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One More Day To Make It Right


Date:  May 24, 2002
Place:  Benden Weyr's Southern 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:  A short but significant log.  Ever since I'sai agreed 
to go to Ista and assist with their Weyrling group, relations between 
him and Kassima have been broken; she viewed (and continues to view) 
this as a great betrayal of duty, while he had a rather different take
on it.  Some two Turns or so have passed at this point since they were 
last on comfortable speaking terms, or since Kassi would so much as 
call him by name.  Here, the first steps towards mending the breach are
taken--and while full healing will be a time in coming, matters do not 
after all seem to be entirely beyond repair.

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The Log:

"...And when you finally fly away, I'll be hoping that I served you well;
for all the wisdom of a lifetime, nay one can ever tell...." Kassima's no
Rod Stewart, but she's doing her best impression, singing softly to herself
as she pokes through a pile of--leathers, by the creakings and rustlings.
Not to mention the jingle of buckles, a tintinnabulatory accompaniment if
ever there was one.

After a few moments of watching her, from his lean against the entrance,
"...But they can make it up." I'sai finds a small smile to go with it.
"Heard about Kay, if that's not just rumor?"

A last jingle sounds as Kassi automatically stills: that voice. "They
could," she agrees in speech rather than song, turning her head slowly to
look back towards him. "G'dafternoon, Assistant Weyrlingmaster." Polite as
polite can be. "Which is the news you've heard? Her promotion?"

I'sai doesn't say anything; he just nods, thoughtful eyes made the greener
for the glowlight. -- "...You're still titling me, aren't you."

Kassima inclines her head one notch to him, gravely; her own gaze is as
dark as the glows will allow. "I hadn't thought 'twas any reason t'be
ceasing."

Dark as the space between stars, dark as frozen things? I'sai considers
her. "It's been - Turns," he says, finally. "I suppose I should have asked;
but I'd thought you might."

What is *between*, when there is naught to life but fragile dragon wings?
Kassima points out, quite calm and mild, "Turns it has been. You've nay
much seemed t'notice, nor be concerned; truth be told, I'm surprised you've
thought of it."

I'sai hasn't so many Turns that he can't roll his eyes; still, the
exasperation's mild - if not so mild as, on the surface at least, she - and
he says, "We've both been... busy. And I could go on about you-could've or
I-could've and on and on and on, but it doesn't seem _useful_ for figuring
it out from here."

"I don't know. It seems t'say plenty about where things stand, and where
they never stood for all that they seemed to." Kassi's eyes flash briefly
at the roll of his, but otherwise the impassive mask remains: "Busy, I
suppose is true. I don't know that there's much that I could've done,
but--laying that aside, what had you in mind?"

I'sai thrusts his hands in his pockets, leans back - "It was...
complicated," and lets out a breath. Then, "I think things got away from
us. What do I have in mind. What -do- I have in mind. Well, Kiss is...
well, don't know if she's been asking -you-, but." He's developed something
of stillness in the last Turns, without fidgeting as much as he might have,
though even that comes and goes. "Truth is, she's an excuse, if a dear and
bright-eyed one; I'd just... like to see us talking again, at the very least."

Kassima does agree, quiet, "'Twas." It is. "Mayhaps they did. I know the
reasons have changed--shifted, over time--" Reasons for her ire, most like,
once a frustrated and furious thing and now fallen to this cool refusal of
any emotion at all. "Methinks she's wanted to ask--well. That's right. She
did ask the once. I said 'twould nay speak of it... we're talking now." She
allows a small ghost of a smile, genuine if wan. "Only 'tis naught like the
talking we used t'do; I'll grant you that. I can't deny it still pleases me
that you'd care t'talk after all."

I'sai's expression softens, ever so subtly, for that smile - and for her
confiding: something about the curve of his lips, the fine sun-lines
deepening about his eyes. "We are, aren't we. It's, well, it's nice. I like
it." He's quiet a moment. "We weren't _purposefully_ gone, when Lyss rose
last; but while she was proddy, I can't say I didn't wonder whether I
wouldn't get a punch in the face, if I'd spoken wrongly," with a slight
inflection that says he might not have stepped out of its way.

Several beats of silence serve as prelude to Kassi's audibly reluctant
admission: "I missed you. Missed talking t'you, your usually being around,
even if'n 'twasn't sure how much of the confidance was ever really true."
It's not barbed, that, or not intentionally so; she's still calm and quiet,
but there's perhaps a touch more life to her voice than there was. "Mmm.
Did Taralyth regret missing, or shouldn't I ask? She'd likely like t'think
so--I don't think you'd have gotten a punch in the *face*." Which is said
just a touch dryly. Enough so, in all likelihood, to suggest what more
painful areas she might have chosen.

"I meant it as true," I'sai says, gaze reflective, after an exaggerated
wince for those other possible places; "Oh, and he'd have liked to have
chased _her_; feel free to tell her, hmm. Let's see. Something about going
off his feed? Eating _fish_ of all things, instead of proper herdbeast.
Tell her - if it still matters, at least."

"Then why so long?" Kassi had to ask it, eventually. There's nothing to be
read from her eyes, half-veiled by dropped lashes as they are. "And when
you wanted m'advice on Zaidra, when I stuck m'neck out as could have gotten
me demoted because I thought 'twere worried for your Wing, was that true?"
It's still a calm voice if one doesn't know her well enough to catch the
hint of pain. "She'll appreciate that. She *does* appreciate that," she
reports after a moment's vague-eyed conference. "I don't know that she
still wonders, so long agone was the flight; but that doesn't forbid her
from understanding and liking the thought. Methinks she sometimes thought
our conflict would mean he'd gone off on her."

I'sai does frown in passing, at that last, and shake his head: no, no. To
the rest, he trades back, "Why so long, indeed?" - "And that was true,
too." Another hesitation. "If there'd been deaths - but there weren't."

"You tell me," Kassi immediately parries; "You're the one t'be knowing, nay
I... but there *could* have been, Is. There *could* have been. You couldn't
have known Talisha would up and retire, but--"

I'sai's mouth pulls to one side; "There could have been," he agrees:
nothing new that's entered his head, that. "And no, I couldn't have known.
But - it was a decision that I thought about, and I learned a lot, and
here's hoping I taught something, too. Now, I could tease you about how, if
I hadn't been there, Kay'd have been left to P'tod's and the others' good
graces..."

"It didn't take a Wingsecond t'be going t'Ista t'learn." Kassi sounds,
abruptly, tired. It's an old argument. "I--nay, don't tease about that, Is.
I'll say something regrettable that won't help us any road. I *do*
appreciate, mind you, that you didn't end up in bed with her after, unlike
P'tod."

Old, indeed; I'sai drops it. "There's that," he says. And then, "I do
appreciate your trying, at least."

Kassima lifts an uncomfortable shoulder. "Turns of bitterness aren't wiped
off in a day," she points out, "even if'n 'twere wholeheartedly ready
t'forgive and forget all. Which I'd be lying if'n I said 'twas, and--if'n
you do know me nigh as well as I thought you did, then you'd know it.
But... I'd like things t'be different. Than they are now. Talking's a start
to it, as you say."

"Yes," says I'sai. "And maybe that was part of it, that I wasn't sure it
wasn't already too late." He glances behind him, out the door, then back:
"Any suggestions for how to continue?"

"It could have been." Kassi offers him another hint of a smile. "It almost
was. You caught me in a good mood. What can I say?" She flicks a look after
his glance, by reflex; refocusing on him, lifts her shoulders again. "I
honestly don't know. 'Tisn't something that comes up every day, this. Had
you any ideas?"

"Didn't see anyone," I'sai explains briefly, seeing her glance follow his.
"Well, there are ideas, and then there are -useful- ideas. I'm not sure
which a trip to the Lava Lounge, say, would count as."

Kassima can't entirely suppress her amusement. "'Twould depend whether we
got drunk and decided t'beat each other bloody over old grievances, or got
drunk and whichever of us was conscious last stuffed sandwiches down the
other's pants." A beat-long pause. "*Possibly* would depend. Whether
'twould depend might in turn depend on the kind of sandwich."

I'sai's brows quirk up - up, up, _up_ - and then abruptly he smiles. "If
you had to pick a sandwich to be stuffed down your pants, which kind would
it be?"

"Is this another of those deep psychological questions?" Kassi can't keep
herself from asking; can't even keep herself from grinning, just a little.
"Something nay too messy, I should think. None of this half-cooked meat
with spicy sauce and cole slaw slathered all over it. Just imagine what the
launderers would say."

"Very deep," I'sai assures mendaciously - and altogether transparently;
"Very, very, very deep. Hm. Would you settle for cooked meat with
hot-pepper sauce and no slaw at all? That way the launderers could just
assume you were trying to teach a firelizard the perils of eating meat -
the peppers, y'see - and something went drastically wrong."

Kassima mutters, not quite sotto voce, "Deep *something*, sure enough." Her
eyes glint as she glances back at him, to cath whether he heard; then,
"Hmm, I *might*, but only if'n the sauce weren't too terribly runny... or
I'd a spare pair of trous, one of those. Should I assume you're *plotting*
t'stuff a sandwich down m'pants? Should I be wary of you whenever you're
found near food? Only know that I'd have m'revenge, and you'd wake up one
morn t'find yourself in bed with the stickiest fruit preserves you'd ever
known on top of black molasses."

Glint catches returning gleam; then, "...Well, not plotting as -such-," Is
says ingenuously. "Just allowing for alternatives. Since you were the one
who brought it up, after all. Sandwiches. How's this: I'd only do such a
thing if it were a set of Katlynn's pants that you'd wanted to get rid of
anyway, or... er... I was really, really provoked? Or really, really drunk.
Or both."

Kassima must needs make plain, "I'd never be *wearing* a set of Katlynn's
pants; I'd foist them off on t'you like that pink sisal, or some such
thing... all right, though, otherwise that's fair enough. Tell me what I'd
have t'do t'provoke you? So I can avoid it. Since I don't think I'd ever
*want* t'provoke you into putting sandwiches down m'pants, though I suppose
you never know."

I'sai discreetly doesn't comment at the mention of pink sisal; instead,
"Hmm. It's hard, you know; I don't have a list. I can't say, oh, whenever
L'cher's especially smelly, -that- does it. Because, you know, what if he's
really smelly but he's rubbing up to Pierron? That's not so bad."

"Only if'n Pierron's nay carrying some of our food at the time." Kassi
gives a delicate shudder at such an idea. "Well, let me know when you *do*
think of things; only, y'know, keep in mind there's a limit t'how much I
can do about L'cher's smell. I fear I can't make you a similar list. You
know I'd probably stuff sandwiches down your pants any time it seemed funny
and I thought I could be getting away with it."

"Not carrying some of our food... that we actually want to eat?" I'sai
returns. "As opposed to, say, fish stuffed with more fish and fried in fish
oil and, and, and. ...Alas, yes. Question is, do you think it's more likely
that it would seem funny, or that you'd think you could get away with it?"
and grins at her.

Kassima's shudder this time isn't nearly as delicate. "You're making up for
the fact that you never made me heave while 'twas carrying Kiss by trying
it *now*, aren't you?" she accuses. "I suppose if'n you already *had* a
sandwich in your pants, why, it may nay seem funny then... but when you're
drunk, 'tis bound t'be *hilariously* amusing. Particularly if'n I'm drunk
too. Especially," and here she returns the grin, more easily than any grin
yet, "since I could best get away with it then, if'n your reflexes were
sufficiently alcohol-slowed that you couldn't catch me."

I'sai, at that first 'accusation,' drops his gaze discreetly - but not so
far that he can't keep half an eye on her. "Very true," he allows. "I
wonder how much of an audience we'd have - well, keep your flavor of the
sevenday in mind, and let Tear know when you two have time? I suppose I
ought to get starting back to work."

"Meatballs with tomato sauce and a bit of garlic." This would evidently be
Kassi's flavor of the sevenday, or at least the first she could think of
offhand; "Lyss would be pleased t'do so; or tell us, if'n that proves
difficult, what time is good for you... with the Weyrlings as busy as they
are, yours might be the tougher schedule. But you'll have t'promise nay
t'try and make me sick up anymore." She's very prim about that, or at least
puts on a good show. At the last, she accedes, "Aye, work ever calls," and
once more hesitates. "...Thankee, Is. For today; for still wanting t'talk.
For all of that."

"...A bit of garlic," I'sai repeats, as if memorizing. "And they'll be
joining wings soon enough, which means that if a queen can keep herself
from rising..." he holds up crossed-for-luck fingers. "I'll try not to do
it accidentally, at least? And... yeah. Thanks back to you, Kassi. And I'm
glad you're calling me by my name again."

Kassima murmurs, "Here's hoping; they've stayed down for a time now, thanks
be t'Faranth, after Daelyth's group... *accidentally*! Well, I'll
*remember* 'tis deliberate if'n you do try; you can be keeping that in
mind, and attempting it at your peril. Such as 'tis." It's too perilous?
Tilting her hea slightly to the side, she offers him a faint, wry smile and
admits, "'Tis easier. More familiar. And I'd nay really have wanted you
t'start titling me too instead."

Unconscionably perilous. "Would've been hard to go back," I'sai admits.
"Though I like to think we could have - even so, this was hard enough; best
not to make it any more so," and with that, he summons brightness of a sort
before stepping back across the threshold, brightness and a, "Clear skies,
then, Kassi. And our best to Lyss."

I'sai leaves the Storage Rooms.