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Whee, game.

Hanging out at trystan_laryssa and dustraven's. There is game.

A dragon has made far too much popcorn in the kitchen of the base. Someone wanted to know how to clean it all up. The GM decreed: Artificial butter, heated to a temperature of 300°F, dissolves popcorn. "I can't believe it's not napalm!" (This is the same GM that came up with the unofficial nickname of "The PMS Amazon" for a ship crewed entirely by women.)

Figment has decided that an empty artificial butter container makes a good cup. Figment has been declared nuts. This is news to no one. C suggested that Figment tell A about "the napkin thing". Figment misinterpreted this and re-enacted "the napkin thing". trystan_laryssa delegated the smacking of Figment to me. I have command of Figment's middle name. Tickling is a potent threat in some cases. It's also a threat his late wife was apt to make. *facepalm*

Figment sometimes like playing guessing games. Guessing games are not fun for us. He will learn.

*sigh* Men. Pfa. Men. I repeat: men.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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