-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Now That's Entertainment Date: November 27, 2002 Place: Telgar Weyr's Workroom Game: PernMUSH Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kassi's Note: When Is asked one evening if anyone on-chan would like a quick RP scene, I was game, as was Kichevio. That lead to this short but rather fun log. :) The premise is that Kassi's at work on her latest set of straps when Kich comes in to hunt for leather, and Is follows suit on a hunt for H'var's missing buckle; all such goals are soon forgotten (or at least not focused on) in favor of a solemn discussion about Turnday parties. See, Ursa? Everything was *their* fault! Theirs! Kassi was absolutely innocent! ;) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: Lysseth> Above, Taralyth spirals down, tight and sharp, with just a brief wing-flourish at the end. Lysseth> Taralyth backwings for a landing. Lysseth> Saulith backwings for a landing. Lysseth> Kichevio slides down easily from Saulith's neck. Kichevio comes into the workroom from the bowl. Lysseth> Taralyth lands a safe distance - make that, a relatively safe distance - from Ularrith over there, and warbles swift greeting to Spineth, warming for Lysseth; he's quick to tuck back his wings as Saulith lands, too, making his suddenly-laughing rider that much slower to slip down. Lysseth> I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck. Lysseth> I'sai mutters at his dragon, "I don't -have- to go in, you know - what's that? Shards, H'var won't care, he likes - fine." Taralyth snorts. He laughs again. "_Fine_." I'sai comes into the workroom from the bowl. Lysseth> Lysseth sits--or, let us be more honest, lounges--as sentinel not at all far from the Workrooms' entrance; though her rumble to Saulith is cordial and brief, she greets Taralyth on a note that has more music to it, with a casual tail-flick as well for the passing rider. Kichevio sighs as she prowls in, heading promptly and unerringly for the shelf of old hides and leather. "One rock with a bad attitude, that's all it takes," she mutters to any sympathetic ear that might be around, "and suddenly I'm making half a new jacket." Kassima gets a wave, I'sai, after an infinitestimal pause, gets one as well. Kassima has found herself a seat not all that distant from the hearth, and commandeered a table upon which to prop up her feet; somewhere, Pierron is off being scandalized. Not that it matters to Kassi, who's got the non-business end of a stylus between her teeth and a hide in her lap. Her muttered comments to herself aren't very comprehensible given the obstruction. "Mmmph?" She looks up. "Kichevio, g'deve. Heyla, Is. Shards, what, am I in the way of some sort of meeting?" Lysseth> Saulith chirps to all and sundry, stretching out for a few snatched minutes of lounging (though not as gracefully as Lysseth). "Very important one, Ursa's dancing on the tables for L'han's Turnday and we just have to pick which song," I'sai returns, bright as can be; -he- doesn't pause in his returning wave, but it's as brief as it is quick. "And in the meantime, have you seen - H'var left his - it's a buckle, and someone might've sat down on it." Kichevio winces. "I think we'd have heard the complaints if someone found it that way. I'll keep an eye out for it." She finds the leather bits, and starts sorting through them for the proper texture. "Is there a meeting? If there are refreshments, I won't complain too loudly. And if it's to pass the motion of Ursa dancing on the tables, I vote 'aye' and suggest she dance a rousing toss dance with L'han." Lysseth> Taralyth settles in - if less completely than either - with wings swept back, and a tail-flick after his rider that would match if it weren't so flippant; there's something of firestone about him, though he can't recently have seen Fall. If Kassi's eyebrow twitches upwards at this exchange of hesitant and/or shortened waves, then that, too, is brief, perhaps enough so to be completely missed. "And you didn't invite me?" she asks, putting on her best plaintive voice. "Why nay? Apart from that a'course I'm going t'suggest the Drunken Rider song. Or that thing Ryi sang with It-That-Must-Nay-Be-Named." Because the memory calls for it, she affects a delicate shudder. "Can't say *I've* sat on it, for what 'tis worth--at least nay that I can tell; y'know how 'tis, a few hours of hidework or strapwork and your rump's so numb you'd scarcely notice if'n you sat on a numbweed plant in full bloom. Still, I've nay seen anyone run out screaming and clutching their bottom, so I'd agree, 'tis likely unfound. Just so long as Ursa doesn't toss L'han up while he's wearing that kilt. I'm nay sure anyone's eyes could take the sight." I'sai makes as if to note that, even as he starts pulling out chairs - if not Kassi's - and even has the decency to put them back, mostly; "One for toss dance, and... drunken rider? Drunken rider. Definitely not the it-thing; that's enough for one lifetime, and I'll agree about the kilt and - think you'd notice if you sat on a needlethorn?" Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth, poor bereft dragon left out alone while her rider does hideously dull things that she is, is naturally full of curiosity; some of it is extended his way, its thought-form a glowing blue plasma. << Drills? Or has your rider had you cooking wherries on the wing for his dinner? >> Now there's a mental image: flaming birds, still flying, dying. Taralyth Fried Wherry; we do avians right. Kichevio winces again. Such lovely imagery. "Better a toss dance in a kilt than that." Proper leather retrieved, she sits down on one of the buckle-free chairs I'sai's pulled out and starts hand-measuring the material with a practiced air. "And they'll be doing all this dancing and sitting at the beach, no less." I'sai breathes, "Sand will get -everywhere-." Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth teases with a glimpse of a large cavern cleared out just for -her-, with dragon-sized hides and a stylus made of a wherry's leg; << Drills, so far. They learn. I show them - >> and stay well out of their way, if likely not so far as his across-the-entire-Bowl image would suggest. "Y'know--" And in case he doesn't, Kassi briefly lifts her voice to sing out, "What d'you do with a drunken rider, ear-ly in the morning? Lift up his kilt and see what's under, lift up his kilt and see what's under, lift up his kilt and see what's under, ear-ly in the morning!" Pause. "On second thought, mayhaps *nay* the Drunken Rider song. Y'never know who might take it as suggestion. I rather doubt I *would* notice just now. Think I should stand and check? Or live on in blissful ignorance?" When ignorance is bliss.... "Shells and shards, 'twill. Mind you, the dance people do when trying t'get sand *out* of a kilt can be entertainment in and of itself. So this is a real shindig, then?" Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth's fancy adds an enormous chair to his so-thoughtfully-provided cavern, lush and padded save for the great needlethorn bush growing somehow from its center--and she does *not* envision herself sitting upon it, note. << It is well, >> she observes, amusement ringing clear. << Char-marks would not suit you; they'd dull your hide, and crisp your wings, and that would be a pity. >> Lysseth, Mistress of the Understatement. << Mine reminds me that we flew with them not long ago. They make fine progress. >> Metal clanks - but after I'sai identifies it, his expression falls, and he tosses the interlocked D-rings to slide across the table before moving on; "Indeed. And with that song, it really does call for a kilt, and given that I've heard he _has_ one, it's only to be expected. Other suggestions, then? And for a toss-dance, would L'han be tossing Ursa, or the other way around? Seems to be real, all right, but with her going, 'tis likely I'll be on duty, so it might as well not for all of me." Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth sees about boring out a hole for a her-sized tail in his version of the chair's back, just in case she should change her mind; << And if your rider speaks so, they actually -must-, >> though there's amusement there also: progress, how far, from what. Kichevio chuckles under her breath as she marks off dimensions on the leather. "Since K'fen's going to be along as well, I imagine there will be tossing of Kef, and tossing of Ursa, and depending on how much alcohol is around, much tossing of anyone within range. Kilts might not be wise." Kassima's teeth gleam in a sudden smile at the 'tis-ing, though she comments on it not at all. "It calls for any number of things, depending on what verses you sing; rusty razors, misplaced clothing, strange leather implements... it even calls for Mart if'n you use the verse R'ehn added, 'Let's torment M'rgan some mo-ore, ear-ly in the morning!' Such a wonderfully creative pawn." This is said with great fondness, whatever the words. Swinging her feet down so that she might indeed check beneath her seat, she suggests, "The teapot song? I can see L'han singing *that*. I can also see Ursa cringing and hiding her head in her hands as he does, though, so mayhaps nay." Indeed. "Nay needlethorn," she reports, sounding almost disappointed, before falling back into her seat. "Don't know K'fen, and don't know whether I'd have time t'go either, but I may. I'll certes consider it if'n there's *drinks*. Though 'twill remember that a kilt might nay be wise if'n I do." I'sai says, half-muffled as he looks -under- the table now, "Especially not wise if, in all that prancing around, they're going to splatter sweat in people's drinks... don't you think? And there should be a Mart-verse in every song. Except maybe 'Moreta's Ride.'" Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth considers this chair, so kindly altered just for her. It seems a shame to ignore it... so perhaps if she placed a thick green velvet pillow, with whimsical tassles a-dangling, just so? << Are you implying she doesn't praise lightly? >> she responds, affecting indignance very poorly; her mind retains its laughing shine. << Would you say otherwise of them? >> Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth tests a snort at one of those tassles; then, blue for shine, << I would say many things of them. >> Not that he -does-. "Something sand-worthy," is Kichevio's suggestion. "A sarong, or shorts, with a towel to sit on if necessary. And maybe some of your what's-in-the-bottle to lure the unwary into dances and Mart-verses?" Mission accomplished, she stands. "If I find H'var's buckle, Is, I'll let you know--though I doubt he's left it in my weyr. I'd remember. Good night." "Thankee, I'sai, for the horrible mental images of Mart in--or as--'Moreta's Ride' that you just inspired in m'head. When you hear those shrieks from above as I wake from dark nightmares tonight, know that they're *your* fault, and 'twill tell every rider whose sleep I disturb with 'em who 'tis they should hunt down for lynching." Kassima resettles in her chair, wiggling about to get comfortable and slinging her boots back up onto the abused furniture. "...You do have a point. Nay alcohol is worth having t'drink sweat, I'm sorry. It might be a better plan t'find somewhere t'tuck m'self for private drinking instead--as if'n I need excuse for *that*... g'night back t'you, Kich. If'n you *do* find it in your weyr, let us know how it got there, hey?" Kichevio leaves the workroom and heads out into the bowl. I'sai, rising from under-the-table's shadowy depths, looks rather smug - though whether for the greenriders' sallies, or for the shiny bit of metal clutched in one hand, who's to say. "He'd better thank me; got my knees all dusty on whatever's down there," he says. "Maybe if you put a cap on your drink, just enough to sip out of?" Pernese travel mugs. He grins at Kassi then, "And I'll be sure to tell Mart you'll be dreaming of him this night, though in deference to your modesty, I'll spare the mention of your outcries." Kassima's eyes widen enough that the whites are visible all around the irises. "You evil, evil man," she breathes, in something more like admiration than fear. "You *wouldn't*; you surely wouldn't team up with Mart against me? If'n for nay other reason than that I could always make up stories about *you*, and he might well believe him, given that he already calls you Hot Pants." He's a nurse from M*A*S*H gone horribly wrong! "*That* might suit--oh, did you find it, then?" Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth lets the tassle drift *towards* the snort rather than away, so that it might tickle at his nose. Still-present curiosity bids her ask, << You would; but will you? >> "You'd think I'd have learned my lesson from last time," says I'sai airily, glee at her reaction ill-hidden, "But no. And better Hot Pants than, you know, the -other- kind, eh? And yes, I'll get this to H'var, so if you see him in here first, tell him Maisie said she dropped it in the privy on accident; and in the meantime, clear skies." Lysseth> Taralyth darts his muzzle back here, too, but it's in part to swing it around, nose at the workroom's door as if to say, open _now_. Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth darts his muzzle back - the tassel could be dusty! - << Not now. We fly! >> "Cold Pa--oh. Aye, rather. Though be sure t'be asking Mart sometime about Th'lon, and sketches, and shrinkage, if'n you really want t'hear him scream." Kassima doesn't clarify just *why*, and her wicked grin probably bodes no well for Mart. "You'll learn your lesson someday," she promises in her most dire voice. "Someday! But nay for now, if'n you're going, and clear skies t'you both as well as m'usual regards t'Taralyth. I'll be sure t'tell H'var that. But if'n he retches on me, *you're* doing m'laundry." "Someday," I'sai agrees, "And the laundry'll get done - " a swift wink at her, then, and off he goes. I'sai leaves the workroom and heads out into the bowl. Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth manages, somehow, to make the tassle pout. All the same, << Fly well! >> she wishes him--and if there's a green streak of faint envy, dusted with wistfulness, from a dragon resigned to the ground until her rider should finish work, can that dragon really be blamed? Lysseth> Taralyth takes the opportunity to nose warmly in Lysseth's direction while his rider's busy mounting and strapping in and all of that; afterward, though, he's quick to spring aloft and, heartbeats later, vanish _between_.