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.
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 Maestro, Pinot, Satler, and Babette.
You see Rushweed Basket, Ierie, Canyon, and H'an here.
Saille and R'yh are here.
From here you can go:
Kitchens Lower Caverns
Bowl Infirmary
Saille blush deep red and then does turn into look at the soup,"Im
sorry...didnt really notice i was stairing." he takes an other spoon full,
blush still on fair cheeks. embarest.
Saille
Large innocent eyes of violet pure flash with sadness and, strangely enough,
remind one of a young maiden. Framed in long, lush black lashes, said eyes
reside set in a slender and very youthful visage with thin brows, softly
smiling pink lips, smallish nose and the palest of pale powedered alabaster
skin. Not an imposing figure at approximately 5'5, his frame has a very
waif-like feel to it, with long limbs and slender torso. Crowning feature
though resides in his shock of strawberry red hair. Thin locks of crimson
waves are usually kept restrained in a long braid to the mid of his back,
often wrapped in ribbons. Some strands do manage to escape the tight confines
and fall down to frame his face attractively.
Emsemble is of original design and quite a unique look. Along lithe torso
there is a suprisingly long billowy beige shirt made of serviceable cotton,
falling all the way down to his knees. It is only pulled together by a soft
sued vest of light brown that pulls it in with use of laces and cuts in
mid-way down the ribs. The arms are cut down the side to reveal the arm
beneath. Pulled in at forearm with a suede armlet laced up from wrist to
elbow. Pants match the same brown suede of vest and armlets pulling in at
the waist three times with drawstrings, it hugs youthful hips tightly, and
when it reaches the knees, is slit in the front all the way down. The slits
reaveal handsome knee high boots made of dark brown leather, laced from toe
to knee.
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
R'yh nods decisively. "Yes, you definitely were. What, is there a /spot/ on
my nose? A /spot/ on my beautiful nose? Are you staring at me because I
have food on my face?" Hands reach up to wipe ineffectually at his face.
"No, I have no food on my face. Liar. Besides, I like having food on my
face. Having food on your face is healthy! Hi, D'ney, want to put food on
your face?"
R'yh
A tight cap of golden brown curls tickles the tips of ears and frames an eager
face -- the trademark fuschia has sneaked its way back into R'yh's hair, this
time in the form of little flowers stuck awkwardly behind his ears.
Periwinkle eyes lie framed by deceptively long lashes in a pale-skinned and
slender face. He is short, thin, and wiry, the rigors of riding having turned
what may have used to be flab into muscle.
A wherhide vest, perhaps the most impractical article of clothing ever
commissioned, drapes over a long white tunic and brilliantly purple trousers,
tied together at the waist with a violet sash and an undeniable flair.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single loop with a dangling tail
and tassle to match, denoting him as a DuneRaider Wingsecond. A dull slate
blue ribbon twists through the knot -- R'yh rides blue Uesjneth.
He's in his early twenties now.
He is awake and looks alert.
Mood: Never stable, always changeable, never predictable. Whudja /think/?
Rylesi walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
D'ney is still wearing the clothes of yesterday, though she's fresh-scrubbed
and pink under the attire. Robe swishes, while her knot remains lost,
perhaps gone to the same place her hair has. She trudges to a seat, stops.
Turns. Eyes R'yh for a moment.
D'ney
Igen-burnt, Igen-born, dusk shades her in, settling over shoulders broad in
comparison to her slight build and tanning arms a rusty brown. Vigilant
angles heighten the harsh peaks and abrupt gullies of her face, accenting
pinched features drawn by a miser's brush. Below forehead's darkness, a
primal acidity informs hazel eyes, capped by stubborn mahogany curls shorn
ragged at ear-level, but flaring freely, fiercely, into a rider's easy
agility and a controlled drawl.
Feather-light, a swash of light brown robes her, tucked in at the appropriate
places and bearing the Duneraider wingpatch at the lee of one shoulder. The
design is simple, conspicuous almost for its lack of one, and the result
clings drearily to point of shoulder, curve of arm, trailing down to her
kneecaps, there to be matched by a pair of cut-off sandals.
She is awake and looks alert.
New hairdo: a slice of dark brown caps the top of her head, while the rest is
gone. Her knot is nowhere to be seen.
[19 Turns, 2 Months, and 5 Days]
Saille smiles at those words -yes, i do agree its a nice nose- he shakes his
head. and sighs, eating more of the soup. Blushing as different thought run
though his head. Saille looks up and waves at D'ney smileing his cute smile.
R'yh beams at D'ney. Everyone's just staring at him tonight. He must look
particularly gorgeous or something. Either that, or he's got a hole in his
pants again. "Don't you like putting food on your face? Food on your face
is the best thing /ever/. It's almost as good as soup in your shoes. Has
anyone ever put soup in their shoes before?" Because R'yh has.
Eventual wanderings and need to sate insistent hunger draw Rylesi into the
Main Living Cavern, a talent of hers being a knack for memorizing where food
is often served, and friendly company can be found. The newly arrived
resident offers a semi-distracted half-wave to those gathered as she takes
quiet steps towards the hearth table, intent on finding herself a bowl of the
ellusive stew that she'd heard so much about.
Rylesi
Light streaks of auburn fall throughout the sandier whisps of light brown hair
that layer Rylesi's head, the thick and slightly wavy mass of hair. Hair that
reaches unknown lengths, for it is always seen pulled back into a high
runner-tail. The woven wher-hide thong securing it dyed a muted blue, with
tiny stamps and etchings engraved into the soft surface. Whisps of hair and
bangs aren't present, for neatness is utmost in features, Rylesi taking this
to the next step with lightly arched 'brows that cross gently above big,
hazel hued eyes. Features follow with yet more softness, a nose that appears
to be upturned and slightly rounded, and pale lips.
Given nature and habbits, Rylesi has turned to more comfortable wear, this
being a thick tunic that covers the upper portion of her slender torso.
Sleeves from the amber hued tunic fall just past her shoulders, leaving
portions of arm uncovered. Simplistic in nature, the neckline drops to round
away from throat, dipping into a v-shaped neckline that drops not too far
below collar-bones. Slits run up either side of the body, approximately a
finger-length in distance when traveling from her hip upwards, the seams
stitched off to allow for movement and comfort; while accentuating the cut of
the tunic. Trouser that are of a dark forest fall from her waist, hidden by
the overhang of amber folds. Trouser legs fall with remarkable precision and
ease over the short distance, to end tucked into mid-calf length boots. These
all too worn and dust-ridden, yet securely fastened to small feet.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Carrying:
Iopoki
D'ney stiffens a smile for Saille over there -- she's just sliding for that
chair in the meanwhile, avoiding soup and sundry other favours. And because
she can practice selective hearing, she does, with a lopsided frown and an
absent scratch of the (almost) hairless head. "Yeah," Quickly, lest
something explode, "...Wingsecond."
Saille sighs...lost in his thoughts he doesnt notice he has drooped his spoon
till in lands int he soup and it flys into his face startleing him he squeaks
and he falls off the chair with a thud..smootch move saille, great way to
impress and man...sure.
R'yh eyes D'ney's head for a moment in confusion, then he /does/ explode,
standing up out of his chair, even. "Wing/second/? I'm a baby egg! I'm a
weyrling! I'm a ... oh yeah. Oh. Oh. Hm. Wait. Hellooooo, new person.
Want some soup? Saille /loooves/ the soup. Look at how much he loves the
soup. He's fallen -- off the chair -- in love with the soup. D'ney, did
your head /always/ look that much like an egg?"
Rylesi, is at a loss for both words and action as she turns towards the
voices. It didn't take much to make her un-distracted, and this, obviously
was no exception. Politeness dictates that a smile be offered, and Rylesi
isn't about to over look that little rule, and as such she offers a half
smile once more. "Morning," Dip of her chin then follows words as hands
close upon the bowl of stew she'd just poured for herself. And..there's a
pause as she decides where the best place to seat herself is.
Someone has fallen off his chair. D'ney ducks a glance underneath, driven not
so much by concern as simple reflex. "Did you break anything?" she hollers
over just in case, which delays the withering watch of the standing R'yh.
"He does /not/ love the soup. And that has nothing to do with my hair. They
cut it, to let air in." She ruffles the curls, then turns, turns to Rylesi.
Anyone. Denial works. "'Morning."
Saille sitts up abit on his spot on the floor "Im not hurt." he whispers, but
whips his eyes...okey, maybe he did hurt his rear...and his pride...and he
was very embarest. he starts to fix his hair and clothes...he looks up at
R'yh then down with a blush before trying to get up though his rear hurt.
"To let air in to your /brain/?" asks R'yh, with no harm intended, of course.
"Why, good /morning/, new person who has cleverly chosen stew which is a very
souplike food! I think I might remember seeing you somewhere, do I remember
seeing your somewhere? What's your name? Hey, Saille, you didn't finish
your soup. Finish your soup, Saille." What does R'yh care about injured
rumps? His one and only priority in the living caverns is feeding people
soup.
"I..ah..I hope I'm not in the middle of anything?" Tactful as ever, until
R'yh's comment is heard, and Rylesi makes the best attempt she can at not
bolting from the room. "I'm Rylesi. Newly arrived here to the Weyr. I'm
not sure if I've met you though." Slightly apologetic smile is then offered
to R'yh before Rylesi takes a step closer to the table nearest the hearth,
gaze then finding Saille to offer him a nod of her head. She hadn't seen him
fall..which could be considered a good thing.
Pinot wakes up from her nap.
Pinot dozes off...
D'ney swipes a look at Saille, then peels a palm over her face. "Oh, shardit,
boy. Your face is as red as the--the redwort I poured out just now for the
stores." It's for Saille, but the only way you can tell this is by clever
deduction. This Duneraider is /not/ looking anywhere right now. "Get a job,
get a job," the alto wobbles, to someone else.
Saille sighs then stands, looking at the soup "I dont think i can finish it."
he frowns abit. then he brush's some hair from his face and swollows. he
shakes his head then remebers "Oh dear, im sorry all i must run! Ill see you
later!" he bows to all the makes a quick dast out
Saille goes home.
R'yh smiles right back at Rylesi, though his smile is considerably more
confident for many reasons, none of which are truly valid, and most of which
involve stupidity on some layer or another. "No, not at all! Well, I'm
R'yh, and this is D'ney, who has a head that looks like an egg."
"Hey, no need to bust your wherry for--" D'ney starts; stops once she spies
the loss of her target through the cupped hand. "Sharding children," she
shrugs, then chugs off to lift a pot's lid. The contents are soup,
unfortunately. She spends long, agonizing moments finding a bowl,
discovering the ladle, and scooping out the viscid material.
"Well met, R'yh and..." Now the only question was..is it polite for her to
addresss D'ney as, D'ney with a head that looks like an egg, or just plain
D'ney. Rylesi choses the smarter option, and leaves it at just D'ney.
"D'ney." Smile filters across her lips yet again, as bowl is settled atop
the table and a chair is pulled out via use of toe..and a wave is offered
towards the departing person.
R'yh turns his vacant beam to D'ney as he watches her ladle out a bowl of
soup. "Good job, D'ney. Soup is good and healthy for you. Get it on your
clothes, and your clothes will become healthy too!" A healer? Not this
bluerider. "Where were you /before/ you came to Igen?" R'yh inquires of
Rylesi. "Where were you the whole time? Why didn't you come to Igen
earlier? It's the best place in the world, after all. How about soup? You
ate soup, right?"
D'ney is innocent enough not to suspect Rylesi of such evil thoughts. She
doesn't offer the new Igenite any soup, either, like /nice/ R'yh does, but
just brings her bowl back through the throngs of early weyrfolk and
sweepriders. "It was the first pot I found," goes the explanation as she
scrambles into the vacated chair, "Never heard of soup killing anyone, but it
won't help either."
"Me?" Rylesi replies once more, "I..was actually from a little place not
too
far away from here," Actual name and location withheld, Rylesi trusting on
using a quick response to cover up for that, "Soup?" Gaze then finds D'ney
as Rylesi begins to wonder.. "I'm not quite sure I've had the soup yet.
But..I'll make sure to have some as soon as I finish up with this stew."
Honest reply that draws grin from Rylesi, and chirrup from the brown curled
'round her neck.
R'yh glares at D'ney. "You," says the bluerider with some heavy-duty
emphasis, "are underestimating the power of soup. Soup is a many wonder'd
thing. It drops like rain from your bowl! It treacherously tries to kill
you when you're not looking. And yet, oh, it tastes so /good/! Everything
is made from soup." He pauses for emphasis. "Including the lake. Yes,
Rylesi. You should go see the lake. It is soupy wonderful."
D'ney perks up. "The Hold?" She has quick ears. A suggestion, too, sensible
and unmuffled by the spoon she's holding a few inches above her bowl.
Balancing. "You could try it. It's not too bad, though I've had better,"
she squirms slightly, straightens. The effort of ignoring R'yh is telling on
this wingrider. "It is /soup/. Gooey. Tasty. The lake has /water/ in it."
Wise, very wise.
"Hmm," Vague comment from Rylesi before she offers a smile towards D'ney and
R'yh once more, "So..I'll have some soup and then I'll see the Lake, yes?"
Half tilting her head to the side, she draws the spoon up to her mouth to
take the first tasting of the stew, and finding it indeed delicious, a second
taste follows.
Similarly, the effort of converting D'ney is telling on R'yh. He pouts,
wrinkles his nose in disgust -- and after that brilliant Shakespeare rip-off
too -- and rolls his eyes. "The lake has /soup/ in it. I'll go and /get/
some for you if you want to see." A mug is snatched and the bluerider stands
up proudly. "I," he announces to any who care, "will be right back with
proof that will smash D'ney's theories through the ground and out to Telgar."
Pause. "And yes, first soup, then lake, then eat lots of flowers."
R'yh goes home.
D'ney goes part of the way towards a gape. She'll sink her teeth in the spoon
instead and cross those fingers -- grubby fingers -- "Right. R'yh will take
you to see the lake. Get some," Swallow, "Flowers and stuff. I'll stay
here, drink the soup." And he's gone too, so she waves the other hand at
Rylesi. "You really shouldn't get funny things in your head too."
"Me?" Rylesi asks, glancing up from her stew. Departual wave is offered to
the already gone R'yh, which only draws Rylesi into further thought about the
sanity of the Weyr at large. "I'm..rather..well I'll try not to. If the
soup is what causes that, then I'll be sure not to have any." Her response
given a wry grin as she pokes at the stew with her spoon.
D'ney is sane. Trust her. So she says, giving the bowl a deprecatory glance,
"It's not the soup. Look. I'm drinking it, and I'm all right." So,
logically, the soup's fine. "Not everyone's a weak glow."
"Good point there," Rylesi comments once more, "Interesting as that was,
I'd
have to say I'll be sticking with stew, if only because it's declicious
enough." Apologetic smile is offered once more, "That and I've been raised
on stew my entire life, and habits are hard to break."
D'ney tags on to that earlier point, because canines have long memories too.
"Come from Igen, then? I remember we had other things there. Sweetsticks,
rivergrains," she scrunches up the dark nose, "Don't remember it very well.
You shouldn't have had stew all the time." She eats.
"Oh no.. I'm not strictly bound to just stew," Rylesi comments, "I carry
wherry-strips with me. Dried. Delicious snack for when you're traveling and
well..when you want a snack." One such strip is pulled from the pouch at her
waist as she shows it to D'ney, "That and they're delicious. Lasts for days
on end and it's meat."
D'ney perks some more: you can almost see her hair standing up in their spiky
disarray now. "Wherry strips? Meat, yeah. We used to have travel rations
like this, but different." She pauses a while, gathering her thoughts. A
frown arrives, swift and puzzled. "You're a trader?" Travel, wherry, it's
about the clues.
"Trader? No..not me." Rylesi responds, shaking her head. It wasn't a game,
not really. "Though, well I suppose I could be one if the occasion called
for it." Half, wry grin before she settles forearms on the table, "Then
again.. I could be several things if I wanted. It depends on what's needed.
Are there any jobs around the Weyr?"
D'ney plays it, game or not. She slouches on reflex, leans back again, eyes
hovering partway between the soup and Rylesi. Her smile appears too,
unsympathetic but equally wry. "Take a job, like I said. Ask the headwoman,
I don't know what you can do. Help out in stores, maybe--or-ganize the
goods."
"Well I'll look into that. I'm sure I can do something that'll benefit the
Weyr. In one way or another." Light response that is joined by several long
pauses, during which Rylesi lesses the amount of stew in her bowl, before she
clears her throat and offers D'ney a dip of her head once more, "And I'd best
be doing that now..before all the good jobs are taken. Clear skies to you
and your lifemate." Cordial greeting that is offered alongside polite smile,
and Rylesi picks up her bowl and deposits it in the bin on her way out.
D'ney is usually not a slow eater; it's interest that's delaying her movements
now. A few gulps diminish her portion of soup, after which she claps a hand
over her mouth, and well, burps. "See you around." And she never got a
name, did she?
Rylesi goes home.
D'ney trundles off.