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Go Soak Your Head
Date: April 12, 2003
Place: Telgar Weyr's Hot Springs
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: In this scene, I was operating on low sleep; I hadn't
slept at all the previous night, and I suspect that's the reason I
was an idiot and forgot to log. Fortunately, I'sai was more alert and
thus able to provide me with a copy. :) He gave me permission to
doctor it so that it would look as if it was taken from Kassi's
perspective; hopefully you won't be able to tell the difference from
a normal Kassi-log, but if anything looks odd, that's probably why.
Anyway, the scenario: Kassi, Is, and Bronwynn soak together in the
Springs, sharing general gossip and a Turnday gift. There's also a
moment of old-style Lyss-Taralyth discussion, hinting at more news
yet to come.
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The Log:
You wing over the spiky cliffs towards the wafts of steam.
<*> Bronwynn slides to the ground, giving Fehuth a loving pat.
<*> Just past mid-meal, I'sai's lazing off the good smoked wherry in one
of the larger baths, leaning against the rim and letting his toes paddle
out toward Taralyth, too, is soaking; his eyes are all but closed, his
hair darkened by the water.
"...And I don't know why you grumble anyway. We *went* t'Boll. All
right, only for an hour, but we did. And *you* don't mind the Healers,
and 'tis warmer than here, and I don't buy for one moment that a
trundlebug crawled up your nose." Well, there's a line to enter on,
sure enough. It's Kassima doing the chiding, Lysseth doing the flying,
the green wheeling in to a well-placed landing without missing a beat
through all her rider's words; a low rumble is issued to Taralyth,
quiet enough to respect his somnolence. No other *audible* sound does
she make, but to judge from Kassi's abrupt snort, she's still carrying
on the bickering where she can't be heard.
You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.
Bronwynn slips from Fehuth onto the edge of the pool, moving towards a
bench to pull of her boots. The dark brown brown rumbles a greeting
while Brynn flashes a bright smile before plopping down on the bench
and tugging roughly at her heavy black boots.
Taralyth unlids for the most part, till a single fine membrane covers
his brilliant eyes; he doesn't even warble, though he does lift his
muzzle enough to try and better scent through the heavy, earth-heady
air, and let his rider's unmoving, "'Lo," serve as greeting.
Kassima slides down from her dragon's neck readily enough--she's going
strapless, O scandal! No helmet either. Her Weyrlingmasters would
probably not approve. The green's shoulder gets a half-fond,
half-exasperated smack, and then she's free to take stock of just who
all's here; Bronwynn's smile is met with a flashed grin of her own, and
Lysseth greets Fehuth with a slightly more formal, less familiar rumble
than that given before. "I'm starting t'think I picked a dubious time
for swimming," she observes, slanting a glance towards the lackluster
bronze pair. "Though Lyss can still soak, methinks, since she's lazy
enough nay t'be disturbing. Nor disturbing Fehuth if'n he's also of a
mind t'nap--" Even as the rider speaks, the dragon in question is
sliding almost soundlessly, almost splashlessly, into the depths of the
pool, parting the steam briefly with the slightest of draconic sighs.
I'sai lets his, "...What, gonna splash us, going to drown us?" rise as
the steam does, lazy and welcoming with its touch of
tenor-made-baritone humor. His toes paddle a little more, just for
show; and Taralyth this time -ducks- his muzzle down toward Lysseth, to
see how much a warble might carry, or be warped, underwater.
Bronwynn drops her clothes in a pile, her skin pale against long dark
hair. In an easy motion she's lowered herself into the pool with a
sigh, "Just what I needed," she muses quietly to no one in particular.
Fehuth, too, has slipped into the pool, hide gleaming nearly black
beneath the water. After submerging breifly, slicking her hair back and
wiping the water from her eyes, Brynn settles against the side of the
pool, for the most part silent.
"You should be knowing better than t'tempt us," Kassima drawls back,
aiming for droll but--perhaps intentionally--falling slightly short of
the mark, reaching instead a deep amusement. "Or tempt *me*; Lysseth
might nay, but I? Only too willing. Or at least t'see if'n I couldn't
scald those toes clear off with well-aimed water." Lysseth pays her
lunatic rider absolutely no heed at all. She doesn't know the woman.
Taralyth however she's more willing to acknowledge; there are a few
silvery bubbles in response to the warble, and enough vaguely musical
sound to suggest she's at least attempting to return the favor. "Tell
me about it," her rider agrees amiably with Bronwynn, with a sigh of
her own, before ducking behind her favorite oh-so-convenient rock to
exchange clothing for towel.
I'sai curls those toes, draws up his knees, "Were the healers that
wretched to you, even if not to Lyss?" he summons enough energy to
call. "Tell me they didn't go after you, too, Brynn. Because they do
have their ways..." and he stifles another just-after-midmeal yawn.
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth glitters, bubble for bubble, << He
has news for your rider - she will be... amused, he thinks, and perhaps
there will be marks involved - but it must wait, >> and there's a taste
there of Fehuth and his rider, of drudges and other weyrfolk that might
pass by, before he begins again to sink into the dark.
[Editor's Note: Is asked me to be sure to point out that this
pro was not meant to imply that Fehuth and Bronwynn weren't a
welcome part of the RP at all; it's only that the news Taralyth
mentioned was something better given privately. :) ]
Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth spins delicate rainbows across the
surfaces of those bubbles, as if too much soapsand had recently been
released into these Springs: bubble, bubble, toil and trouble? << Here
is hoping the marks involved will end up in her belt pouch, or at least
not be drawn from it, >> she comments in good humor, << since otherwise
she might be less amused. She will wait, but wishes yours to know he is
an evil, torturous fiend bent on making her mind broil with curiosity
until the residual heat melts her eyes. >> Pause. Just in case there
was doubt: << The phrasing there was hers. >>
Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth sends her soundless draconic
laughter - and an echo of his rider's - << We believe you, Lysseth; and
he says he trusts your rider to know the odds, >> and then there's an
added mirrored-rainbow warmth that's purely dragon to dragon before, at
last, he's gone.
Bronwynn smiles, "No, I haven't seen a healer in turns..." she replies
casually, using the edge of the pool to stretch her arms and shoulders,
long limbs dripping. "Didn't get enough sleep, I'sai?" she asks, noting
the yawn.
Kassima waits until she's emerged from behind that rock to reply,
padding to the dragon pool almost silent on bare feet; in fact, she
waits until she's slid waist-deep into those waters and given her towel
an automatic upwards adjustment-tug as the water weights it before
saying a word. "The Healers were just fine t'me. Mostly because I
didn't *see* any; I hid out in the Herb Garden and visited
m'mints--wouldn't want t'be getting anywhere near *Healers* right now.
They might get Ideas that would involve being poked and prodded and
examined. They're never t'be trusted." The very end of a slender green
muzzle finally pokes up from the depths of the pool, just enough to
free her nostrils enough for an audible snort. "Oh, shut up," the
greenrider murmurs to her. "The more fortunate you, Bronwynn, trust me.
I'd want t'know your secret, if'n m'relations with Healers hadn't been
*mostly* positive lately."
"Enough sleep?" I'sai's laugh is made the more hollow for its echoing
over the water, "One of the weyrlings - you've seen them in the flaming
drills - had a nightmare about Fall, and it's Taralyth who had to
soothe him, and... yeah. Which healer would you recommend to her,
Kassi, and how -are- your mints?"
Bronwynn tosses a heavy strand of hair over her shoulder, a faint wet
smacking sound as it hits her back. "Well, it probably has something to
do with not having any children," she offers to the greenrider. "No
need to have them checking out any growing bellies." She turns around,
stretching in the other direction, facing I'sai, "The weyrlings are
coming along alright though?" And then his question to Kassi catches
her attention, "You have mints?" she asks, brows pressed together in
confusion.
After sinking to her neck in the water, Kassi, her eyes half-closed,
suggests, "Sauscony if'n any, if'n you can catch her when she has the
time. She has taste and tact t'go along with her skill... failing her,
Craftmaster Ayanne--but she'd be tricker to arrange, I should wager.
Oh, the mints are lovely." She brightens more than conversation about
plants would seem to merit. "I took most of 'em t'Greystones, y'know,
t'grow there so they wouldn't be killed, but there's one left in the
Healer greenhouse; methinks 'tis flourishing even better, and Saus says
the Apprentices tend it dutifully. I helped plant mint at the Hall last
Turn," she admits to Bronwynn, now sounding faintly sheepish. "Ayanne
was good enough t'mark mine out separately. I visit 'em when I can,
play music to 'em, that sort of thing. And 'tis a fair enough estimate
about the children. Which Weyrling was it?" she wants to know, glancing
back I'sai-wards.
"They're coming along," I'sai agrees, after listening contentedly to
the familiar mints-tale. "Less accidents than last time - here's
hoping!" and he actually goes so far as to lift a hand to knock on air
in lieu of water. "And Sauce's grand, not that I'd give away my secret
source for sweet-sticks or anything. The weyrling, now, he..." and he
rambles on for a while about the young brownrider out of Telgar Hold,
one of the oldest to Impress so he wouldn't have -expected- this.
Bronwynn smiles through Kassi's explanation of her mint, brows lifting
ever so slightly at the mention of the greenrider playing music for
plants. Her mouth turns down to a thoughtful frown as I'sai recount his
evening. "Normally I'd think it would be the younger ones. But I
suppose we all have nigthmares, no matter how old ya get."
Kassima listens thoughtfully to the rambled recounting. At length, she
says, "I don't know if'n age has aught t'do with it; I'm certes older
than he--alas!--and I'm nay free of nightmares. Does he have a
particularly vivid imagination, or has he ever lost someone in Fall?"
Bronwynn's lifted brow gets her a wry grin. "Well, it *works*. And I
have t'keep in practice somehow, and the mint would probably sooner
listen t'me than any people. Have you the nightmares, too?"
"The imagination, I dare say," I'sai says, sinking a little deeper so
the water laps at his chin. "And aye, normally the young ones, but
still we do. I know I do. Not that I'm going to share - except to ask,
Kisai, how's her music coming along? She keeps smiling at me with that
sweet, untrustworthy smile and changing the subject, so either she's
not practicing at all, or there's something -really- special in mind."
Bronwynn sighs softly, "Who doesn't have nightmares. 'Fall is
nightmarish no matter how many times you fly."
"I can't say I think any less of the lad for having nightmares," Kassi
mentions after a moment for consideration. "Since 'tis common enough,
as you say; what should be interesting is seeing if'n they affect his
*performance* at all... keep me posted on that, would you, Is? I really
don't have a pressing need for more browns from this lot, but that
hasn't always stopped me. Ah, Kisai." There's abruptly a too-sweet
smile that might, just might, hint at where Kisai's variant came from.
"Her music *has* suffered a little in attentions since Kris has been
teaching her chess, but as it happens... she might have something
special in mind, aye. Nay that 'twould *tell*. 'Twould spoil her
surprise. But it does remind me that I had a surprise of m'own I wanted
t'give you, today if'n I could swing it, and here you are; so--" She
manages to hoist herself back out of the spring with minimal
difficulty, scooting back enough to reach her abandoned satchel; as she
rummages, she agrees, "Aye. Some worse than others--'twill never forget
seeing that pair hit by lightning--but there's always an element of
nightmare."
"I'll keep you posted, aye - and by _lightning_?" I'sai darts a look
from wingleader to brownrider, then back. "Who - _shells_," but that
doesn't quite distract him completely from surprises. "No telling.
Fine. I'll just wait for it, but if she could please not wake me up
with it _this_ time?" he asks rather plaintively, keeping an eye on
that scooting and all.
Bronwynn raises a brow at this surprise, but since it's not for her,
she stay quiet, slipping back down into the water until it reaches her
chin, dark hair spreading behind her like shadow.
Kassima nods confirmation, expression briefly shadowed. "A brown
pair--" And she gives names, a few basic details, before adding, "'Twas
one of those freak things, naught anyone could hope t'prevent. The rain
wasn't thick enough or steady enough t'drown it, so we *had* t'be out
there, and... well. I'll suggest she nay, I'sai, but you should know as
well as I she has rather a mind of her own! She likes t'perform loud
'compositions' for her long-suffering father," she adds to Bronwynn by
way of explanation. "Which is only fitting, since he gave her those
so-loud instruments in the first place. Ah! Here!" That exclamation is
prelude to her drawing out a rectangular-shaped something, wrapped in
her standard gaudily-painted cloth: white, bronze, and black, tied with
green ribbon. "Should I set it here to the side, think you? Since I
don't know if'n opening it in the water would be a notion; it might
better wait for later. Either way, happy Turnday, bronzerider."
I'sai acknowledges the incident with a solemn silence, silence but for
the slight splash of returning toes, pointed now. And he does confess
to Bronwynn, "I did give her those instruments, it's true. Drum,
whistle, pipes, that sort of thing... she does like them, after all,"
and he's not the custodial parent. "And thank you, Kassi, and - how
about now, actually? Unless I should take it with me? There're a couple
people I should talk to still, in the caverns, though Taralyth at least
can soak a little more." He pulls himself up and, once he's gotten the
one towel adjusted more or less decorously, starts drying off with the
other.
Bronwynn smiles brightly, "Oh I'sai, Happy Turnday. You didn't tell
me," she adds with playfull scolding.
"Now would work," Kassi consents, dipping her chin in a nod that
threatens to land that chin in the water. "Or later if'n you'd prefer;
your gift, your choice, but if'n *'tis* later I'm wanting t'know what
you think, y'hear? Lucky Taralyth--I'd say something about there being
nay rest for the wicked, only that should arguably apply t'him as well
as t'you." She grins at Bronwynn's scold, agreeing, "He *should* be
telling! How does he expect us t'be properly mocking his decrepitude,
or at least getting presents, if'n he doesn't *tell*? He didn't tell me
either, as memory serves. I had t'go hunt the information down on
m'own. Wicked man."
"I forgot," I'sai admits, but with a growing smile, the second towel by
now playing turban. "I really did, this Turn, and... and yeah. If
water'll hurt it, I'll open it later, and you can remind me next Turn,
how's that, Brynn?" Once he's pulled himself out and disappeared to
change, he returns to reclaim the package - with raised brows for its
surprising heft - "Thanks, Kassima, and I -will- let you know, and good
seeing you both!" just before he heads on out.
[Editor's Note: For the curious, the desc of I'sai's gift--
opened some time after he left--is included below.]
---
At first glance this might seem an odd kind of box:
approximately a foot long, and three quarters of that wide, it's
surprisingly heavy for being so shallow--its closed height is no more
than two inches, and probably a smidge less. Some of this heft may be
the fault of the square inlays set into the gleaming red cherrywood;
tap or touch would readily reveal these to be stone of some kind, and
close inspection might inform one that the black squares are onyx while
the white squares with which they alternate are fine, polished marble.
Yet that could not account for all of the weight. Opening it will
reveal the culprit, and the true nature of the box at which those
squares might have hinted: a complete set of chess pieces lies nestled
in the deep green velvet that lines the interior, each one possessing a
niche shaped especially for it... and little wonder, given what they're
made from. Half of the pieces are shaped in bronze, possessing a
burnished sheen that shades towards dark. Half are carved from jade the
cool color of pine. Both varieties have been worked by a fine hand with
care for detail, and each piece is sized so as to fit comfortably in
the hand without being so small as to be easily lost. Which color will
represent the White and which the Black is left entirely up to you.
---