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Boot-Scootin' Boogie


Date:  September 18-19, 2001
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Star Stones
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:  He doles out justice with the tip of his boot!  When 
last we left Kassima, she had been entrusted by Katlynn with the task 
of giving I'sai a certain pair of feathered pink underthings; just his
luck, the now very proddy greenrider decides to do just that.  And 
while he gets away with his life, Kassi still has a trophy from the
battle to hang beside Slithereth's head on her wall.

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The Log:


TGW-Bowl>> Above, Taralyth sails through the midsummer night, his moon-cast
shadows keeping pace with the brace of weyrlings he'd been drilling, till
at last they head for their low ledges and he peels away, over by the Star
Stones and those who keep watch.

Taralyth carefully backwings for a landing.

Taralyth lands lightly, no permission asked - but it's a discreet distance
away, for all that his greeting's as warm as it's quiet.

Some people whistle while they work. Kassima, seated in the hollow provided
by the curve of her dragon's sullen, glowing body, sings. "The spirits
white as lightning would on me travels guide me; the stars would shake and
the moon would quake whenever they espy me--" And oh, have we mentioned
that her 'work' is the pitching of fish heads and tunnelsnake heads off the
side of the Star Stones? The people down in the Bowl must be getting
annoyed. Lysseth notes that entrance before rider does; hisses her
displeasure, but that, too, is quiet and without great force, if not quite
able to be called warm.

[Editor's Note:  What she's singing, by the way, is a verse from 'Mad Tom of
Bedlam.']

I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

I'sai doesn't slide entirely to the ground, one straps-slung arm securing
his toe-nudged perch; instead - does Taralyth catch the scent for him? -
says, mellowly enough, "I wouldn't want to eat those either."

Kassima's reaction to human voice is to whirl around, one hand reaching
automatically for the Spear of Great Largesse that's propped beside her and
teeth already bared; nor does she relax much on recognizing the speaker.
"I'd give 'em to the 'lizards," she explains, curt, slowly letting go of
the weapon, "but most of 'em aren't in evidence right now. Can't *imagine*
why."

"Me neither," I'sai says companionably. Spear, what spear? Of course, he's
not stepping down the rest of the way, either. Yet. "Maybe they stole mine.
So's been siccing up his breakfast, in my boots... revenge for waking him
up to go mess with the newest weyrlings, I figure. Naught, don't -ask- how
he's chewing." A longer, thoughtful glance assesses her against the moons'
light. "That leather of yours; does it squeak?"


Kassima:
	 The force of sanity shall perish, but in its doom it will spawn a score
of proddy progeny; chaos shall be sown in their passage; so sayeth the wise
A'laundo. And few could look the part of such a spawn better than Kassima:
with her garb and gear both straddling the border between sultry and
psychotic, she may serve as a sterling example of what a dragon's hormones
can do to a woman. 
	Kassi wears a bodysuit of black leather that doesn't need a low neckline
to be revealing--not with the way it hugs her like a second, sooty skin.
Its sleeves end above the elbow, but pale flesh is soon covered again by
wherhide gauntlets; the legs trail off into knee-reaching glossy boots
marked by swirled embossings, whose heels add perhaps two inches to her
naturally 5'10" height. A swath of black sisal depends from her collar,
sliding down to meet the sash of similar stuff at her waist. A narrow train
of the material falls behind her, insignificant in the wake of a more
ostentatious decoration: stiff black feathers from the wing of some dark
game-bird dangle from the makeshift belt at regular intervals. 
	A large cabochon amethyst rests against Kassi's neckline. Her loose
blue-black hair falls down to her calves, kept from her eyes by the
intercession of an odd headdress crafted from more of that leather; it
guards her brow, and strips dangle down before her ears to brush each
shoulder. Four more sharp feathers spike out from either side. Between
these, her dark emerald eyes watch the world, the brows above them often
lowered and the skin of her fine-boned face drawn taut. And have we
mentioned that she's carrying around a spear of such size that it would
probably suggest a serious compensation problem if she were a man?


[Editor's Note:  Fans of the Baldur's Gate series of computer games may 
recognize the desc basis I used. ;) ]

The spear glowers at being ignored, or at least would if it could. "It
could be. Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned," and Kassi lifts one
shoulder in an indeed unconcerned shrug. "Sorry I missed your expression
when you stepped in 'lizard-vomit, though. Must've been precious. What,
this?" She gestures a gloved hand towards her costume, as though he might
actually have meant something else. Scornful: "Nay hardly. What good for
stealth would that be?"

"Must've been," Is agrees yet again, from the comfortable distance of more
than a few candlemarks and quite the furious feet-washing. At least it's
not so cold, these days, that his toes likely froze en route to the baths.
"An' right, that. I always have trouble with it squeaking, or else it loses
its shape, and what good is that. Not that it's -so- tight, mind, what I
wear... all black, is it, better for sneaking some more?"

Alas, alas; they'd have made good frozen toe-sticks for cannabilistic So
then--"Tight leather doesn't catch on aught," is Kassi's stiff defense of
what's dubiously defendable. "And it hasn't lost its shape yet. Shouldn't,
a'fore I give it back to Amelyssan. Anyway, what does it *matter* whether
'tis tight or nay?" Her belligerence is, for a moment, comparable to one of
the Goodfeathers: are you lookin' at me? Are *you* lookin' at *me*?
"Better," she grants with a dismissive flick of fingers. "And more
traditional." Another flick, though this time to indicate her dragon. Who
growls. "...Though. Speaking, mayhaps, of tight things. Someone left a
*little gift* for you that I'm supposed t'be delivering."

Sort of like popsicles: lime or grape? "Amely... whatsit? We need a good
weaver," I'sai brightens; and yes, he's a-lookin'. So's Taralyth,
silhouetting the man's profile with one sparkling eye's blue light. That
last, though... "Little gift? Does it have anything to do with J'lyn?" He
twitches a half-step back up.

Should one be asking what Is is doing with purple toes? "Amelyssan, brown
Gromnith's," Kassi clarifies with a brief scowl--for his lack of
recognition, for the fact that it's a malerider she speaks of? Because the
sky is blue? Who knows? Certainly not because Lysseth's eyes are blue;
they're red, red, red, though their burn is sullen smoldering rather than
active fire. "One of mine. Reclusive. As all brownriders should be--they
need t'keep out of our *way*... 'tisn't aught t'do with J'lyn, but," she
qualifies with a slow smile that likely somehow manages to entirely miss
being reassuring--must be the teeth--"I do think seeing your reaction to it
would improve my sevenday considerably. It really would."

"Oh, -Gromnith's-," and if Is hadn't realized, it's not apparent in that
should've-known drawl. Gesturing towards those fallen fish-heads, "So, ah,
do you have it with you? We don't have to go to your weyr or anything, do
we? Really, we could wait a few days till you have it ready, and then it'd
still be the sevenday, see."

"The temptation t'say aye, and thus have an excuse to drag a bronzerider
into my evil lair and ensure that he's never seen again...." Kassi sighs,
expansively, over that lost chance. "But since I'm in enough trouble
*already*, 'twill admit I have it with me. In Lysseth's strap-pouch." She
nods towards said pouch, but makes no motion to retrieve the item herself,
not yet; belatedly added, "'Tisn't the ruddy fish-heads. Those are *my* toys."

And Taralyth snorts smoky breath; his rider chuckles, low. "The trick'd
be," he suggests, "To get people coming in after me, by way of rescue, and
then get them too... and you're not sharing your -fish- with -Lysseth-? Why
ever not?"

Kassima admits, "That's a decent idea--and why you're *generally* more
tolerable than most of your verminous ilk, I might add: you think like a
greenrider. Nay that other greenriders are *that* much better than
maleriders." But she digresses. Finally, she abandons playing with her
roly-poly fish-heads to stand with a languid stretch and turn for some
strap-rummaging; over her shoulder: "Surely you're nay implying that you'd
share aught with this hideous hellion-beast either." The hideous
hellion-beast's tail flicks out to attempt to smack Kassi's most convenient
leg; Kassi uses that leg to aim a kick in its direction. Ah, Impression bonds.

I'sai sketches a bow - wobbles - and snags a tighter hold on Taralyth's
straps, to the dragon's muted noise of protest; seems he doesn't have the
sense to run with her distracted with rummaging; instead, grandly, "If I
had any fish-heads, she could have -all- of them."

"Take *her* side, why don't you," Kassima growls, fairly jerking the pink
velvet bag from Lysseth's strap-pouch and swivelling back about on a heel
to throw the item at him. Lyss, at least, seems momentarily pleased... if
more by her rider's irritation than the generosity.

"All right, you could have a coupl - " I'sai _tries_ to duck the incoming
bag, but Taralyth conspires with a lower crouch so it can't help but hit
him in the ribs anyway, and once that's done, curiosity gets him opening
the sack. Pink or no pink.

At least the bag doesn't have much heft, even if it *does* jingle ever so
ominously. "I could at least pluck out the eyes," Kassi mutters, dark. "And
spit them at you." Even such threats shan't stop her from rocking back as
much as those steep heels allow, the better to watch with a smile at once
anticipatory and full of teeth.

"Save it for when I have a jar of Issie's preserving-gunk," I'sai
recommends, pulling out - well - _pink_. It's very pink. Even in the
moonlight, it's pink. And it jingles. "Is this for Kiss to chew on?"

Kassima asks, pitching her voice to saccharine sweetness, "But why would I
want t'preserve a fish-eye when yours are so much more bee-yoo-ti-ful? If'n
I had such a jar, I'd do better t'peck out your bonny blue e'en, so
t'speak." Flutter, flutter, go those lashes, and who ever knew that lashes
could be fluttered maliciously? "I don't believe so. I believe 'tis
something for you t'wear. In the fashion show." Never mind that the belled
set is not man-sized.

"I think it'd be better for her," I'sai decides, giving the pants a trial
flutter that can't quite match the lashes, no matter how it tries. "Or else
there must've been a mistake. Don't tell me it's Katlynn again?"

"Y'know, 'twas really expecting a good reaction of horror from you at
receiving transparent pink diapers," Kassi gripes, frowning at him.
"Couldn't you have at least *pretended* t'think 'twas a finger puppet and
then be utterly humiliated? *Men*. But a'course 'tis Katlynn. She showed up
here with those items for you and--for you. All for you. She implied she
plans t'con you into wearing 'em with the thong."

"But there are two pairs and... diapers? I'm not wearing them. With or
without the thong," I'sai points out from the jolly green land of denial.
"And you're distracting me from complete horror, besides." He has to be
able to run.

Kassima straightens at that, folding her arms and frowning more--yet more
uncertainly than with open hostility. For now. "I'd think pink diapers
given by a proddy greenrider would be *more* horrifying," she points out, a
bit miffed. "If'n you're implying that I lack a horror factor... well, you
couldn't wear the same pair every day, now, could you? Besides. You're
doomed. You know Katlynn. You know Weavers. You'll be up on a stage in
your thong and your sisal swaddling a'fore you can say 'Mr. Flibble.'"

I'sai soothes, "I thought you were delightfully horrifying all by yourself.
This is just ... I don't know, -distraction-. And a little washing, and...
no, no, no, I'm not going to wear either one. Here," and he tosses her the
top one, which now happens to be the one with the bells, even (especially?)
if they -would- impair stealth. And then, then he makes the most grievous
mistake of all: "Mr. Flibble! Mr. Flibble! Mr. Flibble!"

"Horror shouldn't be *delightful*, it should be something t'bring up
screams of fright and despair from the pit of your soul," Kassi begins to
grouse, with grand gestures to go with this whole 'soul pit' idea.
"Washing--?" Oh, but then the be-belled underpants come flying, and while
she's certainly capable of catching them before they hit her--alas for poor
Kerwin, that he lacked such skills!--that means actually having to touch
them. And then that *chant*. "Arrrrrrrgh!" is the battle-cry that echoes
'cross the night-washed plains of Telgar as she launches herself--minus
spear, thank goodness--in an attempt to tackle yon bronzerider down from
his dragon *and* pull the underpants over his head at the same time. Let's
hear it for multitasking!

I'sai's begun to try a sample scream, only it's closer to a polite
steward's version of a howl - and at the greenrider's onrush, even -that-
becomes more of an, "Urk!" as he hastily scrambles for higher ridges...
only his boots are caught, leaving him dangling as a sort of bridge between
her and the straps of a snorting, shifting Taralyth, remaining bag clutched
in the same hand that daren't let go of the straps. And that left boot?
It's slipping, slipping with the belled pink...

Kassima cackles maniacally--yes, she really does--at having captured, sort
of, her prey, even if it's the wrong end of her prey for any
underpants-over-the-head attack. "You can't escape, bronzer, you can't!
*'Twill* see you in pink underpants for this!" All the while clinging
tenaciously to the slipping footgear--even as sisal rips, no match for the
heel of a boot or the enthusiasm of a berserker greenrider, who's even now
attempting to somehow climb up so that she can get to his head, without
letting go of the boot. We said berserk. We didn't say logical.

Many other men, and some women, would pay good marks for the privilege.
But, "'Twon't! 'Twon't!" I'sai catches himself exclaiming, hauling himself
up the straps by dint of sheer adrenaline, legs doing S'vitus' dance to try
and shake her off - rip rip rip - and then he makes it, but even as
Taralyth begins a hasty leap, the boot slips further... only to fall
altogether as the young dragon wings free into flight with a last,
despairing, "No-o-o! My boo-oo-oot!"