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 Wednesday 24 December 2003 for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Adel.
A Talk Between Weyrwomen Past
Council Chambers
Smoothed stone, polished by the passage
of thousands of Turns, gleams in the light of the myriad glowbaskets strung
along the walls of the chamber. 'Tapestries' on all sides add vivid splashes of
color, while painted florils in blue and black accent the snow-white banner that
snakes its way between floor and domed 'ceiling'. Centered in the rocky hall is
the great council 'table' itself, surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs. If
one were to look carefully, they might find a wayward 'scroll' lying untended.
Various half-hidden stairwells lead up
to the weyrs above, and a warm tunnel runs west towards the nearby Hatching
Sands.
Balanced on tapestry-rods are seven
firelizards.
You see Voting Box here.
Nuff is here.
Obvious exits:
Sands Bowl
Nuff
Mother hubbard, mother hen: obnoxious
gold ringlets tumble down around this rosy-cheeked matron in a perfectly divine
halo of treacle and amber. If not truly angelic, at least she may look the
seraph's part from broody heather-violet eyes to bottled-sunlight smile; age is
resettling generous amounts of flesh about chest and hips, and chin, and thighs,
and toes, and ankles, and...
Simplicity refines the elegant purples
of Nuff's skirts and shirt with just a hint of Tiareth's bright gold: embroidery
along the cuffs, stiching at the hem, and a small row of sunlight dragons
running down her right sleeve. Cut cool and loose for the heat of the Sands, the
fabric still conceals much of the Nuff. Three firelizards are crowded on her
shoulders.
She is an older adult of about 54. She
is awake, but seems rather distracted.
Nuff sits without presents. She sits without boxes. She sits without treasures and knitting and.. erm.. Lox's. She sits at the table, her hands folded tight, and watches the door off there to the right. She sits and she watches. She knows who is near. She waits and she wonders, showing no fear. Somewhere above, Tiareth looms large and comforting. >> She comes. << And then, though stating the obvious. >> She is there. << Nuff pushes herself to her feet, "Adel."
Adel
Dark curls form a tousled halo around
plain features of no particular ethnicity: broad cheekbones strengthen an
otherwise narrow face, and her black, black eyes seem oddly inscrutable against
her too-pale complexion. She's tall, but aside from that her build's fairly
average, and if her face seems somewhat gaunt, it looks more like lack of sleep
than anything else.
Soft, grey fur trims the hood and cuffs
of her black wherhide parka. Underneath, chunky woollens hide her curves in
'Reaches blue, while the sturdy leather of her black trousers looks to be cut
more for comfort than high fashion, and her scuffed boots look in need of a good
polishing.
Heavy cords of black and 'Reaches blue
form an intricate knot that marks her as the Senior Weyrwoman of High Reaches,
while a finer strand of topaz gold marks her -- more importantly -- as
Ulrinath's.
She is an adult of about 34. She is
awake and looks alert.
Soft boots with hard heels go click-click-click as Adel approaches: syncopation for the irritability that pinches her lips tight and crackles static from every flyaway curl. "Nuff," she returns as she enters the room, though she pauses for a moment as her gaze flicks over the goldrider, caught -- again -- by the changes that time has wrought in everybody but her.
Older. Fatter. With much more wrinkles and a comfortable touch of apatethic authority, there is still some of the giggling insanity that was Nuff somewhere inside this old Weyrwoman. Her heather-purple'd blue-blue eyes flash as she grins at the Past. "I was warned I might need witnesses, but I think we should be able to hold a civilized conversation... How are you and yours coping?" She's already given her sympathies for that which was Lost, but the compassion is still there, somewhere.
Adel's obsidian eyes soften slightly as the jut of her jaw edges down a tetch. She's been butting heads so much over the last few (of her) days that the prospect of a civilised conversation takes her a little by surprise. Still, her tone is guarded. "We're coping. Just. It's a little difficult when we're reduced to borrowing clothes from strangers and crowding in two and three to a weyr." Sarcasm lends an edge of screechiness to her voice, though she quickly raises a forestalling hand and breathes deep. "Sorry." She runs a hand through her hair. "I know it's not your fault."
"Come. Sit." Nuff even removed the obiquitous purple pillows that are often scattered on chairs about the room. "If I can help, Adel. I will. But", and now its Nuff's turn to soften, though if she softens much more she'll be 'goo', "As you can see, I've worn more years than you've lost." Afterall, Nuff herself spent more than a dozen turns 'tween time, herself. "My time is almost done, though Tiareth sill flies true. If it would help to take the blame, I would, but we must all see how best to make our way through." Again, "Come. Sit."
Adel sits, smile growing wry as her eyes flick again to Nuff's face. "Sorry," she apologises again. "I don't mean to stare. It's just strange to see you so... different. And here -- it's a far cry from Ista." She withdraws a thong-wrapped roll of hide and places it in front of Nuff. "Requisitions," she explains. "Each of the Cloudburst riders has made a list -- I don't expect it all; not straight away," she amends. "But we're all feeling a little stung by the hand-me-downs. I'd be grateful if each of the riders could have something off their list today or tomorrow."
Nuff pulls the hide closer without unrolling it. "It will be done", she says, knowing it can be. It has to be. "As best we can, given the current travel restrictions. But High Reaches is not, by any means, destitue or distressed. The region knows it duty, pays it tithe." She knows, this, of course, it has to be, but the 'Reaches also aren't as they were. Less rules, less restrictions, more weyrfolk, more freedom? Traditions that have changed and adapted, even in a few dozen turns. As to the rest... "High Reaches needed a Weyrwoman, after.. Well... the Weyr needed a Weyrwoman. I needed a Weyr. Tiareth flew high and hard and we have clutched many a successful dragon over the turns. I think the 'Reaches could have done worse." Granted it could also have done better. Much better.
Adel puffs out a breath. "I know. The 'Reaches was lucky to have you -- and is probably lucky to have this Pyrene as well. It's just..." she gestures sharply. "Two days. That's all. Two days, and everything turns into such a mess." One partially of her own making, granted, but she's feeling sorry for herself. She turns toward the older goldrider and meets her gaze straight. "What really worries me is that we Weren't. We Aren't. We seem to have completely disappeared from your records, and if we do go back, we don't turn up here again. And I don't know what that means. Do we change this history to one of our own making, or do we have to try to fit R'meld's..." she pauses, that statement tasting too bitter for truth before admitting, "OK, *our* foolishness, into whatever bits and pieces haven't already been written Somewhere or when." She runs her hand through her hair again. "To be honest, it's giving me a rotten headache just trying to take in all of the possibilities."
Nuff tries to follow all of that, but ends up nodding and grinning with a sort of aimless, brainless encouragement. No, not brainless, but... "I don't know what it means, Adel. I'm thought on it, myself. But all I know is I don't know how it works. Or why it works. Or if it worked, or if it will work, whatever is decided. All I know is that, right now, you exist. We exist. Thread will fall again, soon enough. All we can do is fight as we were meant to fight, and then see where we are, at the end of it. Obviously High Reaches is still here, in our Now. We fight. We Fly. We protect what is ours, as they help to protect us. In the end isn't that what matters? Wherever you are? Whenever you are?" See, Nuff's not /all/ giggles and cookies. That's just a nice facade.
"In some ways, maybe it should be," Adel agrees, "but I know I'm more than that -- I expect we all are. The dragons don't seem to mind much, aside from Ulrinath, but I had family. Friends. We all did. Do we just kiss all that goodbye?" Her tone has that high, hard edge of stress to it and her gaze is a little too bright. "For the sake of some foolish..." she struggles to find a suitably insulting word. "...*prank* gone wrong?"
Nuff winces, for R'meld's sake. "Not a prank Adel. Never that. To do something brave, even brave and foolish, is no easy thing." Granted it was a pretty Stupid thing to do, too, but Nuff doesn't say that right now. "As we, now, have friends and family, lives and work, responsibilities and honors. Whose to say whose threads have more value? Whose lives? Whose futures? I am not wise enough to know, or even to guess. Pyrene? She is young, and wise, in her way. Full of promise and opinions and determination, even when she does not know where she is going. But... " Nuff shrugs, knowing nothing else to say.
Adel makes a low, exasperated noise. There's nothing she can say either: nothing she can agree with, and nothing she can outright disagree with. But there's little enough solace in the words, and the only comment she can voice is, "Foolish. You're right there." Tension lifts her out of her seat, limbs jerky with suppressed emotion. "I... Thanks," she offers with some awkwardness, trying to leech the stiffness from her voice. "I know this impacts on all of us, and I'm sorry to make things difficult for you." She offers an apologetic, if somewhat tight smile. "You'll see to the list anyway?"
Nuff stands, too, though her energy is softer, older, and she creaks as she stands. Perhaps it was the chair. "Aye, Adel. I'll see to your list and try and find at least something for everyone. We know this must be a strange time for you. Far stranger than it is for we for whom it is the way our life should be." Soft, like a sponge, Nuff leaves little to hold on to. "Rest well... "
Ulrinath senses Tiareth lingers, too, a soft glow of light in the darkness; mist and fruit sleeping felines.
Ulrinath thinks to you, << I bespoke Tiareth with: Ulrinath watches that glow. Lets it reflect from cat-eyes just a little too green for contentment. And then, a mental blink, as if in acknowledgement of something soft and warm and good, before she returns to her sleeping. >>
