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I Consign Thee To Oblivion


Date:  October 3, 2004
Places:  South Boll's Lava Lounge and Gather Beach
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:  Kassima's at it again, mixing liquors in an attempt to 
create the ultimate mind-bender, and it's M'rek's dubious good 
fortune to arrive at the Lava Lounge just in time to taste-test one 
of her experiments.  Nobody dies (foiled again!), but a new drink 
receives its name, a deal is made, and M'tri's ears are probably set
to burning.

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The Log:

M'rek climbs up from the caves below.

The bar is the place where Kassima sits, engaged in a discussion with
Marcus--or perhaps not so much discussion as instruction: "Right, now the
blue stuff... only a little. Nay, the *dark* blue. You don't have t'give me
that look; y'know I'd be glad t'mix it m'self if'n you'd let me--" Funny
how the man in question does not seem inclined to take her up on this offer
at all.

M'rek is shedding his jacket as he makes for the bar, sliding onto the
stool next to the Telgari rider, never one to shy from company. Alert eyes
take in the careful mixing and he asks the greenrider with an easy grin, "A
new brew or an old favorite?"

Kassima swings about on her stool enough to flash a grin back: "New," she
confesses, "and nay looking too good just now." Indeed not. The tall glass
between rider and barkeep is half-full of something the color of which can
best be described as a foul, murky brown, and the scent of which can best
be described as lethally alcoholic. "'Tis the problem with all the liquors
here coming in *colors*. You're welcome t'taste-test it when we're done,
though. It shouldn't really taste as bad as it appears. Are duties to the
'Reaches and her queens due, or is that too formal for the Lounge?"

M'rek gets up as Marcus is engaged and gets his own mug of ale, he seems to
know where everything is. "Aye? I'll taste test. I never shirk from the
unknown danger." Or the known danger for that matter. "Aye, duties to
Telgar as well, to keep the formalities in line. " A broad grin here and he
brings his ale back around so he can take up the stool once more. "It
doesn't look too good. Heavy ones were poured first, right?"

"Oh, good," says Kassi brightly, "that's just the way t'live! People who
flee are so terribly dull. Unless they make entertaining squeaking sounds
as they go, but that just might be my sadistic side talking." That's
deadpan, but the grin that follows it rather spoils the effect. "Aye, just
so. Bit of blackberry liqueur, bit of blueberry, then the Nabolese
firewater and White Lightning. Should've asked for the blue earlier, only I
just now thought of it. I confess a vague temptation t'see what it would do
now if'n I tried t'set it on fire. Probably nay something I should give in
to. Any suggestions for further additions?"

M'rek whistles as you get to the Nabolese firewater and he gives the glass
a closer look, "That'd make a candidate think the eggs were cracking all
right. Could set it on fire. I wonder if you can drink it right after it's
been set on fire? Would need to be just a shot though, or you'd lose your
eyebrows." He rubs a hand over his shaved head and drinks from his ale
before suggesting, "Some of that one that's got the flecks of gold in it?"
Very scientific, this experiment.

Kassima reasons, giving her brew a scrutinizing look, "I figure there's nay
point in mixing if'n there's nay at least a *chance* that the result will
spontaneously combust. I did that once a'fore, with Aph and Tinya, set
something on fire and drank it. Only we used one of these large glasses, so
you can be imagining...." She grins ruefully now at her own folly. "At
least your head would be safe; I'd probably be a torch in two seconds. That
one... hmmm. Aye. Marcus, a splash of that one!" The measurements are so
amazingly scientific, too. She takes care to lean *away* from the glass as
the new ingredient is added.

M'rek chuckles good naturedly as he listens, looking properly impressed
over the spontaneous combustion. "Aye? Wish I'd seen that." He leans back
as you do, not that boneheaded, after all. "Careful now, lad." this to
Marcus before M'rek drains his mug, just to protect the ale, of course. "It
really would be more interesting without all the colors. Should make a
special order some time."

"Nay anyone died, nor did the place even burn down, so 'twasn't as
fascinating a spectacle as it could've been. More a testimony t'why people
shouldn't do this when they're already drunk off their rockers." Kassi
ducks her head to hide a laugh at anyone calling Marcus 'lad,' and when the
bartender throws a glance at her, she meets it with her most guileless
eyes. "--If'n you mix *for* color it can be interesting. I've a Thunderbolt
drink whose primary plus is being purple. But this... well, didn't quite
work out. Ready t'give it a try?" Since it hasn't exploded *yet*, at least.

M'rek pushes his mug across the bar. "Better refill that, in case." He
turns his head, stretching his neck a little bit as if being stupid
requires some sort of limberness. "Aye. All right. I'm ready enough.
What're you going to name this little gem of oblivion, Kassima?" fingers
reach for the glass, light to test for unnatural heat first.

Kassima scoots her barstool a bit further away from his, but this at least
makes a self-preserving sort of sense. "Well," she observes dubiously,
eyeing the concoction, "if'n I named it for the appearance, I'd be calling
it 'Gold-Spangled Uck.' But that lacks a certain something when it comes
t'the 'drink me!' factor. So 'twill steal shamelessly from you and call it
'Oblivion,' methinks--unless it kills you. Then 'tis 'Fatality.' Which
would probably make more people want t'try it rather than less, because
people are sometimes a bit stupid."

M'rek is proof of the last. But, he's in a reckless mood tonight and this
is probably a relatively good way to expend the energy. Or bad. Very, very
bad. "Aye. Well, as you noticed, at least it's not like my hair can burn
off." the glass is cradled now, the moment drawn out. Oblivion or Fatality.
"Be sure to send my jacket to my folks." The glass is raised and M'rek
debates sniffing it, but decides that's probably not the thing to do. "Ah
well. Down the hatch." He doesn't so much drink as he opens his mouth and
pours the noxiously colored beverage right on in.

If nothing else, it should be an entertaining way... although whether it's
apt to be entertaining for him or just for Kassi is a matter for debate.
"It could burn off your eyebrows," the greenrider supposes, sounding far
too intrigued by this possibility. "I can do that, though you might want
t'tell me where they are fir--oh, dear. Too late." But she's at least a
little stupid too, because does she jump off the stool to hide beneath it
like any sensible person would do? She does not. She instead watches to see
what interesting fate he might meet, and mutters, "Wish I'd brought
something t'take notes on--"

M'rek only has to swallow once during the process, and this probably is
merciful. The liquid clings to the sides of the glass as M'rek smacks it
empty, down on the bar. The young bronzerider is still a moment and then
the shiver starts from somewhere at the base of his neck. One great shudder
and then he blinks a little bit. "Mrrr. I don..feesh." He stops talking and
looks confused. "I don feesh anyfing." words are a drunken slur, but his
eyes burn as if his mind feels clear. "Mrrr? Ale."

Kassima's eyes flick first to the glass, unconsciously noting the clinging
effect, then back to him, now--since he hasn't keeled over dead, nor
breathed any plumes of fire--with an experimentor's near-avid curiosity.
"Don't feel aught?" she translates. "*That's* a new one. I've never had
that happen a'fore. Are you all right otherwise? Nay about t'collapse
twitching spasmodically or get up on the bar and dance?" She hooks her
fingers through the handle of the mug that Marcus obligingly refilled,
pulling it within his reach; the least she can do, after all.

M'rek almost falls off the stool trying to reach for his refilled ale. He
looks flummoxed. Instantly drunk in body but not mind. "I feesh. Feel.
Finsh. Fine." the words come slowly and with great effort before he ends up
looking at one of his hands and flexing the fingers. "Feels good." Is the
final verdict. He tries to keep balanced on the stool, but of course, that
only makes it worse and he slips to the floor, over balancing.

"This is *bizarre*." Let it never be said that Kassima misses the obvious.
"I've seen instantly drunk a'fore where they get silly and giddy, but
slurring? Nay so much. Nay that I'm nay glad I didn't kill you,
mind--oops." The fall prompts her to amend the previous statement with,
"Yet," and slide off her stool in a rather more controlled fashion, to
offer him assistance. "Mayhaps a chair would be a better idea?"

M'rek reaches for the offered arm and gets unsteadily for his feet,
laughing now. Not a giddy sound at all, but deep rumbling laughter. He
staggers over and tips into a chair, nearly missing it and only saved by a
drunkard's luck. "Kassiss. Kassississ. Ma." More laughter and then he kicks
his boots off, just like he's at home or something. Which, lately, he might
as well be with all the hours he's clocked drinking here.

"Close enough," Kassima agrees, more amused than disturbed; a woman who has
as a hobby mixing drinks like that one is probably no stranger to
drunkenness, all things considered. "'Kassi' will do if'n 'tis easier. Have
I mentioned that you've m'thanks for going this route rather than either
exploding or dancing on the bar? Because you do. Shells, you haven't even
jumped one of the tables and declared yourself pregnant. Want me t'fetch
your ale?"

M'rek laughs and moves his hand as if the ale is right there. Right there
in front of him and this makes him laugh more before he gets out, "Aye.
Kassi." each word deliberate as his mouth seems to be the biggest thing
effected by the drink of Oblivion. He shifts and lays his head to the cool
wood of the table as the effects of the drink spread out inside him,
fingers and socked toes warming and tingling.

Kassima slants him a look that mingles amusement with her earlier
curiosity. "Slurring seems lessened, but hallucination increased," she
half-observes, half-teases. "I should remember *this* one--hey, Marcus!
Write down the recipe, would you?" The bartender rolls his eyes; he does
not, however, stop her from claiming the mug of ale, nor from acquiring a
glass of Thread for herself. The former she sets beside the poor
Oblivi-ated bronzerider's head with a faint clink. She settles into a chair
of her own with the latter, stretching out her legs and downing half the
drink in one gulp. "Still conscious?" it seems prudent to ask.

M'rek must be, or at least there's low level brain stem activity here
because he takes the ale and drinks it down. Hoping it'll either dilute or
counteract some of the effects. Right. Okay, he's just drinking it to
drink, there's no thought there. The drained mug is set down and M'rek
tries it again, "Hmm. Interesting." And here he smiles, "Better. Much
better." Even if he's only up to two word sentences now at least they
aren't as slurred. "Didn't feel mentally drunk."

"So you didn't really think the ale was there?" Kassi asks with a grin.
"Shells, that's something else. If'n I ever have an enemy with whom I'm
drinking for whatever reason, I should slip him that; he'd be incapacitated
for awhile at least, and if'n he were *mentally* clear he could fume and
rage inside while I shoved him into a dress or did something else terribly
heinous. I'truth, why save that for an enemy? There are some riders at
Telgar with whom it might be worthwhile." Such visions for future mayhem
momentarily light her eyes. It's pure tease when she asks, "Should I have
Marcus mix another glass for you?"

M'rek shakes his head, "Was trying to walk over to it." But it was his hand
that responded instead of foot. He lifts his socked feet and rest them in
an empty chair, eyes wide with something close to bronzeriderly innocence
as he listens to the evil plans of this particular greenrider. She seems to
have a thing for playing dress up as far as he can tell. "Something
different. What if you mix the same thing, only backwards?"

Kassima taps her lip a moment with the fingers not holding her glass. "That
must've been such a strange feeling...." And to judge by the look she casts
towards the bar, she's considering duplicating the drink for herself, now;
the idea distracts her. Perhaps she should be thankful. "Reverse as in
reverse the order only, or reverse as in reversed quantities? More of the
fruit liqueurs and less of the fire-makers?" She adds as an afterthought,
"You shouldn't even try the innocence, y'know. You're a bronzer. I know
better."

M'rek doesn't even think about it, which may or may not be a good thing,
"Both ways, only half as much in quantity. T'was hard to swallow it all in
one gulp." and as he's brought another ale by the ever helpful Marcus, he
grins easily, "Aye, the riders of Greens always know better. It's the way
of things."

With Marcus distracted by ale-delivery, Kassi scrambles to take up a
station behind the bar and be at work with the liquors before he can stop
her. It's a fulsome glare she gets for *that*, you can be sure. She meets
it with an utterly cheery and unrepentant grin. "Nay always," she reasons
while measuring and pouring. "Brand-new greenriders might be briefly
fooled. We don't all come with the bronzer-evilness-sense straight out of
Impression. But we gain it pretty quickly, about as quickly as most
bronzers I've known seem t'gain their wariness of greenriders." Or maybe
just of her, if she's putting them all in women's clothing. Not having to
argue with Marcus makes the mixing process go faster, and she returns to
the table with two glasses of liquid that's somewhat closer to black than
brown... but still resembles 'gold-spangled uck' when all's said and done.
"I'm going t'try this one too. But you still get t'go first."

M'rek turns, nursing his next ale and watching the Telgari work her mixing
mojo. "Evilness sense?" This makes him laugh, "Aye. There is that. Though,
it's not so tricky once you realize that all the greenriders are evil." he
reaches for his glass and nods, "All right. Seems fair enough. Or, it
doesn't but what else could possibly happen to me now?" The young
bronzerider laughs and then knocks the drink back, eyes swimming once more.

"'Tis a different kind of evil for greenriders and bronzeriders as a rule,"
Kassi's fully willing to admit, "though there are exceptions. *You* are
evil in the sense that you seem t'exist sometimes t'thwart our noble
greenrider schemes, or something. I haven't really mapped out a theory. And
there is that!" She raises her glass as if to toast the concept that all
greenriders are, indeed, evil; but she doesn't drink. No, no. Not until
she's seen what it does to him. "Well, you could always collapse and keel
over and all the rest *this* time," she feels obliged to point out. "But
please don't? I'd *never* explain that satisfactorily t'your Weyrleaders."

M'rek twitches, and then arches his back before shaking his arms out.
"Whoa. That one was like fingernails down my spine. Which does have it's
place." A broad and easy smile that degenerates into laughter, the liquor
going to his head. "Noble greenrider schemes? Nay, if I feel over, it's
only to be expected. I don't think my Weyrleaders would be at all surprised
at my untimely demise." then, "Drink up, Kassi."

Kassima considers the glass she holds. "'Fingernails Down the Spine' is
probably long for a drink-name," she sighs, "and 'Fingernails' makes it
sound as if'n the ingrediants are unhygienic. Alas. Hey! Why shouldn't our
schemes be noble? We're full of nobility, I'll have you know! We're certes
full of *something*. I defy you t'be denying that." Probably a safe
challenge to make. "Oh, so you're a good one then? Because only the good
die young, they say. So if'n they'd nay be surprised, it stands t'reason."
She laughs and lifts her glass again to him, then knocks its contents back.

M'rek chuckles at being called a 'good one'. That hasn't happened in awhile
and it tickles him. "Good one? Shards, that's good." socked feet are
shifted in the chair and then he shivers again, an after effect from the
drink. "Not as devastating as the first one, but it's got some after
effects. I'll not be trying to do any hidework tonight, that's for sure."

Kassima manages to set her glass down carefully before a single long,
head-to-toe shudder takes her, and she gives a low whistle. "'Tisn't as
strong as some, I'd agree. But the effect is interesting. I wonder whether
a larger quantity of the Oblivion might bring on the shivers *and* the
other--" Just as well that she doesn't seem inclined to leave the comfort
of the chair to experiment, at least not now. "See? I've spared you from
hidework. And you say greenrider schemes aren't *noble*. Granted, 'twas
more a side-bonus of the scheme t'get someone else t'do m'testing for me,
but! The end's still a noble one. I take it you don't consider yourself a
good one, then," she adds, raising an amused brow at him.

M'rek laughs, throwing his head back in the process, "Aye! Thank you then,
Kassi. For saving me from the evils of hide work. I'll owe you one. For
whatever that's worth." M'rek switches back to ale, in a dangerous way.
"You should come to the Reaches tomorrow, Kassi. There's to be a party,
will be good food. And drink."

"'Twill remember it," Kassi promises, or perhaps it's warns; but it's a
good-natured statement, so the obvious threat level, at least, is low. "I
don't always *collect* owed ones, but I always remember, in case! Never
know when I might need someone t'bail me out of the bothersome
hide-intensive bits of Wingleading for a day." The face she makes expresses
her opinion of those bits rather well. There's still the half-finished
Thread by her hand, and she takes it up again to see to finishing it. "A
party? 'Tis a thought, a thought... but drink, ah, now that I must ask
about, since 'tis after all the 'Reaches. Are we talking *good* drink? Or
Tillek?"

M'rek shrugs his shoulders to the final question, "No telling, just drink
I'm not paying for. That's all I know. Maybe ale." Which he does have a
fondness for when he's drinking for pleasure and not business. "Should
start mid-day. I might even be sober enough then to get drunk once more.
With any luck." he doesn't seem to mind threats or promises of any kind.

Kassima makes an amused sound at that. "Point," she acknowledges. "Even
Tillek's arguably better than aught that isn't free, though 'arguable' may
be the key word in that statement. At least when you've effectively grown
up on the best Benden. Ale'd be a change of pace, at least. Why's the
'Reaches celebrating?" A low laugh is her response to the latter statement.
"Thank the stars for alcohol. I get the impression that you're a devotee,
too. As 'twere."

M'rek raises his mug of ale and nods, "Aye. I'm involved in a serious
relationship with alcohol. Long may it last, we got beyond hand holding
some time ago." this makes him laugh and he goes on to speak to the party,
"Benden is the best, Aye, but with Tillek in the sweep, it might not be
avoided. Free is still free, and all I can drink. For my Weyrsecond bet me
I couldn't keep out of trouble for a whole day." And the wide eyed look
once more, "Seems they think there's a such thing as too much brawling,
drinking and glib talk."

Kassima clicks her tongue at this. "Tsk! I should doubtless weep and wail
t'hear it, that m'dear alcohol's taken another, and after I've effectively
borne it four children, too." Normally she'd be able to say that with a
straight face, and she tries now, but she's had enough to drink that she
can't quite keep from grinning nor keep her eyes from dancing. "Shells,
what a sad sight anyone who *was* jealous would be, given how many men and
women alcohol calls its own among riders alone. I know, I know; the
'Reaches alone at least has some *excuse*. Some places stock it of their
own free will. Travesty. What, what, the Weyr's throwing a party for that?"
This would seem to entertain her greatly, and it takes her a moment of
snickering before she manages to summon her own look of utter innocence.
"*Too much*! I can't imagine. But the brawling sounds interesting; who'd
you brawl?"

M'rek snickers at the response and then slips into all out laughter very
quickly, "Who'd I brawl. Who didn't I brawl. My Weyrleader, only that was
just a misunderstanding. Another bronzerider named G'rad. This character at
Bitra named Gerome, who was tough, I might add. Some seacrafters, but they
hardly even count. Lord Vorlin. Oh, and I guess we could add that first
drink tonight to the list, as it did put me on the floor. No more than one
brawl a month since weyrling graduation. I'm pacing myself."

This list of brawlings would seem to fascinate Kassi, and she draws her
sandaled feet back to better lean forward in her chair. "You fought the
Weyrleader and Lord Vorlin? G'rad I don't blame you for given that you're a
friend of Emilly's, but what'd S'rist do? I'm nigh afraid t'ask what Lord
Vorlin did. More amazed that you managed t'fight him and live." She breaks
off to laugh, then. "'Twill nay tell your Weyrsecond you brawled a drink
if'n you don't."

M'rek points out in his defense, "S'rist started it, he thought I was the
one who'd been at his daughter, but it was G'rad. Well. Lord Vorlin's the
worst. He did stab me once, though was only a flesh wound and I got
better." more ale is consumed, "Aye, that drink should go on the list. One
brawl with Oblivion."

"Can't blame a man for going after whoever's been at his daughter," Kassi
readily admits--and makes a face. "Particularly given the age business.
Sixteen's nay precisely a *child*, but... and G'rad's... well, I certes
made squicked faces when Em told me about it. He *stabbed* you? What did
you *do*?" After a beat, she marvels, "That tops every Bitran Lord or Lady
relationship I've ever had. I beat Carow at darts once; had a business deal
with Tenefel; Lady Fil trounced me at tug-of-war, but I've never been
stabbed by one. I should probably feel deprived or something."

M'rek chuckles at this and says, "I don't know if it's something to be
proud of, I had a sharding hard time hiding that one. But Aye. Lord Vorlin
and I have a lot of fights, though not many as serious as that one was
after I came back to Bitra impressed. He's a bit temperamental at times.
Sharding Lord Holders. Tug of war, huh? How'd that work?"

"It'd be a story, at least," Kassi muses, twisting her empty glass about in
her hand. "But one I can probably live without. All told." Carefully, "I
don't know Lord Vorlin very well. Lady Fil and I were friends; but I've
never interacted much with her... unexpected successor. Perhaps 'tis as
well. Were you at Bitra under the Lady? She was holding one of her
Gathers--she liked parties--and 'twas a contest in it. *Methinks* she was
Lady in her own right then and this after Tenefel's death, though I'd be
lying if'n I said 'twas sure. 'Twas on one side of the rope and she on the
other. Sheer bad luck we lost, I say even now. But then, 'twould."

Lysseth> Sionath backwings to a landing.

Lysseth> Sionath carols bright greetings to Lysseth and Ulfianth and lands
a decent distance away so as not to shower them with sand.

Lysseth> Emilly vaults down Sionath's side to the ground, using herforeleg
as a step.

Lysseth> Emilly wanders down the jungle path to the west.

M'rek listens, nodding and then shaking his head in turns, "I came to Bitra
with Lord Vorlin. I never actually met Lady Fil." He chuckles then, for no
apparent reason, just the drink having it's way, "And you didn't win? I'm
surprised." An easy grin here, "I like parties myself. Nice things.
Especially when the drink is free."

Lysseth> Sionath sidles a bit closer to Ulfianth and settles down
comfortably in the sand.

Emilly climbs up from the caves below.

Emilly clambers up from below with a soft grunt as she leaves the ladder.
"Drat I hate that thing," she mutters under her breath.

M'rek turns to Marcus and tells him to get one of the purple fizzing drinks
ready. Just about the time that Emilly arrives.

"D'you know the story behind his ascension, then?" Kassi asks, after some
hesitation. "I *should* know it, you'd think. But what happened's a bit
shrouded in mystery--either that or m'gossip sources have completely run
dry, and *that* I'm disinclined t'believe. Nay as surprised as 'twas, but
tug-of-war's never been so much m'forte. I'm a knife-thrower. Won the
Bitran contest at *that*, so I can live contented." A lady of priorities,
she. "Food, too, don't forget--drink without food isn't quite as fun,
somehow. Heyla, Em."

Emilly straightens her skirt a little, then proceeds forward, smiling
brightly at the two riders, one Reaches' one Telgari. She laughs as she
sees her drink already arriving. "So you're not so drunk you'd forget, eh
M'rek?" She smiles at Kassima broadly, not really following what the
greenrider said, given she missed the first half for being too far away.
The last bit though, where she's talking about food and drink and saying
hello ... well that earns a wave in answer and a bright: "Heyla Kassi!" and
agreement on the food issue. "That's true ... good food makes good drink
seem better?"

M'rek has his socked feet propped up in one chair and he holds a mug of ale
in one hand where he talks with Kassima. "Aye." He laughs here, clearly
drunk, "Aye. I know the story well as anyone could know it." with a free
hand he reaches up to rub the top of his head and then offers a greeting to
Emilly that involves pointing to his cheek and turning it towards her,
"Good to see ya, Emilly. 'Course I didn't forget." then he's nodding to
Kassi, "Knife throwing, Aye? That's respectable." then back to Bitra, "Aye,
it's a long story. One maybe better told some night before I meet
'Oblivion'. I'd not want to ruin such a festive mood."

Kassima is sprawled in an opposite chair in clothes suitable for sunning,
so chances are she's been here awhile; while Marcus is delivering the fizzy
purple thing, he brings her a glass of Tunnelsnake without her asking,
earning a grateful grin. "As a hobby, at least," she says of
knife-throwing. "Haven't actually stabbed anyone or slit anyone either.
'Twill hold you to that story. Mayhaps it can be the one you owe me. Are
you going t'be at this 'Reaches party tomorrow, Em?"

Emilly eyes M'rek closely for a moment, perhaps a hint of worry denting her
brow, but then she leans down to kiss his cheek before patting the back of
a chair at the table. "Mind if I join you?" There's a sharper look for the
word "oblivion" but then she's chuckling for words about knife-throwing.
"Kassi's a champion, that's true," she notes. "I've more than one memory of
Kassi's knives ...." She lifts bare shoulders in a shrug. "Not sure --
that'll depend on the Weyrlings ... I'm fresh from talking to Trii about
some of his troubles ..."

M'rek nods his agreement to Kassima a little longer in motion than he
usuall would, but then that was some pretty heady stuff he drank before.
"Aye. I'll be glad to tell the tale to you, Kassi. Truth be told, most
times people can't get me to stop talking, Aye, Emilly." He turns his head
and then reaches over to pull the chair out for the Reachian greenrider,
"Would be disappointed if you didn't join." Too drunk to absorb any
searching looks he just smiles, blissfully until, "Weyrling troubles?"

"Doesn't bother me if'n it doesn't bother M'rek," Kassi replies amiably,
waving towards the chair with her fresh glass. "And your recall as ever
honors me. What troubles are plaguing m'dear, sweet wife?" She drawls this
question, but there's some concern behind it despite its facetiousness.
"--Sounds good. I'm the last person t'be complaining about being talkative,
trust me."

Emilly drops into the chair, folding one leg up and bracing sandal clad
foot on the seat of it as she reaches for her drink, so ably provided by
the drunken M'rek she casts him a sweet smile for his remark on
disappointment then puts forward a question. "What's this tale you're
speaking of?" she inquires as she takes her first sip of neon purple drink.
"Mmm ... your spouse seems to be still letting Daikoth get away with too
much ... at least, that's my read on it. He made some rather flip remarks
about what Weyrling training should and shouldn't be ... and I'm afraid I'm
sometimes not that good at figuring out what's serious and what's not ..."
There's a bit of a laught then for the remarks on talkativeness. "It's a
good thing I like to listen?"

M'rek sips at his ale, not really needing it to prolong the euphoria he
feels, more just taking the occasional drink out of habit and so that his
hands will have something constructive to do. "How Lord Vorlin's ascension
came about. That's the tale, Kassi was asking about. And one that I can
tell." though maybe not as well drunk as sober he seems to think. Silence
wraps his exterior, if not his interior as he listens to the weyrling talk
and then he stirs once more to smile warmly and answer the question, "Aye.
You're the best of listeners, Emilly." He wiggles his toes then, safe in
their socks and drinks a little more ale, "Who is whose spouse?" a confused
question.

"Daikoth," observes Kassi, not without drollness, "is just the sort t'take
advantage of that, Faranth knows. Has Is said aught about it? He does seem
a flip sort, M'tri, but methinks he might know more than he seems beneath
it; still, keeping an eye on him might be wise." She turns to explain to
M'rek, "M'tri and Daikoth are one of the blue Weyrling pairs, and M'tri's
m'wife through circumstances that are very, very peculiar, and might
actually make *more* sense when drunk rather than less, since 'tis hard
t'make less sense than nay sense at all."

Emilly smiles for M'rek's compliment to her listening skills and reaches
over to tweak one sock-covered toe. "Ahhh ... the Lord ..." she falls
silent, looking curious but a little uncertain. "Well I'm sure it's a very
interesting tale, and you probably tell it well M'rek ..." then she nods
Kassi's way. "I was ... trying to feel him out a little bit around the
matter, yes ... but I'm concerned about whether or not he's learning to
properly curb Daikoth ... he seems to want to give him the slack ..."
Shoulders lift again. "Still, he's right that Daikoth makes beautiful
pictures ... fairly took my breath away what he was showing Sionath."

M'rek nods with that same exaggerated motion at the explanation about
M'tri, "Aye. I see. Or I don't see, but I might as well say I do and save
us all some time." Sip. Then laughter and a wiggling of feet followed by
eyes going half closed like a drowsy firelizard that's too full of
meatroll. He listens then, soaking in the voices of the two greenriders and
letting them lull him.

Kassima runs a hand through her forelock, pushing it back away from her
eyes. "Is that all bad?" she wants to know, though she sounds uncertain.
"Daikoth's half the pair, and getting old enough t'nay be so child-foolish,
I'd think. I'd *hope*. But if'n M'tri's nay staying in control when
control's needed, that's a problem." A gulp of Tunnelsnake later, she adds
wryly, "Like I'm one t'talk about control while I'm trying t'get drunk.
*Honestly*. I should've tried the Oblivion m'self. He's currently pregnant
with m'child," she adds brightly to M'rek, because if you're going to
confuse, hey, why not confuse as much as possible? "I think. He keeps
having these affairs with bronzers and Lanisa, so 'tis hard t'say whose
child 'tis, really. Mayhaps you should meet him someday. You could become a
member of the possible paternity pool."

Emilly grins at wiggling feet, and sips again from her glass. She nods
along with Kassi's assessment, looking uncertain herself. "I'm not sure ...
I suppose in the end if they balance out, it's fine ... but he seemed
awfully tired from all of the disciplinary duties ..." she trails off and
starts laughing for the loose logic involved with the paternity tale.
"M'tri, is possibly, the most involved Weyrling ever."

M'rek opens his eyes a little more fully and gives Kassima a laughing look,
"Congrats to you then, on your coming fatherhood?" He can swim with
nonsense if that's what the river is filled with, "The Oblivion was what
did it. I'm half afraid to move for fear I'll do something too foolish."
This last comes with a big grin and he sprawls further into his chair, free
hand fidgeting on the arm rest of the chair. "Disciplinary duties are the
worst." He can agree with that easily enough, "Most involved? Good for him
then, sounds like a nice lad."

"He has *that many* disciplinary duties?" Kassi sits up a bit at this,
brows lowering; the laughing is replaced for a moment by Wingleader
seriousness. "Or is it just that any extra duties tire him? I could see
that, too. Nay being one t'enjoy extra work." She relaxes back into the
chair then with a snort. "Nay that anyone sane *does* enjoy extra work. Oh,
thankee!" she adds to M'rek, and she summons a beam that's just a shade
short of a simper. Her eyes gleam greener yet with merriment. "I'm so
*terribly* proud. We've thirteen children already, m'wife and I, but y'know
what they say: you can never have *too many* living proofs of your
virility. Poor man. Your hand doesn't still think 'tis your foot, does it?"

Emilly shifts a little and counts off on her fingers. "Extra pushups, extra
laps ... extra night elevator duty ... um ... I'm forgetting some ...." she
trails off and nods. "COuld be that too ... I guess I'm still too green at
this to tell ..." there's a sheepish chuckle then and a retiring into her
drink.

M'rek chuckles at Kassima and looks at his traitorous hand before shifting
the ale mug to it, as if that's going to solve all of the bronzerider's
problems. "Thirteen children? It seems to be the opinion of my Weyrwoman
that there's nothing wrong with most that can't be fixed by having a half
dozen daughters, but maybe there's a such thing as too much of a good
thing? Aye, my hand can be quite troublesome. Given to scandalous hand
holding, it is." Then finally he laughs loudly at Emilly's words, "Too
green." in particular seems entertaining. "Sounds like he's got a lot of
energy, your M'tri."

Kassima rolls her shoulders against the back of her chair in a helpless
shrug. "Without being the one t'assign the duties, or knowing exactly how
many are assigned," she offers Emilly wryly, "I don't know how you *could*
tell. He's probably nay going t'say, 'Actually, 'tisn't that we're being
punished that much; I'm just lazy and think being punished at all sucks
dead green eggs.'" She pauses. "Though if'n any Weyrling *would*.... But
I'd be worried, too. If'n he doesn't improve, I'm going t'have t'remember
this when choosing time comes." Shifting back towards amused, she admits to
M'rek with a grin, "M'tri might see it the same way, since he's gotten the
joy of giving birth to 'em all. Wait, wait, your hand engages in scandalous
hand-holding when it thinks 'tis your foot?" She squints at her drink
suspiciously. Perhaps it's the cause of her confusion.

Emilly just starts to laugh helplessly at this point. "Oh my - the two of
you ..." she shakes her head when she's able and then tosses back the rest
of her drink. "Well. If I'm to be in any shape to help anyone out tomorrow,
I'd better get back ..."

M'rek chuckles at Kassima, "Aye, and that's all right as long as my hands
don't start trying to wear the boots in the family. Speaking of which.
Where did I put those boots? I should get home myself and see if Lord
Vorlin managed to ruin my life over dinner tonight between the soup and the
salad." Feet are dropped to the floor and the rider knocks back the ale
before bending to find those pesky boots.

Kassima grins at Em, then sighs and gives her glass a last, mournful look.
"Aye...." She tips it back to drain the rest of it in one gulp, then sets
it firmly on the table. "I *should* at least be coherent for noon drills,
blast it. Well, M'rek, if'n they do try it, that's when you just have
t'tell 'em that you're going t'punch their arse in the eye." And she nods
solemnly, because this advice made perfect sense. By her momentary confused
look, the cross of 'home' and 'Lord Vorlin' makes less so to her, but she
doesn't ask, instead saying, "Been a pleasure getting schnockered with you
both, I must say. And hearing about how you keep getting beaten up, M'rek,
although that has t'go down in the books as something I never saw m'self
saying. I'll blame the alcohol again."

M'rek laughs and finally manages his feet, heading out wobbly and starting
to sing the most awful song that seems to start all the barmaids giggling.

M'rek uses a combination of handholds on the straps and Ulfianth's bent
forelimb to climb up on the ice in summer bronze's back.

Emilly drifts out after M'rek, shaking her head and leans out to make sure
he doesn't fall and break his neck before swinging down after him.

Emilly climbs down the crude ladder.