smile as he plops into a nearby chair. Pulling his blue-tinged hands from wool-lined gloves, he remembers to add a greeting. "Hey." He pauses, then adds, "Where'd you get that klah?"

"Hmm?" is the distracted first response, as though goldrider had somehow not noticed, or not recognized, O'kano's thumping arrival. She looks slowly at the bronzerider, expression still halfway inwards, and finally responds, belatedly, "Oh. It's not klah. But I'm sure they've got plenty of that over there, nice and hot." Deinha frowns just a bit, but it's not clear whether she's just still mulling over some previous thoughts or if Puo is somehow to blame for the soft downturn of her lips. Finally, her expression clears -- all but the faint hint of shadows in normally light blue of her eyes -- and she smiles, just a bit oddly. "Has your day been good?"

O'kano's nose is still too frozen for his to recognize Deinha's tea by the scent, so he takes a closer look at her drink and sniffs slightly in distaste before reluctantly rising to procure himself a mug of his favored beverage. "Good?" he repeats, once the mug's snugly fixed between frosted fingers; he takes care not to spill as he falls back into his seat. "I guess so, if you discount the awful weather. Weather's always awful, though." Puo moues a pout. "So it's to be expected." He gingerly huffs across the top of his liquid before testing the temperature with a small sip. "What about you?"

Deinha ignores the sniff; she's used to that, you could say. An almost rueful smile blooms in response to his mention of the weather, next, affection also flitting briefly over the woman's features as she watches his expressions, movements ... him. "Oh, well, I.." Here, Deinha's words, often hesitant, seem to fail her once more, and a rapid series of transient emotions haunt her eyes before she offers, voice soft, "Not exactly." Abruptly lifting one hand to her hair, brushing back the errant, silken strands and tucking them neatly behind her ears once more, Dei suddenly asks, "Do you have .. a moment?" She's not great at veiling her thoughts, but it would seem she's trying to keep expressive eyes as inscrutable as possible -- which means avoiding eye contact -- as she next murmurs, "I need to .. talk to you. In private."

O'kano has never liked or enjoyed Starmount's weather, despite living there for four Turns, and has never made that fact a secret. Another sip is taken, bigger this time. "Oh?" he prompts after hearing the 'not exactly', slanting a curious, if not somewhat concerned, glance towards the goldrider. The damp gloves are tucked into pockets as he nods in response and shoots another glance towards the hearth. "Sure. Yeah. But can we go somewhere warm?" he asks hopefully. "I'm /cold/."

If an answer is not immediately forthcoming, that can, perhaps, be explained away in the almost surreptitious glance Deinha tosses about the caverns before smiling faintly, "Yes. Some heat would be good." Almost shyly comes the next invitation, "My weyr's warm, and there's more klah there, if you want." Coming from another rider, this might seem to have extra meanings, but this is Deinha, here: the offer's a basic, innocent one of privacy and warmth.

"Better hot than cold," Puo remarks in a tone that's nearly a grumble as he reiterates his old gripe with Starmount's chill climate. He hesitates before accepting the offer, doing so with an almost too-sharp nod. "Okay. I guess that'll do." The mug, mostly full, comes with him as he rises to his feet, and O'kano indicates no intention of leaving his steaming brew behind, even if it means purloining a piece of pottery.

Deinha doesn't seem to take note of the hesitation, already standing and casting a brief, almost curious glance down at her own tea; this, she, too, chooses to keep. "Well... right, let's go." Off steps the goldrider, mug held carefully upright in one hand while the other arm wraps about her middle in a gesture of ... warmth? Protection? Self-comfort?
Deinha walks up the tunnel toward the ground weyrs.

Deinha and Sebayeth's Weyr
 Spacious, with arching bubble-dome roofs and a floor of stone flattened out by chipping away at the edges, this conjoined pair of half-spheres serves nicely as home and weyr for Deinha and Sebayeth, both. The increasingly prominent colors would be creamed whites, fine-spun golds, splashes of a dusky rose, and hints of a pale, pale pink -- all offset by the light aqua base and glittering swirls of gilded paint lightening the naturally gray walls.
 The less-flattened dish of the dragon weyr has been thickly padded with luxurious blankets of hues alternating between the frothy champagne-gold and a creamy rose. Although still rather sparsely decorated, the weyr evidences the beginnings of a personal, tasteful touch. At the foot of the bed is a rather huge trunk -- the top covered in pale white, gold, and pink pillows -- which doubles as a couch for two.
 A sizeable table stretches along one rough-hewn wall, and chairs can be found scattered throughout the weyr in varying stages of woodpolish and upholstery.
 The outer stone curtain, where the weyr bubbles out toward the open air, is pierced by tunnel-windows in two rows, upper and lower, angled to Bowl and sky levels. (+view)

O'kano allows a quick look around at the interior of the weyr as he enters behind Deinha, reaquainting himself with the surroundings before turning the whole of his attention to the goldrider. He shifts from one foot to the other as he grasps his mug tightly, slurps at its contents, and, once his mouth is clear, asks abruptly, bluntly, "What was so important that it needed to be discussed in private?"

Deinha, meanwhile, busies herself with striding over to a table and setting down her tea. Looking back to her guest, face tense momentarily, Deinha forces a smile. Her own mouth opens just a fraction too late, whatever words were to come being hushed as he speaks first. And then she quickly turns away, supposedly to rearrange the mug she's just set down. In truth, she's stalling. Hands and gaze both still on the tea, the goldrider's back very nearly to Puo -- most unhostess-like -- she mumbles something largely inaudible. Then, one hand resting still on the table, she slowly shifts her stance yet again, her own gaze searching O'kano's entire figure before settling on his face. Her hands are suddenly, nervously, brought together before her, interlocked at her belly as she swallows once, then drops the news: "I .. Well, the healers say.. that is, you might remember that I mentioned I wasn't feeling very well? And I thought it was..." She blushes, here, but continues, "Your fault? Or, really, just my reaction to ..well, to that horrible tension between us?" The blush deepens, fanning rapidly across her cheeks, before she finally blurts, "They say it's because I'm--" The next word is forced with some apparent difficulty, for all that the pause is hardly evident, "--/pregnant/!" Apart from remaining surprise -- shock, really -- and something vaguely akin to confused embarrassment, she gives little indication of her own reaction to this. Instead, she pauses, posture tense along every normally graceful line, and watches the bronzerider with wide eyes. Waiting.

O'kano, meanwhile, has been biding his time rather impatiently, waiting for a response to the question with a restless air, fidgeting unconciously, and playing with the half-full mug. He allows one nod at the mention of what can only be classified as morning sickness, muttering, "I remember." He quiets, however, to listen to the rest of Deinha's speech, and once the words are dropped and he perceives the reason for the illness, he stays silent. Or, rather, Puo's been shocked into silence. Despite his bronzed features, a gift of heredity, an inheritance passed down over a long line of Bollians, Puo pales considerably. As his countenance blanches, fingers tremble briefly before the young man begins to recover his fragmented composure; now, they tighten around the handle, but white-knuckles belie the astonishment he tries to hide unsuccessfully. His first attempt at speech comes out in incomprehensible fragments: "You -- yo...b-b-but..wha..?" Coughing -- sputtering -- stammering, O'kano gathers his wits and his words long enough to stutter out one short phrase; that's all he can manage. "You're /what?/" An accusitory glance is shot towards the interlocked hands that fold over Deinha's stomach, then is leveled at her face as the man meets her gaze, disbelieving.

Deinha winces, just faintly, at the shock, but then.. she certainly feels the same. It's flummoxing. "Pregnant," is the now softly, softly spoken repetition, as Deinha tries to calm him. And, to some degree, herself. She starts to take a step closer, likely to comfort after the spluttering words come out, but stops again with the first, accusitory look, hands splaying almost protectively against her still-slender middle. It's her turn to pale now, and then to flush with color anew as their gazes meet. "I .. I know it's a .. shock. I still.." She shakes her head, hands fully unclasping so that one can come briefly to her cheek as she explains, "I wasn't expecting /this/, certainly." She sounds quite unsure of herself as she now stutters, "I mean, the s-signs were...well, I guess I didn't...didn't recognize some parts, and .." Heat returns again to her cheeks, bright, as she mutters, "But well, I've never been /pregnant/ before, and then, I've never exactly been.." She clears her throat, tone coming out unnaturally all the same as she finishes, "predictable, either." She's mortified to admit that, now looking straight at O'kano's left shoulder and fervently hoping that he just won't understand that last part, anyway. "But the...Tamial suggested it, and the healers confirmed it." Yes, she's really, truly pregnant. Oh dear.

O'kano shakes his head once, twice, thrice, each time faster than the first as he strives to deny the confirmation Deinha gives in the repeated word. "I don't believe you," he states, summoning a denial that's based on wishful thinking, not evidence. "How can you be...be..." He trails off, unable to complete the sentence, although it's more than obvious what he's endeavoring the nullify. He lapses into stunned silence, klah forgotten, as he unwillingly hears the rest. At long last, he weakly questions, "You're sure?" He blinks, hard, as if by shuttering his eyes he can shutter the situation Deinha presents as well. Disinclined to continue, Puo does so anyways. "How do you even know if...if..." Puo stops suddenly, scowling with annoyance and various other, conflicting emotions, before continuing, "if it's even mine?" Whatever else may be unknown, it's obvious by both expression and tone that the child Deinha carries is not wanted -- at least not now --, but neither is the idea that the unborn babe could be another's. Accusingly, he adds, "You've been just as.../close/ to other people as you've been to me -- why're you telling me?"

Deinha ignores the initial denials, and simply nods -- just once, slowly -- at the eventual question. The next, though...that one has a definitely different effect on the woman; her eyes, already anxious, widen a notch as it's finally completed, moreso from .. hurt? .. than surprise. Still adjusting to the first rejection of sorts, and now trying to manage a response to the second questioning. Perhaps later she'll take some heart in his being disturbed by the possibility of another's fatherhood; at the moment, she's too busy trying to cut off the too-true ring of his words. "Not /others/, Puo," is the almost conciliatory offering, "Surely you believe me on that much? We're supposed to be beyond that, now." With a ragged sigh, though, she turns to the side, both hands gripping table's edge as she tilts her head back and shuts her eyes a moment. Not looking at the bronzerider, she admits, tone dull, "I /don't/ know, though, O'kano. The Flight was too soon after.." Dei blushes, here, and skips forward in her thoughts, "It could be 'Ken's. It could be yours. I don't know; the healers couldn't say exactly how long I've been..." She finally slants her gaze back to Puo, voice faintly resigned, quiet, "I saw you first, so I've just told you. I'm going to tell R'ken, too, of course. But.." She looks down, again, lashes half-veiling her gaze, "What would... I mean, if m-my child is going to be /yours/, are.." She presses her lips together a moment, pausing, and finally gives a tight little shake of her head, unable to find the words. Instead, she just looks questioningly at Puo, vulnerable and hesitant, both secretly hoping and halfway resigned, silently begging some reaction.

The first words are accepted with the slightest of nods; 'others' was just a convenient way to avoid naming names of a certain person that O'kano generally dislikes, although he doesn't admit that. The young bronzerider eyes what's left of his klah as Deinha continues, scowling towards the bottom of the mug and avoiding looking at the woman as she speaks of what's probably his least favorite subject: flights. Or, specifically, Sebayeth's flight. "Fine. Great. You do that," he responds shortly, sharply. A hand is flung at the ceiling in a gesture of exasperation and bewilderment as Puo's tone borders on curtness, likely caused by the unexpected announcement and the unpleasant aspect of it. "What -- what do you want me to do, Dei? You don't even know who's it is. Did you expect me to be thrilled about that? I don't even know if I /want/ a kid, and now you can't even tell me if it's mine or not." Frustrated and disconcerted, he runs fingers through his mess of not-quite-tidy hair and, after shooting a perturbed look upwards, finally returns his gaze to Deinha. "I don't know what to think."

Deinha doesn't know what she wants from him, precisely, either; that's the problem. "Thrilled? I -- nooo," she drawls the word, thinking. "No, not that, necessarily." Though it wouldn't hurt. "Neither do -- did -- I!" is the next, frustrated exclamation, aimed not at O'kano, but, rather, at .. well, that /is/ a good question. "At least, certainly /not/ right now. We're young. I know that! And I /hate/ that I don't even know who is... That ... can I even /ask/ you to do anything?" Rhetorical, in part; desperate, in part. Voice softening again, she returns, "I don't know what to think, myself, Puo. I just...I want you to ... I want someone to not-know with...Someone to try to sort things out with." Not exactly posed as a question or invitation. She's just ... musing, trying to explain, trying to say /anthing/ rather than let an awkward silence further muddle things. "I don't want to go through this alone, now. I /don't/ want to .. to make you .. react a certain way, or say any certain thing, either. I just need.." Another point for trailing off, as Deinha gives a shaky, rueful smile, "I don't even know entirely what I'm trying to say now, Puo. It's just...everything seems so /sudden/." That much, at least, the bronzerider should understand; clearly, neither expected this to happen.

Well, Puo is a far cry from thrilled. Indeed, there's the beginnings of a scowl that threatens to mar his already flustered face, but whether the scowl's directed at the idea of a child or simply at the situation he finds himself in is anyone's guess. "I always thought I'd end up having children with some Holder's girl. Handfasted. /Not/ like this. Not like weyrfolk who can't even say who both parents are -- we always heard about that in Boll." Prejudicial contempt mingles with irony as he adds as an afterthought, "My parents are going to murder me." Those thoughts are pushed away as he attempts to form some sort of response, but they'll undoubtedly crop up again. "I don't know what you want and I don't know what I want and..." O'kano trails off, unable to finish the phrase as he finds it hard to articulate the complexity of the predicament. "I -- I don't know."

Deinha's attention snaps into focus at those words -- previous uncertainty fading beneath long-held ire as she straightens her back and takes slow, steadying breaths. Whatever words she attempts to hold back are, no doubt luckily, kept inside for now, as Deinha opts for continued understanding instead, "I certainly didn't see myself .. like this, either. At least you don't have to be blamed if you don't want. I'm not exactly going to be able to hide.." She sighs, switching back to her original point, "Anyway, I'm sorry to have ...well, I'm sorry that /things/ ruined your ... dream. Though I have to say the handfasting idea should have broken a while ago -- as soon as you Impressed Jharzeth, really." But, she gets the basic idea: "But even so, I ..I thought I'd be weyrmated, too, you know." She blushes, "I also wouldn't have thought...well, I mean, that...that I'd have a /chance/ of getting pregnant without at least being werymated." She glances away, embarrassed. They both know what happened to /that/ particular vision. (But is Dei embarrassed to have done what she did, or to /not/ be regretful over the act?) Then, suddenly, she looks straight at O'kano and pales, blush receding and then some: "Your parents?" Oh, Faranth, that means /her/ parents as well. Slightly different story. And she's just now realizing this. "I .. I can't even tell mine. I-I'm not speaking to them. I...don't know if I /want/ to. I..." Ai. Oy. Eep. Well, they both /are/ certainly good at not-knowing. It's the together idea that will apparently be in question...until they know at least that part.

"That dream -- idea -- whatever you want to call it -- /was/ broken when I Impressed," O'kano states abruptly, skipping past the first words to nullify the next. "I never...pictured myself with anyone besides Jharzeth after that." He glances about the weyr as if in search of his next words, returning his gaze to Deinha in time to catch the embarrassment. Here, lips tighten into a thin, nearly colorless line, and he misreads the discomfort, perhaps, and jumps to conclusions, snapping out defensively, "/You/ wanted that, too. Maybe you should've thought further ahead than just -- just /then/ and realized something like this could happen. Or if you were going to wait until weyrmating, you should've thought of that, too." After an awkward pause, he echoes stiffly, "My parents. My parents are not going to be happy. It'll be some sort of...scandal. Something they've got to keep quiet about and not discuss..." He shrugs his shoulders at her own dilemma, stating simply, "So don't tell them. Maybe they're better off not knowing." Maybe he should apply his own advice to his own parents, too. He exhales, quieting; softly, tiredly, he reasks his earlier question, possibly for his own benefit, possibly not expecting any answer. "What do you want me to do now?"

Surprise reappears at the abrupt snapping, and now we have our answer, as Deinha quickly declares, "Yes, I did. It was.. I /don't/ regret that night, P...O'kano." Perhaps not immediately flying between, but /that/'s another story. Ignoring the chance to point out that bronzerider, too, could have thought ahead, Deinha instead suggests, "Maybe I didn't...take the right precautions after; I don't know. I'm not exactly /used/ to this sort of thing." Which Puo definitely knows. "As for waiting...well, yes, that'd be ideal, but you'd nev--" In an instant, she stops one sentence to begin another, "But then where would that have put me? Completely inexperienced at the time of the Flight? Completely missing a..." She can't even try to look at Puo as she speaks now, and instead walks toward the trunk at the foot of her bed, "A, well, a .. something that I thought was ..special." Dropping to a seat on the ample cushions, Deinha sighs faintly -- too well-raised to slump as she, instead, sits with delicately straight posture. At O'kano's response to her own parental problem, Deinha's expression struggles a moment between agreement and something almost wistful. The repeated question has Deinha rubbing two fingers across her eyes -- a sign of her own fatigue, which has only been increased from already-considerable depths by this latest discovery. Finally, Deinha makes a decision, dropping tentative demeanor to ask, frankly, "Stay with me through this? Don't be angry, or ... try not to stay angry, because I really didn't mean to cause any of this trouble. And I'm not," she flushes a bit, "The only one responsible, regardless." Thinking back on her words a moment, Deinha offers: "I don't mean you need to move in and make a million plans for acting as the father without knowing anything. I don't mean you even have to declare to the weyr that you /could/ have had a part in this. I..Well, I'd like it if you would. Do either." This last, a bit shyly given. Open as she is, candid and everything, this is dangerous territory; she recognizes that, acknowledges it. But that doesn't change what she'd /like/, in a slightly more perfect world. Dei concludes, finally, "I can live without that, though. If you don't want anyone else to know, I can handle that. But, Puo, I /need/ you not to hate me, not to avoid me again. I need you to help me through this -- as my /friend/." If nothing more.

The beginnings of a smile -- a rueful one, it's true, but that's better than none at all -- tug at stubbornly down-turned lips as the bronzerider reflects and agrees, reluctantly to some points and hesitantly to others. "Neither do I," comes the first confession, spoken slowly and somewhat uncertainly. "I don't regret it either." O'kano fidgets a little, shifting from one foot to the other as he allows, "And the timing was -- right." He, too, keeps his eyes carefully away from Deinha as he quietly concurs with the final statement regarding that night. "It was." Is? It's what Puo would probably say if given more time to come up with a response, wants to say but is too self-concious and uncertain to simply do so. He seeks refuge in silence, listening to Deinha outline her desires and furrowing his brows as he makes his own decisions. "Okay?" he finally states in a questioning tone. "Okay. If that's what you want, then I'm...willing to do that." He pauses. "And maybe that's what I want, too." O'kano hesitates, then repeats quietly to himself, "You'd want me to move in to your weyr? I...I don't know. Wouldn't that be somewhat awkward if it turns out that...that your kid's actually R'ken's?" It's a struggle to name the other possible father, but Puo manages, although with relatively little grace. "Are you sure you want me to do something like that?" He still has his doubts, and isn't quite ready to commit, but he does take the suggestion into consideration and vocalizes his concerns. "I don't hate you, Dei, and I'm not going to avoid you -- I just don't know about all /this/." The bronzerider makes a small sweeping gesture with one hand, unable to articulate the complexity of the situation beyond vague terms such as 'this'. "It's...a lot to think about."

Deinha's own expression shifts a bit, smile eradicating just a bit of the tension previously tightening her features, as Puo first speaks. After having made her .. request? plea? statement of hope? ... Deinha looks cautiously at the might-be-father. And another smile, this one far more lingering, begins to form. It's that simple. At the questions, though, she tilts her head to the side, then quietly concedes, "I'm not sure, really. I was just using it as an example, originally. I wouldn't want to live with either of you /just/ because one of you could be the father, Puo." She stretches her arms above her head, back arching just a bit, before resuming her spoken musing, "Yes, it would be better for a child to be raised with two parents. Yes, I'd probably appreciate some.. oh, help, companionship, /something/, in going through an experience entirely new and just a little bit frightening." Pregnancy, that is. But Deinha isn't finished yet, so she adds, gaze and tone both honestly open: "Yes, I just think it ... sounds nice." Oh. So this is just a possible catalyst, now that she's heard herself say the words out loud -- what was an example became a possibility. "Good," is her next, short response, "I'm glad you don't, because I certainly don't intend to hate you anytime soon." Then again, it's not in Dei's nature to hate, nor to dislike very easily. And then, a nod of acknowledgement, "I know..." She glances down, one hand coming to lay on her still-flat belly, and murmurs, "I'm actually going to ... to be bringing a little person into the world." A flicker of a smile plays uncertainly on her lips, eyes softening in something less than anxiety, worry, confusion, or any otherwise overwhelming feeling...something a tad reverent. She looks up again, smile not yet faded, "New life, Puo." Terrifying as that may be in some aspects, it's.. wow. Nature.

"Oh." As the goldrider states, at first, that her preceding words were only an example, O'kano nods once in concession and voices his single word with a hint of...what? Embarrassment? Relief? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it's gone when he speaks again, glancing towards Deinha from the careful perusal of his spotlessly clean fingernails. "Oh -- sounds nice?" he repeats. "Yeah, I suppose it's better for a child to be raised with parents instead of running wild in the lower caverns and ending up like half the riders around here." His free hand circles the mostly ignored klah mug, digits lightly tapping one side as he listens. "People get pregnant all the time?" he ventures as Deinha mentions the prospects of motherhood, not quite understanding her point of view: Puo's not very sentimental. "Must be a good thing, or else it wouldn't be so common, right?"

Deinha looks a little embarrassed herself as, since the topic refuses to just go away, she nods, "I mean.. living together might be.. nice." Ah. Not sound nice, but /be/ nice. That's a little more exact. Seems the woman's just having trouble with finding the right adjective. 'Fun' sounds too tacky, for one. A hint of wry humor follows the statement on younglings around the Weyr -- not agreement, mind, but amusement, all the same. "Sure they do, O'kano," comes the next, lightly teasing rejoinder, "But I'm not people." Now why does /that/ sound so familiar...? Standing suddenly, Deinha offers, "I guess so..." She seems a bit bemused by the logic, for all that she agrees with the conclusion. "And, I suppose there's something to the idea of leaving a ..legacy after you. But," persistent, for whatever reason, Deinha tries again to explain this sudden feeling of undefined awe, "That just doesn't have the same ring as the thought that.. there's some tiny little baby, with..maybe with my hair, my eyes -- who knows what features? -- developing /in/ me, even as we speak." Another pat to her belly, then an affectionate wrinkling of nose. "I guess maybe it sounds a little strange, too."

O'kano doesn't offer any more choice words on the subject of living together, preferring instead a noncommittal, "Uh huh." Deinha's next comments are countered with a half sheepish, half defensive response: "I know that." Puo agrees to the statement regarding the legacy of children with a slight nod, but the awe Deinha attempts to express isn't successfully understood. His forehead wrinkles, a faint frown appears, and the young man eventually remarks, unconvinced, "I guess so..." The final words are latched onto, then, and he allows a small laugh. "Yeah. A little strange." Although he has enough tact not to say it, Puo doesn't see it as much more than a baby -- and he's seen a lot of those in his lifetime. And, in his experience, they usually just tend to cry and fuss and spit out mouthfuls of mashed food.

With a roll of her eyes, Deinha gives up -- at least for now -- on convincing Puo that babes growing in /her/ are different from those of random strangers. And perhaps it's just that she hasn't had as much experience with the little terrors...yet. Reminded by O'kano's earlier action that her own mug is across the room, no doubt cold, she walks over to retreive the tea, calling on her way, "How is Jharzeth today?" There's a fresh subject.

"What?" Distracted and caught off-guard by the sudden switch, O'kano takes a moment to respond. "Oh. Jharzeth. He's...just like every other dragon in the Weyr. He's got that cold, and he's sneezing and wheezing and dripping fluid all over. It's gross." The klah that's been held idly between his hands is sipped at slowly, and Puo makes a small face as he pronounces, mostly to himself, "Cold." Returning attention to Deinha, he adds, "What about Sebayeth? Does she have it yet?"

Deinha tosses a sympathetic glance at the bronzerider, turning the mug about in her hands until she has the handle facing outside, fingers wrapped around the base instead. "Seb? Not exactly." Frowning just slightly, Dei makes her way back over to O'kano -- because, you see, this topic is safe -- and explains, "Other than a bit of drowsiness and lots of complaining about the weather being somehow colder than usual, to her... She's not really been acting any different. I mean, she's picking up on what so many of the others are feeling, on some level, but it's not really as though she's sick, herself." Taking a tasting sip of her tea, Deinha pauses a moment before commenting, "Which is all quite nice as far as I'm concerned." They have enough problems, anyway? "I worry about Khavrineth being affected by this... whatever; doesn't it seem like it could be a danger to the eggs, somehow?"

"Then you're lucky," O'kano states with a touch of self-pity. "It's not at all fun having a sick dragon -- all he wants to do is stay inside the weyr and be sick. It makes his temper short, too...remember the tantrums he'd have once in awhile when we were weyrlings? He's having 'em again." Puo just rolls his eyes. "He'd better get well soon before he drives me crazy." He drinks from his klah again, cold or not, simply because it's there. "I doubt it'll put the eggs in danger," he assures. "They'll still get warm. And that's all that they really need to hatch. I think."

Deinha hides a smile in a - long - drink of her pungent tea. "No, I don't imagine you would enjoy that." She coughs, then amends, "Or anyone, for that matter. And I rather doubt that Jharzeth is liking it very much right now. Poor dragon -- dragons." To the suggestion, she listens well, then nods, "I hope you're right, of course. Tamial hasn't made a big fuss over it, from that angle, so you probable /are/ right about it." Which is definitely a good thing, as far as this goldrider cares. Stifling a yawn, Dei grumps good-naturedly, "I wish this awful .. sleepiness would go away." She immediately looks sheepish: "The healers say it's pretty normal, but..." A slow blinking, as Deinha again tries not to yawn, "That doesn't make it /better/."

O'kano isn't enjoying it, and says as much: "The sooner he's well, the better." The same holds true for the rest of the Weyr, for Puo dislikes illness just as much as the next person and finds it highly annoying to listen to sniffles all day, but his primary concern is for his lifemate. "If you're sleepy, then maybe you should go to sleep?" he remarks, drawing simple conclusions. "Especially if it's normal at this...point, then no one'll begrudge you it."

Deinha nods. Then, smile softening, she asks, "You won't mind my being rude and..." She trails off, as if hearing herself speak, and grins suddenly, "Those manners are really ingrained, hmm? Here, I bring you up to talk about things nearly as intimate as they get, yet I apologize for something as simple as needing to lay down for a bit." Rueful, is that expression.

O'kano rolls his eyes towards the ceiling in an expression of mock-exasperation. "You're not rude, and I don't mind. And I should go get myself some klah that's at least a little warm, too. Go sleep -- I'll see you later."

Deinha hesitates a moment, then quickly stretches up to lightly kiss Puo on the cheek. Rocking back on her heels, a hint of nervousness half-hidden in her eyes, she murmurs, "Thanks, Puo." Who knows for just /which/ part of the most recent words -- or even if she's referring to anything he's /just/ said? .. but, whatever the prompting, there's certainly a sincerity to the softly, drowsily spoken words.

A small smile -- one of those rare ones that are becoming much more common -- crosses Puo's expression, and he returns the kiss with one of his own a moment later. "You're welcome?" he offers, not quite sure what the goldrider is thankful for. But he's polite, anyways. "Bye, Dei. Sleep well." And with that, O'kano leaves, heading for the tunnel that connects to the rest of the Weyr.