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Kassi's Favorite Things


Date:  January 7(?), 2000
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern
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 log nearly got named 'Pillow Talk' instead, but
I decided that was too much even for me. ;)  It's a short, silly
RP scene, but it made me laugh enough that I thought it was worth
sharing.  Only one question remains:  how can Kassi bribe I'sai into
telling her just what Mart told him?

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The Log:

You walk through the large entrance to the Living Cavern.

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

"Could be," I'sai agrees, missing the other wingleader's entrance at first,
so focused are those guileless blue-glinting eyes on his own. "It's hard to
say. The prod..." what's that word? "no, -prognosis- is uncertain. It might
be due to not, ah, getting myself a weyrmate, or maybe due to eating those
winter greens at dinner, you never can tell. Or maybe it's the socks."

Speaking of insanity, contagious or otherwise... cue the Thunderbolt
Wingleader, not looking particularly Wingleaderish with her hair wrapped up
in a gargantuan turban that sits atop her head like a terrycloth Tower of
Pisa. At least the rest of her clothes are normal, if somewhat damp. "Did
y'know," Kassi asks of no one in particular, while attempting to reach her
table without toppling the towel, "that teasing a green dragon is generally
nay a good idea, nay matter how certain you are that you're prepared for
the consequences? G'deve, all--ick, I'sai, don't tell me *you're* on the
weyrmate bandwagon now." She crinkles her nose at those overheard words.

"It's probably the socks," M'rgan agrees as he pulls off his coat and
tosses it on the chair. Its removal only leaves him with four layers on -
four ratty sweaters and one shirt. Hopefully they'll be enough. "Kena can
show you the proper way to fold socks so that your spots will go away." As
he hears Kassima he adds, "If it was because of not having a weyrmate, the
greenie here'd be entirely blue." He tilts his head in Kassima's direction
though he doesn't actually look at her.

I'sai looks sideways, and slants her something of a grin, "Nah. That was
him, before. And did you tease your very own green dragon, or someone
else's?" To M'rgan, "You know, I'd really hate to put her to the trouble."

Kassima cheerfully flips a rude gesture Mart's way, before following it up
with a raspberry. Hooking the head chair from her table, she spins it
around and drops into it, arms folding atop the back and chin dropping to
rest upon them. "Mine. Why d'you think I look like someone's bad
impersonation of Marinda of Boll and her Dancing Veils? Every time I
managed t'dry off, she found some way of tripping or tugging me into the
pool again, 'til I finally gave it up as a bad job. And pay nay attention
to the brownie. He's just envious because I don't get m'belt-pouch drained
every few days by a charming but rapidly-spending personality. But what's
this about spots?"

Somewhere, out there, a young dragon may be listening through his rider's
ears and, worse, borrowing his memory for notes. But I'sai just says so
guilelessly, "I've never met this Marinda," and never mind the spots.

M'rgan's smirk reaches epic levels as he contemplates Kena teaching her art
to I'sai. "I'm sure that it wouldn't be any trouble. Kena just loves to
help out people that way. She was a headwoman, you know." Though the
brownrider has a meal in front of him that is rapidly returning to a
temperature just above freezing, he can't help but step away from it
towards Kassima, one hand reaching out as if to pat the top of her towel
turban. "I'sai has blue spots. On his forehead. Caused by socks. Can't you
see them?" Not that there are actually any to see. "They make him talk funny."

Kassima plucks a fork from the table with which to attempt to fend off any
head-patting, though the fact that it still has a green bean speared on its
tines does detract somewhat from its ferocity. "I see *purple* spots, but
blue? I never realized 'twere color blind, brownie. And 'tis nay socks
those are caused by, but the lack of a kilt." Pause. Consider. "Or mayhaps
heavy drinking." On whose part, she doesn't clarify. "Nor have I; 'tis
Richenda who once mentioned her t'me, when I came in with hair wrapped up
like this. She was always after me t'be taking it down and drying it
properly. I usually stuck m'tongue out at her." Maturity, Kassi be thy name.

I'sai follows up, with an eye for that fork, "Not that they're so new,
these spots, but they seem to have spread..." and then adds most
thoughtfully, "That's very kind of Kena; but really, it seems like such an
... intimate thing for your weyrmate to be doing, don't you think M'rgan?
Folding clothes that are to go next to the skin, the way -she- likes them.
Are you sure you'd like her, well..." he waves a hand illustratively,
although minus much in the way of specifics.

At I'sai's words of 'they seem to have spread,' M'rgan abandons his
attempts to pat Kassima's turban like it was a puppy as he now desperately
needs to slap his hands over his ears. Which he immediately proceeds to do.
"Too much information!"

Kassima pauses in her fork-battle to eye I'sai in disbelief. "Mayhaps 'tis
nay wrong what they say, about men finding sex in everything. *Socks*? The
next thing I'm knowing, 'twill be suggesting illicit acts with an apple
pie. And if'n you start *that*, methinks Mart will be having the right
idea." She can't entirely suppress a snicker at the brownrider's
hear-no-evil reflex, however. "Mental note: remember t'be discussing spots
on bronzeriders when I wish t'be discomfiting my archnemesis."

I'sai sniffs - if with some evident disappointment at M'rgan's not hearing
the rest - "Happy to help. It's the least I could do. Especially
considering, well, the lessons. Anything you'd like to talk about as long
as he's playing deaf?"

M'rgan carefully uncovers his ear about half an inch to check if it's safe
to listen in. But his arm muscles remain tense and ever ready to slap that
hand back across his ear if necessary.

Kassima steals a sidelong look at the brownrider. "Well, did I ever tell
you about the time yon brownie came t'visit while 'twas proddy and I pulled
him off his dragon and aimed a knife in a place where he really didn't want
a knife t'be?" At least she's not telling the Martina story. She must still
be slightly repentant about the last time. "And did I mention how he
squeaked?"

I'sai says, brightly - and most foolishly, for those not aware of a certain
promise - "You didn't! How did that happen? Sounds like, hmm, quite the
story that everyone should know about his wingleader."

Though technically the subject Kassima has latched on to isn't safe, M'rgan
/does/ have to defend his honor/maintain his ego. "Hey!" His hands fall
back to his sides. "I *didn't* squeak. I just pointed your attention to
S'dar. He was the one that squeaked."

Ah, but Kassi is so very used to saying such things or making such queries
in Mart's presence herself that she probably thinks nothing of it. "'Twere
by the Lake back home, throwing knives--Alyssa has a natural talent, did
you know?--when who should arrive but his brownieship? Well, 'twas in a
good mood, so I latched onto his leg and dragged him down and pinned him,
and then when he eeped, I took this big, sharp knife, and--" She pauses.
She smiles. "Have you ever noticed how... soprano... Mart's shrieks can
sound?" Grinning unrepentantly up at the brownrider, she retorts, "Did so!
I'm thinking of the first incident, the one I have the painting of, nay of
the time when 'twas going t'butcher Sandy. He deserved it, too, with all
that talk about woo thangs."

I'sai, from his position of relative safety, says, "Why, I never knew he
squeaked. Is that very common? I'm afraid I hadn't know about Alyssa
before, no, nor about woo whatevers either; she's always been quite kind.
If quiet. No squeaking there. At least, that I'd heard. If he - not her -
can really go soprano, and you can control it, perhaps it would be
something that the harpers would be interested in..."

M'rgan slaps his hand across his forehead forcefully yet dejectedly as only
a hapless and far too abused brownrider can. He continues to hide his eyes
behind his hand as he comments, "Have you ever thought that
perhaps...perhaps there's something wrong with you, Kassima, when you have
several different stories you can tell about trying to remove my important
bits? Have you ever thought that this might be a sign of an unstable person?"

Kassima admits, "I'm nay certain about the commonness. Men do tend t'squeak
around me, but that may just be an isolated phenomenon... oh, Alyssa wasn't
doing the woo whatevers. 'Twas S'dar who was doing the woo whatevers.
Singing some song about hearts bubbling and woo thangs right a'fore Lysseth
rose, so 'twas going t'pummel him, only 'Lex and Mart distracted me...
brownie, did I ever get revenge for that?" She sounds entirely too
thoughtful in that question. "Mayhaps, but I don't think I could get him
t'sing a whole song that way. Just scream, which isn't all that musical." A
wide-eyed look of sheer innocence is favored the brownrider, never mind
that he can't see it. "Why, what on Pern d'you mean? Anyone would surely
see it as a noble duty t'remove those important bits. I just haven't
*succeeded* yet, thus various attempts, and thus various stories. 'Tis all
very logical, don't you see?" Tilting her head slightly, she wonders,
"Unless someone's already beat me to the task? Then I couldn't gather any
more anecdotes. 'Twould be a quite sad thing. It's gotten t'be almost a
hobby, don't y'know."

I'sai can and does most sincerely vouch, "-I- haven't looked, so I wouldn't
know, much less whether they're in good working order, and really, I'd be
just as happy not knowing, except inasmuch as that it seems important that
a wingleader be in good health, but - yeah, even then I just wouldn't want
to witness anything of that. Please. And you're right, screaming isn't so
musical; in fact - in fact, you know, I think I'm going to be quiet right
around now." So he does.

Telgar Weyr> Kassima beams. I'sai, you're bidding fair to make a sterling
Mart-tormentor. ;)

Telgar Weyr> I'sai takes that as a compliment, and is glad to be in his
wing. O:)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima starts to hum 'The Twelve Turns of Dawn Sweeps.' ;)

Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "True. ;)"

M'rgan peeks through his fingers as he listens to the conversation between
Kassima and I'sai. Concluding he doesn't like what he's hearing and the
possible direction this conversation might be going, he sucks in a breath,
squares his shoulders and drops his hand onto a chairback so that he can
lean towards I'sai as if he was sharing a secret. All signs of the put-upon
and helpless brownrider disappear. "Maybe I should share with you the times
I've heard Kassima squeal and sigh and make other little embarassing
noises. And how much she liked those bits after Ularrith caught Lysseth.
What do you think, Kassi?" He grins toothily at the greenrider. "Should I
tell I'sai *those* stories?"

I'sai eyes M'rgan slantwise - that pose, no less - and manages a very small
shake of his blond, blond head.

Kassima doesn't seem to move, but a thin-bladed knife is quite abruptly in
her hands, and she uses it to trim her nails with seeming nonchalance.
"That would depend," she informs Mart, with a grin of her own that bares
entirely too many teeth, "on how much you want t'*keep* those bits."
Lowering her voice, she confides to I'sai, "Don't be worried. He's
bluffing. He knows m'Emasculator is always only a 'lizard-trip away."
Pause. "Besides," she evidently decides she can't resist adding, "I don't
recall being the one making the majority of embarrassing noises."

I'sai not-so-covertly eyes that knife - er, the nail-crescents as they
fall, just in case they fall to the floor, just in case he might be walking
in that direction, just in case - a lot of things. He swallows, then says
brightly, "Oh, all right! That makes everything ever so much better! I'm
very glad for you both, really I am!"

Telgar Weyr> Kassima would sometimes swear, Mart, that our characters are
like sidekicks on some sort of twisted sitcom. Pern's answer to Freaks and
Geeks, perhaps. ;)

M'rgan waggles his eyebrows daringly at Kassima, to show that her knife
trick doesn't impress him any. "I'm not worried. Kena wouldn't like it if
you did." And Mart would put his money on Kena over Kassi if there was a
greenrider battle royale. He shoves the chair out of the way so that he can
lean across the table towards I'sai, his forearms propping him up. "You
really should hear her. She's quite different post-flight. One of her
favorite things to do in bed is..." Now his voice drops to a whisper that
is for I'sai's ears only.

Kassima would normally pity I'sai, being caught in the middle of this
conversation, but she's really entirely too busy keeping up her end of the
duel of wits. "How can you be sure? Mayhaps she'd be relieved," she fires
back to the brownrider. The prelude to the whisper causes both raven brows
to leap upwards, and perhaps even a touch of flush to stain Telgarian-white
skin, but she's content to drown it out by beginning to sing, "Sharp knives
and strong knives and Emasculators, paintings and ballads to embarrass
later, men trapped in dresses with ribbons and strings, these are a few of
my favorite things...." Reba McEntire, she ain't.

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo FOTFL

Telgar Weyr> Kassima looks innocent. Innocent, she tells you. ;)

And not that Kena's here. I'sai's boots scrape against the stone floor as
he reflexively pushes back chair and self, -away- from the table, and
certainly away from his wingleader. "I don't care," he mutters tightly
beneath those inventive list-of-favorites strains, "If she has the M'-klah
recipe, and if the - the - stains! - that is not. Something. I. Needed. To.
Know."

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo reiterates that only makes her a better candidate for
some debauchery. ;)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima, for the first time, realizes that M'klah sounds like
something they'd serve at McDonalds.

Telgar Weyr> I'sai just -laughs-.

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo says, "You want fries with that, ma'am? =)"

"I know what women like and they like what I have." M'rgan tosses this
comment over his shoulder at Kassima while giving her a leer at the level
of 'dirty old man in a trenchcoat'. Disappointment crosses his face as
I'sai backs away from him. "Are you sure? I could tell you about this trick
she's got with a pillow and a..." He returns to whispering again.

"Stains?" Kassi breaks off singing to repeat, staring outright at the duo.
"*Stains*? Mart, what fictions are you *telling* him? Apart from *that*
one. Take a poll of greenriders someday, brownie; 'twill open your eyes."
She starts to raspberry back at the leer, but upon due consideration,
decides that would be a poor choice and so waves her knife vaguely at him
instead. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. I can't *believe* I'm hearing
this. Martigan, old friend... you. Are. Going. To. Die."

For some obscure reason, whatever could it be? I'sai does not look
reassured as M'rgan continues, nor does Kassima's intonation help matters.
No, quite the contrary. Indeed, he keeps backing, and now, -now- he's
finally begun to blush - till that chair of his tips, or is tipped, and he
falls slowly backward into a pair of riders who _had_, once upon a time,
been playing dragonpoker with the goggle-eyed others at their table.

"You threaten and you threaten but you never actually do anything," M'rgan
remarks a bit snappishly to Kassima. When, out of the corner of his eye, he
sees I'sai start to fall he instantly reaches a hand towards the lad though
he's too far away to catch the bronzerider. "Ooops. You okay?"

Eventually, a blond head reemerges above a sea of snickering and a few,
more helpful arms. "I," I'sai says, "Need to go." And he gets up, and he
bobbles on off.

Kassima can't decide whether to be angry or embarrassed, nor whether to
kill Mart or slink off to die of humiliation somewhere, so she's frozen for
a moment, just staring with a very, very red complexion. Until Mart makes
that comment. About five seconds after he does, there's a *thunk*, and a
throwing knife is quivering delicately perhaps a centimeter from his right
boot. Convenient that there should be a crack between the floorstones
there. "Would you rather I did?" the greenrider drawls, drawing herself up
to stand. "D'you want me t'be putting you in that dress again? Only this
time, 'twould be *pink*, with lace and ruffles so you could pass it on to
Jannea when you're done with it. Wouldn't that be convenient? He makes a
very *pretty* lady, I'sai. You should see." She's struggling to keep her
voice under control, but more from embarrassment than rage. Really, the
fact is that in matters like these, the blush factor will win out every
time. At least, every time Kassi's not proddy.

Telgar Weyr> A'ser says, "HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST, it's been a while since
I've had the pleasure of a page-length Kassipose."

Telgar Weyr> A'ser passes out.

Telgar Weyr> Keira wavies...

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo washes A'ser's mouth out with soap. This is a PG-13
channel, dear. =)

Telgar Weyr> A'ser spits bubbles. "Since when is Jesus or any version
tehreof a sassy word?"

I'sai pauses just short of the exit, and then he says with an odd sort of
gentleness, "That's all right, Kassi; I - " And again, "It's all right."

I'sai walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Telgar Weyr> I'sai grins Keira's way. What you missed! Night for now,
everyone. :)

Telgar Weyr> Kassima zhaiwaffles to I'sai. :)

Telgar Weyr> Keira blinks. What'd I miss?

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo says, "Those who deem 'What's morally best for us'
include 'taking the Lord's name in vain' as swear-words. Not my call. =)"

Outwardly appearing unruffled - it's a good thing a person's heartbeat
isn't visible - M'rgan slides off the table to pluck the knife from the
flagstones. He examines the edge with a critical eye and tut-tuts it.
"You're going to do some real damage to it one of these days, Kassima." And
he hands it back to her hilt first. Though he wisely grips the blade
loosely so he won't be cut if she jerks it out of his hand. As he watches
I'sai go, he shakes his head sadly. "I think you scared him off."

Telgar Weyr> A'ser floofs another bubble out. "Okay, you got me there."

Telgar Weyr> K'ryo offers S'asser a glass of water to rinse with.

Kassima doesn't jerk the knife, though; she takes a deep breath and accepts
it more calmly, letting it disappear as swiftly as it appeared in the first
place. "Damage to *it*, nay. Damage t'*you*... that's left t'be seen."
Abruptly, though, she barks a rueful laugh and sets her hands to her hips.
"Mart, Mart, Mart. I suppose I shouldn't be angry with you for trying
t'boast of your prowess. Poor man--I can't blame you for being insecure
enough t'need the ego boost." Her eyes glint with devilish amusement as she
tosses that out. Let it never be said she was *too* long in finding a
comeback. "I? Nay I. You're the one who told him Faranth only knows what
falsehoods about pillows. *Pillows*, brownie?"

M'rgan loosely crosses his arms in front of him as he leans a hip against
the table's edge. The left side of his mouth is pulled up in a smirk. "I
thought the pillows were pretty tame. I could have told him about..." His
voice drops once again to a level that only Kassima can hear as he reminds
her of a particularly bawdy incident during the second flight that Ularrith
won. One dark eyebrow arches in a 'Ha!' gesture.

Kassima manages to disguise grit teeth rather well, though she can't do a
thing about the blush. Thus is the curse of being light-complected. "I
suppose I should be flattered that you remember it so well," she drawls,
"but if you *had* told him about that, I'd have had t'tell him about--" Her
turn to lower her voice and mention an incident having occured in the third
flight, followed by a radiating of Smug and a hint of a smirk of her own.
Top that!

M'rgan snorts at the tale though a hint of crimson does come into the tips
of his ears. "All men do that. He wouldn't be surprised about that." Maybe,
just maybe, if he treats it like an ordinary run-of-the-mill sort of thing,
Kassi won't share it with everyone. Maybe. "Besides, it doesn't matter.
Neither of us can tell him anything now because he's gone." As his eyes
fall on his untouched dishes of food, he sighs. "And I've got a dragon
complaining of itching and I haven't eaten a thing." Reluctantly the man
starts to pull back on his coat and gear, all the while staring at all the
cold food.

"All men do *nay* do that. I may nay have so very much experience as some,
but I've enough t'know that," Kassima retorts, eyes glinting. Ooh, she's
found a good means of Revenge, hasn't she? "True enough. I'll decide how
badly you need t'be punished once I get him t'be telling me what he told
you," she decides, "but you'd best count on it being bad." Glancing towards
the Bowl, she realizes, "Late, 'tis, and I should be getting t'Simaeva's
if'n I want t'see which of the puzzles Kris has managed to work today. Take
a meatroll or some fruit with you? If'n you starve t'death, I can't wreak
havoc on you later."

"Somehow I don't think my death would stop you from wreaking havoc on me,"
M'rgan responds as he wraps the blue scarf back around his neck. He scoops
up the roll he had on his plate and uses it to salute Kassima before
sticking it in his coat pocket. "Good night, Kassi. Don't slip on the ice
out in the bowl."

Ptodek walks in from the kitchen.

Ptodek looks over the dessert table, deciding which treat to try first.

Kassima reaches for that fork again and uses it to attempt to fwap the
green bean that was on it onto Mart's forehead. "I'll find a way t'be
tormenting you long after the final *between*," she promises. "Just for
that salute alone, 'twill. G'night, Mart; don't spill any oil and slip on
that and break your neck either."

Ptodek comes out of the kitchen with a huge tray of pastries and starts to
replenish the dessert table.

M'rgan ducks slightly, letting the green bean soar over his head. "Missed.
I won't break my neck. Kena'd miss the bits if I did." And with a jaunty
wave he heads out.

M'rgan walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

"If'n aught is going t'kill that man, I swear, 'twill be *me*," Kassima
mutters, whirling on her heel to head for the Inner Caverns with a quick
wave over her shoulder in parting to the room.

You walk towards the inner cavern.