Logs:Fashion Sense
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| RL Date: 13 November, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh lends her expertise to a weyrling choosing her first set of leathers. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions |
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| An unusual request pings Roszadyth near the beginning of the day; Aidavanth greets her mother with all of her usual warmth and sends a short message from Jocelyn - which, it is implied, the weyrling did not wish to have intercepted on paper: She would like Farideh's expertise if they're both free before dinner. It's a rare (and hardly easy) thing for her to ask for help, so the figure that awaits the weyrwoman in the hallway just outside of the stores later in the day is a tense one, hands shoved deep into utilitarian jacket pockets and expression, pinched. There's an awkward nod for former coworkers who pass through on occasion when she isn't pacing in place, shifting her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. Roszadyth is happy to respond to the polite request and her rider likewise, but it's slow going for the weyrwoman, who is a week past seven months into her pregnancy. She doesn't intentionally keep Jocelyn waiting, however long it takes her to get to the actual stores, dressed in a sapphire velvet dress that doesn't do much to hide her ever-growing belly. "Jocelyn," she sighs, when she finally spots the redhead. "How are you? How are lessons? Aidavanth? It's been-- with this sickness business--" Rather than continue, she stops and then immediately pastes a happy, bright smile on her face; likely for the weyrling's benefit. "Shall we?" "Farideh." Jocelyn's fidgeting settles once the other goldrider comes into view, even if her fingers remain curled at her sides. It's impossible to look at the brunette without noticing that swell at her midriff, so she can perhaps be forgiven for the way her eyes assess there before flicking back up to take in Farideh's face with its super-quick smile. "Aidavanth won't stop outpacing all of her classmates. She eats enough for two of some of them and she's large - " Her brow furrows briefly before smoothing. "Long. She's longer. It helps us both that she's learning to eat on her own." If her posture stiffens further at the mention of the sickness Fort way, it could be chalked up to her enthusiasm for what follows as she reluctantly leads the way into the main storeroom. Dryly: "I'm all eagerness to get this over with. I haven't gone through the repurposed leathers since, " well, since before. "I'm all ears for any advice you think helpful." "I had noticed. I can't remember how big Roszadyth was at that age, but I don't think she was quite so much larger than her peers." It's a contemplative kind of furrow that settles between Farideh's brows. "As long as she's not having problems," Farideh says, eyeing the other goldrider with her own assessing eye. "Hm? Oh. Leathers. Right." She breezes past Jocelyn on her way into the stores, and heads directly for the used clothing section of the weyr stores. "We can get anything altered, easily, but it's better not to get the ones with the big issues like holes, burns, etcetera. I wouldn't worry if they've got some stretch already-- they'll be easier to move in-- and you'll get replacements, later. You don't have to worry about the long term, blessedly." "She seems fine, " opines Jocelyn tersely as she follows in Farideh's wake, turning her attention to the available resources that await them. And Aidavanth, who's sitting somewhere in the bowl with the intention of enjoying something of the outdoors despite the cloud cover this afternoon, reaches for Roszadyth briefly to share her sense of well-being. There's a considering noise in her partner's throat as she listens, pale gaze swift to inspect and dismiss some of the visible sets which happen to sport holes or overtly obvious scorch marks. "As long as I don't swim in them, I suppose, " is her wry rejoinder when the other woman pauses, lips pursing at 'the long term.' "How does getting new ones work afterward?" It's a deliberately light query, even as she pulls a flight jacket from its brethren to frown at a series of questionable stains before replacing it quickly. Roszadyth would wrap Aidavanth up in rainbows, and sunshine, and silk, if she could, but she's simply, overjoyed and pleased with the sharing; she's perched up high on a borrowed ledge, enjoying what little sunshine comes through the clouds-- when it does. "The Weyr gifts each weyrling with a voucher, upon graduating, for a new set of leathers. And if you're lucky, someone will also gift you with a second pair, or better yet, a whole wardrobe. You won't need to worry about that for a while yet, but we're about the same size. You can always raid mine until you've got your own." Farideh, meanwhile, unfolds a pair of riding pants to assess. Jocelyn's hands still over another set dyed an earthy green; it takes her a long moment to formulate a response, one in which she glances over at the pair of pants Farideh's inspecting before reaching for another jacket that's dark and rather plain. "I wouldn't know what to do with that much selection, " she admits at length, eyebrows drawing together. This jacket gets held out for the weyrwoman's inspection, even as she adds a quieter, "I've seen how you and the Weyrwoman dress." It's absent of censure, but a weighty enough observation. "You know I've never put great stock into what I wear, so long as it works and stays modest. Comfortable. I don't plan to change that." Unspoken: Will that be a problem? Farideh's laugh might be unexpected, given she's technically been rejected-- kindly or no. "You can wear whatever you want, Jocelyn. I won't police you. I don't think Irianke will either, but," she sets those pants to the side and grabs a different jacket in klah-brown, "you'll find different situations call for different attire. Sometimes holders don't like to be reminded that they have to rub elbows with us riders, and, you can't attend weddings and other soirees in-- pants." Aghast. "I doubt anyone cares what you wear on the every day. You could wear these until you're sixty." A soft, relieved exhalation eases some of the stiffness in Jocelyn's shoulders at that pronouncement, and it's with a dubious, if more willing demeanor that she peers toward that klah-brown jacket, flicking another look over at the near-soot one she holds. "You could have stopped at 'you can't attend' and that would have suited, " she grouses, features twisting into a grimace. But any further expression of dissent for polite politicking is going to have to wait; for now, there's a nod tilted to the brown jacket; another, to a pair of pants she's pulled that's not too far off in shade, if a bit large for her frame. "If you think these will work - " A pause. "Some weavers have started coming by the barracks to do measurements lately, but I doubt they'd be there now that the day is winding down. Should, " and there's a mirthless, wry laugh that changes the question mid-sentence, "What's the best way to go about this? I'd just march down the hall and see who's still in if I still worked for Jounine." "You can't shrug it off, now. It's your future. It's reality." Farideh glances over at Jocelyn choice, and seems content with their selections. "It might be a little uncouth to just show up to the craft complex, garments in hand, but I suppose-- it's that or calling them to us. Which would you rather?" Her focus shifts to the redhead, where is remains, as she waits, expectantly, for an answer, that will guide them towards the next stage of attaining leathers: the fitting. "No, " Jocelyn agrees slowly, casting a vaguely distracted glance toward the doorway. "I've asked Aidavanth to tell me if she sees one working with some other weyrlings, but, " a shrug, "I don't see that a walk down to the craft complex can hurt. It doesn't have to be fitted today. At the very least, I could make an appointment for it to be done later this seven, if need be." Despite the surety in the way her chin lifts with her decision, one hand curls and uncurls at her side, smoothing unnecessarily at her work trousers before she scoops up the tan pants, extending a hand to take the jacket off of her former roommate's hands. The jacket is happily passed to the weyrling. "Storming the craft complex, it is. I doubt they'll be pleased, but you do what you must. At least they can take your measurements and if it takes them seven days to put it all together, so be it." Farideh shrugs and passes a hand over her belly, before stepping towards the exit. "Unless you have protests?" she asks, eyes flitting from Jocelyn to the hallway beyond the stores; still, she won't wait, heading in the direction that will lead them quickest through the inner caverns and towards the crafters' complex. |
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