The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by Dallaney.
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.
Main Living Cavern
The careless glitter of rose quartz reflects and refracts the light from
within its bed of granite, each beam bringing a new shifting, a new subtlty
of sight. Rows of long trestle table are seated in orderly awareness under
the carven vault of the ceiling, centered around a great dais upon which sits
the best-made one; this, too, shows the roughness of the others, but a
roughness smoothed by time, and accented by the complexity of beams that show
Turns-taken tesselation in their upward arch. Neither tapestries nor
coverings mar the marbling of wild beauty, leaving unadorned grandeur that in
naturalistic simplicity provides comfort to the occupants of the cavern.
One archway, the only covered by a drape of black and gold, shields the
entrance to the bowl from the blow of sand; another, almost unobtrusive,
marks the entrance to the lower caverns through a short, winding and
uncarefully-carved tunnel.
Perched somewhere up high, you see Zippo, Gucci, Irvine, Wherryheaded Gutless
Sack, Hermione, and Ojo.
You see Rushweed Basket here.
Megami, Scylla, Vya'nah, Kaeldra, Ulerae, and K'mra are here.
The current weather report:
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IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
As heat begins to grow, so does the blaze of the sun, already beating down on
unprotected heads. The sky is clear, faultless blue, dazzlingly deep. It is
a summer morning.
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Kaeldra walks back in from the kitchens, triumphantly bearing a steaming pot
of klah. "That's better," she says to herself, pleased at having gotten
something out of the drudges, and returns to her table. "Anyone want some of
this? I can assure you it's fresh."
"But..but..." a now indecisive Vya stammers a disclaimer. "It might leave a
bad taste in my mouth." Whine, whine, whimper, moan. Bah. Hoisting her
courage, she prods it onto a plate and reaches for a knife. Da-da-dum-dum.
Da-da-dum-dum. Wielding the spear with no little trepidation, she hacks off a
slice and stabs it, bringing it to her nose and sniffing. Fruity.
Dallaney retreats into the caverns, away from the unwavering heat, unwavering
day. A swatch of writing material flaps from one arm, held carefully out of
reach of any splattering drops, crinkled edges swishing as she trots
purposefully to a bench and settles herself on it. Work, yes. Not that she
doesn't glance up at the mention of klah -- /temptations/.
Parody wakes up from his nap.
"So wash it away with that klah," K'mra counters, glancing away to shoot a
request towards Kaeldra as she reenters. "Can we get two mugs over here?"
the brownrider requires politely. "Dose one with sweetener, too -- that's
for me." Then, looking back towards Vya'nah, she can't help but snicker a
little at the dramatics.
Kaeldra nods, veering towards serving table where the empty mugs are. She
pours two, adding a liberal amount of sweetener to one, and then walks
carefully back -- two mug handles in one hand, pot in the other. "Here you
go," she says, setting them down before reaching for her own mug and filling
it. "Anyone else?"
Vya'nah isn't being dramatic. Huff. Snort. Sniff. "Okay. Here goes nothing."
Just in case, she readies a mug of klah, sans sweetner. Popping the green
slice into her mouth, she chews warily, cocking her head to the side. A
moment passes, then two, before she swallows and quirks a brow. "It's pretty
good." Seconds later, she makes face and gags, gulping her klah down. "Ugh!
What an aftertaste!"
Since Kaeldra is serving, Dallan takes the liberty to raise a hand and wave it
around, planting the other hand on her prized homework. "Over here--" she
begins to call out, then freezes, rodent-like, nose twitching towards
Vya'nah. Suspiciously, she seeks the opinion of anyone who's nearby, and
even that of those a dragonlength away: "The klah's normal. Right?"
K'mra quirks a thankful smile for Kaeldra as she extends an arm and snags her
mug, taking a long slurp. Then, grinning over at Vya'nah, she informs,
"That's what the sauce is for -- doesn't taste so bad, then."
Kaeldra frowns, seeing Dallan's reaction, and turns back to eye Vya'nah. She
missed the whole vegetable escapade, and so is just confused by the
brownrider's reaction. "Is something wrong?" she asks.
Vya'nah knaws on her lip. "Maybe," she agrees with Kym. The original taste was
good enough to have her reaching for a saucer of sauce. "No, no, I'm just..
being odd," she grins fleetingly to Kaeldra. Another slice is hacked off,
then dipped, chewed, swallowed, and yummied over.
Pleased, K'mra allows a beam to spread across her facial features. "I knew
you'd like it," she states, exhultant. "Good, isn't it?" The brownrider
digs into her own meal, then, and echoes Vya's sentiments while chewing on
her own vegetables. "Mm."
Kaeldra's eyebrows raise as she sees Vya'nah eating vegetables, then beams
proudly. Another member of the Weyr initiated into the wonders of healthful
eating. She /will/ save Igen, and no longer have to cook bad, nasty things.
Spinning on her heel, she turns back to Dallan. "It's just fine. Still want a
mug?"
Vya'nah has been converted, or so it seems. Now, just when everyone thought
she'd been warped beyond salvation, she clutches her stomach and turns..
well, green. "I think I'm going to be sick!" she races from the cavern with
nary a backward glance.
Vya'nah slips gracefully toward NorthWest Bowl.
Dallaney thought it was the klah. Might still think so; she can't spot the
greens. "Sure. Pass one over--please." And she even remembered her
manners, despite the ungraceful inquiry. At any rate, there're hides to
write on, and the messenger manages to keep an eye on them while trying to
nod pleasantly at Kaeldra. It doesn't quite work.
Isabella has connected.
Kaeldra grabs another empty mug and pours a generous portion. "Did you want
any sweetener or anything?" she asks, holding it out. She must feel like
playing waitress right now or something. Spying Isabella entering, she grins
broadly. "And what about you? What any klah while there's still some fresh?"
K'mra finishes up her meal and peers after Vya'nah with a mixture of amusement
and concern. "Maybe I'd better go check on her," she states, leaving her
half-finished food behind. Her jacket is snagged on the way out; K'mra exits.
K'mra strides toward NorthWest Bowl.
Isabella has connected.
Dallaney notices, yet doesn't comment on the weyrcook. "No; thank you," she
tosses out in staccato beat, scrambling up from the seat with hide still in
hide, writing stick all askew in her two-fingered clutch. "Shouldn't the
drudges be serving?" she wonders when she's near enough; just before reaching
out to pluck the mug from Kaeldra.
Isabella is sitting at a table workign on a gem she has in her hand
Betha and her runnertails bounce about as she walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
Kaeldra scowls. "Drudges! Won't do anything unless they're told to half a
dozen times and then threatened on top of it, and then it's sloppily done at
best," she grumbles, and then looks down at her pot after pouring for a
bluerider. "Well, looks like this is empty. Enjoy your dinner, everyone, and
don't hesitate to come into the kitchens to ask for anything you need, all
right?" Then she shuffles off back to the kitchens.
Kaeldra walks toward Kitchens.
K'lar walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
Dallaney got /that/ tirade off an ear; she lets it bounce off the other, and
makes her way back to the tables. Flapping hide for the second time, she
claims a seat near the miner apprentice, and starts wielding her writing
stick with remarkable lack of precision.
Isabella is sitting at a table all by herself sipping a glass of somethign and
working on a gem.
K'lar strolls into the cavern, snapping off a quick salute to anyone that may
be required for. "How ya doing?" He smiles to a random drudge, winking as he
works his way to the food.
Ah, summer morning, much cooler. Yah right, a few less degrees than before
going to bed. Betha smiles as the final remainder of sleep drip from her
face. Remorth's rider scoots along towards a table to take up refuge. As
food is passed about Betha snatches up a few things to eat and put on her
plate. Betha glances over her shoulder to K'lar, then goes back to her food.
Isabella looks up her blue-green eyes spying the rider "Hello" she says to him
as she set the gem down on the table.
Dallaney is miraculously hunched over and indoors, looking with close
attention on academia. A sigh huffs up from her place, one table down from
Isabella apparently, and she studies the other occupants of her area. A
brief dip into her mug of klah, bittersweet.
K'lar quickly fixes himself a plate of sweetbreads and a mug of klah which he
stares at distastefully. "I'm not even gonna drink it, so why, why do I get
it -every- single day?" He mutters to himself, looking around for a seat.
"Why, hello there missy." K'lar quips lopsidedly in Isabella's direction,
bee-lining his way through chairs and such to acquire a seat of his own.
Isabella smiles "Need a seat?" she asks him sipping her glass of wine it may
be morning but she has been awake all night.
Dallaney tires of such scraggly writing -- hers -- and pushes the hide from
her with a swift flick of a hand. They slide, they shuffle, and will sit
quietly on the table while she takes a deeper drink of klah, a preamble to
stopping entirely. Gulp. /Yawn/.
Isabella has disconnected.
May walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
Dallaney extends the tired note, distends it into a rude volume.
"Hate--writing--" she declares to the table at large. Which earns curious
stares from the huddle of weyrbrats at one end finishing their breakfast, but
not a few murmurs of sympathy as well. The hides are still lying across from
her, quiescent.
K'lar walks toward NorthWest Bowl.
May skips into the busy caverns, immidiately weaving her way around those
larger peoples who hurredly, or slowly, make their own way to and fro. She
quickly tires of dodging though and pauses behind a rather robust bronze
rider, "M'rgan.." the small girl says in a commanding voice, "Would you
/please/ take your chat to a table instead of the middle of the floor?" the
big bronzer hears his name and turns to peer down, chuckling at the sight of
little May. He gives a flowery bow and moves out of the way with an equilly
floofie, "Why certainly m'lady." to which May smirks and wrinkles her nose at
him. He laughs and quips her chin, she swats at him playfully, that impish
grin curling her lips, then skips on before he can get in the last word.
May
A great bush of fiery red hair curls in tiny circlets above her slender
forehead often wrinkled in consternation. Beneath thin brows shine her
father's bright grey eyes and a petite button nose, freckled cheeks and
rounded chin; freckled, too, her slender arms often just reach out and take
anything she wants. Strong and sturdy she is looking more and more like her
mother every day, long legs bearing her with uncommon grace and agility.
The flame of red curls is complimented by the foresty greens of May's simple
sun dress. Thin straps curve over slender shoulders with green firelizards
embroidered in mirthful play. Those same mischievous creatures also play
along the high waist line ribbon that gently circles just below a developing
breast and ties at May's upper back in an elaborate bow. From there the soft
fabric flows in simple folds to a few inches above her knees. Lengthy legs
can then be admired down to her forest green enshrouded feet, the left
slipper accented by a simple golden anklet with an emerald eyed firelizard
pendant.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Carrying:
Bab Pia
Imi Sen
Dallaney is easily distracted, given the state she's in. Head drooping to one
side, she peeks through narrowed eyes at the red-haired girl.
Unmistakeably-- "Pushing riders around again, /lady/?" she speaks through
grin, and the glitter of bright, light teeth.
Betha pokes and prods at the remainder of her meal as she continues to eat.
<Dang forgot I was connected.>
May pauses mid-skip, grey eyes sweeping to the speaker for identification,
"Hmmm?" is innocently quarried as memory data banks are silently quaried.
"Oh, hey Dallaney." she grins impishly again, "I didnt push M'rgan at
all."
she decides this is as good a place as any to eat her meal, and snags a
conveniently vacant seat, peering at Dall;s work, "What are you up to?" first
rule of staying out of trouble, change the subject as soon as possible.
Perhaps she fell asleep, or perhaps she is talking in great lengths with her
lifemate, but none the less Betha has that glossed over look on her face.
Dallaney bridles anyway. "It's Dallan, May," she quibbles, tugging a sheet
closer with an index finger. "This is part of what I've to do, to learn my
letters. Helps in messenger duty, he said. Writing," she reiterates,
plainly scornful. "Hate it. Don't you?"
Aaaah, something stirs Betha, "Wha...huh?"
May wrinkles that button nose of hers but doesnt quite nod, "I had to learn my
letters when I was little, mother insisted." she rolls her eyes, "But it is
usefull when ever I wanna..." she snaps her mouth shut, about to say
something she knows she really shouldn't, and she hastilly covers with, "Write
things."
Betha yawns complacently while getting to her feet. With one third of her day
about to pass in but an instant Betha decides to face the tormenting heat
that burns down from the heavens.
"Wanna /what/?" Dallan hisses right back at May, tilting closer. The
mystery's attractive, that is. "Maybe I could try that too." She won't beg;
she'll offer a chair instead -- an extended arm drags one nearer with it's
accompanying screech.
Parody dozes off...
Betha and her runnertails bounce about as she walks toward NorthWest Bowl.
May refrains from meeping, but her expression all but does the same. Shes
quick to recover though, and considers this offer. She then lifts her chin
and says in a confident tone, "Well, read things." she smiles a little
conspiratoratively, "There are many many interisting things to read around a
Weyr." specially when your the Weyrwomans daughter and have a tendancy to
find little notes left in mamma's weyr.
Dallaney dips into a frown. "Well, I don't know about that. All I see are
mouldy records. Even those your mother keeps." Doubt wracks in her tone,
and her grin turns slightly feral. "I don't believe that. There aren't
interesting things to read, 'less--" a pause, as she squeaks her own chair
forward a little. "Unless you show me what you mean." Anything, /anything/,
to get away from these tomes.
May wiggles and shakes her head, "I cant /keep/ what I find, people keep track
of the interisting ones." she regains confidence in the face of doubt,
"Besides, some of those old mouldy records can be interisting." some can, but
not many. "You have to know where to look. The little notes that people pass
to one another, those are the ones to get your hands on." she squirms a
little more, not so comfortable with telling her secerets.
"Oh, those," Dallan nods, a knowing facade fairly plastered on her expression.
"Haven't noticed many around." More darkly, "My family didn't keep
them."
More of generosity shows as she gestures, now, towards May. "But it's good
to know anyhow. Hey, you don't look at -those- all day, do you?"
Ulerae goes home.
Hermione dozes off...
May peers, "Mouldy records? Mother makes me study in the records room a bit,
but I try to get out of that as much as possible. There are some interisting
things in there, but most of it is as dull as a headless wherry." again eyes
roll and she sits back and little more comfortably.
Dallaney mutters, "I didn't study at all," which does much to explain her
dispositions now, doesn't it? "Dull as dust," she tacks on, alight with
amusement. "I'm going out once this is done. Before, actually." Perhaps
even now.
And speaking of mother and lessons, a blue clad older gentileman strides into
the caverns just as May mentions mouldy records. The aged harper smirks and
walks over to his student, "And your due to study some of thouse right now
May m'dear." to wich May first jumps, then smoulders, caught with out a
possible escape, "Shards." the old Harper raises a brow at her explicitive,
chiding, "And Ill be sure to teach you better language than that!" he motions
with a hand, "Common then young lady." May sighs and stands, saying to
Dallen, "I suggest you go now, escape while you can!" the old Harper chuckles
and pats May's shoulder, gently leading her out.
May walks toward NorthWest Bowl.
Dallaney quirks an eyebrow at the harper, making a quick face behind his back.
"Bad luck." Resigned to eventual fate, she grabs for the leaves, two in each
hand, and scrambles for the doorway -- go while the going is good.