The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by D'ney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction
are copyright© 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern® is
registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with
permission.
NorthWest Bowl
A shelter from the stronger desert winds that strike across much of the rest
of the bowl, the original founders of the weyr found the lee a suitable
location for the most active area of the weyr. A gaping stone awning
provides covered protection and suitable sunning space for the occupants of
the dragon infirmary. Shallow steps lead into a recessed entrance to the
guest weyr. A much smaller entrance leads to the living caverns.
Perched somewhere up high, you see Loins and Unctuous.
Ricky is here.
The following dragons are here: Loralith, Israeth, Dagath, Fereth, Nunth,
Isavroth, Halaith, Yinxiath, Nebanth, and Nhaeth
From here you can go:
Living Cavern Infirmary Center Bowl
Guest Weyr Stairs Up Weyr Entrance
The current weather report:
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IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
Climbing towards its peak, there's a molten beauty to the day, half-forgotten
in the climb of the heat. A few stray tendrils of dust turn it to glow, but
the clarity of the sky overhead makes everything brighter, and shadows more
distinct before they're forgotten. It is a summer morning.
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Loins dozes off...
D'ney crosses from infirmary to awning, steps cutting crescents in the sands,
one hand stuffed deep in a pocket, the other dangling free; fully intent on
ensconcing herself further on, the presence of both weyrfolk and dragonkin
are ignored. Her lifemate stands so-patiently just some distance away from
the other sunning behemoths, neck arched in keen observation of passers-by,
and now, Dallan's own passage.
D'ney
Short, slightly gaunt around the edges, this adolescent bears Igen's glare in
the burnt brownness of her skin. Uncertain growth has worked away the
childish plumpness from the avid angles of nose and chin, further accenting
pinched features with their harsh planes and abrupt peaks. Below forehead's
darkness, a primal acidity informs her hazel eyes, restrained by stubborn
mahogany curls -- but flaring inevitably into the compact rebellion of a
muscled shape and habitually agile motion.
A golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from her shoulders, straggling under a
thick jet belt at the waist and falling nearly to her hips. The trousers of
black linen are similarly buckled in to keep the outfit snug against the
hazards of adolescent frolic, its hems disppearing into a pair of
extra-polished wherhide boots.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single loop, complicated of late
by the tiny tail and tassel snaking out from the whole, joined with a brown
sisal ribbon to denote her rank as an Igen Weyr Senior Weyrling Wingsecond,
rider of Nhaeth.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Rip
Irritation creeps up her spine, dissolving along tunic's fettered sleeves.
Inky dollops of dusty rose salmon coalesce the creases of his vast expanse
of
seasoned black cherry hide, cluttering into gangly extremities seeped in
sepia before vanishing beneath a facade of dusky darkness. Sleek sheets of
lengthy mocha-washed wings drizzled with an ethereal edge of frosty pink
coral veins engulf him, cluttering the smooth, rounded ridges that bud from
his elongated neck and rosewood headknobs, leaving only a whim of the large,
expressive eyes that light his nervous triangular head. Hints of deep well
metallicy limn his soot-smudged physique, creating golden glimpses that
overshadow the disproportions and discrepancies and glitter the lengthy
starscape frame from rich hazelnut tail to clever ebon talons with heroic
motes of succulent, suffering incandescence.
Leather as brown as his dark hide winds over his bony length, whorling
patterns where the ridges shrink into nothing and girding his underbelly's
frail jet.
Nhaeth is 1 Turn, 7 Months, and 5 Days old.
Ricky steps out into the sun, a day of being in the caverns just a wee bit too
dark for him and he takes advantage of the warm day...A nod to D'ney and the
nanny also gives a nod to dragonfolk about before blinking sunstripes away..
Ricky
Emerald eyes, the color of the Nerat greenery, shift around, looking for
something but looking for nothing. The lad's body is covered in a layer of
fine muscle. Strong looking, especially for a lad not yet full grown. Almost
at six feet he is, but not quite there, an inch or two he still needs. Tender
features adorn his face, a kinda small nose, and cute cheeks always a bit
flushed with rose pink. He has dark hair and skin, his hair black and curly
if a bit long, he wears it just generally flopped about, his bangs long
enough to fall just past his emerald orbs. His skin is copper, from hours on
end spent in the sun. Long of leg the lad is, but they are strong legs, for
all they look kinda skinny. In general, the lad is a skinny fellow but not at
all anerexic.
Pink and orange dive merrily together on this lad's clothes. These clothes
aren't fancy, but rather simple, which is a good thing for the boy. His tunic
is rather tight, and best for working in. The tunic itself is bright pink, an
almost blinding shade of pink. Very bright, and it looks good on Rick's dark
features. Orange stiching shows up on the cuffs of the sleeves, also
decorating the hem creatively. This orange finds its own excuses to taper the
seams and edge away from all generic stuff thats normally seen around. The
patterns that the orange threads follow are mainly vines and leaves, but a
firelizard sneaks into the pattern every so often. His pants are tight as
well, but these are orange and they fit him perfectly. They's skintight and
they are also an eyesmarting shade of pink. Orange trim cavorts along the
seams and anywhere else stiching might have an excuse to go.
Ricky's knot is a double corded loop in Igen Weyr's yellow and black cords.
Not all to fancy, but simple his knot is. And also showing that he's an Igen
Weyr Assistiant Nanny too. Wow, cool job.
19
He is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Xavier Diz
He looks way too happy and very funloving...
Ricky just looked at you.
Blinding, indeed, which might explain D'ney's relentless mutters as she
completes the circuit to Nhaeth's side and bends knees to crouch. The bulk
of brown above shadows her, absorbs the light in the vicinity, and turns a
portion of the scintillant glitter to face the tiny splash of pink that's
appeared. The sharpened voice stops a beat, then resumes. "Is it you again,
Hayle? I thought that was the last shipment!"
Ricky chuckles, "No, not Hayle. Only lowly ol' Ricky. Pleasure to see you
again Dallan...or is it D'ney now?' he asks, blinking and then slowly
approaching the dragonrider pair.
Nhaeth reacts with a jerk; D'ney doesn't do more than turn her face towards
the speaker. "Who-- oh, it's /you/, Nanny." She touches an eye momentarily,
flicking away an imaginary dust mote. "D'ney, and Nhaeth, at your service."
It's a languid drawl, even, reminiscent of one of the assistant
Weyrlingmasters.
Ricky chuckles "Nanny, I haven't been called that in a while...no need to get
all formal on me, I've no rank that you have to bow down to." he says in an
easygoing voice as he approaches.
D'ney nods, self-deprecating humour tickling the edges of her voice's
gruffness. "It's how I remember people by. Titles," a shrug shakes the
golden-clad shoulders, but the tiny weyrling remains in her squat. "Hayle's
been having me transport his /shipments/ all morning."
Ricky chuckles "Well, I haven't seen him about....at least not since I came
outside.." he notes, grinning slightly and crossing his arms in front of him
as he shifts his sytance slightly.
D'ney eyes Ricky for a moment, then looks away, as Nhaeth dips his muzzle at a
passing bug. When speech does come, it bolts out. Crinkled face averts to
glare at a sauntering greenrider at the peripheries. "You like wearing pink?"
Ricky chuckles "Hey, it was given to me by a sister, what more do you want/"
he says, chuckling and shrugging "And at least its not a pale pink...its
kinda a wild pink...i'd say i like it." he says, peering at the other rider
passing through.
D'ney murmurs. "Pale--" Another set of orbs is directed Ricky's way,
firelizard claws scrabbling faintly on bare cloth. The weyrling pries
fingers away with long-suffering slowness. One, two, three, and back to the
first. "But pink is for girls," she adds more loudly for his benefit.
Anything in the name of education.
Ricky chuckles "Its all a matter of opinion...pink can be for boys as well as
girls, I see alot of men going around in pink...somewhere." he says,
grinning...
Aeris walks in from Main Living Cavern.
D'ney gathers her knees in browned hands, rising deliberately, then slouching
on a cocked limb. Nhaeth's apparently. "So long as you don't dress your
kids up in them. They'd tear those to pieces. I would have." A snort,
which she doesn't bother to muffle, funnelling through the warm, simmering
air.
Aeris sidles from the caverns' comforting arch to join others in the bowl's
sunlit expanse; girl pauses for a few moments to survey those dragons and
people nearest before lifting a hand in greeting. One of these two she
recognizes, but she tilts a smile in greeting to both, eyes crinkling
dramatically at the corners. "Hi there!"
Aeris
Tawny tendrils tickle alabaster jaw, sunkissed sienna sidling low to tease an
angular chin. But these are just the bangs, the flyaway clusters; the rest of
the massive auburn mane is tied back with a thick blue ribbon, the thickness
necessary to tame excess hair. The rest of Aeris' face is smooth, though,
wide green eyes offering an always-forthright expression. Roseate lips twist
underneath a pert nose, usually smiling the day away. The rest of Aeris is as
smooth and pleasant as her face; lean and slender, with both the earnesty and
awkwardness of youth melting away, but still apparent in the cheerful bounce
of her step.
Blue gauzy tank top rests on smooth shoulders, thick straps hiding most but
leaving a little space leftover to think about. Black wherry pants encase
from hips down, flaring out just enough to cover black wherhide boots.
She is awake and looks alert.
Ricky chuckles 'Twas a pleasure talking with you D'ney, I have work to do
however...." he ducks out...
Ricky has disconnected.
D'ney is inclined to the lee of a lanky, cherry-dark dragon, dark skin a mere
ripple of change in the shimmer late morning has given the pair. "Hey," she
-- or he if you take the angular features and short hair into account --
tosses out greeting. But then the nanny leaves, too, leaving her in peril of
Hayle's commands. To Aeris: "You have something you want moved?"
"Moved?" Aeris repeats, blinking briefly and tipping her head to one side with
her eyes faintly widened. She pats her hips and then her upper thighs, as
though searching for something tucked into a pocket, and then grins,
shrugging innocently. "I'm good, I think. But thanks."
"Good," the weyrling echoes, satisfaction edging her tone. She proceeds to
slump on the backrest behind, gaze arrowing wistfully to the caverns
entrance. "Have you seen Hayle around? Light hair, loud voice?" And
weyrfolk too, who's probably off snoozing somewhere.
Aeris shakes her head, abruptly plopping herself down onto the stone ground
beneath her, apparently having decided that this is a satisfactory place to
while away a bit of the morning. "Can't say as I have," she tells the
weyrling apologetically, a little smile quirking half of her lips. "You're a
weyrling, right? I'm Aeris."
D'ney introduces lazily, without apology, "D'ney, Nhaeth." The rejoinder
comes more smartly, prompt on its heels, "Nice to meet you, Aeris. You
aren't new, are you?"
Aeris smiles a little ruefully, a few errant bangs flopping over her eyes as
she peers upwards at D'ney. "I'm afraid I am. You're new, in some sense,
aren't you?"
D'ney glances at said errant bangs, her own curls banging erratically against
a stubbornly crumpled brow. With unusual reserve, she heaves a breath, lolls
her head forward with slight insolence. "Been here all my life," she
parries. Not new, in other words. She offers slight explanation, unasked.
"I thought I knew all the fosterlings around here."
Aeris just looked at you.
"I'm not a fosterling, though, so it makes sense that you don't know me as
one," Aeris answers, peering across the way at D'ney; there is a measure of
evaluation in her glance, but in a fairly warm way. "So what's your own
personal verdict on weyrlinghood?"
D'ney abandons her nook once again, steps landing fitfully on compacted sand.
Puzzlement shapes her reply, uncertain as the ground is. "Ver-dict?"
Failing comprehension of the word, she grasps at the next straw.
"Weyrlinghood's fine. It's a lot of work every single day, but we get breaks
too. And there're the dragons--" An expectant pause.
Aeris fills in the pause with her own response: "Which are neat." Way to jump
to conclusions, Aeris. "Well, that's good. We've all got to do something with
ourselves, I guess." Pause. "Not like /I/ do." Poo.
(Nhaeth) [#iww] Nhaeth looses the moorings and drifts into slumber, a sneeze
of consciousness in the collective mind.
D'ney bares teeth. Not quite a grin, but close. "Neat, yeah," she agrees,
favouring Aeris with that much. "You're right. We each have a place, and
mine is here. -- What's your job?"
Aeris thinks about this. "I'm Aeris. That's pretty much all I've got. I'm a
resident?" AKA Igen Weyr Moocher. "I'll figure something out one of these
days."
D'ney crosses her arms as the heatwaves of thought squirm away. "But don't
you get sick of odd jobs?" Behind her, the rumbles of slumber grace the air.
"Do I ever," Aeris says, sighing out agreement, reaching her hands around
behind her to prop herself up on the stone ground. "But, it's okay. Something
will work itself out, I guess."
D'ney nods, as affable as she gets. "Things will work out. Same thing
happened to me." She has since come to a halt before Aeris, and now shares
the girl's sigh. "Shards, it'll probably be faster than you think."
Whatever it is.
Aeris nods emphatic agreement, eyes widened. "I imagine it'll go all too
quickly for me," she tells the weyrling. "Most things do. I miss a lot."
Poised on the verge of unaccustomed realms, D'ney chooses to shrug. Um.
"Yeah," she offers helpfully.
Aeris perks, then, head tipped wildly to one side. "Exactly."
D'ney attempts to consider, but it's a mere tick before she dismisses
introspection. "Exactly--" and an irritated jab back, "Exactly what?"
As if
in response, a curled tail-tip twitches sympathetically as it nudges across
to touch the youngster's ankle.
A bit meekly, Aeris shrugs and improvises a PC answer. "Exactly, it's tough to
get into thinking about it. I'm much more content to just sit back and let it
all happen." Right.
D'ney grunts assent, "Works for me." A figure spotted from afar stills her
avid watch, and the weyrling takes a backward step to the oversized, snoozing
lump. "I think that's Hayle again. I'd better go and join the other
weyrlings in practice." Sure beats trucking casks around.
"Right," Aeris answers; for her own part, she'll be content to sit under the
rising sun and watch the day progress. "Have fun, then!"
D'ney skews Aeris a frown. Fun? "Later," she calls back, drawing on hidden
reserves of tact, then sets off in the opposite direction from Hayle's path.
A last word: "Mind he doesn't bug you about moving those things," and she's
gone, skittering off into the cooling day. Nhaeth can sleep on, and probably
does.