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Brownrider Humiliation 101


Date:  September 24, 1997
Places:  High Reaches Weyr's Living Cavern and Western Bowl
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:  I'm still amazed that Mart didn't kill me for this.  In
all honesty, I really *didn't* go to HRW with the intent of humiliating
him.  It just turned out that way!  Honest!  But now, the question 
is... what sort of revenge might the brownie enact?  And will Kassi be
gracious enough to refrain from ever mentioning this incident again?
Nahhhhhhhhhhh.

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The Log:

You walk into the tunnel to the living cavern.

The clicking of steel-shod bootheels, a sigh of relief, and an ominous 
rattle from the Satchel of Doom all combine to herald Kassi's arrival into 
the Cavern a moment before the greenrider herself appears. "If'n anyone 
asked me why I thought to come here," she states, striding rapidly into 
the much warmer room, "I would have to answer them that I could only have 
lost my wits. Benden's duties to the High Reaches and her queens, and a 
g'deve to you all." Though she tosses off a wave to the room in general, 
her eyes seek out one person, and she grins as she finds him. "Mart!" she 
exclaims, heading over to the brownie's table. "'Twas hoping you'd be here 
this eve."

Symoria says, "Well, where I lived it was always warm, being so close to 
the ocean, and there was never any snow." She stops stiching while she 
thinks back for a moment, then she looks up startled as she hears a name 
called out.

Kassima nods amiably to the strange person who seems to be talking to her 
archnemesis, even managing to get her teeth to stop chattering long enough 
to smile. "Sorry, did I interrupt something? You've my most fervant 
apologies. Oh, and Benden's duties to the Bakers, too." As she helps 
herself to a nearby seat, she adds to that, "M'name's Kassima; I ride and 
provide a constant source of argument for green Lysseth. Well met, and all 
of that sort of thing."

At Kassima's shout, M'rgan jumps with a start, the cookie falling from his 
fingers and all appearance of relaxation disappearing like the clouds on a 
hot, Igen day. With trepidition he turns to face the bowl entrance, 
wincing, but with a twinkle in his eye, as he sees Kassima there. "I'll 
have to remember to get even with the lump for not warning me," he mutters 
to himself in a voice that can easily be heard halfway across the cavern. 
His next words are even louder and are directed to Kassima. "To what do we 
owe the pleasure, O' Benden Greenie?"

Kassima snorts, shaking her head with amusement as she chides Mart, 
"Shouldn't toss your cookies like that, O 'Reaches Brownie. I fear that I 
am here on a Most Important Mission." Yes, the capitalized words are 
audible in her grave tonal inflection. "And nay, a'fore you ask, 'tis nay 
to threaten your life, limb, or any portion of your anatomy this time. I 
am here," she proclaims, patting the satchel at her side, "bearing gifts. 
Or at least, something you left back at the Weyr."

Symoria smiles at Kassima, "Well met Kassima. I'm Symi." She falls silent 
as she starts sewing up her apron again.

Symoria watches the two riders speak, her face alight with interest as she 
continues to stitch.

Despite Kassima's words, M'rgan can't help but look at the satchel with a 
grimace as if he expects it to hold a dozen headless, disemboweled 
tunnelsnakes. It's not like Kassima holding such a sack would really come 
as any surprise. He motions towards the far side of the table, as far away 
from him as he can get without being completely impolite. "Why don't you 
set it down right there, Kassi." His chair scrapes across the floor as he 
edges it back slightly.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Syri," Kassima grins as she hauls 
the satchel up onto the table and starts tugging off her riding gloves. 
"Don't mind us. He's mad, and I'm worse." She tilts her head towards Mart, 
then rolls her eyes at the aforementioned brownrider. "*Really*, Mart, 
d'you think you left aught *that* perilous back at Benden? Honestly." 
Nevertheless, she takes the dragonpoker cards out of her satchel and makes 
a great deal of showing them to be nothing lethal or harmful... darnitall. 
She then sets them in the indicated place with exaggerated care. "There. 
You left those, after the game we all lost to 'Lani. The first of two, I 
might add. That's one of the things I've come here t'give you."

Symoria flips the apron over quickly to inspect her stitches, pulling on 
the fabric to make sure the seams tight. Satisfied that it is, she 
continues stitching, glancing over at the two riders occasionally.
With the quick movements of a tunnelsnake striking, M'rgan reaches across 
the table and snatches up his dragonpoker deck. In the blink of an eye, 
he's once again leaning back in his seat, the dragonpoker deck tucked into 
his shirt pocket. "Thank you...Uhhh, one of the things?" Another fear-
filled glance is shot towards the sack. "I'm sure I didn't leave anything 
else there."

Kassima shakes her head, again beginning to rummage about in the satchel. 
"Nay, you didn't leave aught else behind. Nay even a belt, this time." 
After a moment, she ahs as she finds what she's looking for, and pulls out 
a small box wrapped up in as horribly tacky a fashion as every gift that 
ever comes from Kassima's hands. Yes, that means it has the luridly bright 
wrapping, floppy bow of green and gold ribbon, and all. "Kin, Meli, and I 
got you something," she explains ever-so-helpfully, offering it to the 
brownrider. "Go ahead and take it. I promise, 'twill nay leap up and rip 
out your throat or aught like that."

Symoria eyes alight on the present with startlement.

M'rgan gingerly takes the box between his fingers, not yet daring to put 
more pressure on it lest it explode or something. With the same delicate, 
careful movements, he places the box on the table before him. "I've heard 
that before, Kassi," he retorts, although there's good humor to his harsh 
words. In perhaps what could be a foolish movement, he flippantly pokes 
the bow, recognizing the symbolism there. "Now if you think you can curse 
me with one of your proddy tricks, greenie..."

E'dran meanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.

The box doesn't explode. No odd sounds come forth from it; no growling, 
and no disembodied voices. It just sits there, placidly. Perhaps too 
placidly. "And did the last present kill you?" Kassi inquires, arching one 
eyebrow. "You seem awfully too alive for it to have given you any harm 
t'me. Unless, perhaps, this isn't really you, but some stranger dressed 
t'fool us all into thinking 'tis you?" Folding her hands on the table, she 
simply shakes her head at that final allegation. "Ah, but I'm nay proddy 
anymore. And while 'twill admit 'twas a thing purchased ere Lyss went up, 
you can surely trust Meli and Kin, if'n nay me. Why nay go ahead and open 
it?"

E'dran nods and moves for the klah.

Under Kassima's prompting, M'rgan does take a firmer hold of the box. But 
he doesn't open it yet. Instead he looks to Symoria and tilts his head 
towards the box. Should he open it?

E'dran turns back to the room, sipping at his klah, watching the room.

Kassima nods to the bluerider from where she sits across from M'rgan, 
trying to cajole him into accepting a seemingly harmless present. 
Seemingly being the key word in that statement. "Benden's duties to the 
'Reaches and her queens," she offers; apparently, she never does get tired 
of saying that.

Symorias eyes look over the gaudy wrapping, flick over to Kassima, then 
back to M'rgan. She nods slightly, as she prompts, "Go ahead."

E'dran smiles and nods to Kassima.

M'rgan takes a deep breath as his fingers close over the ribbon and with a 
nod to Symoria he starts to open it. Even as the ribbon starts to slither 
away from the box, the brownrider's head starts to pull back and sink down 
into his neck, like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. Obviously he's 
not convinced of its lack of potential for mayhem.

Symoria stops stitching up the apron, resting her hands in her lap as she 
watches M'rgan unwrap the present.


---

        Small and silver, this fairly unadorned pin may not seem like much 
to look at from a distance; it's only to the keen eye that the details 
embossed in its surface display themselves. The item of jewelry resembles 
five tiny dragonpoker cards, fanned out just enough so that the suit and 
some detail of each can be seen. Anyone who had *this* hand in an actual 
game would earn much envy indeed, to say nothing of marks--it's not often 
that one sees a Master Conclave. And a Master Conclave of aces, well...! 
Two Harpers peek out to either side of the triumphantly brandished high 
cards of each suit; what expression can be seen on their faces seems to 
laugh at their opponents. This is the sort of hand that one would have to 
be cheating to achieve... either that, or very, very lucky. The pin has 
been stuck through a small note, which bears the following inscription: 
'It's a rather foolish thing to do--but nonetheless we give to you this 
charm of good luck, with which you'll be stuck, so you'll see that our 
luck-claims are true! Aren't you glad that we didn't decide to write you a 
song instead, with a rhyme like that one? With heartfelt congratulations 
on the successful graduation and corruption of a whole new group of 
'Reaches riders, Kassima, Kindre, and Meli of Benden.'

---


E'dran takes a few steps towards M'rgan and Kassima, "Reaches Duties to 
Benden as well. Welcome."

Kassima smiles, nodding again to E'dran even as she carefully watches Mart 
to see what his reaction to the gift will be. Said gift doesn't appear to 
be attacking him in any way. "M'thanks, bluerider. 'Tis m'pleasure t'be 
here again, for all that 'twill likely nay be winning any of this 
brownrider's marks from him this time." Belatedly, she thinks to add, "I'm 
Kassima, by the by--green Lysseth's rider, of Benden. Well met and 
whatnay."

M'rgan slowly cracks open his eyes as lifting the lid off the box doesn't 
seem to have triggered anything. He creeps forward to peer into the opened 
box, a tenseness to his back and shoulders as if he's ready to leap away 
at any given moment. But the more he moves forward, the less tension there 
is and when his face is directly over the box, a grin of delight appears 
on his still-boyish face. Like a child reaching for candy, the brownrider 
scoops the dragonpoker pin out of the box. "How'd you know?"

E'dran chuckles and nods, "Well met Kassima. I am E'dran, blue Gemmelth's 
rider."

Symoria looks from the pin to E'dran's face and shrugs, begining to stitch 
together her apron again.

Symoria looks over at E'dran with a smile as she hears him introduce 
himself to Kassima.

E'dran glances at Symoria and smiles at her. He sips his klah and looks 
for a seat.

Still grinning like an idiot, or a young child, M'rgan starts to wave the 
pin around at everyone. The item of jewelry resembles five tiny 
dragonpoker cards, fanned out just enough so that the suit and some detail 
of each can be seen. The cards display a Master Conclave of aces, with two 
Harper cards peeking out to either side. Even as he waves it around, the 
young man notices the note that it's attached to.

"We have our sources," Kassi replies in a mysterious voice that's rather 
spoiled by her mischievous wink. "There's nay use trying t'keep a secret 
from the three of us, as you should well know by now! M'apologies that 
'tis rather belated; I'd meant t'give it t'you earlier, but it rather 
slipped m'mind." She shrugs helplessly, then allows herself another grin. 
"You don't find it a horrendous thing, then? Ah, E'dran, I think I've 
heard of you," she quips in a side-comment to the bluerider. "Are you the 
maker of the infamous klah that one has to drink with a fork and knife?"

Symoria blushes inexplicably at Kassima's comment to E'dran.

E'dran grins and sips his klah. He then sits down and peers at Kassima. 
"That would be me. Yes. I have made quite a few pots of evil klah."

Having stripped the note from the pin, M'rgan pauses in his waving to give 
it a quick perusal. Well, quick for him since he never was a strong 
reader. He snorts after a several moments, shaking his head at Kassi. 
"Luck indeed. It's skill. All skill." At Kassima's question to E'dran, he 
nods vigorously to back up the bluerider's words. "That would be him."

E'dran chuckles and sips his klah, "Last time I made klah, I was over at 
Smithcraft. One of them ran off mumbling something about glue."

"You," Kassi states firmly, "should meet M'kla. She's the brewer of the 
Death Klah of Benden, said t'be made from agenothree, firestone dust, 
human blood, and the ground-up bones of foreign brownriders who come 
t'visit." Perfectly innocent is she as she reports this, but her tone 
takes on its usual amused exasperation as she shakes her finger at Mart. 
"Luck, brownie! Luck! And with that pin, 'twill be proven--your luck has 
nay choice but to improve once you wear it. Then you'll see that we're 
right. Besides, how could y'possibly have skill at *everything*, well 
enough to excel at it with nay luck involved? Even F'lar and Lessa 
couldn't do that."

Symoria asks M'rgan, "What does the note say?"

E'dran chuckles, "I believe I have met M'kla once."

E'dran smiles at the Baker, "Pardon me? Have we met?"

M'rgan shakes his head at Kassima once again as they return to their 
favorite topic. "Well then, with my skill already being what it is and 
with this pin improving my luck..." As he speaks, he begins to afix it to 
the collar of his shirt, his blunt, calloused fingers having a little 
trouble with it. Once he finally finished pinning it on, he resumes his 
speech. "...I should have no trouble stealing your marks in the future." 
To Symoria, "Here. See for yourself," he says, sliding the note towards 
her.

Matheny wanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Symoria picks up the note, glancing over to E'dran before she reads it. 
She says, "No, we haven't. I'm Symi. I just arrived here last week. I'm a 
student with the BakerCraft." She nods towards the kitchen and the 
Training Center beyond it.

Matheny strips her coat off and throws it at a hook before heading to the 
fire. She waves to everyone and then stomps up and down a bit to get the 
edge of the chill off.

Kassima snaps her fingers, pointing at M'rgan triumphantly. "Ah-hah! So 
you *admit* that luck exists! Took you bloody sharding long enough, 
brownrider... but a few marks are the price we're willing t'pay, if'n 'tis 
what's required to prove our point t'you once and for all. Besides...." 
Her impish grin turns her expression into one of pure gamin. "I didn't see 
too much skill in that dragonpoker hand you lost to Mehlani. Nor in the 
ones you've lost in the past. How you ever manage t'come away from the 
table with marks, only Faranth can know." Rather absently, though still 
respectfully, she nods a greeting to the arriving 'Reaches weyrwoman.

E'dran ahhs and nods. "Welcome to the Weyr then." he sips his klah, "Hope 
you enjoy it here."

Symoria grins as she reads the note, whispering softly to herself, "with 
which you'll be stuck." She puts it back on the table, pushing it towards 
M'rgan, then switches her needle back to her left hand and begins 
stitching again.

"I have to let you all win now and then or you'd never play with me." 
M'rgan's well-reasoned argument is interrupted as he follows Kassi's gaze 
towards the bowl exit. Spying Matheny, he waves to her as he arches out of 
his chair. "Matheny, could you bring my coat over here?" He points to the 
pegs just behind her, waving his hands and wiggling his body to try to 
direct her to exactly the right coat.

Symoria smiles, saying, "Thank you, E'dran. I hope too."

Matheny nods to M'rgan, "Sure thing, this one?" she picks up a fuzzy coat 
that got knocked on the ground and waves it at the the table.

Kassima harumphs under her breath, folding her arms and favoring the 
brownrider with a *look*. "I suppose 'tis a successful enough method, 
especially since you're always neglecting t'pay your wagers anyway... 
well, we'll just see what that pin does for you. If'n you'll finally 
conceed that luck can be of aid t'you, then we'll have won the battle. 
T'speak of other matters, how fares young Kegan these days?"

Symoria looks over at Matheny, smiling shyly, as she ties of the thread at 
the end of the seam.

M'rgan shakes his head, waving his hand more towards the left. "That one 
right there. The dry one." With an affronted grunt, he looks away from the 
pegs for a moment towards the Benden greenrider. "When have I not paged my 
wagers?" he asks harshly before his features soften at the mention of his 
son. "Driving his mother and me insane, of course. And Kaylira?"

Symoria picking up the white thread, she quickly threads her needle again, 
then begins stitching up the other side of the apron.

E'dran glances at Symoria, "What is it you are making there?"

Kassima ticks off incidences on her fingers. "That dragonpoker game you 
lost a pair of Turns ago, for one--and that fire-lizard feeding bet we 
made, for another. I don't think that fainting excuses you from paying 
that one off, brownie!" Her mildly indignant expression is transformed by 
her beam of honest motherly pride as M'rgan asks about her daughter. "Oh, 
the lass is a marvel. She's nay speaking in words yet, but she's very 
verbal when it comes t'gibberish--and I can just tell that she's nay that 
far from starting t'make sense. She's already running the feet off of poor 
Simaeva. Delights herself in chasing the Swarm, when she gets the chance 
to."

Matheny picks out the right coat and brings it over, she grins at Symoria, 
"Hi there! I don't think we've met, I'm Math." she holds the coat out for 
M'rgan and surveys the table to see if the older riders have been playing 
cards.

Symoria says, "An apron. I'm borrowing one right now since I didn't bring 
any from home, but I really need my own." She grimaces, then adds, 
"Especially given how the one I'm borrowing looks."

E'dran chuckles, "I see."

After a quick glance around the cavern to see if anyone heard Kassi -- a 
few snickers in his direction telling him that some people had -- M'rgan 
puffs himself up to his full, macho size and declares in his deepest, 
deepest voice, "I *never* fainted. I was just...uh...ducking away from 
that herd of pests you call a swarm." Yeah, that's the ticket. He gives 
Matheny a quick smile of thanks as he takes the coat from her and spreads 
it across the table and the leatherworking tools and Ularrith's straps 
draped there. The brownrider begins to pat down the coat as if looking for 
something.

Symoria smiles shyly at Math, saying, "I'm Symi, Math. Well met."

Matheny blinks a bit, "you fainted M'rgan?" sh sort of stares a bit, the 
way he's all puffed up, it must be true.

Symoria watches M'rgan curiously, waiting to hear is answer.

"Riiiight," Kassi drawls in her lilting brogue, leaning back in her chair 
and tilting her head upwards to regard the brownrider a touch 
sardonically--and definitely with amusement. "I'll buy that one at the 
same time when I'll accede to the fact that you've all the skill you 
claim... Martina." She nods slightly to Matheny, turning her head so that 
Mart won't see her wink to the goldrider, before watching the brownrider 
patting his coat with curiousity. "What're you searching for, brownie?"
As he encounters a softer bulge in his coat, M'rgan's eyes brighten. And 
then immediately darken at Matheny's question. Shooting a glare at Kassima 
that promises revenge for her active tongue, the man burrows into the coat 
with a vengeance, pretending that he hadn't heard a thing. Although his 
ears turn a bit more crimson at the Martina reference. "Something for 
Matheny."

Matheny giggles a bit at the wink and returns it over M'rgan's back to 
Kassima and E'dran. To Symoria she asks, "Did I hear you say something 
about the bakercraft when I came in, are you a baker?"

Kassima merely smiles, all too sweetly, at M'rgan. It's the sort of smile 
that one might associate with Kassima at her absolute worst. She knows 
full well which one of them has a tendency to get revenge for every slight 
and jest on the other... and it's not the brownrider. "Did you ever tell 
the rest of your 'Lings that story, Mart?" she inquires innocently.

Symoria says as she continues to stitch together pieces of white fabric, 
"I'm a student at the Training Center here. I just arrived last week."

Shaylar walks in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Matheny ahs and grins at Symoria while trying to peek over her 
weyrlingmaster's shoulder to see what he has. "It's a really nice training 
center, they make some really yummy things in there." she tells Symoria.

E'dran nods a greeting to Shaylar. He gets some more klah and offers, 
"Anyone need a refill?"

After a few seconds in which some more snow people have time to wander 
into the cavern from outside, M'rgan pulls out what he was looking for. He 
starts to turn to face Matheny with about six pairs of thick socks 
dangling from his fingers when Kassima makes her comment and the 
wingsecond instantly freezes. "It *never* happened," he tells her stiffly 
out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes moving back and forth between the 
socks and Kassi's mouth. But he knows he'd never make the leap across the 
table.

Shaylar wanders in, looking well tanned (overly freckled in her case) and 
with a slight limp, "Even, all."

Matheny is definitly curious now, "What never happened, the fainting or 
something else?" she waves to Shaylar before eyeing the cluster of socks 
in M'rgan's hands.

Symoria glances over at Shaylar as she enters.

M'rgan remarks softly but firmly, "Nothing happened. *Nothing*." His blue 
eyes flick to Kassima, as if daring her to say otherwise.

Kassima wiggles her fingers towards Shaylar in what might be construed as 
a greeting, while blinking as Mart pulls socks--of all things--from his 
coat pocket. "Keep on telling yourself that, brownie," she says in a voice 
just brimming with false sympathy. "Mayhaps someday, you'll even come 
t'believe 'tis true. But just you wait until I commission the Harper 
ballad all about it! I'm certain that we could even convince a songster 
t'come and play it at the next Benden Festival--shells, 'twill m'self if'n 
nay anyone else shall." Another day, another episode of Kassi taunting 
Mart mercilessly. It's good to see that one of the foremost constants of 
the world hasn't changed.

E'dran pours some klah, noding to those whose mugs he fills. Sitting the 
pot down he sighs, "I think I am going to go for a stroll. Take care all." 
He takes his mug and heads for the bowl.

E'dran walks outside to the bowl.

Tossing the socks onto the table in front of Matheny, M'rgan lets out a 
long-suffering sigh and slumps back down into his chair. "For you, 
Matheny," he says, motioning once towards the socks before he waves weakly 
in Shaylar's direction. With an evil glint in his eye, M'rgan sinks down 
deeper into his chair but no matter how he stretches, his foot can't quite 
make contact with Kassi's knee.

Shaylar glances at the socks, and raises an eyebrow at the brownrider, 
"Even M'rgan...taking up darning?"

Matheny is of course even more interested to find out what happened 
because M'rgan won't talk about it. She tries to put it out of her mind 
for a moment and looks at the socks on the table, "Socks?! For my whole 
family?" she picks them up and starts counting, "Are you sure you don't 
mind parting with so many M'rgan, what will you wear?"

Kassima watches Mart with some suspicion, evidently not quite sure what 
the brownrider's up to. On the plus side, this means she's abandoned 
telling the tale of how Mart was remade into a woman one evening--in 
looks, anyway--by a certain mischievous Bendenite pair. On the down side, 
this does mean that she switches into Paranoid Mode. "What're you up to, 
brownie?" she asks warily. She knows that evil glint all too well; there's 
one similar to it in her eyes about nine hours out of every ten.

M'rgan gives up on smashing his foot onto the bottom of the table and 
causing it to shake with every strike and with an innocent shake of his 
head to Kassi, he straightens in his chair. "Matheny." He says her name 
with a little bit of exasperation and a great deal of humor. "I got them 
from the stores. For /you/. One pair of socks isn't enough."

Matheny looks dubiously at the socks, "A person only has one pair of feet. 
What could you do with so many socks?" she smiles though, "Thank you 
though, it's a very nice gift, and it's not even my turnday." she doesn't 
want anyone to think she's ungrateful.

Kassima shakes her head in absolute befuddlement as not only is she not 
quite dead (she's getting better, in fact), but Mart seems to have exacted 
no revenge at all for her prior quips. Even she's not naive or self-
confident enough to have expected that. "I'll tell you the full tale 
sometime, if'n you'd care to hear," she offers to the goldrider with all 
the socks. "Sometime when the brownie's nay around t'try and deny it."

Matheny smiles broadly at Kassima, "Thanks! I'd love to hear it!" she 
gathers up the socks and holds them up one at a time, "Hey, these do look 
new! Next thing I know though you'll be telling me a person needs more 
than one pair of boots."

M'rgan throws his hands up into the air, eyeing the ceiling as if there's 
some writing on it that could help him get the message through to one 
particular weyrwoman. When nothing is forthcoming from the stone, he turns 
his attention to the women nearby. "Will one of you please tell her?" he 
asks in pleading tones.

Symoria stares at Matheny in amazement.

Shaylar looks at Matheny with a intent gaze, and then chuckles, "I've 
three pairs of boots, eight tunics and three sets of flight gear. I 
suddenly feel extravagant."

Symoria smiles broadly at Shaylar's comment, continuing to stitch up her 
new apron.

Kassima chooses to interpret that 'please tell her' remark to her 
advantage, and the beam she directs at Mart is downright incandescent. 
"I'd be glad to!" she exclaims. Turning in her chair, she begins to 
confide in Matheny, "He made the mistake of falling asleep in the Hot 
Springs one day, y'see... so Kin and I--that's Kindre, gold Herath's rider 
of Benden--got out some things and put 'em on him. A Gather gown, for 
one--some jewelry, a wig, blue ribbons... and y'know, we never have gotten 
those back." In one last scrap of self-preservation, the greenrider does 
lower her voice enough to keep anyone else who's not very nearby from 
hearing what she says. Unfortunately, she's probably still going to be 
killed. But at least it will be for a good cause.

Matheny looks around at the stares, "What?" and then at Shaylar's 
inventory, "What? Really?" and then with her cheeks a bit pink, "Eight 
tunics??" and then she blinks and just stares at Kassima, "WHAT???" her 
mind reels and she rocks back on her heels a little, her world tilting 
violently for one pose.

Shaylar glances at Kassi and then over at Mart for a long moment before 
collapsing in giggles.

Symoria,who is sitting near enough to Kassima to overhear everything, 
stifles a laugh as she looks over at M'rgan.

With a gurgled cry that could either be from rage or his own impending 
stroke due to fatal embarrassment, M'rgan snatches his coat off of the 
table and throws it at Kassima, one arm trailing behind as if waving bye-
bye to the brownrider. "It never happened!!!!"

Benden Weyr> Kassima says her farewells to y'all, as Mart is no doubt 
about to kill her ICly. :)

Benden Weyr> M'kla laughs!

Benden Weyr> Zerra snugs, 'bye Kassi.'

Matheny holds her bundle of socks and turns her gaping from Kassima to 
M'rgan. She squints her eyes up a little as if trying to imagine, "You'd 
make a nice looking girl, M'rgan. Sir." she smiles hopefully at him so 
he'll feel better.

N'tan walks in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Symoria starts laughing, unable to stifle it in any longer.

Kassima stands fast and faces the coat attack like a greenrider should: 
bravely, defiantly, and nearly choking on her own laughter. It manages to 
land on her head, and she lifts it from her face to peek out from under it 
with green eyes that, while still lit by inner mirth, nonetheless hold 
some dubiousness... could she possibly have gone too far this time? "Now, 
Mart," she consoles him, "you really did look quite smashingly good in 
that gown of mine, y'know. And besides, 'tis nay as though you dressed 
that way by *choice*! We all know that you'd never do that. Right?" She 
would probably glance around the room at this point, if there weren't the 
rest of the coat in her way.

N'tan walks in and makes himself a mug of....did he pour that klah over 
ICE?

Benden Weyr> Mehlani blinkas. But what would I do for an adversary if he 
slays you?

Shaylar glances at N'tan and suddenly her eyes take on a dark look of 
interest.

Benden Weyr> Kassima whews with relief. Oh, good. He just threw a coat at 
me and is about to die of a stroke from humiliation. I'm safe. Sorry to 
disappoint you, Mehlani. ;)

Benden Weyr> Mehlani .oO (Drat. If there'd been a death in the family, 
that mighta scared those Boys home...)

Benden Weyr> Ceria wonders what Kassi did. :)

That's it. Matheny's comment is the absolute last straw for the 
brownrider. With a screech that does sound a little girlish, M'rgan leaps 
out of his chair and races for the safety of the lower caverns. She might 
still be able to talk about him but at least he won't have to listen. Just 
in the doorway, he stops and composes himself, turning slowly around as he 
runs his hand through his short, black hair, smoothing it. "It never 
happened," he states calmly before twisting on his heel and disappearing 
down into the caverns.

Benden Weyr> Kassima told a HRW weyrwoman all about the time she, Kindre 
and Ryi dressed Mart up as a woman with a Gather gown, wig, ribbons, and 
all. In the middle of the HRW LC. I dread to think of the revenge Kassi 
might have coming after that, though. ;)

Benden Weyr> Mehlani says, "Whoo boy. :)"

Benden Weyr> Mehlani says, "Ladies and gentlemen, there are REASONS that 
my father hides when he gets drunk, with Kassi as a wingmate. ;)"

Matheny waves some socks at N'tan and then says, "When my great Uncle Kiv 
got forgetful he used to dress up in a woman's clothes and try to serve 
klah in the main hall at Tillek." she also hopes that poignant little 
vignette will also help M'rgan feel better.

Benden Weyr> Kassima further announces that there's a log of this 
available, connected to her logpage. I may be biased, but I personally 
think it's a must-read. ;)

Benden Weyr> M'rgan wasn't drunk. *sniffle* I had the misfortune of being 
kicked off the game by my ISP in the Benden Hot Springs in the presence of 
the evil Kassi. *sniff*sniff* And for that I am humiliated. ;)

Benden Weyr> Melina says, "Hmm? I'm missing something.."

M'rgan strides through the archway, into the lower caverns.

Kassima's amusement fades somewhat, consternation and alarm replacing it. 
"Mart!" she yells, pulling the coat off of her head. "Wait...! Oh, shards. 
He's gone." Shaking her head, she mutters ruefully as she runs her fingers 
through her bangs, "Good going, greenrider... well, I'll tell you, we 
really did dress him up like that. Just as we did R'val. But he wasn't 
drunk or aught; he's just a sound sleeper."

Benden Weyr> Kassima says, "Mart, would Kassi be Kassi if she let such an 
opportunity pass her by? ;)"

N'tan grins at Matheny, "Hi...I haven't seen much of you." He goes to sit 
by his former classmate, "Whatcha been up to?"

Shaylar shakes her head momentarily, and her eyes glaze. Then she looks 
over at N'tan with a look of concern.

Matheny smiles at N'tan, still holding all of her new socks, "Hey N'tan! 
I've been visiting holds and studying records." she wrinkles her nose at 
this point, "Trying to get settled, that sort of stuff, how about you?" 
she looks towards the exit M'rgan took, "He'll be okay, though a peace 
offering prolly wouldn't hurt." she smiles at Kassima, "Want some socks to 
give him?"

Symoria ties off a knot at the seam. She gathers up her half finished 
apron places the needle and thread spool back into a small basket. Picking 
up the basket, she nods quickly to everyone before she hurries off to go 
help with dinner.

N'tan grins again at Matheny, "Oh...not much... Been taking care of 
Zuzith's needs...or trying to. Not much else, since I'm confined to the 
Weyr."

Symoria steps away from the tables and heads into the busy kitchen.

Kassima shakes her head, nibbling her lower lip as she tends to do when 
giving something serious consideration. "A gift's a good idea, but 
methinks socks wouldn't do... nor another blue Gather gown, tempting 
though *that* certes is. Perhaps if'n I could find wherever 'twas I 
stashed the Turnday gift I meant t'get him a couple of Turns back... 
shells, the stuff'd be even more potent after some time in storage--if'n 
it worked, he'd probably be too busy t'recall any of this whole mess." 
What in Faranth's name she's talking about doesn't seem to make itself any 
clearer as she keeps talking.

Shaylar mutters under her breath, "Behave!"

Matheny smiles at N'tan, and then smiles again because he just keeps 
looking at her oddly, "Why are you confined to the weyr, N'tan?" she 
naively asks before saying to Kassima, "Whenever anyone upset my Pa, 
they'd always bring him a flask of something potent and then let him beat 
them at dragonpoker. Works like a charm. Course M'rgan is a bit more 
graceful than my Pa." she winks and giggles a little bit.

N'tan shrugs, "I don't know. They think Zuzith's gonna rise soon or 
something. I don't know. By the way...you look really nice tonight."

"Well, the Benden Water's potent enough, all right," Kassi quips drolly. 
"And Mart has certes proven that he can beat me at dragonpoker. With any 
luck, it might just be that easy... especially if'n I told him that I 
didn't *really* commission a song about that whole incident. Though I'll 
tell you, the notion to *write* one does have some allure."

Shaylar groans softly to herself, and slids down on the bench, "Roltan, 
where are you when I need you."

Matheny smiles at Kassima and nods before what N'tan said sinks in all the 
way, "Who's going to rise? I thought you said Zuzith for a second there." 
she smiles, "And as to who I look, it must be the socks."

N'tan nods, "Zuzith. So they say."

N'tan looks over at Shaylar with a bit of glare in his eyes, "Dad is 
probably in his office....where he always is when he's not with you."

Matheny makes a nice 'O' with her mouth, and looks around to see if anyone 
else seems concerned about N'tan.

Kassima rises from her chair, casting a glance at the young greenrider. 
"Methinks I'd best be heading back t'Benden if'n I want to have any chance 
of finding that gift this eve. Benden's duties to the 'Reaches and her 
queens, and clear skies to the lot of you." She pulls on her gloves, and 
lays Mart's abandoned coat on the table, turning to go. "G'luck t'you and 
your lifemate," she says over her shoulder to N'tan before departing.

Shaylar seems to fight a retort and a gentle word at the same time, 
"Now...listen...oh, great day, he's gonna kill me when I tell him this 
one."

You wander outside to the bowl.

Anora nods to Kassima. "Well met."

Kassima shoves her hands into her jacket pockets as she re-emerges into 
the bitter cold, muttering something about the weather under her breath 
that's definitely uncomplimentary and probably better left unheard. 
"C'mon, Lyss," she says to her dragon through chattering teeth. "Let's go 
home. We've wreaked enough havoc for one night." The green simply snorts--
as though to say, 'What's this 'we' business?' "Well met," Kassi calls to 
the stranger even as she hauls herself aboard.

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 spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down 
with a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.

You launch into the sky.