Log: Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?
Who: P'draig, Phara, T'mic
When: 10/10/20
Where: Case de Mic y Paddy, Ista Weyr
What: Phara comes over for dinner, apologize to Mic for past behavior and talks baby names and how to interact with her parents when Paddy comes to meet them.
Serving supper a little early from Fort time, a little late from Ista's, means that these three can sit down and not be too bothered by unhappy stomachs. There's quite a spread on their table with its mis-matched chairs, everything from finger foods to a large bowl of clear soup, rolls in delicate wrappers that only resemble meatrolls by their shape, and plenty of vegetables. Out on the ledge Aath can scarcely be pried from Jekzith's side long enough to even coo a greeting to Bennath, but her rider is far more effusive in his welcome, hands spread and wide grin firmly in place as he escorts her in. "Come in, come in - glad you can make it. How've you and Bennath been?"
Likewise amiable is P'draig who's just adding a little garnish to that soup. Yes. He made the food. He looks up at Phara's arrival and smiles warmly. "Hey there Phara, flight over smooth?" He moves over to drink pitchers then and lifts one. "Lemonade?"
Phara has another dress on, because it's warm, and if we're being honest, none of her pants fit anymore. She leaves her shoes though, happy to abandon them out on the ledge with Bennath to guard them. The blue has happy greetings for both green and brown, excited to be at Ista again. He likes it here as much as Phara does. "Hi, T'mic," she greets shyly first and then has a big grin for Paddy. "You've been at it again," she accuses, seeing all that food. And: "Yes please."
"Please," says Mic to the idea of lemonade as he and Phara cross the room to the table. "We're always at it... Oh. You mean Paddy's cooking." He's got another grin for his confusion, and tugs out a chair. "Yeah. I told him we could just get something from the kitchens, but he insisted." A shrug for his weyrmate's quirks before he reaches across to claim glasses. "Remind me how far along you are?"
P'draig pours lemonade into glasses to provide for all three and winks over at Phara. "Of course! Wouldn't be me if I didn't," the brownrider says with a quick-flashed grin. He steps over to give Phara a kiss on the cheek.
Phara lifts an eyebrow at the greenrider but her smile escapes despite the cynical look she tries to conjure up. "Uh-huh," she says slowly, amused too at his 'confusion'. She glances down at her stomach, tilts her head like /it/ might have the answer. "I don't even know. 4 months, 5 months? The healer keeps counting it by sevens, and it makes me feel like a looby. So almost seventeen sevens, which I guess is four months and change. That works." Huff. Yes, all that talking was very necessary. She flushes in a pleased way for the kiss to her cheek and passes a hand through her cropped hair. "Yes, well...right."
"Aath went up yesterday," Mic explains with a flick of fingers out at the bowl and a nauseatingly adoring look for P'draig before he takes a sip. He doesn't seem to mind that the bluerider catches a piece of that, even if it sends her blood sugar through the roof. "So you've got a ways to go yet. Have you thought about names? And do we want me to serve, or is it everyone for themselves?"
"Since Aath last went up," P'draig points out, so pretty much coming up on four months," the brownrider says with a lititle lopsided grin and takes a sip from his drink. "Since ... it was after her last flight." The brownrider cruises by Mic to give him a squeeze and gestures. "Sit down Phara and we can pass around platters?" is his suggestion
Phara takes the optomistic approach: "I'm almost half way there, right? By the end of this month, at least, I should be." She nods to P'draig, scoots into a chair and takes up her own glass of lemonade. That bit of information has her watching them both for a minute over the rim before taking a drink. "Oh? I suppose they do do that a lot, huh. Timing's right." Then she starts laughing. "Faranth, Paddy's right, all you had to do was figure out how long it'd been since her last flight, add two sevens, and that would have told you how far along I am. Not like the timing's spotty on when the baby was conceived." Convienent fact, that.
T'mic says brightly, "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten," about the date of conception, sends another grin around and drops into his own chair. "She goes up four times a turn, which makes it easy to track." He starts the soup off, nodding for the others to dig in. "I'm really bad at dates, though, so you'll probably have to remind me a bunch of times how far along you are and stuff." He wrinkles his nose at the brownrider and adds, "Paddy and Solla tease me about it all the time."
"Yep, so basically ... should be getting close by the time Aath rises next," Paddy says with a little laugh and seats himself after Phara's sat, sets his glass down and picks up a platter to start serving from. "And don't worry Mic, I'm keeping track. But ... no, no names yet."
"Just figure when I look more like a bloated up, beached shipfish, the time is right, huh? And, uh, don't plan any big vacations around the beginning of the third month, and we'll be good." Phara sets her glass down, but continues to turn it between her hands. "No offense, but I think I'll be glad to be all snug up in fort when Aath goes up next, I can't even fathom Bennath chasing anything when they'll be rolling me across the Bowl."
T'mic says, "Well, four times a turn is," and has to pause in getting food to count on his fingers and mutter mathish things. Louder, all pleased with himself for managing it, "Just over three months between when she goes up. So if you're three months-ish now, you'll be six months-ish next time, and not quite ten months the time after." He picks up the plate of raw veggies and helps himself to some fingerroot slices. "What's happening around the beginning of the third month?"
"Beached shipfish ... you know, I've never really gotten that whole comparison," P'draig says with a little shake as he puts things on plates. "Three Aath flights," the brownrider re-confirms for Mic's math, then ducks his head a little. "Aath should go up for the third time since the time Phara and I bumped boots after her last time around the beginning of the third month." Tying threads together.
Phara lets them talk out the math, looking at the food Paddy's got with greedy eyes. "You let her know she's not allowed to fly til I've had the baby in that case, huh? Conflict of interests and all of that." Another drink of lemonade before she smiles brightly at T'mic. "I guess I can't really ask for that, but it's funny to say it, yeah?"
T'mic's politely curious as he hands off one platter in exchange for another. "Don't take this wrong, Phara, but... the last couple of times she went up you weren't all that happy to be there. What's changed your mind?"
The exchange of platters goes on and Paddy picks up one of those wrapped rolls and has it in his mouth when T'mic askes that question. Which means that gray-blue eyes are skipping back and forth between weyrmate and bluerider but he's not saying anything right away.
Phara puffs her cheeks out. "Not me, Mic. P'draig. Jekzith and he will want to be here for you and Aath and I'm figuring you're going to feel better about letting me borrow him if you're not proddy, yeah?" But, she does have a more serious answer for him that isn't the obvious. "I haven't...done right by you. Been real rude, even, about who you choose to take to bed.
T'mic /ohs/ when she explains, waves it off with an airy hand and a smile. "Don't worry about it. Of course Paddy'll want to be there for you and the baby. Aath goes up way more often than you - or anyone - has children." Which is when he turns that same smile, twitching in the corners, on the brownrider. A glance back to Phara and he flicks his fingers again: don't mention it. "You weren't rude. You just seemed pretty unhappy to be there or talk to me, and I didn't want to push it. Some people don't like flights."
Down goes P'draig's head at Mic's answer there and his mouth is twitching too. His hands lift even to frame his forehead with fingers bracketing his temples. After a moment he peeks upward, still grinning but no longer in danger of losing it. "Don't worry Phara. Even Jekzith can get pulled away for labor over flight."
Phara blows out a breath. "I'm just nervous about the whole business. Never mind that. What are these?" She's got one of those flakey rolls in her hand and she's peering at the inside of it. "I don't, really, but it was more than that. P'draig said you wouldn't care, but I still feel bad over it."
T'mic, still smiling, crinkles his nose at the roll-things. "Uh... fish, I think. And vegetables." Maybe not that helpful, considering that stripes of green and orange can be seen through the wrapper. OK, not that helpful at all. "Shouldn't have anything to be nervous about. You're young, you're healthy, you're at a Weyr, and Healer's right there. Solla's mom was, oh, thirty, when she had her, and she did just fine."
"Whitefish, carrot and bamboo shoot," P'draig names the ingredients in the rolls. "A little bit of ginger and some mushrooms." The brownrider nods along with Mic though about that nervousness even as he has more to eat. "Should be fine Phara - reminds me, Mum is coming down next seven if that's okay with you? I told Sionath to bespeak Bennath."
Phara smiles back at T'mic and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not really the nervous type to be honest, it's a recent affair." Whatever's in it, she's eating it before Paddy can finish naming it. Her eyebrows lift a little at the mention of Paddy's mom and she swallows hastily. "Oh, sure. Reminds me. My Ma may have hinted about me bringing you by some time. V'ran vouched for you already though...so at least she wouldn't give you the third degree, if you wanted to meet her."
And mushrooms. Mic traces one of the faint brown lines with a finger - aha, there it is - before turning to start on his soup instead, swallowing it without so much as a slurp. "I need to see her again," he says quietly of P'draig's mother. "Need to remember, next time we go see Millie."
"Sure, be happy to meet your family," P'draig says mildly as he finishes off his own rolls and moves on to eating something else. "As for the third degree -- so long as it won't make any problems for you, I'd be telling her like it is, unless you say otherwise." He looks up and nods at T'mic. "Sure, I'll remind you, Mic," is added fondly.
Phara opens her mouth for a moment and then shakes her head. "There's just some things you shouldn't say. If you think I'm held over, I'm nothing compared to them." She deals herself out some soup and smiles sheepishly at them both. "Thank you for having me, by the way."
T'mic echoes, "Held over?" but grins for Paddy. "Thanks. And this is great soup, babe. Nice and spicy." Back to Phara, "Paddy probably already warned you, but he likes to spoil people." A beat. "Well, /we/ like to spoil people, but he does it with food. I just have sex and marks."
P'draig dips spoon into soup, sips thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's pretty well balanced." About the soup. He grins at Mic though. "No, you just have sex and a great smile. You're always broke," he teases his weyrmate. To Phara, quietly, with his eyes right on hers: "What -- should I be leaving out?"
"'Cause I keep spending them on people!" Mic laughs, quiets to let Phara talk.
Phara supplies for Mic: "My parents feel very strongly about homosexuality." And not in the good way. She gives a little murmur of agreement for the soup after she's taken a few bites, happy mostly to be eating. "Yeah, I sort of..got that pretty quick, yeah. Especially after the first time he showed up with enough food to feed a small family." Beam.
T'mic's laughter fades even further when she explains, and after another bite he clarifies: "You mean, they won't like me. Or Paddy." Clarify, be blunt - it's almost the same thing. His blue eyes flick to P'draig and back to the bluerider. "What are you going to do about it? You aren't suggesting Paddy -lie- to them, are you? Because I know your brother, and he's about as straight as I am."
A few more spoonfuls of soup go down and P'draig sets the implement down. "I can /not/ mention my living situation," the brownrider says tactfully. "But no, I won't lie," he says straightforwardly.
Phara shakes her head. "I can't ask you to lie. And I can't say they'll like you, I mean, even if you were both straight as a line I couldn't promise that. Just don't think we need to rub your..preferences in their face, know what I mean? You're welcome, of course, T'mic, V'ran already told them Paddy has a weyrmate, just to nip any ideas of theirs in the bud right there. But my parents are still convinced one of these days V'ran's going to wake up one day and get over it like a bad cold and settle down with some nice girl and make lots of babies. To be honest...until recently, I mostly thought and hoped the same." She sets her spoon down in her bowl and folds her hands in her lap, looking a little uncomfortable. "Nobody's lying to them more than me you know. I'm not the girl they raised anymore."
"/If/ I go with Paddy," and that's one helluva if, "I wouldn't hang all over him, Phara. Even if your parents don't care if we screw men, women, or wherries." Mic glances at the brownrider again and takes in a silent breath, joins the pair of them in setting down his spoon and pausing supper for a while. "I don't think anyone's lying to them /except/ you. V'ran isn't hiding who he is, and you already told them Paddy has a weyrmate. You just didn't mention that his weyrmate was me." Decidedly un-female. "Why? What would they do if they knew?"
"Okay ... so just ... not talk about Mic much, is that it?" Both of Paddy's brows lift Phara's way. "Stick to talking about weyrlings and the weather?" He nods though at her last. "Yeah. Things change when you impress." His fingers lace together and he looks over at Mic, then back at Phara, waiting on that answer, his expression open, frank, non-judgmental.
Phara chews her lower lip. "At best? They'd dress me down for hanging out with you, I suppose. It's /catching/, you knw." She rolls her eyes. "That's what they say, anyway. Makes them sleep better at night if they think V'ran just caught it from being a rider. At worst? And I strongly doubt this... they'll be frightfully rude. But V'ram brought home /his/ weyrmate and they took it well enough I hear. So really, maybe I'm just paranoid in my own head. I'm sorry to even make it an issue." Awkwardly she rubs the back of her neck and looks down at the edge of the table rather than at the both of them.
T'mic meets P'draig's eyes long enough that the paranoid might think they're communicating in ways that aren't verbal, but after a few moments he nods and looks back to Phara. "You're not a child anymore," he says gently, and folds his arms on the edge of the table to lean in. "You owe them your respect, but not your obedience. They can't exactly send you to your room without supper anymore, can they? You don't have to listen to them trying to fit everyone into their comfortable little boxes, any more than you have to, oh, run laps just because your old Weyrlingmaster says so."
P'draig blows out a breath and looks down into his not quite empty bowl for a moment or two. "Well, I can handle rude. Generally speaking, the more rude someone is, I'm more polite back, just let it roll off. If they dress you down, I might have to defend you though," the brownrider says with a quirky little grin and another look shot Mic's way. "So, in the end, Phara, it's up to you whether or not you want to put yourself through that or not. And Mic's right - you're not a kid or a weyrling anymore. You owe them your respect, but they owe you the same back."
Phara looks just a little abashed at that. "Guess so." She shrugs her shoulders than and looks like she'd really rather leave the subject alone for now. "So, um..." And no clue what to move on from that with. Instead she leaves it dangling with a hopeful look that either of them will come up with something brilliant and nonoffensive.
"When it comes down to it," T'mic continues, "It's not really any of their business who /you're/ sharing sheets with, much less who the people you're doing it with are doing... it... with." That convoluted little sentence has him screwing up his face as he replays it in his head, ends with another quick grin and him picking up his spoon again. "If that makes sense. And ask V'ran, too, how he handled it. Older brothers have to be good for -something-, don't they?"
"Maybe try not to worry about it Phara," P'draig says encouragingly and picks his spoon up again. "I'll be friendly and polite but won't give them any illusions about sweeping you off to my weyr in the clouds for a picture perfect happily ever after, okay?" He smiles across at her, then chuckles at Mic's comment about brothers and sets to finishing off his soup.
"I have five, and they're all good for /trouble/." Phara grins, grateful to tease her brothers, even outside their presence. "You know though, I think V'ran mostly told them to mind their own noses and hush up about it." A crooked smile is offered to Paddy. "Don't worry about that, they know to keep their thumbs out of my love life, and /you/ know I only want the sex ...and the food." Speaking of, her dinner's still begging to be eaten.
T'mic's tucked into his soup again, his eyes going from one to the other with a quirked eyebrow and muffled grin for Phara's proclaimed desires. "/I/ only wanted the sex, to start out with. The food came later."
P'draig's spoon is set down again and both of his hands cover his eyes as he starts laughing helplessly. "Well. There you go. That's all I'm good for. Sex and food. And apparently making babies," he notes humorously. "Just tell me when you'd like to go, Phara and I'll dress up nice, try to be presentable, show off my big knot and dazzle them with my good manners, okay?"
Phara's toes wiggle under the table, quirking another grin at them both. "Well, you might have wanted the food sooner if he'd knocked you up, too," she tells T'mic with wide, innocent eyes. And then her tongue sticks out at P'draig. "There are worse things in life to be good for, hm? Some people are only good for a kick in the pants, for example, or to sass you. So /I'd/ rather only be good for sex if I had to be good for something." It might make sense, kind of. "Sure, I'll give it a month maybe though, just so the baby's kicking by then. See, then my family will be too busy feeling up me to worry too much about you."
"Nah," Mic claims, "I'm more likely to've knocked /him/ up. I've got... what, six? Seven? And Paddy's only got," pause to count, "Four." He stops waving his spoon about to eye Paddy. "It /is/ four, right? Palia, Jaivery.... Um, Dylan... and Phara's." He's quite proud of himself for remembering, go him, and has more soup to celebrate.
"Hey, you got an early start," P'draig protests with a fond nudge of his foot across the table to Mic's ankle. "At least I waited to make babies until I was you know, an adult." He winks at Mic then nods. "It'll be four when the kid who's impossible to name is born. Well okay, not impossible. Girl-names we can come up with some good ones. But boys? Shells." A shake of Paddy's head. Phara's remarks just earn a slightly bemused look. "I was kidding around, but I think I get your point. And yeah, baby kicks, always good for distraction."
"Suppose I'm in good hands between the two of you then. Ten kids all told and here I am whimpering about it." Phara rolls her eyes good naturedly. "I think distractions are good, yes." As for names. "Let's just name it 'It' and be pleased with ourselves."
T'mic makes with the innocently twinkling eyes for that nudge, finishes his soup and sets the bowl aside. "All different mothers, too," he points out cheerfully. Maybe not helpfully, but cheerfully. "And you should make your mother help, Paddy, for naming you something like 'Padraig'. What about taking your Da's name? Or your Da's names? There ought to be something in there you can use, right? G-something and, um, something-lan?"
"We do have good hands," P'draig teases Phara with a wink and sets aside his finished soup bowl. Digs into the entree with relish. He swallows a mouthful and grins. "You can blame Da for that actually. I'm named after /his/ father," Paddy points out. "Girad was Da's name before impressing. Papa's name was Eolan. Mum's Da is W'liam. William I guess, but Gran always calls him 'Will' when she talks about him."
Phara goes a little pink and grins at Paddy. "So I've found." She sets her empty bowl aside with the brownerider's and nibbles on another one of those fish rolls. "Oh, we could really make a mess with all that. My Da's Daelish. Girad and Eolan and Daelish. Oy. Not much better than Padraig and Ephara." She snorts. "We want to get really creative, we could mash Jezkith and Bennath."
"Very good hands," Mic agrees blithely, and eyes his fish roll like he's debating doing something obscene with it. But they have houseguests, and he politely takes knife and fork to it instead. "Mmm, no, just take Paddy's Das and either your name or your mother's. Girad and Phara. Giharad," with a hard G. "Or, hmn. Phaolan."
"Mmm. We'll figure it out eventually. I'm not too worried for now, though it was kind of funny do the full on mashup." He enlightens Mic: "Papharadraig is a mouthful." Wink. And then he just eyes Mic for a little bit. "Not really ... feeling that," he says with a shake of his head. "Though could take that G, I guess, go with somehing simple like Garrad." It doesn't take him long to finish off his food. "We could start writing down letters, cut them up and pull them out of a hat," he teases further and seems content enough to keep the conversation light for the remainder of the meal.
Phara gives P'draig a little grin. "Yes, let's name our baby 'Padhig' or 'Drgapha' or something silly." Mic doing obscene things with rolls, best bypassed. She's ought to stare, especially with all these hand jokes wandering through. "We've got months. I think the right name will...come to us, eventually." Hopefully. And she's more than happy to go along with lighter topics while she nibbles her way through quite a good bit of all of that food.
From the earlier seriousness, now Phara gets to see the silly side of P'draig and T'mic: the teasing, the laughter, and the unconcealed love that wraps around them all. By the time dessert rolls around Mic's in tears from laughing so hard, head down on the table and hands waving helplessly as he gasps for breath. "Oh, oh shells. Stop for a second, I can't breathe." Eventually he does recover, and dessert is eaten, and Phara is escorted back to Bennath's side. "Safe flight, clear skies, Phara."
There's eyerolling about those funny names but laughter too from P'draig. He eats with good appetite, then walks out to the ledge as part of that escort out. Again, he has a kiss for Phara's cheek, then steps back to slip an arm around Mic's waist and watches Benny off the ledge, waving as the blue goes, with a: "See you soon, Phara," before he draws his weyrmate back inside for clean up and some quiet chat before bedtime.
When: 10/10/20
Where: Case de Mic y Paddy, Ista Weyr
What: Phara comes over for dinner, apologize to Mic for past behavior and talks baby names and how to interact with her parents when Paddy comes to meet them.
Serving supper a little early from Fort time, a little late from Ista's, means that these three can sit down and not be too bothered by unhappy stomachs. There's quite a spread on their table with its mis-matched chairs, everything from finger foods to a large bowl of clear soup, rolls in delicate wrappers that only resemble meatrolls by their shape, and plenty of vegetables. Out on the ledge Aath can scarcely be pried from Jekzith's side long enough to even coo a greeting to Bennath, but her rider is far more effusive in his welcome, hands spread and wide grin firmly in place as he escorts her in. "Come in, come in - glad you can make it. How've you and Bennath been?"
Likewise amiable is P'draig who's just adding a little garnish to that soup. Yes. He made the food. He looks up at Phara's arrival and smiles warmly. "Hey there Phara, flight over smooth?" He moves over to drink pitchers then and lifts one. "Lemonade?"
Phara has another dress on, because it's warm, and if we're being honest, none of her pants fit anymore. She leaves her shoes though, happy to abandon them out on the ledge with Bennath to guard them. The blue has happy greetings for both green and brown, excited to be at Ista again. He likes it here as much as Phara does. "Hi, T'mic," she greets shyly first and then has a big grin for Paddy. "You've been at it again," she accuses, seeing all that food. And: "Yes please."
"Please," says Mic to the idea of lemonade as he and Phara cross the room to the table. "We're always at it... Oh. You mean Paddy's cooking." He's got another grin for his confusion, and tugs out a chair. "Yeah. I told him we could just get something from the kitchens, but he insisted." A shrug for his weyrmate's quirks before he reaches across to claim glasses. "Remind me how far along you are?"
P'draig pours lemonade into glasses to provide for all three and winks over at Phara. "Of course! Wouldn't be me if I didn't," the brownrider says with a quick-flashed grin. He steps over to give Phara a kiss on the cheek.
Phara lifts an eyebrow at the greenrider but her smile escapes despite the cynical look she tries to conjure up. "Uh-huh," she says slowly, amused too at his 'confusion'. She glances down at her stomach, tilts her head like /it/ might have the answer. "I don't even know. 4 months, 5 months? The healer keeps counting it by sevens, and it makes me feel like a looby. So almost seventeen sevens, which I guess is four months and change. That works." Huff. Yes, all that talking was very necessary. She flushes in a pleased way for the kiss to her cheek and passes a hand through her cropped hair. "Yes, well...right."
"Aath went up yesterday," Mic explains with a flick of fingers out at the bowl and a nauseatingly adoring look for P'draig before he takes a sip. He doesn't seem to mind that the bluerider catches a piece of that, even if it sends her blood sugar through the roof. "So you've got a ways to go yet. Have you thought about names? And do we want me to serve, or is it everyone for themselves?"
"Since Aath last went up," P'draig points out, so pretty much coming up on four months," the brownrider says with a lititle lopsided grin and takes a sip from his drink. "Since ... it was after her last flight." The brownrider cruises by Mic to give him a squeeze and gestures. "Sit down Phara and we can pass around platters?" is his suggestion
Phara takes the optomistic approach: "I'm almost half way there, right? By the end of this month, at least, I should be." She nods to P'draig, scoots into a chair and takes up her own glass of lemonade. That bit of information has her watching them both for a minute over the rim before taking a drink. "Oh? I suppose they do do that a lot, huh. Timing's right." Then she starts laughing. "Faranth, Paddy's right, all you had to do was figure out how long it'd been since her last flight, add two sevens, and that would have told you how far along I am. Not like the timing's spotty on when the baby was conceived." Convienent fact, that.
T'mic says brightly, "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten," about the date of conception, sends another grin around and drops into his own chair. "She goes up four times a turn, which makes it easy to track." He starts the soup off, nodding for the others to dig in. "I'm really bad at dates, though, so you'll probably have to remind me a bunch of times how far along you are and stuff." He wrinkles his nose at the brownrider and adds, "Paddy and Solla tease me about it all the time."
"Yep, so basically ... should be getting close by the time Aath rises next," Paddy says with a little laugh and seats himself after Phara's sat, sets his glass down and picks up a platter to start serving from. "And don't worry Mic, I'm keeping track. But ... no, no names yet."
"Just figure when I look more like a bloated up, beached shipfish, the time is right, huh? And, uh, don't plan any big vacations around the beginning of the third month, and we'll be good." Phara sets her glass down, but continues to turn it between her hands. "No offense, but I think I'll be glad to be all snug up in fort when Aath goes up next, I can't even fathom Bennath chasing anything when they'll be rolling me across the Bowl."
T'mic says, "Well, four times a turn is," and has to pause in getting food to count on his fingers and mutter mathish things. Louder, all pleased with himself for managing it, "Just over three months between when she goes up. So if you're three months-ish now, you'll be six months-ish next time, and not quite ten months the time after." He picks up the plate of raw veggies and helps himself to some fingerroot slices. "What's happening around the beginning of the third month?"
"Beached shipfish ... you know, I've never really gotten that whole comparison," P'draig says with a little shake as he puts things on plates. "Three Aath flights," the brownrider re-confirms for Mic's math, then ducks his head a little. "Aath should go up for the third time since the time Phara and I bumped boots after her last time around the beginning of the third month." Tying threads together.
Phara lets them talk out the math, looking at the food Paddy's got with greedy eyes. "You let her know she's not allowed to fly til I've had the baby in that case, huh? Conflict of interests and all of that." Another drink of lemonade before she smiles brightly at T'mic. "I guess I can't really ask for that, but it's funny to say it, yeah?"
T'mic's politely curious as he hands off one platter in exchange for another. "Don't take this wrong, Phara, but... the last couple of times she went up you weren't all that happy to be there. What's changed your mind?"
The exchange of platters goes on and Paddy picks up one of those wrapped rolls and has it in his mouth when T'mic askes that question. Which means that gray-blue eyes are skipping back and forth between weyrmate and bluerider but he's not saying anything right away.
Phara puffs her cheeks out. "Not me, Mic. P'draig. Jekzith and he will want to be here for you and Aath and I'm figuring you're going to feel better about letting me borrow him if you're not proddy, yeah?" But, she does have a more serious answer for him that isn't the obvious. "I haven't...done right by you. Been real rude, even, about who you choose to take to bed.
T'mic /ohs/ when she explains, waves it off with an airy hand and a smile. "Don't worry about it. Of course Paddy'll want to be there for you and the baby. Aath goes up way more often than you - or anyone - has children." Which is when he turns that same smile, twitching in the corners, on the brownrider. A glance back to Phara and he flicks his fingers again: don't mention it. "You weren't rude. You just seemed pretty unhappy to be there or talk to me, and I didn't want to push it. Some people don't like flights."
Down goes P'draig's head at Mic's answer there and his mouth is twitching too. His hands lift even to frame his forehead with fingers bracketing his temples. After a moment he peeks upward, still grinning but no longer in danger of losing it. "Don't worry Phara. Even Jekzith can get pulled away for labor over flight."
Phara blows out a breath. "I'm just nervous about the whole business. Never mind that. What are these?" She's got one of those flakey rolls in her hand and she's peering at the inside of it. "I don't, really, but it was more than that. P'draig said you wouldn't care, but I still feel bad over it."
T'mic, still smiling, crinkles his nose at the roll-things. "Uh... fish, I think. And vegetables." Maybe not that helpful, considering that stripes of green and orange can be seen through the wrapper. OK, not that helpful at all. "Shouldn't have anything to be nervous about. You're young, you're healthy, you're at a Weyr, and Healer's right there. Solla's mom was, oh, thirty, when she had her, and she did just fine."
"Whitefish, carrot and bamboo shoot," P'draig names the ingredients in the rolls. "A little bit of ginger and some mushrooms." The brownrider nods along with Mic though about that nervousness even as he has more to eat. "Should be fine Phara - reminds me, Mum is coming down next seven if that's okay with you? I told Sionath to bespeak Bennath."
Phara smiles back at T'mic and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not really the nervous type to be honest, it's a recent affair." Whatever's in it, she's eating it before Paddy can finish naming it. Her eyebrows lift a little at the mention of Paddy's mom and she swallows hastily. "Oh, sure. Reminds me. My Ma may have hinted about me bringing you by some time. V'ran vouched for you already though...so at least she wouldn't give you the third degree, if you wanted to meet her."
And mushrooms. Mic traces one of the faint brown lines with a finger - aha, there it is - before turning to start on his soup instead, swallowing it without so much as a slurp. "I need to see her again," he says quietly of P'draig's mother. "Need to remember, next time we go see Millie."
"Sure, be happy to meet your family," P'draig says mildly as he finishes off his own rolls and moves on to eating something else. "As for the third degree -- so long as it won't make any problems for you, I'd be telling her like it is, unless you say otherwise." He looks up and nods at T'mic. "Sure, I'll remind you, Mic," is added fondly.
Phara opens her mouth for a moment and then shakes her head. "There's just some things you shouldn't say. If you think I'm held over, I'm nothing compared to them." She deals herself out some soup and smiles sheepishly at them both. "Thank you for having me, by the way."
T'mic echoes, "Held over?" but grins for Paddy. "Thanks. And this is great soup, babe. Nice and spicy." Back to Phara, "Paddy probably already warned you, but he likes to spoil people." A beat. "Well, /we/ like to spoil people, but he does it with food. I just have sex and marks."
P'draig dips spoon into soup, sips thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's pretty well balanced." About the soup. He grins at Mic though. "No, you just have sex and a great smile. You're always broke," he teases his weyrmate. To Phara, quietly, with his eyes right on hers: "What -- should I be leaving out?"
"'Cause I keep spending them on people!" Mic laughs, quiets to let Phara talk.
Phara supplies for Mic: "My parents feel very strongly about homosexuality." And not in the good way. She gives a little murmur of agreement for the soup after she's taken a few bites, happy mostly to be eating. "Yeah, I sort of..got that pretty quick, yeah. Especially after the first time he showed up with enough food to feed a small family." Beam.
T'mic's laughter fades even further when she explains, and after another bite he clarifies: "You mean, they won't like me. Or Paddy." Clarify, be blunt - it's almost the same thing. His blue eyes flick to P'draig and back to the bluerider. "What are you going to do about it? You aren't suggesting Paddy -lie- to them, are you? Because I know your brother, and he's about as straight as I am."
A few more spoonfuls of soup go down and P'draig sets the implement down. "I can /not/ mention my living situation," the brownrider says tactfully. "But no, I won't lie," he says straightforwardly.
Phara shakes her head. "I can't ask you to lie. And I can't say they'll like you, I mean, even if you were both straight as a line I couldn't promise that. Just don't think we need to rub your..preferences in their face, know what I mean? You're welcome, of course, T'mic, V'ran already told them Paddy has a weyrmate, just to nip any ideas of theirs in the bud right there. But my parents are still convinced one of these days V'ran's going to wake up one day and get over it like a bad cold and settle down with some nice girl and make lots of babies. To be honest...until recently, I mostly thought and hoped the same." She sets her spoon down in her bowl and folds her hands in her lap, looking a little uncomfortable. "Nobody's lying to them more than me you know. I'm not the girl they raised anymore."
"/If/ I go with Paddy," and that's one helluva if, "I wouldn't hang all over him, Phara. Even if your parents don't care if we screw men, women, or wherries." Mic glances at the brownrider again and takes in a silent breath, joins the pair of them in setting down his spoon and pausing supper for a while. "I don't think anyone's lying to them /except/ you. V'ran isn't hiding who he is, and you already told them Paddy has a weyrmate. You just didn't mention that his weyrmate was me." Decidedly un-female. "Why? What would they do if they knew?"
"Okay ... so just ... not talk about Mic much, is that it?" Both of Paddy's brows lift Phara's way. "Stick to talking about weyrlings and the weather?" He nods though at her last. "Yeah. Things change when you impress." His fingers lace together and he looks over at Mic, then back at Phara, waiting on that answer, his expression open, frank, non-judgmental.
Phara chews her lower lip. "At best? They'd dress me down for hanging out with you, I suppose. It's /catching/, you knw." She rolls her eyes. "That's what they say, anyway. Makes them sleep better at night if they think V'ran just caught it from being a rider. At worst? And I strongly doubt this... they'll be frightfully rude. But V'ram brought home /his/ weyrmate and they took it well enough I hear. So really, maybe I'm just paranoid in my own head. I'm sorry to even make it an issue." Awkwardly she rubs the back of her neck and looks down at the edge of the table rather than at the both of them.
T'mic meets P'draig's eyes long enough that the paranoid might think they're communicating in ways that aren't verbal, but after a few moments he nods and looks back to Phara. "You're not a child anymore," he says gently, and folds his arms on the edge of the table to lean in. "You owe them your respect, but not your obedience. They can't exactly send you to your room without supper anymore, can they? You don't have to listen to them trying to fit everyone into their comfortable little boxes, any more than you have to, oh, run laps just because your old Weyrlingmaster says so."
P'draig blows out a breath and looks down into his not quite empty bowl for a moment or two. "Well, I can handle rude. Generally speaking, the more rude someone is, I'm more polite back, just let it roll off. If they dress you down, I might have to defend you though," the brownrider says with a quirky little grin and another look shot Mic's way. "So, in the end, Phara, it's up to you whether or not you want to put yourself through that or not. And Mic's right - you're not a kid or a weyrling anymore. You owe them your respect, but they owe you the same back."
Phara looks just a little abashed at that. "Guess so." She shrugs her shoulders than and looks like she'd really rather leave the subject alone for now. "So, um..." And no clue what to move on from that with. Instead she leaves it dangling with a hopeful look that either of them will come up with something brilliant and nonoffensive.
"When it comes down to it," T'mic continues, "It's not really any of their business who /you're/ sharing sheets with, much less who the people you're doing it with are doing... it... with." That convoluted little sentence has him screwing up his face as he replays it in his head, ends with another quick grin and him picking up his spoon again. "If that makes sense. And ask V'ran, too, how he handled it. Older brothers have to be good for -something-, don't they?"
"Maybe try not to worry about it Phara," P'draig says encouragingly and picks his spoon up again. "I'll be friendly and polite but won't give them any illusions about sweeping you off to my weyr in the clouds for a picture perfect happily ever after, okay?" He smiles across at her, then chuckles at Mic's comment about brothers and sets to finishing off his soup.
"I have five, and they're all good for /trouble/." Phara grins, grateful to tease her brothers, even outside their presence. "You know though, I think V'ran mostly told them to mind their own noses and hush up about it." A crooked smile is offered to Paddy. "Don't worry about that, they know to keep their thumbs out of my love life, and /you/ know I only want the sex ...and the food." Speaking of, her dinner's still begging to be eaten.
T'mic's tucked into his soup again, his eyes going from one to the other with a quirked eyebrow and muffled grin for Phara's proclaimed desires. "/I/ only wanted the sex, to start out with. The food came later."
P'draig's spoon is set down again and both of his hands cover his eyes as he starts laughing helplessly. "Well. There you go. That's all I'm good for. Sex and food. And apparently making babies," he notes humorously. "Just tell me when you'd like to go, Phara and I'll dress up nice, try to be presentable, show off my big knot and dazzle them with my good manners, okay?"
Phara's toes wiggle under the table, quirking another grin at them both. "Well, you might have wanted the food sooner if he'd knocked you up, too," she tells T'mic with wide, innocent eyes. And then her tongue sticks out at P'draig. "There are worse things in life to be good for, hm? Some people are only good for a kick in the pants, for example, or to sass you. So /I'd/ rather only be good for sex if I had to be good for something." It might make sense, kind of. "Sure, I'll give it a month maybe though, just so the baby's kicking by then. See, then my family will be too busy feeling up me to worry too much about you."
"Nah," Mic claims, "I'm more likely to've knocked /him/ up. I've got... what, six? Seven? And Paddy's only got," pause to count, "Four." He stops waving his spoon about to eye Paddy. "It /is/ four, right? Palia, Jaivery.... Um, Dylan... and Phara's." He's quite proud of himself for remembering, go him, and has more soup to celebrate.
"Hey, you got an early start," P'draig protests with a fond nudge of his foot across the table to Mic's ankle. "At least I waited to make babies until I was you know, an adult." He winks at Mic then nods. "It'll be four when the kid who's impossible to name is born. Well okay, not impossible. Girl-names we can come up with some good ones. But boys? Shells." A shake of Paddy's head. Phara's remarks just earn a slightly bemused look. "I was kidding around, but I think I get your point. And yeah, baby kicks, always good for distraction."
"Suppose I'm in good hands between the two of you then. Ten kids all told and here I am whimpering about it." Phara rolls her eyes good naturedly. "I think distractions are good, yes." As for names. "Let's just name it 'It' and be pleased with ourselves."
T'mic makes with the innocently twinkling eyes for that nudge, finishes his soup and sets the bowl aside. "All different mothers, too," he points out cheerfully. Maybe not helpfully, but cheerfully. "And you should make your mother help, Paddy, for naming you something like 'Padraig'. What about taking your Da's name? Or your Da's names? There ought to be something in there you can use, right? G-something and, um, something-lan?"
"We do have good hands," P'draig teases Phara with a wink and sets aside his finished soup bowl. Digs into the entree with relish. He swallows a mouthful and grins. "You can blame Da for that actually. I'm named after /his/ father," Paddy points out. "Girad was Da's name before impressing. Papa's name was Eolan. Mum's Da is W'liam. William I guess, but Gran always calls him 'Will' when she talks about him."
Phara goes a little pink and grins at Paddy. "So I've found." She sets her empty bowl aside with the brownerider's and nibbles on another one of those fish rolls. "Oh, we could really make a mess with all that. My Da's Daelish. Girad and Eolan and Daelish. Oy. Not much better than Padraig and Ephara." She snorts. "We want to get really creative, we could mash Jezkith and Bennath."
"Very good hands," Mic agrees blithely, and eyes his fish roll like he's debating doing something obscene with it. But they have houseguests, and he politely takes knife and fork to it instead. "Mmm, no, just take Paddy's Das and either your name or your mother's. Girad and Phara. Giharad," with a hard G. "Or, hmn. Phaolan."
"Mmm. We'll figure it out eventually. I'm not too worried for now, though it was kind of funny do the full on mashup." He enlightens Mic: "Papharadraig is a mouthful." Wink. And then he just eyes Mic for a little bit. "Not really ... feeling that," he says with a shake of his head. "Though could take that G, I guess, go with somehing simple like Garrad." It doesn't take him long to finish off his food. "We could start writing down letters, cut them up and pull them out of a hat," he teases further and seems content enough to keep the conversation light for the remainder of the meal.
Phara gives P'draig a little grin. "Yes, let's name our baby 'Padhig' or 'Drgapha' or something silly." Mic doing obscene things with rolls, best bypassed. She's ought to stare, especially with all these hand jokes wandering through. "We've got months. I think the right name will...come to us, eventually." Hopefully. And she's more than happy to go along with lighter topics while she nibbles her way through quite a good bit of all of that food.
From the earlier seriousness, now Phara gets to see the silly side of P'draig and T'mic: the teasing, the laughter, and the unconcealed love that wraps around them all. By the time dessert rolls around Mic's in tears from laughing so hard, head down on the table and hands waving helplessly as he gasps for breath. "Oh, oh shells. Stop for a second, I can't breathe." Eventually he does recover, and dessert is eaten, and Phara is escorted back to Bennath's side. "Safe flight, clear skies, Phara."
There's eyerolling about those funny names but laughter too from P'draig. He eats with good appetite, then walks out to the ledge as part of that escort out. Again, he has a kiss for Phara's cheek, then steps back to slip an arm around Mic's waist and watches Benny off the ledge, waving as the blue goes, with a: "See you soon, Phara," before he draws his weyrmate back inside for clean up and some quiet chat before bedtime.