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Funk 'N Fury


Date:  February 1, 2001
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Runner Pasture
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:  The title of this log is *entirely* I'sai's fault.  
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. ;)  The backstory:  some time 
ago, Kassi travelled to High Reaches with a sack full of shells and
asked I'sai to deliver them to her cousin at Boll, as Lysseth had 
gotten the idea from Taralyth that the bronze would appreciate an 
excuse to go somewhere warm.  I'sai duly agreed to the errand.  This 
is the scene that happened when she found out the actual results of 
this arrangement.  It's not lighthearted or funny, but it deserves 
posting, as there's some potential for lasting ramifications here.

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The Log:

You open the gate and enter the runner pasture, remembering to close it
behind you.

The moons are bright enough that the fence-sitting figure casts twin
shadows, however dim, with his boots propped along a slat and forearms
resting on his knees, pale face tilted towards the runner that's grazing
half a greenlength away.

Pausing just inside the pasture to take a moment to appreciate that clear
sky, those clear stars, Kassi holds the gate open long enough to get
herself slaughtered were there any Herders present; their absence securing
her continued living, she closes it with a quiet creak and continues her
meander. "I'sai?" she asks upon seeing that figure, and not without
surprise. "Don't tell me you're staking out a runner too."

"Staking out..." the tenor voice says on a blank note that, at length, at
least turns questioning. I'sai shifts a splinter's worth. "No, just
sitting. Taralyth's asleep."

"Something like," Kassi amends, tucking her hands in her pockets as she
shifts her course towards where he sits. "A cousin back home is going t'be
buying one of these, and I thought I'd come get a look, since I didn't have
overwhelmingly busy plans this evening. I never knew 'twere into runners."

I'sai chuckles softly. "I'm not. No one I know is." There's a faint squeak
as he shifts on the rail. "Well, no one I know well, not to talk -about-
them, anyway."

Kassima finds a spot of fence to lean against, leather-clad elbows resting
against the utmost rail. "M'kon used t'have a thing for ovines," she muses,
"but I don't think *runners*... though I could be wrong. Nay important."
Shifting subjects: "Didn't know I'd find you here, but since 'twas looking
for you, 'tis just as well--don't suppose you have a moment?"

I'sai interjects with sudden force, "I wish people would stop -teasing- him
about that - " 

And then, some moments later, apology is in his voice if not his words.
"...Yes. yes, of course."

Kassima twists her neck to grant a long look. "Actually," she replies,
over-mild, "'twasn't, as it happens. He was fond of ovines is all I meant.
In a strictly platonic fashion." Back to the runner her eyes wander, and
darker, though she does nod slight acknowledgment and acceptance of
apology. "I went t'see m'cousin Simian at Weavercraft today, about
m'costume for the Masquerade. And I asked him about how much of a discount
those shells--you remember?--would net me. Only he said he hadn't ever
*gotten* any. So I'd wondered if'n you might've given 'em to the wrong man
by mistake."

I'sai'd hunched his elbows even that much more tightly to his sides as
she'd begun; at the end drifts up his, "...Shells?" Another pause.
"Those... I didn't finish those... I only returned half; they helped,
though..."

"Finish?" Kassi repeats, puzzled, the corners of her eyes turning from
white to night-blackened green as the irises slide over. "Returned?
Methinks you've lost me. You gave Sim half, then? D'you still have the
others? I really could use 'em--the lot should be worth ten, fifteen marks,
y'know, though I can't imagine why Sim wouldn't remember the other half.
Mayhaps the sun's finally melted his brain."

[Editor's Note:  Yes, I know that ten or fifteen marks for shells 
is insane. ;)  Kassi's cousin is obsessed with collecting them, 
though, and collectors will put an odd value on things.  He's 
ostensibly a popular and successful member of his Craft, so he 
has the money to back this discount scheme.]

Speaking of brain-melting, or melted; I'sai's jaw doesn't gape so much
as... sag at the mention of all those marks and giving and - in a small,
rusty voice, "I, I, I put them back. In the water. Strewed them out for the
fish - I thought..."

Silence. One of those heavy silences that bodes a lot of screaming or death
in the very near future. In a very careful, very slow voice, Kassi asks,
"You... what?"

"...Put them back," returns that drifting voice. "All together, where they
won't be lonely, but scattered some, so they're not all on top of each
other..."

Kassima blinks once, then twice. Long lashes touch the tops of cheekbones
before sweeping back upwards. "Let me get this straight." Still in that
too-careful voice. "I gave you a bag full of four months' worth of
collecting on the part of me and the children, the very best shells we
could find all cleaned and shined up, worth approximately ten marks, and
asked you t'give it to m'cousin. You *put them back in the ocean*."

I'sai whispers, "That long..." A moment passes that may, under the
moonlight, seem longer yet. "I, I didn't realize. I'm sorry. I'll try to
find them."

It isn't many people who get the dubious treat of seeing non-proddy Kassi
openly angry. And once disbelief passes, she is that... briefly. Jaw
tightens, mouth presses into a thin line, eyes for a moment practically
smoulder--and then it's vanished. Replaced by bland expressionlessness and
a glazed-glass regard. "Well," she says quietly. "I'm afraid it's rather
late for that. Don't you think? The finest shells from beaches all over
Pern--the beachcombers will have picked 'em up nigh as soon as you dropped
them. A pity."

I'sai repeats, "I'm sorry," with neither that heat nor the chill she's come
to know: just - gray.

Kassima's response is laced with a coolness that borders on cold. "The
fault was mine." And looks away. "I trusted you enough t'nay think twice
about whether you'd do what you said you'd do; that's my mistake. I don't
suppose there's aught that can be done t'fix it now."

"I didn't really realize what you'd meant," I'sai says, finally, still in
that same tone, colorless to her coolness. "Or I, I didn't remember." And:
"I've still the half, and will find you the marks for the rest." Doesn't
even seek to verify what they'd be worth.

"Oh, aye, that makes sense. I ask you t'give 'em t'my cousin, you throw 'em
in the ocean. *Perfect* sense." Not quite snapped; Kassi's still bottling
up that temper, but there's an element of grit teeth that's audible. "I
didn't realize 'twas cousin to the ocean, but there's something I can at
least boast t'people about next time we go out drinking." A deep breath
lets her regain her remoteness. "I do thank you for sparing the rest. You
needn't bother with marks. I can afford them more readily than you can, I
imagine."

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Fasolth reaches out quietly. 
<< What are my wingmates doing? >>

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Lysseth doesn't answer in words;
only returns a token rumble underlit by black roiling, red fire. Will
'being angry' do as a reply?

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Kiyoth touches back,
feather-light. << I am sitting on my ledge, that is all. >> There's an
unspoken curiosity there, too--what about the others?

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Saulith is the barest flicker of
ember-red. <<Sleeping...>>

"It seemed right at the time..." and if it's dreamily, it's not a pleasant
one. "The moons were hanging, and the shells, they were as white as they
were, and the waves, they curled up the sand and took them away..." I'sai
eventually drifts to, if not a stop, a pause. "White as the marks. I'll
give you the marks. It's not the same, they don't shine so under the stars,
all wet with the saltwater like the fishes' bones. I'll give you the marks,
it's all I can do."

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Fasolth gingerly sloshes around,
wet thoughts considering the answers. << You are not happy, Lysseth? >> he
ventures. It is uncharacteristically timid for this brown.

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Lysseth does make answer, though
it's cutting with crystal-edges in full evidence: << My *rider* is not
happy. >> Same difference, this being Lyss.

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Saulith sends one curious/sleepy
image of black leather and knives. _That_ unhappy?

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Fasolth continues, washing
soothing feelings over Lysseth. << Why? >>

Kassima's breathing becomes audible sometime around 'took them away,' a
quiet hissing that speaks of strained control. "I do nay know what you were
*on*, I'sai, or what you're on now, but 'twould suggest you sniff or smoke
or snort whatever 'tis a bit less in the future. Don't bother with marks.
If'n your conscience bids you make reparation, do so by nay repeating this
unfortunate occurance with whoever decides t'trust you next. Or--" But she
halts, pensiveness for a moment replacing that ill-buried fury.

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Lysseth bats those suggestions
and mollifications away irritably. That irritation doesn't really seem
directed towards them; it's halfhearted, echoing some other anger. << No,
no, we are not proddy. It is Taralyth's rider. He has taken something my
rider trusted him with and ruined it, and she is... not pleased. >>

I'sai finally, visibly flinches - sniff - smoke - snort - but when she's
stopped, and he speaks, it's as quiet as one who's learned his lines. "Or."

"There's something I need assistance with," Kassima supplies slowly.
Reluctantly. "And I'd meant t'find some way t'get you t'do it. But... I
don't know if'n I could trust you, now. You might decide t'throw all the
materials in the ocean, or throw fish bones at everyone's heads."

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Fasolth finds this to be a
perfectly good reason. << Taralyth and his rider do not always make sense,
>> he adds.

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Saulith sparks a brief bright
orange from her banked ember. <<_Very_ true.>>

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Kiyoth bristles slightly, a
flare of sandpapery-red. << -Taralyth- always makes sense. >>

"...I'd try not to," I'sai says, finally. And seriously: as if it could be
a real possibility.

Dragon> Telgar Thunderbolt Wing sense that Fasolth grows a little wry,
teasing. << Winning many Flights is not the same as making sense. Though
Taralyth does make sense more often than his rider does. >> Trickle,
burble. Thoughts processing.

Kassima considers him for silent moments there in the moonlight. She blows
out a breath. "I'd always thought you a good, decent, trustworthy sort,
particularly as men go. I suppose you might have suffered some form of
temporary insanity." There's no cut behind those words, but neither is
there humor. "If'n you really want t'ease your conscience, I'm in need of
help with a certain project. You've heard about this ball I've been
planning, I trust."

I'sai doesn't question the diagnosis; neither does he directly affirm it.
He continues to sit, though he shifts enough to suit another couple
splinters. "With the costumes," he says, quiet. "People talk about them, a
lot."

"Good t'know they're enthused," Kassi mutters, turning her head back; it's
lowered just enough so that the forelock dangles in her eyes, not unlike
those of the runners still ambling free and blithely innocent. "Welladay.
I'm more busy than sometimes I'd like; I could be using assistance in
getting things ready. You know. Helping with games, running fire control...
modelling for the fashion show."

"Fine," I'sai says, and the fence squeaks again. Even with that slight
emphasis, had he heard what Kassima said? "There's plenty of firestone."

Confusion distracts for a moment: "You plan t'model firestone?" Kassi
wonders, bewildered.

Dark eyes shift her way, at last, though they fall short. "Firestone. All
right," as if it had been a suggestion.

Kassima's mouth tightens. "Faranth's sake, I'sai. If'n it bothers you this
much, then forget about it; I can find someone else."

I'sai says plainly, "I don't mind." Quite as if he doesn't.

Kassima watches him sidelong under lowered brows, and finally shakes her
head. "All right, then. Do as you see fit. But you don't bloody well have
t'do aught I say, like you've nay mind or opinion of your own."

"Yes'm." And there, -there's- the minutest reflection of a smile.

Aisling opens the gate and enters from the central bowl, closing it behind
her.

"Don't call me ma'am," is Kassi's dark reply. "I know I shouldn't expect
other, but I'd hoped you'd still respect m'feelings to that extent."

Aisling is only stepping close enough to hear voices, not words when she
freezes mid-step trying to gauge the mood and identify the voices before
she moves any closer.

"Habit," comes I'sai's apologetic tone - from Turns ago, it must have been
- from a small figure seated on the side fence, leaning over hunched-up legs.

Kassima's pose is deceptively casual, an elbow-propped slouch against
fence-slats. Her mood, in contrast, is a dark and brooding thing. "Save it
for the old or respectable," she sighs, shaking her head. "I'm neither.
Remember? Anyway. Sorry I snapped." No, she isn't, but she will be later,
and has the foresight to recognize it. She doesn't seem to see Aisling at
this time.

"I'd better go," I'sai says with the merest smattering of sense, sliding
down, boots whispering against the dying grass as he lands. "Tell me
tomorrow what you want me to do."

A moment of indecision as Aisling slinks back into the shadows. As soon as
the voices are identified, she steps forth, this time making as much noise
as she can. "Evening!" She calls out.

"Tell me tomorrow if'n you're still willing t'do it," Kassi suggests dryly.
"You don't seem much yourself this eve; you may change your mind." There's
a pause, even a hint of softening, as if she's thinking of adding
more--but... no. "G'deve," she says instead. "G'deve. Our regards, as
always, t'Taralyth." She swings her head about sharply as that voice comes;
effort puts some amiability in her reply: "And g'deve t'you, Aisling."

I'sai'd slid over the fence upon which he'd sat; now he looks over at her
with the dark bars between them, and the fair head tips in a nod, and he 
goes.

I'sai opens the gate and heads out to the Bowl.

Aisling watches I'sai leave without comment, a quizzical look coming to her
face at the lack of greetings. Her quizzical look grows as she looks back
to Kassima. "Something tells me I came at a bad time."

"That's... you could argue that," Kassi agrees, shifting back so that she
can brood forward. "I'd say we fought, except he didn't have any fight in
him. So I'm nay precisely certain what happened. Bloody *idiot*." Whether
she refers to him or herself is, of course, anyone's guess.

Aisling watches after the bronzerider, commenting quietly. "Most people are
at one time or another. Even myself." She adds in an attempt to lighten the
mood.

Again darkly, Kassi mutters, "You don't do things like *that*. I presume.
A'course, I didn't think *anyone* did, except perhaps t'someone they hate
in spite and revenge." Oh, snipe, snipe. She sighs. "Apologies; I'm being
bad company, I suspect."

"Truth be told." Aisling says quietly. "You are far better company then an
empty weyr.." She pauses as she leans back against the fence, "I would have
to know that *that* was before I could compare it to anything I have done."

"T'dan's out?" Kassi wonders, curiousity peeking through. "A bit late,
isn't he? Oh. Well." Brood, brood. "I entrusted him with something.
'Twasn't gold or jewels or aught like that, just shells, but 'twere
valuable t'me and a long time in gathering... though he didn't know, I'll
give him that. Anyway. He agreed t'take 'em t'my cousin for me--you
remember, 'twas that bag I took to the 'Reaches when Lyss wanted an excuse
t'go keep Taralyth company? But instead of doing what he said 'twould, he
dumped 'em in the ocean. In the *ocean*."

"He wished to take them home and set them free?" Aisling hazards a guess,
"Perhaps they were longing for their own kind." Longing for thr fjords, as
it were.

One of Kassi's fists emerges from her pocket at record speed to bang
against the fence in frustration. "Bloody *shells*, what *is* it with you
people? He took something I trusted him with and destroyed it *on purpose*.
It doesn't strike me as all that funny, if'n I may say so."

Aisling tilts her head slightly, a bit bemused by the reaction. "That
doesn't strike me as something I'sai would do without reason, did he say
why he did it?"

"He thought they looked pretty in the friggin' *moonlight*," Kassi replies
in total disgust. "I don't even begin t'understand why aesthetics come
above either his word or m'feelings--I mean, mayhaps 'twas being
presumptuous in thinking 'twere friends, but *still*."

A moments silence meets her words, a silence that stretches out as Asiling
tries to wrap her mind around this concept. "He took the shells that you
asked him to deliver and threw them into the water because he liked how
they looked?"

Kassima shrugs. It's one of those 'Don't look at me,' uncomprehending
shrugs. "That's what it sounded like t'me. I should probably ask him about
it again sometime when he's... more himself. And mayhaps when I'm less
angry." She ducks her head, perhaps--just perhaps--with a hint of regret.
"'Twas probably angrier than I should've been. I thought he was
trustworthy, though. It never even occured t'me that he wasn't."

Another long silence as Aisling lets out a soft sigh. "I am sorry. I am
sure he wouldn't have done this, had he realized what those shells meant to
you." Another long pause before she asks. "What sort of shells were they? I
mean are they something that perhaps could be replaced?"

"It could've been a sack of dirt. That wouldn't change the principle of
it." Although, granted, Kassi would probably be less annoyed. "They weren't
that special per se. I've a cousin at the Weavercraft who collects 'em,
y'see, but doesn't have much chance t'get outside of Boll t'find good
shells elsewhere. So he lets me pay him partially with shells. The children
help me collect 'em, and Simaeva and I clean 'em up--these were four
months' worth. About ten marks or so. 'Tis hard t'get that *many* good
ones, do y'ken?"

Aisling considers for a moment, tapping her lip thoughtfully. "It shouldn't
take to long for I'sai to replace them, especially if he has help." Of
course, she doesn't specify where the help comes from. She pauses for a
moment. "I know that doesn't answer the basic problem of trust, but it
might help some."

Kassima mutters under her breath in audible bewilderment, "You just don't
*do* that. I wouldn't even do that t'someone I *hated*... he's nay going
t'replace them," she answers then, looking up. "He offered, but I said he
shouldn't bother. They're gone now, picked up by gleeful beachcombers nay
doubt. And there're still half; I suppose he'll let me have them back."

Aisling ohs softly, her gaze moving towards the runner shapes in the dark.
For a moment she allows the silence to grow. Finally she says quietly, "I
suppose that is best left between you two."

Kassima shrugs again. She's getting a lot of practice at that. "I suppose."
She sounds very tired suddenly; dull, drained. "Nay undoing it, though.
There's naught as can do that. I should likely go; I don't think that bit
about my company being better'n an empty weyr is holding true."

Aisling nods. "Sleep Well." SHe is silent for a moment. "I am sorry, I wish
I could help."

"I appreciate the thought," Kassi replies, with her first grin--wan though
it be--in some hours. She pushes herself away from the fence, dusts
splinters from her elbows preemptorily. "G'deve, Ais. Dream sweet and all
that." And she goes.

You open the gate and head northwest towards the main Bowl.