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Conspiracy Theories


Date:  August 10, 2004
Places:  Telgar Weyr's Central Bowl and Hatching Galleries
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:  Fun!  Kassi meanders into the Galleries to offer Gay 
a game of dragonpoker, but runs across Candidates and I'sai instead;
Lysseth and Taralyth get some brief quality time, and soon the 
greenrider is working with Claret to untangle a conspiracy and try 
and will warmth into her rear end.  Yes, really.  No bodies were 
actually hidden in the making of this log.

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The Log:

You fly downwards towards the bowl.

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.

"Nay, I am nay going t'take a bet with you over the eggs," Kassi informs
Lysseth as she slides down. "You don't have any *marks*. And I refuse
t'take herdbeasts as a stake, or believe you have a mark-bet on with
Alymbrith. When did I become the bad influence on you instead of the other
way around?" Lysseth grumbles; Kassi just shakes her head, and heads for
the Galleries.

You make your way from the bowl, through the massive entrance to the
Hatching Cavern.

"You are showing quite a bit of muddlement there yourself, Tobay," Claret
warns him. "I am sure addled wherries know nothing about Lemosian
softwoods, though I suppose there's a great variety of other things you
could do if you wanted to achieve the effect of an addled wherry. I can
make the chores go doubly fast," she offers. "By helping to warm the seats.
Give you more time to scrub." Wrinkling her nose in thought, Claret nods.
"You did take me somewhere warm. Actually, I think it happened to be Boll.
And 'Reaches. Nice and warm," she repeats vaguely. "Boll, that is."

Tobay is sitting and visiting with Claret, who is seated, and I'sai, who
leans with one foot up on a seat. An abandoned washbucket is nearby the
Lemosian lad. "Well, the hardwoods, too, if I'm to be fair. Wouldn't want
to cheat one of them." His eyes light at the idea of warmer weather,
however; and he tugs his jacket around tighter. "Other than being bleary
about the eyes a bit, I'm holding up pretty well. You've traveled, Claret?
I'd love to hear about it. I haven't been, much, but I could probably scrub
this place down while listening to tales of green fields and warm warm
weather. Your position as seat-warmer, Claret, is of such importance,
though, that you must keep it always."

I'sai laughs, "Giving him time to -scrub-. That's the spirit. Now, if you
were warming seats out in the bowl, that'd be hardship, but as it is - come
to think of it, was that spiderclaw whatchacallit? Festival or something?
Good to know you aren't missing out, and Tobay, hey. If you don't Impress,
I'll take you sometime before it gets to be summer." It's a knee doing the
leaning, as it happens, but close enough. "And in the meantime, you're
doing a great job of encouraging her to tell those stories, I'd guess. Keep
it up. Me, I'd better get going - " and he straightens up to both feet,
turning, and that's when he notices Thunderbolt's wingleader. And grins.
"Well, maybe I can hold off a few moments more - evenin', Kassi!"

Lysseth> Above, Taralyth maintains his glide, for all that his wings are
partially vaned against the snow, until at last he chooses to land.

Lysseth> Taralyth backwings for a landing.

The muffled clink of wood on wood serves as Kassi's accompaniment into the
Galleries tonight. Her hands are in her pockets; the right is jingling
something within. The left pulls from that pocket a small box that's
roughly the size of a deck of cards. "Hey, is Gay--oh, people," she
observes observantly, stopping in her tracks. "Have I interrupted an
egg-gawk, or something more sinister, some sort of dark conspiracy? I could
imagine either one. G'deve, all." I'sai gets a bright grin in exchange, and
she teases, "Y'mean I rate extra moments? I'm flattered! Evening t'you too,
Is. What's the deal--swapping stories of warm locales t'distract from this
frozen ice-hole?"

Claret nods gravely. "It's of terrible importance, I know. I'll try to do
my -very- best to fulfill all the duties entailed in the job, so you can go
about your scrubbing," she finishes sagely. "You can depend on me. I
haven't really been traveling, you know," she corrects. "A few times, of
course. Well, not of course, but I've been out a few times. I've only seen
green fields and warm weather from up high." Up a finger goes to
demonstrate. "But I'm sure I could regale you with creative stories about
that. Evening," she offers to Kassima with a smile. "Not interrupting an
egg-gawk, I don't think. More like a seat warming party?" she suggests.

Lysseth> Taralyth lands lightly, and although his warble towards Lysseth is
decidedly pleased, he furls those wings of his that much more tightly
against his sides and rumbles at that hatching cavern over there.

Lysseth> Lysseth is staring into the Hatching Cavern, doubtless still
trying to will her rider into submission. The dragon mind-whammy at work.
Perhaps fortunately for Kassima, Taralyth's arrival serves as distraction
from her quest: her warble to him is warm, sweet-toned, and she indulges in
a moment's appreciation of those furled wings before the Caverns draw her
attention--or at least most of it--again.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth teases out a thread of thought, lapis
braided with silver: << A bit late to be finding Someones Special in there;
or is it someone else you'd bid come forth? >>

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth glitters back at her, dancing off the
silver, << Guess who. >> Riders, of course. Not that he couldn't have
waited on the ledges, but still - she was here, after all.

Tobay finally starts to get to his feet, his ability to be lazy only
enduring for so long before he's overcome by the need to do something. "You
would? Shells, Claret, you're the best. Maybe you can seat-warm while you
storytell?" His eyes shift to I'sai, wide, "Oh? You would? Thank you, sir.
I appreciate the offer. I might need until then to get the galleries
clean." With a smooth motion, he swings his arm down and catches the
bucket's handle, lifting it and swinging it onto his arm so it hangs there.
"Good evening, ma'am. Weyrwoman Gaycia went to look at one of the eggs, a
pink one. Please, warm a chair?"

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth twirls silver with glitter in a
moment's dazzling pas-de-deaux, openly and shamelessly revelling in such
interplay of light--which, if anything, is lent a richer cast of color by
her appreciation. Indeed. She was. And how discerning of him, to prefer
warm green to cold stone. << Has he promised you flying? Hunting? >>

I'sai beckons the greenrider over in any case, "How about egg-gawk and
conspiracy all in one? Or add seat-warming and make it all three. And as
for warm places - " there's a rumble from without; he winces. "-Someone-
wants to go get warm. Shells. Are you sure you two want dragons? Because
they're ornery. In fact - " again that wince, though nothing's audible.
"Well, shells indeed. Tobay, you're welcome, and good luck with that; the
problem about the galleries, and the stone we have here, is it seems as if
no sooner is it clean than the first part all gets dirty again. Claret,
good luck in your turn, not that the seat collapses on you and you fall
through a formerly hidden shaft and into the fabled mines of Morian. Kassi
- you don't need good luck, you've got it in spades, but good night, at
least!" And with that he marches for the bowl. Muttering.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth tugs on that leftover lapis amid all
that dazzle, shines it to her green - and fairly radiates, if only for a
moment, the sense of utter _warmth_.

I'sai walks out into the bowl.

Kassima abruptly staggers back a step, her eyes rolling back in her head
quite as if in agony. "Tobay! How *could* you--you *ma'amed* me. Oh, oh,
methinks I shall collapse from the pain of it." But hers has to be the most
controlled collapse in the history of creation, given that she walks on
over of her own free will to take a proffered chair: "Don't mind if'n I do.
Poker with Gay can wait; she'll be here, and--awww, but Is, leaving us to
conspire alone? How wise is that?" By her wicked grin, not very. She calls
after him, "Thankee most kind, and t'you, too! --All right," back to the
Candidates. "So what's the core of this conspiracy?"

Lysseth> I'sai stomps through the snow. Glares at Taralyth. Smiles at
-Lysseth-. See, he's smiling at Lysseth, who isn't in his head. The dragon
who is, however, snorts at him and butts him full in the shoulder, leading
to a staggered step but, yes, mounting up.

Lysseth> I'sai swings up to Taralyth's neck.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth shamelessly steals into that warmth,
wrapping herself in it for a moment like a warm blanket... then
relinquishing it with a last, wistful sigh: his, and she wishes him much
joy of it, even as she hopes in a flash of gold-webbed amethyst that he
might bring more memories of that warmth *back* with him to comfort poor,
cold greens.

Lysseth> A quick buckle later, an upward check for traffic - a quick nosing
Lysseth's way, as if to wish her luck with that whammy - a leap, and
they're off.

Lysseth> Taralyth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to
carry him aloft.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth leaves that much of it with her, warm
and rich and - there, that can be hers, to tide her by.

Lysseth> Above, Taralyth vanishes abruptly, not far above the ground -

Lysseth> Lysseth isn't laughing at all, either, oh no; she'd not do that,
not to him. Not *openly*. Of course, once they've gone--with the parting
whuff from her that's becoming characteristic--then she can curl in on
herself and rumble with mirth to her heart's content, and to her rider's
reprieve.

Claret says "Seat warming is my top priority," Claret informs Tobay.
"Absolutely top. Stories come later, although I suspect conspiracies might
be very distracting. Seat warming is, after all, a great challenge. After
all, it's true, the seat might collapse." With a resigned sigh, Claret
sends a wave after I'sai. "Thanks!" she calls before eyeing Metri. "Tree
burning? Scrubbing? The conspiracy is thus far quite undeveloped, in fact.
It needs lots of attention.""

Tobay, bucket in hand, nods and grinningly mock-salutes I'sai's departure.
"Mines of what? Under this stone? Hah, that would be an interesting
evening. Not that cleaning up under the backsides of you two isn't
interesting enough, stories or no." One hand dips into the washwater, then
comes back up, an expression of shock on Tobay's face. "Ack. Brrrr. Oh, oh.
That's cold. Really cold. Maybe if you dip your hand in here, it'll wash
away all of your shock at being ma--you know'd."

"Seat warming is a great challenge," Kassi repeats, sounding slightly
dubious. "Does thought really go into making your rear end warm? I've never
tried t'really *concentrate* on that. And the stone's never melted beneath
me, either. These things might be connected." She eyes the stone bench
she's sitting on thoughtfully. "Nay," she decides. "I don't think I *want*
t'try and think m'tail into seat-melting temperatures. Too disturbing a
notion. Methinks 'twill pass, Tobay, but thankee all the same--it might
just send m'heart into one last convulsion and I'd expire tragically right
here. Then you'd have t'explain it to the Weyrleaders, nay t'mention hide
the body. Most inconsiderate of me."

"Not to mention, you'd lose a seat warmer," Claret points out. "And after
all, we're making your job that much easier. I expect if you want to do a
really brilliant job seat warming, you've got to concentrate all your
attention on it. I never thought about melting things, though! You're not
conjuring up death for people, are you, Tobay?" Turning a suspicious gaze
on him, she enumerates examples with her fingers. "Relegating us to seat
warming when there are mines beneath, permitting one to fall to their
death, freezing hands off, causing convulsions... That would be a bit
untoward, really."

After the brilliant deduction that the water in his bucket is cold, Tobay
gets the idea to refill it with a warmer mixture. "I'll be back," he
promises. Or is that warns? "Fresh water, cleaner backsides." It is after a
few steps that he halts, as if stricken. "What? Hide the body?" In his wide
eyes can be seen, in order, horror, disbelief, and finally, amusement. A
jest. Ahhh. One finds it hard to tell with Telgar's greenriders, sometimes,
"Yeah. Well, I've see those tunnelsnakes. They could make short work of it,
you know. We candidates are wily. We have our ways." Tobay does his best
'evil face,' which at best is laughable. Giving it up, he strides back
toward the bowl, cold water sloshing as he goes. "Yes. Tobay of doom.
Grrr." The laughter from that alone should provide his cheeks enough warmth
to carry him safely to the living caverns.

Tobay walks out into the bowl.

Kassima has to ask, because some questions just beg it: "D'you regularly
concentrate all your attention on developing a warm hindquarters? Because
that sounds a little bit odd of a hobby, if'n I may say so. Perhaps nay as
odd as cannibalism, but odd. We shall live in fear!" she hastens to assure
Tobay at that 'warning,' managing to sound... not sincere at all. "And what
did you *think* you'd do with the body if'n nay hide it? Cook it? I don't
even want t'imagine. I'd make a horrible stew, y'know. Poisonous. Come near
me with a fork and 'twill give you a regular what-for." She laughs under
her breath at the grrr and finally asks Claret, "He hasn't killed anyone
else tonight, has he? That's nay why he looked so horrified at mention of
body-hiding?"

Claret sends a curious gaze after the departing Tobay. "I think he may have
already eaten something poisonous, you know. Given him inclinations to plot
and all that. Have a nice trek!" she calls after Tobay helpfully, before
lowering her voice again, rubbing her nose thoughtfully. "Well, he was
looking perfectly innocent when I came in. But you never know. After all,
it might have been a trumped up excuse that brought him up here,
particularly since he hasn't yet managed to do any scrubbing, and I think
he was here for hours!" Tapping her nose again, she considers Kassima's
first question duly. "I don't generally spend much time at all thinking
about my hindquarters, in fact. But Tobay most particularly relegated the
job to me this evening, so I'm putting lots of energy into it." She gives a
little wriggle to demonstrate.

Kassima slumps comfortably on her bench, stretching out her legs to rest
her heels on the tier in front of her. "Don't have t'eat poison t'plot and
plan. There are some for whom it just comes *naturally*. Scary souls,
those--you probably want t'avoid 'em, except you're here, so 'tis really
too late for that. I suppose he could've just wanted a look at the
eggs...." But her tone is doubtful, too much so to be genuine. "Neither do
I. There's a relief. I don't know what I'd have made of it, if'n Lysseth
had Searched someone that obsessed with her rear end--'twould be a new
thing for her. How goes the job, then? Is the seat very warmed?"

Claret tilts her head back and forth, weighing the possibilities of innate
conspiratorial tendencies in Tobaby. "Well, his threatening face wasn't
very convincing, was it? But perhaps that was all part of the act, to make
him look more innocent. He didn't even bother with excuses about looking at
the eggs. Just bringing Gay food and scrubbing." Two highly suspicious
activities, naturally. Looking down at the seat, Claret puts a hand on it
to test. "It's going very satisfactorily. It is quite good I'm not
particularly focused on my rear, isn't it? Life would be rather boring."

"A mask behind a mask behind a mask. Aye... that could be. He could be in a
*deep* conspiracy." Kassi lowers her brows in a pose of serious pondering.
"Doubtless an eye should be kept on him, lest we all wake up some morning
t'find buckets of ice-cold water in our beds. Or something. Bringing Gay
food? Now isn't *that* interesting. Boring depends on the rear in question,
I suppose--I'd think it boring. And 'twould certes get in the way of
chores, a thing of which I doubt the Coordinators would much approve."

"And he seems so pleasant!" Claret declares. "One of the last people I
would suspect of such things. It just goes to show. Weyrs really are
surprising places. Are there many conniving, ice-water dousing villains
wandering around? Hopefully they don't band together." Looking back down,
Claret shakes her head. "I think that, no matter the nature of the rear in
question, it would be an abysmally trying and boring existence. Not to
mention getting in the way of chores, to be sure."

Kassima lifts her brows in a show of astonishment. "What, just *Weyrs*?
Didn't you realize there are conspirators in Hold and Craft too, just
waiting, lurking under the beds and in the latrines in hopes that some
victim will come by whom they can douse with ice water? You've been
fortunate nay t'meet them. Nay, nay; i'truth, there isn't much of that.
Usually when there *is*, 'tis Candidates involved. Pranks and the like. I'm
endlessly thankful there hasn't been much of that this time out." To the
last, she suggests, "Ask Yashira some time about her rear and whether she'd
find it dull t'contemplate. A rumor says that her rump is spicy. Whatever
*that* means. I don't think I really want t'know."

Claret chews on her lip thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose it had occurred to
me that conspirators lurk everywhere. Maybe they're just less subtle at
weyrs? Or maybe they're so subtle, they plot lots of conspiracies and
execute them so successfully that's it's more obvious they're there? Though
in truth, I only hear whispers about little plots, and while I hear them a
lot, I don't see too many tunnelsnakes showing up in untoward places."
Chewing away, she adds, "I'm not sure it would be a very good idea to ask.
Any of the times I've seen her, she's been grumpy, and asking about spicy
rears hardly seems like the kind of thing that's conducive to a good mood,
though one never can tell."

Kassima gives this thought its due consideration, lacing her fingers
together behind her head and leaning back into them. "Weyrs," she decides,
"do nay excel in subtlety, as a general rule. We leave that to the
Bitrans... even though one could argue that they're even worse at it than
us, I suppose, so scrap that statement. We're very overt. And then behind
our overtness we hide other plots, just as you say. Plots within plots
within plots. Tobay might nay be plotting havoc with that bucket at all. It
might just be a cover, and he's *actually* planning t'sew all your blouses
together; only he isn't, and *that's* just a front for a plot to put rocks
in your pillows. Which in turn is another front. And meanwhile he's so
suspicious that he lulls you into submission, all by *seeming* far too
innocent, and--all right, now I'm confusing m'self. Yash can be
curmudgeonly," she says, taking advantage of the topic change. "But she
probably wouldn't be too grumpy at you. Hunt *me* down t'throttle me for
telling you about her spice, now, that I could imagine."

Claret sits there warming her seat very satisfactorily, blinking every so
often in an attempt to appear as though she actually follows the long
string of potential plotting. In the end, all she can supply is, "Well. If
Tobay can think of all -that- he must be terribly clever. I shall have to
keep my eyes absolutely peeled, and grow a new one just to be extra
careful. Though, I don't expect I'd be thrilled, to have three eyes. It
would make me terribly interesting, though." Yawning auspiciously, and then
covering her mouth with a hand, she readily supplies, "Well, next time I
see if, if I feel inclined to ask her about spicy rears and the like, I
shall be very sure to blame it all on you." Covering another yawn, she
scoots forward. "I'm afraid," she says regretfully. "That I might just have
to relinquish my seat warming duties and head to sleep, myself. Pity, but
as there will be plenty of chores tomorrow..." Trailing off, Claret nods
decisively, and rises to go.

Claret walks out into the bowl.

"If'n you manage t'grow a new one, let me know?" Kassi requests hopefully.
"I'd like one in the back of m'head, the better t'keep track of m'sons
with. And Kiss, but for that I'd need at least five more eyes. 'Twill be
awaiting m'imminent death with breathlessness, then. G'deve t'you!" She
waves after the Candidate as she goes, and, after a moment spent with her
head ducked to hide her helpless laughing now that she's no longer bound to
feign seriousness, shifts in the seat to face the eggs and indulge in a bit
of gawkery herself.