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.
Lower Caverns
The central hub of the caverns, this oblong room is, for all intents and
purposes practically plain. Browned sandstone, riddled with glow-pockets,
makes it up, the walls left bare save for a few hand-lettered placards;
spinning wheels and other home-craft tools clutter an alcove visible just
beyond, usually kept crowded with folk at work. Twisted passageways craze off
in all directions, each identified only by the haphazard carving and marker
above the linteled doorways.
The widest arch leads to the main caverns, while another winds its way,
fragrantly, to the kitchen; smaller doors mark the entrances to the offices,
residential areas and crafter's quarters, and the occasional muffled curse
shows the game room's direction.
Megami is here.
There's the buzz and flicker of looms just visible from the main lower
caverns, recessed as they are from the main current of activity. There's
also a pair of swinging feet, flickering near the doorway that hit their
wooden support every so often, as if in merry rhythm. A series of contented
murmurings weave over and around this melody, mingling with the occasional
curse from the gamesroom.
Megami just looked at you.
Megami hustles in, continuously brushing off the imaginary lint as is usual,
and swishing dresses. A question a passby, and Megami relaxes. "Good. I won't
be late after all," Harper says with a sigh of relief to no one in
particular. Main caverns are aimed for, and Megami returns not soon after,
glass of water in hand. She paces around for a few moments, seems to mumble a
reciting of something under her breath, then takes rapid steps towards her
dormitories - before pausing three fourths of the way, muttering something to
herself under her breath.
A final thwack sounds within that alcove in the wall -- ominous portent? --
and a tiny shape steals out, brown head near the level of the floor. A mass
of curls obscures all hints of feature but for a voice, lilted in what would
be a strident tone were it not for its low volume: "What're you doing?"
Megami blinks. "Oh, uh... sorry..." Megami squints within the darkness, moving
into the radius of a glowbasket. "Um.. yes, I... I'm waiting. I have an
appointment." Nod. Eyes drift uneasily around the caverns. "Yes. And
appointment."
That glowbasket's beams don't reach the recess' entrance; there's another,
though, dangling over the slight arch separating the sewing room from the
oblong space which illuminates the mop of dirty hair that the child bears.
The basket that the drudges have trouble refilling, yes. "No need," the
faintly feminine hiss drifts, "An appoint'ent for what?"
Megami shrugs. "Weavers. I'm getting a new outfit." Isn't Megami excited?
Well, she should be, but she's not. "I need knew clothes. Old stuff gets
boring." Walls are noticed randomly, a few cracks traced, and then Harper
turns swiftly to face Dallaney. "I'm Megami. Who're you?" She almost seems
suspicious, now, for some reason or another.
Megami
A few locks of pure night hang over Megami's face, the beginning of raven
curls which cascade down back, a thousand strands moving together through
time and space at same motion, and mid-waist the river of black finally meets
its end. Aside from hair, Megami's facial features consist of dark and cold
blue eyes, thin wisps of night eyebrows arching over opticals, delicate lips
of a rose pink shade, and a strange scar across one of her rather pudgy
cheeks. Other notable features of Megami include her thin figure,
particularly long fingers, legs that are also rather long and slender, and
the fact that her body appears quite mature for her age.
Megami's wardrobe is rather the casual style. Her torso is covered by a tight
fitting dark red short-sleeved shirt, ending a bit past her naval but no
quite at her waist. The lower part of Megami's outfit takes up this space,
however, as a green and royal blue plaid skirt connects right where the shirt
left off. This skirt could be described more as a dress, but isn't quite as
lengthy as that, and ends about mid-shin. There is a split in Megami's skirt,
of course, to allow easy movement. Selected footwear of Megami's includes
white socks that aren't pulled all the way up, and black dress shoes.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Violin Ovarb
Ogion
Dallaney whirls dark hazels up to stare at the harper, and perhaps this would
have had a better effect were those eyes large, or pleading in some way; the
small ovals blink, however, and the youngster wriggles halfway out of the
shade of the archway. "--Hey," she offers a bit awkwardly, hoisting one
sandalled foot to touch the ground and from thence getting into a crouch.
"Megami. I'm just looking around. Are the Weavers coming soon?" Maybe that
will distract her nannies.
Dallaney
Gaunt, Dallan is, grown into a gawky adolescent sturdiness. A mass of
indifferent mahogany curls crisps defiantly from behind her ears, huddling to
straggle over sharp eyebrows that cap equally hazel eyes in a thin face. Her
nose is sharp, her chin well-defined; dark brown cheeks and lips naturally
pursed make her no pleasure to look upon. Uncertain growth has given the
slender limbs wiry strength, with a simple agility of motion, but she remains
shorter than most others her age.
A robe of light brown, barely feminine, covers most of her long-legged, spare
shape, sending any hints of figure into obscurity. Of Igen make but
self-styled, the linen material sheers ungracefully just above bony kneecaps,
hitched up in folds to allow easier wear and lighter travel. An ungainly, if
quaint, umber belt winds around her waist, binding cloth to flesh and holding
up the robe in ragged manner, keeping it dipping into the dark sandals that
flicker out far below its hem.
One cord, one loop: the dark and bright colours of Igen Weyr twine on her
shoulder knot.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Culpa
One foot swathed in pale bandages, Dallan's gait is ungainly at best; the
redwort-red tinge colouring her sandals doesn't help a bit.
Megami shrugs. "Yes. For me. New clothing." As she said, dear? "What's your
name." Not really a question, more of a command. "As I said - I'm Megami.
Harper Apprentice." Smile. "Waiting for the weavers." Yes, so she is.
Dallaney gapes one corner of her mouth, exposing a few too-white teeth. Not a
smile, not quite. "I'm Dallan," she returns after a moment's hesitation, in
which the studying stare leaves the harper's face to examine her knot
instead. As quickly, her finger is back at her lips, and the teenager leaps
to her feet in a smooth if silent movement. "Shh, Megami. Not--too--loud."
Megami blinks. "Why be quiet?" she asks, drastically lowering her voice.
"The
weavers aren't mean. Is that it? Are you afraid of the weavers?" Even if
she's only three turns younger - Megami treats her like she's nine years
under. "The Weavers have never hurt me... unless it was poking me with a
needle by accident."
At any rate, it's quieter now where they are, and Dallan nods with relief.
"Not afraid of the weavers," the younger, smaller kid informs the older.
She's standing now, looking slightly upwards to better answer Megami,
levering her weight onto one foothold in the meantime. "But you see, I
shouldn't be here. They're weaving something inside," she points to the
dread alcove, expecting her to understand.
Megami blinks. "Weaving something inside?" Megami begs Dallan repeat the
question. "What do you mean...uh, Dallan?" Megami leans over towards the
younger one's face. "Weaving inside? I don't... understand." And so she
doesn't.
Dallaney bats away the proximity by shoving at the apprentice's hand, urging
her down another passageway. "They want me to learn," she takes a breath,
scrunching up her already crinkled face, "...the art of weaving. Bet you
don't know a bit about that." Oh, the secrets we harbour.
Megami shakes her head. "No. But what's so wrong with that? Weaving is...
prosperous? You make lots of money, and you can make your clothes just like
you want them." That sounds like a good type of convincing speech. "So, why
not learn to weave?
"Have you ever seen boys learning to weave?" Dallan snaps, ducking into a
shadowed area. "I don't think so, and I never wanted to weave. This is all
Tampa's fault-- besides, you can't weave too," she fires the triumphant
rejoinder, limping back into view.
Megami frowns. "That's becuase I'm a Harper. And Harpers... don't weave." Good
excuse - or so we can allow Megami to believe. "It's not so bad. Boys can
make tuxedos and everything for other men. Not just /women/ weave... don't be
so sexist." A slight smirk at that.
Dallaney pauses, knee cocked, brown lump humped indignantly on her hair.
"What's a tuxedo?" She hustles the flapping wings back into place around her
shoulders, but keeps the foot in place. Mumble: "Never heard of it."
Megami sighs. "Like... a suit for men. Black with white and a rose." Smile.
Yes.... that. "Tuxedo."
Dallaney hops back into place, easing into the snug shadow again, arms
crossing. "Humph." A new word every day. And because the boyish girl's
learnt something about courtesy and polite chatter lately, she grins at the
harper, eyes bright in the gloom. "Well, if you learnt how to weave you'd
not need those dimglow weavers, would you? How do you get the marks for this
stuff anyway?" She's only an apprentice, after all, but Dallan won't say
that.
Megami decides to hed out. "Weaver appointment - /now/."
Megami goes home.