-------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm a Little Teapot, Short and Stout Date: October 2, 2001 Place: Telgar Weyr Lake Shore 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's tradition of trying to make the tapping of her new Wingriders a surprising and memorable experience goes perhaps just a bit beyond the pale this time. Thwarted the first two times she tried to collar her newest rider (and I was thwarted too--RL and 'Net problems kept shutting down the RP), she's devised a more elaborate procedure for him than for any Wingmate to date. Let's all hear it for J'an and J'an's player for both being such good sports, even when called to do the teapot dance. ;) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: You fly downwards and into the waters of the lake. <*> J'an ahs softly in understanding. "I see. And I can understand. poor Hroth does seem a bit...precocious." <*> Eneryth looks up from admiring himself in the still waters of the lake shore, and rumbles cheerfully. <*> Lysseth zip-ah-dee-doo-dahs down from on high, slim wings carrying her to a graceful landing not far from the water's edge... but not *in* the water, note; that is probably because her rider still rides, and is holding a large basket of something no less. Something that wiggles. This can't be a good sign. "Ooh, ooh, am I in time t'be hearing the latest news of Hroth and F'lone's exploits?" Kassi wants to know as she fights her way down with her burden of doom. Lysseth settles for an amiable rumble. 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. Zaidra snorts under her breath, "More like annoying," she mutters, but then she's glancing at Lysseth to see if her rider is with her, and waving even as Ymedath's crooning a soft greeting to the green. J'an rolls his eyes. "Nothing current, Wingleader," he greets. "What's in that basket?" Kassima, perhaps mistaking the significance of the glance, assures once she's reached terra firma, "Nay need t'be keeping your opinions on the matter quiet around me, at least nay if'n the lad in question isn't present. You don't know how close I came t'starting up with a contrived song about the fabled jealousy of K'ryn on the beach the other day." Which likely made no sense whatsoever. Peering down at the still-struggling basket, the greenrider sighs. "Fish. If'n you can believe it. All Kharisma's fault; the lass is soft-hearted--but don't stop on m'account, hey? I've always an ear for gossip; just let me dump these things in the Lake a'fore they fight their way free." J'an grins. "Perhaps you can correct me - K;ryn fathered Talisha's child, but F'lone is the one who's got the awful crush on Tali?" Zaidra smiles at the woman with the basket of fish, and offers, "I was just ranting a little, Kassima." And then she quiets when J'an sums up the topic so well. Tavorth lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake. "Right." Kassi wrinkles her nose, even as she unties the lid over the basket. "I suppose he can't help it, and 'tisn't as though they're *weyrmated*, but there's something t'be said for subtlety... well. Ranting can be fun, too. Be free! Be free!" That's not directed to Zaidra. That's directed to the fish, whom she's launching unceremoniously into the air with a fling of the basket; they land, one and all, in the Lake with very wet *plops* and make haste to get away from the madwoman. "Swim like the wind!" Zaidra watches the liberation of the fish with a grin, sharing for Kassima's benefit, "Tarlo compared F'lone rather unfavorably with someone named F'gon one night. I don't think Maylia was pleased about that when she heard." J'an says "Who is F'gon?" Kassima's brows both launch towards her hairline, and she turns fully away from the fish. "*That's* harsh. I know F'lone comes on a little strong, but goodness. F'gon was an old suitor of Kich's; former weyrmate of Terryll's," she begins to explain, "and someone nay many people *hereabouts* were all that fond of--he had some illness, and seemed t'be using it t'get sympathy from women. Always seemed t'have a woman on each arm, each leg, and all other imaginable limbs or reasonable facsimile thereof, too. Didn't see him very often m'self, but I can't say I ever understood what they all saw in him." J'an purses his lips, as Eneryth bobs his head shyly at Lysseth. Zaidra catches that expression on her friend's face, and changes the subject. "Anyway, J'an was just letting me rant at him. For which, no doubt, I owe him batches of dragon cookies." She smiles sidelong at the bronzerider. "I've been practicing, you know." Lysseth tilts her head in exchange, humming a faintly inquisitive note; since her rider's dismount, she's settled herself into a very sphinx-like position on the shoreline. Watch out--try to pass her and she might ask you a riddle. "He came to a lesson or two t'see Kich, too," Kassi reminisces further, with a slight frown. "'Twould be m'guess for why May didn't much like him. So, then. Should I even ask what you've been practicing?" Somehow, she manages to waggle only one eyebrow. "Or would I regret the answer? Ah, but shells, 'tis bad news. If'n J'an's been doing all these favors, 'twould probably be gauche of me t'be asking him for one." The bronze replies with a high croon of his own, and tucks his tail around his feet rather primly. "Practicing?" wonders J'an. "And what was that favor you wanted?" Zaidra laughs, "Just baking cookies..." And then, quizzically, "You're asking something of J'an? Should I cover my ears or something?" "Alas, alas. Another source of potentially scurrilous gossip shipwrecked on the shoals of reality," Kassima quips, with a melodramatic eye-roll and one hand placed briefly over her heart. "--But nay, I don't *think* so. Unless he's a bad poet. But that comes later." She gives her jacket pockets a quick pat, eventually finding a small glass flask filled with purple liquid. The same purple liquid she was shaking around at Boll, actually. "The first part of the favor is, I want you t'be drinking this," she instructs, proffering it to the bronzerider. "Or at least tasting it. I need an opinion." Ymedath isn't prim, just sleepy. His posture is almost canine, if a canine can be 31 meters long and winged, for his chin is resting on his forelegs, which are crossed daintily at the wrists. J'an extends a hand to take the flask, and eyes it suspiciously. He wastes not time in opening the flask and taking an exploratory swig, rolling it around his mouth like a winetaster. Zaidra watches this procedure with interest. Glancing over at Kassima she asks, "Am I allowed to ask what you're making him taste?" Kassima waves a hand airily, still watching J'an for his reaction. "You're allowed t'be asking; I just can't be answering until later. Part of the tasting ritual." Uh-huh. Even her green seems vastly amused by this, watching the procedure with sapphire eyes. "So? What d'you think?" The bronzerider's eyes are momentarily huge, and he shakes his head like a dog coming out of water. An explosive breath is expelled, and one almsot expects him to flame like a dragonet - the alcohol fumes are nearly visible. "So, you're working on a liquid substitute for firestone?" Watch Kassima beam. Beam, Kassi, beam. Still: "What, *that*?" she laughs, tucking her thumbs into her jacket pockets. "Nay hardly. That's a mild little something I've been working on for a bit, is all. But the bulging eyes were a *very* good sign. I must make sure t'be writing down the recipe. Are you ready for the second part of the favor?" J'an returns, drily, "Let me put my tongue out first, then, certainly." He thrusts the flask back at the greenrider. Kassima accepts it, frees her other hand to bring up a shirt-tail with which to wipe the mouthpiece, and takes a solid swig herself. Without any eye-bulging action following. Awww. "Certes," is her amiable agreement. "A flaming tongue wouldn't be beneficial t'phase two. You'll *like* phase two, Zai." Pause. "Methinks. *Is* he a bad poet, d'you know?" Zaidra eyes Kassima, "I will? Then I'm guessing you aren't going to make /me/ swallow...pinkstuff?" J'an is eyeing Kassima suspiciously. "What?" Zaidra adds, "Bad poet? Um...I've never heard him utter good /or/ bad poetry. His Eneryth has excellent taste in flowers, though." The last is offered in Zai's most helpful tone. Eneryth bats inner lids in his most flirtatious manner, as Zai mentions his name, and offers a melting croon. Oh, yeah. "Ewwww! I don't make *pink* stuff," Kassi denies at once, her expression twisting into an almost comical grimace of disgust. "What do I look like, a Bollian beach babe ambling around in a sarong with liquor glasses carved from wood and shaped like animal-heads?" Best, perhaps, not to answer that question. "Flowers. Mmm. Don't think flowers would help, unless--well, y'see, the *next* part is for you t'be getting up on that boulder, J'an." She points to helpfully indicate which one. "And while you're up there, either recite an impromptu limerick made up on the spot for our listening pleasure, or sing the 'I'm a Little Teapot' song. Extra points if'n you stand on your head." J'an obediently clambers up said boulder, and assumes the teapot position. Lysseth rumbles in a low, appreciative contralto. Chicks dig the flowers. As for Kassi, she flops down to a cross-legged seat on the ground, the better to watch and get the full teapot experience. Zaidra is already sitting in such a position, herself. Now, though, her attention is /all/ on J'an. "This should be interesting..." Dragon> Lysseth senses that Eneryth offers an image of Lysseth reclining in a most statuesque manner, surrounded by various wildflowers. J'an bows mockingly, before beginning to sing the teapot song, accompanied by the appropriate motions - all utterly without self-consciousness. This was the shy stablehand from fort? Next thing you know he'll be running around in a grass-skirt and teacup bra. Zaidra murmurs softly to Kassima, "I still think his Istan sand dance was more impressive." Lysseth> Eneryth senses that Lysseth accepts this image, finding it pleasing--though she does make one addition: water-lilies draped all about her wings and back, and never mind how out-of-place they may seem in a meadow. Dragon> Lysseth senses that Eneryth mirrors the image, before letting it fade gracefully. Kassima claps along with the simple melody as enthusiastically as any three-Turn-old. At points, she even hums. "Again! Again!" she enthuses when it ends--but then: "Oooooh. I hadn't *thought* of that... d'you think he'd do the Istan sand dance too? Or should I just move on t'phase three of the favor?" J'an grins, as he finishes the teapot routine. "That's the next time. What's part three of the favor? And why are you asking?" Zaidra applauds, even as she answers the Thunderbolt wingleader with, "I think he only does that one on turndays, in the living caverns.." "All things shall be explained," Kassi draws herself up to full--seated--height to intone at her most mysterious. "In time. The first question gets the first answer. For phase three, you have a choice: you can either strip off all your clothing and run back and forth along the Lake Shore three times, yelling, 'I am the illicit spawn of R'val and a dead wherry,' *or* you can accept what's hidden in hand number two." She brandishes the fist of hand number two demonstratively. Monty Hall has nothing on this woman. "Remind me t'be hiring him for Tali's next Turnday, would you?" she murmurs back to Zai, with a brief and impish grin. There's little by way of choice there, so far as J'an is concerned. "I'll take hand number two." "Only if I get to come, too?" is Zai's counter-offer. Kassima asks, after a pause doubtless thrown in just for effect, "Are you absolutely certain? *Absolutely*? I could have aught hidden in here, y'know. I could have a poisonous insect that'd bite you on the nose, and your nose would fall off, and then you'd never smell aught ever again. You're positive, without hesitation, one-hundred percent sure that you'd rather have what's in hand number two than run around naked? Oh, a'course, Zai. 'Twouldn't even charge you for a ticket." J'an nods, very firmly. "Yes." Kassima warns in a high-pitched sing-song, "You'll be soooooorryyy." But nevertheless, she gets up to march towards the rock and command, "Hold out your hands and close your eyes, and don't say I didn't warn you." J'an settles down to sit cross-legged, and does precisely that: eyes are squinched tightly, and hands held out palm up. And lo, Kassi drops into his hand a slimy, poisonous insect which proceeds to bite off all his fingers and drink his blood! No, of course she doesn't. Instead, she drops something worse. Something much worse. An item of such horror that no ballad could have enough verses to tell of it, that no screams could encompass. A Thunderbolt Wing patch. "You can open them now," she offers. "If'n you *dare*." J'an peers down incredulously at the path, then breaks into a broad grin. "WOnderful." Zaidra watches this part of the 'favor' with a soft smile. "Is that what I think it is?" she asks. Kassima sets her hands on her hips and demands, "Aren't you going t'be even the least bit horrified? Scream in terror just a little? Try t'get out of it? *Men*. I swear, they never know when they should be afraid." But this facetious rant doesn't stop her from standing up straight, setting heels together, clasping hands behind her back, and reciting in a much more serious voice, "J'an, will you do Thunderbolt the honor of riding with us? Though," more casually, "I suspect that grin already means 'aye.' Depends, Zai--'tisn't really a poisonous insect. I couldn't find one." J'an just bobs his head, grin still rather foolish. Curious, Eneryth leaves off his sandsketching to come and snuffle at his rider's hands..nearly inhaling the patch in the process. Zaidra laughs, "I don't think an insect would've made him grin like that." She beams a smile toward J'an. "Congratulations!" Telgar Weyr> Kassima congratulates J'an, Telgar's latest proven masochist. ;) Telgar Weyr> J'an Woots. Whip me, beat me, call me Circassian. Telgar Weyr> Nimiriel says, "Woo, congrats J'an. :)" Telgar Weyr> Zaidra cheers for J'an. Kassima allows herself a grin to match, falling entirely out of formal mode. "Good, good. Very good. Felicitations and welcome, a'course! And I'm glad the drink agreed with you; 'tis the official Wing drink I'm working on, so when 'tis finished, I'm sure there'll be plenty of it t'be going around." Oh, the horror. "Drills tomorrow start at dawn, got that?" J'an salutes. "Yes, of course, Wingleader." Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Lysseth cheerfully hands Eneryth his official Thunderbolt pimpdaddy costume: crushed velvet maroon suit, platform shoes, Ray-Bans, and gold fang. << Welcome to the Lunatic Fringe. >> ;) Kassima waggles her index finger at him. "None of that except in drills and falls, you; but just this once...." She returns the salute, crisp as fresh lettuce. "I look forward t'flying with you, then, bronzerider." J'an grins, and hops down from his boulder to clamber up onto Eneryth, who seems to think this calls for a celebratory flight. Zaidra waves to J'an and Eneryth, "G'night, you two..." Kassima allows herself to look pleased once J'an's back is turned... and further, to confide to Zai in a stage-whisper, "Y'know, I didn't really think he'd agree to the teapot thing? I need t'try this tack more often... g'deve and clear skies, J'an, Eneryth!" And Lysseth seconds this with a quiet warbling. Zaidra laughs, "He acts shy, but sometimes...I think he's got an exhibitionist streak." She yawns then. "I have dawn drills, too, so I'd better get going." Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Congrats, J'an!" J'an settles onto Eneryth's back. Eneryth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. Telgar Weyr> J'an snugs. And flops for bed. "A bronzerider with an exhibitionist streak. Imagine *that*," Kassi murmurs in deadpan humor. "A'course, a'course--didn't mean t'be keeping you. And if'n you ever need another ear for rantings, feel free, hey?" Zaidra smiles, "Thanks...and G'night." Zaidra uses the riding straps to vault into position astride Ymedath, giving him a friendly pat. Ymedath 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.