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.

You see GoldWater here.
From here you can go:
Bowl   Lower Caverns   Infirmary

Elise walks in from Inner Infirmary.

Elise just looked at you.

Elise
Friendly, slightly slanted brown eyes curiously examine her surroundings from a delicate, heart-shaped face with an aristocratic nose and small bow-like mouth. Blue-black hair falls straight to her waist, bangs covering most of her rich golden forehead. She stands at barely 4'8"; everything but her voice is dainty. Warm and strong with vibratto, her soprano soars and dips like a dragon in flight.
A brief caress of crimson drifts down the placket of this sea-green tunic, soft dappling of lighter azure drifting down the loose, wave-like sleeves, a matching hue, the tunic merges seamlessly, the trous' seams darkened slightly with ebon highlights as it almost floats down her legs, finally tucked into a pair of light leather boots.
Knot of white and harper blue, looped but once with lengthy tail, perches upon her shoulder; woven through with ribbons of burning black and golden yellow, it proclaims her position as Igen's Weyrharper.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Shaekona Elise's Gitar

Elise waves cheerfully. "G'morning, Dallaney. How are you?"

[+][!IgenWeyr!] Elise assumes that most of the weyrkids would know her from lessons and such. However, you can always figure someone else told me about you, if you prefer.

Dallaney starts, glancing to the harper on hearing the greeting amidst her shuffle-step towards a table. "Oh. Hello." she tosses out, carelessly dropping onto a seat. "I am Dallan." Head cocked, weyrbrat speaks after pattering slippers about a bit on the bench's edge. Not really expecting an answer, she looks to a patch on the wall opposite.

Dallaney
A thin child, a literal burst of lanky limbs and untidy muddy mahogany curls mass into a boyish tangle compressed into her young body. Ragged lines of grit and scratches rake over a darkened brown face, thick lids fluttering open on beady eyes also hazel and oft-times alertly wary. The small face sharpens into depressed cheeks and pursed lips, altogether not too pleasant a sight. Remnants of babyish flab plumpens the sturdy girl's body only slightly at waist, but arms vise-like, are as thin as lengthy legs.
A pair of pants, knees scrubbed bare and patched are bunched up at her waist and held by a hide belt, the leather adhesive to skin and showing off thin and athletic legs. Slippers on her feet loosely sewn hang by a thread or two, and her shirt tucked in tight is covered by a miniature jacket similar to the ones used for flight. Emblazoned on the jacket's collar are the unflattering letters spelling out her name-- "Dallaney" in a glaring white that even layers of dune dust and smeared bubblies fail to hide completely, only obscuring its last two letters.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Fredo Zippo
Slightly grumpy and ungraceful.

Elise ahs understandingly as she, too, takes a seat. "I'll try to remember that. The person who described you to me said 'Dallaney,' and your jacket says the same."

Elise adds, after a meditative pause, "You also didn't tell me about this nickname before. Is it new?"

Dallaney cracks a reluctant smile that comes out a tad artificial. "Well I am /Dallan/, the other one is what my mam called me sometimes." Putting a decided emphasis on her name and turning suspicious eyes on Elise. "You are? I forgot." Ignoring rank and knot as usual.

Elise stifes a laugh. "I'm Elise, the Weyrharper. You know, the one who has everyone clap out rhythyms for songs when they get too wriggly?"

"Songs." The word seems quite an insult when it comes from the child's lips, pursed out as they are at the moment. "I remember songs. You /make/ us sing them." She decides, cocking her head at the adult. But somehow, amusement flickers in the deepset eyes directed at the harper's face, and she adds a "I don't learn them very well though."

Elise quirks a brow. "Oh, you don't? Well, then I'll just have to come up with some extra exercises for you. Or you could come to both the regular classes and the tutoring I do for those who don't know the songs as well as most of the class."

Dallaney snickers behind an upraised palm, hazel eyes blazing up without notice. "No need. I don't learn them because I don't want to." Loftily she offers that, drawing feet slightly closer and resembling a wary feline in the extreme. Indeed, she does shut her chatter and this point and simply stares unwaveringly.

Elise looks at the girl appraisingly. "Oh, really? You don't? Why not? What do you want to be when you're older?"

Dallaney frowns malevolently, but relaxes at the slight change of topic. "I don't know." she says, tense beneath the crouching sit she is in. "Did you know when you were my age?" Continues Dallan with grumpy question, indecisiveness lurking as arms creep up to fold over her knees.

Elise laughs. "Did I know? No, but I had some ideas. I wasn't more than three Turns past your age when I was helping the Hold harper. Let me tell you this, though: the songs teach one many different things. Things you may need. If it weren't for songs, the only people who would have remembered Thread during the Intervals would have been those in the weyrs who read the records. The songs teach the names of all the current Lord Holders and all the leaders of the weyrs, teach where on Pern the holds and weyrs and crafthalls are. They bring our history to life in a manner much more appealing to most than peering at fragile old hides. Knowing these things can be useful. Very useful, especially at unexpected times."

Tiska walks in from Lower Caverns.

Dallaney listens to the harper's ramblings silently, with an occasional sniff of disbelief. "Really. But you'd think so." she frowns, "How could that help me? Lord Holders and weyrleaders, yes, but the rest. Is history." She repeats the words, contemptuous lift of nose, refusing to be convinced.

Tiska
Her hands are soft, her fingers long, smooth, and slender. Tiska's arms show some strength, though nothing to indicate a life of hard labor. The woman is rather short, reaching a simple height of 5'0''. Dark blue eyes, the color of the sky at dusk, shine as though tears constantly dwell within them. Her features are well proportioned for her small body, though her ears give her a sort of elfish look. Pale yellow hair, the color of moonlit autumn grass, is just long enough to be pulled back with a thin string.
A few wisps of hair surround her face, which is tanning from her stay in Igen. She wears a loose off-white tunic and dark blue pants, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and pants rolled to her shins. Tiska wears nothing on her feet, though they are tough from walking. Slung over her shoulder is a small grey pack, full with her a change of attire and some scraps of paper.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Carrying:
Clay Flute

Elise leans forward, propping her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "History tells us of mistakes that were made and great sucesses, of heroic people and vile villans, of all the things that make up a good story. You've heard the Ballad of Moreta's Ride, haven't you?

Tiska eyes beaming like glowbaskets, smile stretching to the breaking point, and cheeks alive and colored... Yes, she's certainly happy about /something/. Heading immediately for a pitcher of juice, she fills the mug clutched in her left hand to the brim. She downs a good portion of liquid and then sets the glass down, leaning back on the table. Her eyes calm a bit, at least enough to reveal that they're still glazed with sleep. Moonlight-colored hair is matted slightly, and the vague imprint of a hand on her cheek is good indication that the female has just awaken from sleep of sorts. The mug is lifted again. Another long drink is taken. Slowly, Tiska awakens, her happiness subduing...somewhat.

Dallaney, yet more reluctantly, shrugs. "I have. I like it." She concedes glumly, accepting this frontal assault somewhat and dropping her hands to her lap. "So?" is said to the harper, weyrbrat barely noticing the newcomer.

Elise rolls her eyes. "That's history, Dallan. Real history. It happened just as the song says. History is not a dry, boring thing. It is vibrant and interesting, and as true as what happens to you today." Her head swivels, and she notices the newcomer. "Isn't that true, Tiska?"

Tiska jumps slightly at the mention of her name. She hadn't noticed anyone when she walked in... "Hmm?" she asks, looking a tad bewildered for a moment. After a few seconds, however, the conversation she's been overhearing registers in her sleep-lagged brain and she grins, nodding, "Oh..Yeah." She refills her mug of juice. Nearing their table, she takes a seat and sets her pack down beside her, "I really couldn't say, though," Tiska admits, "What I know of history fascinates me... but I really don't know much at all," she wears a sheepish expression on her face for a moment.

Elise grins. "Sit in on the lessons, then, or ask one of the apprentices assigned up here if you can sit in while they practice the learning songs."

Dallaney lets a note of grudging respect drop into her note. "It's a great story I know, but really to see something like that. Never.." She turns, registering Tiska in one flashing glance, challenging almost. Not to be caught out, she curls up slightly, compact as before. The response elicits a snort and she looks drolly back at Elise, "Maybe I can try. I'd be sure to learn proper if you play them properly." That comment of said apprentices.

Night wakes up from his nap.

Elise shakes her head at the child. "Perhaps I should add 'manners' to the list of lessons you get to take. There's the song about how Lessa brought the Weyrs forward, and the ones Menolly wrote about finding firelizards and impressing them when almost everyone still thought they were a story."

Night dozes off...

Tiska leans back in her chair, something cheerfull still dancing in her eyes, "I really need to sit in on more lessons all together..." Dusk eyes close for a second and she runs a finger around the handle of the mug in front of her, "...Cut down on this cursed," she stops her muttering and opens her eyes, sitting up straighter a bit, "Songs about impressing firelizards?" features shift into an expression of interest.

Elise nods. "Oh, yes. They were written in the Ninth Pass. Of course, then there's Journeywoman Elisel, who did her journey project on the way firelizards commicate, not long before this Pass started."

Dallaney nods, solemn. "I see." she acquiesces quietly, the tried formula of manners slipping off her quite easily. The curious light maintains though, shifting brows ruffling in childish contemplation. She glances up at a 'lizard in the cavern shortly, unconcerned, decision spoken unawares of the others. "Learning songs, maybe. But not too much." Listening is another matter, the undecided one. As for that about the Journeywoman, Dallan blinks blankly.

Tiska nods slowly, raising the mug to her lips. Before she can take a drink, she sets it down, "They are in written form, then?" A strand of pale hair escapes from its tie and catches on the female's cheek. She lets it rest their for a bit as she studies Elise's face. Finally, her right hand raises and brushes it away, "The words, I mean." Tiska's dusk blue glance is rested firmly on the older of the two. Her sip is finally taken as she waits for a response.

Elise chuckles softly, inclining her head to Dallaney. "I'll keep your assignments to something reasonable in my eyes, don't worry. Oh, yes, both the songs and the project. I've a copy of the song, but if you want to see the project, you'll have to go to Crom's HarperHall."

Tiska has disconnected.

Elise glances at the timepiece on the wall, and sighs. "Speaking of lessons, it's time for me to go see how the apprentices are doing. It's been nice talking to you both."

Tiska has connected.

Elise walks toward NorthWest Bowl.

Dallaney waves her hand at the harper's retreating back, then turns back to her wall-staring, ignoring the adult who was so interested in the songs before. Knees bunched up happily hides her disgraceful badge but she nevertheless picks a bit at its jagged edges.

Tiska just looked at you.

Tiska scribbles down what the woman told her on a tattered piece of paper. Stuffing it back into her bag, she kicks her feet up on the table, seeing Elise depart. A long drink is taken from her mug, and she lets some of it rest in mouth for a while, savoring the flavor. Swallowing, she too stares at a wall, meditating over something. Eyes glance to Dallaney and she smiles kindly, "Not so keen on what she's got planned for you?" she asks.

Dallaney doesn't react very well to that kind look, nor tone if any. She sends instead a wary look to Tiska. "No. But I decided to learn these things. And I will." She says, nodding with tilted head. Not inclined to speak, gaze threatens to transform into a glare as it darts off and onto the older person's face.

Nonni has connected.

Dallaney drops off down the bench suddenly, fluid movement carrying the kidling all at once quite a distance 'cross the floor. Not a word more is said besides a brief backward glance before she disappears into some darker corner that leads to the inner weyr.

Tiska goes home.

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