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Chim Chim Cher-ee!


Date:  January 26, 2005
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Southern Bowl
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  The title is Stavern's fault, and you'll see why soon
enough. ;)  A visitor to the Weyr comes across Kassi while she's 
bagging firestone, and they have a brief but lively chat about his
family, Daikoth, the evils of sisters, and other such good stuff.

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The Log:

Stavren comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.

Some distance from both her lounging green dragon and the entrance to the
Caverns, Kassima's sacking firestone: there's a fairly decent-sized pile of
rubble and chunks in front of her, a dust-covered pick-axe to the side, and
one bag filled already. As she stuffs smaller bits into another, she
whistles. It's fairly good whistling. It would be better whistling if it
weren't interrupted by periodic coughs from the dust.

Stavren steps out into the chill, cradling a large (venti, if you will) mug
of klah in his broad gloved hands. The steam from the hot drink mingles
with his visible breath, and he takes careful steps around patches of ice
to avoid spillage. The cold brings color to his cheeks, but he's so clearly
enjoying the peace and quiet. Aside from the whistling and coughing, of
course. He notes Kassima's presence, has a brief but fierce battle with
chivalry, and finally offers, "I'm technically not working any more today,
ma'am, but if you need a hand...?"

"Augh. Ma'amed! From behind, nay less, and when 'twasn't expecting it.
'Twill surely keel over and die." Awfully mouthy for a corpse though, no?
Kassi rocks back on her heels and twists about enough to see the man
addressing her, offering him a grin. For all that there's dust marking her
hair, her jacket, her pants, and most of the rest of her, her face shows
some sign of a recent attempt to clean it. "None of that, please; the word
gives me hives. Kassima." She indicates herself. "Or Kassi. Thankee, but
don't feel obliged--I broke this m'self, so I made the mess; only fair that
I clean it."

Stavren grins back in spite of himself. "It'd be a really embarrassing
death, all smudged and dust-covered. I'd hate to be the cause of such a
thing." He carefully stays out of range of the dust, not wanting to get
involved in an impromptu Soot-Covered People Dance (he can't keep time with
chim-chimenys to save his life). "I'll make a note never to do it again,
Kassi. I'm Stavren. How'd you manage to make such a mess?" He has clearly
not associated Lysseth's dozing presence with Kassima's firestone-bagging.
There may be soot on the Wingleader's knots.

Kassima agrees with far too much cheer for a woman doing her best to
impersonate a Pernese Dick Van Dyke, "I hope for a more memorable death
if'n naught else. M'current favored method is t'be hit by a falling meteor
and knocked right off m'dragon, t'be turned into a fiery smudge against a
stretch of ground somewhere. People would talk about it for *Turns*." The
knots are indeed soot-marked, and she doesn't seem to mind the casual
address at all. She only laughs. "With effort! I decided t'break some
'stone as a way of working through frustration. Very handy, but the dust
gets *everywhere*." Wryly, "As you'd probably noticed. Pleasure t'make your
acquaintance, Stavren. Haven't seen you about a'fore, have I?"

Stavren must pause, and consider the truly fascinating mental image of
being knocked off a dragon by a flaming meteor. "That'd be one shell of a
Ballad. I wonder if anything rhymes with 'meteor'?" Dodging another sneak
air attach of 'stone dust, he seats his long form onto a flat-topped rock
nearby. "No, you've not seen me. My family and I are down here for a couple
of sevendays from the Smithcraft Hall, visiting some /more/ family." He
rolls his eyes expressively. "I may come out and vent some frustration with
you in a few days. Keeping my little sisters out of trouble is enough to
make me want to chew some of this firestone."

"'Greedier'?" Kassima tries. "'Needier'?" Her features screw into a
grimace. "That's sloppy rhyming. But! That's the handy thing, isn't it: I'd
be dead, so I don't have t'worry about it. 'Twill leave that to the
Masterharper and his crew." In the interests of conversing without getting
dust in the poor man's klah, the woman sets the stone aside, hauls off her
gloves, and rocks back on her feet, evidently putting the task on pause if
not stop. "Sounds a treat. Just the season for visiting the Icy Wastes,
too--feel free t'take a piece if'n you want it, but I warn you, the taste
is foul. I'm guessing your parents gave you the charge of 'em?"

"How'd you know?" Stavren inquires, widening his eyes outrageously. On a
big burly guy, it looks even more outrageous. "Is my hair already going
grey? Or maybe that nervous twitch came back..." He shrugs, taking a gulp
of his klah. Ah, steam. "One of 'em's a dreadful flirt, one of 'em wails
'You just don't /understand!/ at least three times a day, and the other two
are planning to steal a blue dragon named Daikoth, hide him in the laundry,
and feed him with stolen cookies. I told Da and Mum we could have left them
at home." He glances around, at ice and dust and a few picturesque
snowdrifts. "Season's not so bad. If a blizzard comes, then we're stuck,
but at least we're stuck in a safe place." His voice has the familiar ring
of long-suffering patience common to a native of the north. "Maybe your
lady green could help fish us out of the snow, things come to that."

Kassima informs Stavren in a very solemn voice, perfectly straight-faced,
"I know everything. I'm omniscient. That's how I made all m'money. Just
don't *tell* anyone, or they'll never gamble with me again. Methinks 'tis
more that aura of frazzledness that accompanies anyone saddled with the
care of small children." She gives a sympathetic wince. "Or adolescent
lasses, either one. You poor thing. What'd you ever do t'your parents? And
they want t'steal *Daikoth*... oh, boy, you'd best hope they don't succeed,
unless you want t'try and fit his hoard of stuff in your home." Apparently,
she's familiar with the blue in question. "Stay around long enough and
there'll probably be a blizzard soon or late. Telgar's pretty fair at
tending its own during, though--and aye, Lyss and I could assist. Only,"
and she glances at him sidelong, eyes dancing, "would you really *want* us
t'fish out your sisters?"

Stavren is taking another gulp of klah when she asks that. Pause for a
series of really, /really/ undignified snorting sounds as he clears his
throat. "I...um, well, I'd probably miss them, after a while. Mum and Da
would. And it'd be hard not to rescue Bri; you'd hear her whining under a
dragonlength of snow." He chuckles into his mug for another minute. Happy
thoughts of buried sisters. "I'll warn Cashie and Aldria about Daikoth's
stuff. He let them rub his eyeridges the other night, you see, so now
they're quite sure he wants to come home with them and be their...five,
six, seventh pet. I've already warned his rider, M'tri, and /he/ didn't
seem worried." Curiously, he adds "Dragons don't generally hoard, do they?
There's a teaching Ballad about one named Smaugeth where it's mentioned,
but that one's mainly sung to littles. Smaugeth hept too many things and
eventually his ledge collapsed, or something."

"This is where I'd *like* t'be able t'say, 'I have eight children; I'm
immune t'whining,' but the sad fact is that in some ways that's only made
me more susceptible. Alas, alas. And then you'd probably get stuck looking
after them 'til they recovered from the cold, so 'twouldn't be doing you a
kindness in the end." Kassi's grin and amused eyes may suggest that she has
an idea what thought has caused those chuckles. "Trust Daikoth. He lets
m'youngest son climb all over him, so now Kai thinks *he* is Daikoth's
proper rider. Or will be when he grows up. That blue must be a sucker for
children of all sorts. Smaugeth?" A snicker escapes the greenrider. "I
haven't heard that one. It sounds like a treat. 'Tisn't a dragon thing,
nay, so much as a *Daikoth* thing. That dragon won't be happy until every
shiny thing in all the world is his."

Stavren nods cautiously. "M'tri mentioned something about a gold statue. I
wasn't sure if he was joking or not--this was right after he said he stole
Daikoth's egg and hatched it out by keeping it swaddled in warm laundry."
That was clearly an interesting and surreal conversation for a Craft-raised
boy like Stav. "You have /eight/ children? Congratulations, condolences,
and you don't look it." That likely covers all the bases. "Maybe your Kai
has met my sisters, and they can all claim joint ownership of Daikoth." He
steadfastly refuses to think about nursing his sisters through the cold.
Too dreadful to contemplate. "If you want to do me a kindness? Find an
all-girl Hold, and fly Brijanta over there for a Turn or so. Until her
brain grows back."

"He's nay kidding." Kassima pauses. Rolls her eyes at the foibles of the
absent bluerider. "Nay about the statue. Daikoth would probably love gold
statues--but Trii did nay steal *any* eggs, else he'd be in little
palm-sized pieces right about now. That's M'tri for you, though. I ended up
married t'him nay half an hour after meeting him." Well, that's likely to
help with the whole confusion factor. "I do. Four sons, four daughters, so
condolences are probably due me from either gender--and thankee, too," she
adds, flashing a bright smile that makes it, for a moment, all the more
true. "I'd nay be at *all* surprised. So Brijanta's the flirty lass, then?
And your parents thought 'twas a good idea t'bring her to a Weyr? I'm nay
arguing the point, we aren't such cesspools of iniquity as some say, but
'tis a semi-unusual view."

Stavren stares blankly at Kassi. "Married?..." he begins, then cuts himself
off. There are some things non-greenriders are not meant to know. Safer
topic, spit-spot. "Yeah, Bri's kind of boy-crazy right now, but bringing
her along with us was the lesser of two evils. My oldest sister got married
just before we left, you see. So Bri's got weddings and true love on the
brain. And my new brother in law has several male cousins who've all met
Bri and...er..." He stutters to a halt. Please Faranth, let his blush not
be too visible in the dark. "I beat one of them up, but he completely
deserved it, with the things he was saying about her. So Mum and Da decided
she should at least be where we could all keep an eye on her. If we'd left
her at home, we'd have come back and found her pregnant or handfasted. Or
both."

Kassima turns her head to hide her mirth at that blank stare, though
arguably not too well; she still looks somewhat amused when she returns her
eyes to him. "Nay really, a'course, but we pretend t'be from time t'time.
Only he ended up m'wife somehow and I his husband. Entirely backwards. His
*actual* weyrmate is Lanisa, who's a wonder t'put up with him." Yet she
says this with an odd sort of affection, the kind one might show for one's
insane but good friend. "Felicitations for the new family member, then, and
*I'm* nay going t'argue against the occasional need t'beat up a man over a
girl. Four daughters, remember. Handfasted probably isn't a worry here, but
pregnancy, I fear, might be, if'n she doesn't mind that there can't be a
wedding attached. At least with the rider-men. 'Twill wish you the best
luck in keeping her from that, Faranth knows. How're you finding the Weyr
so far?"

Stavren mutters something about tying her to a chair in an abandoned
storeroom, but it sounds like an oft-repeated mantra. "I haven't got much
free time due to the sisters, but I've been enjoying myself. It's my first
trip anywhere more than a mile from home, so just the change of scenery is
exciting. Dust or not," he adds, grinning sideways at Kassi and her
blackdust aura. "Everyone has been kind and welcoming, I've spent some time
with the local smiths learning a few things, and your cook's baklava is
really addictive. My two littlest sisters would say the same about his
cookies--" He has to stop, the deepening chill of the night is finally
getting to him. "Hope you'll excuse me, but my fingers and toes are numb.
And it's my job to get the girls to breakfast tomorrow." He bows, quick and
proper, and his brown eyes are warm as he turns back to the cavern
entrance. "A pleasure to meet you, Kassi."

Stavren walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern.