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Dings, Cracks, Faults, and Flaws


Date:  February 8, 2001
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Storage Rooms
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:  This is the closure--or primary closure--to the conflict 
between Kassi and I'sai that rose when he gave her reason (in her eyes)
to question his trustworthiness... and a lot more than that, as it 
turns out; she does tend to brood when distressed.  If this conversation
didn't entirely repair the new crack in their dynamic, it did at least
restore some measure of understanding, and put them back on more 
comfortable footing.  (Besides, like all RP involving I'sai, it's just 
plain interesting reading. :)

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The Log:

You walk off towards the Storage Rooms.

Glowlight finds the fair head bent over a half-full crate, pale shirt
bright against the darkness of wood and leather and stone; sweater and
jacket have been folded to the side, finicky-neat as ever.

Out, out, brief candle, replaced by the steadier glow of a fresh basket
carried in Kassima's hand; she, of course, could never hide in that jacket
of hers. Footfalls pause at the entranceway to the room. "I do beg pardon,"
she says quietly, lest she break some communing with tunics or Faranth only
knows what. "I didn't know anyone else would be in here."

I'sai glances up, all that glowlight shading his eyes to cloudy green;
"Hello, Kassima," he greets. There's a pause. "What is it that you're
looking for, then? I might have run across it."

Kassima glances down, her eyes--already green--made a more feline shade by
luminescent fungus. Not quite eyeshadow, but it'll do. "G'deve yourself,"
she returns. "What am I... oh, well, you, but that was later. Now? A bit of
thread, hopefully. Green, fine, and thick."

I'sai hesitates at that shade of speech - then wonders, "Would I do for
now? Since it was later anyway; I've got a delivery to make later. And the
only thread I've seen has already been knitted into something."

"'Twas afraid of that. I might have t'be buying the stuff after all." Oh,
horrors. It's amazing Kassi isn't quaking in her boots at the thought.
Instead of quaking, she considers him with the fungus-eyes. "You might. But
you might nay want t'do, depending. I've been meaning, y'see, t'talk with
you--" And my, doesn't that sound ominous.

"Mmm," and I'sai turns back to his crate, starting to rummage for real this
time: if he only has so long left... "Liking your knife all right?"

Kassima repeats, "Knife, knife--oh, that knife. Aye, well enough; practiced
with it a bit, gutted a thing or two, then sharpened it up. Never know when
I'll need it next." She finds herself a nearby section of wall against
which to lean, arms folded and glowbasket left to dangle from hooked
fingers. "Aren't you even curious," she asks, almost whimsical--wistful?
One of those--"what 'twas meaning t'talk with you about?"

And it's that tone that makes the difference, his gaze lifting to hers,
pupils dilated to darkness. "Yes," I'sai says. "Can't help but be." And
then, "I didn't know I had the right to ask."

Kassima tips that chin just so until she regards him, not full on, but at a
slant. "I didn't mean I was looking t'kill you," she points out. "Or rage
at you, or--really, 'twas more of a mind t'ask you something. Only if'n
you're too worried about what I'll think t'tell truth, it won't work."

I'sai makes no promises; but neither does he look away to the shirt that
he's folding, the gesture's practiced care bespeaking not only habit but
inclination to the ordering. "Go ahead - well. Perhaps sit down, first;
there must be something that's not too dusty. Or is quick enough to be
cleared."

Taking the invitation for what it's worth, Kassi unhooks her arms and folds
legs to slide down in a leather-creaking, cross-legged, dust-raising pile
of greenriderness: ker-thump. "I don't mind dust." Evidently not. A moment
or two longer she just watches, stares, entirely too solemn to be
comfortable; especially this being *Kassi* and all. Finally, "I'sai. Do you
hate me?"

I'sai's still enough not to shift: not at the thump, not at the dust, not
at the stare - revealing in its lack of naturalness, but at least little
more than that. But at length he exhales a slow-held breath and says, quite
quietly, "No, Kassima. I don't. I'd say, 'How could I?' but that would
indeed be that lie... because I could; I just - don't."

This answer, duly acknowledged by a single, slow blink, is followed--on
Kassi's end, at least--by several heartbeats' worth of that previous
silence. "I *thought* you could." Murmured more to herself than him. For
his ears: "Then why?"

The next shirt's cowl-collared, and oversewn within a stitch of its life;
it all but stands on its own, but I'sai creases it in any case. "Why should
I?" And then, "I should have gotten the shells to the right place. I
didn't." And he sets -that- shirt in its place.

"Why shouldn't you?" Kassi returns, and not rhetorically. Her thumbs have
taken to twirling 'round and 'round each other where the set against her
ankles. "You shouldn't have destroyed them," she corrects. "Or ruined them;
neither term works for the shells themselves, but both work for m'purpose
with them. If'n you'd just *lost* them... 'tis different, this way."

I'sai rolls his shoulders, just as deliberately as before, but it serves as
qualified ease even so. No answer for her first question, and for her
second comment, which hadn't been - "I hadn't realized what you'd meant,"
he says, quietly still. "For me it wasn't destruction, was anything but
that. It wasn't tossing them to the stone and jumping up and down on them.
But I've, I've already tried to explain that."

Kassima's eyes flicker dark; silence rarely means that one really wants to
hear the answer, and her head lowers a fraction with the weight of the
thought. "I don't understand," she admits with matching quiet. "I *usually*
understand you. Somewhat. But this, I don't begin to understand. You took
something someone gave you in trust and threw it away... but you say that
isn't malice? You could've just held onto them. Or asked Taralyth t'ask
Lyss. Or given them back." Repeated, with a hint of frustration, "I don't
understand."

He'd been embarrassed, after, after he'd babbled about the moons and the
tide - this time I'sai tries to phrase it a little differently.
"Sometimes... not often, but sometimes something can mean more for that
it'll not be repeated... No, I don't know what got into me. And if I could
explain it, Kassima - if I could, I surely would. If it had been metal,
jewels, a fine carving, I think I would have known... but the shells, they
were part of the sea still. It felt like I was bringing them back where
they belonged. Like... as if you were returning to Benden, this Pass done."

I'sai says more quickly, "And no, I don't mean it that you should leave
here; it's that you've always said it's Benden that draws you back."

"And that meant more," Kassi supposes softly, "than whether it might upset
me that you'd broken trust. I see, I think." She turns her head away,
finding something inordinately interesting about the dusty box across from
her. "Returning the dead and useless things to the sea that spawned them so
one won't have to worry about them anymore. There's a certain pragmatism
there."

"It's not -like- that," snapped as she looks away. And then with greater
care for all his intensity, "And it is not like you, and you are not old,
or useless - and neither are they; they _shone_, white under the moons, and
it was as if the sea wanted them, appreciated them more than any of us even
could. Keep in mind, I misheard, misremembered; it was not to break your
trust, somehow I'd thought you'd had your fill of them, given them to me to
find them a home." There's a long pause. "It wasn't the right home."

Kassima does flinch at the snap, but doesn't look back; the box is safer.
"Useless now," she murmurs. "Useless enough now. The things that lived in
them are dead and gone, or left them, and now they're just dried... things.
And the sea-salt will crust 'em and the sea-sand will wear them down until
they're destroyed, you know. That's why it's hard t'find the good ones. The
ones that haven't been broken yet." A sigh, a long sigh. "Well, I can...
perhaps... understand your reasoning. And if'n confusion remains, at least
I'm in good company in being confused by you."

I'sai registers that last with a blink - but it's of little import,
compared to the rest; straightening, "Shards, woman, they're not. They're
-interesting-. The moons liked them. I liked them. But they weren't mine,
they're the moons, only I was wrong about that in my thinking-sense but
not, I think, in the feeling-sense... a ding, even a crack, it doesn't
matter to _me_."

Kassima slants a look back, finally, with eyes near to black and the faint
curve of a cynic's smile. "They're the fresh ones, cleaned and polished, so
I suppose they would be. Simian thought so; that's why he'd have paid me
for 'em. But now if'n they haven't been picked up by someone else, they're
probably gone, broken t'bits. Still. I'm nay entirely unable to appreciate
poetic thought, costly though 'tis--and you're alone enough in that last. I
couldn't get aught for 'em unless 'twere whole, from m'cousin or from anyone."

"So I'm alone," and it doesn't seem to matter to -I'sai-: "I can value
something I do not keep, do not lock away or barter only for what seems
like better goods. And I will apologize to your cousin, if you would like,
as I have already apologized to you; and for the mark-value... I've already
offered to recompense you for that." Another moment of quiet. "Or is that
it? That humans make mistake - we _are_ human - and this ding, this
unpredicted crack makes me worthless in your eyes?"

Even the cynical smile fades to be replaced by a mute shrug from Kassi,
accompanied by no expression whatsoever. "It has already been determined,
methinks, that I'm nay perfect. So add bartering to m'list of faults. I
wasn't measuring the cost in marks." One brow rises in motion that would be
eloquent, were the eye beneath it not still dark. "Worthless? You? Hardly
that to anyone, and you know it. I regret that I had t'find it. But
everyone must have one, mustn't they?"

Suddenly there's laughter, pure and true, fair to set the shadows aside;
"Oh, Kassima, -Kassima-. If that's my only one... you think more of me than
'most anyone." I'sai outright dumps the remaining clothes back in, and
offers her his hand in lieu: "Come on. Sit up. Stand up. Bartering is well
enough at times, I just hope it needn't serve for all. Sometimes... some
things need to be freely given."

"Near enough. Near enough. After all," Kassi replies, dryness itself, "you
remind me of me, remember?" And though she does hesitate, she slides pale
fingers into his, standing with a pop of bone to match that buckle's
jingle. "You must tell me sometime what those are," she suggests with the
hint of a real smile. "Since methinks I may have lost them. Good for you,
that you have them still."

"I hadn't remembered," said on the lilting pleasure of compliment; and
I'sai murmurs, "See, you hadn't -needed- me to draw you to your feet, but
it serves just the same. Let's see what we can find of those... and start,
for now, with your thread."

[Editor's Note:  And here Is's player had to run, so we assumed 
the characters rummaged through Stores for an hour or two.  Log
ends.]