Logs:Decorating Dilemmas
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| RL Date: 3 October, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, N'vad |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two men have decorating problems. One helps the other out (sort of), by pimping his girlfriend. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 12, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Telavi/Mentions |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves.
Since N'vad is not in fact talking to himself, he probably won't be heard before being seen. There, among the bolts of fabric, somewhere--one middle-aged bluerider with a fresh-looking Reaches knot and a small handcart, the sort the stores workers themselves might use to shift goods. A number of items already on it--a somewhat shabby but heavy-looking quilt, a basin, a couple assorted small boxes and jars, nothing that would really seem heavy enough to justify wheels. However much N'vad has to retrieve down here legitimately, however, at the moment, what he's actually doing is perching on a crate the next aisle over and taking a nip out of a flask. "Take it you're lookin' for paint, then." It's dry enough to be downright gritty. The shelves and their contents must have been K'zin's sole focus because he jumps just a little when N'vad addresses him, twisting in the next moment to find the older man with his brown gaze. "Oh." He blinks at the bluerider. "Oh! Yes, paint. I'm looking for paint. I think they rearranged things, or maybe I walked into the wrong cavern." That is the problem when stores are this extensive. He looks back to the shelves a moment. "This isn't paint," which is pretty terribly obvious. "You wouldn't happen to know...?" He asks a moment later, just as his eyes fall to the cart that is rather like a 'moving in' sign. "Oh. New weyr?" The inquiry is polite, but the curious look is a little less than; why would someone N'vad's age be getting a new weyr? None of his business, of course, but he's interested all the same. "New weyr, new Weyr." For as expressive as N'vad's voice isn't, there's just a faint shift the second time that will hopefully carry that he's not just needlessly repetitive. And as if that'll need clarifying, now: "Not the faintest idea." He doesn't stop up the flask right away, instead uses it to gesture at the nearest shelf. Fabric. Heavy fabric. There's a lot of it. Surely the Weyr has plenty of uses for this sort of thing, in a variety of colors and patterns. And all N'vad can do is eye them bleakly. "Need to replace a curtain." Like in all his years, this, this may be his undoing. K'zin's brows rise, wrinkling his expressive brow, eyes flicking between N'vad and the fabric. The brows fall, and his lips pinch in sympathy, "Ah, yeah. Can't really survive 'Reaches winter in any weyr I've seen without a good curtain." His hands slide into his back pockets and he rocks onto his toes and then heels, "Welcome. Did you at least come from somewhere that has winter?" As opposed to one of those southern places where snow is often simply unheard of as a routine weather phenomenon. "Do you have help?" Does he need to offer? As is often the case with young men, it's not that K'zin won't lend his youthful energy and plethora of muscles, but he want's to make sure he really actually has to before he does. "Been through plenty of winters. I'm--" N'vad straightens, just there. "From Benden." Note of pride in it, yet. "Problem isn't needing one, problem is--" His eyebrows furrow and his gaze shoots daggers at the contents of the shelves again. "Ain't got the faintest idea what it is I need for 'em." In point of fact, there are like fourteen different shades of white and cream canvas, before it even gets into more variety than that. "Ain't had an opinion about aesthestics in my life and don't aim to start now." Which renders this difficult. Despite the accent and the grammar, he doesn't trip over the ten-mark word in the middle. "Don't need help with the fetch-n-carry, no. Gotta cart." K'zin might not have noticed it. The bluerider retrieves the cane that's been propped against the shelf for the sole purpose of whacking one wheel. "Grommets." The younger man says meaningfully. "Made curtains for a stage once, based them on the types they use for weyrs." K'zin looks briefly at the cane, his cheeks coloring a touch. "I-- actually meant help for getting it strung up. Don't know about your place, but the one in mine is awkward to string alone, even with Ras' help." The bronzerider absently looks at the fabrics, "My girlfriend's from Benden, which seems perhaps neither here nor there, but then he adds, "But she can sew, which is something you might need if you pick something fancy that hasn't been edged." There's a long pause and some working of eyebrows. "String it--well--hell," is what N'vad finally settles on. "Didn't get that far. Thinking. I mean--hell." His forehead creases as he scowls. "Don't care about fancy. I look fancy to you?" That's what we call a hypothetical question, but N'vad isn't waiting long enough for there to be any question about it. "She got opinions on decorative whatevers, this girl of yours?" For all that it's hypothetical, K'zin is looking at the bluerider with slightly lowered brows. "She does. She used to be a seamstress. Knows how things--" he uses his hands to further his words, "go together," in a way that, from his tone, certainly mystifies him. "There might be some curtains already together somewhere. I'm sure they must have some, somewhere," but this is the man that can't find the paint, so perhaps he's not the best one to ask. "I can help stringing it up, if you like. I restrung mine three summers ago." 'Pain in the ass' says the voice, if not the words, but maybe K'zin is some kind of descent for offering in spite of it. "Sure, sure," N'vad is still not thinking that far ahead at this point, "but even more help if you can get your girl to pick somethin' out. Not too--" Vague wave of the flask--oh, no, not forgotten, that. "Y'know." Whether K'zin does or not, the bluerider drinks, and then finally closes the thing up to stow it back away in his pocket. "Uh," K'zin looks at the bluerider and his flask. Does he know? "She'd-- probably want to meet you. Get a sense of--" He makes a vague wave of a hand, "You know." He reaches up to push fingers through his hair and coughs, "Anyway. Her name is Telavi. She's Solith's rider, works with the weyrlings. Solith's a good go-between if your-- uh--?" What is his dragon's name? Or his, for that matter. N'vad surely knows. He looks knowing. Sort of knowing. Mostly knowing. He looks, at least, confident that he has found a solution to a Serious Problem. "Telavi. Great. Thanks, kid. N'vad. I'm from Benden." He did say that already; it doesn't seem to matter. "Hate to use Liardith to carry on any sort of a conversation, he--what's the opposite of embellishing? Not the opposite. More like--nrgh. Listens 'bout as well as a bull and twice the stubborn. Reckon I'll get a hold of her one way or another, though." "If you swing by the weyrling barracks just before lunchtime, you might catch her. If you bring sandwiches, mores the better." K'zin advises. "And extra for the others. The kitchens'll give you a plate if you just say it's for them," a tact that the young man may or may not have used when he wasn't, in fact, bringing his girlfriend lunch. He looks innocent enough when he passes along the advice anyway. "You can tell her I sent you, if it helps." Shouldn't it? "K'zin, Rasavyth's." He takes a step away, "I'm often about the barracks too, if you end up needing a hand with the rest." The heavy lifting. That's what the bronzerider looks built for. "I'd better-- the paint." You know? He doesn't say it this time, but it's there in the silence that follows. All eyebrows, the withering look that follows, but N'vad does not actually give words to the sentiment--probably something about who would expect him to be carrying sandwiches around for people. No, he is good enough not to say that, even if his face isn't good enough to maintain the veneer of manners. "The paint," he settles on. "Good luck." Decor-related tasks evidently warrant that. He'll be moving on himself, now, soon enough. |
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