The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Z'vind.
All references to the world and characters of Pern based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyrightę 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.
Z'vind's and Kealath's Weyr(#381RJh)
Spacious if not exorbitantly so, the confines of this hollowed-out weyr have been transformed by its occupants into a bedlam. Clothes can often be found strewn about the weyr's only cot, spilling out from the chest of drawers, though the divide is absolute between the spotless stone couch and the rest of the untidy place. The dragon holds proud sway over much of the demesne: by his cavernous couch lies a rug and a thick set of furs extending from end to end, and the entrance to this part has been cleared to give more wing-round. A small hearth is embedded within the inner wall, where the wall hanging obscuring the bathing pools from the weyr proper also hangs. Glows bracket the dim stone, lining the walls to add a cheery aspect, but the furnishings are sparse and lacking in brightness, save that of a tapestry which hangs -- the wrong way round -- from the wall beside a less distinctive scene of a ship.
Outside, the ledge stretches out from the weyr's edge, scarred by the talons of countless landings. Graven grey, its ivory cast overlooks the bowl, and reaches out from thence in watchfulness: position if not possession of the weyr's nexus.
Joints creak, furs shift with the movement -- and a tousled black head peeks up from the mountain of warmth rolled end to end near the empty draconic couch. Z'vind raises an arm, reaches across to feather hands over her hair. He stays silent, eerily silent.
Stubby, short but stubbornly black hair sprouts scalp-close from generally clean-shaven features, boyishly tanned with a frail line of stubble to demarcate chin from cheek. His face is highly angular, jaw etched with sly lines of woe or laughter. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy, slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks his baritone.
Unclothed, the angularity of his face is heightened by the knobbly arms and knees. His physique is rough, unshaped, uncallused; his round shoulders: compact, tanned rather than muscular, dulling to a light brown sheen at where nape meets neckline.
He is 22 Turns, 8 months, 16 days old.
Here are green eyes as deep as a perfectly cut emeralds, with a touch of misty gray, making them seem tinged with smoke around the edges. So vivid, full of life, so bright, sharp, intelligent for a face so young. Her face is a study in confidence, nothing remarkable about it, other than those eyes. A pair of high cheekbones, rather small lips, and a nondescript nose complete it, the skin very fair, almost porcelain white. Framing her face are wisps of long blue-black falls in cascades of wavy locks to her mid-back when loosed, but most often secured with a small ribbon at the nape of her neck. She stands with a confident, yet almost casual air about her, a bit under average height, but still looking everyone in the eye with her proud chin tilted up to face the world.
Clad in colors mixed and glittering and undefined, this girl wears a dress slit up the sides to mid thigh, her legs peeking out in tantalizing glimpses as she walks, freed to burst into dance at any moment, and around her ankles is an anklet made of silver that twines up her lower calf in an intracite pattern. The simple waistline melds to her curves subtley, and her stomach is covered in the front, as well as everything all the way up to her neck, clasping around her milky white skin there in a thin fabric. Ah, but when she turns around...her back is left bare.. From her neck all the way down to the lower, a few inches above her waist, white against the dark fabric melding to her, creating a stark, eye-drawing contrast.
Still laying perfectly still yet is Cianna, that hair he had been so fascinated with for some reason fanned out on the furs and pillows all around her, her back curled into the warmth of his chest, the furs wrapped haphazardly this way and that about them. On her face is a smile of utter content, her dimple showing just faintly, her legs curled up underneath her. With his movements on her hair, she begins to stir just a bit into half wakefulness, purring unconsciously.
Z'vind lowers -- curls up, actually -- to dip a kiss into that dimple, his face brightening into a smile of echoed bliss, equally unconscious. Head tilted over her, he pokes down a hand to investigate her sleeping face. Experimentally; he tries, lazy: "Awake?"
"Mmmmm...." Cianna leans her head backward into the kiss, still not entirely awake, her eyelashes fluttering but not quite opening. "Mmmm..." she says again on a sigh, rolling onto her back, reaching one of her small white hands up to catch the exploring one of his in her own. "I'm not sure.. I could still be dreaming," Cianna says with a slow, lazy sort of smile, reaching upwards to run a light hand through his hair.
Z'vind's tanned hand catches hers as lightly, the other reaching down to hook her closer, while he peers down. Breathes. "I think you are. And bringing me with you. Dreaming." Amusement floods his baritone, raises it slightly. He wriggles to whisper it into her ear, nose bumping against a hank of furs. "That was good."
Curling herself more tightly into him, partly for warmth, but partly for comfort, she settles herself into the spot, pulling a fur up around them to make a complete circle of warmth around them. "Mmmm... Just wait until I wake up. Then we'll talk about this.. dreaming idea," Cianna says with mischevious amusement in her own eyes and voice. As he whispers to her, she slowly turns herself over to face him, skin rubbing slowly along skin. She leans upwards and whispers, "You're not so bad yourself. We dream well together," she says in a low, rich tone, trailing a hand down his chest, idly tracing patterns she finds there, a leg stretching idly out next to his, moving up and down idly.
Z'vind pretends a whine, "/No/--" The aggrieved tone stretches out for a space, in which he doesn't move, just watches her leg and smiles, wickedly. "You don't want to talk do you," he begins, softly, after that moment, retaliating to her trailing hand with one of his own, sweeping across her shoulders and down. "I don't find such relief after every 'fall."
Cianna looks up with a doe's half lidded eyes. "Is that what I am? Relief? Very bad answer, Z'vind. Very bad answer. I'll have to school you in the proper responses some day," Cianna says, laughing softly, richly. "It's for your own education in situations like this," she says, mock scolding. At his wicked smile, she looks up from amidst a dark halo of hair, perhaps symbolic in a way, her pert little mouth curved in a half smile. She leans down to drop a kiss or two on his upper chest, closing her eyes with each movement. "What would you like to... talk about?" Cianna asks, the undernote of her words a faintly feline purr.
Z'vind smooths over her haloed hair, or attempts to anyway. He grins down at her and snatches another kiss when her mouth is again available. "I said /such/ relief, Cianna," he says, bemused beneath the surface roughness, "You are more than that. Is that the right answer, then? Or will you have to teach me it another time?"
"I think you may be in need of intense schooling," Cianna says, clucking her tongue at him as if in mock disapproval, but lets a slow smile show through nonetheless. "But it's not a bad start... I'll let that one pass for now. It was a very good save, I'll give you that..." She leans upwards slightly into his kiss and into his hands, arching her back slightly.. or more than slightly, into him. When finally, breath forces her to move away, she whispers breathily against his ear, "How did this happen?" She laughs, her arched and slightly moving body shaking against him. "One minute, we're tickling.. the next..." She demonstrates with a caress of her hands over his shoulders and down towards his hips.
Z'vind closes her hands around her and steers -- for the furs, poor furs, lain in a heap behind and around them, the victim of much mishandling, intending to tumble them both across them. His chuckle sounds, crossing with her question and matching his swift stooping to catch and cup her chin in both hands. He simply looks down, a challenge in the grey eyes and gathered eyebrows, "Hmm. I was right, wasn't I? You liked it." An accusation, lost in the next phrase, "How? Your dragon brought us up, I think I remember. /She/ approves."
Slightly bewildered is her look as she meets the challenge in his eyes, her green eyes wide open and watching him for a moment without any guile within them, just open, vulnerable, and innocent. "I thought I was supposed to like it. Wasn't that the idea?" Cianna asks, and then tilts her own head at him, tossing strands of her hair from her face and shifting beside him in sultry challenge, green eyes meeting his own smoulderingly. "Didn't you like it?" She laughs, though, not a moment later. "Trici approves of anything that will get me out of her hair and won't hurt me most of the time. Especially when she's tired. You fit both qualitifications..." She smiles up at him. "I just don't want you to think I do this with every man I meet," she says softly, letting him move her hands wherever it is he's moving them.
Open. Vulnerable. "You--liked what I said," Zar corrects automatically, "Not what we did, which of course, I did." The issue gets confused, and he shrugs it off those dark, fur-shaded shoulders. "Liked--" He wavers, unexpectedly, and trails off slightly in his close watch of her: expression, mien, mouth. A frown overwhelms, and he leans to drink deep of her. "--So do you, Cianna? Do you? Not every man you meet?"
"Oh," Cianna says, her brow clearing somewhat and the smile returning to her face. "That makes much more sense. Did I like what you said? Well, yes, it will pass as acceptable for now," Cianna says with a bit of a faint wink. She looks up to see him watching her, and tilts her head at him to regard him in much the same way, though more inquiring than anything else. At his last question, Cianna moves a hand to push away from him quickly, her eyes smouldering as she automatically covers herself with a fur, it seems, glaring at him with the heat that had been soft and warm not seconds ago. "I'm a rider. Not a whore."
Z'vind distances for a moment, warding off that solemnity that always threatens to break its shell. He lets go all at once, untangling himself -- and her -- from encroaching furs, then folding his arms in front of him. Expressionless, he swallows, turns away, speaks again, "You misunderstand me. I just had to know. Had to check with you." Hands spread before him to underscore his seriousness. An invitation too, masked by his unasked-for smirk. "Don't mistake my meaning. Of course you're not a whore. You're--a--rider--" Wingmate. Friend?
Her covering furs utterly gone from her, Cianna faces him once again utterly exposed.. not like it's nothing he hasn't seen before, already. She seems utterly unfazed by this, glaring down at him from where she sits half raised on one hand, watching him. "Had to check I didn't have a line of men expecting me to service them every night, you mean?" Cianna says, using the crude language deliberately. Oh, yes, she's... displeased. Very displeased. The smirk doesn't help, either, and her eyes begin to snap with anger. Suddenly, she leans over him and tilts his chin upwards so she can take his mouth in an utterly passionate, utterly giving and honest kiss, hard, long and fast. Leaning above him, one hand on either side of his shoulders, she says, "Want to ask me /again/ if I do this with every man I meet?" Her eyes still spark anger. Tread lightly.
Z'vind, on the other hand, is crouched in the pool of furs, hands still spread and gesturing when he speaks. He tilts forward, seeking her warmth again, that went away so swift and abruptly. "There is no wrong in wanting to know," the fingers twitch, convulsively, "Since you mentioned it first. Right?" Right. Hence her sudden action takes him entirely by surprise, and he can only be taken for once, prey instead of aggressor. Muscles slackening in her grip, he groans. "I won't ask again. But--promise to do that again?" Wit still exists, apparently, in the face of her anger.
"You definitely started it-" Cianna starts to reply, and then seems to realize just how kidlet-ish that sounds, and stops, seeking refuge in dignified silence for a few quiet seconds, her eyes closed. She opens them a moment later, and her eyes are smouldering again. "Ask me again, and I promise I'll find the heaviest thing in this weyr and ask Trici to throw it at you," Cianna says, her sweet tone belying the words she's using. After a moment of a warning, firey glare down at him, however, she softens again, just a bit. "Maybe if you're very, very good, and do something equally nice for me," Cianna says, and lets her arms collapse, falling on top of him comfortably, her slight frame making hardly an impact as she lowers herself, wriggling around to be comfortable.
"No, you started it," Z'vind teases, staying respectfully still in the midst of her silence. That doesn't stop his hands from tugging her nearer, though, and trying to toy with the dark hair so similar to his. "The heaviest thing," he inquires, "Wouldn't that be you?" He breaks into laughter to avert her fists, and simply settles for the embrace afterwards. Mutter. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
"Ooooooohhh!" she says, laughing, but the fists are there anyway, ready to punch him in the shoulder, despite the fact that he's much much taller than she is, and the statement is ridiculous in any case. Whatever slight distance she might have had evaporates as she collapses against him, warm skin entwining, breathing, "But you'd like that, wouldn't you? I was thinking more along the lines of a very large rock.. You'd deserve it," Cianna says, pulling a face at him, wrinkling her nose. At his question of what he can do, she dances her fingers around on his chest lightly, where her body is snuggled, her eyes sparkling. "Surprise me," she says in a low, slightly suggestive tone. "But only of the good variety..."
"Rock?" Z'vind wonders. From the couch above them, a brown 'lizard cautiously scrambles up and out, to perch on the edge, teetering. "Him," the man points decisively. "He would do for starters. The first rock you'd throw at me. With talons too." He takes the pummelling without reacting, glancing down to tweak her nose instead. Mouth follows -- a precursor to his arms going around her to scoop her up. For once, for all. "This!" he declares.
"Oh, good idea. Sharp and big," Cianna muses mock seriously... "I'llr emember that the next time you irrirate me." Halo. But then there's really not time for that, as he nose is currently being tweaked. She looks almost indignant at his lack of a reaction. After all, she may be small, but she's not /that/ ineffective.. she sniffs slightly, but again, it's totally lost in his mouth as they meet yet again, tongues dancing and exploring. At his arms taking her again, she laughs into his mouth, coming up for air a moment later. "All right.." she manages to gasp out. "You've got me." And he does. She can't move her arms or legs. "But what's your plan to keep me?" she asks with an undertone of a purr, moving her mouth, all the weapon of reltaliation she has left to give a nip at his neck, her eyes dancing in expectant merriment. Let's see how he deals with this one..
Could that fire ever waver? Z'vind adds fuel to the flames, playfully holding her petite length in his arms -- a child, almost, but far from helpless -- and pretending to totter around, kicking furs with naked feet and stepping over heaps and heaps of them. "I'll keep you," he pants, grinning, "Forever? Or at least for today. Youch," says he in return for the nip, and eases her closer into that lock of lips. "A feline, you are, with /claws/."
Perhaps she may have the size of a child, but she has the body and mind of a woman, as he well has seen. Curling herself into him and wrapping her arms around his neck loosely, she laughs merrily as he moves about standing in the furs, looking down here and there where it seemed they would trip. "You may keep me for so long as forever wants to last," Cianna says, as if bestowing some sort of benediction, waving one hand grandly in the air. Then her hand trails down his chest, raking her nails lightly across his skin, but enough to make an impression. "And don't you forget it," she purrs. "Do you like felines?" she asks breathily, before letting him take her mouth again, still not quite sure where he's taking her.. and not looking, either, just yet..
Z'vind has to ask, "So how long /does/ forever want to last?" Deeper and deeper and -over-, as he leaps past a particularly nasty mound. He tries not to jolt her, however, and is rewarded by her scratching nails. He glints a smile, released from their kiss, and aims for the hand instead. "Yes, a feline that scratches too. And scratches her very master. Faranth forfend." A wobbly spin, before he deposits her on the cot and collapses. There.
Lilting, silvery laughter can be heard, as well as a soft, "Bravo!" as he leaps over a mound of furs and lands them both in one piece, holding on around his neck a bit more tightly for that first moment. As for his question? "Well, we'll have to define that at some other time, when we're both ready for that.." She looks up at him with a doe-eyed look, her long lashes fluttering over her green eyes. "I bite and scratch. Can 'master' handle that? Or am I too much kitty for him?" Cianna asks, and then laughs once again as they spin and collapse, shaking her laughter as she lands, nearly rolling off one side of the cot, but catching herself and managing to stay on. "Bravo acrobatics, by the way..."
Z'vind, strangled, yelps. "Thank you," he intones, "You're not heavier than the sacks we toss around, that's for sure. I had practice." And he adds, quickly, "Just kidding, of course. You're the /best/ kitty I have in my Weyr." He rolls, too, catching /her/ if she doesn't manage to stay on by herself.
Cianna comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.
Cianna has arrived.
Linnelei sits at a table in the Living Caverns hastently scribbleing down something upon a pieceof paper and lookingarond the room every once and awhile. A half empty glass of coldklah sits in front of her and a empty but dirty plate isset by her elbow.
And walking casually into the caverns is Cianna, her black dress fluttering around her ankles and the slit opening and closing quickly, a dress obviously chosen to keep her cool.. of course not for any /other/ reasons like looks or anything... Stepping fully inside, she tosses her head, sending curls over her shoulders and out of her eyes, obviously the goal of the manuver, her eyes with a slightly feral gleam looking around the place slowly, beginning to walk towards a table with a catlike grace, tossing a faint smile of recognition towards Linnelei.
Did anyone say nondescript? There's a fellow moving purposely into the caverns three steps behind Cianna who's clad in nothing more extravagant than dark riding leathers. There's a strut in his pacing, though, as Z'vind passes in, eyes travelling toward the stew pot.
Linnelei looks up at the two new entrancies and grins while drawing something rough upon her picture of the living caverns. "Just the two I needed to make this picture perfect." She comments and smiles again.
Sliding into a seat after snagging a conveiently passing glass of some sort of wine, smiling charmingly at the drudge.. or as best and near to charming as she can manage at the moment, Cianna relaxes with a long sigh, curling her legs up underneath her and tucking her skirt around her legs loosely. She barely hears Linnelei's comment, catching something about 'picture perfect,' and calling back softly, "Well, I only had five minutes to get dressed, but I /do/ try to make myself presentable.." She flutters her eyelashes outrageously, and then lowers them to take another sip of her wine.
What, an ill-clad brownrider with all his un-handsome looks? Z'vind is blissfully unaware of picture or implications, however, as he strides over to check the enticing pot. He bends to sniff at the steaming liquid. "Compliments to the cook," goes /his/ commentary, and then a drudge is beckoned for her assistance.
Linnelei giggles quietly at Cianna and holds up her picture of living caverns and the people in it. She points out the scribbleish looking parts by the entranceandsays, "That shall hopefully soon be you and um, I don't know his name?"
Linnelei has disconnected.
"Don't burn your tongue. You might need it at some point," Cianna comments dryly as she watches Z'vind, watching him out of half lidded eyes, tilting her head slightly to the side in a half inquiring pose. At Linnelei's gesturing with her picture, she looks over idly, squinting to see it slightly form her distance. "Well, hopefully with better hair, dear.. and what'shisname is Z'vind," she comments dryly, leaning back in her chair again to sip at her wine idly.
A tired, overworked drudge shuffles over to Z'vind's side and is promptly given instruction on his plan for dinner. Before long, the man returns, toting bowls and a plate of something. What'shisname spots Cianna belatedly and heads that-a-way instead. "Cianna," he greets, with a nod to the other girl, "Want a drink? Stew?"
"Got one of those," Cianna says in response to the offer of a drink, holding up her wine idly, kicking a leg under her seat back and forth, and shaking her head at the offer of stew. "Not hungry, actually. Plenty satisfied before I came here. Fruits," she explains lightly.
Z'vind doesn't look before he leaps -- or speaks, for that matter. He settles into a chair, placing the cutlery in front, slotting an elbow on table's edge, then turns to her. Lightly, "Fruits? Where did you go to get those? Sure you don't want stew? I think it's good." And the world revolves around who.
"I live in the jungles, Z'vind," Cianna says with a teasing light to her eyes, and flitting through her voice. "You find all sorts of.. exotic things out there sometimes." Shifting around on her seat.. so does that dress a bit. She leans forward slightly, still sipping lightly at that glass of wine. Yes, it does take her awhile to finish. Haven't you ever heard of savoring. "And yes, I'm sure you think it's good. But I don't. So there," Cianna says simply, wrinkling her nose at him.
Z'vind knew that. "Of course," he says after her, "I should join you in there sometime. But there are fruits elsewhere, too, right?" He scoops, leaning to slurp from his spoon. A red thing there and a blue here, and away with table manners. "But a beautiful lady like you shouldn't need to go far from your jungles. Nor from your weyr. We have people going to pick fruits for the caverns." Very subtle, Z'vind.
Ah, it's too late for subtlety anyway. "Perhaps I should show you the fruits around my weyr.... and the ones I keep inside it," Cianna says with a bit of a half smile. Yeah, definitely subtlety's gone at this point. She smiles, setting down her glass, finally finished with it. "This beautiful lady somewhat enjoys venturing out of the jungle for civilization sometimes... more than I really should, actually.. but the jungles are also always the palce to retreat to. Trici loves it there as well. Lots of space for her to preen," Cianna laughs slightly. "How's that stew? I'll never understand how you can eat that.."
"It's good. Really," Z'vind declaims around and above a spoonful, voice muffled, "Yeah, I'll go down there one day. Tomorrow, perhaps." The bowl should be relieved; he's finished with the creamy stuff and the utensil clinks flatly back into its receptable. The wingrider swings back against his chair, eschewing a plate of pastry similarly snatched from the platters. "Very civilized we are, here. Just sitting around waiting for the next day to come along. Is that what she thinks?"
"If you say so," she says, eyeing the stuff dubiously, and tossing her hair from her face. "Well, aren't we all doing that, in one way or another, even if we aren't really sitting around, per se..." Cianna says, tilting her head a bit as if thoughtfully. "Oh, well." With that, she begins to rise, casting him a bit of a smile as she's finally standing fully up. "Perhaps. If you can find me," Cianna says in a daring tone of voice, turning on her heel, and giving a soft call of "Goodbye..." over her shoulder.
Cianna has disconnected.