Anson grunts. "She's a good healer. The best actually." he smirks once before glancing toward Y's new victim. He raises a brow before remembering his station, saluting T'yari. "G'eve Rider."

Yysare is a scary girl. This is because she was born to an equally scary mother. Raised in a Telgarian cothold, Yysare was born a chubby child and is, to this day, still - you guessed it - a chubby child. She was smart and learned to do most any chore quickly and efficiently, and how to talk a person's ear off at the same time while smiling an indestructible smile. This was a most exciting life for Yysare, of course, but I doubt that the general population would find it interesting enough to read about. When she was about ten, she decided to try and become a Harper, as marriage was much too boring, and talked herself into disqualification during her interview. After several similar failures, an inability to understand what was wrong with her, and several good cries, she came to live with a distant dragonrider cousin at Ista Weyr and somehow managed not to talk /too/ much while proving that she was efficient with her chores.

But there's more to this girl, that has yet to be discovered. Only no one dares, as they aren't sure if it will be good or bad.

Yysare glances at Anson and attempts to copy the salute. And botches it, of course.

Thump, thump, thump. That's T'yari's footsteps as he enters -- hopefully unnoticed -- from the Bowl. But that idea is soon thrown away as Yysare spies him, and after a brief hesitation and a large amount of startlement, the greenrider obediently approaches. "Er. Um. Hi. Yeah. I'm T'yari. And my dragon's Nediath -- and she's green." He seats himself gingerly and eyes Yysare rather warily, forgetting the rest of the questions by the time he's answered the first. It's with a faint expression of relief that the young man looks towards Anson. Maybe he's normal. But no such luck for Yari; he wrinkles his nose at the salute and shakes his head quickly, stating, "You can just use my name, really. I'm not important or anything."

Riddyn just shakes his head wonderingly. Amazing, simply amazing. "Heya T'yari." he greets easily, grinning a bit as the greenrider gets zeroed in on. "You're looking like I feel." Gee, what a surprise. Eyes flicker over to Yysare, "Thanks, but no thanks, lass. I've been sitting down practically all day, working on a project for Llilian."

Anson groans as he hears T'yari's admission of riding green. "Do you -flirt- outrageously too, Sir?" he asks the greenrider hesitantly.

"/Green?/" Despite the fact the Anson got to it first, Yysare starts in. "Ooh, /green/, is it true that /all/ greenriders flirt? Do you flirt? I've never flirted before, at least not that I know of, but, then again, I haven't met many young men except for my brothers, and...ooh, can you flirt for me, to show me how it's done? I think it might be interesting." Giggle. "Nediath? What a /pretty/ name! Is she as pretty as her name? Is she wonderful? Anson is a Candidate, did you know? I haven't seen those eggs yet. T'yari? It's a /really/ interesting name, I like it! OK, I'll use your name. T'yari. Ooh, T'yari, how old are you? Where do you come from? Do you like purple? Has your dragon ever been painted purple?" Attention turns to Riddyn; Anson is apparently off the hook for a moment. "Really? Working on what? Who's Lli - oh, yeah, she's the Jr. Weyrwoman, right? Sitting? Hmm. When I sit too long, the bottom part of my backbone starts to hurt...I have this rubber tube that I sit on. It /hurts/ so much. Are you hurting? Would you like to borrow it? I can go get it!"

T'yari always looks flustered, though. It's a normal state of being. Indeed, Yari begins to blush furiously at Anson's question and denies it with one vehement word: "No!" A helpless look is shot towards Riddyn before the poor greenrider wants to know, "Who told you /that?/" Or maybe it's better not to know -- Yari thinks of that once the question's out. "I don't flirt. And I'm not going to do it." Then: safer subject. "Nediath. Yeah, she's pretty. Vain, too. /She/ flirts." The greenrider looks like he regrets mentioning that piece of information. "Um. No. She's not purple and won't be purple and won't be painted purple. And -- why do you want to know my age?" T'yari looks decidedly uncomfortable around Yysare, and returns his regard to Anson, stating simply, "Congratulations."

"A project, like I said." Riddyn responds to Yysare. Oh, what a nice non-answer. Then he shakes his head, "No, I don't hurt. Just - set yourself where you are lass." Yeah, safest when she's _over there_ and he's _over here_. A shrug is returned to T'yari's helpless look. "Don't look at me. I got the same treatment."

Anson frowns at T'yari. "Are you -sure- you don't flirt sir?" he shakes his head. "That's the worst. Male greenriders who flirt. That's the worst. Really." he shudders. "Course, the absolute worst is Cymber. Can't get worse than that." he mutters. "She doesn't stop. She's like Yysare when she starts flirting."

Nediath> Down wings the elegant Genevrath, a vision of seafoam and emerald that alights with grace upon the stony floor of the bowl. A low-pitched croon is offered to her rider, who slithers down from neckridges and pauses for a moment of communion before she heads off for the caverns.
Nediath> Cymber slips deftly down to the bent foreleg of Genevrath, the Green lowering to a crouch and watching with gentle eyes as the she hops to the ground.
Cymber comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Late night seems just the time to nourish the desires of flirtatious greenriders. Don't look now, but here one comes through the door, flowing in with the singularly lush grace that is solely hers. Cymber doesn't pause as usual, she lifts a hand to return a few waves or greetings as they are offered, and heads straight off toward the alluring fragrance of steaming klah, breathing deeply.

Yysare takes a moment to catch her breath and to bite her meatroll before launching herself, once again, into a euphoria of chatter. "Oh, but flirting sounds so /fun/, T'yari, why don't you do it? You're a greenrider. Nediath flirts? /Really?/ I've never heard of a /dragon/ that flirts...oh, what is it like when she flirts? I bet she could teach you how to flirt. I bet it'd be fun. Will you have her teach you, and then you teach me? Dragons flirting. That's /funny/. And vain? But I bet she's pretty. And...aww, c'mon, flirt for me! She's not purple? Well, I like green, too. Nothing could be colorful without green, you know. Why? Well, I'm curious, why else? You don't want to tell me? I'll tell you mine!" Though, the chances of anyone believing her are low. "But /what/ project? You've made me /curious/ now." Sniff. Don't be mean to this innocent little thing! "Well...if you're /sure/. Ooh, who wants to go see the eggs? I've never /seen/ dragon eggs before, and I'll bet they're big, and...oh, please come with me?"

Yeah, but T'yari's the one who ends up hiding under tables from too much attention. Right now, he just shifts and fidgets and shoots a longing look towards the Bowl, trying his best not to whimper. "Of course I don't flirt. Why would I flirt?" The blushing returns, full-force. "No, don't answer that." Cymber is spied as she enters, and since Riddyn didn't respond favorably to his helpless looks, the greenrider casts them towards Cymber. Help, help. "And stop calling me sir." Yari goes back to growing redder by the second. "No! No!" Look, he's going to break down and cry or something. "I don't flirt and haven't--" Except for that one time when Nediath got glowy and made life even more miserable for Yari. "--and won't. And it's not funny. She's awful. She's embarrassing."

Anson nearly shrieks. Yes, shrieks, at Cymber's flirtatiously devilish presence. "Oh great...Here's another one." he salutes her despite his comment, groaning. "Run, everyone who's male, run! Run while you still have time!" he says to the males in the living cavern. "You -all- flirt. Even without knowing it!" he accuses T'yari. "Just look at her!" he points in Cymber's direction.

Riddyn smiles at Yysare. She's getting nothing out of him. "A project which I have not been given leave to discuss, lass. And curiousity never hurt anyone." He's not being mean, see? And he takes pity on T'yari, stirring himself to stride over. So Yysare thinks he's big, hmmm. Let's see what she thinks to him standing next to her chair. And an eyebrow is raised at Anson. "Oh my. Not all greenriders flirt, you know." he feels compelled to come to Yari's defence. "You should really -" Blink. Wince. "Keep it down, man. Cymber's alright."
Riddyn also waves at Cymber. She's nice, and she doesn't ask tons and tons of questions. "Evenin'"

"I do not!" T'yari protests desperately. "Do not! Nediath'd /like/ it if I did, but I don't so she's always mad at me. And that's just -- Cymber. She's not that bad. I know people who're worse." Yari literally beams with relief at his rescuer, Riddyn, before falling back into the blushing pattern. "Yeah. What he said. Not all greenriders flirt. I don't. And he knows me. So there."

Kelbiba wanders up into the living caverns. She waves t the others there, as she makes her way toward the serving tables. She pours herself a mug of juice before she looks back to the others, blinking as she watches.

If it were possible to distill the essence of sensuality and then to pour it into a single vessel. That vessel would have a name, and that name would be Cymber. The greenrider has only to breathe to exude the luscious sensuality to which she was birthed, and which she has served for the duration of her existence. It is as much a part of her as the raven locks which frame exquisitely-etched features. So many mentions of her own name draws the greenrider from her worship of the steamy drink, and she turns to summon a crooked smile for everyone within its range. "Evening, all," is drawled out in husky fashion, eyes of teal and seafoam sliding between T'yari and Riddyn in friendly manner. Her appraising gaze alights approvingly on R'kel and lingers for a bit, expression infused with friendliness.. and then. Who is that? Anson? Yes. It is. Wickedness comes upon her then, and she leans back and drapes her lush frame casually against the edge of the table behind her.

"Aww, but it /does/ hurt - I keep talking and talking until I bite my tongue, and it bleeds sometime, and I /do/ hate begging but....agh. Ooh, I was /right/, you're big!" Staring up, she starts to talk - to T'yari. While staring at Riddyn. Oh well? "But...oh, are you certain? I mean, flirting sounds like it would be /so/ fun and.../what?/ I thought all riders worshiped their dragons, and..." ...she catches sight of Cymbal. And watches. Oh, my. Whispering, "Is /that/ what flirting is? /Wow/, she's so /good at it/, Anson, look, she's flirting with you! Wow! Hey, who're you? What's your name? You're a greenrider, aren't you? Anson, look, she's /flirting/ with you, aren't you lucky...ooh, could you teach me how to flirt? Please?"

Anson shakes his head, glancing to T'yari, "But, you -can- flirt. You -do- flirt! You're a -Greenrider-. You can't help but flirt!" he says to the blushing greenrider. Then looks to Cymber and groans. "Stop looking at me like that!" he says to the flirtatious female. The candidate nearly huddles in his chair. He mutters darkly and facepalms as he hears Yysare. "Hey, don't encourage her!"

Riddyn sends a reassuring smile towards T'yari. He's big, he's a hero, he'll protect the poor greenrider. Only half-touched wine is placed on the table, as he inches his large frame closer to Yari, crossing his arms. Big, mean-looking fellow -(he's a softy, really)- at twelve o'clock! Leave the blushing wonder alone. "Anson, just because he's a greenrider doesn't mean he's a flirt. I do know him. I Stood with him, watched him Impress. He's not a flirt." he says, staunchly sticking to his role as defender. The luscious one isn't given much more notice beyond a smirk. OK, so maybe Anson has _some_ reason for his fears, but that's no reason to lump all greenriders into the same category. Towering, he looks down at Yysare, lifting an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young to be thinking about flirting?"

It's not that Cymber ignores everyone else, for she's really a whole lot more than a minx. She's a person, and rather intelligent, though few take the time to ever figure this. That suits her, gives her the upper hand in many a confrontation that others don't realize they've lost to the supple-bodied greenrider. "Anson," flows out that lush voice of hers, catching and caressing the candidate's name as her eyes linger upon the knot that marks his status. "What an interesting view of greenriders you seem to have. I wonder if you'd mind expounding upon them for us a little more." She indicates those parked nearby with a shift of her hand, the one which cradles the klah that drew her in here in the first place. "Do you honestly believe that all greenriders are required to flirt?" Even tones she uses, but something they manage to get stuck in her throat, where they deepen and take on the most subtle form of innuendo. Somewhere in the process, Riddyn's words are given a nod which signals her agreement.

"Not fun," T'yari fiercely tells the chattery person who makes him blush a lot. "It's not fun and -- can't you just change the subject, maybe?" Cymber is eyed rather suspiciously before the greenrider's attention is diverted by Anson. This time, Yari does, in fact, vocalize a small whimper. "It's not inherent with riding a green," he states with another quiet, whimpery sound. "And I certainly don't flirt." Another relieved look is shot back towards Riddyn; watch, he'll start following the bigger man around like a scared puppy before much longer.

Anson shakes his head negatively at Cymber's questions. "It -is- inherent in greenriders. They may not be -required- to flirt, but it's just part of who they are, no matter what gender or what their personality is like." he wrinkles his nose tightly before responding with "I don't care if you're male or female, staunchly against flirting or flirt -all- the time with anyone who walks upright (he gives Cymber a glare), you greenriders are all the same in that manner. You all flirt sometime or another and when they -do- flirt...It's just scary." he pauses, shying away from Cymber. "Especially you. Why must you flirt -all- the time. It's not like people -want- you to flirt with them, T'yari." he says to the other greenrider, involving him in his catchall prejudiced speech. "You don't stop your flirtatious nature and people get scared. I've seen their faces!"

Yysare glances around at all of these people, all talking and annoying each other, she scaring Anson and he in turn scaring T'yari while Cymber scares him...it's beautiful. Magnificent. Marvelous. And she can't stand it any longer. Bursting up from her chair with a loud screech, she clears her throat and yells: "/Everybody get up!/ I want to see those eggs and I don't know where they are!"

"Oh, I think that tirade is quite enough, /Candidate/." Cymber manages to crack that honeyed voice of hers into command as easily as she lowers its pitch to offer invitations. The lax smile still drapes across her rubied lips, but the eyes that nail themselves hard into Anson are anything but tolerant at the moment. "You have apparently forgotten your place and to whom you are speaking." Slowly she rises, in no apparent hurry, and not at all subduing her inherent nature, which she couldn't if she tried to anyway. "T'yari is the furthest thing from a flirt that I have ever known. You will address him henceforth with a tone of respect or you will answer to Nediath for it." She slinks closer, like the deadly promise of a tryst fulfilled, toward Anson, klah forgotten on the table, slim hand against one incredibly-delictable hip.

Kelbiba blinks at Yysare. "Calm down." She says. "I can show you the way there. You don't have to shout." She states calmly.

Riddyn looks down at Anson, icy eyes cool as steel. "Is he flirting right now, at this moment?" the large stablehand rumbles, stance shifting slightly. Feet shoulder width apart, back straight, arms still crossed. "For it seems to that he isn't, and you are quite-" he stops, blinks, raises a hand to rub at his ear. And smiles at Cymber. She has more authority here than he does. But it's best for Yari to have someone who isn't a rider as a defender, too.

"But -- but--" T'yari's at a loss. "But I don't flirt. Have you ever seen my flirt? Has /anyone/ ever seen me flirt?" The second question is more inclusive and is asked of the room at large. The greenrider flinches at Yysare, cowering in his chair. "But I don't want to." Or, more accurately, Yari doesn't want to be anywhere near Yysare. This includes the Galleries. Oh, look -- T'yari gets two heros to be in adoration of. "Yeah. What she said." Then, to Cymber, he adds on, "/Thank/ you."

Anson flinches at Cymber's change in voice and attitude, muttering at her. "Hey, I called him Sir until he told me not to!" "I even saluted him! I saluted you even!" he shakes his head. "You're obviously smart enough. You shouldn't need to rely on that flirtatious nature of yours, Ma'am." he says softly, shaking his head. He glances toward T'yari and sighs. "Whatever. If you say you don't flirt, you don't flirt. But if I catch you flirting I'll....I'll..." he grumples. "I don't know what I'll do."
Anson says "I just don't like flirting. So there."

"Tell me, Anson," lilts Cymber darkly, the ultimate vision of masculine fantasy incarnate as she advances with that lithe lack of speed toward the hapless Candidate in question, "Can you alter that foul attitude and demeanor of yours, or change the hue of your hair? No," she pauses, widening her smile somewhat as she runs her eyes in quite the pointed fashion over each and every inch of him. Head to toe.. toe to head, lingering here and there for spice in the process. "First of all, I don't waste my efforts if there's nothing worth plying them upon." No need to openly humiliate, she just permits the cant of her expression to speak her opinion in his regard on this. "Second of all, I do not offer the reasoning for my behavior to Candidates." Slender hand strokes along that hip's curve with seductive intent before she raises it, ticking off each point with the lifting of a finger. "Thirdly, I do not tolerate disrespect, and that has /nothing/ to do with titles or salutes. Do you understand me, /Candidate/?" She's now almost in his face.. to use a common phrase to suit the situation.

"If I catch /myself/ flirting, I'd probably do something, too," T'yari mutters, more to himself than to Anson. "I don't like it, either." Cymber is eyed with a mix of trepidation and awe -- look, look, she's protecting him. And being very scary at the same time.

Riddyn arches an eyebrow. For once, stern cast to features lend themselves to a situation. And so, he'll just look stern - maybe try for menacing - and stand bodyguard-like next to T'yari. For friends, he can be less than the gentle soul he is at heart. He'll just be the masculine, buff counter-point to Cymber's lithe menace.

Kelbiba disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Yysare pats her throat, apparently regretting the shout, as she turns to stare up mournfully at Riddyn. "Oh, I'm sorry about that - what do they put /in/ this klah? There must be lots of sugar, because I'm getting hyper - you don't?" Turning to T'yari, she begins to play with Faces. Crestfallen ones. "Oh, but...surely...just this once? Please?"

Yysare suddenly remembers something. If she can chatter about it, she'll remember it. "And why wouldn't I be old enough to flirt? I'm sixteen!" Really!

Anson blinks, listening to the greenrider's points. "I think it's only because...I don't know what it is...Cymber." he stutters his words as he speaks to the ravishing greenrider. "I respect you. Just not your flirting." he says, his face staid. "Truly. I don't wish any disrespect, but it seems to me that you're smart enough to know that life isn't about ... that kind of thing." he sighs, shaking his head. "I'll stop. I'm sorry." he glances toward T'yari and sighs, "I'm sorry about accusing you of flirting, when in reality, it's just Cymber." he glances toward her again, watching her for a single minute before resigning himself to saying "I'm sorry..."

"No." T'yari is very, very easy to convince of anything, but he doesn't say so. He'll hide his pushover-ness as long as possible. "You could just do it later?" he tries, glancing towards Yysare and around Riddyn. "You are? Really? You don't look it." Unthinkingly blunt, Yari reddens as soon as he realizes his untactfulness. "Er, sorry." Then, peering back towards Anson, he sniffs. "You should be."

Riddyn spares a moment of attention away from the much subdued Anson to glance down at Yysare and - was that a wink? "If you say so, lass." he remarks, deep voice holding no inflection at all. Oof. This stance is hard on the back. Oh, well. He keeps it.

Cymber accepts that apology. She does so with a gracious inclination of her raven-crowned head that sets off a subtle chain-reaction of sensuous motion in the rest of her body as well. Spare adjustments of a hip or a shoulder that display her desirable curves to their best effect. "No more, Anson." Low-pitched, she snares his eyes with the molten depths of her own, or she attempts to at least, and if she catches them, she lingers pointedly upon them. "I do not care what you think of flirtation. I rather have a poor outlook on the trait of being judgmental that would condemn you to a similar despite if I allowed it to control me as your obsession has you." She looses a breath that has sustained her, lending her height and stature that her diminutive form doesn't usually own. "If I hear you ever address /any/ rider in the tones I heard tonight, I will go to the Weyrwoman and will to my utmost to have you dropped as a Candidate, Anson. Becoming a dragonrider has much to do with a tolerance I've never seen you display." She moves even nearer, her perfume a palpable presence, "Have I made myself clear, Candidate?" Quiet are her tones, not need now to raise them.

Yysare wrinkles her nose at Riddyn - and nods enthusiastically at T'yari - eyeing Cymber. "Boy, am I glad /I'm/ not a Candidate, if they do /that/...wow." So much for flirting. "Well, I'll just go look by myself, then. And I /am/ sixteen. Really. Don't I look it?" And out she bounces.
Yysare disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

T'yari just...watches Cymber work. And can't shake the look of half-fear, half-fascination at her tactics. He cranes his neck around to peer up at Riddyn and hiss, "She's /good/ at that." Extremely scary, too, but he doesn't mention that part. Everyone thinks that he's spineless enough as it is without him backing it up any further.

Anson blinks, taking Cymber's words (not to mention her almost hypnotic motions of her body) in, nodding to her submissively. "I -am- tolerant, Cymber. More tolerant than you may think. You -don't- know me though. But I do apologize. I was out of line tonight." he finally says, sighing at her rather commanding presence, his spine remaining straight despite his obvious resigned position. He might back down, but won't be spineless. Especially not in front of -her-. He glances toward the others before looking to Cymber, right in her eyes. "I will try to be better."

Thick lashes hardly blink at all, Cymber's gaze retaining its fixation upon Anson's face. "I am certain that if you mean that, you will find success." She's lost her smile, but that doesn't do much to ease the aura of raw invitation her person exudes like an invisible aphrodisiac.. in fact, she's got more now of a bedroom look than even before, despite the utter command she's called up from the center of herself. Ripe lips purse their crimson'd softness, features tilting in speculative consideration, and after a moment, her mouth takes up its curve again. "Do you realize, Anson," she begins, looking quite pleased all of a sudden, "That you yourself may very well find a lifemate in the palette of green?" She leaves him with that, offering a wave to T'yari and Riddyn and the others before pivoting and place and just departing. Mind you.. that throbby chuckle of hers lingers as she heads out to the waiting Gen, vast amusement in its husky sound at the thought.

Riddyn nods down at T'yari, letting his expression show that he himself was a little intimidated by the sumptuous Cymber. "Aye, that she is." he murmurs back, gravelly voice turning words into a growl. Then a more approving nod towards Anson. Huh, the land actually made some sense, there.

"Greens /are/ the most common," T'yari helpfully states, taking to avoiding looking at Cymber for fear of that bedroom look. He does, however, offer up a polite wave. Then, to Riddyn: "You can probably sit down, now."

Anson blinks, "I...I hadn't thought of that. I never expected to be Searched in my entire life, much less being Impressed. Whatever happens, happens. I -can- change my views. I'm even trying to be nicer." he continues to watch Cymber with his own kelp green eyes. "I guess I should allow for that possibility."

Cymber disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Dragon> Genevrath senses that Nediath is vastly amused, and it shows in the light, bubbly sprinkling of ripe apple green and the not-quite-tart soprano tone. << My rider would thank yours -- he thinks yours saved him. Although he's rather scared of your rider now, too. >>

Anson sighs deeply. "I need some air..." he says to no one in particular. "Air and a swim in cold water." he adds, shaking his head.

Riddyn lets his stance relax at T'yari's suggestion, turning relaxation into a direct course for the nearest chair. The one chatty little Yysare vacated, in fact. "Oh, good. My calves were starting to hurt." he notes, once again back to his normal, affable self. A nod towards Anson, "A Weyr offers many surprises Anson, and manages to kill just about any prejudice a person can develope. Whether you Impress or not." Then he chuckles slightly. "That might be a good idea."

Joncara comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Anson glances T'yariwards. "T'yari, I'm sorry I accused you of so much. I didn't realize I had such a narrow point of view."

T'yari would laugh if he weren't so incredibly embarrassed at the moment. "Yeah. I didn't exactly think that I'd end up with Nediath." Much less a dragon at all. "It happens." A sympathetic look is shot towards Riddyn. "Ouch. I bet. I could never take stand as long as you did." The apology is accepted with a slight nod, and the young greenrider replies, "It's okay."

Dragon> Nediath senses that Genevrath's thought are entwined with the musky silvers of her own seafoamed mirth, like froth upon the cobalt of a more serious tone. <<My beloved doesn't like to see your rider treated like that.>> Then a twist, a plunging of tiny bubbles and alabaster mist signals her own amusement at the concept. <<Mine is not frightening at all, she is harmless unless you make her upset. That one in the cavern did. Yours did not. You must tell him that she likes him.>>

Anson blinks, "Shardit....I may Impress a Green too...I hadn't even thought of that..." he sighs, shaking his head. "I prize common sense and I don't seem to have any!" he shakes his head again, glancing to T'yari. "Did I ever even introduce myself to you, T'yari?"

Riddyn lifts broad shoulders in a shrug. "One does what one must as the situation warrants." he replies obliquely to T'yari. And finally, now that sparks are no longer flying and questions being babbled at an incredibly high rate of speech, he can lean back and enjoy his wine. Ah.

Dragon> Genevrath senses that Nediath's signature mix of pale apple and crisp, throaty vocalizations ripen into a darker, tarter mix as her amusement grows still. << My rider didn't enjoy it. Even though /I/ think that it does him some good. >> Poor kid -- if it was wasn't bad enough for him to be embarrassed at everything, everyone, and their mothers, now he's got a dragon who delights in putting him in bad situations. << Oh, I will. >> And don't fear; she'll spice up the story until it's something taken completely out of context. Whereupon T'yari will take to hiding in his weyr for another sevenday.

"No. I don't think so," T'yari lightly replies. "Might've. I don't remember." He was, at the time, being peppered with fifteen rapid-fire questions.

Anson nods again, "I'm Anson. Candidate here at the weyr, Searched by the WeyrSecond's Baileth."

Joncara pops in and heads for serving table, trying to stay out of everyone's way.

"I do remember the Candidate part, though," the greenrider informs, just now beginning to recover from the redness that stained his cheeks. That is, until his eyes go momentarily hazy as he communicates with the green outside, in the Bowl. "/Nediath!/" Don't think that he could escape from blushing so easily. Whatever it was that brought upon that reaction is left unsaid and concealed as he turns back to Anson, attempting to ignore the persistant green and her not-wanted comments. "I saw the knot. And Baileth -- oh, R'kel." He isn't quite used to his clutchsib's new title, yet.

Anson nods again. "R'kel's doing a fine job." he grins as he reminisces. "Baileth's a great brown." he pauses before saying, "If it means anything, I find myself blushing a lot too.." he admits to the greenrider, perhaps an attempt at broadening his mind to include greenriders, flirtatious or not.

T'yari doesn't really like his blushing being pointed out, though; if it's possible, he flushes even further. "Er. That's nice," he replies awkwardly. The greenrider makes his escape, then, rising from his seat to shower a vague smile upon the others at the table. "I'd better go." He leaves without his original intent fulfilled -- food -- and makes tracks for the Bowl.