It's evening, most of the late egg-gawkers having gone their way, while it's generally too cold to invite others out, even to the warmth of the Sands. Nasmyth sprawls carefully, not looking to keen on /anything/. Glazed eyes and the occasional cough-sneeze attest to why he looks so miserable and off-color. The poor fellow's apparantly came down with it, too. R'ken's about and keeping an eye on things, Myth in particular; he's perched on a long forearm, one leg drawn up with clipboard resting on it -- perhaps hides he coerced (without much difficulty) out of C'drel to pass the time. Typically unobservant, the brownrider reaches up now and again to touch to run a hand along hide in comforting gesture while occasionally humming snatches of some Harper's tune.

Deinha, meanwhile, has been hovering around Sebayeth, fidgety and hesitant in a manner that suggests she's feeling the effects of another long day of being watched, greeted, and commented about by any number of people. Now that things are finally cleared, the stress of the day is finally shown further still as the woman sighs faintly and leans her head briefly against Sebayeth's. The young gold appears somewhat more alert than in the past sevenday or so, and rather calmly pleased, gentle whirl of green-flecked blue lingering proudly on the eggs of her clutch. She is, somehow, unafflicted by whatever ailment seems to have caught much of the rest of the Weyr. With a quick shake of her head, Deinha suddenly detaches herself from Sebayeth, sliding her fingers along yellow-gold muzzle once more before stepping delicately over the sands and toward Nasmyth and rider. "'Ken?" is the soft, questioning word, as she sets about interrupting whatever work the man is at with the clipboard -- be it business or pleasure. Although her tone is light, giving nothing away of the reason for this slight intrusion, there's a faint furrow between her brows, as though whatever she's been thinking about remains heavily on her mind.

Nasmyth's head lifts and turns, tracking Deinha's approach watchfully, though not terribly suspiciously. He knows /that/ lass, knows her to belong here, and so doesn't do much more than puff and droop once more, wings shifting restlessly. << I'm not ill, >> he assures R'ken at the query, tone fuzzy and with the faintest touch of irritability. << I just don't feel particularly well. >> The 'rider merely shrugs, thumps brown hide affectionately, then lets the leg fall as he takes a good hold of the clipboard. He's been relatively more at ease on the busy sands, more inclined to welcome the attention, though distracted throughout the day for obvious reasons. He rolls one of his shoulders then rubs his neck - a stiff spot for the bending - before ducking his head about and quirking a small grin at the approaching Deinha. "Welcome distraction," he calls her amiably, stifling a yawn soon after. "Yeah, though." A closer look for her, and he wonders mildly, "You all right, dearling?"

<< Poor Nasmyth. Do you need anything? >> is Sebayeth's warm response: a true offer, not just manners, insinuated in the whispery-toned question with a faint mental caress of soft yellow. Deinha, too, spares the brown a sympathetic glance before returning her attention to his rider; she does not appear discomfitted in the least by 'Myth's attention. At 'Ken's gesture, a smile teases over her own lips, "Been huddled over your clipboard for too long?" And a slight nod acknowledges returned greeting. She doesn't answer the last for a moment, an odd expression -- surprise, appreciation? -- moving fleetlingly over her features at the term of affection before a relaxed smile is offered. "Mmm. I suppose." Head tipping to the left a moment, she gives brownrider a curious regard before asking lightly, "Can I have a hug?"

<< I only need to feel proper again, >> Nasmyth replies, noticeably less curt for Sebayeth -- and he offers a passing flicker of velvet-soft midnight in gratitude. << Thank you for the offer, though. It is very kind of you. >> He does straighten himself somewhat, resettling wings and trying to look a little less bleary; it's a task, but he manages. "Silly," Ken chides, earning only a mild and forced snort in response. Then he turns, both feet on the sands but still seated, and balances the clipboard on another useful portion of forearm, so that he can free his hands and rub them absently against his pantlegs. "Yeah. I should know better, but at least it passes the time. And Cam's usually willing to be rid of it," he adds with another shoulder-roll, this time more a bemused shrug. The quasi-assurance of her well-being is peered at, and then he blinks, a line forming between his brows. It's not an unwelcome question, but it makes him doubt... "Sure, you can have one. I'd consider charging you for it, but you did ask nicely." With a shadow of a grin for his own wit and a stifling of further inquiry, he merely stays where he is -- but opens arm, more then prepared to gather Deinha in protectively.

Deinha can certainly understand Cam's 'generosity' with the hidework, as brief, wry twisting of lips will attest. Voice prim, she looks down at R'ken and emarks, "And a good thing you aren't charging. I wouldn't care to pay." But then her smile reappears, softer, as she finishes, "The cost would be ridiculously high, I'm sure." And, that said, the young woman takes the necessary step or two towards brownrider, leans forward, and flings her own arms around his neck. It would be another of those almost too-casual motions -- like the earlier words -- but for the fact that she doesn't withdraw as promptly as would be expected of the more carefree overture; instead, she loosens her embrace and hesitates in unspoken question, seeking out that ready protection.

<*Nasmyth*> Privately, Sebayeth touches a light whisp of cinnamon warmth, followed next by the cool, concerned touch of something similar to a mother laying her hand on a child's feverish forehead. << Perhaps it will go away soon. >> A pause ensues, gold distracted by lifemate's movements, and then the soft tut-tut of sympathy returns, redirected. << Mine worries. But yours is a good one. I believe he will react better than .. that other. >> A quick flash of spillover imagery indicates first black-bronze of Jharzeth, then the vague outline of his rider, defining the other to whom she refers. Not pausing to explain the source of worry, she instead appears to swiftly change topics: << We are to be parents, you know. >>

"'Course. I have to make my marks somehow, don't I?" Yes, he's got to take care of his kids -- or spoil them horribly, as the case may be. R'ken makes a small, mostly amused sound, and -- squeaks for the measure. Well, it's a sortof squeak, sortof grunt for the hug, but then he's folding arms about, one at the small of her back and the other slipping up automatically to smooth hair. Note the embrace tightens - just a little - as she doesn't pull away for a moment, concern flitting more than briefly across his features. When the young goldrider does finally start to ease up, he does the same - though slightly - and tips his head a bit to look her in the eye, lifts both eyebrows, and asks the pressing question of, "So, lass, what's got you fussed? Anything --" A pause, as Nasmyth passes on without thinking, and brows furrow; he's done this too many times not to get inklings, "-- that I can do?"

<*Sebayeth*> Privately, Nasmyth would never admit to enjoying the attention, since it wouldn't be proper, but when it's a pretty lady, and especially Sebayeth who's /his/ for now, he does puff a little sigh. It'd probably pass for content if he were feeling better. << It will, >> he decides, firm in the conviction, then flickers up a lighter mindtone, tangy, of curiosity -- but it's promptly snuffed. If she would have wished to tell him, she would. Even in his sluggish moments, he feels the need to follow certain rules of etiquetter. Head turns, gazing wistfully over the eggs - even through glazed eyes - before he settles chin down on warm sands. << We are. I've never been one before, >> he admits, just a touch uncertainly -- but that firms upon inquiring with R'ken. << Never. They will be good, healthy hatchlings. >> There's an overtone of 'the best' there, but modesty stifles that.

Kids, yes. Perhaps it's a good thing 'Ken didn't actually mention those just yet. "Oh, R'ken!" is the soft prelude to an answer, exhaled along with the a gusty sigh -- not the sweetly romantic sort so much as the at-my-wit's-end variety. Not bothering to deny that she is, as he puts it, 'fussed' -- and she wouldn't be believable if she /did/ try -- she states, simply, "I don't know what /anyone/ can do." Gaze faltering, then, and not before the depth of troubling shadows can be seen lurking in blue eyes, Dei tucks her head on his shoulder and angles her cheek once in a motion just short of nuzzling. Here, then comes the answer to the first part, confessed in a voice just fractionally louder than a whisper: "I'm pregnant." Deinha doesn't lift her head to see R'ken's reaction to that news, instead hiding, as it were, in his arms. She must at least trust his response in some respect, though, to have moved closer rather than apart before delivering her news.

<*Nasmyth*> Privately, Sebayeth projects << Oh, yes, they will be ... darlings. >> A shadowy flickering of blue overlays the next thought as she muses << Though I do not like to think of them ... feeling unwell when they hatch. >> A white flushing of mental colors and emotional hints, akin to clearing a throat, and the queen adds << They will be healthy, but yet weaker than we are, at first. >> A blush of palest pink follows, entices << And a good group of new lifemates prepares now to care for ours, in times to come. >> Curiosity is there, but calm surety even moreso. Another pause of diverted interest, but this time she does not linger about it, smoothly continuing, << Ours will learn much from you, their sire. >>

A sweetly romantic sort of sigh would probably have gotten a vaguely unsettled reaction from R'ken, anyway. This /is/ Deinha, after all. Sortof. And he likes Cam! Or has been told he does. "That good, huh?" inquires the brownrider ruefully, holding to his gentle, almost-light tone. As usual, the wrinkle on his forehead and the watchful, concerned gaze bely that. As she tucks and nearly-nuzzles, he rubs chin to hair, followed once more by the smoothing motion of his hand. The announcement, however, does bring some sort of reaction -- a slight, but noticeable tensing of back and shoulders, breath drawn and held for the span of a few seconds -- but it passes, and limbs loosen, but for the hand that smooths steadily from small of back to shoulders. That exerts slightly more pressure than is strictly neccessary. "You had me worried," he tells her, clearing throat. "I thought it was something serious." And he doesn't even skip a beat when he goes on, "Not that this isn't, lass, but... It happens." It's a struggle, granted, to not immediately apologize -- but that probably wouldn't be the right thing. "This changes nothing, you know. I'm /still/ just a call away for anything you need or want. /Anything/. And I'll not promise not to hover..." He does sound like he's taken full responsibility for her condition. Then there's a thoughtful pause in which he's silent and resettles both arms firmly about Dei's waist, tips head, and presses cheek to her hair. "This'll be all right."

<*Sebayeth*> Nasmyth inclines his head a bit, attention distracted by his rider and Sebayeth's. Mild surprise ensues, probably of much the same tone as R'ken's, and he's silent for a moment -- following the logical chain of thought to come up with the number 'six'. Good, round number. Maybe Ken'll stop at that. Then again, if his becomes the most prolific man in the weyr-- there's no harm in that. Then he regathers his wits, musing, << I hope they do not feel unwell. >> Worry - an emotion he isn't accustomed to - slides through his thoughts, slicing away some of the haze, though it shortly resettles. Then he's confident again, agreeing, << A little weak. This... sick will have passed, by the time they Hatch. >> Or he hopes, at least. << Things will be well. And mine has reacted correctly, I hope? >> My, my. Is that.. pride, past the modesty? And the stuffy feeling in his head, of course. A puffed chest? << No more than they will learn from their dam. >>

At R'ken's words, the goldrider shivers, once. Certainly not from cold. Nor from displeasure, likely. What, then, could cause the rapid trembling that works its way from shoulders down spine in a gentle shudder? "You don't...you don't blame me?" she asks, tone meek and faintly disbelieving as she squirms back only just enough to peer up at him, eyes wider and brighter than they should be. Her breath catches at the promise, offer, and statement, something suspiciously vocal -- surely not a sob? -- following the hitch as she ducks her head again, "I...Oh, 'Ken, will it?" Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Dei confesses, "I'm so scared. Terrified. And...oh, Faranth." The last part muttered dully, Dei detangles herself carefully, one hand lifting to touch brownrider's cheek before she attempts a deliberate step back. Her gaze, too, breaks a moment as she looks quickly to the sands and then back up, expression tragic. "R'ken, I don't.." Overly wan face regains an unnatural rush of color as she forms the next words: "I don't know who the father is." Much as it might be tempting, Dei can hardly let him assume responsibility for a ... questionable child.

<*Nasmyth*> Sebayeth, on the other hand, settles her muzzle on the sand, softly golden length relaxing in contrast to her genuine mental alertness where riders' actions are concerned. << So they have told me. >> Repeatedly. << I do hope you are all feeling natural again even sooner. >> Time, the elusive essence, is grasped at, before Sebayeth offers << Yest..tomorrow. >> A puff of jasmine accompanies the softly woven reassurance, << Yes, charmingly. She.. >> Embarrasment briefly tinges thoughts, viridian and scarlet swirling about as she admits << Mine did not expect such... easiness, after the /other/. >> The implication being that both parts of this pair should have known better. << Now, mine is .. I do not have the words. Overwhelmed? Yes, that. But not unpleasantly. >> Confusion flickers briefly before there is a slow reconstruction of color-laced emotion as Sebayeth offers her best expression of rider's mood. And then, almost dismissively, << She may cry. >>

"Blame you?" Honest surprise colors the brownrider's tone, and he blinks once or twice before letting go with a brief chuckle. "Jays, no. It takes two, doesn't it?" His hands really don't seem to know where best to settle, and arms unwind again in order to return to spanning her back and sides -- probably in response to the brief quivering and maybe-sob -- in those steady brushings. His head tips, smile small but sincere, though the worry lines haven't disappeared all together. Just some. Then, with a touch of bemused confidence as she rehides her face, "It will. It definantly will. This isn't the end of the world, y'know." Fear sparks a gentler touch and tone - not that he's been rough and harsh as it is - and 'Ken reassures, "There's not much to be afraid of, lass. Really." As she begins to draw back, confusion registers -- puzzled curiosity -- and then he puts his head to one side at /this/ announcement. Considering. Not for long, really. "I take it that Puo didn't take the whole thing well, eh?" He's been putting bits together; bad dragons. Then shoulders lift and fall -- as good as a verbal answer, which follows shortly, "Makes no difference. I still hold to what I said earlier." The small smile reappears, twitching one side of his mouth, "Even if it were impossible, I'd still fuss and be willing to be 'there'. You know me. Now, you can come back here..." To ever-welcoming arms, probably.

<*Sebayeth*> Nasmyth watches Sebayeth with a sort of mild affection - the best he can manage, when he's not feeling up to snuff - and, alternately, the two people. That his is doing right brings a certain amount of satisfaction, for the considerable amount of protective instinct from R'ken certainly bleeds over. He chooses to let go of the illness, drooping lids further and attuning other muzzy senses to the events at hand. Embarrassment is noted and politely overlooked as he remarks, << She will know, now. He thinks well of her, and would not react... uneasily. Jharzeth's should have bee more reasonable. >> A mental nod, applied with glint of metal, and he twitches a bit -- a movement that coincides with a barely noticeable one from R'ken. /Tears/. The rider's a sucker for 'em, of course. << Mine would not be -- >> negatively, << -- bothered if she did. He says it might possibly do her well. >>

A fleeting look of surprise again, followed next by the quick flash of a smile. "Yes, it does." In fact, those words are distinctly reminiscent of some the goldrider would admit to stating, herself, not so long ago. "Oh, but it's the beginning of..." Dei trails off, then, to admit her fear instead. Reaction to the following reassurance is, naturally, delayed as another thought takes precedence and she backs away. A baffled look that would be amusing in other circumstances greets R'ken's venture, Deinha not having followed their lifemates' exchanges; it, too, disappears quickly as she receives an explanation. The next moment is spent in quick consideration -- whether to submit to embarrassment, or stifle that modesty in the face of obvious truth. She finally swallows and nods, opting for the open route that suits her best, "He didn't... he's not ready for this." And she is? But Deinha quickly jumps to the bronzerider's defense, "Puo wasn't really mean or angry or awful, though, 'Ken." Her tone implies that she was, perhaps, expecting worse than she got. Again. "He just wasn't.." She sighs, just faintly, "...all that pleased, either." But never let it be said Deinha is hanging her hopes on that one -- outwardly, at least. She shakes her head faintly, refocusing on 'Ken's words with a tentative smile, "R'ken, you're .. too ..too.. " She swallows, again, then (again) steps quickly over to brownrider and tosses her arms 'round his neck. "Perfect," she finishes weakly, voice cracking as she ducks head into familiar position and, this time, bursts into tears.

<*Nasmyth*> Sebayeth quiets a moment, observing. A swirl of tea leaves, tea-scent, even the faint steam of heating liquids appears before words are offered. Then, softly, with the rise and fall of whispering descant, << Yes, that he should have done. >> Tone not quite grudging, she allows, << But mine speaks the truth. That one -- >> Sebayeth does but seldom refer to him otherwise << -- was not his usual self, entirely. >> Warmth brushing mentally closer, she offers << But yours is always this, and thus. >> Pleasure at that, indeed. A silent moment follows, not altogether uncomfortably, as lifemate again takes more attention, though Sebayeth does not withdraw her mental 'presence'.