Logs:Ginger Crisps
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| RL Date: 2 March, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Ulyana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke eats a late dinner and gets to know Ulyana. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs) >----------------------------<
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier
or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them
instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large
enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the
cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters
down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open
space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet,
and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's
offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven --
only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they
add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the
centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling
and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end
of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an
array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows
are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Irianke F 36 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 0s
Ulyana F 174'11" Diminutive, Black hair, Gray eyes 1m
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
>-----------------------------------------< 24D 2M 37T I10, winter night >---< The living cavern is fairly empty at this odd hour, that in between state after most people have finished dinner and before anyone has the case of the munchies. There are a few people scattered throughout, and among them, seated at one of the nooky alcoves on the cavern's edge is Irianke a bowl of some sort of seafood chowder, a large glass of wine, and the blissful absence of any work. She watches as a pair of toddlers run away from their nanny, or mother, and smiles when the woman catches up to them and hauls both over her shoulder. Outside, a darkling blue beast coils just near the entrance to the caverns. Within, his rider has taken something of a detour through the bowels of the Weyr before ultimately emerging in the selfsame chamber that the monster seems to guard. Ulyana's expression is one of indifference; her movements singularly purposeful. She moves to acquire a couple of ginger crisps - on a plate, of course - along with a mug of tea. She's clad in stark hues; a white blouse and black trousers, both of which are a suiting match to the crisp rider's knot at her shoulder. A bag - battered and brown - is slung crosswise over her person and she is, for the moment, just another nondescript addition to the mostly nondescript scattering of souls gathering at this peculiar hour. At any other time, Niahvth might have kenned towards that new presence in her Weyr. Yes hers. But just at this moment, the newly risen queen is too busy smoothing out the sands in preparation for the clutch that'll arrive shortly. So it falls to Irianke to notice, looking past the woman with the two toddlers and finding this stark contrasting figure that moves with such distinct precision. Too far, as yet, to call without alerting the entire room to our presence, the goldrider watches instead, her gray-blue eyes intent and fixed to this new person. It is perhaps for the better that no mind reaches to Qhyluth's; there is only an ominous ocean to be found there, fathomless and dark. Ulyana, on the other hand, is something else entirely. Her pale gaze, unblinking and inscrutable, take their time in studying those motley sorts still lingering here. A slow blink punctuates a shift from one section to the next, until that curiously intense attention settles on the goldrider. She does not blink again - not for some time, at least. There's a distinct sense of scrutiny there, all the same, and it takes a few moments for her to recalcuate her course and adjust her stride. Her direction is altered; the foreign goldrider is the final destination. No greeting is offered, not even once she's within range. The shawl over Irianke's shoulders is readjusted when her gaze is met, an involuntary reaction to the scrutiny that now heads her way. Her own gaze shifts from studied to a melting bluish-gray warmth, even without a greeting, and perhaps understanding that words might not be welcome, merely gestures to an empty seat and returns her spoon to her chowder. She can wait. She will wait, occupying her mind and her vision with the other late diners. The seat is taken without preamble. The bag is unslung only after everything else is meticulously placed on a convenient surface. Ulyana takes up the tea in both hands, gaze fixed forward and somewhere in the middle distance. And yet, some time later - perhaps when one might suspect she's a mute or otherwise uninterested: "If you would like one of the ginger crisps, you are welcome to take one." Her tone is dull and flat; a match to her expression. "I am not certain of their quality, but the ones served this morning were acceptable." The tone catches Irianke's attention once more, or rather the flatness of it. A brow climbs and the Igen woman's successive blinks try to make sense of this teenager before her. A matched set in their monochromatic attire, the goldrider, nonetheless, is the more expressive of the pair it would seem. Slowly, she says while shaking her head, "I'm learning to avoid any product that might have once used wheat and now does not. It's," she confides, leaning in with a head tip, "Not my favorite. Though it doesn't have anything to do with the quality of the baked goods themselves. What kind of tea do you prefer?" The dullness is a persistent feature - audibly and otherwise. Ulyana takes a calculated sip of her tea and, only after a long pause has passed does she respond. "I prefer the ones made with nut flour," she intones with an ambivalent rise-fall of one shoulder. "They are vastly more tolerable. Is there a particular reason why you prefer to avoid products that formerly used wheat and do not now utilize it?" The tilt of her head is queerly mechanical and suffices to bring the other woman into her peripheral vision. "Hot tea. Ginger is preferred, but only out of necessity. Do you have a preference?" "They're not palatable for me. I find the texture different enough that it doesn't suit my tongue after thirty-some odd turns. To each their own." Irianke lifts her spoon of tomato chowder goodness and eats from it slowly, once and then a second spoonful. It's washed down with a sip of wine. "There's a spice blended tea where I'm from that I love with several drizzles of sweetener and just a splash of cream. Ginger," adds the goldrider, "Is good for digestion." "I see," says she and silence is allowed to spin itself out in the meantime. Ulyana shifts her plate of cookies onto her lap and proceeds to break the cookies into quarters. There's a momentary flattening of her mouth, lips nearly vanishing, before she utters blandly, "That sounds more like a treatment for klah." A shoulder rises. Falls. The lopsided shrug yields little else in the realm of expression. But, there is more. "Hence the necessity," is a belated clarification and confirmation in one. "Candied ginger serves almost as well. As do these." The crisps, of course. Eating, likewise, proves to be as slow and deliberate a process as speech seems to be. "I don't drink klah," responds the goldrider, lifting her glass of wine in lieu. "But I shall leave you to your crisps and your tea and we shall talk some other time, yes?" Interest colors the hue of her gray-blue eyes, even as she rises with her half-finished chowder and glass of wine. "Have a good evening." |
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