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Love On the Rocks


Date:  November 12, 2004
Places:  Telgar Weyr Lake Shore; 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:  M'rek is a bad, bad influence on Our Heroine--it's 
scandalous enough that he talks her into a trip to drink at (and be 
thrown out of) every pub on Pern, which is of course an idea she'd
never, ever have had on her own, innocent lamb that she is.  But 
by the end of the evening, not only is she drunk, but she's also in
a five-way weyrmating and has borne a child who's a pre-teen 
alcoholic!  Or, well, something like that.  Cailin's no help either;
by keeping the liquor flowing, she proves herself a terrible 
enabler.  Wouldn't you just know. ;)

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The Log:

Ulfianth flies in from 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.

At Telgar in winter, the denizens do any number of things to distract
themselves from the horrid weather. In Kassi's case, this would apparently
mean practicing archery. She's set up some snow-dusted bales of straw on a
stretch of ground near the Lake, and is taking aim at them with arrows and
a longbow... with, it should be noted, a marked lack of success for the
most part, punctuated by muttered expletives. Lysseth is much-amused by
this spectacle, but nevertheless tears her attention away from snickering
at her rider long enough to rumble cordial greetings.

M'rek strips off his helmet but leaves the fastened bandanna to his head,
keeping it warm for at least a little while longer in the dead of winter.
Dark eyes watch Kassi practice her archery for a while. "You should stick
to knives. Though. It would be very useful to know someone good with a bow.
Just in case." He slants his smile at her and then asks, "Are you as
dangerous with hair pins as you are with knives, by any chance,
Kassi-darling?"

"M'rek!" Kassi greets, lowering the bow and turning to flash a grin at him.
"Aren't I terrible? But 'tis the first time I've practiced it, in
m'defense. 'Twas terribly bored, and I've been meaning t'try and learn
shooting for awhile, so I thought, why nay? Then I thought, 'Because 'tis
windy, you git.' But ideally I'd have t'learn t'shoot into the wind
eventually *anyway*, so... I prefer the knives. *They* always go where I
want them." One black brow arcs upwards. "Truth be told, I've never *tried*
t'kill something with a hair pin t'know for sure. It might be an
interesting experiment. Dare I even inquire why you ask?"

M'rek chuckles, "I know a Lady who can do some damage with a hairpin. S'why
I wondered. Aye, you rarely do get to shoot on a windless day. Might help
if you put some effegies on your hay bales though. Favorite bronzeriders?"
He winks, incorrigible, "I've come to cure your boredom and mine in one
fail swoop. Let's hit every bar in the north and see how many we can get
thrown out of. Doesn't that sound like a nice way to pass the afternoon?"
Like he's suggesting knitting booties or something.

Kassima's response to that is an amused, "Told Vahara a hair pin could be
weapon enough. Aye--" She fiddles with her belt for a moment, pulling free
from some hidden place four thin, sharp-bladed hair pins to hold up by way
of evidence. "They can be useful. D'you know, I thought of that? But
whenever I try that method, all the knives--or arrows--lodge in the groin
area, for some strange reason. Can't understand it." Her expression is all
innocence, if you ignore the dancing eyes. "--*Every* bar? This sounds like
a way t'end up pickled t'death t'me. Which means I like it. Bless your
brilliant mind. Where'd you have in mind t'start?"

M'rek chuckles and looks at the hairpins before he nods, "Aye. That's them.
Dangerous things." Then there's deep laughter for the location of choice,
"Aye. I'll remember not to get you too vexed then. I've got a reputation to
keep up now, it would seem. Don't want that Nay erased off the wall. Aye.
Every one. Let's go start someplace to get warmed up. I'm
thinking..starsmiths. They're all up all night anyway. I bet we can overrun
the bar, and then hit the beastcraft. Or should we start sober at the
beastcraft?"

"You aren't about t'convince me you didn't have a reputation t'keep up
*before*," Kassi drolly informs, slipping the pins back into place and
de-stringing her bow. "Don't worry, though: I don't have reason t'try and
castrate you yet as far as I know." Oh, how reassuring. The grin that goes
with it is too wicked to be all that reassuring either. "Dawn Sisters
sounds grand; I haven't had a Nova in months--huh, good question. The wrath
of the Herders might be less if'n we did. On the other hand, the wrath of
the Herders might be more entertaining for us if'n we didn't."

M'rek spends way to much of his life around people he really should have
the sense to stay away from. He grins dopily at Kassima makes that milk
curdling smile of possible castration, "Aye. Let's risk the wrath and start
with the Dawnsisters. I could use a warm up first, need to find my pace,
you know?"

Kassima's nod is all too understanding--and her expression all too
entertained. "Oh, I know. Pub crawling's an *art*. You can't just throw
yourself into the drunkenness unless you want t'wake up on the floor of the
third bar you go to t'find that someone's written 'I'm Paying the Tab' on
your forehead for the barman t'see; and as it happens m'cousin used t'be
Craftsecond at that Hall, so mayhaps we can use her name in vain t'delay
getting thrown out too soon. She'd only kill me a little." She winks and
detours long enough to pick various arrows out of the snow, sliding them
back into their quiver and setting the quiver and the bow on top of the
barely-marked bales. "Lead the way, O Ye Grand Savior From Tedium."

M'rek snorts in laughter, "I bet between us we know someone at every
worthwhile drinking establishment ever graced by a pint. On second thought,
let's start at the Masterbeastcraft Hall. They hide the good stuff better
than the other places, and I want to see if I can peeve Lord Vorlin by
making a nuisance of myself down there. Did you know he forced Elinore to
write them an apology for not drinking their milk?" He reaches Ulfianth and
swings up.

M'rek uses a combination of handholds on the straps and Ulfianth's bent
forelimb to climb up on the ice in summer bronze's back.

Kassima wonders as she crunches back through the snow towards her lifemate,
"Have you nay peeved Lord Vorlin enough lately, what with beating him up
and all? And for the record, I still want t'hear that story--" She hooks
her fingers into the straps and sets to scrambling up. "*This* story too.
How many colors exactly did she turn?"

On Ulfianth, M'rek laughs as he buckles in and then signals with his hand,
he'll tell her later, surely.

Ulfianth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him
aloft.

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.

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

You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor
to carry you aloft.

<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.

Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> Ulfianth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> Ulfianth wings his way down slowly.

You wind 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.

<*> Lysseth spirals to a rather leisurely sort of landing, wingsails
flirting with air warmer by far than that above the frigid ice-hole she
calls home. "Don't even think of traumatizing the livestock, Lyss," Kassi
warns as she slides down. "Getting thrown out's *our* job."

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.

<Weavers> Learan peers out at the pond. :)

M'rek rolls down Ulfianth's side after the bronze, who can't seem to catch
a green since his first flight to save his life, thumps down, so close to
the pond that M'rek's socks get damp. "Aye. Here we are. I think this'll be
a good starting point. It's a lounge, after all."

<Weavers> Kassima looks innocent. :) Just visiting! Really! ;)

<Weavers> Learan says, "Oh, yeah, I believe that."

<Weavers> Learan says, "MBH used to be one of the stops on the Nines?"

<Weavers> Kassima says, "Yep yep. The nine taverns rather than the nine
Weyrs. We once did a pub crawl stop there and ended up bringing Glynna of
all people along with us, if you can believe it."

<Weavers> Learan says, "Actually, I can believe that. I guess I'm surprised
that MBH would be one of the stops since we don't actually have a "tavern".
The Apprentice Lounge doesn't serve alcohol, really :)"

<Weavers> Learan says, "Of course, if it was under Lorianne's watch, all
bets are off. ;)"

<Weavers> Kassima says, "It's been so many years that I don't remember
well, but I know there was ale on tap whichever part of the Hall we went
to, and that's what we drank. It was under Lorianne, yeah. ;)"

"Quite so. A good place to ease into the whole 'frying every brain cell in
our heads' thing," Kassima decides, giving her lifemate's shoulder a
grateful slap for *not* landing her with soaked socks. "And if'n
Emasculators end up being waved at us at any point... well, at least *I'm*
safe."

M'rek snickers, "Aye, and I'll hide behind you, for greenriders are the
best defense to be found on Pern." Outside of maybe Gerome for some
situations, "I'm not too ashamed to seek your protection." He assimilates
the slight change in weather by tugging his helmet back off and pushing it
into a pocket, "After you, my dearest dangerous one."

<Bitra> Kassima says, "Five points!"

[Editor's Note:  There is a game where a word of the day is chosen 
and every time that word is used, a player gets five points.  
Today's word was 'assimilate.' ;) ]

<Bitra> Gerome bursts out laughing

<Bitra> Cailin laughs!

Kassima affects a look of dismay. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, you're
hiding *behind* me rather than hiding *from* me? Clearly I'm slipping in
m'nefarious and life-threatening ways. This is just tragic and sad. But
if'n there's any chance of wheedling you into paying for drinks at some
point here, why, then, 'twill protect gladly. Protection's a fair exchange
for assimilating marks." Naturally. She likewise removes helmet and gloves,
pushing the latter into her pockets but letting the former swing by its
chin-strap from her fingers; she gives him an ironic bow and an, "As many
dangerous women as you must know, I'm flattered," before heading inside.

You stoop, and enter the poorly-lit lounge.

M'rek stoops as he comes into the lounge.

Eniah looks up at the newcomers, waving, "Hi!"

Cailin sits at the table, with Cain settled in her lap as she ignores hide
work, in favor of chatting with Eniah, it seems. His greeting causes her to
look up and lift a brow as she greets, "Beastcraft's duties to Telgar and
Reaches. G'afternoon M'rek... And Kassima, isn't it?"

Kassima ruffles her forelock with her fingers as she enters, the better to
dispel any traces of helmet-hair. "Duties t'the Beastcraft and her
Masters," she offers pleasantly enough. "--Stars, I've nay been here in an
age. Or two. Probably nay since the last time we Searched someone here and
got chased off for that. G'day!" she adds to Eniah, smiling. "Or, aye,
g'dafternoon more like. Heyla, Journeywoman. I'm surprised you remember me."

M'rek is speaking to Kassima as he follows her into the room and tries to
assimilate the surroundings into his definition of lounge as bar, place of
beverage indulgence. "Aye. I'll pay for drinks, but not at any Keroon
establishments, for I had trouble there once with some bad marks. Oh. I'm
just as terrified of you as always, Kassi-love. It's just that I've been
dead so many times now that the knocking of my knees has faded into the
background." And then he laughs, "Aye, and there'r the ones who are more
insane than dangerous. Greetings Beastcraft! A round of your finest for me
and my greenriding friend. Hello there, Cailin. G'day to you." He waves to
Cailin and Eniah both.

Eniah laughs, informing Kassima with the bluntness of a child, "You talk
funny."

<Bitra> M'rek gets another 5 for that one. :)

Anora comes in from the hallway.

<Bitra> Cailin says, "Indeedy :)"

<Bitra> Kassima says, "Five more. I have a feeling you're going to have a
lot of points by the end of the day. ;)"

<Bitra> Gerome chuckles.

<Bitra> Gerome hasn't used the name Vorli in rp in over an rl month :) what
does that get him.

Anora comes barreling into the lounge from the hallway, babbling to every
person that she can. "Dragons! I seed dragons! Maybe Teen is home!" She's
darted off again before most people can reply but comes to a screeching
halt as she spots the strangers in the room.

<Bitra> M'rek awards Gerome 20 pts, and new favorite V name. ;)

<Bitra> Gerome says, "Vorli? :)"

<Bitra> Gerome says, "that was actually a typo :) but okay"

<Bitra> Edris wonders if anyone could get away with that one.

<Bitra> Gerome says, "Zhasha"

Cailin chuckles softly, resettling Cain as she replies, "You'd be hard to
forget, Kassima. Considering the events of our first meeting, you left
quite the impression." She glances then to M'rek, her expression quite
innocent, "Of our finest what, M'rek?"

<Bitra> Cailin wouldn't even try ;)


Cailin:
A curtain of light, sun-streaked brown hair falls in gentle waves to the
middle of her back when unbound; as it is just now. Her lightly tanned, but
fair complexion, is dappled with freckles across her pert nose and
spreading out to her cheeks. While pale-green eyes seem to darken with her
mood, though that might be just a trick of the light. Her height is a
rather unremarkable average, (about 5'6"), but her form is fairly athletic
and she carries herself with a certain amount of self confidence, on most
occasions.

Mossy green sisal accentuates toned form, from the chest to the waist.
Close fitting sleeves end in double, ruffled cuffs -- A short outer layer
of matching fabric laying over a slightly longer, print layer with the
pattern of matching colored leaves on pale cream. While the v'd neckline is
graced with a wide, floaty ruffle of it's own. A trail of cloth covered
buttons start, from under the ruff at the point of the v, and trace down
the front. Close fitting trousers run the length of long legs, covering
them in a warm, medium brown that end at her ankle's base, covering part of
the lace-up, black boots. On her shoulder is is a simple Journeyman
Herder's knot.


<Bitra> Edris nods and wants to see it.

Eniah looks to Anora, looking far superior as being ever so slightly older
than the smaller girl, "They're not Teen bringing dragons, they're funny
talking dragons." he says, as if that explains /everything/.

"Methinks I can handle paying at Keroon, if'n Keroon has bars. But add how
and why you got your hands on bad marks to the ever-growing list of stories
I need t'plague you for," Kassima instructs, with a grin over her shoulder
to the bronzerider. "You poor thing. Hopefully we can keep our personal
tally of deaths to one more each today, from alcohol poisoning alone... ah,
do I now?" The charge wouldn't seem to offend her. Amuse her, yes. She
makes a show of considering for a moment and then nods to Eniah, agreeing,
"Compared t'some, I do. A'course, most of you still sound a little funny
t'*me*. D'you mean our dragons?" the greenrider asks Anora with a friendly
smile. "A bronze dragon and a big, spoiled green brat? Thankee for that,
Cailin... methinks. I generally try. And m'belated congratulations on that
fine child you're holding."

<Bitra> Gerome wants to introduce Cailin to Zhasha.. actualy lock Zhasha,
Elinore and Cailin in a room.. :)

<Bitra> Kassima says, "A +watchable room? Please please please? ;)"

<Bitra> Gerome says, "Zhasha touches Vorlin in public .."

<Bitra> Cailin's good with that. ;) And with +watchable. ;)

M'rek starts knocking around the room, looking into people glasses
suspiciously, "Where's all the booze? What kind of lounge is this, anyway?"
He frowns a little bit and stands with arms akimbo, "Cailin. Lass, where do
they hide the good stuff around here? Or is the redfruit juice spiked?"
Laughter comes for Kassi, "Aye. We'll try to keep it to self annihilaton
today only."

Anora sticks her tongue out at Eniah and actually makes a 'nyah' sound. Her
awe lessens a bit as the rider speaks to /her/. "Yessem. I seed those
dragons outside. I wish they had bringed my brother home. He's been gone
forever!"

<Bitra> Cailin says, "Course, is anyone going to dare -tell- Cai that? Or
just hope she sees it sometime? ;)"

<Bitra> Gerome didn't see it icly

<Bitra> M'rek uses a knickname with him, but we're on a stabbing basis.

<Bitra> Gerome grins, I just call him Bitra

<Bitra> Cailin got away with Vor, before. :)

Learan comes in from the hallway.

Eniah does what any youngster would do in the face of someone sticking a
tongue out at them, he sticks his tongue out back, "Yeah, well mebbe he's
/never/ coming back." he throws verbally at Anora.

"Your welcome, and Cain and I thank you as well." Cailin glances from her
son and then back to Kassima before chuckling to M'rek, "Apprentice lounge.
The Headwoman keeps track of most all the 'good stuff'. Though there's a
skin of wine in my cottage if you'd like to get that, otherwise we'd have
to track some down."

<Bitra> M'rek says, "The Man's shown up to smack us down. :)"

<Bitra> Vahara giggles...

<Bitra> Gerome laughs, learan finaly showed up

<Bitra> Vahara wants to go on the next pub crawl!

<Bitra> Cailin says, "He was at lunch until just about the time the
invasion started I think :)"

Distracted, Kassi calls, "There used t'be a good ale here, but that was
admittedly a few Craftmasters ago... shells, you don't suppose Learan's
done away with the alcohol, d'you?" Color her vaguely appalled as she tries
to assimilate this idea. "The world wouldn't be so cruel, surely--you can
call me Kassi, lass, if'n you want," she breaks off to tell Anora. "Or
Kassima; I'm nay very picky. I'm afraid we didn't bring any brothers with
us, though, unless M'rek's someone's brother. Where's your brother been?"
Her smile for Cailin and Cain would seem to be the simple expression of a
woman who likes small children. "Welcome--oh, shells. I just remembered.
M'rek, next stop, don't let me forget that I've something in Lyss's
strap-pouch for you."

<Bitra> M'rek says, "5 pts!"

<Bitra> Kassima looks proud!

Anora stands far enough into the lounge that people can still get through
the door without tripping over her. Her face screws up into the threat of a
tantrum and she stamps her foot instead. "You're just a /boy/! What do you
know?!?" she tosses out, like that's the worst insult she's ever heard
before. She does dimple for the lady rider though. "He's at Harper. Unka
Learan sended him there coz he played the drums /all/ the time."

Learan enters alone. He stops at the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust to
the dimmer light in the cramped room. He quietly and quickly surveys the
room's occupants. "Beastcraft's duties, riders," he says pleasantly as he
steps in. "May I offer you something we don't keep available for our
Apprentices?" he asks, guessing at their reason for being in the lounge.

Eniah hops off his chair to properly get into a yelling match with the
young girl, apparently not having noticed Learan's entrance into the
lounge, "More that a stupid /girl/. Girls dont know nuttin! AND they cant
play tag worth beans." well if that doesnt cap it nothing will.

M'rek keeps peering into cups and glasses and even checks a glowbasket or
two, just in case someone stashed something because that might be where he
hides some of his liquor at various evil Lord's Holds. He can't seem to
assimilate what Cailin says, "Are you sure? It's a /lounge/ isn't it?"
Strolling around, he takes a look at the chip off the old eyebrow, "Cain's
getting big. Do you put brandy in his milk?" Way too much hope in that.
"Wouldn't want you to go all the way over to the cottage just on our
account." He spins on his heel and says warmly, "High Reaches' duties,
Master Learan. Aye. If you've a mind to share something, we've a mind to
partake."

Anora stomps her foot again and tosses her head. "Can too play tag. You're
just too slow to catch me." She looks for a nice escape route to prove it,
only to find the doorway blocked by Unka Learan.

<Bitra> Kassima rings up another five for M'rek. ;)

Learan's expression becomes more serious. "Eniah. Anora. Behave or I will
have to inform your respective mothers about this." Believing that is
enough, he starts to wave over Cailin, but notices she has her son with
her. He waves over an older apprentice and whispers something to him,
handing him a key. The young man nods and runs out. "To what do we owe the
honor of this visit?" he asks.

Eniah glances briefly Learan wards before hissing at Anora with the classic
response, "Can not!"

Kassima nods her understanding to Anora. "Probably a good idea," she
offers. "M'youngest daughter, I'm considering sending to the Hall for
pretty much that reason. Except she sings and pipes, too. Loudly. We might
stop by Harper Hall today--we really should; Faranth knows *they've* got
liquor--so mayhaps we can tell him heyla for you, if'n we see him?" She
makes an amused sound at Eniah's claim. "Some girls can play tag *very*
well. Just ask Lysseth. Oh, duties to the Hall and yourself, Craftmaster--"
She turns about to face Learan directly, flashing him a grin. "Would you?
That'd be beyond lovely, if'n we'd nay be impinging on your hospitality too
much. M'rek and I are doing a grand tour of Pern this evening, t'sample the
delights of all the North's finest Holds and Halls." She diplomatically
leaves out the 'And then get thrown out of them' part.

Cailin chuckles as she watches M'erks searching, "I'm sure. Yes..." Then
with a crooked smile, "Aye. He is getting big. He's six months today,
actually...Without the help of brandy." Learan saves her from the other and
she looks that way, as she nods in simple greeting, "Craftmaster."

The grownups are ignored and Anora gets one of those 'oh yeah?' looks on
her face and darts towards the hallway door. "Too slow! Too slow! Eniah
can't catch me!" she sings out as she runs as fast as short legs will carry
her.

Anora opens the door to the Herder Hall's main hallway and goes through.

Eniah isnt far behind the young girl as he bellows, no doubt goign to get
him in trouble later, "Can too!" and he too barrels out of the lounge into
the hallway.

Eniah opens the door to the Herder Hall's main hallway and goes through.

M'rek rubs his hands together eagerly and bounces on his toes at Learan's
getting out of the key. Liquor kept locked up is always a good sign. "Aye.
Just a round of visits to further personal relations with..uh, whatever
Kassi said. We're here to offer charm and our smiling faces in exchange for
hospitality of the imbibable kind." Then he figures they might be doing
better with his mouth shut and so he waits with an eager look in his eyes.

Learan watches his neice depart, then glances at his fosterson to see what
he plans on doing. Once they both depart, he breathes a sigh of relief.
"Well, I had heard that once riders visited the Hall for more than a snack
for their dragon. Back when Master Lorianne was Craftmaster." The
implication that the intervening Craftmaster, his namesake, wasn't as
accommodating to riders and their thirsts. "I've found it best to keep the
good stuff properly locked up for special occasions."

<Bitra> M'rek awards us 10 pts for getting locked up liquor.

<Bitra> Cailin grins :)

<Bitra> Kassima says, "How many points will it be worth when we get
ourselves locked up? ;)"

<Bitra> M'rek says, "A bunch.."

<Bitra> M'rek says, "Then we can send for Rodric to spring us."

<Bitra> Kassima says, "Odds on him managing to just get locked up with us
in the doing? ;)"

<Bitra> M'rek says, "Or. If he's..uh..washing his hair, LV."

<Bitra> M'rek says, "Very high.."

<Bitra> Cailin was going to say... ;)

<Bitra> Kassima dies laughing. Okay, the mental image of LV springing us
and Rodric out of the drink tank? That's the most outstanding thing I've
heard all week. ;)

<Bitra> M'rek says, "And he'd do it too. Just to look at us. We'd wait
until the absolute middle of the night to call him."

<Bitra> Cailin can see it, yep :)

"That would've been about when 'twas last here on a social visit, aye,"
Kassima admits, rather sheepish. "I hadn't often the pleasure during Master
Leara's tenure. Such active children the Hall has these days." There's a
certain wry humor in that, said as she watches Anora and Eniah depart.
"Anyway, rest assured that I don't think dragon-snacks are part of the
plan." Although she doesn't bounce openly--quite--her grin at the mention
of liquor held captive is a decidedly bright one all the same.

Cailin brushes her hair back out of her face with one hand and chuckles,
"Considering some of the apprentices in the last few turns...Locking it up
was, like as not, a wise idea. I can think of a fair few who'd have been
into it other wise."

[Editor's Note:  M'rek had to disconnect here due to work foo.]

Kassima casts Cailin an amused grin. "Any chance of the naming of names?"
she wonders, head tipping to one side. "Nay that it surprises me. The
riders who'd been Herders, who came pub-crawling with us, were fair
incorrigible about the ale. C'ron's the one who told us about it in the
first place, in fact."

One of the assistant Headwomen enters the Hall with a bottle of what looks
to be a fine liquor. "Thank you Edda," Learan says taking the bottle. He
looks at the clear liquid within the clear bottle. "We have Benden Red if
that's your preference, but this is something I've taken a liking to from
the Master Vinter."

Cailin tisks softly, "Well it wasn't my particular temptation, t'be sure. I
tended to find other ways t'get myself in trouble. But as for others? Well,
if I knew anything of them, I'd have had to report them, of course." Such
an innocent look she gives for that.

Kassima's interest is caught at once by the bottle, her attention swinging
towards it and the man who holds it like a compass needle towards north.
"Benden Red's a sentimental favorite," she readily admits, "but I'm up
t'try nigh aught, goodness knows--as I expect can be said of M'rek.
Certainly a Craftmaster's taste in liquors is generally quite trustworthy."
As she speaks, she gestures towards the nearest empty seating surface in
silent question: may she sit? "--'Tis scarcely the only or always most
entertaining one can get into trouble, nay... oh, well, quite understood."
She gives Cailin a grave nod. Her eyes half a telltale glint of laughter in
them however. "In that case, I'm sure you knew naught."

Learan nods to Kassima's implied permission to sit. He goes to collect some
clean glasses and sets four down, unstoppering the bottle and pouring two
fingers worth in each glass. He then slides one before Kassima, M'rek, and
Caidan, keeping one for himself. Restoppering the bottle, he sets it on the
table and raises his glass. "Should we toast to something?"

Cailin waves with one hand to the seat Kassi requests, giving her silent
agreement there, "I couldn't tell you to be sure, but I'd expect your right
about his selection." For the other she nods, "Aye, when I was an
apprentice, we certainly had pleantly ways to get into trouble without it's
influence." She sends a glance at her Craftmaster then, before casting the
greenrider a wink. To Learan she suggests, "We could offer a toast to
trouble, considering the current topic."

Kassima sinks into the seat with a grin of thanks split between both
Crafters, and watches the pouring with shining eyes. "Better t'sip or
shoot?" she wonders, taking up her glass without drinking yet. "I don't
know so much about the ways of Apprentices personally--I never made it to a
Crafthall. But going by what m'kin have said, methinks that's a common
thread from Craft t'Craft. And Craft t'Weyr. And Weyr t'Hold. And so on...
trouble's certes something I can drink to. Enthusiastically."

Learan replies to Kassima first. "This is sipping liquor, though if you
were of a mind to numb your tongue instantly, you could shoot." He lifts
his glass higher. "To trouble then. Or the lack thereof in this Interval."
He takes a sip.

"Sipping sounds fine to me." Cai says as she, almost hesitantly picks up
her own glass. "Haven't had anything in over a turn, after all." She gives
them each a smile as she hefts the glass, "Trouble then...Or, aye sir, it's
lack."

"As many places as we've yet t'go to, I'm probably going t'need m'tongue.
And I'd nay want t'dishonor a sipping vintage by treating it thus." Kassima
raises her glass as well. "To trouble. And to the hope that if'n there must
be trouble in the Interval, 'twill at least be of the interesting and
potentially entertaining variety." A distinctly understanding grin is
flicked to Cailin. "I hope the deprival hasn't been as bothersome t'you as
I usually find it. It doesn't seem fair that bairns' time of colic and the
lot coincides with the mother nay being able t'drink." She sips delicately
on that sentiment, rolling the liquor around in her mouth to savor its taste.

Learan makes a very satisfied sound at the first sip. "Trust Kassima to
make an interesting toast," he says, the alcohol already warming his cheeks.

Cailin takes her own sip, savoring the taste with a quiet, "Oh my," her
comment there, before she replies on the other, "Can't say as I minded
being deprived. I never drank as much as those whose company I tended to
keep before I had to do without. Besides, I discovered a juice I quite
favored in the mean time, to make up for the lack." She smiles then to
Learan, "Interesting, to be sure. And you two know each other already then?"

Kassima's own sigh once she finally swallows is likewise a satisfied one.
"Remind me t'let you recommend liquors more oft, Craftmaster, if'n 'twill.
This makes as good a start to the quest as I could be hoping for. I don't
suppose there's any wheedling the secret of how you got it out of the
Vintners, is there?" She flashes a grin for the perceived compliment,
lifting her glass a bit again; this time in toast to him. "Fortunate you.
I've been an acknowledged lush since graduation, mostly. Which is how I
ended up with so many children in the first place. What sort of juice is
this?" The question is genuinely interested. "We've met a time or two
a'fore. And a'course I've heard things about him from Ka--others."

Learan nods to Cailin's question. "We have met. And even if we hadn't, one
would have to be a hermit not to have heard of Kassima of Telgar nee
Benden," he says, rasing his glass to the greenrider and finishing off the
liquor within. "You just need to know what you have that the Master Vinter
wants. That and know what questions to ask," he adds with a mysterious grin.

"I was never one for being left fuzzy headed to often. Wasn't good for my
charges." Cailin replies with a grin. She takes another sip of her own
drink before she pauses, "I'm not quite sure where Vor...He gets it." She
stops herself, glancing at Learan and then finishing a bit lamely, "M'rek
might know what it is and from where. You could ask him?" For the other she
nods, "I see. And if my first meeting of her is any to judge by, I can see
why you'd say so, sir." She smiles then at Kassima, but refrains again from
elaborating.

Kassima's flush of color isn't likely attributable to the liquor. "I doubt
I can claim such prestige as that," she laughs, shaking her head in
demurral. "Or infamy, as the case might be. Although 'twill confess a
desire for such a'fore I meet my ending. Thankee." She takes a second slow
sip, not speaking right away while she simply enjoys it. "Isn't *that*
always the way. Why do I have a feeling that if'n I just ask outright what
Master Baleera might want, I won't get an answer?" she teases, grinning at
the Craftmaster; then, with a laugh, "A point, Journeywoman. A true point.
Fortunately for me, m'charges are oft enough drunk off *their* heads when
'tisn't a time of duty." Her left brow twitches a fraction at the
unfinished name. "If'n you ever happen t'find out... or aye, I can plague
M'rek along the way. So many things I already intend t'pester him about,
what's one more? Oh, shells, I promise, I don't do that *every* time I
visit somewhere. Or at home either. That was a profitable fluke."

Learan looks at his empty glass and then the two women he's sharing the
drink with. "Why would you want to plague M'rek? He seems quite the nice
fellow."

"M'rek -is- a nice, fellow, of course. But one that has an affinity for
trouble uniquely his own. I'd rather guess he'd enjoy the attention of
being plagued." Cailin replies to Learan first this time, then smiles to
Kassi, "Enough prestige though, it would seem, for now." Chuckling she goes
on, "I'd be worried if my charges managed to get themselves drunk. Most of
them having been runners in the past. And now, well, hides or what ever
else the good Craftmaster comes up with for me." But she nods, "I can ask,
but since you seem more apt to see M'rek first. Might save some time. I
just know they import it from somewhere."

"Because I'm a deeply curious person, and he's full of interesting
stories," Kassi answers readily enough. "I want t'hear as many of 'em as I
can get out of him--willingly, at least. He is quite nice, particularly
given that he's paying the tab on our jaunt, and so I've nay intention of
threatening his important bits in exchange for secrets or the like." No
doubt that's endlessly reassuring. "Can one ever have enough prestige?
Well, but probably so. There are times when one might nay want t'be known.
I'd sharding well *hope* the hides can't get themselves drunk, although I'd
love t'see it if'n they did; it might mean they'd start dancing on the
tables. I recall you spoke of runners. Is it racers you specialize in?"

Learan looks between the two women. "Okay," he all he says. He unstoppers
the bottle. "Another?"

Cailin gives another careful look at the Master beside her, before she
replies, "After a fashion. I have a knack with them, but my specialty is
more along the lines of runner breeding and pedigrees. I've spent many a
night up with my share of foaling mares and then planning out composition
of the next turns foal crop." She back tracks then to the other enough to
agree, "He does have a fair few stories, I'm sure. And if my hides start
dancing on the tables, I'll be sure your the first I call. After Master
Liah anyway, to check my head." But back to Learan she nods, "I'd not say
no, sir."

Neither would Kassi. She says, in fact, "Absolutely," and nudges her glass
forward. "Thankee. Ah, I see--I ask because I've a cousin-by-marriage in
the Craft who specializes; Master Jessamyne, posted at Greystones. She's
been working many a Turn on developing a good racing line, with some
financial assistance from yours truly. She's been looking for some new
blood for the line, thus my interest... and I appreciate that. I'd certes
nay want t'be missing *that* spectacle."

Learan is about to pour when he is summoned. "Here," he says, sliding the
bottle to Cailin. "I trust you to lock this up when our guests leave." He
stands, straightens his shirt. "Clear skies." Then he's gone.

Cailin watches Learan depart with a 'Yes sir,' before she turns back with
an interested expression, "He's not overly fond of racing." She explains
and then smiles, "Looking for new blood, is she? Any idea what lines she
currently works with, primarily?"

Kassima quirks both brows up. "What's nay t'be fond of with racing? Lovely
t'watch, and there are marks t'be won--but 'twill remember that for the
future, so I don't speak of it too much and bore him. She began with a roan
I bought from the Craft some Turns agone after a rodeo," the greenrider
explains, getting into her subject. "Good pedigree, though she'd be the one
t'give specifics. I bought him on a whim after the bronc-riding and she saw
the potential in him. The first couple of mares were brought from Ruatha,
purchased cheap because *they* didn't do much even though their blood was
good... and methinks she brought in a daughter of Lady Filliana's Adair
some time later. I could be wrong about that, though. I'm still part-owner
of some of the line, but I leave those considerations entirely t'her since
she knows what she's doing."

"It's not so much it bores him as he doesn't approve." Cailin clarifies,
"It's not an easy subject t'discuss with him at the best of times." Her
drink she nurses along this time, and eventually Cain is handed off to a
nanny that comes through on her way to the nurseries most likely, "Hmm, so
mostly Ruathan, but with a hint of Bitra and probably Keroon lines?" She
settles back, considering, "Bitra has a couple nice studs just now, that
I'd expect one of them would be a fine cross. I'd recommend breeding to
Fair Red's line as you can."

"Doesn't approve." Kassi's now openly bewildered. "Why doesn't he approve?"
She wiggles the fingers of the hand not holding her glass after the child
as he departs, automatically smiling, then refocuses her attention. "Aye,
methinks so. Possibly some Bollian--I *believe* Fil brought Adair up from
Boll; I'm fair sure she didn't yet live at Bitra when I first saw him
racing for her there. The foals so far have by and large been good, with
the occasional one not suited much t'racing. But Jessa says she thinks
we've hit the peak within the line itself and need a fresh punch of
something t'be improving it. Fair Red...." She repeats the name again
silently, making mental note. "Would you suggest buying a stallion's
services, or trying t'purchase a mare?"

"He sees it a wasting good runners and such. He doesn't see the point or
profit in breeding for runner racing." Cailin gives a mild shrug for that,
but a smile for the reaction to her son's departure before she goes on,
"There are always some not suited for the task they are bred for, that's
hardly surprising. Fair Red's a stallion that didn't race himself, but his
get have shown me impressive promise. I would think, depending on the
specific pedigrees, and the amount you'd want to invest, she might want to
do either."

Kassima tilts her head to the side again. "Do runners nay like t'run?" she
wonders. "I'd thought they did. That's part of the fun of racing--or
gambling on racing, anyway--trying t'guess which one will have the heart
for it as well as who has the look and pedigree. Well, anyway. I picked up
a lovely blue roan filly for m'daughter out of the line who hadn't it in
her t'be a racer, one Turn, and she made a good if'n spirited riding mount.
Jessa's sold a couple more foals for that purpose since at fair profit."
This description of the stud gets a thoughtful nod as she finally and
almost reluctantly sips the last of her liquor. "Is he any relation to...
you mentioned a prime stallion that time we met a'fore. 'Twill pass the
advice along. She's made us enough marks with her experimenting that I
might invest in whichever she needs best; if'n she could found a truly
great line, the potential for profit would be good and I'm all for that."

"Some runners like it more than others I'd say." Cailin replies and then
shrugs, "He'll likely never be fond of it, regardless of the logic. Me? I
don't believe in racing them before their third turn, but there is
certainly an argument for the sport." She nods for the other, "Many non
racers or the retired of the lines become good riding mounts or messenger
runners. It's not as if they have no other purpose." She smiles again, "I
mentioned one then? Like as not, aye. If I did it was one of his sons I
named. My pet project until my return to the Hall."

"'Twould be a dull world if'n we all liked the same things, I suppose. It
just seems an odd activity for the Masterherder t'be objecting to." Kassi
sounds more apologetic in saying this than anything; she gives a brief
shrug, and moves on. "Nay use spoiling any beast or being too early, I can
agree. You did--let me think, I know you gave a name." It takes her awhile,
staring into space with a furrowed brow, but eventually her memory banks
yield up the information: "Majestic, methinks? Is that right? Oh! Aye, then
you'd scarce be against racing, I imagine. That'd make you the expert on
the Bitran lines currently, 'tis so? I should suggest Jessamyne come and
talk t'you mayhaps."

"Aye, well. Our last two Craftmasters have been fond of ferrets. Something
I've never understood, but they do, so there you have it I suppose." Cai
replies with another shrug, then her eyes light up, "Ahh. Old Majestic.
Yes. Fair Red traces back t'Majestic twice in fact." Her smile widens next,
"I have no objection to the sport, so long as it's run responsibly. And I
made sure it was at Bitra while I had a say." She inclines her head then,
"Unless He's made a purchase I don't know of, I can pretty much resite the
lines of any runner in Bitra's stables by now. I'd be glad to talk with her."

Kassima confides, "Someone bought me a ferret some Turns agone. 'Tisn't
exactly easy t'have pets in the weyr, so I ended up giving her t'my eldest
son--she did have a certain charm, but... I'm more inclined towards runners
m'self, although I don't ride m'self. His line--Majestic's--is very good,
then?" It's almost more a polite question than a real one; the Herder's
eyes already suggested an answer. "Aye. Bitra's been a fine host for the
sport, in m'experience--I daresay that's a plan, then. The last time I
visited home Jessa was making noises about wanting t'take a trip to the
Hall soon anyway. Methinks sometimes she yearns t'talk to others who'll
understand her passions and those pedigree charts she treasures so."

Cailin chuckles, "Ahh, well. I was just never fond of them. I don't mind
them too much, but I have little need for them either. Elinore was always
shoving her's in the face of anyone that would look. So perhaps that's part
of my distaste." She sips the last of her own drink then, before nodding,
"Majestic, is arguably the finest runner of his time. His sons didn't do so
well on the track, but his grandchildren? They have been something. Real
speed sometimes skips a generation like that." A smile again, as she sets
aside her glass, "Aye. Bitra has many such attractions. You could say
something for everyone, in fact." -- "I always enjoy a conversation with
those of common interests."

Kassima admits, "I could be saying the same of most animals. I've naught
against 'em, but a dragon and umpteen fire-lizards are all I need. Which is
doubtless why I ended up with a porcine, a ferret, and a duck. Fate likes
laughing at me. Elinore's is a name I know... she's the woman who wouldn't
drink the milk, aye?" It takes the greenrider a moment, but then an amused
expression crosses her face as it registers on her that this is, perhaps, a
slightly odd question out of context. "I'm sorry that I apparently missed
his racing career. I enjoy races, but I don't always attend diligently. How
many generations removed is Fair Red?" A low chuckle escapes her and she
settles back in her chair, legs crossed. "I'truth. The Even Odds and the
riverside fishing have generally been most t'my taste. 'Tis a pleasure
t'have such a Hold in our sweep area... aye, don't we all?"

Cailin lifts a brow for this and then nods, "Aye. she only seems to partake
of the most expensive wines she might maneuver from whom ever is supplying.
She likes expensive things, and flaunting them." She smiles softly, "Most
of us missed Majestic's carrier, and Fair Red's three generations removed,
twice over." For the other she chuckles, "I was never much of a gambler as
far as cards and the like. If I bet, most times it was on the track. Though
I saved my largest gamble for off. It was always a pleasure t'live there
and with in Telgar's sweeps as well. I generally looked forward to the
visits from your fair Weyr."

"Something M'rek told me," is all the explanation Kassima seems to feel is
needed. "Interesting. I can't be faulting the expensive taste, nor entirely
the flaunting," and she wiggles her jewel-decked fingers with a sheepish
grin. "What use is having money past a point if'n you don't do things with
it you enjoy, I figure--but that doesn't mean things which aren't expensive
aren't good. She's missing out on a lot of fine things if'n she looks at it
that way. So his children would be a generation skipped from Majestic's
grandchildren, would they?" She nods in satisfaction. "That'd make sense.
Me, I wager on nigh aught anyone will let me. Cards,
dice--rarely--Hatchings, clutchings, pregnancies, weyrmatings, whether
Yashira will ever manage t'kick K'ran between the legs; you name it, 'twill
probably bet. Yet in the end I'm nay certain I've made any such large
gambles in life... I'm sure our Weyrleaders would be pleased t'hear it. Our
latest crop of Weyrlings visited nay so long agone; 'twere there for the
last such visit, I certes remember, so you'll know the trip I speak of.
'Twas a pleasant experience, and interesting. We even managed t'dodge the
tripe."

Cailin nods, "He'd know. If anyone would know, he'd know." The herder
replies then smiles, "Ahh, but for some, it can be worn as if it's just a
part of them. A casual thing. For her, it was something she had t'lord
over. For her, she had t'be the superior one, even when she's trying t'make
you think she believes you an equal." She snorts softly, as if there is
annoyance there, even with the distance she holds from the woman. A slow
breath later and she goes on, "Indeed. He's far enough out that the skip is
no concern." For the other she smiles, "It's why I got the positing in the
first place. I don't often bet unless I'm secure in my wager. I avoid games
of chance, though I have no objection to those who master them. Me? I
prefer t'keep things more secure than that. Personal preference." She sighs
softly, "I'd heard I'd missed them...And of the tripe. I'm just glad M'rek
and Gerome didn't manage t'finish each other off that time."

"One of those, then. The interesting thing, which I'd take care never t'say
in her presence did I have the honor," Kassima says, her voice rather wry,
"is that if'n she makes it so obvious then she's exposing a weakness rather
than a strength for all t'see. But I'd wager just going by what I know of
human nature that she doesn't realize it. Did the Hall want someone at
Bitra who'd nay be tempted into losing their shirt?" This idea seems to
amuse her, and she picks up her empty glass to lift in in a toast again.
"Craftmaster Learan's probably a wise man. I used t'wager only on sure
things, but... I've come t'like the gamble. I compromise by making as sure
of m'wager as I can, when I can. Some gambles aren't entirely random. Does
the Hall allow you away?" she wonders. "If'n 'twere wanting t'meet some of
the new ones, I mean. I'm sure Telgar'd be pleased enough t'provide
transport. They're an impressive bunch, which you didn't hear from me. I
did gather 'twasn't exactly the first time those two have fought."

Cailin's own expression is wry as well, "She misses many things, in truth.
For one that thinks herself quite observant." Then she smiles, "That was
the thought, aye. To have someone who'd avoid such temptations. I suppose I
only partly succeed in following his hopes there. But Master Learan
couldn't have foreseen what he over looked. He is in deed wise, as you
said." She nudges the container left in her charge, "Did you wish a splash
more then?" And rolling right from that to her next, "That's one reason I
mostly bet runners. Bet what you know." She shifts in her seat again,
considering, "Aye. I expect when my work is done for the day I'm free
enough to travel as any other. It'd be nice to meet them, in truth." A sigh
for the last, "Probably not the last, either."

Kassima surmises with something of a sigh and a rueful grin, "We probably
all miss many things one way or another, t'be fair, without ever knowing
it. But I'd warrant you're correct. And as far as the other goes--some
things can't be predicted, aye? Nor does being immune t'one form of
temptation rule out others... or so I'd hazard. In a way I'm glad of it.
If'n all could be predicted then winning constantly might be easier, but
life would also be quite beyond boring. Oh, please! If'n you don't think
the Craftmaster would mind." She slides her glass over. "Understood. 'Tis
why I wager more on dragons than runners m'self; their bloodlines are more
within m'ken. D'you know--" She snaps her fingers. "I'm reminded. If'n you
did want t'visit, there's a perfect occasion. Master Rodric's said that
Telgar's going t'be hosting a winter concert soon. Mayhaps you'd join us
for that? The Weyr would be honored, beyond doubt. And I'm nay *even*
betting on that. I couldn't find anyone t'take such a sucker wager."

"She misses things through arrogant superiority." Cai replies and then
nods, "Aye, we do all miss things. And I know I'm no acceptation. There are
always things we wished we saw clearer or would redo if we could. But I
expect I'd have made most the same gambles anyway. For Faranth forbid life
be less than interesting after all." She gives a wink and tops of Kassima's
glass as her reply to that, though leaves her own untouched this time. "I
can understand that perfectly, of course." The herder looks up with a
curious expression then that turns to a smile, "I'd like that, if I may.
Can't say as I've been to a proper Harper concert before."

M'rek leaves off flirting with a petite blonde journeywoman and roams back
over to sprawl into a chair, sliding his empty glass over for Cailin to
refill, "If you don't mind, Cailin?" His eyes twinkle a little bit, but the
drink is too good to drink fast, and also too smooth to leave too quickly,
"What're we talking about. I got distracted." Sure he did. He leans forward
and waves to the lass as she heads back out.

"Arrogant presumed superiority. I haven't met the personage yet t'know, but
I'm ever reluctant t'concede actual superiority," Kassima drawls, eyes
sparkling with a vaguely sardonic amusement. "Exactly so. Faranth alone
knows how much of m'life I'd go back and change; only then I might nay have
the good things I have now, and most of the things I've truly regretted in
life have had at least one positive aspect I'd be loathe t'be giving up.
Life must *never* be boring." She's firm on this, is Kassima, yes indeed.
Her refreshed glass is raised to the sentiment. "If'n that were permitted,
I'd have t'just shrivel up and die. So." Shifting to the subject of the
concert, she agrees with equal firmness, "A'course you may. I can speak for
Telgar in that much, at least. 'Twill tell whichever Wingmate of mine's on
errand duty that day t'stop by and provide the ride if'n you'd like, or
might be able t'come m'self. It should be pleasing. I've nay been t'so many
either, but they did a smashing job at Bitra." M'rek gets an eye-roll, but
a grin too: "I'm inviting Cailin to this concert Rodric's going t'hold at
Telgar. I hearby invite you, too. If'n they don't remember t'set out the
good liquor, there's always Benden lurking in Stores if'n you know where
t'look."

Cailin gives M'rek a slow smile and murmurs something like 'incorrigible'
before she plays bar keep again and pours another round for the bronzer as
well. "How could I say no t'you, eh?" And she's kind enough to clarify the
other topic in her reply, "Elinore could stand meeting a few more people
that don't concede superiority. She's actually rather fun t'spar with if
your in the mood. But it does always have an edge, none the less." She nods
then, "It gets hard t'pick and choose what is changeable without changing
yourself as well." She glances at M'rek then, with an arched brow. Maybe
not quite asking permission but inviting a chance to weigh in if he's apt
to, "I'd think it a lovely outing. Just the thing to escape the day t'day
of the Hall. Don't you think?"

M'rek doubtlessly earned that eyeroll a good dozen times over in the past
bit of time and he grins roguishly as he takes back his filled glass, holds
it up to adore the very color of it and then takes a swallow that makes his
eyes roll back in delight. Incorrigible certainly is a word for it. Besides
he still needs to keep his 'Nay'. "I'd be delighted to attend. I like a
good concert and I never turn down a chance to terrorize harpers of any
rank. Mm. Benden. Aye, I'll be there, helping to lurk in the stores if you
like, Kassi." Then topic of the archfiendette earns a, "Bah. That one.
Insane." But he nods his agreement, "Aye. It would be good for you to get
out. Should be fun. We'll get you a little extra protection for the night."

"I'd probably be most in the mood for sparring of that kind if'n Lysseth
were glowing. But that'd be bound t'cause Incidents." Way to understate the
case, Kassi. And in such a deadpan tone, too. "Precisely so. As well that
we're stuck with the past we've already made. The future's all we can
change." Her grin broadens at M'rek's obvious adoration. She laughs aloud,
in fact, and sips at her glass, green eyes vastly contented. "*Terrorize*
Harpers. Now that should be fun. Just be careful nay t'beat 'em up too
close t'me if'n 'twill, since 'twill probably haul out the Thunderbolt gown
again and blood and velvet just don't mix... aye, I imagine
any--escorts--that'd be fancied would be welcome to attend also."

Cailin gives a warm smile for the agreement from both parties and only then
gives herself a splash more of the liquor, "Wonderful. I'll look forward to
it then, escorts and all. But aye, we can skip the blood on velvet. No need
to ruin good gowns." She sips her drink after stoppering the container and
nods, "She is insane. Quite insane. And her own undoing, someday I'm sure.
No. Better not t'have an incident over her unless it's a trade you don't
mind."

M'rek gives a smirking sort of smile at the talk of sparring and takes
another swallow of scotch that he lets linger over his tongue so that he
absorbs some of the alcohol in his mouth, loving the sweet sting of it.
"Why would you want to change the past anyway? The future's enough to keep
up without worrying about what's done and done for why or what. Maybe
/terrorize/ is a harsh word for it. I don't bother the harpers so very
much. Yet. I don't beat on so many of them." He smirks then and drinks a
little more before adding further to the conversation, "No blood." Not that
he can actually promise that.

Kassima agrees dryly, "I'd rather *stay* Wingleader for a few more decades
if'n fortune permits. Incidents can't be afforded. At least nay of the
premeditated variety... what, M'rek, there's *naught* that's happened in
your life that you'd undo if'n you could? Lucky sot. Tell me, exactly how
many *have* you beaten now? Rough estimate will do." She allows herself to
match that smirk almost exactly, then lifts her glass in another toast. "To
a lack of blood on formal festive occasions."

"Changing things would be a chancy thing, but still, I can think of a few
I'd at lest try to do differently. The look on my foster's face when I told
him I was leaving... If I could have said something different to ease the
hurt a little..." Cai shrugs, "Things like that." She takes another swallow
from her glass, then eyes M'rek, "Beating on more than Gerome these days
then, eh?" But she gives a teasing smile with the shake of her head before
toasting as well, though in silent agreement.

M'rek is clearly in love with the scotch. He'd take the bottle home and
weyrmate it if he didn't think Learan would come looking for it to drag it
home and questions would be raise with the Reachian Weyrleader about the
scotch's remaining virtue. Reparations would be called for and the madness
would never end. "People in general or just harpers, Kassi? Harpers, the
same one twice, though once was only because my blood was up and he was in
the way. Then another one yesterday on accident, which I was very sorry
about. I don't remember beating up any harpers in particular during my, er,
younger days, but I'm sure there were likely a couple." He too raises to
toast, "Aye. Lack of blood on formal festive occasions. Aye, Cailin. Gerome
and I are just to sparring due to the brutal nature of our last bout and
how long it takes for his broken ribs and my nose to heal whenever we do
cross fists."

Except he'd probably have to duel with Kassi over its favor--either that,
or scandalize all of Telgar at least with a three-way weyrmating that would
end in tragedy with the scotch, unable to bear being torn between the two
jealous riders, leaping from the ledge in despair and all the world would
cry at the waste. For now the greenrider simply cherishes her glass and
tries not to think of what can never be. "E'vrin," is her succinct
statement of what she'd change. "Now and forever, E'vrin. Perhaps some of
m'dealings with m'mother also; that's harder t'say. Right, I knew about
that one--who's this other now? This is news. Tell, tell, tell."

Cailin rolls her eyes and wages a finger at the bronzerider, "Just be so
kind as the next time you two decide to incapacitate each other, to be sure
someone -other- than Valon tells me first. Shards but next time he's apt
t'tell me your dead before your time." And Cai would be the one left to
explain the tragic fate of the poor scotch to her Master? Crewel, crewel
fate for the poor Journey. Not that she's not been encouraging its eventual
fate by tempting them with the precious liquid, oh no. she lifts that brow
again, and turns expectantly to M'rek, "Aye. Do tell? What poor soul was
this?"

They could name the first child of their scandalous duo-weyr
tri-weyrmating, Kascotrek which would leave the poor child scarred and yet
too drunk to care. Anyway, they'd probably both lose the bottle to that
silver tongued-devil Rodric. Or...maybe...Vahara... Or. Both. M'rek has no
clue on E'vrin so he nods amiably and drinks a little more scotch. "The one
that was shadowing me. I'd forgotten that it was going on. I did apologize.
Aye, Cailin. If I hadn't had a concussion, I'm sure I'd have remembered to
write you a note. I'm not so easy to kill." So it would seem, as many lives
as a feline. "I don't know what his name was. I don't imagine it'll come up."

"And invite us t'come watch!" Kassima chimes in. "I'm still distraught that
I missed seeing such a fight as that last." Ever a woman of priorities. And
given those priorities, she'd probably be fine with Kascotrek as a name: it
starts with K and that's what matters, even if otherwise it sounds vaguely
like something that should star William Shatner. Perhaps they'd end up in a
five-way weyrmating in the end? And then Gerome could kill the whole lot of
them. Except Rodric, who'd have to survive just long enough to put the
great tragedy into song before dying of longing for all his lost loves.
"You have Harpers *shadowing* you now? Does that mean you rate? At this
point, M'rek, I'm inclined t'think you'll still be alive ten Intervals from
now, dodging fate and laughing. What, you don't think Rodric will be miffed
at you for beating whomever?"

"No matter. I know not to believe his exaggerations now." Cailin relents
with a small smile, "You could just write the note ahead, leave it in your
pocket for the healers to find." Something like: 'In the event of my
incapacitation, please inform these people I'm not dead...' perhaps? "You
might have the right of it Kassima. Ten intervals from now, the rest of us
gone but in his memory as he carries on, fighting the next how ever many
generations of Harpers and 'Geromes'."

M'rek inhales the complex scent of the scotch, his eyes glowing before he
takes another swallow, enjoying this third glass even more because the
flavor builds over time. "Aye. Gerome and I will have to arrange something,
then. I have a good feeling he'd like to take a piece out of me right about
now." For Gerome really would kill all of them if Vahara was a part of the
scotch conglomeration. Rodric would just rotate through some new blood
instead of expiring. The bronzerider's smile is a little on the sly side.
"Aye. Last time I saw death eminent I did write the notes in advance, took
several hours and was very tedious." He chuckles, "Aye. That maybe I will
be. Only if the harper tells on me, and if I were him, I sure wouldn't. It
wasn't intentional anyway. I'd just forgotten, it had been a late night and
something blonde in bad shoes was on my mind." There's rich laughter, "Aye.
Maybe I should save some of the fight for those Geromes and Harpers down
the line."

Kassima bobs her head in enthused agreement with Cailin. "Exactly! Only
problem is... hmm. By that many hundreds of Turns, he'd probably have
fathered half the Pern population, if'n the wall's right, and that'll never
do. My plan is for *my* line to have conquered Pern within the next five
Passes. We can't go around being usurped by any bronzerider." She sighs and
gives one slow, sad shake of her head. "Just naught for it. Sometime a'fore
I die I'm going t'have t'kill him t'make sure that doesn't happen. Sorry,
M'rek." Although she affects regret fairly well in her voice, her
expression is all mischief, and so is the grin she gives. "Such a note
really might be useful. What've you done t'Gerome *now*, man?" Oh, no he
wouldn't. He could get over Kassima's charms, certainly, and M'rek's, and
Vahara's, but the scotch's? Never. Not even Rodric could recover from that.
The greenrider licks her lips after sipping, not inclined to let the least
trace of the alcohol be lost to evaporation. "Something blonde in bad
shoes. You said you *liked* I'sai's shoes, so I'm guessing you mean that
woman with the utterly ridiculous boots?"

"Well remember what I always say. You know it by now, so I wont be a broken
record." Just almost one. Cailin arches a brow, "Did you? Shards M'rek."
She looks as if she'd say more and then she shakes her head and drinks
again, "Maybe he shouldn't have followed so close then... Wait. Blonde and
in bad shoes? Who's that then?" She grins to Kassima then, "Then mayhap he
just needs to father them with you. And easy answer to both conquests of
Pern, eh?"

"Aye, I'sai did have nice boots. I was thinking of Zhasha, my friend from
the other night who just went over very wrong with Gerome." So it would
seem. M'rek tilts his glass a little bit and looks into it with spirited
devotion. Kassima earns a toothy grin, "Aye. Get in line. Though, I'm sure
you'd at least do me the favor of making it a pleasureable death, then
there'd be no hard feelings. He shrugs, "Got in to a serious fight with
Vahara, and she decided to air it in front of Gerome." He shrugs as if it's
just one more thing on the list that's hanging over his head on a daily
basis. "Lord Vorlin's new pet, Cailin. Serious death in bad shoes." Then
Cailin earns a laught, "That would be one way to die."

"The one with the boots," Kassi confirms, nodding and making a face. "I
still can't believe anybody would wear those, much less someone who goes
around radiating 'fight me, fight me' the way she does. You should've seen
'em, Cailin--heels, what was it, a handspan high? Something bizarre like
that." Apparently the shoes left an impression. "Aye, aye, I'd let you get
good and sotted on another bottle just like this one first. Although I
might make you share it with me; the mercy factor only goes so far." Her
right eyebrow lifts. "Depending on how you mean that, I don't know whether
I should grin and agree, make an indignant noise and point out that I'm
scarcely that bad, concur that Learan would flay us both alive if'n we took
t'conceiving legions of children in his Lounge, or what. Hey, but speaking
of which, I recall that I owe you a thwap upside the head for that 'thank
Faranth' bit t'Vel concerning losing flights."

"Hardly surprising I'sai's have nice boots." Cai starts to say, amusement
for that, but the other gains M'rek a longer look, then a slow nod,
"Blonde, bad shoes. Got it. I suppose I shouldn't bait this one any more
than the last? If she comes around, that is." She shifts her attention to
Kassi as she listens, "A handspan...How can she be death in those? How
could she do more than -walk- in those?" She glances about the room and
then grins again, "Aye. I think Learan'd have something t'say if you went
about it in here at least."

M'rek has been feeling the effects of the scotch since the start of this
glass as he's drinking it straight, but only now does it start to show in
his speech. With that swallow that drains the glass, "Aye. A handspan."
M'rek laughs then snickers a little drunkenly really, "I s'only meant that
I'd die at the honor, Kassi-love. You know you're the scotch that warms my
heart on those cold Reaches nights." Such a smirk. "A thwap? Fer V'lano's
bronze winning Lhia. Lhiaiaia. Lhiannonth? Was glad not to wake up with
Sria's sishter. Tha's all. Would'a been bloody uncomfer-table." Cailin's
given an alarmed look, "I'd nay bait thish one. She's a killer without a
sense of humor. Not human like good ole Gerome."

Kassima reports blissfully, "I have one of his boots as a trophy still,"
quite as if this were a sensible statement. "I have *nay idea*. Why
handicap yourself like that? Nay t'mention give your enemy another
available weapon. If'n you could get one off her feet I'd bet you could
stab her through the heart with the heel." She's fairly far along the road
to sunny-and-mellow at this point, happily glowing with the contentment
that really good alcohol bestows. Half her glass is still present, though
her next sip reduces that down to about a quarter. "Mmm. Got t'find out how
Learan bribed Baleera... oh, well, *that's* all right then. I'd just curl
up and die if'n I thought you'd spurned me, dearest." She flutters her
lashes in a manner considerably more comical than anything. "You didn't
specify *which* flight, remember--only said thank Faranth he was a good
flier. Can you blame me for being slightly disturbed?" As an afterthought,
"Whatever she is, her shoes are still ridiculous. Thoroughly."

Cailin listens to the rest, toying with her glass. The effects for her seen
most clearly in the flush in her cheeks from the liquor, "Shards." She
whispers, then shakes her head slowly. "What'd he need a new toy for
anyway? Ee's got Gerome, eh?" Folding her arms on the table, she rests her
chin there, leaving what's left in her glass for now, "How'd you get one
off?" Boots still on her mind, then the other sinks in, "On your wall? Why
on your wall?"

"Shhhharding Ridiculous. Likely on purpose too." M'rek agrees about the
shoes. "Would go right through your foot, did you shee?" Sure she did. He
slides his glass over for another refill if Cailin will give it to him.
Heady laughter, the life of the scotch showing in the twinkle in his eyes,
"Didn't someone mention which one? Aye? Well, my bad, Kassi-darling. You
can take it out on m'hide. Whenever you like." He falls silent after
Cailin's question and just looks hopeful at his glass. He maybe be drunk,
but he still knows what can get him killed without a chance to take his way
out of it. Then, "What wall?"

"Has there ever been a man alive who had enough toys of one kind another?"
Oh, yeah, that coming from Kassi of the Fifty-Billion Knives. "Hrm. Let me
think. First thing t'do would be t'trip her, obviously, which you'd think
wouldn't be *too* difficult, but then you'd probably have t'get a bunch of
people t'tackle her and keep her pinned while you stole her footwear... why
nay on m'wall? If'n you mean Is's boot. 'Tis an honorable trophy of battle,
sort of. I admittedly don't have bite mark scars from that fight, but 'twas
battle all the same." Either this whole lack of fear in plotting how to
steal Zhasha's shoes is a symptom of Kassi's increasing drunkenness, or she
really is that low on self-preservation. Certainly her accent is
thickening, making her words almost into a sing-song. "Oh, don't tempt me,
M'rek. But 'twill remember you said that just in case it should be useful
someday. Any suggestions for method?" She's not about to let M'rek have
more of their glorious weyrmate's attention than she, and so holds out her
glass hopefully as well.

Cailin takes a moment or two to even notice the glass pushed her way. And
it's practically automatic, the absent way she fills it, except for that
she's almost deliberately slow. And she lets one question drop, possibly
forgotten already. "Have I got t'watch my back too?" That as she slides the
glass back, tries to focus still, "No. Ee'll never have enough toys." She
says quietly. It still takes a bit of thought on the other, "His boot's a
trophy? Ee bit you?" Somehow this doesn't mesh with her Is image possibly,
but she shakes her head and has to concentrate yet again, as she fills
another.

M'rek admits, "I got hit in the head with a boot yesterday a flight at
Fort. Not that anyone would care. But." He starts to laugh a little more
and taps his boot to the floor a little bit, getting antsy. Maybe it's been
a long time since his last fight or something, who knows with M'rek. "Bite
marsks?" A lovely slur in that one. "No idea, I'm sure you can think of
sh-omething, Kassi. Toys." Heh. This seems to alarm M'rek a little bit in
some morose train of thought. The dangers of getting drunk with someone
whose got a lot preying on their mind and has had their head recently
tinkered with. "Not a toy. Never a toy."

Kassima is just sober enough to be aware that a quick headshake would be a
bad idea, so gives Cailin a slow one. "Didn't bite me on *that* occasion,"
she assures. "But he wouldn't take the pink underpants Katlynn had left me
t'give him, the ones with feathers and bells on 'em--both sets meant for
him, I still insist--and, well, 'twas proddy, so 'twas a bit insistent, so
I sort of *lept* at him when he was trying t'climb on t'Tear, and I caught
hold of his leg and stole his boot." She finishes this in a rush of
triumph, eyes glowing as much as if she'd just described how she tackled
Lord Fax and/or eight score blondes and brunettes all between the ages of
sixteen and nineteen and a half single-handed. "Got hit with a *boot*? Was
somebody stripping early?" Yeah, she's drunk. Or getting there rapidly. As
answer to the question, she sets down her precious glass and shrugs off her
jacket, the better to roll up one of her shirt sleeves and display the two
ragged, faded scars left on the arm by teeth. "Bite marks," she proudly
proclaims. "What's nay a toy?"

"Why didn't you duck?" Cai asks of M'rek, a slight grin returning for that,
but followed by confusion, "Not a toy? You said she was a toy. What is she
if not a toy?" Yet Kassi's good at distracting, "I'sai in feathers and
bells?" Never mind she said he didn't take him. "Aye...That's a trophy
then." Right. It makes sense to her -now-. In the morning might be another
matter. "He did bite you? Why'd he bite you?" Yeah, good thing the
apprentices have turned in, or the stories they'd be telling tomorrow...

M'rek no longer sprawls in his chair but slumps there, happily drunk. Or
that smile on his face is plastered there as a mask. There's a slow nod for
Kassi's bite marks and then M'rek drinks more of the divine scotch, loving
it as much now that their relationship has matured to the twilight turns as
he loved it to start with. "People. Women. Aren't toys." Small sentences
that he can manage without too much slurring. "Didn't see it coming. Nay.
Didn't say toy. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever." He loses track and drinks a
little more before suddenly the word pops out, "Pet. Rabid too."

"Feathers and bells and transparent pink sisal," Kassima agrees with an
altogether unfeigned shudder. "He's nay a... *pink* sort of man, I don't
think. Oh! Nay, he didn't. That time. Possibly another. Flights, y'know.
But these," indicating the scars, "are from Slithereth. Fangs." She lets
her sleeve slide back down and hugs her scotch glass close, as protective
and possessive as any beloved could wish. Maybe a little moreso, truth be
told. But there's a certain romance surely in her being willing to fight
for its honor if need be. "Oh, those. Nay," she concurs on a long sigh just
after a sip. "Nay quite... is she? What kind? Another ferret?"

"Pet. Right." Cailin agrees. "Sharding pets. Rabid... Why didn't ee just
get a new runner. They'rre fine pets." Rather large ones too. And not much
good as enforcer types, but hey, "You should watch closer then." Words of
wisdom, oh yes. "No. Not a pink man. Not bells and feathers either. --
Midnight blue." Then a sage nod imitation, "Fangs. Ok. From Sli...Slith...
Never mind." For the last she shakes her head. Bad move that, yeah, "Not a
ferret. He doesn't like ferrets."

M'rek shrugs a little bit and drinks a little more, eyes moving a little
more than any other part of him as he seems to be thinking on something. Or
playing some weird eye wiggle game, you never know with M'rek. "Aye. A new
runner...sh'a fine pet. Not going to kill 'ya. Unlesh. Un-less. You fall
off or sh-omething."

Kassima feels she has the answer to this question: "Because a runner could
*never* pull off handspan-high heels. Just couldn't do it. 'Twould be
falling all over the place, and 'twould break more purple vases, and that'd
just be bad." Solemn nod. Sip of scotch. Quiet sigh of alcoholic bliss.
"Midnight blue?" She ponders this. "He looks good in midnight blue. But
that's nay his color. He's... white. White and gold." The smile this time
is not quite so blissful. "Psst," she leans to carefully stage-whisper
Cailin's way. "Methinks M'rek's wiggling his eyes at you."

Cailin shakes her head, but slow this time, "Not a good runner. Good runner
wouldn't take you out while your down." Takes a lot of work to say that
much. "Bad runner. Bad runner with bad shoes." Kassi gets a long, puzzled
look, "Never seen 'im in white and gold." The last gets a different
reaction, oh a slow smile, yes, but a more sober tone, for all that it's
still slurred, "No. Ee wouldn't at me. Not our M'rek."

M'rek snickers, but not over his glass of scotch because that would be
impolite and he's in love and trying to be all suave. Well, suave for him
to a glass of single malt. "Runner in shoes." That really tickles him.
"Nay. Just, thinking and shtuff. Woulnd't make eyes at Cailin. She's
sa-sacrosanct."

"Nay, nay, nay, he doesn't *wear* white and gold. He *is* white and gold,"
Kassi attempts to explain, probably not very helpfully and dubiously
coherent. "White, gold, and sky-blue. People have colors if'n you think
about it. Sort of like the scotch. You look at it, 'tis just clear, but
then it feels all golden and warm and brilliant." Another of those slow,
careful, satisfied nods. She's explained to her own satisfaction, if no one
else's. "Didn't think 'twere making eyes, only wiggling eyes. If'n you'd
wiggled *brows* that'd be one thing. But I'm nay exactly sure what wiggling
eyes means."

Cailin smiles at M'rek, though a bit detached seeming as she then nods,
"White and gold and sky blue. Not midnight." You can almost hear her say
'Check' after, "No. No making eyes, or wiggling brows...or. Wait. What
-does- wiggling eyes mean?"

M'rek gets to his feet then, it's impressive for he does have a definite
weave to him, and that glass is cradled just as carefully as if it really
was the offspring of the aforementioned unholy union. "I should prolly go
get kicked outta sh-ome place." He glances around the room and sighs,
"Apprentices." Slurred just beautifully. "Lounge." Yeah. He'll remember
this place all right.

"We haven't done a very good job of getting kicked out of everywhere on
Pern, have we?" Kassi sounds sad about this realization. "Shards. Mayhaps
we could fight an' get kicked out of here? Is it too late for that? Would
it spill the drink?" That, after all, must never be permitted.

"Why do you want t'get kicked out? Wouldn't that make it harder t'get
drinks there again?" Cai asks. And well, they have their glasses, but she
has the rest. What's left of it, before she has to put it back, or
something. "Why're we going to fight?"

M'rek looks to Kassima with more interest than he's shown in the last
little while, as if coming out of a fugue by that most magical of words,
"Fight?" He perks right up. "Want to, Kassi? I don't usually hit a woman,
especially not a beautiful one, but if you knocked me hard enough, I could
make an exception." So slurred, it might be hard to make out. "I can't hit
you, Cailin. Would be against m'oath. Blood bound. Ya could fight each
other. That'd work out best."

"That's a point," Kassima agrees, attempting to muddle through the logic.
Stress 'attempting.' The logic circuits of her brain are not highly
functional just now. "I know we had a reason though. But that's a'fore he
brought out this liquor. Mayhaps if'n we fought outside, he'd nay be so mad
we could never, ever drink this stuff again?" She looks hopefully between
the other two after saying this, seeking their opinions on this solution.
"We could!" she confirms, with a brilliant if very drunken smile for the
compliment. "I don't normally hit people either, but if'n 'tis all in fun
mostly, well, that's all right then. What d'you think, Cailin? Want to? Or
would you rather just cheer in the background or something?"

"Outside'd be better." Cailin's at least sure on that, but she tries to
work out the rest. "Learan'd be mad anyway. Really mad." She nods then,
"And He'd kill you if you hit me, Mer, aye." She nods again, definitively,
"It'd have t'be elsewhere t'get you kicked out but not kicked out." Clear
as mud? She's just pleased she worked it sort of out.

M'rek is still on his feet and keeping that glass of non-demoninational
Pern-okay single malt beverage aged in fine wood barrels safe. "Aye.
Outside then. And we'll see how it goes."

M'rek leaves the lounge through the door to the fields.

Kassima assures sunnily, "Nay worries. If'n he's very mad, 'twill just
remind him I didn't tell anybody about how Katlynn says he's a tiny little
man, and he'll be so grateful he won't be mad anymore." The nice part for
her is, she's too out of it to even realize why she just undid her own
argument. She gazes at her glass almost mournfully, but does what she must
do and takes that last sip remaining, though she doesn't hurry to swallow;
closes her eyes and savors it long enough, in fact, that one might wonder
if she's unconscious even before being hit before she sets the glass down
and climbs to her feet. "Couldn't risk wasting it," she explains before
following M'rek out.

You blink as you emerge from the lounge.

Cailin blinks as she emerges from the lounge.

Cailin takes a few minutes before she unsteadily follows along. Maybe she
took a side trip, but she still has her unfinished glass with, but no sign
of the bottle it came from, "Good thing you didn't tell anyone that one,
Kassi. That'd be a mite embarrassing a rumor t'have going about." And she
nods sagely for that.

"The sort of thing that convinces a man t'never let you have the locked-up
liquor again," Kassima earnestly agrees, walking very carefully so as not
to weave and stagger more than needs must. "Perhaps I should've written on
the wall in there that he's nay impotent. Would that convince him t'give us
*more* liquor, d'you think?"

M'rek sips a little more at his glass and meanders towards the pond,
enjoying the cool of the evening as he assimilates the change in
surroundings. "Ah. A beautiful night t'be alive. How deeps that pond,
Cailin?" He has a little waver in his step, but overall he seems to focus
most of his drunk into his conversation.

<Bitra> Kassima says, "Five more points!"

<Bitra> M'rek says, "Ding Ding."

"Well he's got two kids, so I think he'd prefer that t'the other." Cailin
says, as if that has a lot to do with it, "Not dragon deep." She replies.
Moving towards the water's edge. "Not too deep at the edges here either,
but deeper out a ways." She sort of points to the shallow and deeper as she
speaks of them and then stands there, sipping her drink again. Nursing it.

<Bitra> Cailin woo! :)

"And a beautiful night t'be drunk on good liquor," a pleased Kassi opines
in a brief moment of clarity. A couple of deep breaths of the night air
help her in this staying steady thing, and she tucks her hands into her
pockets. "Do people ever swim in it?"

M'rek kicks off one of his boots near Ulfianth and then goes to stick a toe
into the pond. Just one toe mind you. He's still got a deathgrip on that
glass. "Brr. Pretty chilly." Doesn't stop him from putting the whole foot
in. Even seems to sober him a little.

"Aye, you can swim in it." Cailin replies. Though she makes no move to
herself yet, "Not many do this time of turn. Too cold for much or most."

Kassima meanders on over towards the edge of the water, peering into it and
at the stars reflected in its surface. "Y'know," she suggests, ever
helpful, "I could push you into the pond, mayhaps, instead of fighting;
then you'd nay have t'hit me, and I'd nay have t'hit you, but there would
still be havoc." She's such a generous and thoughtful soul. "And if'n
people swim in it, then that probably means nay anyone would be mad enough
t'keep the good liquor away."

M'rek works on his other boot and tosses it over his head, back into the
grass and vaguely towards his dragon. The second foot goes into the water.
"Push who in? Cailin 'er me?" The scotch keeps his blood warmed up and
M'rek finally finishs off the glass before turning and setting it down
safely. Next, he rolls up the bottom of his pants.

Cailin watches boot removal, the rolling up of his pants with the detached
fascination of a space cadet. She swirls the last of her drink in her
glass, finishes it, then runs a finger along the rim. "Sounds like a fair
com...Compromise." She glances then to M'rek, the other sinking in. "Hmm?
Push who in?"

"Both would be fine," Kassima decides. "Drenchedness for all! 'Cept me.
Sounds very, very fair." Well, it would. She watches this boot-throwing
with vague interest, asiding to Lysseth at the green's warning rumble, "I'm
nay going t'throw clothes at you, wench. You, methinks, Cailin. And M'rek.
And I could try the dragons, but I don't think they'd go."

M'rek wades in farther, squishing his toes down into the muck and not
really minding the feel of it. "Very. Very, cold. Clears the head right
up." So it would seem. "Like between, only squishier."

"Does this mean you wouldn't mind being pushed in?" Kassi sounds worried.
"I don't know if'n 'tis worth doing if'n 'tisn't minded. Seems t'go against
the whole principle." She frowns, contemplative and still very much not
sober. "I need a new cunning plan."

"No. I wouldn't think you'd have much luck with the dragons." Cailin agrees
with a smirk, "She doesn't want clothes thrown at her?"

"Aye. And I don't want to get too wet. I want to make other visits
tonight." M'rek chuckles, "Can't do that in wet leathers and whatnot." He
wanders through the mud and then finally gets back out. "Bah. S'no good."

Kassima shakes her head carefully at Cailin. "Lysseth is most opposed
t'aught being thrown at her when she's grumpy because I'm being drunk and
silly," she tries to explain, earnest. "--Well, shardit. That means I can't
drown you *and* can't beat on you. 'Twould probably call for a pout if'n
m'mind weren't still glowing from all the happy fun little alcohol stars
dancing in it."

"Too cold? Or because of the wet leathers?" Cai asks, peering again at the
pond. "The apprentices dared someone to go in a few turns ago. Paid him
well for it I gather." She grins to Kassi then, "She doesn't like you drunk
and silly?"

[Editor's Note:  At this point we realized we had been playing
for hours and were all pretty dead, so the scene ends here.  
The chars can probably be assumed to have chatted peacefully 
by the Lake awhile, and to have not done anything that would 
get them kicked out of Herder Hall and separated from that 
lovely liquor, no sirree. ;) ]