The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit of
members unable to attend.
============================================================================

June 19, 2000.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 21:06 on day 6, month 1, Turn 32, of the Tenth 
Pass. It is a winter evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, M'rgan, J'var (cameo), I'sai, T'dan, T'kar; Aisling, Banran,
       Kassima, Maylia, Lanryi, Aurian.

A men's night out in Telgar Weyr's back rooms spills out into public.
============================================================================
Back Cavern Off Of The Lower Caverns(#18175Je)
This dark, small-ish cavern reeks of men and it's not just because of its musty 
smell. Comfortable leather couches and chairs are arrayed haphazardly along the 
walls and the fabrics are plain and universally dark-colored. There isn't a hint 
of paisley, pastels, or flowery prints anywhere in the room. Some scattered 
hides have been left on one of the couches and if a person was kind they might 
label the drawings on these hides as 'artistic nudes'. In the center of the 
cavern are several tables, suitable for playing dragonpoker or another game of 
chance or for arm-wrestling if that's the game of the day. At the far end of the 
room is a trestle table covered with wineskins, tankards of ale, small casks of 
the finest Telgar beer, and bowls of fatty, fried, heart-attack-inducing snacks. 
Unless the hour is very, very late or early in the morning, there's usually 
someone on bartender duty. Sometimes a rider and sometimes a resident but always 
it's the person who is on the low-end of the totem pole right now (usually 
because he lost a bet). Across the room from the trestle table is a nook with a 
curtain across it, hiding the privy from view. The men in here don't need to 
stray into the lower caverns and possibly into the clutches of women when nature 
calls. All that is needed is a sign over the bar pronouncing 'No Gurlz Allowd' 
to make this room complete.
Contents:
M'rgan

E'vrin saunters into the room with his thumbs hooked into his belt. Bring on the 
testosterone.

J'var has arrived.

M'rgan has his feet propped up on a footstool as he's slumped on a couch. And 
idly thumbing through some of those artistic nudes.

I'sai has arrived.

E'vrin prowls to investigate the bar, making a long arm to reach underneath it 
and rattle around for a few bottles of something or other.

J'var gives a wave to Mart, though he eyes the man for a long moment. Finally 
shrugging, he moves off with a bright expression to explore the refreshments.

--
Rather on the tall side, this young man carries his slight frame proudly. His 
black hair is cut short to the nape of his neck, swept to the right over his 
high forehead. Dark brown eyes gleam beneath luxuriously thick eyebrows, 
complementing his lightly tan complexion. Just a touch of dimple graces his left 
cheek when he smiles, which he does more often than not. A long nose and squared 
chin dominate in his oval face, and his light tenor voice holds just a trace of 
Lemosian accent. Creamy purple dominates the fabric of his long tunic, white 
thread tracing angular designs along its cuffs, collar, and the hem that hangs 
down over black trousers. The three buttons at its collar remain unfastened. The 
pants are tucked into sturdy hide boots, and a pouch and sheathed belt-knife 
hang from the belt that cinches in his shirt. The black and white knot of a 
Telgar rider, threaded throughout with green for his lifemate, denotes his 
position at that Weyr. Those who guess well would put his age at 20 Turns, 11 
months, and 14 days.
--

I'sai just follows J'var in somewhat less casually, copying the wave, and 
garnishing it with an, "Anything look good over there? Ah, to drink, I mean."

"Gotta be some brandy here /some/where," E'vrin mutters. He twists his head 
around, nods to the others and then to the casks. "Beer, 'course. Looks to be 
the good stuff."

M'rgan grunts as he comes to the last hide, staring at it for a few seconds with 
heavy lidded eyes before tossing the whole stack back onto the couch. "No one I 
know," he remarks to himself as he shoves his fingers just under his waistband. 
Ah. That's better. "Evening. I'd ask how your escape went but I don't think any 
of you have anyone to escape. Unless my information is out of date."

E'vrin snorts his opinion of that, and his answer to it, then finally fishes out 
a squat dark little bottle that's now handled with all gentle care, like a 
father with his firstborn child -- except that infants don't generally get 
poured into shot glasses, of course. "...Anyone else?"

I'sai ducks his head with a muttered, "Mm-all right," as general answer of its 
own. "Look good to you, Jav?"

M'rgan flexes his fingers slightly, loosening his waistband even more. Crumbs 
fall from his belly as his clothes are shifted, joining their siblings already 
ground into the leather. "None for me. If I go home drunk, Kena'll have my 
hide."

"Man's allowed to drink," E'vrin says lightly as he pushes the glasses out on 
the bar for public consumption. "Needn't get drunk off it, anyway. This is 
/fine/ brandy. One shot'll do you."

J'var has left.  [RL]

I'sai adds in, "Stay long enough, and it might even wear off some. Though," he takes 
a glass with another nod for thanks, "Only Faranth knows how old the food is, that's
sitting out."

T'dan has arrived.

M'rgan pulls a hand out of his waistband long enough to smack his belly. Crumbs go 
flying now. "Tasted all right to me." He gives the others a lopsided grin and then 
shrugs once. "Yeah. Why should I let her push me around?" With a grunt of effort, he 
rises from the couch.

E'vrin holds out a solicitous brandy to the wingleader, poor man. "I just ate," he 
murmurs in agreement with I'sai, "but I'm sure it was all good."

T'dan walks into the cavern quietly. He peers back over his shoulder and mutters, 
"Finally" before looking around the room and, of course (well.. I'sai's there) 
saluting everyone.

E'vrin just waves to the young bronze rider and holds out a shot glass. Welcome to 
the club. Let the manhood rites begin.

I'sai blows into his still-full shot glass, if barely enough to disturb its amber 
surface, then lifts his head; "Been here long, or was it back with everyone else?" 
he asks before spotting, "Found us at last. Evening, T'dan."

M'rgan bows his head over the shot of brandy as he takes it from E'vrin. "Excuses. 
Excuses." He fishes a greasy, fried, salt-encrusted pork product/rind out of a bowl 
and wiggles it in front of E'vrin and I'sai. "Don't tell me that this little snack 
scares you? Hmm?"

I'sai's upper lip wrinkles up, fastidious as ever; "I wouldn't say -scared-. Though 
I'm not saying my boots're tougher than it is."

T'dan nods, a grin creeping across his lips. He replies, "Just lost my sister, 
really." He hums. His eyes flicker to the shot glasses as he crosses the room, 
"What're you drinking?"

E'vrin mimes a cringe, then laughs, plucks a rind for his own, and eats it. Then has 
to swallow some drink, quick. "--Brandy," he coughs to T'dan, when he can. "Shards. 
I'm out of practice, or it was that fardling porcine /thing./"

I'sai salutes the recently-weyrling with his, adding, "What you weren't allowed to 
have, and now, it's all up to E'vrin's good graces. Or until it runs out. Something 
like that."

"Thing? Thing?!?" M'rgan looks askance at E'vrin, shaking his head with disbelief. 
"I'll have you know that this is one of the finest bits of porcine known to man." 
And to prove this point, he pops it into his mouth and happily chews on it. And 
chews. "Have some," he encourages T'dan through this mouthful, waving at the bowl 
with his shotglass holding hand as he takes a step back.

E'vrin, ducking the waving glass, just in case, summons a glass all for T'dan's own. 
"You /are/ graduated," he notes with limpid innocence. "Enjoy yourself. That's what 
this room is for, or so I've been told."

"Especially if you're not worried about staining your leathers," I'sai chimes in as 
guilelessly, and indulges in an eyes-widening sip of his own.

T'dan has disconnected. [RL]

M'rgan, finding that his offers are being rebuffed, takes this offering to the next 
level. Picking up the bowl, he thrusts it towards I'sai, grunting once in a 'take 
some' sort of way. He's being a little more careful with that shotglass now after 
spilling a little of it on the floor and he clutches it close to his chest.

E'vrin hugs his glass close to his chest, and stays clear of the rind bowl. "I just 
had this shirt cleaned, too."

I'sai blinks at his sometime wingleader, holding up his glass in an as silent, 
'Hands full.' He even adds the right to the left, so that shotglass will have double 
security.

M'rgan continues to press the bowl forward, arching his right eyebrow at the younger 
man in challenge. He gives the bowl a couple of shakes, stirring up the salt and 
grease and wafting the smell around. "So?" he asks E'vrin. "What's going to happen 
if you get it dirty?"

T'dan has connected.

E'vrin's nostrils flare, but he stands his ground before the onslaught of M'rgan and 
greasy food products. He is, after all, a Man. "I'd have to get it laundered 
again," he answers, wary. "You're not going to dump beer on me now, are you?"

I'sai pales beneath his freckles; he steps back under the taller, broader, older 
man's advance, marked by an anonymous crunch beneath his boot's heel. "Ah, thanks. I 
can smell it. It smells like, like just that sort of thing. All yours. Unless T'dan, 
here..."

T'dan has been flumped in a chair, just happy to have his beer, really. He looks up 
from his beer curiously and shakes his head, "No. That's a poor waste of beer." He 
looks at I'sai, "Unless T'dan what?"

I'sai half-turns, "What some porcine died for. Eat it. Maybe you'll like it."

"Or you can just keep drinking," E'vrin says more helpfully.

T'dan peers at the meat, "Eat it, eh?" He picks up a piece and eyes it curiously 
before popping it in his mouth. Grinning, he grabs a handful and slides back to his 
nice relaxed slump in his chair to pop the porc into his mouth one by one.

At a loss, M'rgan shakes his head and rolls his eyes despairingly between pointed 
looks at E'vrin and I'sai. The two of them are definitely lowering the testosterone 
level in the room. "Okay. You two are worrying me. I'sai..." He shoves the bowl of 
porcine rinds at the man. "...You've always worried me. But E'vrin...Ah!!" He grins 
with delight at T'dan. "Finally. Another man. Good, aren't they."

E'vrin takes refuge in his brandy, with a truculent eye rolled at the brown rider. 
Worry, feh. Porcine products, double-feh.

T'dan nods firmly, his mouth full of the greasy, good stuff. He replies around it, 
"Yersh. Vury gud." He pops another piece in his mouth and chases it with his beer. 
Eyes widen. Oh! Even better!

I'sai sidesteps as if in some dance, muttering about -not- wearing a skirt. "So call 
it consistent," and there goes another step, and with it a scrape of protesting 
chair caught between calf and stone.

"Yeesh, lad, it's not going to bite you," M'rgan tells I'sai before finally 
withdrawing the bowl. He glances in T'dan's direction, tilting the bowl down a touch 
to see if the youngest man would like some more. "I don't even want to guess what 
you'd do if you saw a *living* porcine." This is also directed at I'sai. "Shells. 
Y'don't play dragonpoker. You don't eat this good food. Are you even drinking that 
brandy?"

I'sai deepens a breath, risking a hand from said brandy to try and stabilize that 
chair he'd run into. "I had some," he asserts. "I'm taking it slow. And about that 
poker - well, never mind."

T'dan shakes his head and wipes his hand on his pants. He coughs, "Need another beer 
first." and gets up to get one. He comments as he does, "Ikolth's been trying to get 
me to learn that game. I think he's picking it up more quickly than I am, though." 
He shrugs, "Sharding bronze."

E'vrin, sliding into a chair, suggests, "Have him play, then. Why's he so 
interested?"

T'dan shrugs, flumping down with his new beer, "I don't know. Another game, I guess. 
Just as fun as pouncing his clutchsiblings into the lake but quieter, and he can't 
get in trouble so easily playing that one."

M'rgan drops the bowl back onto the table with a bang and fishes out a few pieces, 
holding them in his loose fist. "I don't think he'll fit into the living cavern," he 
remarks to E'vrin before shoving about half of the contents of his hand into his 
mouth.

E'vrin waves a hand in airy dismissal. "Outdoor game. Cater it; bring in some 
holders for wide-eyed gulls; make plenty of marks off 'em."

T'dan laughs, "Dragons playing dragon poker. Yeah, I think that'd bring in a few 
marks." He laughs a bit harder, "Especially if Ikolth ended up winning."

I'sai sidesteps away again, punctuating success with a sip, and turns a chair 
backward to sit on the door's side of T'dan. "And if he didn't... well, what -have- 
you got to lose?"

"That'd be cheating," M'rgan asserts despite the fact that he's never been one to 
play by all the rules in many games. Though it's never been proved that he's 
actually cheated in dragonpoker. "He'd be getting the rules and hands from you." And 
the remaining handful of porcine rinds is shoved into his gaping maw. He wipes his 
greasy, salty hand across the front of his shirt to clean it off.

"D'you think the holders would know that?" E'vrin asks with a fair streak of scorn 
for that breed. "They'd eat it up, and we'd clean up. I say we do it. Ikolth 
willing, T'dan?"

T'dan shakes his head, "He'd be getting no rules from me. He knows them better than 
I could ever learn." He smiles at E'vrin, "Ayuh. He's willing. He'd do it now if he 
could."

I'sai's sandy brows tilt that much more dubiously, what's left of his brandy 
reflecting the tip of his nose as he rests his forearms on the chair's back; "Right, 
sure he wouldn't. So is it that you don't have anything to lose, or you don't want 
to say... or you want E'vrin to spot you some?"

"He'd remember the hands a Sevenday from now?" M'rgan asks, doubt in his voice. The 
brownrider finishes wiping his hand off and gives his other hand a curious look, 
finally remembering the shotglass he's holding.

E'vrin slews a quick look at I'sai for that, over his own brandy dregs, then back to 
T'dan.

T'dan hums, "I've got a little to lose. Not much, though." then nods to M'rgan, 
"He's somehow remembered them thus far."

"Safe thing to say," I'sai approves. "The not-much part. The rest..." another shake 
of his head, and he sips again, a flush stealing across his cheekbones.

E'vrin prods, "The rest?" and reaches for the bottle for refills.

T'dan cocks his head, waiting for the answer to E'vrin's question.

M'rgan grimaces at the 'thus far' part and backs away a step. "I think I'll keep my 
marks for the safer bets. Last thing I need to do is to bet it all on a bronze who 
forgets to play poker because a proddy green is eyeing him." The man notices the low 
quantity of brandy in I'sai's glass and he looks back at E'vrin. "He's going to need 
some more." And he uses his full shotglass to point.

I'sai's turn to glance, but it's to M'rgan, and then as swiftly back. "They can get 
into more than maybe you'd think. Maybe more than you'd want. But," he tips the 
chair forward, enough that he can reach his glass forward for a refill of its own, 
"The brandy, it deserves better."

After tipping the bottle over to top off I'sai's glass, E'vrin pays due attention to 
his. "Wait -- who gets into what? Dragons? Into poker games?"

T'dan hums and nods, "I suppose not." He shrugs, "Was an interesting thought, 
though. I think he'd enjoy himself, even if he didn't win."

M'rgan snortchuckles a bit under his breath at E'vrin's question and he tries to 
meet the slightly younger man's eyes. So that he can roll his eyes back in I'sai's 
direction and shrug his shoulders. See why I worry about him? He raises his 
shotglass to his mouth but just as he's about to drink he instead observes, "But 
winning's the whole point of dragonpoker."

I'sai salutes him for thanks, then retreats. "Our heads," muttered low, itself 
topped by a brighter, "Wouldn't bet on it either. And see, M'rgan, that's why I 
don't gamble with you."

E'vrin's mouth and eyes both go round a bit, at M'rgan's signal, and he buries his 
answering nod into a healthy swallow of liquor. "...M'rgan's death in gambling," he 
agrees with I'sai.

T'kar has arrived.

I'sai adds to the wingleader, "Don't think it counts as telling, if he hadn't known 
already, he should've," letting the chair upon which he sits backward creak back and 
forth, not yet to the brandy's detriment.

T'kar swings into the room with a grin and a cheerful wave. "Hey there."

E'vrin pours a shot of brandy for T'kar and holds it out: that's /his/ welcome, from 
the circle of men sitting 'round here.

Still thinking that Ikolth playing dragonpoker would get some good marks, whether 
the bronze remembered how to win or just had fun loosing. T'dan has been looking at 
his beer thoughtfully. T'kar gets his attention, though, and he looks up with a grin,
"Hey, T'kar!"

"Well..." M'rgan grudgingly acknowledges. "...You don't have to play for money. But 
the thrill really goes out of it if you don't." A snort gives his opinion of I'sai's 
words about not gambling. "Sure. That's your excuse now but what was your excuse a 
Turn ago, hmm? You and M'kon both ran every time a deck was pulled out. Like you 
both had some weird childhood experience with them." He turns to raise his still 
full glass of brandy to T'kar. "Evening. Want some porcine snacks?"

I'sai lifts his glass-less hand, palm up: what can he say? Just, "Didn't have to 
learn better, see... And yeah, T'kar, definitely have some. There's nothing like 
'em."

E'vrin fulminates a look at M'rgan. "Don't get /him/ started on the snacks. C'mere, 
T'kar, we found some great brandy." He's already in his second glass, so it must be 
great. Or something. He swigs.

T'kar runs a hand through his hair as he surveys the room before heading over to the 
group. "Ok. I'm not that hungry," he decides, finding a seat.

I'sai nurses his, by comparison, not that a shot glass is so huge. And swallows; 
"What'd you do, have a 'real dinner' or something?"

"Fine," M'rgan replies frumpily. "That leaves more for T'dan and me." He steals 
another handful of pork rinds from the bowl and drops heavily into a chair, kicking 
out his feet in front of him and crossing his legs at the ankles. He idly shakes his 
hand, tossing the rinds about in his clawed hand. "Y'know, I think you're the only 
Skyfire rider who /doesn't/ play. Even the weyrlings are learning the game." He 
comments in a brief aside to T'kar, "Merielan let you out for a little bit?"

T'dan grabs another handful and coughs down a laugh. He shakes his head mournfully, 
"Didn't know she had you on /that/ short a leash, T'kar." He pops the pork in his 
mouth and chases it with his beer. He grins, "C'mon, try it."

E'vrin gives T'kar some concern, as well as the profferred brandy. "She's tying you 
down already? Do you want me to talk to her? I'm like her father, she said; she'd 
listen."

I'sai mouths an exaggerated, 'Even the weyrrr-lings' to his brandy - its fault to 
begin with - but in the end, just grunts.

T'kar pales slightly, but grins. "I'm not on a short lease! Hey!" He pointedly takes 
a glass of brandy.

M'rgan cocks his head as he looks at T'kar and then he swings around to face the 
others, a broad smirk on his face. "Oh yeah. Short leash. Definitely." And he mimes 
tugging at his collar with his rind holding hand.

E'vrin toasts T'kar's capitulation with a sip, and snorts at his protest. "Glad I'm 
not mated to anyone," he mutters, sliding M'rgan a look.

T'dan nods mournfully, "Might as well be dead with all the fun /you/ can have now."

Better T'kar than I'sai. Who smiles, and shakes his head, and drinks.

T'kar sips at the brandy as he watches everyone. "Hmm...you guys don't have to be 
jealous," he comments innocently.

M'rgan catches E'vrin's look and he shakes his head at the man, raising his drink-
holding hand to point. "Hey, don't get me started on that. Luckily Jannea's away 
from here and out of everyone's clutches." He rolls his shoulders as he turns back 
to T'kar. "Me? Jealous? No way. I'm getting plenty and Kena doesn't jerk me 
around." Okay, so she does. If he was on any shorter of a leash he'd be attached to 
her bracelet like a charm. But he's certainly not going to admit to that.

T'dan shakes his head firmly, "Jealous? Of being put at the end of a short rope, 
shards no. Ikolth and I are happy just where we are."

"You sayin' T'dan's not gettin' any?" I'sai inquires of T'kar, with wide, wide eyes 
and a light tenor to match.

E'vrin reminds Skyfire's wingleader, "You did say that she won't take your coming 
home drunk. That's a leash, I'd think." Then he has to evaluate T'dan (nothin' 
happening there? Hmm?) with slanty scrutiny. Comparisons abound.

M'rgan gives T'dan an appraising look, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Hmmmmm. Nope. 
He's not getting any. *snort* That's only 'cause if I'm drunk I go right to sleep 
instead of doing it. And she knows what she likes."

T'dan's eyes widen. He sits up sharply, "What? I am /too/ getting some. I'm getting 
lots, thank you very much!"

E'vrin twinkles a look at I'sai for the opening, then presses into it with, "Oh? Can 
you name names, or has it been a-non-y-mous?" He drawls it out, suggestive.

T'kar raises an eyebrow at T'dan. "That's not what I said." He waits for his friend 
to answer.

T'dan shakes his head firmly, "Shards, no. /I/ prefer to give my ladies the dignity 
of not being talked about in the back corners of dark caverns."

I'sai smiles that much wider for the elder bronze rider, and takes his turn to scoff 
with all the liquid syllables that that brandy allows; "Yeah, sure. Dignity. Next 
thing, you'll be telling us you're J'var."

T'kar nods to M'rgan quietly. "He's definitely not getting any."

"Ladies," E'vrin directs to T'kar, chiding. "Apparently it's even plural, or maybe 
he counts the same lover more than once."

T'dan mutters, "I've gotten /plently/. It's just hard to keep up with names when 
there ar so many." He takes a long swig of his beer, trying not to get himself into 
any more trouble.

M'rgan's eyebrows creep up at the words 'ladies' and then at 'dignity'. These are 
not the words a man uses when the fairer sex isn't around. He snorts his agreement 
with T'kar. "Definitely not. And I can't help but wonder...Does he even know what 
*it* looks like?"

I'sai smirks, "Right, right. And he thinks dignity's where it's at."

T'dan coughs, "Aye. Been thrown out of more'n my fair share of holds for knowing 
what 'it' looks like."

I'sai duly listens, then leans over to supply his guess M'rgan's way, "Bet it's just 
his own."

E'vrin fists his chin, staring intently at T'dan. "So? Gotta give us more than that, 
or -- yeah, what I'sai said. D'you want us thinking that?"

T'dan looks at his beer for a moment, his memory getting a little fuzzy. He finally 
looks up, "Ysalt, Merina, too." He hums, "Shards.. there are more'n that. I can't 
think."

"That's what I've been thinking too," M'rgan says, bobbing his agreement with 
I'sai's words. He drops the shotglass onto the table so that he can lean over and 
grab the top hide from the artistic nudes stack. With a flourish he displays the 
drawing to T'dan and then he shows the palm of his hand alongside it. "Now, tell us 
honestly, T'dan. Which looks more familiar to you?" Smirk. Smirk. Smirk.

E'vrin muffles a laugh into the last of his brandy.

T'dan snorts, "You don't think I could get it if I wanted?" He gets to his feet 
quickly, perhaps a little too quickly as he takes a step to steady himself. He slams 
his beer to the nearest table, "Ok, I'll prove myself." Oh, watch yourself, T'dan.

T'kar sips his brandy, layed back in a casual position of superiority. 

E'vrin wonders to the ceiling, "How will we substantiate this proof, though? 
Witnesses? Signed affidavits?"

I'sai protests, "-I- don't want to watch. Eugh. Or sign ass...whatever it is. You do 
it, E'vrin."

You say "Well, I did study law, a bit, at Harper...."

T'dan grunts, "Just watch me find a lady. What do you propose? I'll /prove/ it."

"Ack! Don't demonstrate." M'rgan drops the drawing on the table like it was a hot 
tuber and claps his hands over his eyes. "Faranth, whatever you do don't drop your 
pants." He clatters to a standing position, still covering his eyes.

T'kar was saying, "I think we need to ask the girl. If she won't tell us, then it's 
not true, right?"

E'vrin looks dubious. "Unless she'd /lie./ Girls do that. Maybe you'd be better off 
with a boy instead, T'dan."

I'sai points out to T'kar, pulling his boots well out of M'rgan's way, "She could 
make it up, if he bribed her enough. Though it doesn't sound as if he has much to 
bribe her -with-, if you know what I mean."

You say "Don't say that, Is--I'sai, or he /will/ drop his pants."

M'rgan grimaces in extreme distaste at the 'boy' comment from E'vrin and he pulls 
his hands from his eyes so that he can wave his arms about. "All right. All right. I 
don't need to hear that. And on that note, I'm getting back to my weyr where a 
woman...a real, honest to goodness, gorgeous woman...is waiting anxiously for me." 
Beat that, fellows.

T'dan snorts, "You'd be jealous of it if you saw it." He looks around and snorts 
again, "There are no women in here. I'm telling you I /can/ do it. Just let me prove 
it."

I'sai hastily crosses his mouth with the shot glass, though the promise to shut up's 
about as lasting as it would take the brandy to dry. Make that, less: "You have fun 
now, M'rgan," he encourages indulgently. "Don't say hello for us."

T'kar taps his chin. "I suppose you're right, I'sai. See ya, M'rgan. I'm sure you'll 
see Merielan some time in the morning, if she gets any sleep tonight."

E'vrin carols with I'sai, "Don't breathe that porcine breath on her, M'rgan, or 
she'll make you sleep on the dragon couch."

"I *never* sleep on the ledge," M'rgan announces with smug pride and waggles his 
eyebrows at the other men before leaving.

I'sai glances back, "Now, if it were summer, and if she were -with- him, means a lot 
of territory... well, T'dan, you've a lot to live up to. Better get started."

M'rgan has left.

T'dan nods firmly, "Yes, must get started." He tromps towards the door, "Have to 
find the women first."

E'vrin sighs and pushes himself up. "We'd better watch this -- just the first 
parts," he hastily amends to the others. "He's going to get in trouble, get slapped, 
get kicked ... who knows."

I'sai rocks to his feet, all three - no, only two of them. "Just so long as you 
bring the brandy. Think he'll need a healer?"

E'vrin has the bottle, never fear, but leaves his glass, emptied, behind. "T'dan? 
Pick a healer to nail, so we don't have to find one to patch you up after. All 
right?"

T'kar sets down the 2/3 full glass and trails along with the others, grinning.

T'dan grabs a beer. That's the only healing /he'll/ need. He snorts, "Trouble? There 
won't /be/ any trouble. C'mon. I'll show you."
T'dan has left.

[Everyone troops out to the LC:]

T'kar winces sympathetically at Aisling, his greeting to the cavern.

T'dan tromps into the cavern, beer in hand, looking none too happy. Hastily, he 
looks around, muttering about women. He makes no moves forward, just stands there.

I'sai enters stage southeast, clutching his now-empty shot glass to him as if in 
some vow, and even glances behind for, "Good, T'kar. Didn't get lost or nothin'."

Aisling gives him a flat look but she does start to speak, until she spies the 
others. "Later" She whispers softly before aiming a smile a the others.

E'vrin, clutching a brandy bottle that's still got life in it (by its muted swish 
and the swig he takes from its mouth), pulls up to an irritated halt behind T'dan. 
"Well?" he inquires of the younger man, his articulation harper-precise. "There's 
one. Go on. I have sweeps in the morning."

Banran grins at Aisling and nods. "Alright.." He then turns to see those entering 
the room. He nods politely to each rider in t urn.

T'dan looks around, calling a bit too loud, "A woman? Where?"

Aisling watches each in some fascination, eyebrow quirking inquisitevly at T'dan's 
words.

I'sai leans around the taller man, then has to take another step to balance. "Eve-
en-ning, Banran. And ... I see one, T'dan. Over there. Aisling, do you like the 
taste of porcine? Lots of salt, lots of grease?"

E'vrin murmurs into I'sai's ear, on a sidestep, "Don't forget drink. He's had some 
o' that, too."

T'dan spots Aisling. His eyes go wide. He shakes his head, "Her? Uh-uh. No way. 
She's my /friend/"

Banran hmms softly, drunk riders, fun fun. He then looks back to Aisling and 
murmurs. "Might want to run for it.."

"Burnt to a crisp?" Aisling asks quietly, a wary edge to her tone at T'dan's 
comment.

Kassima walks in from the bowl.

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

"And drink," I'sai supplements on cue, smiling that much brighter for it. "Good 
drink, though. I didn't taste the porcine part. It didn't -look- burnt. But it could 
have been."

T'kar isn't drunk at all, in truth. He takes up a position next to the meatrolls to 
watch suspiciously.

E'vrin smiles, too. "Brandy! The best." He holds out the bottle to Banran and 
Aisling. "Want some?"

"If'n someone's been burning alcohol--shove a splintery stick where the sun doesn't 
shine, Pierron, and top it with hot pepper too--then that's a criminal abuse, and 
'twill have t'be kicking you all the way t'the 'Reaches for it," Kassi informs as 
she meanders in, an armful of hidework in hand. "If'n, however, *drinking* is 
occuring, then 'twill have t'kick whoever isn't sharing with me. G'deve, all."

T'dan stands stock still, eyes on Aisling. He mutters, "Well.. she /is/ pretty, but 
still." He takes a step back. Maybe the beer didn't give him as much courage as he 
needs for /that/ step.

Maylia walks in from the bowl.

Pierron twirls his moustache at the Weyrlingmaster.

Aisling glances over to spot Kassima before eying the bottle warily. "What is going 
on, T'dan?"

I'sai's pale eyes slide to Pierron at -that- threat, but he does say, "E'vrin's got 
all the good stuff. Look, T'dan, another woman. No, two. Unless... no, I'd have to 
get a lot more drunk."

Wow. Look at how quickly E'vrin can stiffen up straight. In his stance, that is, and 
he cradles the bottle carefully as he steps away from T'dan. Whom he doesn't know. 
No, not at all. And smiles weakly towards his wingleader.

Banran glances around and then starts to rise. To Aisling in particular. "I guess 
I'll be going.. got something to do." Yeah, he's got to be out of here.

T'kar waves cheerfully to Maylia and Kassima. "Hmm...I was going to caution you two, 
but I think you'll be all right."

Lanryi walks in from the bowl.

I'sai greets the women with a bright-eyed, "T'dan says he's going to sleep with one 
of you, only he's still deciding who... Lanryi! Good to see -you-."

Kassima slews a dark look towards I'sai. "I don't know what 'twere meaning by that, 
but I've a suspicion, and if'n 'twere you I'd watch it if'n you don't want a bottle 
broken over your head. Heya, May. Any idea what's up in here? I just came in 
t'give... oh, Ev, there you are. Here." She kindly offers over that armful of hides. 
Just what every testosterone-high man needs.

Aisling glances at Banran, offering him a quick smile. "You sure?". Her smile fades 
as she looks at the others, slowly rising.

T'dan looks from Kassima to Aisling warily. Which one is safer? Both of these look 
like dangerous bets. On one hand, he's got a friend. On the other, there's a knife-
toting drinking song belting scarey lady. Both are scarey greenriders, and T'dan's 
torn. Best answer Aisling's question. He leans close to Aisling, smelling heavily of 
beer, "They think I can't get any."

Maylia heads into the living cavern, speaking in quiet tones to the former Aerie 
wingrider who's now bearing an AWLM knot. The bluerider gives her a nod, then heads 
for the store rooms, leaving Maylia to survey Pierron's food table. He, of course, 
is given several dark mutters, before the Weyrlingmaster angles away with her hands 
empty. "Evening," she greets T'kar. "Pardon?" Goes to I'sai.

Banran smiles once again to Aisling and nods. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure.."

Kassima twists her head about to turn that dark look into a stare. "I *do* beg your 
pardon?" She isn't radiating 'fear me' vibes just yet, but give her a moment.

E'vrin has hides now, so he must trade Kassima, who's offered the brandy. "Thanks," 
he mutters and begins eyeing the exit, past Maylia.

I'sai sketches Maylia a bow. And Kassima, for good measure, though, "...-That's- not 
fair, E'vrin. You're -running-."

"Any what?" Aisling asks in a low tone, an altogether too innocent of a smile coming 
to her lips.

E'vrin bristles his brows fiercely back at I'sai. "It's /Kassima,/" and he hisses 
the sibilant long for emphasis. "Look, I have hides now. I -- T'dan can try 'er, I 
guess, and Maylia, too, but /I/ want to walk outta here alive."

Kassima accepts the brandy gratefully. "Why, Ev, that's quite kind of you. Are you 
sure you want t'be giving it up? I can offer something in trade, if'n you like--just 
a second--" A second of rummaging, and then she produces a small metal flask of... 
something. "Green stuff. You can get drunk much faster on this. I'd suggest sharing 
it with I'sai, but he sounds as though he's had quite enough--*E'vrin*!" Yes, she 
heard that. Poor man.

Lanryi raises an eyebrow at that greeting and peers at the males in the room, "Nice 
to see you too I'sai." she offers sounding a little suspicious.

E'vrin winces. Cringes. Hangdog time.

Banran has started to walk way. But at Aisling's little comment he stops and looks 
back towards her.

"Try her?" Maylia repeats, blinking repeatedly. "Try. Her." She seems to be trying 
those words on for size. E'vrin's not looking likely to walk out of here alive at 
this point.

T'dan's cheeks color as he confides, "You know. 'It'" He frowns and mutters, "They 
don't think I can find a lady to lie with."

I'sai spiderclaw-steps after him. E'vrin's lived that much longer than he has, after 
all. Although at Kassima's exclamation, he husks, "...Maybe it should be 'run' out 
of here. ...Lanryi, what's your stance on porcine bits? T'dan needs to know."

Aisling glances at Banran, offering him a wink before she looks back at T'dan, her 
grin growing "You know, they just may be right."

Kassima gives a fulsome glare to both men, and to T'dan for good measure. "E'vrin, 
you had better have a bloody good explanation for what I'm thinking you just told 
that lad. I'sai, you too."

Banran snickers softly at Aisling's little reply. He then starts to walk out of the 
cavern again.

E'vrin mutters, "You can have some of these hides, too, I'sai, if you're wanting 
excuses--" His gaze glances off Maylia, with another wince, before fixing on 
Kassima's glare. Well, if he must die -- "T'dan started it, Wingleader!" he answers 
promptly -- he'll just blame it on someone else first.

T'dan stands up quickly, "What? You mean you wouldn't lie with me?" He looks over 
his shoulder at the 'guys' and demands, "Why not?" before looking over at E'vrin, 
"Did not. I wasn't the one saying I haven't gotten any."

You say "Then T'kar started it."

I'sai bows his head, seconding both assertions, though he also whispers, "Give me 
the really tough hides. Not the tough to do hides, the tough to punch through 
hides."

T'kar looks around innocently.

Lanryi peers at the cringing men, "Porcine bits? I guess they're okay, but I'm not 
really fond of them." she supplies still trying to figure out what these 
testosterone crazed men are up to.

Kassima considers this. "Oh. All right." And turns those eyes on T'dan. Then T'kar. 
Then both. What the hey; they're men, they're guilty. "What the bloody fardling 
flaming fragging *shells* is going on, if'n I may ask?"

Maylia's expression changes fluidly, and Kassi's given a sweet smile. "E'vrin's 
yours, I'sai's mine." Likely meaning under their jurisdiction, not what the men 
would possibly -like- it to mean. Her assistant is then given an expectant look, but 
at least some amusement leaks out.

Aurian walks here from the Inner Cavern.

Pierron gives a respectful nod to the Weyrsecond.

Kassima holds up a finger. "Ah, nay, May--I bought I'sai; he's mine t'kill. But I 
could sell his one-night-only death-rights t'you for... say... five marks?"

E'vrin tries to shuffle through hides, for I'sai, and answers, for Kassima, at the 
same time. "M'rgan had us all in the backroom, see -- oh, look, Is, how about this 
one? -- and there was brandy, and these /awful/ porcine things -- want this one, 
too? -- and T'dan hasn't been with anyone in a /really/ long time, I guess, so he 
wants to prove that he can be." There. And he even passes a few really thick, really 
tough hides to his fellow man-guy.

Aurian wanders in with a dozing babe against her, his hands wrapped about his 
mother's knot tightly. She carefully maneuvers towards the serving table.

I'sai says warmly, "Good taste you've got, Lanryi, although going as far as 'okay,' 
though you've never been a baker, I don't..." He slows, stares at Maylia, and 
reaches blindly to get those hides. "That's just right, E'vrin. Just right."

Aisling seems to be taking her time considering T'dan's question, before she notes. 
"That really does depend." She glances at Kassima before she sees Aurian.

Maylia snorts at Kassima, waggling her own finger back. "That knot on his shoulder 
means he's mine. Y'didn't buy him from me, so go ask for your marks back from 
whatever Bitran was sly enough to pull the wool over your eyes." Now, who'd I'sai 
rather have dealing with him? The emasculator-wielding Kassima, or ... Maylia?

Kassima squints a look at E'vrin. A look. Just that. "Wouldn't it be more manly t'be 
proving he can endure celibacy?" she tries hopefully. "Endurance is supposedly a 
masculine thing, though that's the most ruddy idiotic idea *I've* ever heard. I've 
ten times the endurance of most men." She probably means where celibacy is 
concerned, but whether drunk minds will interpret it that way, well.... "How about 
we let him choose who slaughters him, May? Sounds fair t'me."

Banran stops once again on his way out. He looks once more in Aisling's direction, 
wondering what she is going to do.

T'dan crosses his arms over his chest, "On what?" If he weren't so stinking drunk 
(poor guy hasn't had his beer in a long while), he'd be cute right now with his hair 
falling into his eyes. Now, he looks more comical.

E'vrin clutches the hides the way he'd been clutching his brandy, and he stares at 
Maylia and Kassima, Kassima and Maylia.... "Are they talking about /you/?" he 
wonders, sotto voce, to I'sai. "Or me? And look at how T'dan's sneaking out of it, 
with Aisling--"

"You finishing that bottle that E'vrin is holding." Aisling notes, "And one other 
beside it. Then we will discuss who you shall be lieing with."

T'kar snickers to himself.

Maylia's not entirely forgotten about the fact that she's still 'in charge of' 
T'dan. But, Aisling seems to be managing him fairly well. But there's that clincher, 
"Bronzerider," Oh, it still has the tone of 'weyrling', even if the syllables 
differ. "Do not forget you've drills first thing in the morning with the resupply 
wing." That reminder done, her head tilts to one side, and she eyes I'sai.

Kassima's 'endurance' does earn her a rather reminiscent smile from I'sai over 
there, if one soon hidden by the hides in following E'vrin's suit. "That's not 
right," he mutters back. "He's no Jav, all right, he's not getting -any-where. And 
neither are we. Only in the escape sort of way. Maybe out back, while they're still 
discussing it? Cut through the infirmary, and if they catch us along the way, we'll 
be that much closer to getting stitched up..." He's eyed. It may be too late.

Aurian settles at the maelstrom table. She rests her head on Tavauri's as she 
watches the discussions.

Kassima has the bottle now, but overhears and offers it over. Never let it be said 
she can't be helpful. "I'd be glad t'slaughter you both, Ev," she quips. "Except May 
has dibs on I'sai, unless he'd rather be killed by me, so I guess 'tis just you I 
get t'massacre. Sorry. And mayhaps T'kar, if'n you're saying he had aught t'do with 
this."

It /is/ too late. "I might as well crawl back to Igen now," E'vrin mourns back to 
I'sai. "You can come with me. Maylia won't crawl that far, I know it." Then he's the 
one caught. So he tries to be noble: "Well, actually, T'kar just made a comment. 
Really. And he has Merielan to go home to, so you can't emasculate him, all right, 
Kassi?"

T'dan nods firmly, "I can do it." He grabs for E'vrin's bottle, his only warning 
being, "I need this." He turns back to Aisling, "Both these bottles?" He holds up 
the beer in his hand, hoping that was the other bottle she ment.

I'sai's quick to agree, "She wouldn't like it. Merielan wouldn't. At least, if he's 
doing it right. Thing about Igen, I hear it smells funny when it does get wet and it 
dries up and... does it count as a massacre if there aren't more of us?"

"That *would* inhibit his ability t'be doing his duty by the Wing where child-
siring's concerned," Kassi admits ruefully. "So I guess I can't castrate you after 
all, T'kar. Sorry about that. Talk t'me when you've a kid or three and we'll arrange 
something. But *you*... *you* already *have* children, don't you, Ev?" A sweet smile 
to I'sai follows. "Whether or nay 'tis a massacre depends sheerly on the amount of 
blood."

"Very nice addition, Sielth. I -would- cook them first." Aisling nods with certainty 
before considering the bottle, "No...Let me get just the one." She looks over to the 
others, her voice raising slightly "Anyone have a bottle of bourbon for me?"

Maylia's left eyebrow lifts. "I'd fly, not crawl, thank you." She notes. "So, I'sai, 
who'll be dealing with you?" It's debatable. Which's worse, dealing with vs killing, 
might not be clear. Kassi's shot a look of amusement, which quickly gets schooled 
back into full blown Weyrlingmaster.

I'sai avers, "I don't -have- enough blood," and, instead of juggling the hides more, 
just drops the now-empty shot-glass down his shirt. Ready to run. "...Uh, dealing? 
M'rgan's the dragonpoker expert."

E'vrin casts a wistful look after the brandy -- O fortunate T'dan! -- before putting 
his head down under Kassima's sweetness. "You wouldn't emasculate your son's father, 
would you?" he asks, then shoots a look up again at her. "Your favorite child -- 
he'd be crushed. And Sharath would /never/ let Lysseth forget it. He'd be at her 
every day and night."

T'dan slamps down his beer bottle, "Alright. This and bourbon." He waits patiently 
til Aisling can watch him down both bottles. Wouldn't do not to have the action 
properly witnessed/

Tavauri blinks awake. He yawns and starts to reach towards Maylia with a frustrated 
squabble.

Kassima shrugs off her jacket at Aisling's query, to peer into the hidden inner 
pockets. "Bottle, Green Stuff, White Lightning, Harper's Folly, Black Gold, rum, 
brandy, firewater... nay, Aisling, nay bourbon I'm afraid." A long look is tendered 
E'vrin. "I remember," she points out, "the labor. I just might. T'spare other women, 
you understand. But Kris *would* be distressed, so I suppose I can't--never mind 
Lyss; she'd probably be glad t'have a male after her." She heaves a sigh. "You don't 
fight *fair*, bronzer."

E'vrin murmurs, his shoulders relaxing some, "I /am/ your wingsecond, among other 
things." He directs a triumphant look towards I'sai: see how it's done?

Maylia snorts inelegantly. "You've dealt yourself anything but a Gather, I'd say." 
Oh, shardit, it's hard to be stern when there's an infant reaching for you. She 
ignores him for now.

And I'sai can't copy E'vrin, either; the freckled features squelch down. So when in 
doubt, "Thank you, Weyrlingmaster," said just as he edges for the mouth of the bowl.

Aisling watches T'dan as the beer disappears. She frowns thoughtfully at Kassi's 
inventory. "Perhaps the green stuff would do the trick. May I borrow that, Please? 
or maybe the rum"

Kassima catches that triumphant look, more's the pity for him. "You could still do 
hidework castrated. And Kris might learn t'live with it. He has plenty of siblings 
already, after all--fardles, I'sai, May means which one of us are you going t'allow 
t'kill you? Don't you dare run away and nay answer!" She slips the glass vial of rum 
from its pocket and offers it over. "Have fun."

Tavauri squaks at his Auntie of sorts, she's supposed to be Paying attention.

I'sai keeps sidling. "I need to think about it," he says. "It's a big decision. And 
it sounds as if it'll take a while. The, uh, killing. So I should allow equal time 
for the thinking. So I'll ... I'll get back to you, Kassima."

Aisling offers Kassi a bow. "My thanks". The vial is handed to T'dan with a curious 
smile. "Enjoy, my friend."

But--but--but E'vrin can't come up with a good answer, even with the brandy wearing 
rapidly off. "I'd be sad," is all he says, and he really means it, too. Ignore the 
fact that he's sidling after I'sai: a panicked pas de deux?

Maylia's arms cross, and her brows furrow. "Thank you?" She asks. "What I *meant* 
was, oh - forget it. Talk with me in the morning, I'sai. Unless you choose Kassi to 
kill you." Uh-oh. Morning with the weyrlings often means supervising shovelling.

T'dan looks at the green stuff doubtfully. He shrugs and lifts first one bottle to 
chug, then the other. Bleerily, he looks at Aisling and slurs, "Der.. now wut?"

Kassima taps her foot, chews her lip, folds her arms. "I suppose I can't, then," she 
grudges. "Depressed Wingseconds aren't any bloody good for aught 'tall."

E'vrin retorts, "No more than depressed winglea--I'll just have these hides for you 
in the morning, shall I?" He blinks rapidly. What? He didn't say that.

Aisling moves her hand until it is directly before T'dan's face and holds up three 
fingers, "How many fingers do you see?"

What with the brow-furrowing and all, I'sai plasters a joyous smile on his face and 
gives a good attempt at a, "Thank you, -thank- you," as if it's the best thing 
Maylia could possibly have said to him. And maybe it is. Either way, he presses his 
luck with a, "Someone tell me later if T'dan wins his bet?" just before hurrying 
out, hides and all.
I'sai walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Kassima's eyes narrow at record speed, and the glint that sets dark green eyes 
alight is not at all a reassuring one. "You had best," she agrees with deathly 
quiet. "If'n you don't want t'be digging yourself a deeper grave than you just dug."

T'kar slips out in the shadows.

E'vrin's stiff, sharp breath pulls him up, and he salutes. And then -- oh, yes -- he 
doth flee, hides a-flapping.

[Log ends.]