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Inquiring Minds Want To Know


Date:  April 3 and 7, 2003
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:  The reason this log took place on two days is that I
had to leave at the end of the first section, and we decided to do a
timewarp to finish it later.  It took an unexpectedly long time until
we could finally finish.  It's still a fun scene, though. :)  Watch!
As I'sai learns of Kassi's latest pregnancy!  Marvel!  As he appears 
to take a strangely strong interest in O'wyn's bedroom prowess!  Be
hideously embarrassed!  If your name is L'nan or Ozy, anyway. ;)

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The Log:

I'sai walks in from outside the room.

At this time of day--or perhaps more accurately of Turn, with no sane tithe
train likely to arrive--it's probable that the doors to most of the storage
rooms remain closed; or, if not closed, unlit. There's one exception
though, that being one of the more general storage spaces for abandoned
rider equipment, furniture, clothing, all that good stuff. From thence
comes light, and sound: "...People talking without speaking; people hearing
without listening; people writing songs that voices never share, and nay
one dare disturb the sound of silence." Not perhaps hard to guess who might
be doing the singing, with that lilt.

[Editor's Note:  Let all due credit go to Paul Simon for those 
lyrics from 'Sound of Silence' that I borrowed. :) ]

I'sai, entering - and about to head from there into a different space -
instead pauses by the lit room's entry to call out, "And who's singing,
sharing?" lightness in his own tenor voice: as if he didn't know.

There's a pause before her voice calls, more with laughter than music, "Nay
anyone, that's the whole point! But if'n you mean *now*, why, 'tis the bane
of Pierron's existence surely who does the singing, but she didn't realize
she was sharing. Unless sharing with cloth counts." A rustle follows,
perhaps from that same cloth; then, from Kassi, "So are you going t'come
in, or just taunt me from outside? Because I warn you, I've enough light
that I could probably aim socks through that door with some accuracy."

I'sai's reply is more muffled than it had been, what with him having ducked
further back around the corner, "Just taunt you from outside, I think - "
only then, then he returns and enters after all. "What else could you aim?"
he asks, brightly. "Chairs?"

Kassima isn't that far from the entranceway; she seems to have been
perusing a dusty wardrobe's worth of abandoned clothing. "See, see, you're
too wise a man t'follow up on that threat. Because you know I *could*," she
teases him, "and might well. If'n 'twere *light* chairs. Have you a
particular wish t'have chairs thrown at you, is that what brings you down
here?"

I'sai looks at her - looks at his feet - looks back up at her, hands
folded, expression grave as a choirboy in another land: "Actually," he
confides, "I was hoping for tables. All things considered. Do you happen to
have any spare?"

"All things considered," Kassi repeats, slewing a markedly distrustful sort
of glance his way. It's amused distrust, mind you. "Now there's a loaded
phrase... I might, I might, since a'course everything in this room is
secretly mine. I won't ask how you found me out. You'll have t'do the
hauling yourself, though, and a'fore I give you any, you have t'say what
you want 'em *for*."

I'sai gives her a sparkly sort of smile for that distrust, all light eyes
made green by the glows, and not a little teeth; his freckles show that
much more for it. "Because here's where I find you, you know. I click my
heels together twice, sometimes three times, think 'Where is Kassi?', and
off I go and here you are." Of course, Lysseth may have something to do
with it. "Want one for the weyr. Some tapestries, too, maybe. If they're
not too gory or, you know, flowers and all. Keep it warmer."

I'sai adds after a moment, "The wind's too strong just now for the
weyrlings to train with, so I thought I'd come by."

Which certainly doesn't *help* the distrust any, though the amusement-gleam
grows brighter in dark green eyes. "I live t'be of service," Kassima says,
executing a low bow with a hand-flourish for good measure. "And so t'be
here when I'm sought--depending on who's doing the seeking, mind. If'n 'tis
K'ran with more work for me, I might prefer t'hide for awhile... at least
until Lyss gave me away." She casts a thoughtful look back over her
shoulder towards the room's contents. "Tapestries might be a trick. I'd
think most of the good ones would have been snatched up; you'd do better
t'go to Weaver--but tables, now. Tables there are. Just make sure you
*jiggle* 'em, or you'll end up with one with a gimpy leg. Have you
considered getting a rug or two?"

The key word is execute; I'sai unfolds his hands to applaud, and then
assure, "I won't volunteer that you're here, that's for certain. ...And I'm
not so worried about them being so good as all that, don't want to have to
pay much in the way of marks for them, you know? I suppose a rug would be a
good idea, we had one but it got really worn, and..." he heads the rest of
the way in, and upon spotting the nearest table, jiggles it.

Kassima finishes, though whether the way he would have or not is up for
debate, "And probably thrown up on if'n the children spend much time there.
Another reason I don't have one in the main weyr, for all that they'd be
warmer. The nursery, aye, but 'tis a lost cause anyway--shells, I should
understand that. I still have m'moving boxes for chairs." She turns to poke
again at the array of clothing, though her focus doesn't seem to be on it.
"You've certes m'thanks for nay ratting me out. How are the Weyrlings, wind
aside?"

"Right, thrown up on," I'sai agrees easily enough, though he shoots her a
suitably dark look from beneath his lashes, "And we keep it for visitors to
step on. Well. Your moving boxes for chairs?" Jiggle-jiggle-jiggle. The
table, that is. "Oh. Oh, I remember. You sit on the boxes, not that you had
boxes for the chairs from the moving... yeah. And you're welcome, and I'd
take that welcome in marks if there weren't more interesting things; the
weyrlings, they're doing all right, all told. In formation, in the turns,
you know how the ones on the inside have to move more slowly and the ones
on the outside have to move faster to stay at the same level? Probably
related to that clutch having fewer greens, the males seem to think we
should go with a routine that suits the larger dragons, instead of what
passes for a wing standard."

"You make it *so* tempting t'pay you visits, I'sai, really." Kassi turns to
pantomime throwing a loose shirt at him, though all that really wafts his
way from the gesture is dust. "Aye, aye; didn't bring the chairs *in*
boxes, nay. Though I sort of did. Those boxes have been m'chairs since
a'fore the move; I got 'em when I moved from the Barracks to m'weyr, y'see.
They're getting markedly creaky now. But I added cushions!" Because
cushions make everything better! She unfolds that blouse she's holding.
Considers it. Makes a marked face and stuffs it back into the wardrobe.
"Oh, do tell me now about the more interesting things. Are you of a mind
t'finally call in your favor? As t'that... well, I can see I suppose why
they would, only they need t'be learning better. Mayhaps you should recruit
some adult greens t'be practicing with you, t'make up the numbers, if'n
'twould help get the idea through their heads?"

I'sai sniffs as the dust puffs through the air - and then sneezes more
genuinely; once he's wiped his eyes, his nose, he eases off the
table-wiggling in favor of just leaning against the nearby shelf. "...Oh, I
thought that was very you. And no, not quite yet, your thanks'd be _adding_
instead of subtracting! As for the adult greens... hmm, that won't work
because the 'lings are young enough that they'd be around the size of the
blues and some of the browns, just exacerbating the problem. Not that they
couldn't keep 'em in line. How's the wing, any news with Thunderbolt?"

Evil Kassima; she purposefully adopts a slightly smug look for the sneeze.
Not that this keeps her from snagging a kerchief from a nearby pile to
offer over. "The blouse?" she asks in disbelief. "What precisely is me
about an orange blouse with bloody pink flowers embroidered on it? Though
I'm nay sure I want t'hear the answer--so tell me about the more
interesting things instead. I still want to know." Persistence, thy name be
Kassi. "Ah, alas. Then you'll just have t'stick with beating 'em over the
head with sense until some of it manages t'seep in. Beyond that most of the
riders seem t'be enjoying the vacation, d'you mean?" There's a grin for
that. "One of the better ideas I've had, if'n I do say so m'self. They'll
be rested, hopefully relaxed, happy... and Leya gets the joyous task of
getting 'em back into working spirit, nay me. Couldn't have planned it
better if'n I'd tried."

I'sai shakes his head at the kerchief - after all, that could be dusty too!
- and says, "Cheerful. Very ... cheerful. Evocative? Sprightly? I'm running
out of adjectives, here. ...And aye, vacation, I was just talking to A'ran
about how he was spending his, refurbishing -his- weyr - only - what's this
about Leya?" and pale eyes flick to her shoulder, just in case.

And judging by the mix of amusement and disappointment that flicks
ever-so-briefly across Kassi's expression, it probably was. She sets it
back down after folding it neatly. "Cheerful I may be; evocative I'll take
your word on, and thankee; sprightly, Faranth, that sounds like I should be
skipping through merry woodlands throwing flower petals. I'll give that a
skip. I wonder if'n I should have done something with m'weyr?" The array of
piled furniture gets a thoughtful glance. "Only 'tis suiting m'taste enough
as it stands, I'd probably just muck things up. What, you hadn't heard?"
She arches a lone brow at him over that shoulder, which still does carry
its long-worn knot.

I'sai can't help but point out, "You could still do that, though you'd have
to head South," for the flower petals; as she continues, though, "Possibly,
possibly, though if you like it, -well-..." and by way of answering that he
hadn't, pale eyes drop from knot to waist. Thoughtfully, "We've been busy
with the 'lings, and out stretching Taralyth's wings when we haven't been,
but I'd have heard if there was anything like an injury."

Kassima shakes her head at that, slow and leisurely. "Nay an option now,
nay yet; later, now, mayhaps. Though I doubt I'd really skip and throw
petals. 'Twould leave the locals too nonplussed, I should think, nor could
I be blaming them... I do like it. All the artwork, all the weaponry, it
suits." She folds her arms automatically at the drop. Still, "Faranth
forfend Taralyth do without travel or flight; he'd likely go mad--but nay,
nay. Lysseth had that burn t'her wing, a'course, for a few sevendays, but
that healed up fine; shouldn't even be a noticeable scar." A dark eyebrow
lifts in silent, entertained prompt: care to make another guess?

I'sai looks vaguely horrified at the mere -possibility- of tossing out the
weapons - and, yes, the art too - "And right, aside from the wing. But,
fine, given your lack of coughing and sneezing and such, I'll ask: who's
the father, then?"

Said horror earns a briefly pleased look from Kassi; it could, after all,
be taken as a reaffirmation of sorts of her tastes. "Oh, nay fair," she
sighs, exaggeratedly forlorn, "you guessed *quick*. But all due points
t'you, all the same. I'd ask you t'guess as I asked Yash--and would you
believe, 'twere her second guess? I told her she should've waited 'til
'twere there, so we could watch you spit klah--but you probably *would*
guess somehow and I'd have t'throw something at you for spoiling the game.
O'wyn, Baeth's rider, of Southern."

I'sai eyes that nearby handkerchief, and though there's a fleeting smile
for Yash's other guess - "O'wyn? -O'wyn-. O'wyn-O'wyn-schno'wyn. Never...
oh, right, isn't he a Weyrsecond or something? Shells, Kassi, what've you
been up to? Sneaking out and all," because it -must- have been sneaking, of
course, seeing as how it wasn't shouted from atop Thunderbolt's table at
dinner. "Well, well, -well-."


[Editor's Note:  Here's where the break occured.  RP picks up several 
RL days later.]


"Are you going t'keep repeating things three times for the rest of the
day?" Kassi can't resist teasing, setting a hand to her hip. "You'll get
the oddest looks--but I can't imagine why 'twould think 'twas *sneaking*.
What d'you think I did, creep out of the Weyr in the dead of night, all
dressed in black, mayhaps with a rose between m'teeth, t'steal down South
for assignations with mysterious men? That might make a good Harper's
ballad, but the truth's nay quite the same color. I went fishing, that's all."

"At least three," I'sai asserts to be contrary - pale eyes dancing -
"Three, three, three." So there. "And it -would- make a good story. I'd
think it'd be hard to fish with a rose between your teeth, though. Just
saying."

This time, Kassi *does* throw that recovered orange shirt at him. "Feh,
feh, feh," she retorts, but the serious expression she's *trying* to wear
might as well be given up for a loss before she even starts. "I don't think
the fish would be going for that, nay, though y'never know. Nay that
'twould matter anyway, since I didn't catch any--but aye, belatedly, he's
Weyrsecond of Southern indeed, since you asked." Pause. "You aren't going
t'start telling the Weyr that thing about sneaking off with roses and
what-all, are you, as some form of torment?"

"Seems like a big fish to me," I'sai muses, shaking out the shirt and any
dust that goes along with it. "And of course I will, unless given proper
incentive. So, this O'wyn... is he worthy of you?"

Kassima rewards that first comment with a choking sound that probably can't
be entirely attributed to any dust that may have floated her way.
"I'*sai*!" She's amused despite herself, mind you. "That isn't what I
*meant*... shells, what incentive are you wanting then? Though I'm almost
afraid t'be asking with your wicked mind." And speaking of wicked minds,
more spluttering follows. "Is he *what*? Want t'run that by me again?"

"At least one wingrider, assistants-wise," I'sai says brightly. "Maybe not
for this clutch, but next one - who knows when a queen'll rise, but I want
to be prepared. And you heard me. Worthy, worthy, worthy. Is he going to
treat you right, or at least ply you with awfully good alcohol once you're
allowed to drink it again."

"You have the black, cold heart of a man who *should* be riding a green,"
Kassi retorts, presenting him with a dark and curmudgeonly glower. Not that
it lasts long. "Bloody queens seem t'rise every other day around here, and
your lot's always wanting t'steal away *mine*--but all right, *all* right,
if'n you'll run the name past me when you've decided on it; and you have
t'swear on all you hold dear nay t'be telling aught about *roses*.
Honestly." With a slow shake of her head, she eyes him again, more in
disbelief this time than any faux darkness. "Shells only know how you
expect me t'answer the worthy question--treat me well, though, aye,
methinks he means to; he's said he wants t'come up on visits, bring food,
that sort of thing. More than certain men I could name did in their turn,"
though the tone isn't one to cast such aspersions on *him*. "Alcohol seems
possible at least--he offered t'share beer at the river, that he'd brought,
only I had wine and the harder stuff m'self."

I'sai rounds his eyes, the more guileless for the glower. "Thank you, kind
wingleader-lady-ma'am, and of course I'd run the name by you. And no, no
roses. I'm pretty sure I'll remember. ...So what you're saying is, he's not
going to try and ground you, eh? And what exactly did you bring with you?
This sounds like some fishing trip. Are you sure you weren't looking for
some tanned and burly sailor?"

Kassima casts her own dark eyes up ceiling-wards. "You of all should know
that I'm nay sort of lady, nor respectable enough for ma'am; and mind that
you *do*. Remember, 'tis t'say. Because if'n you don't, I'm sure I can be
finding some lovely story t'spread about you in your turn, and we'll just
see whose reputation ends out the most colorful... ah, aye, that's about
the bulk of it. Nay that he *could*," she adds, with a wry grin.
"Weyrsecond there, nay here. The usual sort of thing--a 'skin of red and
the kit with bottles; Black Gold, Harper's Folly, Renegade's Revenge, that
Thunderbolt liquor, White Lightning, *you* know." Quite as if he would,
unlikely though it might be. "'Twas thinking only t'spend a day t'myself,
with Lysseth, drinking and catching dinner--when have you ever known me
t'go looking for tanned and burly anyone? Nay that I'm objecting
t'serendipity, mind you." Pause. "Though I'm nay sure Ozy counts as
*burly*. Tanned, aye."

I'sai teases, "Yours will, because you had a head start, and you'll outlive
me. So there, Not-Respectable-Enough-For-Ma'am. And he probably couldn't,
no, but that wouldn't necessarily keep him from trying, depending on what
kind of man he was, talk to the Weyrleaders or something. But presumably
you'd know better." He's seen the kit before, so he just nods for the list.
"Tanned and what, then, if not burly? And you're calling him _Ozy_ now?
That's like calling J'lyn... Lynnie. Or something."

"Why d'you think 'twill outlive you?" Kassima's curiosity sounds genuine.
"There's nay reason t'think so; only the good die young, 'tis true, so I'll
likely live t'be old, but so will *you*. I can't really foresee him doing
aught like that, nay." The very idea brings a flicker of frown, but not one
with worry in it. "I'll hope I always manage t'avoid such ones--once of
that was *enough*... I'd say more rangy than burly, since you're so
curious. Mind, m'definition of burly involves being all bulky and thick
beyond normal human proportion with muscles, which *isn't* t'my taste,
thankee. I'd love t'see Jal's expression if'n you called him *Lynnie*." Now
there's a thought to make her eyes dance. "But 'tisn't any different from
calling me Kassi, is it? Everyone does."

I'sai's expression shifts - "Just a thought - " and as fleetingly passes
back into levity; "Kassi is rather more pleasant than Lynnie, isn't that
so? And besides, I know you. Of course, you know him. Hm. 'Lean.'" And now
he eyes her slantwise, "Was he good? Compared to L'nan, let's see," and
silently folds down his fingers, one, two, three: will she blush?

The bright glint in Kassi's eyes doesn't vanish so much as alter, less
merry than shrewd for an instant: "One I'd give a thirty-second t'hear the
reasoning behind." But if he'll not dwell there, nor will she. "*I'd* say
so, but I'm partial t'Kassi. And you do know me. And, after a fashion, I
know him. So you're three for three. Aye, lean, rider-build--shells, Is,
are you thinking t'pay court t'him yourself or something?" Teasing, yes;
but oh, most certainly the tease drops in favor of a good, red blush, and
she doesn't *quite* squawk, "*Is*!" Okay, so maybe squawk really is the word.

Distraction a success! I'sai can't help but look distinctly smug: "C'mon,
Kassi. 'Lassie.' If you could see your face... well? Don't tell me you
don't remember."

And Kassi can't help but flick him the evil eye for that smugness. "You're
doing this on *purpose*," she accuses; hello, Lady Obvious. Lady-Very-Red,
too. "I'll give you an answer t'that question if'n you'll explain why the
prurient interest; *should* I pass on t'him that there's a bronzer
interested in him? Only I don't think 'twould be kind of me. He'd probably
turn colors."

I'sai's turn to flush; "I'm interested in his doing right by you," he says
severely. "And if that means his doing you ri - anyway. Never mind that.
Because I want to know, that's why; does it have to be more complicated?"

Give poor Kassi a moment: she has to splutter. And then, for good measure,
splutter some more. "Why do I suddenly have this fear that I'll find you've
hunted him down t'offer him helpful tips?" she mutters. "Tips of which I
likely wouldn't want t'know the nature? But a'course you'd never do that;
'twould make you like *M'rgan*--I suppose, at that, it doesn't." She folds
her arms and stands a bit straighter, so that she can answer with all the
dignity she can muster: "I haven't any complaints. Nor regrets. You can be
talking that as 'twill." There's even a quirked eyebrow, after; and if the
red hasn't succeeded in fading at all, well....

I'sai watches all this sputtering with fascination. "I could let M'rgan
know to hunt him down," he offers. "With helpful tips or whatever else
sounds right at the time. Ale and porcine crisps, perhaps. - 'No
complaints,' that's all... so he's not better than L'nan, then, or at least
you haven't yet trained him to your tastes. All right."

"Oh, you'd just better nay; *Mart* would hunt him down for entirely
different purposes," and at this Kassi does sound really alarmed. "I've
seen him do it a'fore--never again, given the opportunity t'be avoiding it,
thankee! And I didn't *say* that!" she almost--but not quite--yelps,
scarlet shade deepening a notch. "I didn't say aught about that! You're
putting words in m'mouth. Have I ever asked *you* which of your
flight-lovers was finest? Because I warn, press this line of inquiry, and I
probably will."

"What reasons are those?" I'sai inquires, the more brightly for that alarm.
"And you didn't -say- that; you didn't have to, of course. ...Are you sure
you don't want this orange shirt back? No? ...It was perfectly clear in
what you said. Unless you're marching backwards and saying that L'nan
wasn't as good as this Ozy fellow after all. And," he gives her a bright,
toothy grin, "Flights are different. Everyone knows -that-."

Kassima's answer is given darkly: "To try and press him into weyrmating,
nay doubt, will-he nil-he; and embarrass us both hideously in the doing,
going by past history. You're ruddy fortunate 'twere weyrmated while I
carried Kisai, y'know. Methinks he sometimes thinks he's my *father*."
Pause. "Which, frankly, given that Ularrith's caught Lyss? Is nay a thought
I want t'dwell on. I *don't* want the shirt, and *'twasn't* clear, and
mayhaps if'n you want t'know so very much you should approach 'em both
about finding out for yourself!" What a mental image. Tilting her chin up
that much higher, she prompts, "Tell me anyway. Different they may be, but
surely they can be compared with each other?"

"Ah, yes," I'sai says initially - and if there's a wince at the mention of
weyrmating, well. "Myk says hello, by the by." He does manage a smile for
the father and M'rgan and all, even as he wads the shirt up into a little
ball, which he throws back overhand. "...Well, if you really want, I can
tell them that you said I should ask them which was better, only I'm not so
sure they'd know, unless I asked them what noises you made. As an
independent witness, like. And nope, I'm not comparing, because they -are-
different, and there are dragons, and their riders have knives. So there."

By the sympathetic, regretful glance the wince garners him, the shot was
unintentional. Kassi catches the shirt neatly, nothing if not practiced in
snagging things from the air. "Shells, shards, stars, don't do *that*; they
don't deserve torment just so you can torment *me*--and you're sounding
like Mart again now! With the noises!" Pause. "Uh, I mean. In making a fuss
over noises. Nay in, y'know, the *noises*, which you're nay making now
anyway, and I'm just going t'back away from this topic, all right? Ah, so
you're saying you fear what the ones with knives would do t'you if'n you
*did* say. That's a clue."

I'sai points out, "They all have knives. Each and every one. Taralyth and I
have good taste." - "And, ah, yes. No noises and Mart. We'll back away from
that, indeed," and he even backs to the doorframe, by way of illustration.
"Um."

I'sai adds after a moment, "Congratulations. Had I said that yet?"

"Lysseth would be making a small, pale sunhat from me did I claim
otherwise," Kassi acknowledges after a beat for pretending thought. "So I
suppose I'll have t'be agreeing with you. Ooh! Thankee, I'sai, now I know
what t'do whenever you start asking me strange questions: bring up *noises*
and *Mart*. I can't imagine how I didn't stumble across this secret to
success a'fore now." Her grin is, yes, visibly wicked. At least for a beat;
it softens after. "You hadn't; thankee. I'm... well, more happy about it
than I could say."

I'sai coughs on a laugh - sunhat! - and does stay long enough to ask, "Are
you? Well, that's the main thing. And he'd better treat you right. Why're
you so happy? I mean, -that- happy."

Kassima slants a look towards him, amused again with her flush mostly
faded. "I'm sure he lives in terror of what you'd do t'him if'n he didn't.
Why?" There's a laugh, quiet and slightly surprised. "Shells, Is, why nay?
Kisai's eight Turns old. I wanted another baby terribly... have for Turns,
but I hadn't the luck. I didn't think now I'd really have another. But now
I find 'twill." She flashes a sudden, full smile then. "I feel alive; and
pleased, and grateful, and delighted, and--well, everything."

"Because, because I wanted to know - " I'sai says, as he always does, and
there's no deceit in it - "...and because he'd better. So there. Hard to
believe it's eight Turns already. But I'm glad, I'm happy for you, Kassi,"
and her smile's shadowed in his own. "Good night."

That smile of Kassi's shifts into a less beaming one, but no less sincere.
"You are a good friend t'me, I'sai--but warn me if'n you start getting
ideas about doing aught to the poor man, hmm? Since I really doubt he'll do
aught t'earn that. And 'tis; sometimes it seems she was a teeny thing
yestereve, still bald and crowned with flowers." Reminiscent? Affectionate?
Yes, both. "Thankee for that, Is. For that, I won't even kill you for those
questions earlier. Sleep well, when you do? And give m'regards t'Taralyth?"

"I'll think about it," I'sai teases more than promises. "The first, that
is, and for the last, I shall, and - yeah. Good night." And with that, he's
lost to the glows.