--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Splendid Evening


Date:  March 6, 2008
Place:  South Boll's Lava 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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassi's Note:  Kassima hails the news of V'lano's loss of his 
Weyrleadership at Ista with a few solitary toasts to his misfortune...
at least, that's the plan.  A'deth comes to find her and she ends up
drinking in company; not drinking much at all, to tell the truth, but
singing, and dancing, and entertaining an offer she never expected.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Log:

Bar, sky chairs, tables full of laughter and drunks; so many places to sit
and Kassima's chosen a small out-of-the-way table with no one else to call
its own. Up side: she gets to nurse her Thread in vague-gazed, thoughtful
peace. Down side: no stupid bar bets with sailors to increase her fortune.
Oh, the prices we pay.

A'deth has not been here in Turns and Turns, and it shows... despite his
usual blithe assurance in Igen, here, he is much more hesitant, diffident,
eventually going to the bar and ordering the same-old, same-old-- not a
mixed drink, but white wine.

Kassima may not be paying that much attention to her surroundings, but all
that silver hair against black is hard to miss. Harder to mistake for
anyone else's. "Don't drink the Brown Dragon," she pitches her voice to
advise from her spot, "there's wriggly things and dirt and tunnelsnake
offal in it. Green Dragon's better." But not what she's drinking, unless
they've given the name Green Dragon to something dark and lethal.

A'deth turns, and blinks. "Kassima. I don't think I've had either."

"You've missed out," Kassima says. "In the one case. In the other, you're
better off. Neither will get you drunk in a hurry, mind; if'n that's what
you'd rather--"

"While I do like to be drunk, I have to fly home." And A'deth shakes his
head. "If I'm going to be lost /between/, it'll be for better reasons than
that."

Kassima leans back in her chair, amused by something, edgily so. "Is there
a better reason than pursuit of oblivion? 'Twould be success. In a way.
Sorry, double-talk when I know what you mean." She sips from her glass.
"Stick, then, t'wine, any Dragon but the brown, and... that'd best be it,
if'n you'd have m'advice."

A'deth moves towards her, and invites himself to sit at her table.
"Double-talk, indeed. What's behind what you were saying, then?"

"Oblivion's something I named a drink," Kassima temporizes, while nudging
out a chair with her foot for him. "So get drunk, die in pursuit of
Oblivion, that almost works. And there's something in a death that suits
your purpose. Mostly, I'm... splintery. Sorry."

Kassima brings better manners to mind: "Your first time here?"

"Drink it with me," A'deth murmurs, "And I'll partake of it." And he drops
into the seat. "No. But not in, ah. Longer than most of the riders we know
at Igen have lived, let's say..." It always seems to come back to age for
him, oddly. His very long sabbatial, perhaps? His pause lingers before he
adds, softly, "Please don't apologise. My ear is, as ever, yours."

The suggestion distracts. "Oblivion? I'd have t'make some...." Kassima
frowns, but thoughtfully. "Marcus should have all I'd need. It lost a man
control of his body for a space," she warns, "and M'rek's a hard drinker.
--Well, then. Be sure t'be checking out the walls. Plenty new written in
this last lifetime." A rueful and small smile for the phrase, and its
truth. "'Tisn't much t'speak of. I'm being very, very tacky."

A'deth just gazes at her in silence, his expression sort of gently neutral.

Kassima sighs a bit for that. Gives in. "I'm drinking for someone's
misfortune. Toasting mayhaps. That sounds a bit over-jubilant, but for lack
of a better word."

"Ista," A'deth only murmurs, his tone rather kind. "I thought so."

"Goodness," Kassima murmurs. "Reached as far as Igen, did it? Impressive."
She drinks. Then, for good measure, drinks again; small sips of something
nature intended to be gulped. "He's likely still weyrmated, nay disgraced,
never shamed, only out of luck. 'Tis the best I'm going t'get, I suspect."

"Igen's hardly the centre of politics," A'deth shrugs, "But I flit about
now and then. Keep an ear out."

The edge in Kassi's smile isn't meant for him. It's paired, oddly, with
whimsy. "'Twasn't always politics--for me." Her eyebrows quirk up. "You
didn't come to the Lounge t'hear me mutter, though?"

"...Jaelith /may/ have told me where you were," A'deth admits after a very
long pause.

Startled, Kassi sets her glass down. "Shells, A'deth, tell me people aren't
figuring me for...." A gesture encompasses the glass, the bar, her
self-proclaimed tackiness. She drops her head into her hand. Rubs at the
skin above her eyes.

"I don't discuss you with anyone," A'deth states evenly. "I wanted to see
if you were all right."

"Nay, nay," a hand quickly flapping to dismiss the idea. "What you figured
out, others may have done. And one likes t'believe when she sneaks off
t'drink alone the reasons are her secret." Kassima peeks through her
fingers. "One," she says wryly, "enjoys self-delusion."

"I," A'deth also informs her very mildly, "Am perceptive, and a genius."

Kassima makes an amused sound despite herself. "There's that. M'apologies
for nay taking it enough into account." She picks up the glass again, but
doesn't drink yet; "'Tis kind of you t'think of it. An old Wingmate of
mine's suggested a party, actually, but that seems a little much."

"Though you'd be in the right, it likely would," A'deth agrees quietly.
"But... would you prefer solitude? I'd rather not trouble you more."

"I thought I wanted t'be alone," Kassima allows, turning thoughtful as she
turns the glass between her fingers. "Alone with m'embarrassing behavior.
On the other hand, I didn't try and hide on recognizing you. You've already
caught me besides, so what can it hurt? I'm certes nay more troubled--but I
doubt, fair warning, I'm the best company you could have."

"Likewise, I'm sure," A'deth shrugs. And lifts his glass in a toast. "To
being poor company, then!"

Kassima points out, "You're scarcely the worst!" even while she aims a
clink of her glass against his. "How t'best go about being bad company.
Options. Aside from leaking bitter despond all over the place, I could
dance on this table for your embarrassment, lecture you an hour on granite,
then top it all off by collapsing drunk and drooling on your shoes. Or
vomiting. Your choice."

A'deth beams. "That sounds like a splendid evening. Dance away!" This being
he, his embarrassment is in short supply.

"'Vomit.' 'Splendid evening.' These things do nay go together t'me,"
Kassima feels obliged to note, "or to anyone who's sane, 'twill go ahead
and say. Dancing--make a deal, you do it first and 'twill follow. Horribly.
Probably step in your drink, but you asked for that."

A'deth nods. He drains his glass, and then steps up onto his chair, and
then the table. His balance is good enough, since he's sober, been working
hard to improve his strength, and light. "You must provide the music," he
purrs. "And mind your drink."

Incredulous, with a slow grin and quick headshake for it, Kassima scoops up
her Thread; minding it's no trouble. "Alas," she sighs. "I can't hold this
*and* play the pipes for the Dance of the Seven Veils. So you'll have
t'settle for m'old favorite." Oh, dear. She taps her finger on the table a
few times to get the beat, and obligingly sings in a fine and enthusiastic
voice, "What d'you do with a drunken rider, what d'you do with a drunken
rider, what d'you do with a drunken rider, ear-ly in the morning?"

A'deth sways prettily, and shimmies his snaky hips, slender arms and hands
moving gracefully, too. His left side might be a little slower, but he
nonetheless keeps it from looking awkward. The song choice seems to bother
him not at all, and he keeps his aplomb despite the irreverence of it all.

Truly, one could safely wager that Kassi's never seen anyone shimmy and
sway to this particular song. Which explains the laughter coloring the
verses; or maybe it's the combination of all that pretty snaking with lines
like 'lift up his kilt and see what's under, ear-ly in the morning,' and
some she *has* to be making up, because no song ever was written with the
word 'Emasculator' in it. Right? Surely? Please Faranth, let it be so. At
some point she finds a place to put her drink so she can clap the rhythm,
and a few of the many watching parties join in too; why not?

As does A'deth, even as he dances, punctuating particularly fine shimmies
with a sharp *clap!*. He's even quite spry enough to kick up a heels now
and then, too. Make a spectacle of himself for her amusement? Offer his
wares to her so shamelessly, body undulating like some cheap harlot's? He
seems not to mind at all! And when he's starting to breathe hard, he drops
down to sit on that table right before her, leaning forward, legs dangling
over the edge.

Kassima is trying so hard, so hard not to laugh, and it's likely the
absurdity of the whole thing that keeps her from turning horribly red. Or
the liquor. "I've--Faranth, Mnementh, all their little children--seen more
shameless dancing in this place," the female greenrider breaks off singing
to inform him, grinning up--not that there's so far up to grin in that
position. "'Twill nay say what made it so. You might do that too. Glorious,
A'deth, simply glorious."

A'deth beams, and reaches out to slide a fingertip under her chin. "I don't
have assless pants," he informs her, panting from the exertion, "But I can
strip if you like."

Red, red, red! There it is, a grand flush to heat the skin under his
finger, but the grin and eyes remain bright. "Thank Faranth," Kassima
returns. "Nay anyone should have buttless pants. *Anyone*. I honestly
believe 'twould strip in the middle of a bar, wouldn't you?"

A'deth nods quite seriously. "For a select few. Such is my regard for you."

Seriousness there. Kassima weighs the statement more seriously, therefore,
tilting her head to consider him from a slightly altered perspective. "I
know I once told a Weyrling class at Telgar 'twas a man in secret under
m'clothes," she quips. "But I lied, y'know. --What I am is scorched earth.
I don't get what you'd see in me worth stripping on tables for."

A'deth shakes his head, silvery hair gleaming. Breathless still, he states
emphatically, "My judgement has not always been wise, but I think you're an
honorable woman, Kassima. Too good for a reprobate than me, but you've
helped to make Igen seem like my home again. Man or woman, you're Kassima,
you're my friend. Lover or no, you're my friend. Lest I be overdramatic,
I'll strip myself to the bone for you, my friend, should you but ask."

"Far be it from me t'cast stones at someone's judgment," Kassima murmurs,
glancing to the abandoned drink. "I--" She was a Wingleader, twenty Turns
and more a Wingleader. She was a proud woman, once. She's tried to regain
that. And proud women, once Wingleaders, don't get teary-eyed in bars when
they've only had half a glass of Thread. No. They blink a lot, and firm the
chin after a suspicious wobble, and look away, and laugh at themselves. "I
don't deserve that," she says honestly. "Especially since I've known you
only how long? It doesn't always matter, though, deserving. Does it.
Mayhaps someday, m'friend, 'twill." More softly, after a pause, "Thankee.
Any good I've done you, I'm glad t'have done."

"When I first met you," A'deth comments quietly, but his own chin raises a
fraction of an imperious inch, "You showed that you were loyal. I, on the
other hand, was a selfish prick. You've shown me courtesy since then,
always. You've taught the weyrlings well. You've worked hard at Igen. And
even now you're still acting with enough dignity, despite the
circumstances. And I don't care what is deserved and undeserved-- I cast my
friendship where and when I please, because I'm still a selfish prick."

Kassima chuckles under her breath for the self-descriptor. "'Tweren't
entirely a selfish prick," she half-teases. "Only at the end of the day
there. I tried for loyal. I tried very hard, where they were concerned." A
fleeting, slightly crooked smile. "As for dignity--we haven't gotten to the
bit where I dance. Thankee, and thankee again, and a third time, for your
good opinion seems worth the having, and I do think you do yourself
disservice. Selfish we all are; I don't see where the other comes into
friendship."

Pause. Long pause. "...And I really could've worded that better."

A'deth leans forward just a little. "Tell me 'nay'," he purrs, "Or I will
climb into your lap, my friend."

Kassima gives a one-sided smile. "I could permit that," she says. "For the
sake of the absurd, but nay the serious, methinks, and that seems as though
'twould be unkind and unworthy."

A'deth shifts again, sliding off the table until his knees hit the floor
and he kneels between her feet. He doesn't touch her, though the space is
narrow, no; his arms remain at his sides now. "I fail to understand your
dilemma."

Kassima's subtly tenser for it; not distaste, but wariness she can't do a
thing about except look for words to explain. "I knew a man once. He loved
scallops, loved 'em, and 'twere pure poison t'him. He'd sneak bites, and it
went ill. Unfailingly. That seems t'be me and... relations." She exhales a
long breath. "Only Thread's more reliably brought ruin. At least I haven't
had new reasons t'drink since I gave it up."

A'deth considers her for a very long moment. "I think... that perhaps your
troubles have been less your own doing than the cruelties of others, but
what I think has nothing to do with you; it's your own heart that's
grieved, rightfully so, and my selfishness has no place imposing its silly
notions upon it." He remains on his knees, his head below hers, something
in his manner altering from intent to diffident, even subservient. "I
apologise."

"Shells, for what?" Kassima's hand hesitates, hovering over his hair before
touching, feather-light, if he permits. "For what? Honoring me, flattering
me, making me feel a bit like a woman again, if'n a mystified one? You're
attractive and clever, a good man for all your notions otherwise." She
shakes her head. "There is naught in the world for you t'be apologizing
for. Well. Nay connected t'me."

A'deth makes no move to stop her at all; in fact, he closes his eyes and
leans his head into it very slightly. "I am grateful," he murmurs, "To have
caused no offense. I treasure your company a great deal, and I never wish
to cause you discomfort."

Kassima shakes her head again, though he probably won't see. "Nay offense.
Regret, some, that I can't oblige." A thread of amusement winds its way
back in. "Nay that I'm a pink straps sort of woman, I should point out.
*Pink.* Honestly. Discomfort for being selfish m'self, odd a thought as
that is. I'm thinking the pleasure of being wanted more than balances that
scale." She combs her fingertips through his hair, just a little ways. "So
'twill apologize now... and hear nay more apologies from you."

A'deth stays right where he is, fairly purring under her touch, and despite
her words. "As you wish. Do you want me to move?"

"I don't mind the proximity," Kassi says after thought. "But mayhaps nay
kneeling. 'Tis invoking some memories and I'm nay anyone t'kneel to in
aught but pure jest." One of those quick smiles. "You could always," she
helpfully suggests, "get back on the table."

A'deth shifts, rising with the faintest of creaks, and sitting on the edge
of the table, right where he was before he slid down. "It's not always
about straps," he remarks. "Not even usually. I don't think I've done
-that- sort of thing in Turns."

Kassima freely admits, "I never have--nay straps. Also, for the record, nay
knives, whips, mirrors, or women's clothes on anyone save me. Or *pillows*.
I can't even figure out what I'm supposed t'have done with those." Life
holds so many mysteries. She fishes her drink up from where she placed it.
"I'd ask, 'any ideas?' but I don't think I want t'know."

A'deth opens his mouth and then, uncharacteristically, closes it. "They
prop you up," he says instead, finally. "If you want to lie on your
stomach, but arching your back tires you out..."

Kassima starts to take a sip, but pauses. "Faranth," she mutters.
"Amendment. Almost forgot. One *very drunk* flight-lost rider insisted on
showing off some women's clothes, bless him. In the interest of honesty,
but 'twill nay say whom. ...Oh." One blink, and another. "Oh. Well, that...
makes sense, but probably isn't what Mart said, 'tisn't traumatizing enough."

"...I suppose if he wanted a small one, and squirted oil in it, but why
bother when there's always a warm body around to fill instead?" A'deth
shrugs bemusedly. And then pauses. "...May I ask /who/ was prancing around
in women's things?"

It's a bit like a game of mirror-mirror, because now it's Kassi's mouth
that opens, closes, except it keeps doing that while words fail. "Men," she
says finally. "Are *strange*. I don't think 'twas it either. Which is good.
That's an image I just do nay need of anyone. --I said 'twouldn't say; he
was drunk, we've all done things we wouldn't do sane when we're drunk.
Haven't we?"

A'deth shakes his head cheerfully. "I'd do it all. Which is why I don't
mind being drunk."

Kassima shakes hers too, but in wonder. "Brave man," she says, "crazy man.
I should've known when you danced on the table sober. I don't mind it
either but for some things, alcohol is absolutely required."

"Living satisfactorily," A'deth smiles faintly, "Requires madness, doesn't
it? It's why I always egg you on, despite your digging in your heels. If I
didn't do it today, and Thread caught me tomorrow... So I do it anyway. I
mostly understand why you -- or anyone -- wants to hold back, but that's
why." And he raises one hand, and then clenches it into a fist, as if
grasping someone intangible. And then he drops it to the table. "Like what
things?"

"Oh, I'm mad enough," Kassi assures, toasting madness with a mostly-empty
cup. "You're mad, I'm mad, we're all mad in Weyrs, and outside of 'em.
Mine's merely a chaste form of madness. Involves chasing people around with
dead fish. I have never, strangely, lost most of what 'twas because of
dead-fish-chasing." Wouldn't it have made a more interesting story if she
had? "Sleeping with perfect strangers you meet on a beer-intensive fishing
trip." She ticks off one finger. "Putting a whimry sandwich down I'sai's
pants. That required him t'be drunk more than me, but. Arguing over the
honor of m'rear end. Discussing the possible anatomical qualities of Lords
Holder."

"Those aren't too bad," A'deth comments admiringly.

Kassima turns to fond reminiscence. "I've a son from the fishing trip. If'n
you've never tried explaining t'someone the second time you ever meet 'em
that you're pregnant, I highly recommend it. Gives life such a surreal
quality. 'Fishing' turned into a euphemism, a'course. I've also put dye
into A'lex's drink t'make him pee purple and schemed with Auri and May t'be
making May's weyrmate think he'd had a foursome and couldn't remember it,
but the very, very sad thing is, methinks *'twas* sober."

A'deth considers these, too. "I don't think," he states finally, "That I've
ever had to explain to anyone that I was pregnant. I'm /sure/ the strange
cravings were something else entirely."

"Are you very, very sure?" Kassima asks, suddenly all solicitousness. "You
should go to a Healer if'n you've any doubts. *Between*. You'd nay want
t'go *between* and lose the bairn. Unfortunately, 'twould probably be the
end of your table-dancing days for a time."

Wide-eyed, A'deth reaches for Kassima's hand, in order to press it to his
stomach should she allow it. "Can you tell?"

Kassima allows, her mouth pressed into a line to keep her expression
appropriately grave. "You're flat yet," she judges. "I can't feel any
kicking, but nay surprise. You'd feel it first. Have you had any other
symptoms? Mood swings? Nausea?"

"I always feel those," A'deth assures her. His stomach is mostly flat,
indeed; there isn't a fraction of an ounce of fat there, just a lot of
unpleasantly thick scarring.

Kassima's disturbed glance is exaggerated for effect. "Always nausea. I
have scarcely ever pitied a man so much." The scarring wins a flicker of
frown; sympathy there more genuine than for phantom man-babies. Not,
however, to be mentioned aloud. "You'll need a Healer t'tell you for sure.
Can I be there when you tell the father?"

A'deth just beams. "Certainly. He'll be very pleased, we've been trying so
hard!"

"I don't," Kassima says delicately, "need t'be knowing details. However,
methinks you should name the child in part after me, since I helped you
diagnose it," somehow, "and may I suggest you give him or her m'K at the
start of the name, for luck?"

"...Kassideth sounds rather ominous, don't you think?" A'deth asks quite
worriedly.

Kassima acknowledges, "That's a point. I'm nay currently in favor of
Kassideth. There's always Kassade? Kadetha?"

A'deth considers. "You're better at this than I. But Kassade's sort of
pretty, even if there's an ass in there. It's in your name, too, but much
less noticeable. But, since I like ass, I figure it'll do."

"'A'deth is an arse man.'" Kassima pantomimes writing this down. "I'm
making note of that, just in case, someday, the knowledge should be useful.
I don't know whether t'be apologizing for m'name or nay given the givens."

"I think that it's patently clear that I'm an arse man," A'deth snorts.
"And don't apologise, it -- and everything around it -- are lovely.
...Which goes for your name, too."

Kassima pauses. "...All right. Point granted, as 'twere." This conversation
is so wrong. "Thankee. I think. 'Tis ever notable t'have one's... name...
complimented by a connoisseur."

A'deth gives her a florid seated bow, complete with ostentatious
hand-flutters.

To which Kassima, rising, returns an elaborate curtsey; then, "A deal is a
deal, a'fore it gets later and I lose nerve; but I can't do that dance.
You'd be stuck with a traumatic attempt at a jig. You're sure you want
t'see this, or shall we collect more drinks and toast the fact that you are
a total reprobate in every degree?"

A'deth slides off the table, standing too and giving her the floor-- well,
table. "Dancing first. Toasting after. Up you go."

"You'll regret this," Kassima warns him in full ominous mode. She's
generous enough to check her bootsoles for reasonable cleanliness before
climbing up. "Pick the tune, but naught too lewd, if'n 'twill, else 'twill
laugh and stumble and fall and die and brains will be all over the floor,
and Marcus will have t'mop them, and 'twill be *your fault*."

A'deth claims her seat, and sighs heavily. "Kassima, you give me no
choice." ...And he launches into the same damn song that she sang for him,
in a very respectable light baritone. And claps his hands.

Oh, good! That gives Kassi the chance to sing along with her favorite
verses--well, the ones in any official version of the song, or at least the
one he knows--and suits her style besides. Here's the thing about Kassi and
dancing. In a pair dance, in public, she's at best adequate. Too
self-conscious and prone to overthinking it. Single dancing, where she can
make up her own bloody steps, she's improved, particularly to jiggish tunes
to which she can kick and stomp and twirl around. And perhaps look silly,
but not care very much.

That she is laughing and dancing is quite enough for A'deth: there is
satisfaction here deeper than any salacious encounter, and healthier for
the soul, besides. She is not brooding, she is not drinking, or ruing her
circumstances; here, now, the table is her stage, the patrons her cheery
audience, and she is splendid.

And when she's out of breath, she's flushed and sparkling and breathless
but still laughing anyway; as amused by her own ridiculousness as by
everyone else's. That it could be seen as anything else would quite
surprise her. Kassima slides down to a cross-legged seat in the table's
center and grins at her musician. "Even. Now we're even."

"Magnificent!" A'deth pronounces, with an expansive sweep of his arms, and
the crowd loudly agrees, with much cheering and pounding of mugs on tables.

A crowd applauding her brings more red to Kassi's complexion even than
offers to strip in bars, and that's saying something. She ducks her head,
laughs, then turns towards the rest of the room enough to wave: "Thankee!
And I didn't even moon anyone," she asides to A'deth, quite pleased. "The
world's an amazing place."

A'deth just beams up at her. "Because you're in it, and dancing."

"I don't think I can take the credit." Kassi grins down, though. "There's
also Benden Red, lemon bread, and utterly incorrigible greenriders who
nevertheless do a respectable hip-shimmy."

A'deth twitches one hip. "Don't make me get on that table again."

If he's also encouragable, she's encouraging. "Do, do," Kassi invites,
scooting to the edge to leave it to him, "and 'twill get us fresh drinks,
and if'n you can toast yourself and shimmy at the same time 'twill really
be a night t'remember." Probably nothing Walter Lord will write books
about, however.

A'deth climbs on up, and sits down beside her. "Then I will! And you, too."

"A shimmy and a jig at the same time?" Kassima considers the matter.
Decides, in full sobriety, "...I think we're going t'need a bigger table."