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Got Milk?


Date:  March 10, 2005
Place:  Telgar Weyr Living Cavern
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:  Jubilant over her triumph in the pool on when Mirrath
would clutch, Kassima has further cause for celebration when she 
finds M'tri in the Living Cavern and collects the marks he owes her--
but cause for dismay when he also offers her wine.  Which she can't 
have.  Oh, horrors!  Nor will she divulge the reason; no, instead 
their talk strays down other paths, one of them laden with green 
runnerbeasts.

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The Log:

You walk past the lintel and into the wide living cavern.

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

"I won seven marks, so won't you go and comfort the losers, baby? I won
seven marks! So drink another round of beer with me!" Ah, the sweet sound
of Kassima singing in the evening. Singing to S'cot, no less, who looks
decidedly sour, and Mirabilis, who's nothing if not very amused. No
challenge in guessing who lost the marks and who didn't. "Sorry, S'cot, I
know that's horrible of me, but you should see your *face*. There's still
plenty of chance t'make marks back on the clutch. I haven't surveyed the
eggs yet, but when I do, if'n you'd like t'place a small wager--" Kilth's
rider answers with a rude gesture and stalks off, leaving Kassi looking
after him in momentary repentance before Mirabilis claps her shoulder and
murmurs, "That lady of his has been making noises about how any suitor
worth his salt would buy her diamonds, is all. He's grumpy. Why he doesn't
just ditch her... I heard Alicienne offered him a sympathy roll if *that's*
all he's after, and he gave her a look even worse than that one. Men. Go
figure."

[Editor's Note:  Yes, those first two lines were based on 
Joan Jett's 'I Love Rock and Roll.' ;) ]

Seated at the Thunderbolt table, curled up in a small ball, M'tri
looks...well...bored, would be the word for it. A bowl and plate are in
front of him, as is a small flask, but none seem to be holding his
attention well. The bluerider is, rather than actually eating, focusing on
the ceiling, the pots, the flask, the grooves in the table, his belt knife,
his sleeve....anything that looks remotely more interesting than working.
At Kassi's voice - or maybe the topic of conversation? - the bluerider
groans deeply, muffling it by leaning down towards his soup bowl and
spooning some in when it's complete. "Marks," he mutters into the bowl,
wrinkling his nose and rummaging, with his free hand, through his pockets
for the small sack he keeps of them. No doubt his wingleader will pounce
upon him soon, demanding her payoff there.

There's no hope of hiding the groans of defeat from Kassima's ears. Either
that, or she always intended to arrow in on M'tri the moment she spotted
him--all things considered, that's quite likely. "Tell S'cot I'm sorry? And
that Emriti's a gold-digging shrew?" she murmurs back to Mirabilis. "Except
nay the last part. I shouldn't say it... and he's nay listening to any of
those who don't have such compunctions, anyway." The bluerider chuckles low
in her throat and glides off to do just that while Kassi, quarry spotted,
gives the food table one rather longing look before sauntering quite
casually towards her Wing's own. "Fancy seeing you, sweet wife," she
chirrups. "How fares? Did you make the clutching?"

M'tri darts his gaze at Kassi, keeping his hand carefully in his pocket. He 
didn't let her dig once; he's not letting her again. Maybe he's hoping to 
detour her, but he seems to have noticed that look she gave the food and so 
obligingly pushes his plate towards her, just in case she's so inclined to 
steal food from innocent blueriders too. He grins at her, saying, "Yeah, 
fancy that. Especially with my weyr being a whole twenty seconds away." He 
rocks back into his seat, arching back until his spine pops as he responds, 
"No, I didn't. Lani."

Kassima allows herself to be temporarily distracted by the sacrifical
offering. She leans over to investigate the contents of his plate, picking
up the fork to poke it experimentally. "Thankee, Trii," she says, twirling
spaghetti around the tines. "How'd you know I'm starved?" Either she really
is, or she wishes to one, be outrageous, and two, prolong what he knows is
coming, since she shamelessly goes through several bites of pasta before
asking, "Don't suppose you've a drink t'be offering me t'wash this down
with? --Well, y'know, some men might've been in hiding, who owe someone
nine and three-quarters marks. I should've known you had the courage
t'stand up and pay without hounding. So proud of you! What about Lani?"

M'tri pushes his flask across the table, saying, "Benden. Made a trip." And
grinning slyly at her. Maybe this will get him out of paying...oh...nope.
That's not going to work. Daikoth's rider snorts through his nose, a sound
that is frighteningly eloquent for the bluntness with which it's formed,
and finally withdraws his hand from the pocket. The gentle clicking of
marks betrays what's within. "You say nine and three-quarters?" he says,
disbelieving, even as he counts them out. "Not betting you ever again."
Each mark hits the wooden surface with mock fury, and soon the payment is
stacked neatly, pushed across, and the sack disappears once more into his
pocket. M'tri hitches his shoulder in a shrug at Kassi's inquiry. "Nothing.
A bit ill-looking, but she said she was fine. Still, seemed terrible to
leave her there all to see some eggs. They'll be there for a while."

Kassima pauses in her decimation of M'tri's food to just stare at that
flask. Stare at it like a woman who, having thought her true love was dead,
has married someone she doesn't really care for, and now her love shows up
on her doorstep to explain how it was all a horrible misunderstanding.
Read: tragically. "Can't," she mutters, looking away from the wine. "You
don't have any... milk, or aught?" She can't even say it without grimacing
a little; it's a good thing there's the talk of wins and losses to revive
her. Giving her Wingmate a sunny, sunny grin, she informs him in a
sing-song, "That egg Hatched a blu-ue. Just as I said 'twould. You missed
the other bets, too, save one, that one being that there'd be a green in
that one egg--so you get a mark back for that--thankee most kindly, darling
bride." The fork is dropped in favor of picking up mark pieces to add to
her own pouch, fat and smug at her belt. "You'll bet with me, you'll like
it, and you know it. How else will you win all m'marks and fancy dresses?
Ill-looking? Shells, I hope she's all right. There has been a stomach bug
running around the nurseries, I hear."

M'tri stares at Kassi, looking not offended but terribly surprised, and
withdrawing his offer of the flask in favor of, "You...Kassi, it's -Benden
wine-. Y'know, the reallllly good stuff." He makes a show of leaning across
the table and laying the back of his hand across her forehead, then
dropping back and saying, "You don't have a fever. Are -you- sick?" M'tri
looks quite perturbed at that, but, without warning, does push out his
chair and retrieve a cup of milk, just for her. "She didn't look terribly
sick, just. I could tell, is all. I think she'll be fine."

"I know, I know," Kassi says, rather miserably. "All of a sudden people are
offering me good Benden everywhere I go--why didn't they do that when I
could still drink it?" She makes sad eyes at him as he feels her forehead.
"Nay sick precisely. But the Healers say nay wine, and so nay wine can
there be. Oh... I didn't mean you had t'go get me some, Trii," when he
returns with the cup, but the look she gives him now is genuinely grateful.
"Thankee." Taking the cup with a quick smile, she settles into her seat at
the table and tugs his erstwhile plate a bit closer so that she can finish
it off. "Doubtless. Any road, you can see eggs any time--I didn't go,
m'self, so mayhaps the three of us can make an outing of it some afternoon
and get our bets and guesses in place."

M'tri hmms a bit at her explanations, but doesn't seem to pursue them any
further. If she wants to decline it, it's her every right. "I know, but I
figure there must be something happening if you're not going to take wine -
I can be nice every once in a while, if I have to be." He winks, watching
the chair across from him jiggle precariously and then settle down when his
feet are finally settled atop them. "Maybe Lani'll have more luck against
you're prowess," he ponders slowly.

Kassima washes down a bite of the rapidly-disappearing spaghetti with milk.
Now it's the glass that gets a mournful look. "You just aren't any
substitute," she informs the no-doubt dejected liquid inside. "I appreciate
it. 'Twill gladly take a rain check on that wine, mind you, the second I'm
permitted to imbibe again. Between you and me, I doubt a bit of wine now
and then wouldn't hurt aught. What is it but fruit juice? But they're so
bloody *strict*--" The final bite is tucked away, and she pushes the plate
back with a sigh. "That's better. Terribly gracious, you are. She usually
does, y'know; nay perfect prowess, since she still ended up owing me some
after that 'Reaches Hatching. But nay so much as you did. I don't know
whether 'tis purely that she tends t'guess better, or that she doesn't make
any ten-mark wagers."

M'tri makes his voice small and high-pitched, only for the purpose of
saying, "I'm sorry, for I am but lowly milk." Daikoth's rider even manages
to keep his face sober while he says it - that could be because laughing
would waste a mouthful of expensive wine, but it is no matter. "Probably a
bit of both," he decides shortly of Lanisa's luck, shrugging and
indifferent about it. "More the latter, though." A suspicious look is on
his face when he glances at her next, and it seems the question he's
bundled up is finally just too much. "What're the healers saying?"

The lowly milk trembles in Kassi's hand as she's shaken suddenly by
snickers. It takes her a moment for her to compose herself, but when she
does, she gravely informs her drink, "'Tis all right, m'darling. We must
all be what we are, and we can't all be expensive and fermented and
delicious. Some of us have t'come out of a bovine." Pause. "All right,
that? Is nay helping me want t'drink the milk. Forget I said it--*I'm*
going t'try to." Another small sip, another small grimace, and she sets the
milk down on the table. "For what 'tis worth, I much prefer your betting
style." Gee. Wonder how that could be. She stills a moment at the question
and flicks a look about, to see who else might be listening, before her
eyes come back to rest on him with a wry expression in them. "I don't know
whether I should be saying. You do have a decided gossiping tendency... but
you brought me milk. And the Wing will have t'be knowing soon enough."

M'tri looks slightly hurt, even though it's likely the expression is more
fake than anything. One way or another, the bluerider sticks out his lower
lip and protests, "I don't gossip! Daikoth does, wretch that he is. Pulls
every little thing he can from my mind and goes right on telling everyone.
Including that sharding blue of Roberta's, if you can believe it." It's
probably not a hard thing to believe - not as hard as a dragon egg hatching
giant orange chickens, at least.

"I might be blaming you for Daikoth's tendency," Kassi admits, a little
sheepish. "Either way, though--if'n he'd do that, I can't be saying. 'Tis
too important that some people hear it from me rather than through the
dragon grapevine. *Certes* nay through bloody Roberta! Shells and shards
and sandblasted wherries. She's going t'be having a field day." This would
not seem to please the greenrider, who gives the emptied plate an
accusatory look as if it were actually the bluerider.

M'tri hrmphs, but doesn't press the subject further. "Ah, well. I imagine
you'll tell everyone soon enough anyways. And when you do, I'll feel
totally incomplete and untrustworthy all cause I got a dragon who'll do
anything for money. Gold-digger." He snorts again.

Kassima does look somewhat apologetic. "If'n 'tweren't fairly important, it
wouldn't matter. But from what you say of Daikoth, I have t'be picturing
him as the sort of dragon who'd tell exactly the wrong person's lifemate,
in sheer glee, just because he could, and... I need t'do it m'self. I hope
I can tell people a'fore long. If'n for nay other reason than that they
*might* look infinitestimally guilty then for drinking the good booze in
front of me. How does fare with Daikoth? Is he still fond of his little
green statue?"

M'tri waves off her explanation easily, obviously not as bothered as he
pretended. "It's okay, Kassi. I understand - I've got plenty of my business
'round the weyr, and not all of it's nice either. All cause he's just fun."
That said, the bluerider leans back comfortably. "He's well. And he's still
enjoying it, yes. And without incident."

"Just fun," Kassima repeats, then gives an amused snort. "I daresay. It
probably *is* fun t'find out all of your secret business. He's told
everyone about your desperate desire t'win all m'gowns for yourself so that
you never have t'wear pants again, right?" The second topic doesn't cause
her grin to disappear, but it does dim a watt or so. She inclines her head
in acknowledgment. "Good t'be knowing. 'Tis fortunate you are t'have such
an, ah, remarkable prize--you're still sure you don't want t'sell it t'me?"

M'tri grimaces, wrinkling up his nose and furrowing his brows. He scritches
at the top of his head slowly, then responds, "If you want to try and
wrestle it from him, you're more than welcome...but...I know he'd never
bite me or anything, but when I tried to take it away he had me a bit wary
for a few minutes, baring those teeth of his and warning me off. Never
heard him so red." Maybe that last bit sounds awkward, but he seems to
trust that Kassi will understand. "He's not parting with it after what
Lysseth told him, it seems. Like maybe it will blow into a thousand little
shards if I get hold of it."

Kassima is silent a moment to contemplate the glorious mental image that is
herself wrestling Daikoth into submission. Her expression suggests that
she's enjoying the idea perhaps a little too much. "Better nay risk it,"
she decides. "Nay until or unless we've sold seats t'people wanting t'see
the spectacle. That protective, is he...." Like before, the greenrider's
eyes flick across their immediate environs to scan for eavesdroppers. This
time the scan is rather longer--and when she speaks, it's in a quieter
tone, leaning forward a bit across the table so as to keep the words
between them.

Kassima mutters to M'tri, "... he can count... nay... aught... that....
'twould... best interests... if'n... sold it... don't... don't recognize.
I... someone... buying."

M'tri frowns, his own voice lowering in response to Kassi's lowering. He
mutters to Kassima, " I know you'd feel better, but... "  M'tri seems to
think about this carefully, as though if he words it incorrectly it'll be
entirely misconstrued. "Neither Daikoth or me feel like it's worth putting
someone else in danger. I'm not inclined to make someone else handle
something without knowing what they're getting into. Maybe that's wrong,
really, but it seems terribly underhanded. I'm sure I can handle myself."

Stavren walks in from the bowl.

Kassima listens to what the bluerider says seriously enough, but as he
speaks a wry, vaguely fond smile quirks the corners of her mouth. She
mutters to M'tri, "... but... each... off... else;... it in order... I
said... be people after... come... buying it. That's why you... it.
Believe... that... will *think*... getting into."  She's seated at the
Thunderbolt table with her Wingmate, an emptied plate and half-full glass
of milk in front of her.

Stavren comes into the cavern humming tunelessly under his breath. He's
neat and clean, but there are certain telltale signs (faint hint of smoke,
some dark sooty smears around his fingernails) that the young Smith has
been practicing his craft. He politely ignores Kassima's murmuring,
detouring around the Thunderbolt table on his way to scrounge up some late
dinner and waving to the riders. He even manages to mostly camouflage his
eavesdropping.

M'tri may not be the sharpest of them all, but he's hardly stupid. He's
demonstrated it more than once, and when he spots Stavren he straightens
some, letting Kassi know his agreement to whatever it was she said with a
brief nod and an, "Okay, then. No fighting him for it. Daikoth'll have to
live without it. I'll get him something else." His mood lightens some as he
raises a hand, greeting, "Stavren."

Kassima's nod, in turn, is relieved: he got the point. "We'll talk about it
again another time?" she offers, although there's a significant look to
suggest this might be less 'offer' than 'strong suggestion' for all its
casual tone. "If'n time allows. In the meanwhile...." Eyeing the milk, she
braces herself and picks it up to drain the rest of it in two quick gulps.
"Gahhhhhhh. I hate that stuff, hate it, hate it, hate it. Thankee again for
getting it, Trii. Oh! Heyla, Stavren," she adds, turning to wave now that
M'tri's pointed the young man out. "Sorry t'be greeting and running, but
I've something I need t'be attending to. Clear skies and a good evening
t'you both, aye?"

Stavren says something that's probably "And to you too", but it comes out
as "mmmmf orf mmphrm" due to the sandwich in his mouth. After a minute,
he's able to try again. "No problem. My regards to Lysseth, Kassi, and the
girls send theirs as well." Maneuvering back through the tables with two
full plates and a full mug of klah, he asks M'tri, "Is Daikoth lusting
after statuary again? There won't be room on his ledge if he gets much more."

M'tri lazes out a salute, more likely because it's the right thing to do
than because of habit. "Good eve, Kassi. See you in the morning." And he
grins, turning his attention with ease towards Stavren, whose comment earns
a laugh. "I suspect so, really. But no, he's still clinging desperately to
the one that I won for eating bugs. Imagine I should be grateful, if he's
going to worship things I was tortured for." He grins slightly, leaning
back in his chair, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "And how are your
sisters?"

"Sometime after drills, mayhaps," Kassima wryly agrees, another clue, and
heads for the exit. "Regards right back to the lasses. G'night, g'night,
g'night!"

You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.