The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Zarvind.
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.
Cast: Belena, Zarvind, with a cameo by Jalani and Meriath
Main Beach - Ista Weyr(#44RJa$)
Hilly dunes slope down from the foot of the jungle, slow angles that soften as they greet the flat expanse of the black beach. Ebony sand stretches out in all directions, clinging to the coastline as the slow roll of incoming waves beat tirelessly against the shore. A few stubborn trees with great leafy fronds insist on growing here, providing meager shade that further darkens already richly dark sands. This breathtaking tableau, tucked against the wind-protected base of the Weyr, opens onto the sapphire sea, capped here and there with the white lace of curled breakers.
It's a handsome cove that the Weyr's beach is nestled within, long and curving to form a definite if somewhat broken crescent that slows the tumult of waves to a more pleasant lapping. Curled between to sandbars that reach black fingers out into the blue sea, there's a fair amount of room here for any manner of seaside activity: Napping, swimming, picnicking, and playing are all frequent and viable passtimes. Just to the northwest, the sandy path that creeps back up through the dunes to the clearing of the jungle is visible. Due west, beyond another layer of sand dunes, the beaches continue with less protection than this little inlet offers.
Ocean Jungle Path
Belena comes over the dunes and down the path from the
Belena has arrived.
In the beach's cove, a stall sits beneath the meagre shelter of tree fronds, propped up by a few sticks of passable driftwood. Zarvind sits in the leeward side of a dune, toying with a trinket on a chain; a burly youth roams the outer sands while a blonde girl tends the small pile of odds and ends lying in front of Zar.
A mop of black caps an awkward seeming demeanour, dripping askew over one ear in unpractised roguishness. His face is highly angular, sly curve of cheek almost childish in the peak of youthful delicacy. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy but slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a striding gait as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
A spare pair of sandals fits loosely over Zar's feet, chapped flesh evident on the exposed toes. Otherwise, his clothes are ordinary, Weyr issue, brown tunic clapped over mid-length middling umber trous reaching to calf level. Crinkled, his outfit at least appears clean.
He looks to be about 14 Turns, 0 months, 16 days old.
Belena tosses her shoes aside as she dashes onto the beach, her flaming red hair streaming behind her. She plunges into the water and splashes about in a manner that would wet any in the vacinity, but no one is around, right??
The first thing that you notice about Belena is her fire red hair, followed by her sparkling green eyes. Eyes that have a somewhat piercing quality when focused directly at you. She is quite beautiful, with high cheek bones, creamy skin and delicate pink lips. Her blazing locks are kept tied in a braid that falls to her mid-back. She wears a light sleeveless tunic of deep forest green, tied at the waist with a brown leather belt. Soft hide pants don her legs and she wears black ankle high boots on her little feet. She stands about 5'3" tall. Muscular but very curvy. Belena has a sweet smile and a devastating smirk which only illustrates her mischievous nature. She wears only one piece of jewelry, a golden ring on her right hand, it is a signet ring with the letter R' ornately carved into it. Belena is 16 Turns, 2 months, 10 days
Zarvind is, fortunately, far enough back from the breakers into order not to get splashed by them, which also puts him a reasonable distance away from Belena. Glancing admiringly over at the patch of flaming red on the beach, the boy waves a hand, and since Laira is nearby, adds, "Care to buy a trinket, miss?"
Belena is completely startles at the sound of a voice! She quickly twists around and sees the small group on the beach. She moves closer, "A trinket? Who are you?"
"I'm Zarvind," nods he to Belena. "Laira," chirps a feminine voice that has somehow crept back to the lad's side, fingers gracefully gesturing to the selection of shiny objects on their makeshift stall. The other youth has since wandered further along and out of sight. Affably, he eyes those fingers; back to Belena, lethargically, "we're selling some stuff we picked up, if you'd care to see."
Belena looks a bit skeptical, "Stuff you've 'picked up?' Where did you pick it up from?"
A voice from over the next dune recalls the girl, who scampers off with a long-legged litheness, leaving Zarvind in centrestage. He clears his throat, slumping backwards into the back-less stool he straddles. "Heard of the traders who got shipwrecked, did you? Well, we're some of them." Now that the other two are gone, he's slurring his alto voice at her.
Belena still looks a bit unsure, "Let me see what you have. I don't have any marks on me now, but if you have anything worth wild, maybe I'll bring you back to the Weyr with me." She is a master of conversation and trickery so she is treading carefully with this one.
The wares are displayed simply, but they're there -- a short toothed comb, a spreadsheet of sisal cloth whose wear and tear has been repaired as much as possible, the trinket Zarvind holds and myriad other wooden toys on the verge of rot in the Istan heat. "Perhaps a comb for your beautiful hair, lady?" drawls he, spreading his hands before the rickety plank-table. "I've been to the Weyr already, its /them/ who wanted me here to help them sell these," he confides too, sullenly.
Belena laughs, suddenly, her green eyes sparkling, "Why do you need to sell all of these old things?"
She picks up the comb in question and looks at it dubiously, wondering if the thing would even make it through one brushing. She places it back down and looks at Zarvind, "I'm Belena. I'm kitchen help, and I'm afraid I can't seem to think of anyone who would be out on the market for any of these things at this time of night. Why don't you and your friends come back to the Weyr? you can have some food and a warm bed if you like."
Zarvind shrugs. "Marks, I'd say." Helped along by a dull sense of irony, he grips the stool and humps his shoulders absently: "These were all we stashed that was apart from the old load that got sunk. Hid these in a backpack, the only way they could have survived all that wet." A shiver, under the cover of his tunic. "Belena. I'd got a cot back there already. Cramped quarters, don't you think?"
Belena nods her head, "Oh yes, cramped indeed, but I rather enjoy the fun of having people everywhere." A glint of mischief passes over Belena's features and she looks directly at Zarvind, "Hey, do you want to play a little game?"
Belena toys with the comb she still holds in her hand.
Zarvind is always ready for games. He slides a glance to Belena, angular features flashing a smile. "What kind of game? I play games, a lot of them." The stall can wait; he motions Belena to the stool lying forgotten behind his.
Meriath drops down to a landing from the sky overhead.
Meriath splashes into the water, leaving the beach behind for now.
From the water, Jalani slips deftly down to the bent foreleg of Meriath, the Green lowering to a crouch and watching with gentle eyes as the she hops to the ground.
Belena moves over to the stool and takes a seat in a rather conspiratorial manner, drawing Zarvind closer to her. She holds out the comb and says in a highly confidential voice, "I'll by this here comb and then we'll make a little wager," She is bestowing her most irresistable looks upon the boy, flirting as much as possible, "I'll hold one end of the comb with my pinkey finger and you hold the other end and then, on the count of three, we'll pull to break the comb. If I win, you become my personal servant for the week, if I lose, well..." she ponders the prize she will offer Zarvind, "I'll make it worth your wild." She gives him a very 'knowing' look.
"The winner will be the one who ends up with the largest half."
Laira would be glad if someone bought one of that 'old stuff'. Zarvind nods knowingly, obliging her by leaning in closer. "A wager's fine by me, provided you have the marks back in the Weyr. Bil, he isn't too lenient on offenders you know. Not at all lenient." Confident in his superior strength, he raps a nail against the nearest side of the comb.
Belena scoffs at the mention of Bil, no man has ever been /that/ much of a match for her. "Of course I have the marks to back it!" She moves her finger around the edge of the comb.
Jalani splashes in from the ocean.
Meriath splashes in from the ocean.
Zarvind might be lazy, but he's impatient when it comes to challenges. Curling his finger /hard/ around the comb, he anticipates to Belena: "One, two--" Both are seated on stools, a wooden comb between them.
Belena quickly sucks in a deep breath and jerks on her half of the comb.
Jalani comes up from the water and her freshly scrubbed lifemate follows behind. Lani stares at the two on the beach.
Small in stature, diminutive in structure, Jalani could easily be mistaken for a teenager, until one sees the easy sensual confidence in which she carries herself. Her age is difficult to discern, but middle twenties seems appropriate. Large, deep blue, almost violet eyes dominate a pleasant but otherwise quite ordinary face that is framed by the soft curls of her short jet black hair. Her small almost pug-like nose is usually peppered with freckles, much to her chagrin.
Jalani is clothed in the typical working uniform of a
member of the Weyrlingmaster staff at Ista Weyr. The outfit consists of a short-sleeved
shirt of light but durable white cotton, with gold and black embroidered stripes about two
fingertips long running diagonally along the neckline and sleeve ends. Upon the right
sleeve, just below the shoulder, is embroidered a green dragon, indicative of her
lifemate, Meriath, while the left sleeve is adorned with the gold-hued patch of the
Weyrling Wing, its outside edge trimmed in narrow black braid. She wears black linen
shorts, cleverly designed to provide maximum practical comfort while flattering her trim
figure. A pair of sturdy sandals complete her outfit.
"--Three," announces Zarvind, and tugs back, grey eyes scrunching up into tiny slits, sandals pressing into the soft cove sands. The large fronds that shelter the pair from the light rustle and sway above, while Zar's earlier companions are nowhere in sight.
Belena pulls witha all her might. For a tiny little thing, she sure is strong! She digs her feet in the sand as well and stares Zar right in the face.
Zarvind's face has faded into intense angularity, the kind of expression otherwise gotten when staring down a black hole: bleakness and a bemused determination. "N-uggnn," he gnashes teeth, finger crooked ever tighter against the older girl's effort.
Jalani goes home.
Belena 's eyes glitter as the comb begins to crack, she quickly releases her grip and then jerks it back again as hard as she can. *Snap!* The comb breaks and the pressure is suddenly released!
And Zarvind's thrown backwards by the released force, like the kickback from a rifle. "Ouch," he howls, stubbing a toe upon rock. "All your fault, Bele--" he goggles at the remnant left in one hand. "This is--how long's yours?"
Belena , who catches her balance with only a slight stumble, slowly, triumphantly, raises a clearly larger half of the comb. Her smile, while beautiful, is almost wicked.
Zarvind swipes dark hair back from his eyes; eyes her with a shaky grin. "Can't be. We must have swapped, mustn't we? I knew of a girl once who tried this game, and she said who gets the larger part doesn't depend on the amount of force put in. She said that its not about force," he repeats stubbornly, standing his ground.
Belena smirks, "I think you should go home now, Servant, and stop this sniviling and make up my bed for my return." Oh, she can be cruel, but it is all in good fun.
Zarvind capitulates in form, bowing his head. "Get me the marks from the comb and I'll go with you. They're not going to be happy about this," he warns, picking himself up slowly. "In fact, they surely will not be glad. But since I need to collect your mark anyway--" he shrugs, and gets ready to follow her back to the weyr.
Belena grins and throws an arm around her new 'servant'
"Right this way servant Zarvind, and don't you worry your little servant head about
the others, leave them to me!" And leads him off to the weyr.
(Log ends. They gambol off; I say Zarvind will /try/ to run at least.)
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