(no subject)

[worm_dancer]

Location: Station Sector 3
Who: Sheeana, OPEN
What: Sheeana meditates on her new responsibilities and wonders if she's a bit of a worrywart
Warning(s): wordiness

She stepped down from the crumbling plasteel blocks into the orange sand. After the built up optimized environments they'd all recently come from (crystal towers, togas, etiquette, all the things a desert creature sneered at), it was a relief to feel it under her feet. Small plumes of sand sprouted from all over the basin and tiny sandworms (no more than fifteen feet long each, yet carrying the heritage of leviathans) sprouted up before her and begged for attention like eager puppies. "Of course. I've neglected you lately, haven't I?"

So, while the rest of the crew was celebrating with Qhalavian liquor they'd just 'liberated', Sheeana danced for her worms, whirling and stomping rythmlessly until they seemed temporarily satisfied. They swayed with her too, remembered flames within frames made by little crystal needleteeth.

She sat down with them and let them climb over her. She poured out her concerns over the crew's growing overconfidence to them, not expecting an answer though she knew the man inside them could give her one if he could only speak. Ah, but would you want that, Leto?

And then she noticed someone coming through the doorway that only opened with a violent impact, blue irising open to reveal her sitting cross legged with her children/ancestor. I shouldn't be surprised. My sietch knows to find me here.

Comments

[restoresbalance.livejournal.com]

He sat on the ground across from her, rubbing the last few sandworms that he hadn't been able to reach for the mass at his feet. They really weren't all that bad--at least, not at this size and not right now. Sheeana and the others of her world had told him that they could be quite deadly when they got bigger, and he had decided it would be good to believe them.

"When our guard is down. We do pretty much paint a target on our backs every time we get home from a successful mission." Luke sighed, stretching a bit. "Hopefully that won't happen though."

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

"If hope were water, beggars would bathe. An old Fremen saying." She sighed, a cynic, less content than her worms. Most of them burrowed down into the sands again, satisfied. "I should be monitoring the Bacchanalian flux though."