The Dragonriders of PernŽ is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Monday, August 23rd, 1999, for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.
On Keeping Things Warm
Living Caverns
R'sli
Before you stands a remarkable young man, shrewd and easy-going as a result of his tinker
birth. Coal-black hair brushes the very top of his violet eyes, retreating into a tight
trim 'round the sides and back. A pair of silver-framed spectacles with small, round
lenses perch on his nose, making that violet gaze a bit more intense. Not the biggest
rider in the Weyr, his 5'7 frame is tightly packed with ropy muscles. As he catches your
gaze, he offers a lopsided grin, leaving the urge to count your teeth to be sure he hasn't
charmed any away. Oh yeah. He's one to watch out for, all right.
Sunkissed lavendar writhes across R'sli's form, lean contours shaped and wrestled down,
flaring into brilliant sunset of melodious violet; light hues dim, limning the edge of
frayed leather cuffs before losing itself around tightness of his rider's leathers that
cover his frame. Few stray threads of black and blue -- High Reaches -- weave themselves
in, picked stitchery keeping attire together. Sheathing boots of mundane black climb up
his legs, legs of trousers sliding to cover those into obscurity. Cut to be noticed, lines
are stylized to highlight his sturdy build in a sleek exterior. Coiled around R'sli's neck
is Stanzi. Perched on R'sli's shoulder is Felvis.
On his shoulder, double cords of blue and black twist with silver thread and green ribbon
to form the double loop and tassle of an Assistant Weyrlingmaster's knot. The knot itself
is worn-looking and has obviously been repaired recently.
He is awake and looks alert.
R'sli is 21 Turns, 9 months, and 8 days old.
Pyrene glances up from the chair that she appears to be camping out in. Blanket, drink and
cookies are all assembled around the nanny. Somebody's decided to stay up late by the
fire, "Evening Ris," she offers, desperately trying to remember if Zaqith's
flown yet or not.
R'sli sails in, humming lightly, and carrying an armful of books. "Oh, hello,
Pyrene," he says as he heads for the food tables. "You seem a little light on
charges," he notices merrily. "What's wrong? You tie them up or something?"
Pyrene visibly relaxes. Cheerful greenriders are alright. "I write up the duty
rosters you know," she comments with a wink, "It turns out that I'm off duty
tonight and tomorrow morning. Lucky break, huh? Besides, I'd /hope/ they'd all be asleep
now. You've got some bedtime reading yourself?" She nods to the books.
"What? These?" R'sli glances down at the pile of books. "Just working on
some minor revisions to some lesson plans. Fixing things that didn't pan out so
smoothly." He grins stupidly. "I've gotten behind, somehow." Balancing a
cup of klah on top of his armload, he maneuvers toward the fire himself. "No one
delivered any dry wood to my Weyr," he notes with a tinge of disappointment. "My
place is a cold storage."
Pyrene sighs and shakes her head. "You /could/ always get your own dry wood you
know." Never mind that the nurseries go cold if the drudges forget to drop off fuel
for the fire. Pyrene's not a got a dragon to do heavy work for her. Unfortunately, though
numerous, the brats aren't great for hard labour. "Well, since that last
/horde/," she grimaces faintly in remembrance of the numbers, "have graduated,
you should have more time and less pressure on lessons, no? If you need any punishment
ideas, feel free to ask me." She enjoys thinking up punishments.
R'sli laughs at that, a rich warm sound that he hasn't used in a while. "I have a
whole Weyrful of punishments," he grins. "Just ask Adora when you see her."
He closes one eye and thinks a moment. "I /do/ have more time," he agrees.
"Well, I should, anyway." His gaze softens a bit, and that smile plays about his
lips as he stares into space a moment. "But here I am, in the cold, cold night,
trying to catch up." Not that he's complaining...
Pyrene glances over at him, "Really? A whole weyr, maybe I should come to you when I
have an erring brat then." She's not really listening to herself, more curious as to
why he has that expression on his face. She knows gossip when she sees a hint of it.
Broaching it subtlely is one of her weaker points however... "It is cold," she
agrees carefully. "But then, there are several ways to keep warm..." An innocent
mind might think that she was referring to a blanket like the ones she's using. An
innocent mind might.
Adora moves quickly, head held high and a far-off look in her eyes, in from the Central
Bowl.
R'sli never said he wasn't proddy. A slow flush creeps across his face, and his grin
broadens. "Oh, yeah," he says. "There are definitely /lots/ of ways to keep
warm." He stares into the fire, now, proddy blush full-on flaming.
Adora glides in, her eyes twinkling as she peers about, holding tightly to the bundle in
her arms. Spying R'sli and Pyrene, her eyes widening slightly as she catches the
greenrider's last comment. Hrm, well, Rwyth hasn't noticed anything, thanks Faranth.
"Warmth?" the brownrider says, breaking into their conversation with nary a bat
of her eyes. She's definately warm -- all bundled up in a huge fur-lined jacket. One might
think she was keeping something warm besides herself.
Pyrene doesn't even bother to hide her delighted smirk since R'sli's paying attention to
the fire. She's still got what it takes! Of course she still has no idea what the gossip
/is/, but she now knows for certain it's there. Oh she is so clever, so very clever. She
breaks off from such self-exultation to grin at Adora, "Oh yes, R'sli and I were just
discussing ways of keeping warm in this weather..." she smiles sweetly. "What's
your favourite Ris? I mean currently?" She hasn't lost the art of keeping her
expression innocent either.
"On a blanket in the meadows," the greenrider murmurs absently, then catches
himself. "What? What did you say?" A violet gaze is cast toward the brownrider
with a lopsided grin. "Oh, hello Adora. When did you get here?" Seems our boy is
a bit...distracted for some reason.
Adora arches an eyebrow, and doesn't comment. Nopenopenope. She's still
innocent....mostly. "Lots of things to keep warm in this weather besides ourselves
and our dragons," she finally comments enigmatically. "A few minutes ago, you
seemed lost in thought," she replies back to her former AWLM, oblivious mostly to the
inneundo's flying about. She's got other things on her mind.
Pyrene chokes, spraying juice, before she catches herself wiping her lips and eyeing R'sli
with new respect. This one's /easy/. She should have worked on him long ago... It's almost
unfair in fact, so she turns to Adora instead. "Is that so?" she wonders slyly.
For somebody who spends all day around children, she's got an awfully single-tracked mind.
Of course, somebody who spends all day around the brats here, is lucky to have a mind of
any tracks at all.
Oh yes, indeed, there are lots of other things to keep warm besides yourself. One sienna
eyebrow arches slightly, as Adora's sharp bluegreen eyes gaze at the nanny.
"Aye," she answers, smirking a bit. Now, what /could/ be on /her/ mind?
R'sli has moved on to Adora as well. "What have you got there, Adora?" he asks,
motioning to to bundle she's coddling. Stanzi chrrs something from his shoulder, and fans
her wings irritably, earning her a shushing from the greenrider. "Leave off,
you," he mutters.
Pyrene cocks her head and her eyes suddenly grow horrified. "But you haven't been
pregnant!" she cries, anxiously. She /knows/ that /that's/ against weyrling rules and
Adora's only just graduated. Both Poldhu and Ky perk up at the frantic images of babies,
humming happily and earning glares from the nanny.
"Of course not!" the brownrider says, giggling for all she's worth. "At
least, /I've/ not been pregnant!" The humming is quite apprepriate, however, as Adora
pulls a small egg out from the bundle. All those furs for this little egg. Well, they /do/
need to stay warm....
Adora gently sets down the Colorado Homestead Egg.
Colorado Homestead Egg
Smoky yellow and orange streak brightly over the surface of this egg, like a cheerful fire
burning in the hearth of a snug country home. Two odd shapes stand out amid the cozy
colors. The larger of the two is roughly rectangular in shape, resembling a house with a
pitched roof. The other shape, smaller and more square, could easily be taken for the
horse barn so common in westerns. The egg is very hard, and may hatch any time now.
Pyrene sighs in relief and starts breathing again. "Oh, well, there's plenty of
lizards around anyway." She then looks suspicious again, "Why's it so close to
me? You /do/ realise it's hatching?" Definitely hatching in fact, jumping and rocking
and cracking...
Adora giggles. "Oh, is it?" Hatching, she means. She seems quite unconcerned
about it, really, seeing how very protective of it she was only a few minutes ago...
Colorado Homestead Egg creaks and cracks, lines spiraling out over the shell. Wider and
longer grow the cracks, until finally a tiny beak breaks through, the whirling eyes of the
egg's occupant already peering about for someone to nurture and defend.
Helpful Unbiased Michaela Quinn Gold Hatchling
Muted amber caresses headknobs, flowing down neckridges and trailing to her wingspars.
Proud and lithe, this queen holds her head high, a born defender of the oppressed. Pale
sunlight streaks her throat and underbelly, deepening to nearly rust along the outer edges
of her wings. A rainbow of hues melt together on her sturdy 'sails, a multicultural
harmony of which the buttermilk gold is merely a part of the whole. Bubbling apple cider
laces her tail from its tip to the middle of her back, pouring in shimmering waves down
her haunches and ending in talons of filigreed moonlight.
Helpful Unbiased Michaela Quinn Gold Hatchling stands, wobbling from foot to foot, her
wings still limp and wet with egg goo. Yet nothing stops her from finding the one who
needs her, the one who needs taking care of. She turns toward Pyrene, her head tilted in
contemplation before she decides. /This/ is the one who needs her.
Helpful Unbiased Michaela Quinn Gold Hatchling looks at you with whirling eyes. You have
Impressed her.
Pyrene watches egg shatter and blinks helplessly back at the gold. "But I haven't got
any food.." she says weakly, stretching one hand out to stroke the hatchling. It's
true she ate all the cookies. Fortunately Ky and Pol like hatchings and helpfully deposit
scraps beside her.
Adora laughs, beckoning over a kidlet (who really oughtent be out of bed this hour of the
night) who has some meat. "She's pretty," the brownie comments, grinning, her
eyes still twinkling. See...her mind wasnt in the gutter...she really was keeping
something else warm.
Pyrene feeds the hungry mite, not having all that much choice in the matter. "She's
gold..." she adds, slightly reproving. Exactly why this is Adora's fault (or why it's
a fault) she doesn't say, "Where'd the egg come from?"
Merely blinking her eyes, Adora smirks softly at Pyrene. "A friend." Ozma being
too young yet to have a clutch of her own, of course. "Didn;t know what color it was
gonna be," -- although she had a sneaking suspicion -- "Nor when it was gonna
hatch" -- though she had a guess about that, too. So see, it's not her fault at all -
she didn't know nothing about nothing.
Pyrene gathers the little one into her lap, all the better to stuff it's throat while she
beams soppily down on it. Make the most of the expression, you'll never see it turned on a
brat. "She's beautiful..." declares the one in the rosy afterglow of Impression
before the pre-dawn 'feed me' cries start. Very little attention is paid to anyone else in
the room now, gossip or no gossip.
