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.
NorthWest Bowl
A shelter from the stronger desert winds that strike across much of the rest
of the bowl, the original founders of the weyr found the lee a suitable
location for the most active area of the weyr. A gaping stone awning
provides covered protection and suitable sunning space for the occupants of
the dragon infirmary. Shallow steps lead into a recessed entrance to the
guest weyr. A much smaller entrance leads to the living caverns.
Perched somewhere up high, you see Cloud.
Kalaera laughs softly, her voice a soft, pale alto that drifts upon the wind
like a firelizard. "My apologies, oh Painter of Fantastical Portraits. I'm
horrid with names --forgive my insolence?" She nods her head in a small
curtsey before giving him a bright, cheery smile. "Just...tired, most likely
due to lack of work as of late. But tell me, why the sarcasm in your voice?"
She gives Isziyl another sidelong glance, one brow lifted with curiosity, but
says nothing. For now.
From Sky Above Northwest Bowl, Lorizath has arrived.
Lorizath has arrived.
J'et climbs from Lorizath's neck to Lorizath's emerald foreleg, where J'et is
gently lowered to the ground.
Isziyl hides a snicker, and pretends to... study a sleeping dragon.
Study-ment. Lack of work, his as--oh, look. More people. Still the picture of
total innocence, the young man shifts his gaze towards the two, nodding at
D'ney, casting a curious look Olwyn-ways.
Olwyn slips cautiously out of the living caverns, a small bucket held in her
right hand, which quickly makes it's way behind her back and out of sight as
she catches Isziyl looking in her direction. Kicking a few stones, to
attempt to make it look like she's actually got a purpose out here she begins
to slowly move across the bowl, perhaps giving the ground a bit more
scruitiny than is usual.
D'ney strides along from the other end of the weyr's bowl, hands tucked deep
into the folds of her robe, gaze scanning the floor's stone. A shadow tags
along behind -- Nhaeth it is, with 'sails held as cautiously up as his
lifemate is holding her arms down. And then there are folks whom she
recognises, who each get a vague nod.
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.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single loop, trailing into a
tail; a brown ribbon plays accompaniment beside.
She is awake and looks alert.
Hair's still short and stubby, but the rest of her has gained the sheen of
clean, even mahogany.
Lorizath lands with perfect grace, letting her rider dismount. J'et, however,
stares at Lori with a tired expression. Eyes drooping, he says to his green
dragon, "Lori, I was about to go to sleep! What do you want to do here?" Lori
twitches her tail. Nothing. She just wanted to be the evil-sweet dragon that
she is and drag J'et out. J'et shakes his head, "At this rate, I'll never get
any sleep..."
(Nhaeth) Lorizath sees: Nhaeth sends amusement, stuffed into warm, leaky
cinnamon wafers. << Sleep is /good/. >>
(Nhaeth) [-] Lorizath sends sleepy blues, cyans, and says in a soft voice, <<
Of course it is... >> Then she sends energetic yellows and greens and says,
<< That's why I don't let my darling rider have it. He's too good for it. >>
Yeah, right, thoughtful Lori...
(Nhaeth) Lorizath sees: Nhaeth winds his mind around your logic, and pools
green brightness into an indulgent waft of smoke. << Well, if you say so.
The day is still young. >> And when is it not?
Adrian shrugs lightly and smiles, loving her apology, "Well, after much
thinking... /yes/, I /do/ forgive you." He shakes his head, which soon
tilts slightly, "Sarcasm? Uh, well, it's there just because I happen to be
sarcastic quite often?" Oh, and because he just felt like it. Hand
twitches, wanting to grab a hold of his paintbrush and do some damage, er,
lovely art. He steps back at the arrival of Olwyn, the two riders and their
dragons. With one greeting, he raises his arms and smiles, "Oh, hello all!"
Never does he get embarrassed.
Kalaera brings the orangefruit to her nose, inhaling the citrusy scent with an
amused expression as she watches Adrian. "Sarcasm can be an amusing thing, I
agree and--" Her eyes fall towards the twitching hand and she laughs, adding
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a-twitching to paint a
portrait, Adrian." She strikes a mock pose, the edges of her sari whispering
lightly in the breeze, and winks: "Do me?" Her other hand offers a
finger-waggle towards the arriving weyrfolk, riders, and dragons before
swiveling her gaze back to Adrian, a glimmer of challenge in her emerald gaze.
Isziyl chokes. His mind's evil, you see - almost as twisted as some in the
room - and the words 'do me' don't do /anything/ but cause him to go blue in
face from holding in upheavels of laughter. So, instead, he wanders /away/
from the two, shaking his head. Braid swings, and he hones in on a target. A
new victim. Cackle. "Hi," he simply says Olwyn-ways.
Olwyn lifts her head at Adrians mass greeting, a bright smile being flashed
over in his direction before her head goes down once more and she begins to
strp forwards again, bucket swinging behind her back. In perfect timing,
along with Isziyl's Hi whic cause Olwyn to look up and to the side, a
colission happens which causes the bucket to clang to the ground and
something small and many coloured to crawl quickly away. Olwyns eyes turn
back from looking at Isziyl, first looking at the ground since she is head
down after all and spotting a pair of feet. Slowly her head lifts, eyes
taking in everything until they finally rest on D'neys face and with a
nervous half-smile she offers a brief "Hi."
Olwyn
She carries herself without a hint of the typical adolescent slouch, making
the most of her inconsiderable height and thin, scrawny frame. Her features
are bony and regular, dominated by wide hazel eyes that almost match colours
with her twining jaw-length curls, her skin sun-kissed without trace of a
freckle.
A shortsleeved cream tunic enshrouds scrawny form, belted in firmly at her
waist with a length of what could well be rope. Her matchstick legs are
drenched by a pair of blue shorts that reach down to her bony knees, her feet
hastily tied into a pair of sandles which flap off the soles of her feet as
she moves.
On her shoulder is a single looped yellow and black knot, marking her a
resident of Igen Weyr.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Lesnar
Nhaeth hasn't arrived, not at all: he's lurking behind, see? Haunches spring
aloft a beat too soon and pile into the rest of him, crumpling the brown
dragon into a too-large heap behind D'ney. Hopefully, he's too high up for
them to see. D'ney ducks reflexively, turns back for a swift glance, then
resumes her trot, feet kicking dust. Kicking Olwyn-dust, and Olwyn herself,
staggering back with hurried cadence. Oof. "Hey!--Didn't see you!"
Adrian nods, agreeing with the girl, "Sarcasm can get you places..." He shrugs
at his own comment and perks at Kala's, "Aye, I might be in the mood to do
that. It's like an addiction, ya' know." Oh? What's this? He gets a
positive invite from one of the opposite sex and not just one of the same?
Woot! Oh wait, let's get our mind back on Painting terminology. 'Do me'
does not mean what he's thinking about right now, but it means to 'paint
me'... He blinks and chuckles.
Kalaera blinks at Isziyl's reaction before breaking into a laugh herself, her
cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh nooo..no no no," she says, holding her hands
up. "I meant paint a portrait of me, if you like. Though --the only payment
I have is...an orangefruit?" She holds up the fruit with a wry grin, only to
turn at the commotion of a brown dragon. "Hey D'ney and /what/ is that?"
Her eyes widen at whatever happened to roll out of Olwyn's bucket.
Isziyl snickers at Kalaera. "Awww. Look. You /do/ blush." Smirk.
"And--yeah,
what is that?" He looks up, staring at the multicolored thing. Hand
automatically reaches for his beltknife, though he doesn't draw - yet.
"Uhmn." Blink. Yeah, what /is/ it?
Olwyn blinks for a moment, about to apologise, and infact getting out the "Oh,
no, it's" before breaking off, eyes flickering with mischief for a second
before continuing. "completely all right. No harm done." Finally she
realises her bucket is missing and looks about, picking it up from where it
lies behind her and looking inside for a moment before wincing and once more
scruitinising the ground, all pretence of not being up to something dropped.
"Where'd he go? Took me ages to find that one."
It was /Olwyn/'s fault, after all. Right? D'ney looks about her, shuffling a
few paces from the other girl in the meantime. "You shouldn't go walking
about without looking to see where you're going--" she scolds the ground.
"Did you drop something?" Serves her right, really.
Halaith wakes up from her nap.
Halaith dozes off...
Clover wakes up from her nap.
Clover dozes off...
Adrian shakes his head, "No, no... That's not what I meant. I /was/ talking
about painting. /Painting/ is my addiction..." What has he made everyone
believe him to be? No, he's just good at being overly addicted to painting,
not, uh, that other stuff... He almost giggles at the mix-up and smiles,
"Yeah, I'd love ta' do a portrait of ya'." Or on her... Uh, paint on her,
that is. His smile turns into a mischevious smirk, "Um..." His head snaps
at the clump of brown, which is D'ney's dragon, and blinks, "Uh, ya'll okay,
there?"
Kalaera gives a wary glance about the ground, specifically her feet, in case
such 'crawling' things happen to be spinners. She shudders at the thought.
Spinners are just -scary, for lack of a better term. Swiveling her gaze back
to Adrian, she twirls a strand of hair in between nimble fingers, retorting
"Well then, when would you like to paint my likeness?" Luckily, she can't
read minds about the 'on her' comment, else she might do a credible
impression of a landed fish.
Isziyl snickers, and crouches, blinking around for the multicolored crawler.
And observes something crawling in a shadow. "Uh... miss.. I think it's over
there." Hand raises - with the sharp knife - and points, in that classic
point-with-the-dagger-while-crouching pose. Y'know. /That/ one. "Or it might
be a spinner." He peers at it, blinking.
Olwyn's eyes flicker over in the direction that Isziyl pointed, peering for a
moment before she shakes her head. "Cant see him. Shells!" Once more she
scans the ground frantically, "Noone move, you might stand on him, and...
well, lets just say it's not a good idea." She looks up at D'ney for a
moment trying to think of an explaination and failing. "He crawled out the
bucket. He's a... you see he's... Well..." Finally she gives up and falls
silent.
The looming hulk of brown is currently trying to lower his fingersail over his
twice-lidded eyes, those fragile receptables of sight. Trundlebug. Faceted
orbs can do wonders for your vision. "Says he's all right," D'ney reports to
someone (Adrian?), responding to Nhaeth if not heeding the questioner
herself. She shakes her head, shakes /out/ long fingers. "No, boy, you stay
right here. Here." Go on, sigh after her. To Olwyn, her alto is even:
"He's over there, in the corner."
Adrian smiles at the girl, "Likeness? Uh, you'll get the full-total copy of
yourself." He chuckles lightly and readjusts his paint-satchel. The boy
stares at Isz, but only for a moment, and shakes his head at Olwyn, "It's
just a, yeah, bug..." He smirks, "I can always paint ya' one, if you'
like."
Head turns to D'ney and her dragon and he winks, "Oh, good..." The
painter-boy notes, to himself, he needs to remember the pose of Nhaeth, for
it gives him an idea of a rather interesting painting. "Well, my lovely
admirers," uh, did he say that? "I'm off to deliever some paintings, and
there's no need for me to keep anyone waiting..." If he did that, he might
not get paid. With that, he leaves with a wink.
Adrian has disconnected.
Kalaera sends a wave towards the departing painter --and abruptly /squeaks/ at
the word 'spinner.' "Spinner?!" She quickly draws up the hem of her sari
and hop-skips a step back, eyes wide, wary of anything crawling on the ground
with eight legs. "Shells, kill it Isz, kill it!" Kala in rare form, I must
say.
Isziyl glances back, amusement roiling off of him in waves. "Oh, Kala, don't
be such a wuss." But, just to appease her, his wrist cocks back - and
abruptly, the short dagger is hurtling towards the shadows. A nice, squishy
sound - and gurgles of squeaked last cries - is heard. Whoa. It's a spinner,
and he managed to hit it. Isz, however, impassively gets up from his crouch,
slinks forwards, and snags his beltknife once more. Indeed, a spinner is
skewered to the end. "That was a nasty bugger," he declares, eyeballing the
rather large -dead - spinner.
Olwyn gapes for a second at Kalaera's words and suddenly squeals "No! You
cant kill him! I need him! And he's only a trundlebug!" As Isziyl's dagger
flies, she darts forwards, thankfully to another bit of the shadows, and
dives headlong towards the runaway trundlebug, gaining herself a mouthful of
dust and no bug as it scuttles off in another direction.
D'ney sends a dark look at Kalaera, opens her mouth, then abruptly shuts it
again. She scrambles forward as well in Olwyn's wake, circling towards the
trundlebug -- stomping with an indifferent boot upon yet more sand. Missed,
again. "Sharding bug. Where'd it go?" goes the complaint, aloud, as she
spins on a heel to peer at another patch of ground. With all these scuffing
boots around, it's a wonder the creature can be spied at all.
Kalaera just gives the dead spinner a wary glance, followed by a nod of thanks
to Isziyl. "Nicely dispatched, my friend. I thank you." Olwyn's outburst
causes her to lift a brow, her gaze scanning the ground for telltale signs of
trundlebug. "Trundles typically are straightforward critters, if my memory
serves me right. It'll eventually poke it's head out, considering they
travel in a due straight line most of the time." She blinks at D'ney's
stomp, waving a hand at the sudden puff of dust that rises in the air in a
smoky haze. "Faranth, we're not going to stomp it, are we?"
Isziyl swipes the spinner off on a rock, and gazes mournfully at the bloody
knife-tip. "/What/ are we looking for? A kinda metalic-looking trundle,
right?" Silver-green eyes shift. "Hey, isn't that it?" He slinks towards a
shadow, where... something... is glinting.
Olwyn shakes her head. "No. No stomping!" he eyes flicker to D'ney with a
look that screams 'this means you' as she begins to pick herself up from the
ground, a coating of dust decorating her from head to foot. "He's just a
regular trundle." she commetns over to Isziyl. "They camoflage really well,
so it's not really easy to. There!" Once more she pounces and comes up
with... a stone. "Shards." is sighed out as she hurls the stone back to the
ground. "All day to find one and now he's gone cause someone made me drop my
bucket."
"And why can't we?" D'ney hollers back, decorum lost to the wind along with
the missing bug. "Unless--you need it for some chore. For marks?" She
spreads her fingers; stuffs them into those unseen pockets again while
probing the ground for signs. There's no subtlety here. "A regular
trundle's just a--a--pest."
Kalaera drops into a low, easy crouch as she tries to spot the elusive
trundle, suddenly shouting with amusement at a scurry of dust. "There, there!
Olwyn...see it?" She wiggles a finger in the direction of what looks like a
swirly trail of sand --and resists the urge to fling her orangefruit at it.
'Twould be a waste of a good orangefruit.
D'ney suddenly glances up from her impatient combing of the ground. Nhaeth
with his eyes covered is definitely a distraction. "And /you/ bumped into
me," she adds for Olwyn's benefit. Who's the kid, now?
Isziyl leans over Kala's shoulder, and chuckles. "Looks like a good trail to
me," he ammends. "Even--and I didn't do it," he states, glaring upwards.
"I
just said 'Hi'. That's not a 'Oh Let's Squeal and Drop Our Trundles!' thing,
y'know."
Olwyn blinks from Isziyl to D'ney and back again, rolling her eyes at both as
if finding some way to blame them no matter what they say. At Kalaera's
words she turns, peering around for the trail and finally spotting it as her
knobbly legs twist with each other and instead of taking a step to turn
round, she once more faceplants to the bowl floor.
"What's wrong w--" D'ney bites it off, drags a hand out of her pocket and
holds it out to Olwyn for a prop up. It's her left hand, even. "Get it,
'fore it runs away?" she notes to Kalaera, regardless of whatever fear the
woman might have.
Kalaera drops her chin into her hand, expression one of a tracker now as she
eyes the faint trail. "You realize those things have a one-track mind."
Literally. Her eyes widen, green flashing in a flare of predatory awareness
as she spots the trundle again. "There, there!" With a quickness that one
might not guess from her current stature, she pounces upon it..and misses.
"Shells and /shards/ that thing's a quick on---my word, are you alright,
Olwyn?" Kala blinks, noting the young girl's sudden intimate introduction to
the weyr bowl's floor.
Isziyl eyes D'ney, Olwyn, and Kalaera. "I'm only good for killing the thing,
so I'd suggest you not let me get near it," he warns, shifting - sidling -
over to Olwyn. "You okay, miss?" He still doesn't know--okay. Olwyn. Now he
can stop calling her 'miss'. "C'mon, Kala, you're faster than that! Catch the
shelling thing!" He cheers her on. Cough.
Olwyn disentangles her legs and with a thankful smile to D'ney hauls herself
up to her feet. "I'm fine." comes the reply to the others, each one also
being gifted with a smile as a now blushing Olwyn begins to slowly dust
herself off again, having lost track of everything thats happening. "Did you
get him?"
Nhaeth creeps closer to the trundlebug, snout raised in courageous defiance,
talon unsheathed and submitted to a slow, rolling scrutiny. A stab might do
the trick-- but D'ney is shaking her head at him. Her hand returns to its
hiding place, and she stands. Pans to watch the melee. "Don't see him now,"
is the absent comment.
Kalaera's eyes narrow again, her muscles taught, instinctive with the thrill
of the hunt. Even if the prey is just a measly ol' trundlebug. "Just wait,
it'll appear ag--THERE!" Orangefruit is abandoned as she suddenly leaps for
the errant beetle-like critter, a quick roll followed by her triumphant
scurry to her feet, trundle in hand. "Gotcha you little bugger." Pun so
intended. With a rather smug smile she saunters back to Olwyn, holding the
squirming insectoid thing in her hand, held out to the girl. "Someone order
a trundle?"
Isziyl rocks back on his heels, and tips an imaginary hat. Fortian-tinted
accent helps him drawl out.. "Kalaera, Wild Woman of Igen: Legendary Title?
Heroic Trundlebug Grabber." Snicker. "Nice job, Kal."
Olwyn's face splits into a wide grin as she runs and grabs up the bucket,
holding it out for Kalaera to drop the bug in. "At last! I could just hug
you Kalaera, thanks!" Thankfully she doesnt do the hugging thing, just
smiles a lot. "One down, more to get." she breaks off for a moment and then
adds. "For.. my.. collection. Yeah, collection. I collect them."
D'ney mutters, in an undertone that's loud enough for the nearest to hear,
"Running around the bowl hunting /bugs/ ... I say stomp on it." It. Them.
She raises the gruff alto to the bucket-hugging girl, "You have more of those
things?" Nhaeth would have a fit.
Nhaeth doesn't, though. He's too busy goggling his shiny talon.
Isziyl eyes Kala and D'ney and Olwyn and Nhaeth. "Uhmn," he manages, observing
all of them. "Stomping on it sounds fun. Though I like using them for target
practice, myself..."
Kalaera brushes dust from her sari (which amazingly enough did /not/ fly open
during that little stunt), her eyes bright with amusement as she drops the
bug into Olwyn's bucket. "Welcome. More?" Her eyes widen a moment before
she laughs, adding "I think I've reached my trundlebug-catching limit for the
day, so if you don't mind, I'm going to take a bath and get some of this dust
out of my hair." She snags her orangefruit and gives a wave, sauntering off
towards the caverns. Ha! See? Even a trundle can't escape her clutches. Um.
Yeah.
Kalaera struts in that sexy way toward Main Living Cavern.
Olwyn smiles down into her bucket for a moment, before raising a hand in
farewell to to kalaera and turning back to the others, thankfully not having
heard their conversation. "This little guy makes it 3, but I need a lot more
for... I need more otherwise it's not a collection really."
Isziyl quietly blinks. "Why are you collecting them, again?"
Black-leather-clad resident takes up residence leaning on a random,
non-budgeable object.
D'ney approves. "--They're small enough to practice on." She bobs the
short-curled head at Olwyn, and joins Isziyl's thread. "What are they for?
I used to collect stones, but they had a purpose."
Isziyl waits for a reply, but turns towards D'ney. "Y'know, spinners make good
targets, too. And baby tunnelsnakes." His specialty, apparently, at the
satisfied look on his face. "Big tunnelsnakes require bigger knives, though,
than this little thing." The young man sheathes his beltknife, and ponders.
Isziyl
Tall, thin -- not thin, actually. Slim, perhaps; broad shoulders shrug off any
doubt about the decieving look of hollow slimness. Isz is, in fact, well
muscled... just not in the common sense; nay, his muscles are long, lean, and
toned from climbing instead of lifting objects. Deep-colored skin, typically
staying the color of fine scotch, well basted in healthy doses of Rukbat's
rays, bring out the highlighted dark hair, and unusually deep grey-green
eyes. Emeralds glitter in the background, whilest stormclouds rumble in the
fore of his occulars. Sand-colored streaks figure their way downwards in his
ebon-colored hair; down, literally, since his mane of thick darkness nearly
reaches mid-back, almost always wore back in a braid.
Black leather. Even in the heat of Igen, this young man will never really
discard black leathers - this time, the leather is paper-thin, and stretched
taut in the form of breeches and a sleeveless jerkin, showing off well-formed
muscles. But instead of boots, he wears.. uh.. wait. No shoes? How odd.
Isz appears to be in his late teens.
He is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Note
Isziyl just looked at you.
Olwyn swings her bucket slightly, trying her best to look innocent and cute.
"Oh just to collect them. Collecting's fun." Her eyes give a flicker of a
hint of wariness, but her smile stays firmly fixed in place, being replaced
by a more realistic and thankful look as the topic changes.
D'ney says, frankly, to Isz, "I don't do knives." She has on her stoic face,
lips crooked quizzically. "Tunnelsnakes are more work--bugs, why do you
bother with bugs?" Of all things, she has to like bugs.
Isziyl shifts, and glances towards D'ney, before gesturing towards the
direction that Kalaera exited towards. "/That's/ why." Yes, yes, he'll take
the high path. Cough. And then, he lets it drop, glancing towards Olwyn.
"I've never collected anything," he states. "I don't see the point."
Olwyn thinks quickly. "Bugs, because... well look at them." she holds the
bucket out as she searches for an actual reason that sounds convincing.
"They come in all different colours, and they have personalitites and they...
well, you can let them run around on the cots in the dorm and have races.
You have to have lots of them to have races."
D'ney looks fairly aghast. Her fingers exit her robes again and gesture at
the air. "/I/ never did those games back when I was in the dorms." She
frowns thoughtfully. "Never played with bugs much aside from throwing them
at people." The red-flecked thumbs retract, hook behind her back. "Got to
get back, though. You'd better get those bugs out of the way."
Isziyl goes home.
A smile plays for a moment on Olwyns lips at the mention of throwing the bugs
at people. Although her only comment before she moves off is, "Throwings
cruel, placing is much more fun."
D'ney trudges off, Nhaeth framing and trailing in the background.