Ilare - Thursday, January 11, 2001, 14:05 PM -------------------------------------------- Ilare A bright smile filled with warmth shines out from creamy-tan skin, framed by red-gold curls that fall in waves to the middle of her back. Locks once always in total disarray, obscuring amber eyes light enough to be considered golden, have finally become tame and controllable. Tanned skin is clean with a row of freckles scattered across her nose and cheekbones, the final hints of childhood pudginess fading to the faintest hint. Not willowy, she'll never be that, but strongly built and sturdy, as agile on her feet as a dragon midair. Having reached 5'6, she gives the impression of being taller through sheer smiliness and an insatiable friendliness. Alert and cheerful, her eyes seem to sparkle more since her Impression of Chanticoth, glowing almost bright gold when they're together. Deep royal blue, crisp and bright, colours the silken fabric of Ilare's shirt. Darkest midnight buttons hold the practical fabric in place at the neckline, with long sleeves tapering to small wrists, ending in a cuff that keeps them safely out of the way when working with her life mate or allows them to be shoved up to her elbows when the work becomes messy. The hemline is tucked neatly into trousers made of sturdy strong wher-hide, hued to darkest black of a midnight starless sky. A belt of matching black is fastened 'round her waist, while knee high black boots, lined with soft down, fit her feet comfortably, barely noticeable as their black fades into the rest of the ensemble. Nestled in Ilare's hair like a crown is Kairo. Curled snuggly about Ilare's neck is Jolinar. Perched on Ilare's shoulder is Sethe. A double twisted cord, one strand the shade of royalty's blue and the other blackest midnight, have been braided as one and coiled into a single loop. A ribbon the color of butter brandy, chestnuts roasting on a fire and deepest, richest brown, is bright in contrast - the colour of her lifemate, Chanticoth. She is awake and looks alert. You notice Ilare looking at you. Ilare is 18 Turns, 9 months, and 11 days old. ====================================================================== 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. Scattered about in various perches and niches are twenty-four firelizards. You see Old Auntie sit-by-the-fire, OOC NOTICE (look sign), Boots, Hobbes, Generic Sign-Up Sheet, and Kageri here. Tyara strides with feminine grace in from the Central Bowl. Ilare is still wrapped in P'rru's blanket, scolding the fire lizards currently yanking her braid this way and that. "Ow! Sethe, enough!" Shooing them all, with instructions to find perches elsewhere - "That goes for you, too, Kairo!" she snaps at the little bronze - Ilare turns and blinks to find herself not alone in the caverns anymore. "Oh, g'morning, Tyara." "G'morn, Ilare," Tyara greets back cooly, striding into the living caverns on pursue of hot klah. Ah, there it is, by the hearth, of course. "Busy? Or do you just enjoy being up at this hour?" the nanny enquires in a semi-friendly voice, wincing as she grabs the klah pitcher and instead pours redfruit juice into a glass. Ilare motions to the large jug settled on the table next to her. "Some fresh stuff here," she comments idly, taking her seat again. "And I have been - busy, that is. Weyrlinghood is.. getting more busy, even though it seems I've less to do." Not as much oiling, feeding and such, to be sure. But more flying, more sack tossing.. "And I'm taking a break from the barracks while my dragon sleeps - and the dragonets from Cadgwith's clutch drag their chosen from their sleep." Snicker. Absently tugging on her braid, she tilts her head a little. "How are you?" "Ha! I'll bet D'renn's happy he, ah, retired before that weyrlingclass came up." Tyara's expression is part resentful, part triumphant as she slides into a chair near Ilare. "Thanks, but I don't feel like klah this morning. I've been feeling a little besides myself lately... shardin' brats grow wilder and wilder by every day, it seems," the nanny complaints, brows furrowed by a small frown. "So, your dragon sleeps, eh? Which one's yours again? Brown, right?" Ilare gives a nod, "Chanticoth. And yes, he's brown." A sympathetic look is given about the 'brats - she remeembers driving the ista weyr nanny up the walls of the weyr too.. Best not say that aloud, neh? "He's been enjoying the chance to fly now; it's hard to stop him from over stretching himself, but.. Well.." She tugs her braid again, thoughtfully, almost sadly. "When we start flying together, this'll have to go.." And flying together is likely to start.. today. Meep. "Oh yes, I noticed you're flying already. Or well, them," Tyara corrects, grinning slightly. "The brats aren't to haul from the bowl when the dragons are up, flying." Of course, they just like to make fun of clumsy weyrlings, but she won't say that out loud. Hehe. "Ah, your hair. True, can't have it get in the way," nanny states mockingly, sipping from her glass. A sigh, and a nod of agreement answer the mocking tone of Tyara's voice. "Too true. It'll have to get cut.. short." Sigh. Her expression is bleak briefly, before she shakes her head. "I've never had to cut it before, not even as a bratling at Ista." And how short is it going to have to be anyway? Feeeear.. Ilare sits back, pondering her words.. "Hrm, never before? Then it's about time. Besides, it'll grow out faster when you cut it once in a while, you know," Tyara offers helpfully, green eyes watching Ilare over the rim of the glass in her hand. "'Least that's what I tell the girls who think it's the end of Pern to have their hair cut.... it's true, though," the nanny adds quickly, smirking a bit. Ilare raises an eyebrow, faintly amused by Tyara's words. "Well, I know that, but Chanticoth some times does not." Hers is a dragon that throws a fit and worries if she gets a paper cut, mind. "You've done the hair cutting thing before?" She adds finally, voice a little nervous. "I mean, I'd ask one of the 'staff, but they're so busy.." And there's no way she's letting her fellow weyrlings try trimming her hair short. "Cutting your hait won't hurt," Tyara snorts in a matter-of-factly voice. Silly girls with silly lifemates. Tsk. "Oh, many times. I'd be happy to do it on one who doesn't squirm and scream and howl and bite," she adds in a bemused voice, arms crossing over the chest. "If you're asking me to, that is..?" Her? Silly? Bah, fah. Not so! Not Ilare's fault she has a dragon who can be.. a little.. overprotective sometimes. "Um.. Well, if it won't be too much trouble? Could you? If it's interfering with your schedule, then it doesn't matter.. I'll find someone else to do it." Slightly flustered? Just a wee bit, methinks. "I don't have anything to do right now. The brats are all sleeping, and someone's doing the morning shift for me today," Tyara replies sugar-sweetly, tilting her head at Ilare. No escaping the evil annny and her scissors. Mwaha! "We should probably move into the baths, though. Easier to cut when it's wet, unless you want an uneven rim? No, I didn't think so. Go along then. I'll get my scissors and meet you there." Ilare hesitates - baths? Well, better to get wet in the warm than getting wet thanks to snow, neh? Giving a nod, trying to hide her nervousness behind her smile - one that doesn't reach her eyes, mind - Ilare follows after the Head Nanny, all the while wondering if she's made a mistake... Tyara steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr. Deeper, darker, narrower... passages kink and twist into the Weyr. Inner Caverns Ancient caverns unfold in an endless maze of tunnels and stairs, the Weyr's cavities a labyrinth to the uninitiated. Here, trimmed by the last of the stone cutters, arched walls and vaulted ceilings retain the soapy smoothness of well-worn stone, as do the endless tunnel floors kept clear and tidy. Shadows creep and flicker across these glowlit mountain walls, creatures of non-light wending their way east to the main caverns and bowl, or branching out in a web of caves to the Weyr's living spaces. Shadowed on stone-smooth ledge are Pix, Ivan, and Twanda. You see Delphin here. Tyara is here. Tyara slips down the steps, into the steam of the Weyr-baths. If nowhere else in the Reaches, the baths always promise to be warm... Baths Steam enshrouds, a misty curtain that veils the room. Pools abound, water constantly swirling, warm and inviting; soapsand waits on nearby ledges for easy access. Racks of clothes stand by the door, freshly washed clothing hang from some, and bundles of yet to be washed clothes fill multiple baskets beneath. Large cupboard doors open to reveal multitude of fresh, soft towels, and plenty of bathing items -- sponges, pumice stones, and back scrubbers. Ducking steamclouds are Parekis, Oceanus, and Takuki. You notice Amo asleep here. Tyara is here. "Alright, sit down," Tyara orders, nodding towards one of the benches, "after you get your hair wet. You can either just dip your head in it or get wet fully. I don't care." Ilare nods slowly, glancing from Tyara to the scissors to the baths back to the Nanny. She's going to enjoy this, isn't she? Giving a slow nod, Ilare quickly releases her braid, unplaiting the strands with care as she steps towards the water. Removing her jacket, she places it away from the water, snagging a towel from the side. Taking a breath, she dips her head into the water, letting the redbrown strands soak. Quickly, mind. Tyara just stands back and watches, a small smile playing around her lips. It quickly dissolves though as Ilare dips her head in teh water, and the nanny takes a step forward, just in case the 'ling tries to commit suicide or something in protest of having her hair cut. "When you're done, just place the towel around your shoulders. Don't dry the hair."# Ilare raises her head from the pool, gold orbs glancing back towards Tyara. "Yes, ma'am," she replies softly, before dunking her hair one last time for good measure. Once done, she rises, towel across her shoulders, and sopping wet mane flicked back. "Shall I sit there?" she nods to where Tyara had been standing before, no trace of nervousness in her voice. "Sure," Tyara nods, finding a few items from a pocket in her dress. A comb. and some vicious looking scissors. 'Least she cleaned off the bloodstains. Hehe, just kidding. Ilare takes her seat, shifting very very slightly, and certainly nervously. Fear...? Nah. Just a little chilly in here. All that snow outside.. Eyes glance at the scissors, before she closes her eyes, takes a breath and forces herself to relax. "Let me see now," Tyara mumbles, standing behind Ilare with a gauging look for the wet hair down the weyrling's shoulders. "You want it as long as possible, I take it?" the nanny asks, a snicker visible in her voice. Ilare gives a hint of a shrug; she's not wanting it completely shaved off, that is for certain. "Above my shoulders, certainly.." Considering it almost reaches the small of her back... "Well, certainly... the code's 'short-cropped', I believe," Tyara states wryly, grabbing a good handful of Ilare's hair. *swish*, *swish*, go the scissors, and there goes a puddle of locks onto the floor. "Now it's above your shoulders." To be more precise, a couple of inches below the ears. "I'll just have to trim it evenly now..." *Blink**BLINK* In but a moment, her hair has been hacked off. Well, certainly took less time than she'd thought. But all her hair.. Remaining still as Tyara works.. well, perhaps wonders is too strong a word - as Tyara weilds the scissors with practiced skill, Ilare's hands remain in her lap, to stop her from fidgiting. Tyara tilts her head and looks at the remains of Ilare's hair, using the comb to make it as straigh as possible. "Alright, sit still now so I don't hit your ears," the nanny instructs, carefully using the scissors to make the edge of the hair as even as possible. Ilare would nod, but she's just been told to stay still. So.. "Yes, Tyara.." Voice is soft, and the brownling freezes. Gotta stay still.. Gotta stay still.. "There! All done," Tyara proclaims, taking a step back to, eh, admire her work. Poor, poor short-haired ILare... the nanny almost feels pity with her. Almost. "It doesn't look too bad," she says encouragingly. "Suits you to get some of that hair away from your face." All of a sudden, Ilare has the strangest feeling she doesn't want to see any piece of metal in the area. Nothing polished that might give her a reflection at least. "It's done then?" It feels so.. strange.. Dark locks graze her cheek, and touch her shorter mane. "....." "It's done," Tyara nods. And it can't be undone... ahem. "Want the rest as a souvenir?" the nanny asks helpfully, bending down to scoop up the fallen locks. Ilare hesitates, looking dowwn at the pile on the floor. All that hair.. By Faranth.. "A lock will do.. Chanticoth asked if I would keep one for him." Her hand strays to her hair again. Having it sliced short now makes it feel.. So strange. Weight wise at least. "Fine, I'll throw the rest out, then. Or feed it to the brats," Tyara says dryly. She's kidding, really - they'd just end up barfing all over the place. "Pick a lock for Chanticoth." Ilare chuckles faintly at the joke - "They'd probably want to use it to make wigs for their dolls.." The weyrbrat girls would, that is. Who knows what male 'brats would do. "Thank you.." she adds, as she picks up a lock intermixed with the rich brown and brown-red colours of her hair. "This one will do, I think.." Tyara doesn't even want to think about what male brats would do with hair...... "Probably. Or they /would/ eat it, which'd be abd for their digestion," she notes with a snort, and nods at the lock. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it. And you're most welcome." Ilare makes a face. "Aye, that they would.." Tucking her hairtie in her pocket - not going to need THAT anymore, now will she? - Ilare reaches down for her jacket, pulling it on as she turns back to Tyara with a vague smile. "I'm sure Chanticoth will be pleased with this one.." Well, he's asleep, so it's more of an educated guess. "Let me know, huh?" Tyara asks, quirking an eyebrow at Ilare. "I'm curious to know what he'll think....." After all, a girls' best friend and critique is her dragon, right? At least in Chanticoth's case... hee hee. Ilare mock-wincing, Ilare can't help but chuckle. "He has opinions on many things - but he is very good at colour coordination." Just ask one of the weryling staff who took a straps class... "I see. Well, good there're some men with taste around here," Tyara snorts, sending Ilare a small smile. Ilare chuckles. "He's probably the only one," she replys, thinking of Catiminith's bright... umm.. straps. Yup. "He is, believe me. You'd be better off weyrmating a girl when that time comes," Tyara states sourly, gathering up Ilare's ex-hair and her own scissors. "Just stay away from Lis and you'll be fine." Ilare starts to laugh at that. "Trust me, should Chan ever dream of flying Lis' greenie, I will lock myself in my weyr." It that's possible to do. "Again, thanks.. I have to go, I can hear Chanticoth waking.." With a hint of a smile, and a nod, she moves towards the door. "Clever girl," Tyara grins, waving after Ilare. "Have a nice day. And Chanticoth, too." Ilare chuckles. "You too," she winks, before darting out the door. Time to find out what her lifemate thinks of her trim.. ======================================================================== Ilare's New Look: Ilare A bright smile filled with warmth shines out from creamy skin, golden tan faded thanks to snow and cold. Oval face is framed by red-gold curls, recently trimmed short so that the tips of her mane stroke her cheeks and chin gently. Now, only her fringe occasionally obscures amber eyes light enough to be golden, bangs twisting slightly like spirals. Faded freckles are scattered across her nose and cheekbones, the final hints of childhood pudginess fading to the faintest hint. Not willowy - she'll never be that - but strongly built and sturdy, Ilare is as agile on her feet as a dragon midair. Having reached 5'6, she gives the impression of being taller through sheer presence and an insatiable friendliness she extends outwards. Alert and cheerful, her eyes seem to sparkle more since her Impression of Chanticoth, glowing almost bright gold when they're together. Deep royal blue colours the silken cloth of Ilare's shirt. Darkest midnight buttons hold the practical fabric in place at the neckline, with long sleeves tapering to small wrists, ending in a cuff that keeps them safely out of the way when working with her life mate or allows them to be shoved up to her elbows when the work becomes messy. Hemline tucks neatly into trousers made of sturdy strong wher-hide, hued to darkest black of a midnight starless sky. Matching jacket made to withstand 'Reaches winter weather is layered for much needed warmth. A royal blue band, flat and tied tightly, keeps her hair from flicking in her eyes while at work or in the air. Matching black belt is fastened 'round her waist, while knee high black boots, lined with soft down, fit her comfortably, their black shade fading into the rest of the ensemble. Nestled in Ilare's hair like a crown is Kairo. Curled snuggly about Ilare's neck is Jolinar Perched on Ilare's shoulder is Sethe. A double twisted cord, one strand the shade of royalty's blue and the other blackest midnight, have been braided as one and coiled into a single loop. A ribbon the color of butter brandy, chestnuts roasting on a fire and deepest, richest brown, is bright in contrast - the colour of her lifemate, Chanticoth. She is awake and looks alert. You notice Ilare looking at you. Ilare is 18 Turns, 9 months, and 13 days old. --------------------- End Log ---------------------