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 Thursday, July 6th 2000 for
the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.
Treneere Invades the Reaches
Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Tucked into a glowlit niche are Pollina, Tiramisu, Dogma, Sun, Litza, Tristano, Nimble, Leimur, Kelpie, Searcher, Maksim, Tirone, Aisling, Verlege, Zalia, Kyrus, Maxwell, Tremayne, Smirk, Titania, Ozu-Zarkh, Laguna, Vincent, Quenn, Pixy, Donnan, Phin, Gyo, Kyp, Miki, Antietam, Smoke, Faboook, Pannimo, Nallah, Xander, Akin, Seafoam, and Watersplash.
You see Old Auntie sit-by-the-fire, Brat, Missy, Saphron, sketch, Dustina, Pillowy Thing, Azlan, Cait, Sith, Mog, Stormy, and Fantastic Triple Layer Bubbly Surprise here.
Daeyn is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchens Inner Caverns Crafting Area
Lis ambles aimlessly in from the Central Bowl.
Pyrene perches twitchily at a table sipping redfruit juice with determined slowness. She can do this. It's only been ten minutes... she can go for another twenty at least without touching Cadge's hide.
Gideon saunters in, wide grin on his face.
Gideon
Gideon appears at first glance to be quite calm and collected, though a mischievous gleam seems to tint his baby blue eyes from time to time. He shows signs of growing into what is now a somewhat lanky build, standing at 5' 11'', but many Turns of hard work have helped his shoulders to fill out considerably, along with his arms and hands. His legs however are still the wiry limbs of his youth, which he'll probably never lose. His sandy blond hair is kept quite clean but seems to have been forgotten lately, small tufts beginning to grow past his ears, managing to look a bit tousled at times. The calmness of his eyes makes up for that, however, clear and blue as the summer sky over High Reaches.
Gideon wears a light gray, short-sleeved shirt. A light, somewhat faded, dark brown wherhide vest covers that. He is also wearing rather heavy black pants that are tucked into black, mid-calf, wherhide boots. He wears a thick, black, wherhide belt around his waist. A small dark wherhide bag hangs from his left hip. Gideon's rucksack seems to hang quite comfortably from Gideon's shoulder. Watching from Gideon's shoulder is bronze Rei.
Gideon's single twisted red and white shoulder loop shows that he is a Smith Apprentice.
He is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Gideon's rucksack Rei
Gideon's Smith Shoulder Loop
Gideon is 18 Turns, 3 months, and 3 days old.
Poor Pyrene... But Lis, being the usual vapid greenrider she is, doesn't notice anything amiss with the weyr's newest goldrider. "'Lo Pyrene, Daeyn!" she calls chipperly, waving to both and even giving Gideon a finger wiggle.
Daeyn is faring somewhat better, really. "Good day, Lis ... Pyrene," she murmurs, with a second nod for Gideon as she makes her way over to the juice. "Goes it well with both of you?"
Pyrene waves to Lis and recrosses her legs. Again. The gold's sleeping outside, she's not needed. Really... "Morning, Lis, Daeyn... Gideon?!" That last gets a blink. "Gid! What're you doing back??"
Gideon lets out a laugh. "So you do remember me!" he exclaims to Pyrene as he draws nearer the group.
"Gideon!" It finally sinks in as Lis puts a name to the face, edging closer to the weyrling and mysterious person from the past group. The obigatory creampuff is scooped up en route, and nearly half-gone by the time she reaches Pyrene's table. "It goes well enough," is her chirped answer to Daeyn.
Pyrene snorts lightly. "Anybody who distracts brats with stories gets remembered." And if he can distract her from the prolonged absence (15 minutes now and counting!) from her dragon's side, all the better. "Pass me a cream puff or cookie someone?" she asks, Lis' appetite stirring her own.
Daeyn regards Gideon with an arched brow. "It seems you have quite a reputation proceeding you," she notes mildly. "Good ... glad to hear it," she adds, idly snatching a meatroll and nibbling along the edges.
Anyone who spends time in Reaches acquires something of a reputation. Usually for insanity.
Gideon chuckles lightly, nodding while he takes a handfull of meatrolls and creampuffs both. "Aye, you do have a point there," he replies with a wink, "though if I recall, it probably wasn't the best bedtime story ever thought up." He stuffs a creampuff in his mouth, quickly followed by... a
meatroll. Eesh.
Pyrene grins and jerks her head to Lis. "Well, /she/ started it." Gideon's appetite is also eyed. "Thank Faranth I know /you/ can't be pregnant..." she mutters, never mind her own puff-nibbling,
"Shells, Pyrene, doesn't D'renn let you eat anything?" Lis complains as she passes a plate of said rolls and puffs over towards the goldriding 'ling. Nose wrinkles in obvious digust as she watches Gideon push both into his mouth - sacrelige! Pyrene gets glared at for her obvious comment, tongue stuck out shamelessly.
Gideon blinks, frowning as he looks from one rider to the next. "Who's preggers?" he asks, mischief in his eyes as he stuffs yet another meatroll in his mouth.
Pyrene shrugs, twitching again. "It's something to do," she points out to Lis. "So are you back for good Gideon? What're you doing nowadays anyway? I lost touch." Pyrene's good at that. It's been how long since she visited her family? "Lis was," she fills in for Gideon, wincing before adding (with a certain amount of disgusted relish) "by
D'renn."
Treneere walks in from the Central Bowl.
Treneere
An intense girl's fire trumps the double-edged sword of her features, keeping wide mouth and bright, vivid eyes (only brown, alas, but it'll do) perpetually open to casual glance. Certainly, her voice rings stridently enough at times, but then there's a quieter side that expresses itself in those furrowed, bushy 'brows and up-tilted nose...would anything but such a side find her cultivating that snub-nosed squint at such times? Outward tallness belies that she has only barely a meter on her, while an impressive crop of dark brown hair ripples almost--almost!--to her back. Hopefully that skinny-skinny boniness and rakish lack of even baby's fat isn't an unforgivable contradiction of that bright-eyed vitality.
Dust! Trader-trail dust! It wisps a pixie-dust coating on her vivid skirt--knee-length purple-orange plaid--and frilly, be-ribboned--lime-green with black polka dots!--tunic, short sleeves and all. Hair is limp and bedraggled, but done up in a nicely-smudgy white bow.
She is awake and looks alert.
Treneere is 7 Turns, 4 months, and 15 days old.
Gideon turns slowly, mischief relplaced by shock. "D'renn?!" he almost squeeks. Yes, squeeks. Finally regaining what little composure he has left, he gives himself a shake. "Um, I mean... good for you, Lis." Such manners these Smiths teach him.
Once again, Pyrene elicits another sticking out of her tongue from Lis. "And the baby is /adorable/. Don't listen to that frowsy little wherry." Humph. Gideon is glared at for his 'squeek', at the greenrider purses her lips before sending a relatively benign gaze a the entering Treneere.
Daeyn lifts an idle hand to the arrival as she sinks into a chair. "He really is," she says softly, agreeing with Lis on that point.
"Yah, yah. Go away." Treneere shakes away the matronly arm of a rather weary-looking trader woman and manages to look petulant enough to send said woman huffing back to her runnerbeasts and hairy trader-men outside. In other words, the seven-turn-old is In The Weyr.
Pyrene sends a less benign gaze seeing as Treneere is under 16. Well under too. Lis gets an extremely benign kick aimed at her under the table, and Gideon a wry grin before she refocusses on Treneere. "If somebody's dumping another brat on us..." she mutters. Old habits die hard.
Gideon manages to look somewhat abashed. "I didn't mean that way Lis, honest," he replies, glancing to Pyrene and Daeyn, then back to Lis. "It's just quite a shock, that's all." He seems to slump a bit farther into his chair, then grins at Pyrene. "They just like to make you feel needed," he tells her with a wink.
It's Lis' turn to squeak now, and she does, as Pyrene's foot comes in contact with her shin. "You!" she snaps at the ex-nanny, mollified into silent seething by Daeyn's compliment and Gideon's 'reassurance'. Treneere is glared at for no reason in particular, other than the greenrider's souring mood.
Treneere didn't hear that, no, but the ripple in the air-waves sends some vibes her way, and the little girl trundles over towards the table. Short-like. Head tilts upupup at all the people. "You!" She points an accusing finger at Pyrene.
Pyrene perks up at Gideon's words. "You didn't hear?" she asks, grinning brightly. "I don't have to worry about that any more!" And parents throughout the weyr may rejoice! This doesn't seem to have stopped brats accosting her as Treneere proves. "What?" she asks, glaring at the child. Get in the intimidation tactic early.
Gideon chuckles softly. "Well, at any rate, it's good to see you haven't lost your touch, 'Rene," he comments, then leans back in his chair. "Anyway, I'm going to be here for 'bout a month. Smiths gave me a holiday for once," he adds.
"/You/," repeats Trenny, digging through her vocabulary...or whatever...as she stares at Pyrene. Can we say stiff neck? The others are deemed relatively unimportant at this moment. "Rene. You're not shiny enough. And aren't you supposed to be prettier?" She sounds vaguely disappointed as she looks at Pyrene.
Daeyn blinks a little in surprise at the child's question, a soft chuckle escaping her. "And thus the experts speak?" she murmurs drolly, leaning on one elbow as she sips her juice.
Lis hides a snicker behind one hand - and not very well - as she drops into a seat near the goldrider, having to resort to biting on her lip and moving the hand down to rub her sore shin. That's going to leave a bruise, you know...
Pyrene chokes at Trenny and throws a glare to Daeyn. Still, it's better than the comments people have been making about Cadge. "I'm /sorry/??" she asks, eyes narrowing at the little girl. "Did you want something?" A dip in the lake sounds good right now.
Treneere pouts. "You'd better be more int...int..inter...er---less dull if you know what's good for you." She glances around, though, and eyes seem to like what they see. "Sis."
"You should let her meet Cadgwith, Pyrene," Lis suggests in a sweet, helpfull tone of voice that really isn't much of either at all. "She's certainly... interesting." The pink-leathered greenrider hides a veiled insult behind a hastily-appropriated creampuff.
Pyrene blinks a little more and finally swallows, hard. "Sis? What? Who are you and what are you doing here?" Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Lis gets one of her best glares, "Want another bruise?" she hisses darkly.
Treneere beams over at Lis. "Cad...Cad...your dragon. Can I see her?" Eyes point fixedly at Pyrene. The need for answering questions has been glossed over in light of this interest.
Lis makes a prissy, smug sort of face back at Pyrene as she quips, "Not particularly." The way she's going, she deserves a slap at least. "How could you /miss/ that thing?" is asked incredulously of Treneere, a faceitious grin turned up at said dragon's rider. She suffers at the hands of her lifemate, /everyone/ suffers at the hands of their lifemates.
Pyrene stares and is firm, implacable (twitching again at the mention of Cadge, but otherwise poised and... never mind). "Not until you tell me which one you are, and what you're doing /here/?" she decrees for Treneere's benefit, sending another kick Lis-wards. She did warn her.
Pyrene
Slight and spindly, from skimpy legs to the pointed chin, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Lank tendrils of dark brown hair plague a pert-nosed, thin-lipped face as they escape the limp plait that struggles to keep them under control, only serving to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from underneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
Weyrlinghood demands it, so Pyrene must wear it, but no matter how exhausted and distracted she may be, she still looks uncomfortable in the requisite blue tunic: wrinkles bear witness to where she's plucked at it and ever-new smears eagerly pollute the blue where she's wiped her hands today. The short black trous are more willingly worn and show less abuse from their current owner. No amount of care can keep the boots pristine though... they carry the muck and scars that are the hallmarks of day-to-day weyrling life. Poldhu is playing with Pyrene's knot. Keeping watch from Pyrene's shoulder is Gunwalloe.
The knot of candidate white is replaced with a single weyrling loop of blue and black along with a discoloured gold ribbon to entice a certain pesky fire lizard.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Poldhu Gunwalloe
Pyrene is 20 Turns, 10 months, and 26 days old.
"I'm /Trenny/, Rene." Treneere scowls in impatience up at her sister. "You're not smart at all. What kind of weyrwoman are you?" More of that vague disappointment.
Gideon *sighs. Shoot. I'll be back in a bit.
Gideon steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.
In spite of yet another sharp kick delivered to her precious shins, Lis splutters at Treneere's latest comment, trying to hide it by ducking her head... but no such luck.
Pyrene is already sitting which is probably just as well. "Trenny? You can't... it's not been..." She pauses to eye the pair of blues on her shoulders as if in quick conference. "Oh, /shells/! How old are you now?" She glances abashedly to Lis and Daeyn, muttering "Ignore her. Please..."
Daeyn chuckles softly. "Oh, given no thought at all, I assure you," she murmurs, eyes sparkling with more than a hint of mischief."
Treneere's sickly-sweet, self-satisfied grin stretches from ear to ear. She clasps the last two fingers on one hand down, and otherwise stretches out both hands. "That's seven, by the way," she informs in an attempt at a patronizing tone.
Pyrene can count. "Eight," she replies. "Now what the sh--in faranth's name are you doing here? Do Mum and Dad know? Nobody told /mee/!" Whine. Another glance is flashed to Lis and Daeyn, meant to convey that Trenny'll be on the next dragon back home.
Lis recovers her composure after some discreet throat-clearing, peering over at Treneere with a motherly smile. See? She's not all fangs... "So, you're Pyrene's sister?" is asked with her usual chirpy inflection, head cocking to one side as she does.
"Course not!" Trenny snorts, and pulls back her hands. "They wouldn't have let me, silly. Probably worried by now...Kernow's prolly been searched a gazillion times! Wouldn't /that/ be interesting." Gleeful little giggle. "And," she adds with an air of finality, "I'm here to stay. /You/ need some polishing, sis."
Daeyn rolls a shoulder in an oblique shrug. "Welcome to High Reaches, Treneere, then," is her quiet contribution to this. After all, she doesn't have to deal with the situation ... does she?
Pyrene twitches. "Well, you can't stay here," she declares firmly. "You're going right back to Kernow hold. Lis will take you." Lis will forgive all those kicks and do Pyrene a favour, right? Please?
Treneere stomps her foot. "No. I'm staying. Forever." Gleam.
"Oh, will I?" This is asked dryly of Pyrene by a rather miffed-looking greenrider by the name of Lis. "I think sending a note be firelizard is all you really need..." Never kick the leg of the rider that could fly your sister back home. Or something like that.
Pyrene stands and glares magnificently down at Treneere. "You can't just turn up at a place and say you're staying, you know!" Ahem. No comment on Pyrene's methods. the glare is broken off for Lis' benefit. "what's the note supposed to say? 'Oh, by the way, if you've noticed there's a Trenny missing, she's come to live with your prodigal daughter'??" Somebody help her out here?
Lis leans forward with ingratiating clamness, flicking a piece of lint from the leg of her leathers. "If you want someone to help you out, Pyrene, kicking them in the leg - twice! - isn't the best idea," she points out sullenly, pouting down at another lint pill on her leathers. Humph.
Treneere stares pathetically up at Pyrene--short-for-age younger, versus tall-for-anything older--and squares her skinny shoulders. "You did. The whole family knows. And there are some great stories about you told 'round the fire some nights. Too bad you don't deserve them." Glower. "So I *need* to stay. Fix you up a bit. Can I see Cad...Cad...your queen?"
Rauve skirts the section of the caverns containing the pouting greenrider, the weyrling, and the brat, redirecting his path of motion toward the /other/ side of the room. There he curls into a chair, lank body completely twisted to fit the angles of the chair. Ow. Bangs are flattened with one palm, shoulders shifting laterally against the back of his chair.
"I didn't know I needed your help then!" Pyrene mutters back. "Besides, you owe me. For giving up the head nanny knot, you know. /That/ was your fault." It's kind of logical? Trenny's next tack makes her grimace. "Oh, alright. You can stay until I can drop a note to Mum..." considering the regularity of Pyrene's correspondence, that's as good as permanent then. "But you /can't/ see Cadge. She's asleep and I don't want you disturbing her. C'mon, I'll take you to the brat-caves... Tya can take over." At least somebody else can share Pyrene's misfortunes.
Treneere settles for this deal for the moment. She'll begin her life's work in the morning.
Treneere steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.
Lis doesn't hesitate to point out with an indignant upward tilt of her head: "It was Thesy's!" Rauve recieves a long, foul-tempered stare from the greenrider as a certain adventure with Caoileann comes to mind at the sight of him - but since she hasn't heard any incriminating gossip, the boy isn't given the worst of her looks.
