Fancy Man [Jisralna]

I think it's all quite embarrassing, to be honest with you, Armath affirmed, lazing on the roof of the Craft Hall above his rider. And I don't even wear clothes. Gemmidendra will be nine turns in a few sevendays, and you haven't a single fancy shirt for her party. No flowers or butterflies or anything, just plain, boring man-clothes.

Oblivious to his dragon's sarcasm, M'din sighed mournfully, "Poor Gemmi. I am not a fancy man." His young princess of a daughter enjoyed the finer things in life, the prettier the better. The burly brownrider silently consoled himself as he sat in the shade beside the Craft Hall, shadows were the only cool part of the Weyr in the summertime, recalling the meeting he arranged with one of the most talented weavers at Katila earlier in the week. He fervently hoped Jisralna could embroider one of his shirts before the party. In the leather bag beside him were half dozen blouses with which the less-practiced weavers could potentially hone their talents, if Jisralna accepted the temporary donation, of course. M'din made a mental note to specifically ask for the shirts to be returned to him when the trainees were finished with their improvements. He had no eye for fashion, and would be proud to wear even the most unskilled embroidery.

Cracking his beefy knuckles, he wondered what design Gemmi would most enjoy seeing. Maybe an embroidered fire lizard, like her green flit doll, or a little brown Armath on his pocket. He should have asked Michin before meeting with Jisralna, as the two youngest half-siblings were always in one another's company and the quiet boy always knew his sister's preferences. Thoughtfully scratching his beard, he decided he would just have to get one of everything.

Above him, Armath's neck curved down from the roof to peer at his rider. He loftily drawled, If your friend puts my likeness on your shirt, make sure it's the epitome of sumptuousness. Abandoning a comment about Armath's expansive vocabulary, M'din turned to the soft sound of approaching footsteps on the grass.

FYI: M'din has atrocious taste, and zero ability to match clothing to a reasonable color palette, lol.

In the scheme of things she was barely showing but Jisralna already felt like a bloated trundlebug. Of course that brought to mind how very strange it would be if she actually were a trundle bug and her offspring clung to her. That in turn led to the thought of having multiple children at once like Mevrit had and in short order she'd worked herself up into an anxious ball of pregnant energy. She could barely reconcile the fact that she was having one child without a husband; she wasn't sure she could handle more than one. A bit frazzled, she had nearly forgotten about her appointment to meet with M'din.

She seemed to forget things a bit more than usual which only made her more anxious. Grabbing up the skin of water which she had taken to carrying with her everywhere she went in the hot heat, she also brought along one of her current projects before slipping out of her little work room, banging her elbow on the door frame on the way out. Juggling her items, she rubbed at the poor, abused protrusion and hurried along, out of the craft hall to the lawn just outside. She let out a mild curse when she realized she'd forgotten her sun hat and would have turned back to get it had she not spotted M'din already waiting for her. She'd just have to do without, no doubt the man had been waiting for her for some time.

Shuffling through the grass, she lifted her free hand to wave when the brownrider turned around. As far as brownriders went, he wasn't nearly as scary as the rest. Smiling, she came to a halt in front of him then shifted awkwardly, unsure if she should sit or if they would be going elsewhere. She readjusted the strap of the water skin and looked about for his handsome dragon.

Jisralna rounded the corner, burdened with what appeared to be a water skin and a plethora of fabrics, and M'din's face lit up. He desperately needed her input concerning his clothing and Armath would be no help in the fashion department for all of his suggestions. He waved back enthusiastically as she approached.

She is with child, it seems, Armath commented, blue eyes curiously surveying the humans beneath him.

She is not, Armath! M'din mentally shouted. His heart sunk, hoping Armath hadn't projected the semi-insulting assumption to Jisralna. He hastily added, And don’t you ask her about it. Ladies don’t like for others to imply they’re gaining weight, even if they are, and Jisralna is not pregnant. M’din frowned at his dragon’s complete lack of concern for the lovely redhead’s feelings. Maybe she just ate a large lunch. Armath noncommittally huffed overhead, but did not respond to his rider.

"Please, take a seat," M'din called out. He truly hoped she wasn't pregnant, but the more he looked at her the more doubtful he became of his original certainty that she wasn't. She didn't look pregnant, but it would be just like him to be thoughtless enough to put a woman with child to work outside in the heat of summer. "I tried to find some shade, but we can certainly move somewhere cooler if you need to rest-- or, uhm- if you need to not be sweaty for your health?" His offer ended awkwardly, inflection rising in pitch, voice betraying his terror that Jisralna would know Armath's offhanded comment.

Smooth, as per usual, the brown told M'din dryly. He jumped from the rooftop, wings unfurled in his quick drop to the ground, and turned his chocolate head to the weaver as he landed. Hi there, Jisralna, he greeted her familiarly, although they had only met face-to-face once before. You have to come save my bumbling rider. He needs to look fancy for his daughter's nameday party and all of his clothes are just atrocious.

"They're not atrocious," M'din mumbled, cracking his knuckles shamefacedly. "They're just sort of plain."

Don't listen to him. They're terrible. He needs some embroidered flowers or dragons and such. Gemmidendra would like that, Armath replied to both of them brusquely. He needs to look like a pretty princess, he told Jisralna privately. The potential to have his rider wear a pink skirt with woven rose veil was simply too delectable to resist.