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Sing the Praises of Pants


Date:  March 31, 2006
Places:  Beastcraft Hall's Pond and Apprentice Lounge
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:  Bless M'rek; during one of his all-too-brief active 
periods he invited me to come visit Cailin with him, and it'll 
probably explain the title if I say that 'pants' was the word of the
day.  The trio end up talking about an unsettling recent event--Master
Learan had been kidnapped by persons unknown and found only sevendays
later, trussed up with a small animal stuffed in his mouth, not quite
himself somehow.  One might wonder whether M'rek's as mystified by it 
as he seems.

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The Log:

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Ulfianth rumbles distantly from the ice capped
mountains of High Reaches, << Mine wishes to know if yours would like to
visit *image of Cailin* with him this evening? >>

Lysseth> Ulfianth senses that Lysseth's thoughts are flecked with the soft
and whirling snows of Benden, barely lit by a mist-shrouded moon. << She
would be pleased to do it, >> the green reports after a moment. << And
appreciates the invitation. We'll meet you there? >>

Dragon> Ulfianth bespoke Lysseth with << We shall see you then, shortly. >>

[Editor's Note:  I used +go to get to the MBH.]

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.

Ulfianth wings down from the sky above.

M'rek carefully slides down the side of ice in summer bronze Ulfianth,
using the dragon's forelimb as a helpful step on the way.

"Even if'n we're just dancing in the dark," Kassi sings to herself, or
maybe to an amused Lysseth, as she swings down from on high. Her dragon
rumbles greetings to the bronze pair; Kassi grins outright. "Lord Ulfianth
and M'rek-love, g'deve. Cai didn't go and get herself lost in a monsoon or
aught again, did she? Because if'n we're going t'go back to that bar, I
should be wearing something different, methinks. Leather pants at the very
least."

M'rek slides down and then rotates his left shoulder around as if the
muscle were bothering him before he waves, "How're you lovely ladies doing
tonight? I've no idea what kind of reception we'll get. I was here the
other day to deliver a boy with a note from his purpleness, but I didn't
see anyone really." Ulfianth rumbles darkly back to Lysseth and settles
down with much dignity. The bald bronzerider chuckles, "Shards! I hope not.
I didn't bring my raingear with me either and we all know I don't need any
more trouble with my pants."

"'Deliver' in the sense of deliver a message, or 'deliver' in the sense of
'deliver us from evil?'" Kassi asks with droll humor, quirking a brow.
"--Have you been brawling again? Us, we're fine. Lysseth's pleased t'be
away from the snow, and I'm pleased t'be away from writing sweep reports,
which, may I say, truly bites as activities go. How fares your evening,
m'darling dark jewel?" A pause, and then she snickers: "This is me. This is
me, so nay commenting on any sort of trouble with your pants."

M'rek chuckles and turns towards the Hall, "Deliver probably in the sense
of 'cause more trouble than you know' I imagine. But it was one of those
little messenger kids in Bitra red. Which means it was the whole
production." He rolls his eyes. "Picky people." Then he moves to open the
door for Kassima, "Nay, no brawling lately. At least nothing worthwhile.
It's harder and harder to find an innocent bystander in the bars I know."
He leans in and pecks the Greenrider's cheek. "Aye. It's you all right. So,
I'm sure I don't have to elaborate, you'll do just fine on your own. Bah. I
hate sweep report writing when they don't let you embellish."

Kassima immediately suggests, "Enlighten me if'n I don't know? Ah--but aye,
I've seen one of those messenger lads; brought the message on a silver
platter nay less. It does lend the whole affair a touch of class.
Thankee--" She hovers inside the door long enough to receive that kiss, and
merrily bestow one upon his cheek in exchange if he'll let her. "That's
beyond tragic and sad. There have t'be innocents *somewhere*... or so one
would think... now, now, M'rek, as it happens *I* would have thought there
was naught wrong with your pants at all. So you shouldn't have confessed
it." A wink, and she's headed into the Lounge. "--At least I get revenge
for all the chicken-scratch I had t'read by making them read *my*
handwriting, but 'tis a cold sort of comfort."

You stoop, and enter the poorly-lit lounge.

M'rek stoops as he comes into the lounge.

Few things change about the Beasthall, even when everything would seem to
have changed. Apprentices go about their studies, Journeyman go about much
the same, and Cailin sits in the middle of it all, ignoring them as she
stitches a bit of tack, just like you might expect any other herder to do.
And just like you might expect, there are those that whisper about the very
fact that she does something so, mundane, in the middle of the lounge where
they all might see -- Much to her own amusement, of course.

M'rek comes in behind Kassima, chuckling and immediately reaches up to feel
around inside the glowbasket nearest the door. Though, he does it in an
absent way as if he's already pretty sure he's not going to find anything
there and is more just searching out of habit. "I don't know why I always
think jokes about my pants are funny, but I do. Maybe because taking my
pants seriously would be a grave error for all of Pern." Then, "I imagine
it was all about the class. I heard he'd sent a fruitbasket down or
something too. As if that made up for anything." M'rek rolls his eyes and
then quiets a bit and scans the room, "There's our girl. Looks like she's
keeping out of trouble too. Unless that's making herder trouble, and I just
don't recognize it not being in the craft myself. H'lo there, Cailin."

"Pants are *inherently* funny. You're welcome t'make jokes about m'pants
if'n you wish to," Kassi offers, all magnanimity; but on a more serious
note, "Or I could avoid joking about yours if'n it ever does bother you. A
*fruitbasket*. I'm left intrigued as t'just what he needed t'make up for,
that he thought would be solved by a banana." Such are the questions for
the ages. The greenrider turns slightly upon catching sight of Cailin,
lifting her hand in a cheerful hailing: "Craftsecond. Should I salute?" she
teases. "G'deve t'you, duties t'your Craft."

<Bitra> Kassima says, "Should pants be the word of the day? ;)"

<Bitra> M'rek forgot about the word of the day! It should!

<Bitra> Kassima is having flashbacks to the Star Wars pants game. "You are
most unwise to lower your pants."

<Bitra> Kassima really has to work that line into RP someday, someway,
somehow.

Cailin doesn't even look up as the first comment rolls off her tongue,
"Just so long as it's the pants they are making fun of and not what's in
'em, aye? And do tell me you both have yours on. There are children in the
room." As if she really cares, but that's half the fun of discussing pants,
"As for keeping out of trouble, how could I possibly get into any if you
two aren't here to enjoy it with me?" She gives that familiar crooked grin
and looks up at last, waving off any duties as simple as that, "What would
a salute cost me? If I were to say yes, just for amusement's sake?"

M'rek does salute, right after Kassima mentions it, and he looks pretty
serious about it even though it's followed by a smile. "Joke all you like,
I don't mind and neither do my pants." Then, "Aye, a fruitbasket." And he
shrugs his shoulders meaningfully though his meaning is likely not clear at
all. The bronzerider drops his voice with all the apprentices and
journeymen about, "He's got lots to atone for, I'd think. But I suppose I
don't really know anything." And then raises his tone back up to say, "Of
course we do. What do you take us for? Bronze and Greenriders?"

Kassima does her best to look offended, but it's rather ineffectual since
she's trying not to laugh. "Are you implying the sight of me without pants
would traumatize small minds?" she demands. "Cai! I've never been so
wounded by you in all these Turns. If'n 'tweren't such a thoughtful,
trouble-sharing friend, I'd be tempted t'march straight out of here in a
fit of pique and write weepy letters t'you a sevenday later about how
you've wronged me." She tilts her head, considering prices. "Five marks.
Or, alternatively, whatever good liquor might still be lurking about. How
are things with Master Learan?" She's far more sober and serious in asking
this than in the banter that preceded it. Or, for that matter, the banter
which follows it. "Good. Because I do endeavor t'stay on the good side of
your pants, m'darling. Did I ever lose their affections, I should have
t'throw m'self in front of the hooves of the nearest rampaging bovine. I
didn't know that atonement was so much his style," said on the same quieter
voice level.

"What's all this about Fruit baskets anyway?" Cailin asks with an amused
grin never quite leaving her expression as she snaps a sketch of a salute
to M'rek in reply, he voice briefly softer, "He a in Him I suppose you
mean. I saw the letter." Then more dramatically she sighs, "Shards. And
here I was hoping something interesting might happen here tonight after
all. But if they are still on, then I could never mistake you for that,
surely. Unless we've had enough liquor first." A pause now, this time not
dropping her voice for the more serious, "He's recovered some, but, it's
slower than I'd like. Slower than Liah'd like as well, I'm sure. They
sharding well did a number on him."

"No, It's not. No atonement when you think everything you do is right."
M'rek draws in a breath that makes his leather jacket squeak in protest
from the stretching and then he runs a hand over his head and listens,
looking serious, to what Cailin has to say about Learan. "Always liked
Learan. He's a good man. I wish there had been something I could have done
for him." The bronzerider looks a little twitchy about this, but certainly
earnest. "I just heard that Lord Vorlin had sent a fruit basket here." The
former messenger doesn't frown, but he does look grim, "I heard it was bad.
Is it true, about the ah, animal and everything?"

"If'n I've the story straight, Lord Vorlin sent a fruitbasket t'atone
through the power of produce, but I don't know for what." Kassi's such a
helpful recapper. "Were all the fruits those evil-tasting half-ripe things
you find sometimes north of Nerat? That, that I could understand. What's in
the letter?" Of course she'd have to ask that too; she's never been one for
letting sleeping dogs lie, not really. "We might yet manage interesting.
With or without our pants. I'd heard rumors... but I haven't seen him, and
Faranth knows all sorts of tales were being told. Hard t'know which
t'credit. He wasn't *truly* found in a thong, was he?"

"Ahh, the fruit basket, if there was one, I didn't see. But it'd be like
him, aye?" Cailin sets aside her stitching, since the bit of harness wasn't
getting her proper attention anyway. "I know, Mer. And I don't blame you
for any of this. Ista I might, for spending too much time chasing their own
tails rather than looking, but..." She drops a shoulder in a shrug, "And
aye, it's true, the animal. I was there when they found him." Her lips
twitch a little, as if she might have smiled another time, "No thong, I'm
afraid. He wasn't very dressed however. Especially for Bitra that time of
the turn." She drops her voice low again as she answers then, "He's sending
a cousin to be a liaison." Her smile does return then, if not as bright as
it might have paired with other subjects, "I'm sure we'll still manage
interesting, aye."

M'rek looks caught thirdway between complete shock, complete horror, and
complete humor at the mention of a thong. "No. It couldn't be. Never. Not
without pants at least." He mutters under his breath, "The horror." The
horror, indeed. Then, "I doubt that. The fruitbasket I got once was in
perfect season. People kept swiping things out of it when they came to
visit me and wish me a speedy recovery. Or to make sure I wasn't dead.
Sometimes it's hard to tell what people are checking on you for exactly."
Then he listens and looks serious again. "Poor Learan. He's such a nice
guy. I always liked him. Course. I suppose we should all be glad he's
alive. That's something. At least there's some respect." Followed quickly
by, "Is that what was in that letter? A cousin? Which cousin?"

Kassima snags the leg of a chair with her foot and draws it out, the better
to thump into it. She nudges out another chair for M'rek should he wish to
take it. Formality? Whazzat? "I didn't have any success in finding him,"
she confides to the bronzerider in an undertone. "He's been so good, with
the scotch and all; I wanted t'help, but--shells, at least there wasn't a
thong. That would've been... shells. Especially if'n it'd been a fish thong
like--never mind, I like you both too much t'inflict that mental image,"
and never mind that it may be too late. "The cousin isn't Vahara, I trust.
'Tis t'be a liaison with you, or with Shimshon?" She slides a surprised
look towards M'rek, asking, "You got a fruitbasket? Huh. In apology for...
something that might've made you dead? M'rek, you've been holding out on
the good stories again, haven't you." Expectant eyes are turned towards
Cailin, as if the Herder might know and be willing to fill her in.

"The horror indeed. I..." A quiet sigh to break up the thought, "I'm quite
glad that he was found alive at least, aye." The herder nods then, a hint
of amusement as she says, "It would be perfect, I'd think, the basket. And
people do have a morbid fascination sometimes for checking, don't they?" -
"It wasn't sent to me, the letter and the liaison's for the Hall. I'd think
the green Lady, from what was implied. It surely couldn't be the poisonous
one..." Cailin shudders at that last thought, but grins quick after to
Kassima, "If he told us all his stories at once, he'd have less to get us
to bribe him for."

<Bitra> Kassima has lost track of the word score, but thinks we're all
racking up records at this rate. ;)

M'rek takes the chair, turns it about and stradles it so he can fold his
arms over the back. He looks a little blank faced as Kassima mentions that
she looked for Learan. "Aye. He was very good with the scotch and all." In
fact, he looks a bit guilty, dropped eyes and everything as he listens to
hear which cousin it might be. "Shards. I'd hope, at least the Green Lady.
Unless he thinks another one is ready. I've no idea how things are with Him
and Shimshon. Surely not Elinore, not with Cailin and Cain here." He
glances around and then says with a laugh, "What? Aren't all my stories
good? I do like my bribes. Shards, don't know what I'll do if I run out of
stories."

Kassima adds softly, "And that he was found 'tall. If'n he's home and with
his wife, that's something t'bring joy even if'n--well, he made a good
Craftmaster, and the loss is Pern's. Nay t'imply aught about Craftmaster
Shimshon. He's probably capable enough. So 'tis Vahara then; now that's
interesting, especially if'n the deal includes Gerome. Poor Apprentices.
Between Gerome and Vahara they'd never win a snowball fight again." Surely
among the more pressing concerns raised by this arrangement. Her brows draw
down in a mildly quizzical way as she takes in M'rek's expression, and she
opens her mouth to say something. Except she doesn't; she chews her lower
lip a moment, then lets whatever thought it was go. "How many cousins does
he have?" she asks instead. "Vahara, Elinore, but are there more? Your
stories are perfectly wonderful. Y'know we live for 'em, M'rek, which is
why 'tis cruel t'make us bribe you. Just cruel." Cue the pitiful eyes!
"Even so, what bribe will you need for the story of your fruitbasket?"

"Shimshon and Learan... Well they never much saw eye to eye. I think you'll
find he's more willing to deal than his predecessor. You'll notice too,
Kristine retired from the stress of Learan being missing and all. The Hall
has no issues with the Hold." Any guilt she sees, Cailin doesn't mention,
instead continuing, "If there is another ready, I can't think who. But
surely not Elinore, I might not let her survive walking in the door." And
while the comment is made as if she were joking, the humor doesn't reach
her gaze, "He was a good Craftmaster, aye Kassi. But not a progressive one,
if you take my meaning. Kristine was going to take on Gerome once, I think,
but he was too amused to be insulted, I believe. "Vahara's a closer
relation." Trust her to know something of the line, "Elinore more distant,
but as for how many." Cai shrugs before she'll grin more mischievously
again. "Well if it's a bribe we need to get the story, I'm thinking I could
find something better than some old fruit."

M'rek nods in agreement, "It's good that he's alive and home. Amazing,
really. Says a lot about influence." Then he's thoughtfully, "Any deal with
Vorlin includes Gerome. If things don't go His way. Or if not Gerome,
someone like him." Though he does look puzzled about the snowball fight
remark and answers instead, "There are a lot of cousins. A LOT." and he
half laughs, "You can surprise me." As scary as that is. "I don't know who
else would be ready either. Though he'd said once about there being some
potentials." A shrug, and then a chuckle, "Kristine thought she wanted to
take on Gerome? He's very good. Did save my life that time in Boll." Then
he chuckles, "Much better than old fruit."

"Traditionalism has its uses. Progressive--that can be a fine thing, or a
dangerous thing, depending on the path the progress takes. Things can move
in so many different directions in an Interval." Kassi flicks her fingers
in a manner more cryptic than illustrative. "If'n you're thinking for bribe
what methinks you're thinking, which is t'say something that comes in a
bottle, name what you want from me, too, then; for I've nay intent on
missing out if'n I can help it. Whose influence, think you?" That's to
M'rek, naturally; and she follows it with an explanation: "'Twas at Harper
one Turnover--" A moment's dark expression, a grimace. "That Turnover.
Vahara threw a snowball fight clean through a window of the Hall and hit
the Masterharper. There was a fight then, me and Rodric, Vahara and Gerome,
Genevieve and... and... shells, I don't know if'n I ever got the lad's
name, but a lad. Wicked accurate with the snow, those two. Surprise you?"
Uh-oh. She's looking thoughtful. That may not be a good sign. "Saved you
from the one in heels?"

Threw a snowball, even, as impressive as throwing a whole snowball fight
would be.

That would smart

And be chilly.

But not so bad with a little Cherry juice in it

Or grape. Grape snowballs are the best kind. And they're even purple!

Purple!

Squee!

It's Cailin's turn to be quiet at the mention of influence, at least for a
time. she leans back in her seat, draws a slow breath and nods, "Better
Gerome than that one with the bad footware you've mentioned. I've still
managed to avoid seeing her." She gives a wave of her hand, dismissing the
mention, then with an amused grin says on anyway, "She thought to get
between him and Cain. Course, his visit was about ovine, not us." Kassima
draws her attention then, "Aye, and in that you've said a mouthful." It's
not long before she's grinning crookedly again, "Would I dare offer
something else? I'll think of something fitting for you, Kassi, in that
case, shall I? And that must have been quite the fight to see."

M'rek touches his nose as Kassima mentions the one in heels and then nods
about the snowball fight, clearly interested to learn about it. Then he
shrugs, "Just people's influence over other people. Otherwise. Just doesn't
seem like we'd have seen Learan alive again. It's just too against the
odds. It's a lot easier to kill someone than to kidnap them and return them
alive. Not even any ransom or anything. I'm just saying, Learan had someone
with a lot of influence in his corner." Then he smiles, "Gerome's a very
surprising person." It's clear that M'rek really likes the bladed one.

A sly, mischievous humor steals across Kassi's face. "Oh, but Cai," she
drawls, "imagine how such boots would fare in all these Beastcraft fields,
filled with... little prizes, from the animals." Right, as if someone who
lives at Bitra wouldn't be used to wading through bull manure. "Please! You
know well how willing I am t'be bribing in the name of profit, and good
drinks count as profit. It really was. 'Twas a celebration, so Vahara and I
were both in fancy gowns, and that added something to the ridiculousness of
it all." It's a long look she gives M'rek, and at least as thoughtful as
that she wore concerning surprises. "If'n you had t'hazard a guess as
t'which parties were responsible for Learan's kidnapping.... They haven't
found 'em yet, have they, Cai?" she then wants to know. "He can be. He
and," she grins, "Jezel."

Cailin remains quiet as M'rek talks. Her silence on the matter maybe saying
more than words would have when she glances significantly his way, then
away again until the end when she too smiles, "Gerome is quite surprising,
aye. I'm glad he and I got past our initial differences." The smile widens
then, "Alright, for that image you've gained your share of the scotch I've
stashed, not that I still want her anywhere near me." A shake of her head,
"No one has been caught, course Ista's all off patting themselves on the
back. I gather someone even rewarded them for a job half done. Not us
though. And not that I expect they would have been able to manage more that
upsetting folks farther."

M'rek fidgets in his chair and rubs a hand against the back of his neck
while he stares at absolutely nothing. Then he laughs suddenly as he
latches on to one of the funnier things mentioned, "I have to say, I
wouldn't mind seeing those boots picking their way across a field like
that." Then his mouth draws in a line and he nods a bit as he listens to
the words about Ista's rescue. "I'm just sorry I wasn't able to help. I do
like Learan a lot." Then he smiles again, "I'm sure you'll both come up
with a good bribe. But. I have to take it another night. I'm wanted back at
the weyr. I really do need to find a new Wingsecond soon, so the duties are
divided up more." M'rek sighs and gets to his feet, the turns the chair
back around the right way.

"I won scotch with an image! Go, me!" Not Kassima's most mature moment, but
she doesn't care, busy being gleeful and clapping with delight. "--Oh,
*Ista*. Y'know, m'daughter rides there; I should think more fondly of
them... but." Probably no need to finish that thought, not in such company.
"There were rumors. I heard the young man in charge of things was a bit of
a brash sort. Don't think I've ever met him. M'rek... don't fash
yourself--you have so many things t'do. And he did come home in the end,
alive, whole." There are a couple of ways one could take these statements,
and something in her tone suggests this is intentional. She grins as he
rises, says, "Thankee for the invitation; believe me, 'twill remember well
that promise--" And then he's gone. She sighs. "T'know all that M'rek
knows," she muses, "would be... well. Probably fatal."

"We'll make a night of it. M'rek." Cailin promises, "Forget about duties,
get smashed on a quantity of scotch, and tell tales the night long, aye?"
Again she lets mention of M'rek's inability to help slide, too many times
to to be intentional after that first forgiveness, "That one. I wouldn't
doubt if he couldn't find his way out of a box because he's too busy
fumbling with the fastenings on his pants." The bronzerider gone, it's the
last that causes a slow intake of breath and with a weighty release she
says, "Aye."