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 Shaman and Zippo.
You see Sarilee, Rushweed Basket, and Anrui here.
Sh'lor is here.
From here you can go:
Bowl                Lower Caverns                Infirmary

Sh'lor strides into the bustling midday cavern, chuckling at some c omment from a wingrider. They part, and he heads to the hearth, examining the food on selection. For no particular reason, Dallaney is singled out, and offered a solemn wink.

Sh'lor
A lithe figure is built along the rangy lines of a runner bred for long distance, and a graceful motion is reminiscent of one of the great felines of the south. Intellegant ice blue eyes watch his surroundings carefully, set in a handsome face, straight nose and generous mouth outlined by a strong jaw. Once shoulder length black hair is now shorn very short. Practical, out of the way, but his face is changed by the haircut, now more angular. It might be easy to judge him as cold and hard, and only rarely is this image dispelled as he smiles, eyes twinkling, and lips twisting into a grin.
Golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from Sh'lor's shoulders, belted with a simple black belt. Black trousers tuck into sturdy wher-hide boots. Sh'lor is wearing a necklace made from bronze, all of it with a darkened finish. It has a pendant as an integral part of it, a meticulously detailed dragon with his wings spread wide.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine, wrapped with a bronze sisal ribbon. A badge affixed with his knot proclaims him to be a DuneRaider Wingrider at Igen Weyr, and rider of a bronze.
He is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Sh'lor's Wingleader Manual
Thoughtful, and wont to smile more often of late.

Riders, riders; Dallan passes by one most minutes of the day--and surely that's her father beside her now where she's perched ponderously over the edge of the wingrider's table. The dark-skinned man offers a wave while she, the ever-alert, dusky child, tilts a greeting together with her chin at the Duneraider. "--Don't chase me away now, its au-autho-rised business this time around."

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.
Reluctant Igen Weyr colours twine on her shoulder, threatening to spill over to the browned neck.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
D'aad Sprite
Thoughtful, verging on introspective
[11 turns]

Sh'lor select, piling his plate high with portions of this and that, and turning to survey the cavern. It seems his place at the Weyrleader's table is to be forsaken today, and he settles himself at the end of the DuneRaider table instead. An absent nod to the others seated there, and he eats in silence. Lips twist briefly, transforming his solemn face to something more attractive, as Dallaney is noted.

Dallaney is noted? Why that should be so, the weyrbrat doesn't know; so settles for repeated staring at the hide balanced on the woodwork's fringes, away from the clatter of cutlery and hungry weyrfolk. She juxtaposes the studious reading with a marked glance in Sh'lor's direction, along with her D'aad and company's greetings, some muffled, some wide awake. Insecurity has the effect of hypersensitising people, especially in Dallan's case.

A'zri blinks out of her trance and looks around sheepishly.
A'zri falls into a deep, deep trance.

Sh'lor seems content to eye, i e (ice) blue gaze shifting occassionaly as he acknowledges a comment from the riders loudly reahashing a fall of some time ago. Perhaps his mother never taught him right, for after a couple of nibbles, the first thing he aims for is the sweet stuff. A sweetstick is raised, and wiggled in Dallaney's direction. An offer.

Dallaney isn't some canine to be baited; that she knows if little else. Knowledge, however, is not enough to keep the 'brat from rising to the occasion all the same. Shoving the partially read sheets behind her flimsy excuse for a jacket, she slap-slip-slaps slippers along the cavern floor, tossing off a falsified salute for Sh'lor. "I'll have it if you don't want it," her voice floats lightly, reproachfully. "No sense letting the 'lizards get it, if you keep waving things around like that."

Sh'lor returns the salute, if a little casually, and offers the sweetstick. "I'm greedy, I think. My eyes were bigger than my stomach, and I don't want my wingriders getting any fatter than they already are." This comment s made in a slightly raised voice, and draws boos and hisses from said wingriders. They are loftily ignored, as Sh'lor bites into his own. "I'm Shan."

"Shan," Dallan sinks the name from graven teeth, nimble fingers plucking the sweetstick from his offering hand. "Wingleader," she adds deferentially, just 'cause her father, the softly sneering one over there, taught her to respect her elders. Maybe. She lowers her voice in the conspiratorial tones of the young: "Dallan, and I just hate to see food going to waste. And my father would like to get fatter, surely, they always say he's too scrawny, you see."

Sh'lor grins, considering this withhead tilted to one side. "Perhaps you should make sure he piles his plate good and high. He'll work it all off during Fall, I have no doubt." His own sweetstick is nibbled experimentally, and eyebrows raise in surprised approval. "I spend all my time stopping my daughter from breaking into her mother's supplyof these. STrange to get one for myself."

Dallaney brags, "I never got caught; the kitchens always have a lot of these. But I prefer bubblies to sweets--" she attempts to wave the fistful of stickiness, which implies a decided waggling of her head as well since she's quite firmly beginning another large mouthful. Lips unclamp from their possessive bite "--I think you should try 'em. Not bad."

Sh'lor raises a brow in interest, hmmnig slightly. "I must then, if you recommend them. I tend not to eat sweet things. We didn't have them when I was younger." The term 'small' is tactfully avoided, as the man finishes his sweetstick. "I suppose Shaila doesn't have much of a chance to get away from me. She's inside the weyr, and she's only one and a half."

Dallaney offers, giving tact a wide berth on her part, "I could teach her, put her under my charge. Then the other kids, they'd leave her alone. Shaila, right?" she checks, brow furrowing in introspection. "Hey, I thought adults like you could have all the sweet things you wanted when you were small. It's /us/ who can't." Her and the rest of the Weyr population--the down-trodden fellows of the lower echelons.

Sh'lor shakes his head, stabbing a slice of wherry with his belt knife. "Sit down here?" The spot opposite him is gestured to, as he continues. "I don't come from the weyr. We travelled a lot - trading, then working as guards. I suppose my Ma might have given them to me, but she wasn't there, and I imagine my father didnt like them much." A shrug, and another stab. "I'm sure Shaila'd love to spend time with you."

Dallaney would be glad to accept both of the spoken requests, and does lift a sandalled foot to slide into the seat opposite Sh'lor. At least she didn't perform any drastic leaps this time around; even the dusky-eyed gaze turned to the rider manages some cultured respect. "I don't know," she says through a squirm and the last of the 'stick, "that sounds very hard to do. Trading and guarding, no wonder you didn't have sweets there." A sympathetic nod follows the misunderstood statements; inexperience shows.

Sh'lor nods, tapping the pile of sweetsticks he pilfered with hisbeltknife. "Dig in. Sugar helps you grow, you know." He confines himself to something more healthy, speaknig thoughtfully. "I suppose it was difficult, although I did enjoy it very mcyh indeed."

Dallaney glances daggers at Sh'lor. "I /am/ grown," she grunts resolutely. "I've never lived anywhere else outside Igen. I wouldn't know." She skids on the verge of changing the subject, then rapidly reverses. "Igen's the best --isn't it?"

May walks in from NorthWest Bowl.

Sh'lor nods his agreement, working his way steadily through the meal durng her replies and questions. "Aye, I think so. And I've seen an awful lot of Pern, so I can say for sre. Best weather, best dragons, best people."

May skips in, followed by four little bodies of brown bronze and green, Pia and Sen tucked together on her shoulder while Imi and Bab fly in from behind and go right up to gossip with the 'lizards already here. May smiles cheerfully to those eating and slips up to the herth to see whats cookin.

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 short arms reach out to grab anything she wants. Strong and sturdy, her little legs lack any resemblance to those of her mother, though even in their lack of lithe, bear her with uncommon grace and agility.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Carrying:
Imi Bab
Pia Sen

Dallaney sounds more certain of herself now, on firmer ground now that it's about home. "The best," she echoes, a slipper released from its thong to hit the ground as she stamps a tiny foot fervently. "And thanks for the sweets," is added with the grabbing of a few more sticks, to hold and to hide, probably. May is glanced at through hooded 'lids. All hers, y'see.

May looks over the table of snacks and grabs a redfruit and a bowl of firelizard scraps, then trots over to a table to eat and feed, oblivious to the hooded glance, she smiles and waves to Dallaney, "Hi..."

Small talk buzzes comfortably about the caverns, even where Dallan is. It might be because she's sitting across from Sh'lor at the Duneraider's table; at any rate, a tame if determined look has made its way onto the adolescent's sharp features. But May's 'hi' still gets a "Good day" from the short-haired tomboy--the girl hasn't got on her bad side lately.

Sh'lor smiles, polishing off the last of his meal, and rsing slowly. "I better get going. I'e got drills to get planned out, you know." This draws a fresh round of hoots and boos from the wingriders, who are again ignrored, although the corners of his mouth st twitch. "I look forward to seeing you again, though, Dallan. Perhaps, if you're not too busy, yu can help me wth oiling Sanath soeme time. He's huge." A slight roll of his eyes, and he prepares to leave.

And she's small; but Dallaney doesn't say that. She does, instead, offer a wave -- a token gesture that certainly won't win her any points from the hooting wingriders. "Bye," she intones, not moving an inch. So they can't talk behind her back just yet.

Sh'lor steps silently toward NorthWest Bowl.

May peers over as she gets the off handish look, this ones interist tickled just a little... there arnt many girls of her age that she gets along with, most of them being to floofy.

Dallaney apes Sh'lor's roll of the eyes, quite well too, even if it ends with a cross-eyed glance at May. "What're /you/ looking at?" is spouted as the first thought that comes to mind. She'll have time to regret it later on.

May smirks, all of her mamma's lack of fear showing up. That wasnt exactly the reaction she was expecting but hey, she can be rude too, "You... you looked at me funny and I was wonderin why."

"Did not," Dallan retorts: smug, cheeks sucked in so that she looks thinner, meaner than even her usual demeanour. "You said hello and I answered, that's all," she adds with deceptive calm.

May winkles up her nose as Pia gives a little hiss from her shoulder, she turns and looks at the girl, up and down, "Yea ya did, but you gave me a funny look to."

Dallaney is sitting down, and aware that she's under some disadvantage here. Not to mention the wingriders in her row of bench, the selfsame ones who currently bear contempt, plus a few kind looks here and there, for her. "No I didn't," Dallan repeats, not budging an inch -- she can't. "Sit down and /eat/, will you." A request, almost, as it wasn't for her sealed, twitching lips.

May gets a defiant look to her features and just leans agains the opposite table, she knows none of the wing riders will mess with her... or at least shes pritty confident they wont... the wrath of her mother is quite feared. Even though Gamma is more likely to punish her daughter for disrupting the peace. But May has never been known to behave. So she leans against the table and takes a bite of her red fruit, pointedly looking at the other girl.

Dallaney takes silence as consent, it's the easiest way out. Dragging a sweetstick across her tongue, she tucks another into the folds of her jacket and the underlying tunic--there's one left though, on a plate that the drudges haven't reached. Unfortunately it's also lying in front of Dall. "--May, right?" She can do politeness too.

May raises a little red brow, and nods before taking another bite of red fruit, not budging much herself. Pia on the other hand paces from foot to foot, still annoied, disrupting the calm of his little green Sen, making her hiss at him.

Sprite has arrived.
You release Sprite, who springs from your shoulder with a wild trill.

Sprite twines a ridged, deep green tail around Dallan's wrist, and raises her hackles-cum-wings cheerfully back at the /other/ firelizard fair. She's comfortable, on her own special perch there. Patience is not something that lasts for long in the child's case. She stands, bouncing off the seat and neatly clearing the bench and a leather boot or two passing by.

Imi has arrived.

May give's a little shrug and Imi releases her shoulder with a fluttering of delighted copper wings.

Imi glides down, Bab right on his tail, as the chirups of another female are herd. the pair of browns land near their pet on the table...

Sprite is far from proddy, to judge from her colour. Attention diverted from that too-tight tail wrap, the green turns to the larger males with a clear warble before she is brought, awkwardly balanced on Dallaney's shoulder, away from the others, from May, from the unmoved riders. Even D'aad, who's already dozed off at the lunch table.

You beckon to Sprite who comes gliding quietly to your side.

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