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It Was the Best of Pastries; It Was the Worst of Pastries


Date:  May 27, 1998
Places:  High Reaches Weyr's Living Cavern and Eastern Bowl
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:  What Kassi considers a compliment probably says a lot
about her... and, similarly, so do the ways she insists on showing her
friendship.  As per usual, where Mart's concerned, she goes the most
sadistic route possible--but Jh'rin will always be even better than she
is at making the brownie flee. ;)  Join us, won't you, for... A Tale of
Two (or is that three?) Tormentors.

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The Log:

You wander into the tunnel to the living cavern.

M'rgan flashes a wide-eyed, innocent look to everyone. "Me? No. There's 
nothing in my eye. How are you today, Tiya?" Smile. Smile. Grin. Grin.

Carissea smiels. "Maybe in a few sevendays. I don't mind taking a 
candlemark or so to get some food, but I'm not letting him alone with just 
Marie and Trianneth as babysitters for any longer just yet," she says, 
laughing at her own nervousness.

Carissea looks up, and waves again as she spots Kassima. "Heyla!" she 
calls. "We're you looking for M'rgan?"

Carrying a pair of sinisterly innocent boxes, and muttering (as usual) 
under her breath to herself, Kassi skids to a halt just within the 
threshhold and looks over the Cavern. Hrm. Greenrider central. Her smile 
broadening into a grin, she calls out, "Duties to the 'Reaches and her 
queens, all! Aye, Carissea--or Lirra, if'n she's about."

Tiya nods her agreement to Carissea, then turns to smile a greeting to yet 
another greenrider. (Poor M'rgan.) "High Reaches' duties," she murmurs.

At the statement from Kassi that she is looking for him, M'rgan acks like 
a feline coughing up a hairball and instantly hunches down in his chair, 
as if shaving a few inches off of his height will also make him 
invisible.

Carissea shakes her head at Kassima. "Lirra left about half a candlemark 
ago. But M'rgan's here and causing trouble!"

Carissea finally finishes her food while watching M'rgan try to hide.

Tiya's concern sounds sincere as she asks M'rgan, "So it was something in 
your throat, not something in your eye?"

Kassima settles one of her parcels and her satchel on a convenient 
table-surface, where they're immediately covered by rabid guardian 
'lizards. The other, the greenrider carries over to the acking brownrider. 
"Relax, brownie," she suggests. "I'm nay here t'kill you, just t'give you 
the traditional 'You somehow managed t'survive another group of 'Lings' 
gift." Uh-oh. Turning to Carissea, she flashes the other greenrider a grin 
that's perfectly, suspiciously innocent. "Really? Well, perhaps this will 
distract him from troublemaking for a bit."

"I am /not/ causing trouble," M'rgan protests as Kassima brings the gift 
over. Since he's been seen, he might as well stop trying to be invisible. 
Tiya gets a mild, reproachful glare from the brownrider as he straightens 
up in his chair again. "Just tell me that it isn't a kilt, Kassi. I 
*really* don't need another kilt."

Kassima shakes her head, her black forelock wagging back and forth in 
front of her eyes. "Nay, nay--why would it be another kilt, when you 
already have two such splendid ones? You wouldn't really expect me t'give 
*you* aught that brings good luck, would you?" Hooking her foot around the 
leg of an empty chair, she drags it over and plunks herself into it, 
setting the box before Mart with a flourish. "Just open it and find out, 
old friend."

Tiya just smiles at M'rgan, then eyes the box with interest.

M'rgan glances hopefully at Tiya and Carissea as he lightly motions 
towards the box. "If one of you..."

Tiya shakes her head. "Goodness, M'rgan. It's just a box."

Kassima immediately waggles one finger at Mart. "Brownie! You don't want 
t'start rumors that you're afraid of *boxes* now, d'you?"

Carissea shakes her head. "I want to see what's in it, but it's *your* 
gift, M'rgan." she says, emphasizing the word 'gift' just in case.

"But it's a box from /you/," M'rgan remarks with a wry grin. "So no one 
will be surprised that I'm afraid of it. That'd be like spreading a rumour 
that I'm afraid of Carissea's knives or Tiya's red dress. Everyone knows I 
am." Nonetheless, he gingerly reaches for the box, sliding it carefully 
towards him so that it won't be accidentally jarred. You never know, after 
all.

Carissea finishes her plate and snitches a sweetroll from M'rgan's while 
he's worrying.

V'hryn strides in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Tiya gives M'rgan a rather surprised look. "You're afraid of that dress? I 
didn't think it was that bad. Not -fear- inducing, at least."

Kassima wrinkles her nose at the brownrider, green eyes sparkling with 
suppressed mirth. "Oh, so you're going t'claim that aught I've ever given 
you has been harmful, now?" She conveniently forgets the incidents with 
the Emasculator and Benden Water. "Go ahead and open it! At least that 
way, you'll die qui--I mean, ahem, see what wonderful thing I got for you. 
Right."

V'hryn's yawn is wide as he wanders in from the bowl, the lad on autopilot 
as he heads hearthwards, to where the klah grows.

Carissea eyes Kassima. "You have to tell me more about this 'emasculator'. 
We have a couple of recent graduates who were professing their fear of 
one."

"It's not the dress itself, Tiya. It's...uh...what that dress means." 
M'rgan starts to open the box, fingernails prying into the seam. But at 
Kassi's statement he instantly freezes, giving the box a worried look 
before darting a questioning glance at the Telgar wingleader. "Maybe you 
should open it, Kassi. I've got this splinter in my finger..." He starts 
to pull back his hands.

Kassima wiggles her fingers in greeting to yonder evil brownrider, before 
winking at Carissea. "Oh, you might like it. I have a plan t'try and make 
it a sort of symbol of female femaleriders everywhere. 'Tis a Beastcraft 
castration device, see, and--shells, Mart, are you *really* that 
frightened? Sheesh! And this, after I haven't even done aught evil t'you 
in... what, three Turns?" Her definition of 'evil' is probably a bit 
different from his.

Carissea patpats M'rgan on the shoulder. "I'll protect your from the evil 
greenriders, M'rgan," she says with a grin. "But the suspense is killing 
me!"

M'rgan rolls his eyes ceilingward, mumbling, "More like three weeks." 
Feeling like his manhood is at stake now, the brownrider takes a deep 
breath and reaches for the box again, starting to open it. He may die but 
at least he'll die a man.

Carissea looks up at Kassima, and hrms. "The scrolls I read just talked 
about using a sharp knife. Hrm."

When the lid of the box is lifted, a strange object indeed can be seen to 
rest within. Lying on a hand-painted paint is... a giant tent peg? It 
certainly *looks* like it. Grey with weathering and rough in texture, the 
object seems the perfect simulacrum--until you give it a truly *close* 
look and realize that it's not really a peg. No, believe it or not, it's a 
peculiarly shaped and grey-frosted *pastry*, of sufficient size to provide 
dessert for three or four people at least. "M'Aunt Keysanna made it," 
Kassi explains with pride. "They're her newest experiment! I think she's 
really coming along with 'em, don't you?"

Evil..brownrider..Those two words can be used in the same sentence? It 
takes V'hryn a few moments to let things sink in. "Er..heya." He marvels 
folks with his verbose greetings from his relatively safe spot near the 
hearth, that is provided Kassi doesn't move.

Tiya looks a little disturbed as she sees M'rgan's gift. "Oh, my."

M'rgan's eyes bug out as sees the object within the box and in his 
testosterone-filled state he interprets the object briefly as something 
other than a tent peg or a pastry. But after a second it sinks in to his 
feebled brain that grey isn't the normal color of the thing he had in mind 
so he gives it a second longer, less bug-eyed look. "What is it?"

Kassima adds in a mock-wounded voice, "Three sevendays? Why, brownie! You 
know the only time I'm actually evil t'you is when I'm proddy. I'm just 
being friendly the rest of the time." Which implies that the greenrider's 
method of showing friendship is being sadistic... but hey, with Kassi, who 
knows? "Heya t'you too, V'hryn! Isn't it something else, Tiya? Methinks 
she's finally achieved that real tent peg look...."

Tiya says slowly, "Something else....indeed."

Kassima peers at the bug-eyed brownrider curiously. She's probably better 
off not knowing what he *thought* it was. "'Tis a cake, a'course. M'aunt's 
a Baker, and she experiments with oddly-shaped cakes all the time... now 
she's trying t'do 'em so that they look like real objects. Isn't it a 
beaut?"

Carissea blinks. "Well... it _looks_ like a tent peg," she says. "But is 
there a reason to make it that shape?"

Tiya asks blankly, "Did she know those apprentices, at the gather?"

Carissea ahhs at Kassima's comment. "Can she make them look like your 
'emasculator?'" she asks with a wicked grin at her fellow greenrider.

Carissea grins. "Or tell me how? I could make some for the weyr.."

Kassima shakes her head at Tiya. "Nay... but you remember, don't you, that 
'twas speaking of her cakes there? I told R'ehn and Lirra about 'em, too, 
when we were talking about those apprentices later. The idea seemed 
t'disturb the bluerider. Can't imagine wh--ooh, Carissea! What a 
*fantastic* notion!" The Wingleader brightens far too much for comfort at 
that. "Shells and shards, you *are* a genius... she might be willing 
t'share the secret if'n she could manage it, aye!"

From the way M'rgan reflexively swallows, his gulps loud enough to be 
heard, it's apparent that he's thought of a few reasons for that shape. 
Nudging the box away from him, he grimaces as /that/ word (emasculator) 
gets bandied about.

M'rgan casually cross his legs and clasps his hands in his lap while 
trying to avoid looking at any of the women.

Kassima reaches out to pat the poor, aghast brownrider on the shoulder. 
"I'm sorry 'tis nay something more fearsome, Mart, but I figured that I've 
probably caused enough chaos in your life for a bit." And then some. "This 
is just a token of m'esteem--sort of a 'let bygones be bygones' thing, 
if'n 'twill, along with a'course the purpose of congratulating you on 
your survival after all. Why, Mart, whatever's wrong? You look... 
horrified?"

Carissea grins at Kassima. "I've just got to meet this aunt of yours. Or 
see if Master Bryena's kept track of her secrets. I've never thought of 
making a cake to look like something!"

Tiya quietly excuses herself.

Tiya wanders through the archway, into the lower caverns.

Kassima cheerily confides, "Aunt Keysanna makes 'em t'look like all 
*sorts* of things. From squashed vtols t'people in the buff. She's gotten 
almost obsessive about it, really, but her cakes are very popular with the 
kinsfolk."

M'rgan rocks a little in his chair, body still hunched forward. "I...uh...
don't feel well all of a sudden. Must be something I ate."

To say that V'hryn is stupefied by this whole conversation would be right. 
But that doesn't stop him from sneezing into his klah, "Hey maybe you got 
the flu sir.." Sir...Mart. It's got a certain ring to it, doesn't it.

Kassima looks genuinely concerned, and mercifully reaches for the cover to 
put back over the cake. "Well, then, festivities can wait, by all means. 
'Twould be a shame t'waste the cake if'n you can't enjoy it. It has fruit 
filling, y'know. How *have* you been faring lately, anyway, brownie?" 
V'hryn's question draws her attention to the brownrider. "Oh, nay," she 
immediately says. "Men don't catch the Flu--more's the pity, I have t'
say." Hrm... bravely bold Sir M'rgan? Yep, there's a ring there. Or a 
scream of fear. Take your pick.

Carissea smiles at Kassima. "Oh, perfect! Does she do portraits, too? I've 
got a great idea for our anniversary..."

"Mostly sculpture, though she might be willing t'do a cake portrait if'n 
the subject appealed to her," Kassi agrees. "I can put in a good word for 
you, if'n you like?"

"We don't?" V'hryn's...surprised to say the least. If he's not got the 
Flu..then why in Faranth's name has he been sneezing and sniffling for the 
past three days?

Carissea stands as she finishes the last of M'rgan's sweetroll. "I'll come 
visit just as soon as I'm flight-ready, again," she tells Kassima. "And 
we'll see what we can do. But for now, I'd better get upstairs before 
Davio wakes up. He'll be hungry."

M'rgan slumps back in his chair in relief once the cover is back on the 
cake, hiding it from view. His hands never waver from their protective 
location though. "Cari, you're leaving?" he asks breathlessly. "But you 
said earlier...about protection..."

Kassima smiles warmly to the other greenrider. "Congratulations on your 
son, by the by, and fair winds t'both of you." Glancing towards V'hryn, 
she asks in surprise, "What, y'mean to say you've ever seen a pregnant 
man?"

Carissea grins at M'rgan. "And I meant it ... but there are no evil 
greenriders here that I can see!" she says, airily. "And thanks, Kassi. 
He's the cutest thing..."

V'hryn's brows shoot upwards in alarm at Kassima's question, a blush also 
rising in his cheeks. "Err...can't say that I have..nope." The words 
tumbling out in a rush as he finds that his klah really is very 
interesting.

As if he had a minstrel nearby singing of his doom, M'rgan instantly 
recognizes the danger he's in and his pale face somehow manages to become 
even more white. "Oh shards," he whispers.

Kassima's eyes travel down to Mart's hands, and her brow furrows. "Mart, 
have you considered speaking to a Mindhealer about this paranoia of 
yours?" To V'hryn, she explains, "That's what having the Flu means, see. 
If'n you have the Flu, you're pregnant; 'tis that simple. Try though we 
women might, I don't think we've ever been able t'get the Water t'work on 
a man... at least, nay in that fashion. More's the pity, indeed."

Carissea wanders through the archway, into the lower caverns.

Kassima watches with interest as the brownie turns even more pale. Turning 
in her seat, she gazes around the Living Cavern, evidently searching for 
something. "All right, who's the proddy one?"

Bright splotches of red starts to burst onto M'rgan's white cheeks and he 
ducks his head until his temple almost touches the table. Gasping sounds 
come from him as his shoulders start to shake.

Well, Kassi's answer shut V'hryn up, that's for sure. The boy simply 
watches on in what could be described as wide-eyed horror.

Bewilderment and worry flare to life on Kassi's face, and she reaches 
towards the brownrider to try and shake him out of it. "Mart? Hey, Mart? 
Get ahold of yourself! Nay anyone's proddy--at least, I don't think so; 
there's naught t'be fearing! Honest! Are you all right?" This is just too 
weird even for her, apparently.

M'rgan's eyes gleam wetly as the lifts his head after Kassima gives his 
shoulders a shake. But instead of displaying fear, his face shows a broad 
grin and his chest heaves from his quiet laughter. "Kassi...you...
sometimes I really..."

Jannea meanders into the cavern from the lower caverns.

Jannea skips into the room, barely managing to not run over a bluerider. 
"Sorry!"

M'rgan is seated at a table, a closed box in front of him, and Kassima and 
V'hryn are nearby. He is trying to squeeze out a few words while laughing, 
tears almost streaming down his cheeks.

Kassima is now thoroughly confused, but she does relax sometimes when it 
seems the brownrider isn't going to die of fright on the spot or some such 
similar messy thing. "Dare I even ask what you're laughing about, or will 
I fear the answer?" she asks almost rhetorically. She fears no questions 
and no answers. Primarily, of course, because she hasn't been hanging 
around V'hryn long enough.... "So, you're nay about t'shake yourself 
t'death in terror of a perfectly harmless cake?"

Jannea skids to a stop next to the table where M'rgan, Kassima and V'hryn 
are. "What's so funny, papa?"

V'hryn is staring at the green and brownrider with a look of bewilderfied 
horror. He'll never understand them, and it's no near day that he'll want 
to at this point.

M'rgan slides his chair back a little so that Jannea can sit in his lap if 
she wants. She's much too old to sit in people's laps of course and has 
been for some time but the brownrider can't seem to break the habit of 
turns. He points to Kassi at Jannea's question, his laughter calming down 
enough that he can speak. "You, Kassi. Your looking around for a proddy 
rider instead of looking at yourself."

M'rgan rolls his eyes ceilingward. "As if a proddy rider would scare me 
more than you on your most normal of days."

Jannea only stands next to M'rgan and looks at Kassi, trying to decide why 
she's so funny."

Kassima looks down at herself, taking in the blue blouse, lack of more 
than her usual weaponry, colorful jacket, et al. "M'self? But *I'm* certes 
nay proddy... I'm in far too good a mood t'be proddy. I think. I don't 
look proddy, do I?" Flashing a quick smile over to Jannea, and a 
reassuring one to V'hryn that's accompanied by a mouthed, 'Don't worry, 
he's just gone insane again,' she then beams finally at Mart. "Y'mean you 
really think I'm that fearsome? Why, thankee, brownie! That's the nicest 
thing anyone's said t'me in months." And she sounds like she means that, 
too.

R'ehn strides in from the tunnel to the bowl.

V'hryn just blinks, his bluish eyes roving from Kassi to M'rgan and back 
again. "You're not proddy...are you?" The lad manages to keep his voice 
fairly steady, no squeaks.

R'ehn shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on a pin. Meandering inward he 
waves, stopping when he sees Kassima and grin. "Hey Kassima! Come to 
visit?" Oh like that's not obvious and all.

M'rgan leans over to mumble to his niece-fosterdaughter, "Don't ever be a 
greenrider," before flashing a smile at Kassi. "I knew you'd appreciate 
the statement," he tells her, starting to chuckle again. V'hryn's question 
earns him a furrowed-brow look from the brownrider. "Not me. I haven't 
been in...ummm...six months now. I think. R'ehn! Come on over here." He 
waves at the bluerider while reaching for the 'gift' from Kassi with his 
other hand.

Kassima shakes her head at once. "I shouldn't *think* so. I'm nay wearing 
black clothes, or leather, or more than the usual number of knives, 
m'hair's still braided, I don't desire raw meat, and I don't want 
t'castrate His Brownieship here. Well... at least, nay more than usual." 
She winks at Mart, then lifts her hand to wave it to R'ehn. "Nay, nay, I'm 
actually here because Telgar decided they couldn't tolerate me anymore and 
foisted me off on the 'Reaches. A'course I'm here visiting--and gift-
bringing, too. How fares?" She just grins then at Mart. "Aye, well... I'm 
glad you didn't say I'm nay fearsome, or I'd've had t'go out of m'way 
t'prove it. Y'know how that goes."

Jannea giggles. "But why not, papa?" She really doesn't expect him to 
answer with his friends around and watches to see if the 'gift' is what is 
really so funny.

R'ehn aquires a slice of klah in a mug, padding over to M'rgan obediantly. 
He grins at Kassima, "Oooh, we get to keep you then, that's -great- 
news..."

If both answers from Mart and Kassi were meant to soothe any fears V'hryn 
had on the subject, they didn't. The poor, naive lad that he is starts 
backing out of the cavern towards the bowl. "Oh...'kay..er..later." He 
calls and scoots to a safer place.

V'hryn walks outside to the bowl.

M'rgan twists slightly around in his chair to offer the box to R'ehn. 
"Pastry?" He listens to Kassima's oh-so-true description of what she is 
like when she's proddy, telling Jannea at the end, "Because greenriders 
are weird." Since he's said this often enough in the past, the greenriders 
at nearby tables only mutter a bit amongst themselves. There aren't any 
calls for his head this time.

Jannea hmmmms. But mama is a greenrider...." She just leaves that hanging 
as she tries to look in the pastry box, wondering why she wasn't offered 
one.

R'ehn blinks at the pastry and takes a sidestep surreptitously away from 
the box. Better to be safe than sorry. "Um, I wouldn't want to spoil 
dinner...Your aunt's work Kassima?"

Kassima watches V'hryn go, then confides to Mart, "I think we frightened 
the poor lad. Has he never been around a proddy rider a'fore?" Grinning up 
to R'ehn, she agrees, "Oh, indeed--but, alas, nay true. Nay that I'm sorry 
t'be at the Icy Wastes rather than the Frozen ones, mind. Oh! Say, that 
reminds me... d'you suppose you'll be seeing Lirra any time soon? I 
brought back that box she gave me...." She nods towards the other box she 
carted in with her. Giving Mart a light elbow-jab, she affirms brightly, 
"And proud of it! Aye, R'ehn, in very deed--isn't it a marvel?"

"Yes, she is," M'rgan tells Jannea noncommitally before dropping that 
subject at Kassima's jab. He pushes the box towards R'ehn again. "Are you 
sure...?"

R'ehn is biting down on his lower lip in an attempt to keep from laughing 
very hard. "It's is a marvel, and art indeed. It's scary, but it's art 
yes." He slides into a seat and pokes at his klah with a spoon. "And yeah, 
I'll prolly see Lirra pretty soon." He tries to scoot away from the 
gesticulated box. "No, um, see..I'm -allergic- to those."

"You really should try it, R'ehn," Kassi notes helpfully. "It has real 
fruit filling!"

Jannea stands up on her toes, really trying to see into the box, but 
doesn't want to ask for one of course.

Kassima eyes the bluerider a bit oddly. "Allergic, to pastry? That's a new 
one... well, d'you suppose you could take that box to her?" Turning her 
head slightly so that Mart can't see, she mouths a single, cryptic word: 
'Shirts.' "So 'twill only be six months ere you're proddy again, brownie?" 
she then says to her archnemesis.

R'ehn nearly chokes on his klah, and edges away even further, now looking 
fearful. (Careful, filling may be hot) He nods quickly to Kassima, his 
hair floofing as he tries not to think about the pastry. "Sure, no 
problem, I'd be glad to." Appease the greenrider, don't let her inflict 
pastry on you.

M'rgan hmms thoughtfully at R'ehn's 'excuse'. He'll have to remember that 
one. As his arm grows tired from waving the box in the air, the brownrider 
sets the box back on the table, giving Kassima a confused look as he does. 
'Shirts?' gets mouthed back to her. "'Fraid so, Kassi. It's a long time 
away."

Jannea sighs and settles back down onto her feet, making sure the adults 
are all not paying attention to her before slipping into the crowd and in 
search of a gooey, sweet pastry-something of her own.

Kassima grimaces as it seems that Mart did indeed see her supposedly 
surreptitious mouthing. "Um... shirts. Aye. We're trading shirts, y'see; 
she had a few I wanted, I had a few she wanted..." she lies glibly. After 
all, given that this is Kassi, not to mention Lirra, maybe such a weird 
story will be believable. "Afraid naught, brownie--that's a *good* thing. 
When you're proddy, I'm always afraid I'll laugh m'self t'death if'n I 
happen t'run into you."

R'ehn blinks a few times, "M'rgan, proddy?" He blinks a lot more, looking 
as clueless as he is purported to be. "Do you eat socks?"

Kassima darts a bright grin towards R'ehn. "Wonderful! I'm certain she'll 
be... ah... pleased with 'em. And if'n you could tell her that 'twill try 
and find a time t'collect those glasses from her shortly, I'd be much 
obli--*eat socks*?" She, too, peers at Mart then. "Now *that's* one I 
hadn't heard."

Jannea returns from her quest, sticky gooey sickeningly sweet pastry in 
hand.

M'rgan lets Kassima's shirt story pass with only the mildest of eyebrow 
lifts. His mouth protrudes slightly with affront as he blinks up at her. 
"Why do you say that? I've never beheaded a wherry or...Jannea, do you 
think you should be eating that before dinner?" Parents. Even when they're 
not looking, they see.

Jannea shrugs, fingers covered in icing and filling. "I don't like what's 
for dinner."

"You don't even know what's for dinner," M'rgan tells her as he holds out 
his hand, palm up, for the pastry.

Kassima quirks her eyebrows at the brownie. "Nay," she drawls in 
agreement, "but you've leered at aught female in the vicinity, including 
Candidates, asked people t'sing with you out of the blue, claimed I agreed 
t'sing you a love song--I'm *still* nay certain where that one came from. 
Which one is more frightening overall is actually a matter of 
interpretation."

Kassima brightens again, always a bad sign. "Say! Did I mention t'you that 
I wrote a song about one of your proddiness incidents?"

R'ehn nods cheerfully. "Not a problem. The more you visit the merrier." He 
blinks a lot at Kassima's listing. "Going to sing her a..." He oohs at 
Kassima, "A song?"

Jannea gets that stubborn look that Kena does so well and puts the half 
eaten pastry in M'rgan's hand....goo side down. "I still won't like it." 
she says, turning on her heel and heading out, wiping her hands on her 
skirts.

M'rgan doesn't seem too aghast at the litany of misdeeds Kassima lists as 
he figures he should be glad she didn't go into that Martina incident 
again. "R'ehn!!" bursts out of him as the bluerider encourages the Telgar 
wingleader. "We *don't* need to hear any songs," he tells the bluerider 
with the sort of reproachful look that the young man should recognize from 
his clueless weyrling days. "You still have to eat it," gets called after 
Jannea as the brownrider peels the pastry from his hand.

Jannea strolls through the archway, into the lower caverns.

Kassima nods an affirmative to R'ehn. "I've nary a clue what sort of song 
he wanted... let's see... Lys, 'twas, and Emlyn, and--who was the third? 
Ofira? Might've been. Anyway, he kept asking if'n someone'd sing with him. 
*Why* did you keep asking that, Mart?" She grins, then. "The song I 
wrote's about that particular incident... I'll have t'find some time 
t'perform it for you, brownie. I couldn't let you go without hearing it so 
that you can tell me what you think."

Kassima does belatedly think to admit, "A'course, since you never tried 
t'slice off any portions of m'person while 'twere proddy, I suppose you're 
still one ahead of me."

Innocence personified, R'ehn blinks at M'rgan, "We don't?"

M'rgan remembers how clueless R'ehn can be and he repeats his words with 
just a touch more vehemence. "No. We don't need to hear a song." To 
Kassima he casually remarks, "I don't remember," while using the edge of 
the pastry to scrape some of the goo off of his hands.

R'ehn decides to apply R'ehn-logic. "It's -just- a song after all. It's 
not got any pointy bits..."

"R'ehn," M'rgan says warningly, forgetting for the moment that the young 
man has graduated and that he's no longer the bluerider's weyrlingmaster.

"Let's see... I know 'tis in the song somewhere," Kassi mutters to 
herself. She begins to recite, "On the shore of Benden's Lake, lengths 
from Craft or Hold, a group of dragons soak within the waters clear and 
cold. A man bemused among them babbles incoherently--but what can you 
expect from a brownrider who's proddy? Three things see nay end: the 
things in life that you can know, the hides that you're copying, and a 
proddy 'lizard's glow." The greenrider frowns slightly. "Mayhaps I 
*didn't* put it in the song. I can't recall a verse mentioning any but 
Emlyn. Well, and me and Cav, but we were just watching and gathering 
blackmail material... oh, but Mart, he's right! What's so bad about a 
song?"

D'va strolls in from the tunnel to the bowl.

R'ehn decides to make a trip to the serving table and try and look small. 
Kind of difficult when you're 6'7 and have a sheep on your head in place 
of hair, but R'ehn can -try-.

D'va strides into the living cavern from the bowl, thankfully shrugging 
off his heavy jacket once he gets into the warmth inside.

M'rgan would drop his face into his hands as Kassima begins to recite the 
lyrics to the song but since his hands are currently occupied with a 
pastry -- and though sticking a pastry to his head would probably distract 
Kassima from her song, it probably wouldn't distract attention from him -- 
he can only sink a bit lower in his chair and smile through his gritted 
teeth as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Kassima is sitting beside Mart, in front of a box that looks to contain a 
large tent peg, and currently sounds to be pestering the hapless 
brownrider. No surprises here. She looks up, though, to nod to the 
'Reachian Wingleader in greeting. "Duties t'your Weyr and her queens," she 
offers before returning to cajoling. "I mean, it *could* be worse. I 
haven't written any songs about that time you fled me all the way across 
the Tillek beach, or the castration incident, or the kilting, or the dress 
thing... anyway, d'you want t'hear any more lines? I'm really rather proud 
of this song, truth be told." She would be.

R'ehn returns with a plate of food, saluting D'va before returning to his 
seat. "That's a lovely song Kassima, or lyrics, or however one puts it. 
With a nice lively tune it would make a great singalong."

Kassima winks to R'ehn. "Oh, it has a tune. Quite catchy, I think. I 
borrowed it from another song, since it seemed t'fit rather well."

D'va nods to Kassima and to R'ehn, giving the bluerider a return of a 
salute before crossing the cavern to the Glacier table. Putting his jacket 
on a chair, he walks over to the serving table to get some dinner for 
himself.

M'rgan's ears turn a bright red as he hears Kassima greet D'va and the man 
flashes R'ehn one of those utterly expected 'you're dead' looks before 
turning back to Kassima and vigorously shaking his head. "I think we heard 
enough. More than enough. A *lot* more than enough." Hint. Hint.

Kassima doesn't take hints overly well. She does, however, take bribes. 
"Ah, well, you do have a point... mayhaps instead of singing t'you, I 
should be inquiring as to the state of your belt pouch. Been a bit since 
I've drained it, hasn't it?"

M'rgan sighs just a tad, recognizing Kassima's question for what it is. 
Bending and twisting his body to hide the contents of the pouch from the 
greenrider's view, he fumbles around in it, eventually coming up with a 
half mark which he places on the table in front of Kassima. "Will that 
do?"

D'va finishes filling up a plate and wanders back to his seat and 
immediately begins digging into the dinner eats.

R'ehn offers M'rgan a confused and distressed look. One of those stock, 
'What did I do?' looks. He decides his food is safer and pokes a bite of 
casserole. He blinks at The Bribing of Kassima, trying to figure out 
what's going on and probably coming up with all kinds of distrsssing 
possibilities.

Kassima blinks in surprise. Whatever she meant wasn't quite this, 
apparently... but she takes the mark anyway. "Quite. Nay more singing 
today, Mart, I promise you." She pockets the piece before Mart can 
reconsider. "What 'twas actually inferring was that it might be about time 
for another round of dragonpoker or two, but hey, I accept straight 
bribes."

M'rgan cocks his head in D'va's direction while stating with a wry smile, 
"Good. And I know you'll keep your promise." Relaxing back into his seat, 
M'rgan starts to lick his palm where some of the goo from the pastry still 
clings. Between licks he chatters on. How many licks does it take to clean 
a hand? One. Two..."I'd play you but I don't have a lot of marks to lose. 
Money's tight at the moment."

Y'mil, who sits a couple of seats down from D'va, perks up his ears at the 
mention of dragonpoker. "Someone's got game goin'f dragonpoker, hmm?"

D'va rolls his eyes and says to the brownrider between bites, "If you want 
to give away money, Y'mil, just give it to me and save yourself the 
trouble."

How many licks does it take to clean a hand? Forty-two. Kassi watches this 
ritual with mild fascination as she responds absently, "Ah, so bad that 
you can't stand t'lose even thirty-seconds? We could play for favors 
again... i'truth, thanks to the clutching and a few other judicious 
wagers--mostly on Lyss's flight, if'n you can beat that--I'm nay in much 
need of money." To Y'mil, she grins. "Mayhaps. If'n the brownie here can 
be talked into it."

R'ehn takes another bite of casserole, pausing between food consumption to 
query, "For favors?" Even he knoes this sounds dangerous.

M'rgan vigorously shakes his head at the mention of favors, fear creeping 
into his blue eyes. He still remembers that barrel..."You know, now that 
Kena's Impressed and is in a fighting wing, I don't have much time to run 
around doing favors. The children take up most of my free time. I wouldn't 
even be down here right now if Kena didn't volunteer to take them for a 
few candlemarks."

M'rgan leans forward a bit to look past Kassima at D'va, curiousity 
welling up in him after hearing the man's comment to Y'mil. "Do you play 
dragonpoker?"

Y'mil laughs and tosses a roll at D'va. "Y'be quiet." He gets up and 
wanders over to Kassi and M'rgan. "C'mon, M'rgan.. y'll play, won'tcha?" A 
look at Kassi, though, and he says, "But ah'll be wantin' t'play f'r money 
only."

D'va watches his wingrider with amusement and shakes his head, calling to 
M'rgan, "No, not since one fateful day at Bitra with K'nder. Boy, that was 
a mess. We barely got out of there alive."

Kassima explains to R'ehn, "Sweeps, watchriding, haircuts, backrubs, 
'lizard-feedings, that sort of thing. Speaking of which, Mart, don't you 
still owe me one of those? You fainted that one time y'tried t'feed the 
Swarm...." She wrinkles her nose at the denial. "Oh, foo. I'll never see 
how you do it, Mart. If'n 'tweren't for Simaeva's willingness t'foster, 
I'd be driven mad--nay that I don't love m'lasses, but... anyway, you have 
nay marks at all?" She eyes Y'mil somewhat dubiously, as though not sure 
just how to take that.

Y'mil snickers, more at his wingleader's explanation than M'rgan's 
question. "K'nder says that's back when y'were -fun-, D'va. I can't say I 
b'lieve him, but I'll take 's word for 't."

M'rgan starts to shake his head in the negative at Kassi's question but he 
abruptly changes his mind and leans towards her. He mutters to Kassima, 
"Cymrith hasn't risen yet... and if Ularrith... want to... the... 
available... get... So... take me back..." 

You sense M'rgan starts to shake his head in the negative at Kassi's 
question but he abruptly changes his mind and leans towards her. "Cymrith 
hasn't risen yet and if she does and if Ularrith catches her...I want to 
have the marks available to get Kena a gift. So she'll take me back."

R'ehn appears suspicious. But then Kassima used the word 'haircut', so 
there's nothing suprising about that.

Kassima listens, and nods with thoughtful slowness. For once, she appears 
almost serious. She mutters to M'rgan, "... Mart,... you... best... 
luck... or skill,... you'd... you find... marks than... have--well, I... 
nay lacking... and I... could easily... interest... I..."  She winks, just 
in case it wasn't clear she was kidding on that last.

M'rgan senses Kassima listens, and nods with thoughtful slowness. For 
once, she appears almost serious. "I catch your meaning, Mart, and wish 
you the best of luck... or skill, whichever way you'd have it. And if'n 
you find yourself in need of more marks than you have--well, I did say 
'twas nay lacking for funds, and I meant it. I could easily loan you a 
few. With a low interest rate, too, I promise you." She winks, just in 
case it wasn't clear she was kidding on that last."

D'va snorts and says, "K'nder's been known to exaggerate things from time 
to time, in case you haven't noticed, Y'mil." He then returns to eating 
his dinner.

Divya meanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Divya walks toward her father and hugs him. "Hi, Daddy," she says. "How 
was your day today?"

D'va puts down his eating utensils and gives his daughter a hug. "Good, 
now that I'm eating, Divya. You hungry?"

"Ularrith claims it's all skill," M'rgan tells Kassima with a smirk and a 
smile. "And I'll keep your full pouch in mind if the Weavers' demands are 
outrageous again. Sometimes I think I support that entire Hall myself." As 
his gaze follows Divya's path towards D'va, he also glances at the 
timepiece on the wall, frowning slightly. "Well, it looks like my two 
candlemarks are up."

Jh'rin walks in from the tunnel to the bowl.

R'ehn decides to attempt to figure what it is M'rgan and Kassima are 
discussing. Considering the persons in question it's certain to be 
educational.

Divya says "Yes, sir. Can I have a snack, please?"

Y'mil, still standing, finally determines that the poker game was just a 
hoax and returns dejectedly to his seat.

Jh'rin removes his helmet and gloves, long legs bearing him directly to 
the hearth as he announces cheerfully, "Ista's duty to the Reaches, her 
queens, and all the bloody snow y'got here."

D'va nods and pulls over the chair next to him and shoves his place over. 
"Here, you can have some of this casserole."

"He *would.* He's just like you, except with an even bigger head," Kassi 
retorts, ruffling the hapless brownrider's hair in a most annoying 
fashion. "Demented, deluded brownrider. Oh, you've got t'be heading back, 
then?" Before she can add the usual stolen 'fair winds' catchphrase, that 
familiar voice causes her to look up, and wave to Jh'rin in greeting. 
"Duties to Ista and her queens, Jhor, and fancy seeing you here!"

Divya wrinkles her nose just a little bit. "Ahh, can I have a little bit 
of roast, and some tubers instead?", she asks.

Jh'rin heads for Kassima, giving her cheek a lingering smooch. "Yeah, got 
tapped fer messenger duty; D'zel has some hides he wanted brought here. 
Shards, it's cold at this place." Then, with a grin, he adds, "Though the 
warmth in here helps lots."

R'ehn waves to Jh'rin in greeting after noting M'rgan's sufferance of the 
fate of ruffling.

D'va hrms. Well, it looks like he's stuck with the casserole. "Sure, 
Divya." He waves down a drudge and gets the girl to bring a plate with 
roast and tubers for his daughter.

Kassima returns the cheek-smooching, eyes a-sparkle. "As good a reason as 
any," she agrees with a grin. Nodding towards the tent peg-shaped pastry, 
she explains, "I'm just here t'torment Mart--the usual thing, y'know. 
How've things been faring with you lot up at Ista? Warmer than here or the 
Icy Wastes either one, I should hope."

M'rgan spends the next few seconds running his hands through his hair, 
trying to straighten it into some semblance of normalcy. Not that it ever 
looks all that normal. When his part is at least somewhat in the correct 
place, he raises his head to greet the Istan greenrider, smiling a bit 
since he knows that at least for the moment the man is 'safe'. "Evening, 
Jh'rin. It isn't cold yet. Give it a month and you'll know true cold."

"Hey, M'rgan." Jhor offers a hand to the handsome, long-limbed, fetching 
brownrider. "Good t'see ya."

R'ehn looks up at the mention of a familiar name and decides to pay more 
attention.

Kassima just grins at Mart's weird, ruffled hair. Her work here is done. 
"Bah, brownie--'tis *always* cold here. Just like back at Telgar. Save for 
in the summer, a'course, when it turns into a bloody oven. Hey... speaking 
of marks, as 'twere, don't forget that there'll be a Hatching t'be 
wagering on soon enough." She never does let up, does she? "Several of the 
wagering pools are already looking prosperous. I've become a bit of a 
wager-collector for the place, I fear." No surprises there.

M'rgan scrapes his chair back and rises before accepting the greenrider's 
hand. After checking it over first to make sure it's safe, of course. 
"The klah's drinkable for the moment and someone said that the hot cider 
is good if you like that sort of thing. That'll take away some of the 
cold."

Divya smiles as her dinner is set in front of her, complete with a mug of 
milk. She thanks the drudge, and tucks into her food.

D'va forgets himself for a moment. "Oh, R'ehn, this is my daughter, Divya. 
Divya, this is R'ehn. He's one of our new wingriders."

Jh'rin's grin is broad and crooked, much like one of his wingmates. "Well, 
thank you, M'rgan. Good t'see y'looking well. Siaroth sends her regards to 
yer equally dashing lifemate."

R'ehn waves cheerfully to Divya, "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm not really as 
clueless as they say, honest."

Divya turns and grins at the Rider. "Hello, I'm glad to meet you too. Do 
you like being in my Daddy's wing?"

Kassima just grins, then reminds Mart, "Don't forget your pastry, brownie. 
'Twould be a shame if'n someone else decided t'eat it while 'twas 
unattended."

M'rgan suddenly finds the need to have his hand back at his own side. 
Maybe Jh'rin isn't so safe after all. "Uh...you...uh...too. Well, I'd 
better get back to the children. Kassi, don't forget that half-mark I gave 
you." Hint. Hint.

Y'mil snickers and says, "Nobody likes bein' in y'r Daddy's wing, Divya."
With a straight face, Divya asks Y'mil "Why not?"

Kassima raises one hand to swear, "I shan't sing that particular song 
tonight, Mart. I swore, didn't I?" She does her best to look positively 
angelic.

"Like the cut of yer hides, M'rgan," Jhor observes, winking at Kassima 
before striding for the aforementioned cider.

R'ehn nods floofily, trying not to look at Y'mil lest he snicker. "It's a 
very interesting wing, and most of my family's in it."

Y'mil chuckles at D'va's daughter and says, "Because 'e doesn't play 
dragonpoker!" Y'mil, of course, is the only one who finds his 'joke' funny 
and starts laughing raucously.

Kassima grins impishly at Jhor. "They *are* flattering, aren't they? But 
he looks much more dashing in a kilt--you should just see sometime. I 
don't see how anyone could disagree with me on that."

A long-suffering sigh escapes M'rgan's mouth and he reluctantly reaches 
for the pastry box. At Jh'rin's comment though all reluctance disappears 
as the brownrider snatches up the box and scurries towards the lower 
caverns as fast as his long legs will take him.

M'rgan walks through the archway, into the lower caverns.

Jh'rin tilts his head to the side to watch M'rgan's exit. "Yeah, I can see 
that...shapely as those legs are..." Then, as the brownrider leaves, he 
laughs heartily and says, "I really shouldn't do that to th'poor man."

Divya giggles. Surprise, surprise, she actually knows what dragonpoker is, 
thanks to a certain slightly disreputable rider's help. :)

D'va rolls his eyes again and looks down at Divya. "It wasn't -that- 
funny, Divya." He hmpfs.

Kassima starts to applaud as Mart flees. "Good work, Jhor!" she heartily 
approves. "I've nay been able t'make him flee *that* fast since that 
incident wherein he threw a coat at me... 'tis a long story. Kudos t'you 
for that one indeed, Jhor-love."

Divya turns back toward R'ehn. She asks him, "How many members of your 
family are in my Daddy's wing?"

Shrugging, the Istan greenrider hands his saddlebags to a conveniently 
lingering dragonhealer, then tells Kassima, "Well, I can't say M'rgan's 
not a handsome chunk of male, but shards, I really have eyes for Ellie 
alone. How's my girl, by the way?"

Frowning and trying to figure the great interconnected weave that is his 
family tree, R'ehn hrmms. "Tiya, Margret, K'dar... Umm, how about lots? 
It's very diffifult to know who all I'm related to."

Divya's grin stretches from ear to ear. "I have the same problem too, 
sometimes," she confides.

D'va blinks. "Oh it's not -that- bad, Divya. You have your brother Br'mar 
and your foster sisters, Carissea and Emlyn." He thinks, then says, "And 
Carissea's got two kids, and then there's Margre.. hmmm." Instead of 
admitting that maybe his daughter's right, he instead begins eating 
again.

Kassima chuckles, smiling. "Commendable, that; more's the pity for Mart." 
She tries not to grin, but doesn't manage it very well. "Oh, she's a 
marvel! One and a half Turns now, y'know, and getting t'be more of a 
handful by the day. Got into the paints the other evening and left quite 
an interesting mural on 'Maeva's wall, I hear. I'll really have t'bring 
her up t'see you again sometime soon--especially if'n those quakes have 
stopped."

Jh'rin's cocky sort of smile softens perceptibly; he really, really adores 
his single daughter, and that much shows in the shine of his amber eyes. 
"I'll send her something soon. Shards, I miss her. Give her a smooch from 
her da, okay?"

Divya happily tucks back into her own dinner, glad she got out of eating 
the casserole.

R'ehn shakes his head with a grin. "See, it's hard to tell. I figure I 
just nod at whoever calls me Uncle R'ehn and just do whatever people say 
in case we're related."

Kassima smiles with real warmth up at the greenrider. "By all means, Jhor, 
and gladly. I'm certain she'll be delighted. I'll try and get her t'turn 
her paint fixation towards actually dabbing it on hide or something, so we 
can send you something in return, if'n you like."

Divya cocks her head slightly. "I guess if I just call most grownups 
"Aunt" or "Uncle" I'll be pretty safe then, won't I", she wonders. "And I 
usually do what I'm told, just in case anyway."

D'va nods. "Just make sure they're not too young or you might upset 
them."

"I'll try t'visit, at least when Leilanth's clutch cracks, awright?" Jhor 
turns Kassima's face toward his and kisses her tenderly. "But I gotta get 
back soon, love. Ellie and I have a dragonwashing scheduled."

R'ehn grins and nods, climbing to his feet. "Yep, that should work." He 
waves. "Have to run, later all."

D'va nods. "Clear skies, R'ehn."

Kassima kisses the greenrider back, nodding as he draws away. "Actually," 
she admits, getting to her feet, "I should be going m'self, since I've 
finished m'tormenting for the eve. Clear skies and fair winds--and take 
care of yourself, eh?"

Divya waves goodbye to R'ehn and echoes what her father says.

Jh'rin cirlces Kassima waist with his arm, preparing to guide her out to 
the bowl.

R'ehn snags his orange spotted jacket and whistling cheerfully heads out 
the door.

R'ehn wanders outside to the bowl.

Kassima laughs and dips a curtsey to the other greenrider, sliding an arm 
around his waist in turn and willingly letting herself be guided.

Jh'rin walks outside to the bowl.

You wander outside to the bowl.

Jh'rin smiles despite the chill of the evening. "Take care, Kassima. Try 
to visit when you can, all right?"

Lysseth rumbles lightly to her rider, just in case the absent-minded woman 
might have forgotten where she parked her. With a chuckle at her 
lifemate's foibles, Kassi gives Jhor a one-armed hug. "Thankee for the 
chivalry, Jhor. Rest assured that 'twill, when duties permit. Same goes 
for you, eh?"

Jh'rin nods, reaches out a hand to rub Lysseth's muzzle, and kisses 
Kassima tenderly on the lips. "Lest you ferget...I love you. Clear skies, 
Wingleader." Still smiling, he heads to his own green.

Kassima smiles and calls back, "I love you, too, Wingsecond. Fair be the 
wind t'you and your lifemate on your way home." She reaches for her own 
dragon's straps, as Lysseth warbles her own quiet parting note.

You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly. 
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower 
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered 
foreleg.

<*> Jh'rin uses the azure riding straps to pull himself astride Siaroth.

<*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up 
dust as she takes to the skies.

You leap into the sky.