Candidate's Barracks
The dome-shaped ceiling presents a vibrant mural of Weyrlife with beautiful scenes depicting hatchings, wing practice, weyrlings and daily routines of the residents.  Dark oak bunks pile three high across two walls with built-in cubicles with the cots for the candidate's items.   Veins of rose quartz mingle with pearly white and trapped green beryl to form a flawless floor.  Several light pine fold-tables and benches squeeze in a corner to offer workspace, temporary classroom and leisurely spot to chat over klah in the rare moments of free time.   The small hearth provides for some light along with the hanging quartz baskets for glows.  A lingering scent of sweetsand, oil, klah and sweat merge to the familiar candidate smell.
Tana, Zella, and Jerin are here.

Kym wanders into the barracks, thumbs hooked into riding-loops of her belt.  Upon her entry, she cheerily vocalizes, "Hi.  Thought I'd drop by."  And so she does, lounging against the nearest wall.

Girvan has connected.

Zella scrambles full-speed towards Jerin, not bothering to keep paint-coated hands out of contact with the bunks (ooh, watch the sheet!- too late-), red-streaked face all glee and guilty pleasure. She lashes a hand out, target just within reach- and /freezes/, stumbling over feet in effort to stop.  The only vocalization she can muster wanes desperately, so under-the-breath as to be nearly inaudible: "Hi..." Oh /shards/, we're in for it.
 
Tana is with her back turned to the door, and makes no notice of any entry.  Of course, she's too busy wielding a bucket of white paint and aiming a handful at the cornered Jerin.  No mention the entire barracks are a random mess of crismon and white splattered all around, literally.  She /jumps/ as she hears a voice, swirling around, unfortuanately sending the pain in her hand towards the worng direction: the doorway.  "Eeps!" Is all that she can
 stutter, watching fearfully at the flying glob of white paint nearing the greenrider.

Kym /sees/ that -- she does, she does.  "What are you doing?" she asks simply, eyebrows quirking as she glances about, gaze finally resting on Zella.  "And /what/ did you do to your hair?"  Obviously, she's more concerned about once-brown tresses than she does about the room itself.  "And -- Shards!"  Sentence is cut off as she scrambles from her post, away from flying goblets of paint; a narrow escape, creamy goo splatters against one leg and the wall behind.  "Look what you /did!/" Horrified, greenrider turns wide-eyed
 attention to Tana.  "My /leathers!/"

Zella gets herself caught in a jumble of half-completed reactions: a useless attempt to scrape paint off peppermint floor; a barely-mouthed apology; a hand to her own sticky hair; and finally an inhalation of sheer horror as lovely black leathers become lovely black and /white/ leathers. No use trying to stifle proclamations of doom; it's too obvious. "Oooooooh, Tana... We're gonna /die/..."

Tana gags, and curls into a ball on the floor, giggling.  No, it's not funny.  She's nervous, and terrified.  "Shells!"  She exclaims under her breath.  She's in trouble.  She's in deep trouble.  She looks up at the rider, giving her a pitiful attempt at a smile.  "Sorry?"

Kym glowers.  Kym glares.  Fingers wiggle out of belt-loops, and plant themselves upon hips.  Tight-lipped, she eyes the curled-up figure of Tana, eyes narrowed.  "My leathers," she states, "are not black anymore.  They have white on them.  And you, Candidate, will scrub them until they're completely black again.  Or pay me the marks to get another set commissioned."

Celeviel comes home.

Tana whimpers.  "Aiaiai.." She musters, taking in a deep breath and uncurling herself, standing up to her full height, which isn't much, but still.  Clothes are full off old and new paint, and she looks up at the angry rider.  "Sorry, I'll wash." At least /try/ to.  Edge of a smile plays on the corners of her lips.  "Or pay." Well, she'll be in debt until who knows when, but she doesn't want to anger the rider any more than she is already.  Eyes flicker at Zella, pleading.

Zella's lip has crept into her mouth, where it's chewed in absent horror. /This/ is Kym? /Nice/ Kym? She covertly eyes the door, then, spotting the rider's occupation with Tana, quietly begins inching out. "Uh, see ya later, Tana... I should start work on my chores..." Inch inch inch. Nono, Tana, don't plead!

Celeviel sports the latest in candidate fashion, streaks of red and white clashing ferociously in the front of his hair.  He's seemed to have dealt with the tragedy fairly well - ignore it and pretend you /don't/ have quad-coloured hair - but immediately upon entry he tries to hide it.  Why?  Because Kym's here, of course.  "Uhm, hey guys," He first mutters a greeting, and then makes a quick escape towards the sanctuary of his cot.

"You'll wash," Kym decides in a heartbeat's time, or less.  "More work.  You'll wash them until they're shiny-new and /black./" Nice Kym isn't Nice when her leathers - her /precious leathers/ - are spoiled.  From her angered stance, she eyes Zella.  "And you'll scrub this room."  Celeviel's entrance is spied, and she can't help but gasp at the horror.  "Your /hair!/"

Girvan wanders into the room at this point, perhaps the only one not paint bespattered; his grime is more honest, being dust and the faintest smell of herdbeast (and probably more pungent odors too), emenating from and decorating his tunic and trousers.  He stops in the doorway in surprise, looking at the...carnage.  Oy.

Tana is pleading at Zella, then nervous giggle escapes her lips before she can frown at her 'friend', who's slipping away.  Eyes flicker at Celeviel, then back at the rider.  "Erm, I'll try my best." If she hands them over now, she just /might/ have them ready by hatching.  Maybe not.  Tana's never managed to clean anything properly, and she inwardly winces.  Just what has she gotten herself into?!?  Anyone, help a fellow candie?

Zella cringes, eye-corners drooping in a perfect hurt-canine expression. Too late for apologies, perhaps? Well, it's always worth a try... "Uh, 'm really sorry, ma'am... I'll help Tana get it off, I'm sure it'll be good 's new..." Phrases run together in repentance as she hesitantly nears the Precious Leathers. One hand sneaks timidly out to touch the damage, fingering the knee-material reflectively... /With/ the hand that's been splattered in scarlet paint. Now the beautiful black and white leathers are lovely black white 'n /red/ leathers...

Celeviel claps his hands over the painted sections of his hair, eyeing the painted leathers situation.  "Right, it's nothing.."  He sidles up next to Tana, forgetting to cover his painted locks, and dubiously watches.  "Kym, your /leathers/!"  It's a near perfect mimicry of her outburst over his hair, too.

Girvan edges through the doorway, avoiding anything looking remotely like....paint.  That stuff never comes off, in his experience.  He gives a brief commiserating smile to Tana, Celeviel, and Zella, trying to avoid the rider's notice before he can get to his cubby and clean clothing...He's on his way to the bath, see.  He knows he smells.  "Er....don't mind me.  I'll just come and go...."

Kym jerks her leg away, eyeing the paint with horror; Girvan's entrance is unnoticed, as her attention resides solely upon her leathered limbs.  "Agh!  Faranth!  Now they're worse than before!"  Of course, only one has been splatter-painted - for now.  She steps away, slumping against the wall -- the still wet wall.  Newest additions to so-dark leathers are unnoticed, as of yet, as she rolls her eyes upwards.  "I /know!/" she wails at Celeviel. "Just look what they /did!/  I've had these forever - and now they're ruined!"

Tana's eyes oogle at the added paint, and giggles spill out of her unwantingly.  Okay, they make her seem all the more guilty, and she wants to stop, really.  However, she knows where her friends stand, and looks down at the leathers.  "And they don't look all /that/ bad..." She begins, glancing at Girvan again, then an innocent smile at the rider.  Lashes batter with that puppy-eyed look,  and she tries her best to stop her giggling fit.  "They look.. interesting?" She offers creatively.  At least she'll be the only rider donning black, red and white leathers.

Celeviel nods, commiserating with the greenrider, before turning to slink back towards his cot, and safety.  "Right, I'm sure they'll be fine.. if not, you can always get new ones..?"  He hops up onto the bunk, for a safe vantage, and waves conspiratorily at Girvan.  ".. Get out while you still can! .."  Heh.

"Nonono/no/-" Still wincing from scarlet addition to the leather works of art, umber eyes go wide with horror as- "No, don't lean on the wall, it's-" It's too late, that's what it is. Zella rocks back on her heels, burying face in arms. And transferring face-paint to her sparkly new tunic. /Arrrrrrrgh/.

Girvan tosses a quick grin to Celeviel, then cringes as Kym's back turns from black to that self-same mixture of white and red that now seems to predominate the candidate barracks; slinking as he is, he is being careful to avoid those walls..and anything connected with pain.  He scrambles out clean clothes, not even sure if he has the right coverings, and then tries to become invisible on his cot.  Tana gets a look of admiration, however; the girl has guts.  "Ahem.......you might not want to lean against the wall" He points out tentatively to Kym, "I think its still wet?"

"They look /bad!/" Kym nearly throws a tantrum, pacing across the room to display her decorative cream-and-white jacket.  "I'm getting new ones," she intones to her nephew, "but I'm also making /them/ --" irritable glance is given for Tana and Zella "-- scrub these clean."  Attention flickers briefly for Zella: "What?"  Then for Girvan: "/What?/"

Zella gestures hopelessly toward the wall, which now sports a Kym-shaped splotch of smeared paint. Weary exhalation precedes her comment- finished, but too late- "It's covered in paint. An' now you are too. An' we're gonna die, Tana, like I said." Too much, this is just too much. Her wave to the mentioned candie is nothing short of ironic, a true measure of her hopelessness. "Y'think we should get t'work...?"

Tana takes in a deep breath.  "But-" She begins, but sighs.  No one can look guiltier than them.  She gasps at the sight of her jacket, and hopes the rider hasn't, nor will, see them.  She doesn't need to be in deeper trouble then she already is.  Another sigh is given off, and she nods readily at Zella.  "At once." She looks at the rider questioningly,  hand 'em over?
 They'll try their best, and no goodwill is lacking, at least from Tana's side.
 
Kym whirls to face that fateful wall; she simply stares for a long moment at the imprint.  "My /jacket!/"  And if the pants weren't enough.  Hands - untarnished, fortunately - go up to briskly brush at hair; she breathes a sigh of relief to find that her chin-length locks are, at least, untouched.  Resigned, she heaves a sigh, and proceeds to carefully pull leathers off of her body.  "At once," she repeats.

Zella hurries to take the jacket, footing stumbling slightly under the sudden weight; arms secure it with ridiculous carefulness. It isn't as if she could do any /more/ damage, but still... Reassuring, no? "To the baths, then...?" A questing eye guiltily zips over Kym's iron gaze, locking instead on the more comfortable sight of Tana. Partners in crime, partners in punishment.

Girvan slides from the bed.  After all, he did try to warn the rider, right?  Another smile is flicked to the other candidates "I need a bath.  I'm sure that my odor is offensive."  Or it will be, if he stays around much longer.  Herdbeast muck doesn't smell very nice to those not used to it, after all.  "Excuse me."  Taking Celeviel's words to heart, he makes good his escape.

Tana takes in a deep breath, looking at zella then back to the rider.  At least she'll be known at that darned Candidate, she hopes, other than name recognition.  She makes her way towards the leathers, and trips over the can of white paint, but quickly regains her posture.  See, harper dancing lessons pay off.  But not enough for a few more droplets of paint to fly through the air.  "What do we wash it with..?" she asks Zella, as she takes the other piece carefully, adding some more white paint to the black.

Kym hands over her leathers, mournfully staring at her ruined set.  "This," she states, "Is completely unacceptable."  Good, Kym.  "I'm going to get food, or something."

The Great Hall
Elaborate paintings and elegant tapestries hang on the walls of the vaulted hall, scenes of Weyr life both old and new depicted on them. Sturdy chairs, benches and well built tables are set all over the huge room, for the comfort and enjoyment of the spectacular view.  Large window with ornately carved lintels are carved into the walls, protective shutters flanking each one, able to be close to protect from the chill of the night or the blustering of
 storms.  When open, they allow any breeze, however slight, to blow into the Hall, cooling it off during the heat of the mid day.
Centered along each wall, sets of double doors are inset into the walls, each ornately carved and polished to a deep shine, usually propped open to allow for better air circulation. The hall is always busy, no matter the time or heat of day, as weyrfolk and riders alike come and go to partake of refreshments and meals or simply to gather and talk on any number of topics.
T’on is here.

Girvan moves with casual stride from the south corridor entrance.
Celeviel walks from the south corridor entrance.
Equarias thoughtfully strides from the central hall.

Girvan strides in, fresh from the baths and smelling much better than he did just a half-hour earlier, his clothing neat and clean as well.  He smiles as he sees T'on and Kym, waving to both, although the latter gets a wary look.  Is she still annoyed?

Celeviel follows, fashionably tardy;  he wasn't about to let anyone think he was coming because of Kym, right?

Sulk, sulk, sulk.  Kym shuffles into the caverns, generally looking depressed.  A sneaky glance is snuck towards 'her' out-of-the-way table, and the glint of inconspicious metal before attention slip, slip, slides towards T'on.  "They ruined my leathers," she complains, loudly.
 

Tana quietly slips from the south corridor entrance.

T'on is, by this time, already perched on his throne, atop the Weyrling table.  Said Weyrlings are, thankfully, elsewhere, J'na having seen the signs of T'on under Kyrith's full influence.  A long, slim sword rests by his side.  And his gitar rests in his lap.  "So?"  He asks of Kym.

"They're ugly.  I /like/ black," she snaps right back, clad in her more casual outfit.  "They're not so black, anymore."  She glowers, mood as black as those leathers she speaks of.  Kym moves towards her own 'throne', then, but not without an annoyed glance T'on's way.  He was supposed to be sympathetic.

Girvan is slightly taken aback by T'on's seating arrangement; but who is he to question riders?  Quirky things at the best of times, he has been told.  He wanders closer to Kym, trying out a commiserating smile "I know a weaver who could make you a new pair" He ventures.  "She's quite good" is added as he follows her to her table selection, although he doesn't consider sitting.  He wasn't invited.

Mirani walks in from the entry hall.

A wan face peeks around the corner, nary a sound escaping from the figure belonging to the face of Equarias.  Curtains swirled around herself, she attempts to hide -- she /has/ to see if what the drudges were whispering about is true.  Ash-colored eyes catch the glint of metal and widen as she picks up on the conversation.  From the sounds of things, the 'Paint Fairies' have struck again, and she's determined to keep her name clean.  She's the innocent little Weaver, remember?

Mirani walks in, looking around curiously.  She's been here before...  Noting a few familiar faces, she gives them a small smile, "Hello..." she says quietly.

Tana quietly looks around the room, and spots the rider she'll be trying to avoid.  Well, not get on her bad side anymore.  It /was/ a mistake.  Eyes quickly glance in the direction of metallic flash and keeps back just slightly.  She nods at Mirani, recognizing her from a few days before.

T'on isn't sympathetic really.  "So don't wear your good leathers in the candidate barracks, then, silly."  He comments to Kym, before gitar is taken up.  "There once was a rider in Xanadu......Her skin matches the color her pants do."

Mirani smiles to Tana before she takes another look around and coughs slightly.  Maybe it's a bit too warm in here.  She waves again to everyone before walking out the way she came.
Mirani exits the room for the smaller entry hall.

Kym grumbles at Girvan, "I don't want another pair.  I want my old leathers.  They're comfortable.  Broken-in."  Table is reached, and she clambers atop it, agile.  Fingers reach for her own rapier - T'on's, really - and she does her best to keep it out of sight.  T'on's sight.  Another scowl is sent towards the greenrider as she exasperatedly exclaims, "Shut /up!/  I'm sick of your stupid Harperings.  Stupid, sharding Harpers."

T'on goes on strumming his gitar, rising and clipping the sword to his belt.  "And so the rider griped at a Harper, so he went and sang a bawdy song about her."  Devilish gleam lights the handsome greenrider's face.  "Her face is sweet, her chest is too.....but don't try to get her, else T'gger'll boohoo."  Ok, so they aren't very good songs.

Girvan thanks Faranth he is a herder, and smiles his apologies "Was trying to help" he murmurs, finding a table a bit away from both riders...and their swords, hiding a faint smile at T'on's words and Kym's rejoinder as he settles, looking about for someone to bring him sustenance.  He smiles encouragingly to Celeviel, Tana, and the other candidate he hasn't met "I don't bite" he calls out.

Equarias can't help but to snicker at the singing greenrider's repetoire -- is that what they taught him at Harper?  The usual strand of leather thread is withdrawn from a pocket and tucked into the corner of her lips; it dangles there as she leans around the corner more...and manages to knock over a big metal thing filled with what look like rocks.  *Clash!*  Smooth move, Eq.

Tana takes in a deep breath, well, she's a candidate, not a harper, right?  But just in case, she thinks she'd better be resting, or washing those black leathers.  She's not sure if the greenrider will want more than just washing leathers, and she sighs and slips away.
Tana leaves.

Celeviel eyes T'on, who seems to be composing some rather terrible songs, and sneaks for the refuge of Girvan's table.  "Noone said you'd bite, we're just wary of /them/," he nods at the two greenriders, and promptly goes for introductions.  "I'm Celeviel--But usually I just get called Celev.  And I'm related to that one there," Here he indicates Kym, "Sadly enough."

Kym pieces two and two together -- she isn't dumb, really.  "/What/!?"  Infuriated gaze alights upon T'on, and she launches herself from the table, the stolen sword appearing in her inexperienced grasp.  "You /dare./"  She assumes an aggressive stance, slim-toned metal pointed towards T'on.  "Stop it.  Right now.  Don't you dare sing about me, sharded /Harper./"  She spits the final word with long-buried distaste; if this is what proddiness is, no wonder Celeviel doesn't want to be seen around his aunt.

Girvan chuckles, his own hand coming out at the introduction, "Girvan.  Girv, if you want.  Don't ask me why.  Got it at Herder, and it stuck."  He looks back at the greenriders with surprise "Related how?  Closely?"  As in, is Celeviel going to go weird too?  He flinches unconsciously as Kym suddenly explodes, his gaze turning back to his table mate warily "Please say she's a fourth cousin once removed."  He murmurs.

T'on is now rather shocked.  "HEY!"  He exclaims loudly.  "That sword is mine.  Didn't you hear?  The Mastersmith says that swords aren't for children.  Give that back right now."  Gitar stays in his hand tho.

Celeviel goes from indicating ranting Kym to shaking hands.  Smooth, that.  Which is completely out of character for him - perhaps it's because Kym is there, and he's supposed to be Perfect Celev for her.  Perhaps not.  "Tragically not.. She's my aunt."  And before you ask.. Of /course/ Celeviel's not going to go crazy!  She got those genes from some other family.

Kym waggles her sword, brow knit together and pale-toned lips drawn into a thin, bloodless line.  "It's mine, now!" she declares.  "And I'm sharding not a child!  Shards, I'm older than you, and you've fathered at least seventeen brats."  So maybe she exaggerates a bit.  She jumps upon the nearest chair, which dangerously creaks before she springs to a nearby table.  "Don't you dare talk about this way!"  Maybe she'll maim him like she wanted to maim Zi'a.  She's mad enough to do so.

Girvan watches said Aunt with decided skepticism "Related.  Shells, who would have thought?  And you want to be a rider like her?"  he grins, suddenly teasing "Keeping it in the family and all."  He winces at the raised voices, turning to a drudge who braves the riders to come to his stomachs rescue "Ah...yes, whatever's on the menu for dinner.  Could you?"  He smiles sweetly, charming the girl, then looks at Celev "Want anything?  I'm not moving from this table until I have to."  A safe oasis, perhaps.

Maim T'on?  Who /knows/ how to use said weapon?  He gets indignant, drawing up to his full height, before casting down his gitar.  "So be it!"  He shouts.  "For stealing my sword, I challenge you!"  Or something like that.  He picks up his sword and with one swift motion pulls it from it's sheath.  "Have at thee!"

J'lia walks crisply in from the entry hall.
Lirelin walks in from the entry hall.

"I never said I /wanted/ to be a rider!"  Celev  whinges stoutly. "Well, actually.. It can't be that bad, though you wouldn't know it from /her/."  Again, he indicates ranting and raving Kym.  "Eewwch.  And er, no, I'm fine."  He passes off the mention of food with a wave, busy watching Kym's progress across the tables.  "I was working the kitchens earlier."

Behind the rubbernecking Weaver comes the sound of drudges giggling -- as much music to Eq's ears as the raving greenrider that was singing (if that's what you'd call his..vocal noise).  Those crazy drudges are evil, doncha know.  A soft gasp escapes Eq, and her jaw drops a few inches, "Faranth's toenails, they've lost th' minds!"

Lirelin strides slowly in, frowning down at a rather unwieldy pile of parchments. Her eyes catch sight of the scene and she pauses.

And, of course, Juli's just the one to walk in in the middle of this. It's all her brother's fault. He /had/ to pass on his trouble magnet to her. Brownrider halts at door's threshold, just peeking in with wide eyes. Ranting? Raiving? She /must/ have picked the wrong weyr to stop by after sweeps.

Kym replies likewise, hand which doesn't hold the sword dramatically wavering someplace behind her.  "I challenge thee -- for singing stupid Harper songs about me!"  She may not know how to use the weapon, but she /thinks/ she does - and that's all that matters, right?  She hops to another table, the one across the way from the Candidates.  "Defend yourself!"

Girvan smiles slightly, eyes still watching the riders...he wants to be ready to duck.  Like two stallions let loose in a pasture together.  Bad things can happen "Are they always like this?  When they are proddy, that is."  He's assuming that is what has made them, as Equarias says, 'lose th' minds.'  Head is shaken, then turned curiously to Celev "Do you want to be a rider?"  He's curious, see.   The drudge trots off, and Girvan's stomach rumbles in anticipation.  "I'm not sure I do, if it involves swordfighing and possible harm."  Not squeamish, perhaps..but he does have a sense of self preservation.  Death not being a top priority on his list.  Nor pain.

T'on launches an immediate attack, leaping after Kym and batting her weapon twice hard, moving only his wrist.  "There once was a rider of Gwyneth, who at swordfighting thought she was the best."  Taunt.

Celeviel nods, scooting his chair half around to get a better view of what exactly is going on.  "I'm, uhm, not exactly sure.  Every time she's been.. y'know.. She's been pretty bad.  She almost attacked me once, too,"  He confides this, then watches the sort-of-swordfight with a look akin to mingled horror and amusement.  Which is tough to pull off.  "I think.. I
 don't know what I think.  I didn't really know much about riding, before all this.."

The messages flutter down from Lirelin's unnoticing hand as she gapes at the scene before her. "Shellcracked," she murmurs. "They're shellcracked." She regards the pair with a studious air; then a gasp escapes her throat. "I know her. Sweet shards." With a shudder, she moves closer, eyes wide. Wow.

Well, well. J'lia espies, and thus makes her careful way towards, "Equarias!" A friendly face among this /Southern/ chaos is welcome, even itf it was but a brief meeting. And she needs to size up the conflict, anyway. Bad thing, rooting for the loosing side.

Girvan listens distractedly; his attention too is mostly riveted to the fighting "She attacked you too?" he murmurs in awed/astonished tones, even completely ignoring the fact that the drudge has dropped a tray in front of him and run back out of the hall as if the devil were on her very heels...which judging from the voracity of the fighting, he might be.  "Shells" he murmurs again.  "They aren't really going to kill each other?"

Charon merely watches, his cold calm gaze peering at the gathered ensemble. The flash of a sword ellicits no sound from this brown firelizard, but the images do impact. Something stirs.... but not yet.

Equarias holds up a finger to her lips to silence the approaching rider, "Sssssh!"  A touch of that innocence disappears elsewhere for now, as a mischevious grin quirks both lips and thread to the side, and she beckons to the brownrider, "C'mon!"  Releasing herself from the curtain, she makes a mad dash for the outside world, unaware of how strange she most likely looks at the moment.
Equarias exits the room for the smaller entry hall.

Celeviel nods solemnly, absorbed with watching the scene, himself.  "They better not.  Oh, no.. No.. Someone will stop them, they have to.." You don't, however, see Celev jumping up to volunteer.  Momentarily, his attention is distracted from the arrival of food by the fleeing of Equarias.  Smart girl, that.

Gwyneth> Timoth lands in the courtyard, his talons clacking against the stones.
Gwyneth> Tam slides back down Timoth's riding straps as he helps her with his foreleg once more.
Gwyneth> Tam walks with a light step through the main doors of the Weyrbuilding.

"Uh?" is J'lia's oh-so-intelligent response to Candidate's beckoning Of course, she /is/ curious...but interest lingers a moment more in the promise of clattering swords. Until, that is, Anuith decides whatever mischief Equarias is brewing is likely safer for his rider. "Going, goung," she mumbles in a sulky tone, also heading for daylight's promise.

J'lia exits the room for the smaller entry hall.
Gwyneth> Equarias emerges from the giant main doors.
Tam walks with a light step in from the entry hall.

Gwyneth> Gwyneth flutters wingtips, oblivious to her rider's commotion in the Great Hall.  Isn't she pretty?  Aren't her wings just so sparkly?  Isn't her tail just /adorable?/

Gwyneth> J'lia emerges from the giant main doors.
Gwyneth> "Whatcha doing?" Juli asks, tossing a purloined fruit between her hands as she follows at a more liesurely pace. She /did/ come for a reason, after all.

Tam is looking rather.... irritated? "Blast and char!" she's muttering under her breath as she storms into the  Great Hall. Head snaps up to look and see what the ruckus is that Charon was transmitting to Timoth, who in turn told her. "What the flaming heck is going on in here??"

Kym backpedals, somehow managing to keep the sword in hand.  She leaps to another table -- the /Candidates/ table, of all things, and narrowly misses stepping in a platter of food.  Greenrider lunges, wildly swinging at T'on with her sword.  "I'll cut that wherry-tongue out of you, I will!" she shrieks.

Girvan isn't getting up to volunteer either, but watches the passing of J'lia out of the room with misgiving "I had hoped she would break it up" he confesses to Celev, idly picking up a meatroll and biting into it...his relief evident when Tam takes charge.  So involved in the fight was he, he didn't even see her come in.  thank goodness she did...right?

"Swordfight," Lirelin supplies, glancing at Tam. "I think." She lets her gaze travel to the dueling riders once more. "How remarkable."

Gwyneth> Timoth shudders. Should he be encouraging Gwyneth? She /is/ looking in fine form tonight, but he's trying to calm his own rider down inside. No reason for her to go and kill a few greenriders, is there?

Gwyneth> Equarias is too obvious not to appear innocent as she makes a mad dash for a couple buckets of paint and a brush, hiding the latter under her arm.  "Workin' on m'paintin' skills," she calls to Juli, totally nonchalant.  "Ye bett'r not kiss m'," is mumbled 'neath her breath as she approaches the glowing green, cautious steps taken slowly.  "Gwyn'th?"
 

T'on grins and easily bats aside her lunge.  "Thrust, parry, parry, good!"  The 'Parry parry' comes as he bats twice in quick succession at her weapon, testing her skill and strength.  Then he merrily leaps after her.  "She was put upon, by the handsome T'on, who carried her back to his weyr on....."  He pauses, trying to concentrate on his footing, his sword, and his singing.  "The back of her dragon Gwyneth."

Gwyneth> Gwyneth isn't unduly upset - Kyrith's not around, and that's all that matters.  And, best of all, there's /males./  A dulcet croon is uttered for those present, and she shifts a bit -- all the better for the sun to catch at her hide.

Gwyneth> Were Timoth acquainted with Z'cary, he might change his mind about greenriders. "You paint?" Genuine interest lurks in J'lia's voice, interupted only by her biting from said fruit. Said around that bite, though, a question. "Why would she kiss you?" Even as she follows dutifully, again a t a slower pace.

Swordfight. In the Great Hall. In front of the candidates. "Can we /possibly/ scare the candidates any further?? Might as well forget about telling them about the dragons, you idiots!" Tam shouts as she watches the fight. She maneuvers herself into some kind of position to distract at least one or the other rider, hoping to disarm or maim. Preferrably the later, as she's had a rather rough day and is in no mood for hijinks.

Celeviel scoots back, far back, cringing in his chair with an eye towards both his safety and that of everyone else nearby.  "Er, help?" He meekly offers this contribution to Tam, who seems to be the person to save all of them.  Good choice.

Eyes widen - Kym shrieks more, tone rising as she interprets that last verse of T'on's.  "You'll pay!"  Somehow, she manages to stay on balance, springing for another table.  Tam is ignored, besides the initial hissing: "Stay out of this!"  She stabs at the Harper-greenrider again with her sword -- parries?  Is that what it's called? Neverless, she battles on.

Gwyneth> Timoth very nearly yowls at the rather anger manner in which his rider is reacting inside. Works both ways, and the poor brown is feeling a tad bit miserable. Gwyenth is sooooo cute! He wants to appreciate that lissome hide, shimmering as it is in the sunlight....

Gwyneth> Anuith just doesn't understand it all. She glows. /So/?

Gwyneth> Equarias is now close enough to reach out and touch the dragon that seems most likely to be Gwyneth, and setting down the buckets, she replies, "'m a Weav'r -- 'm multi-talent'd, 'member?"  With a deep breath, she springs up and extends riding-strap-searching fingers around the band of leather encircling the green's delicate -- if glowing -- figure.  Her hide is shimmering, indeed, with a Candidate hanging off of the green's flying
 straps.

T'on is on the table....the same one Kym is on.  But unfortunately for him, his boot lands in Girvan's /plate/.  "Second verse, worse than the first."  He taunts Kym.  "And what can we rhyme, about the maid we call Kym.........." And at Kym, he parries her blow again, lifting his /non/ food clad foot to step towards her.  This overbalances the greenrider, and the slimy food on his boot causes him to slip onto his back, landing hard on the table.  "Oooof."

Gwyneth> Gwyneth rustles, eyes swirling a bit faster as lifemate's anger transmits to her; she settles, however, as Kym jumps to relative safety, and head swivels to momentarily regard the daredevil Candidate.  Timoth and Anuith capture her randy attention, though, and she shows off for them with a gaudy rush of wings.  Hang on tight, Equarias.

Gwyneth> J'lia didn't remember, actually. But she's not about to admit that. "Oh," is all the brownrider says, standing just a way off. Her question regarding kissing's gone unanswered, but she'll assume it's a Search thing. She remembers being kidnapped...that's what this kiss thing is about, she assumes. "I certainly hope the dragon doesn't mind that you're doing this..." 'The dragon' if only because Juli doesn't know any /names/ down here. More's the pity.

Girvan looks at his food for a moment in horror, before sudden realization of the more horrifying /fight/ overpowers his disappointment at loss of good food.  His chair skitters back so fast he loses balance, landing on the floor with a thump as T'on falls, much in parody of the rider's own collapse.  'Ahhh!"  Sprawled, he scrambles back farther...wayyy out of the way.

"Hah!"  Kym smirks at the greenrider, lightly jumping back to the one he sprawls upon -- the ones the Candidates ring around.  "Surrender!" she cries, sword poised.  T'on's own is disregarded, as the crazed Wingleader assumes him down, for good.  "Surrender!"

Tam blinks angrily and swears fluently under her breath, ending with, "...for the love of Faranth....." Without asking, she grabs the two men she knows. Yep. That's Girvan and Celeviel for you. "Okay... we're going to have to try to box them out, alright? Fardling greenriders are probably proddy or somthing..... give them less space to fight and they'lll have to give up." Theoretically, at least?

Girvan looks up from his place on the floor as if Tam is crazy "Are you crazy?" he queries in astonished tones "I'll bleed!  And I just took a bath.  Those swords look sharp!"  But for all his grumbling, he does get to his feet, looking at Celev with a 'if I have to, you have to look.'...or perhaps he is suggesting an all out race for the door?

Gwyneth> Anuith would help when it comes to names, but he's busy. Speculating. Why does she /do/ that? "To show off," mutters his rider in a discreet...or not so discreet?...answer.

Celeviel looks a little more than surprised.  Scooting back nearly as quickly as Girvan, he manages not to end up on the floor, but rather supposedly assissting Tam.  She even called him a /man/. -- Sha, right.  "I-, I.. Maybe they're stopping?"  He eyes the food-splattering rider, as well as his aunt.  ".. Oh, /please/ stoppit..  /Kym!/" The last name is some sort of attempt at dragging her attention.  Celev, of course, is perfectly happy with letting
 Girvan go run up and try to stop them.  Yup.

T'on would, theoretically, run someone through for interrupting this.  "It can be said, she doesn't think with her head, else she'd expect to soon be dead."  He lashes out with his feet, sweeping hers, then rising in a fluid motion to his feet. "And what can be said, about the man in her bed?"  Oh no.  "It can be said, about the man in her bed, that he really is good with his....sword."  Cough.  Ahem.

Gwyneth> Gwyneth sure is good at it, though.  It comes with practice.  And Faranth knows, she practices enough.

Gwyneth> Timoth likes it when she shows off, though. He considers her rather pretty when she does, actually.  But the emotions are running rather high within. A sigh for a croon and his head angles towards the weyr once more.

Gwyneth> Equarias ducks her head down to prevent her shriek from becoming /too/ audible, that shriek not only being of surprise, but also of distinct pain from being pinched.  Gulp, everything's..different from this angle.  "I know, lass, they're havin' a swor'fight in 'ere.  If ye cain't fit through th' doors, thar ain't much ye can do 'bout it."  She chooses this moment to run a thumb across the leather, noting its condition and porosity and responds, "I hope sh' doesn't, either."  Gathering herself into as much of a ball as she can, Eq waits for a still moment and then takes a bold leap down to the ground, cursing the ground's firmness beneath her breath.

Lirelin clears her throat behind Tam. "I could go sit on Kym," she offers brightly. "I'm good at things like that."

Girvan can't help it.  That last little ditty cracks him up, so much so that it takes his mind off of the thought of being run through...for a moment at least.  Long enough for him to ask Tam "What do you want me to do?"  Shells, what has he done?

Kym's swiped sword clatters to the stone floor as feet are kicked at -- it /really/ isn't too steady upon those tables, and a wide-eyed greenrider stumbles, an outstretched hand breaking her fall before she lands in remnants of some food-splattered dish.  "You wouldn't /dare!/" she threatens T'on, glowering up as she attempts to scramble away.  Frantic, she spies her nephew.  "Celeviel! Help me!  Gimme my sword!"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Tam mutters looking in disgust at Girvan. And here she had such a high opinion of him. Celeviel is ignored as he hides behind Girvan as well. "Fine.... be wherries then," she snaps out and then begins to make her way over to where they fight, ignoring Girvan's attempt to placate. She can do this. She's stubborn enough to try it, that is for certain. Perched on the balls of her feet, she tries to determine her move.

Gwyneth> "Need help?" is Juli's polite attempt at holding back one of those rare giggles. She watches the struggling eEquarias as Anuith edges closer to her, clinging to his rider in a time of, well if not her peril, then at least the peril of a nearby personage.

Lirelin reaches out with one toe - well, a foot actually, attempting to carefully draw the sword away without Kym noticing.

"Yeah, /right/!" Celeviel is quick enough with the answer, and snickers quietly from behind Girvan.  "Psst.. She called us /wherries/.. Heeh.."  It was Girvan's blood comment, really.

Gwyneth> Gwyneth does still, in time, and worried notes silence; she trusts that Timoth's rider -- or that famed nephew -- will rescue poor Kym.  A flutter of wings, a sweep of tail, and she cranes neck around to try to catch a glimpse of just what that Candidate did to her straps.

T'on laughs at Kym, leaping from the table in a neat little tuck and roll, landing in a kneeling position at Tam's feet.  He couldn't do it if Kyrith weren't proddy.  But at Tam's feet also lies the purloined weapon, and T'on wraps his free hand about it.  Then he rises slowly, grinning like an idiot.  "Hi Tam.  When'd you get here?"  His own sword is sheathed.  "How's Timoth?"  Sword is back, fight is done.

Lirelin withdraws her foot with a sigh. So much for that idea.

Gwyneth> Equarias' look is nonetheless amused and although she'll be bruised in a few uncomfortable places, she hasn't lost any digits vital to painting.  Nodding emphatically, the Candidate rubs her tailbone, wincing at the first sign of a lump, "Iff'n ye could please jest hol' th' buck't for m', I'd be grateful."  Eq hasn't done anything -- /yet/.  "Gwyn'th," she begins in a sweetly polite tone, "Can ye please put yer leg out for me t' stan' on?"

Girvan frowns at Tam...didn't he just volunteer, albeit belatedly?  Celeviel gets a look at the aside "Yes....somewhat like cowards, I'm thinking" he mutters, and stalks over to the sideboard, returning a moment later with a large pitcher of juice which he proceeds to pour over Kym's head "There.  Cool off" he glares, especially at Tam.  As for T'on.."And you...you owe me a dinner!" he snaps out.  If Tam's words did not cut him to the quick, the loss of his beloved food certainly got him to act.

Ooh, but the fight's not over /that/ quickly.  "Agh!"  Girvan's helpful splash of juice revives the downed greenrider.  Swiftly, Kym rises, slipping from the table -- she springs towards T'on, attacking the lord-of-swords with nail, claws, and fangs.

Gwyneth> J'lia is most certainly amused. If only at such a rought ride for Equarias. Now, questions /do/ present. "What do you being up /there/, and painting have to do with each other? And where is the bucket?" She won't add 'what bucket?' but it's certainly a nagging question.

Celeviel eyes Girvan cautiously.  Well, /he/ certainly reacted to the wherry comment.  "Er, that might not've been the best thing to.." Too late, Kym's up again.  "I think we should just.. run." And this he declares, a little belatedly.

Arms are crossed over her chest and Tam simply glares. "Didn't we have this conversation before?" she snips a bit irritated. "What in Faranth's name did you two crackdust greenriders thinkg that you were doing?!?!?" This rather acerbic comment is directed at Kym as well. "You think the Great Hall is your battle field? Well I'm telling you right now it is NOT." She /wishes/ she were still the weyrsecond, because a night in the tuber cellars would be rather appropriate for these two to cool their heels. And the candidates? Are
 they still around then?

Gwyneth> Gwyneth doesn't understand, of course - or she chooses not to understand.  Her attention is captured by a passing blue, however, and regard slips away from straps.  Crouched upon the ground, forearm is, indeed, in the perfect position for mounting -- not purposefully, of course, but nevertheless, she's poised.

Gwyneth> Thar she goes. And left with her redfruit, Juli decides to /not/ heed lifemate's advice, and go back home to Fort where all the sane people are. "/Not/ now. Later. I need to visit." She has old haunts to reclaim, after all. She Impressed, not died.
Gwyneth> J'lia walks crisply towards the center of the Great Courtyard.

T'on smiles sweetly at the brownrider.  "She took my sword.  I took it back."  He is candid, easily, sidestepping the launched Kym easily.  And unless said greenrider stops, she very well could wind up in Tam's lap.  "And so now, I must be back off to Sabria."  Just like that, the battle is done, in T'ons rather...twisted logic

Lirelin has disconnected.

Girvan scowls at Tam still, following the launching Kym and catching her as she falls to the floor after missing T'on, holding her arms tight to her sides with satisfaction "There.  Listen to Tam" he notes, pushing the rider more towards the lecturing one, even as he grimaces.  Now he's all sticky again. Ick.  "And he was taunting her, too." he mutters for Tam's benefit "So he is as much at fault"  Right now, he is treating both riders as he would two very bratty children in the nursery.

Kym-logic doesn't declare it so - indeed, she's only more infuriated by what she presumes to be a loss, on her part, and she struggles against the more level-headed Candidate determinedly.  "I hate you."  So come dangerously quiet words, directed towards T'on.  Attention drifts towards Tam momentarily as she intones furiously, "Did you /hear/ him!  That sharded Harper!"  Struggling pauses, and she twists her head around to demand of Girvan, "Let me go."

As a point in fact, Girvan isn't too far off from the truth when it comes to describing these two greenriders. Most especially when proddy. Oh ugh. Tam's brown eyes narrow as she looks to T'on first. "I heard your.... song?" She's dubious of that title herself. "It sounded like you were instigating, no?" She spares a glance Kymwards as well, noting with some satisfaction that Girvan is at last useful. "And what in blazes were you thinking? A swordfight Kym?" Good thing T'gger isn't here, or she'd have three fighting riders on her hands.

T'on turns back to Tam, grinning.  "She had my sword.  She told me to shut up."  Basically, she came into the Great Hall in an irritable mood.  "And I /looooooooooooooooooooooove/ you Kym."   The greenrider beams at the prostrate one.

Girvan smiles at Kym, though his grip remains firm.  "only if you promise not to fight anymore.  It truly is ruining my appetite."  He glares at T'on "not that I have any food left to sate it with, at any rate."  Tam gets a look as well.  Does that look mean he isn't a wherry?  He hopes not.  "Kym was upset because her favorite leathers got splattered with paint.  T'on was less than sympathetic.  That pretty much started the whole thing."  Now if only they would kiss and make up.  He casts a look at Celeviel for back up "Wasn't that the way of it?"  That particular candidate should know.  Look at his hair, after all.

Celeviel nods solemnly.  He's the painted one.  And innocent, too.

"He /challenged/ me!" Kym declares to Tam.  "Of course I had to follow through."  Focus flickers towards T'on, and so-pale lips draw tighter still as anger colors cheeks; she twists more cannily in Girvan's grasp, attempting to slip under arms.  "No you don't," she snaps back at T'on.  "Shut up.  T'gger loves me.  Eldana loves me.  You don't love me -- you hate me! I hate you!"  At least she's got her basic emotions all figured out.

Irritable mood. Gee.... Tam has no idea what that is like. "Sharding fools," she mutters tiredly under her breath. Her hands come up to rub at her temple and she shakes her head. "And you two are supposed to be /training/ these guys?" she points out with a resigned sigh. Her head lifts slowly once more as she peers at T'on and Kym both, switching back and forth between them. "No. Swords. In. The. Great. Hall." This is obviously said in no uncertain terms. "You want to slice each other up, fine. Do it outside so that the blood doesn't stain the carpeting." She gestures with a hand at Girvan. "Oh let her go.... she's upset, but she won't start anything up again." And Kym is given The Look (tm).

T'on pouts at Tam.  "No one got hurt, Tam.  I knew what I was doing the whole time."  Actually, if it weren't for the fact that Kyrith was influencing him, he'd not be able to wield a sword either.  Only when she's proddy.  And T'on will probably have a sword in the Hall tomorrow.  But before Kym can get up, he moves over to her, leaving his swords well behind.  Then he kneels down, grabs her face, and gives her a big wet kiss.  "But I /do/ love you Kymie."

Celeviel has disconnected.

Girvan looses the green rider immediately upon Tam's suggesting it, smiling apologetically at Kym "i'm sorry...didn't mean to offend.  But it was getting a bit out of hand."  He steps back, over to Celeviel "You were the smart one" he murmurs "Staying well out of it."

Kym's shrieks are muffled, and she bats at T'on helplessly.  "No you don't!  No you don't!"  She denies it, declares it not so -- doesn't /want/ it to be true.  "Just..just go away."  As always, Kym's the damsel in distress, collapsed in a heap upon the Great Hall's floor amidst the ruins of unedible food and battered tables -- and then there's that sword-bearing greenrider hovering nearby.  It's all Gwyneth's fault.

Tam sighs and watches T'on grab Kym. It's like slow motion photography... and Tam doesn't stop it. Nope. It's T'on's deathwish if he wants it. Cause T'gger's gonna kill him. She coughs and shakes her head once more. "Greenriders," is muttered under her breath like it is a curse. She looks to make sure that the candidates are none the worse for wear, and then puts her hands to her head again. "I think I need some willow salic...."

T'on waves towards Tam.  "Yeah.  You go lie down.  I'll clean up here."  The food, the tables, and the damsel in distress.  He wraps an arm about the now free Kym.  He likes to live dangerously.  "C'mon Kymie.  I'll carry you to your weyr, OK?"

Girvan rolls his eyes, completely disgusted by this change of events. "Shells..." he mutters, giving the riders a nod as he backs for the door "I need some fresh air."  And he is /not/ going to volunteer to clean up the mess, either.

Tam looks up and frowns at T'on's suggestion. "Do /not/ get started again," she snorts, hands slipping to hips in that no-nonsense pose she often uses with weyrlings. Come to think of it.... she used it for T'on rather often when /he/ was a 'ling as well. "At any rate... /someone/ has to clean up this mess..." and she gestures with a broad hand to the Great Hall, which really doesn't look so great after all.

Girvan hovers on the verge of leaving, then sighs, something muttered under his breath as he turns back "I can help, if you need me to."  And on an empty stomach.  He looks at T'on enquiringly.  "Do you?"  Need help, that is.

T'on looks back at Girvan and shakes his head.  "Naaah.  Get something to eat.  I'll clean it.  Later."  Like...before everything becomes permanent.

"I can walk just fine," Kym stubbornly informs T'on, peevishly attempting to disentangle herself from his so-called helpful arm.  "I'm not drunk, or something."  Just proddy.  "What are you trying to prove, anyway?  That you're better?  That I can't wield a sword any better than I could draw a straight in Bitra?  That Kyrith's prettier?"  She pushes herself to her feet, wearily asking, "What it is it you want from me, anyways?"

Tam is worried. Worried that this whole mess is going to explode once more and she glances over at Kym and sighs. "Kymie," she cajoles softly. "He probably proddy too, no? You know by now... you're governed by your dragons?" Does the calm, collected voice of reason penetrate in any way, shape or form?

Girvan grins at T'on, obviously relieved "In that case, I'm off to the baths.  I've gotten all dirty."  Again. "Well...I'll leave you all to it...maybe get something to eat."  And make good his escape.Girvan exits the room for the smaller entry hall.

"I wanted my sword back.  I got it, so we can be friends now."  Oh boy.  T'on's logic is...rather twisted.  "But I would like you to say, 'T'on, I'm sorry I snuck into your weyr and stole your sword and your underclothes."  Er.  Not that he ever wears any.  He added that for fun.

Kym's mouth drops open.  "I didn't steal your underclothes!" she protests, pushing herself away from T'on.  "Why would I do that?"  She fishmouths in something akin to horror.  "I don't want your sharding underclothes.  It must've been Sabria - she's your weyrmate, after all."  Kym never did know what she saw in T'on.  It must be the mutual insanity.

Tam is beginning to think the same way. Oy. She shakes her head. "I'm.... getting that willow salic," she mutters softly. "Try not to kill each other, alright?" And then the brownrider is making her way to the infrimary....
Tam exits the room for the smaller entry hall.

Kym remembers to stubbornly tack on, "And I'm /not/ your friend.  And I won't say sorry.  'Cause I'm not."

T'on pouts.  "Well, you did take my sword with out asking you know.  And it's your fault you lost.  I'm better than you at Sword fighting, remember?"  Or any of the so called manly arts.  Tho only with Kyrith proddy.

Kym points out, "You fought unfairly.  I would've won."  She crosses arms over chest, flicking hair away from cerulean-hued eyes with a toss of her head. "And besides.  You sang mean things about me.  I won't apologize 'less you do."

T'on smirks to himself.  He thought those songs were funny.  "Gee, Kym.  I didn't know it would hurt your feelings all that much.  I'm sorry."  Er...as sorry as someone like proddy T'on can be.

Kym didn't, apparently.  "It was /mean,/" Kym stresses.  "Mean.  Sharding mean."  She is remotely mollified, however, upon recieving the apology - and so she deigns give her own, although grudgingly.  "I'm sorry for taking your sword."  There.  She said it.  Is T'on happy, now?

T'on isn't happy.  Cause Kym isn't.  Walking closer to her, he smiles.  "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.....but well, you provoked me.  Calling me a silly Harper.  Didn't you know?  Never ever insult a Harper.  You'll wind up the subject of a satirical song."

Of course Kym isn't.  She doesn't /like/ T'on, or silly Harpers.  Remember?  "You started it," she defies, hopping back a step.  "You started singing about me first. You were /rude./"  It's always the Harpers' fault.  "It doesn't give you any right to sing about me."

T'on nods.  "Yes it does..  You came in here, interrupted my worshippers."  What worshippers?  "And complained about your leathers.  So you started it."

Kym sniffs derogatoritively.  "You don't have any worshippers," she intones.  "There wasn't anyone in here when I came in.  Remember?"  Unless T'on's seeing invisible beings, too.  "My leathers have been /painted/ by those Candidates."  She mutters something uncivil under her breath before adding, "They aren't black.  It's /awful./"

T'on smiles and decides to be civil, walking up to Kym to give her a comforting hug.  "There there.  If you want, I'll pay for new ones?"  Or just get Equarias to make them.  "And then you won't have to worry about it any more?"

"No, no, no."  Kym struggles - she's good at that - a minute before abruptly ceasing.  "Tana and Zella are scrubbing them clean."  Good luck to them - the paint's permanent, although Kym doesn't know that yet.  "It's their punishment."

T'on shakes his head.  "Ok, Kymie.  But I don't think it's gonna come clean."  He strokes her back in a friendly way.  "But I'll make sure they do their best."

"Whatever."  Kym mourns her decorative leathers with a melodramatic sigh.  "If they can't get it out, I'll make Celeviel.  He's a Weaver.  He'll know how to do it."  Oh, the punishments that come with being related to Kym.

T'on smiles.  "Here. Let me make you feel better."  The younger greenrider states, before leaning forward, and giving Kym a very very very passionate kiss on the lips.  Here.

Surprise registers upon Kym's expression and posture; she stiffens, drawing herself up to full height -- which isn't much -- before giving in, relaxing, and returning T'on's kiss.  It must be that extra glow that taints Gwyneth's hide which affects her lifemate's behavior, surely.

T'on wouldn't be kissing her if it weren't for Kyrith's extra glow, that much is certain.  "There."  He comments, pulling away from her lips.   "Feel better now?"

"Um."  Crimson flushes Kym's light-skinned cheeks, reminiscent of her nephew's constant blush, as she breaks away, realizing just what occured.  "I have to go now."  T'on's question is left unanswered, and the greenrider flees.