-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wingleaders Against Drunk Flying Date: March 10, 2000 Place: Telgar Weyr's Records Room Game: PernMUSH Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kassi's Note: This log has something of a backstory. J'var, green Miseth's rider, has recently been injured in Threadfall--not normally an event that would merit a special chewing-out session. But this time, M'rgan has reported to Kassi that a Healer discovered the Wingrider to have liquor on his breath. This is not news that she takes particularly well.... -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: Lysseth> Miseth senses that Lysseth's thoughts tap lightly, politely against yours: knock, knock. Who's there? << My rider, >> she says, in a calm, chiming tone, << requests yours report to the Records Room to get his arse kicked. >> A pause, and then, << I believe I was supposed to replace that last with something more diplomatic, however. >> Dragon> Lysseth senses that Miseth snickers softly. << It is about time. >> Slight pause. << He will be there momentarily. I didn't mention the ass kicking. >> J'var strides in from the bowl. The scratch of a stylus, the muffled, sleepy chirp of 'lizards, the occasional mumble and curse--these are all clues to the fact that Kassima is in the Records Room. And my, she does sound irritated this evening to judge by those mutterings. The sound of footsteps makes her look up--and lo, behold! The source of Wrath hath presented himself! "J'var," she greets, coolly. "Do have a seat." It's not really a request. J'var is still scrubbing at his hair with a towel, damp from the sulfuric baths. "Sure thing. Missy said you needed something?" There's a lingering smile on his face- he's in a darn good mood, which doesn't change as he takes that seat. Kassima offers her own smile--a thin, sharp razor-blade of a smile. "Indeed. I needed--need--a word with you. Wingrider." Her chair creaks as she leans back against it, weakly protesting the weight. "I received a most interesting report from Wingleader M'rgan of Skyfire after the last Fall. Do you have any guesses what he may have told me?" J'var tilts his currently-spiky-haired head, considering. "Oh yeah... About my getting screwed up at Fall. Healers did a good job though. Mart was kind enough to help me up to my weyr." He snickers. "Poor guy had to scoop me up in his arms to get me to bed, thanks to that bloody fellis." "Nay t'mention the alcohol you'd been drinking," Kassima observes in a mild tone, dark eyes and face both devoid of expression. "The alcohol that Wingriders are nay supposed t'be drinking a'fore a Fall. The alcohol that 'twill have the pleasure of kicking your greenriding arse from here t'High Reaches for drinking right a'fore a Fall." J'var jerks. "What the -shell- is it about people bugging me about my drinking?" he snarls, in a totally proddy-inspired mood swing. "Like I told Leya, I was -not- drunk during Fall. You couldn't do anything compared to what Missy'd do if I did that. Just because I had a few belts before we went up..." It's a mystery how a six-months-pregnant woman can get out of a chair as rapidly as Kassi manages it, to lean over the table, hands braced against, and inform her Wingrider in a deathly cold voice, "Don't you *even* take that tone with me, J'var. You can drink yourself sodden all you want for all I care when you're off-duty. And if'n you were the only one 'twere endangering with the sheer idiocy of flying a Fall drunk, I'd be minded at the moment t'be letting you get yourself 'scored *between*. But when you fight drunk, you endanger *everyone in the sky around you*. Meaning your Wingmates. Meaning *my* Wingriders. And I don't care whether 'twere all-out sloshed or a wee twinge tipsy, only a bloody damned fool flies in a state like that. I don't have much patience for bloody damned fools, J'var." J'var blinks in utter startlement, almost pushing his chair over backwards in his instinctive pull back. "I didn't..." He takes a deep breath, purposely calming himself, and scowls. Still, his tone is utterly calm. "I -was not- drunk." His teeth grit. "How'd you find out... Oh. How'd -Mart- know I'd had a few drinks before Fall?" Kassima straightens, with a bit more difficulty than she showed in rising. "'Twill give you the benefit of the doubt on that," she replies, still cool, and words still civil if somewhat clipped. "So: you weren't drunk. But you *were* drinking. One of the Healers told Mart she could smell alcohol on your breath. It does tend t'be distinctive, y'know." J'var tilts his head slightly, ackowledging the points reluctantly. After a moment, he clears his throat and pushes his chair a few inches back. "If I hadn't been scored, nobody've ever knew." His jaw sets. "Yes, I was drinking. I always drink, Kassi." His tone turns to a placating one. "If'n," Kassi repeats quietly, "you hadn't been 'scored. Perhaps nay. Perhaps so. 'Twill be asking Kena how you flew m'self, you may be sure. But regardless...." She draws her pushed-back seat close enough to perch in again, breath escaping her in a sigh. "You *couldn't* have waited t'be needing a dressing-down 'til 'twas nay pregnant and wouldn't have t'deal with this indignity, could you?" she mutters. "Regardless. I know you always drink. I don't blame you for that, so long as you're in full command of your senses for duties--and by the by, if'n I catch you drunk a'fore drills, you'll live t'be regretting it nearly as much as a'fore Fall. 'Twould be rather hypocritical of me t'fault you given that I could normally drink you under the table. But nay, never, *ever* a'fore a Fall or drill. It doesn't matter whether you get drunk or nay--you *don't* drink. D'you have any idea whatsoever of why?" J'var glances to the side. "Kena... She knows. Came to see me when I was fellis'ed. I think. Hard to think, it was..." He blushes at the pregnant comment, sending you a quick apologetic look. He shrugs. "Healers say it impairs judgement, but I've never seen any ev'dence of that," he mutters with unfocused eyes. Kassima acknowledges with a dip of her chin, "Fellis does that. Well, then, you've nay doubt heard *her* thoughts on the matter." Though her eyes meet that apologetic look, it doesn't appear to soften her any. "I'm afraid t'be reporting that the Healers are right. Alcohol relaxes muscles that need t'be ready t'react in the slightest instant and clouds thoughts that need t'be crystal clear. Shells, you know the last; why drink if'n 'tweren't so? Even if'n you're nay drunk or don't think you're drunk... let me paint you a picture with words. Let's say L'cher had been drinking a'fore a Fall, hmm? And let's say there was a clump passing near you and Miseth. Very near. But Lach is *just* muddled enough t'make a fractional error and assume he can catch it safely. So he and Leerth pursue it. And Leerth's fire accidentally fries Miseth's wingsail so that she'll never fly again. Would you be forgiving him for drinking just a wee dram a'fore Fall then?" J'var winces slightly. Between M'rgan, now that he understands the man's attitude while helping him to his weyr, and Kena, it can be assumed that he's got a lot to think about. At that example, however, his chin jerks up, his eyes gleaming. "I'd kill the sonofa..." He blinks, a bit shocked at his own words. Kassima snaps her fingers, then lifts the index finger of her right hand. "Exactly so. From the perspective of the victim, you can see the problem with drinking. Or taking fellis, or any form of medication--we don't let anyone taking any sort of Healer powders or potions that might muddle their thoughts fly Fall *or* drills. Collisions could happen. Accidents with fire could happen. Deaths could happen. This all to *others*--we'll say naught about our hypothetical drinker misjudging the angle of incoming Thread and being eaten alive himself. Which, I might add, would a'course kill his lifemate." J'var pales mightily. There's been lots of Falls, and lots of injuries, over the past Turn, after all, despite the fact that Miseth herself has never been scored. "Oh shard..." He leans forward, burying his face in his hands. Kassima watches this reaction with seeming impassivity, but when she speaks, her voice is less terse for all that it maintains some distance from its normal amiability. "So you understand now, do you?" J'var nods slowly, taking his hands away from his face, though he can't make himself look up. "Yeah... I do," he says in a low voice, staring at the floor. "Alright. No drinking before Fall. Or drill." There's a pause, and he looks up appealingly. "I mean it." Kassima regards--no, scrutinizes J'var a moment, visibly weighing him a moment in that way Wingleaders learn to master over the Turns. "I believe you," she decides at last. "But I can't let it go quite there. I'm nay going t'be punishing you this time, J'var. You got yourself scored and scarred. That's punishment enough this time. What I will tell you is that you can expect t'be watched, and watched careful... and if'n I catch you with liquor on your breath at such a time again, you'll be broken back to Weyrling, and have t'muck and sack and all that drudgery until Maylia decides t'wash her hands of you. I *believe* you, and for m'self I'd trust you, but I can't trust you entirely for the lives of m'other riders until you've proven you'll keep your word. Fair enough?" That certainly does it. J'var looks up with disbelief in his expression. "Maylia?!?" He shudders, massively. "Yes, yes, of course," he almost babbles, "I don't think... No, I -know- there won't be any future problems, I swear to you, perfectly fair..." He grimaces. "Missy's getting one heck of a kick out of this, you know." A grin hovers at the edge of Kassi's mouth, not *quite* visible, but hinted at by the twinkle in de-stonified eyes. "I'm given t'believe she'd be much, much harder on a second-time Weyrling, too. I don't believe you'd enjoy the experience. Can't say that last surprises me, either; dragons have the *strangest* senses of humor this side of drunken bronzeriders." J'var cringes, and merely notes, "Maylia's scary." Another grimace. "Sharding bloody green..." He shakes his head. "Yeah, they do." The young man takes a deep breath, pulling himself together. "Um, ma'am?" "A'course she's scary. She's my mentee." My, doesn't Kassi sound proud. "And drop that bloody fardling ma'am nonsense already. Kassima. Or Wingleader, if'n you're feeling too cowed," and here she snorts, "t'call me by name." J'var blushes. "Kassima... Kassi... Can you get Leya off my sharding back? If -you- don't care if I drink off-duty, she's got no reason to complain." Kassima chuckles lightly at that. "Methinks I can be trying, anyway. So long as 'tis off-duty and you don't try t'*between* drunk, well, then, nay harm done. Mayhaps 'twill remind her 'tisn't as if'n her Wingleader's any better than you." J'var's lips twist. "I never get drunk 'cept in me Weyr, with no intentions to go anywhere. And usually in the company of a good-looking lady." He pauses to look over your curves automatically. "Mmmm, that's beyond me to comprehend, at the moment, I'll admit." There's another pause. "Would this be a bad time to ask for a raise? Considering the baby and all..." "Nay any better than you when it comes t'*drinking*," Kassi corrects dryly, automatically folding her arms in a strategic fashion. "If'n 'tweren't for the drink, I'd have managed a more impressive record of non-flight celibacy, I assure you. It *would* be a bad time, given that you're just coming off of a dressing down and that doesn't precisely incline me t'be increasing your wages, but may I ask what babies have t'be doing with it?" J'var blushes, but that happy grin he was wearing when he walked in reappears. "Whinde's pregnant. She says I'm the father." And Faranth, he beams proudly, even excitedly. Kassima's brows fly up, and she must needs clap a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. "See? I *told* you!" she manages to get out. "Told you you'd be a father ere long, and like as nay do the Wing proud with your prolificity--well, congratulations t'you both. But why would you need a raise? You don't need marks t'be raising a Weyrbrat." J'var smirks, sitting back to fold his arms across his chest. "Yeah, y'all warned me, and I didn't listen." He shrugs, perfectly cheerful. "If it can be done, it can be done, no matter. I had the scariest dream last night about her having triplets though. And thank you," he remembers to add. "This is why you should listen to me. For lo, I have seen much and heard more, and I know more than you could ever dream," Kassima intones with affected pomposity. "Further, this means I win that bet with W'ger. Two marks. I'll have m'two-hundred and ninety-seven back yet. As t'triplets, if'n you've done *that* t'her, you deserve t'die. I'm nay certain Jal doesn't deserve it, for twins. I'll decide when the time comes." J'var snickers. "I'll keep that in mind in the future." Not that he's likely to restrict his philandering ways, of course. "Two hundred... Great shells! But that reminds me..." His gaze turns sly. "Leya said you were going to let me buy you at that auction. Why?" Kassima advises with a droll note, "Do that. You'll nay doubt have need of it later, carrying on as you do." The question wins a sudden grin, a very toothy grin, and she regards him with utmost innocence as she once more leans back in that chair. "Why, because I knew I could always be giving you a good, solid kneeing if'n you tried aught and settle the matter there, a'course." J'var snickers, despite the fact that his knees move instinctively closer together. "Amd here I thought you'd figured out my basic goodwill.' Slowly, he clambers to his feet. "You have basic goodwill?" Kassi sounds a bit incredulous. "After you caused me t'be losing a hundred and two marks, you want me t'be believing that? Pull the other one, J'var. It's got bells on it." J'var grins, widely. "That -was- rather enjoyable. I'll always cherish the memory of the look on your face." He sketches a mock bow. "Though I never expected the bidding to go so high." Kassima assures, "And I'll cherish the thought of how your most prized possessions must be feeling nigh ready t'freeze off in those dawn sweeps every morning, you may be sure. A'course, if'n you wanted t'be paying me back those one-hundred marks you cost me, I could let you get back t'less frigid duties." J'var pauses, considering. "Um... " He clears his throat. "Then again, dawn sweeps ain't all that bad. Specially when ya got a mother-to-be demanding ferrets and Faranth knows what else to drain one's belt pouch." "Ferrets," Kassi repeats. "*Ferrets*? Why the shells is Whinde wanting ferrets? Live ones?" [Editor's Note: At this point, J'var's client started acting up, so we had to cut the scene off here.]