Logs:Meeting I'daur
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| RL Date: 4 September, 2008 |
| Who: Paige, I'daur |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Paige and I'daur run into each other in the storerooms at High Reaches. She's helping I'gand search for a stuffed toy; he's looking for a new hammock. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 8, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
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| While many people have likely spent their afternoon out of doors and taking advantage of a pleasant summer afternoon, Paige has spent most of hers inside, saving the walk into High Reaches' caverns from a few hours past noon. Maybe she's helping someone to look for something, or perhaps she's just poking through some of the bins and boxes available in public storage. Either way, she's fishing through a particularly deep container, head tipping just slightly inside while things are shifted and rooted through. Her mutters provide background acoustics - muffled sounds that may or may not be audible to those passing through. Paige isn't the only one down here; I'daur is, too. And while the visiting greenrider might be just looking, I'daur's a man on a mission, stalking between aisles and eventually winding up on the one where Paige is. He heads down it with a frustrated exhale, scanning shelves unenthusiastically as he nears the girl. Something that could pass for a triumphant syllable or two precludes Paige's emergence from her preoccupation, hand closed around the foot of a raggedy, droopy eared stuffed toy. It's a rather floppy canine and has probably been sitting around for a few turns - missing a button eye, stuffing poking out of a paw. Still, the young greenrider beams at it. Perfect, says her expression, at least until she pivots and espies tall, stalking, on-a-mission I'daur. Teeth pull briefly at her lower lip; she could sneak by and hope that he doesn't notice her. She could just as easily chirp out a friendly enough greeting and wonder what he's looking for. The latter wins out, though it may not be the wiser decision. "Toys," says I'daur, with a frown when Paige pulls out that stuffed canine; he had been half-watching to see what she found after all. He shuffles over closer to glance in himself, and then scan the nearby shelves. "All toys? --Looking for a hammock, mine ain't gonna last the winter again." "I dunno, " answers Paige honestly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "Jus' been through tha' bin and the other'un over thataway, " a nod for one of the far corners. "Seems t'be a lil mix o'stuff? I ain' been in here 'fore, though." Her knot, brown-black-green, explains why. "Y'reckon they'd put hammocks further down, if'n all this over here's toys?" "Couldn't turn around without elbowing some assistant in the face, if I didn't want anything," grumbles I'daur, with a glance back over his shoulder for said assistants--no luck. For Paige's question, he's got a shrug, though, and a "Hell if I know." Beat. "Never--what're you doing here /now/?" he asks, brows furrowing up when he finally takes a look at her knot. "S'way 'tis, " Paige opines with an emphatic nod for those assistants who are strangely absent when they're needed. And then he's asking what she's doing here, right about the time that she slides pale eyes over to /his/ knot. "Been here fer a few hours a'tryin' t'help m'brother find somethin' - sir, " she explains, a bit more timidly. Hastily, she adds: "Paige, green Tiasheth's, from Fort." Even though he probably at least had that last bit already figured out. "Paige," repeats I'daur, and eyes the young girl. "Last clutch?" It's idle wonderings, and while not exactly bursting with friendliness there's little censure for her rifling the Reaches' stores in his voice, at least. He turns to tip a box down off the shelf enough to look in, never mind its label says nothing at all about hammocks in the first place. Belatedly himself, "I'daur, Zunaeth's." Paige gives another nod, attention automatically flicking to the box he turns toward. "Yessir. Las' one, "she confirms, standing on tiptoe to frown a little at the label while tucking her floppy eared find under an arm. Chance of hammocks, highly unlikely, indeed. "Well met, weyrlin'master I'daur-sir." "With... what's his face." I'daur has massive powers of description. "Emilly's boy. Used to be my assistant." He reaches one hand in to rummage briefly and then shoves the box back up where it goes. And apparently realizing that statement might need some clarification, he tacks on, "Emilly, not the kid." "P'draig, " Paige says at once, face lighting up. "Yer assistant, really?" She repeats his mother's name, perhaps filing it away for future reference. "Musta been a good assistant, " she ventures, even as she cranes her head back to peer up and up at the next box, brows knitting together as she squints for the label. I'daur nods. "That one," he agrees, and gives up for the moment on his box-searching. Instead, he half-leans up against the shelf, shifting his weight. "Pretty good, I guess. Better head'n the one I got now, but she likes it, so," and he lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug. "You take the help you get." Paige's mouth curves into a little smile, expression relaxing into something a bit more thoughtful. "S'good thin', though, tha' she likes it, right?" she offers, ever the optimist. "I mean, seems t'me tha' people'll work a lil harder and try t'do good if'n they like wha' they're a'doin'." "Yeah?" I'daur tilts his head slightly, studying Paige again and then offering a half nod. "S'pose so." He reaches into a pocket then, to delve out a flask, uncap it and drink briefly. "Said you got a brother here?" he finally asks, glancing sideways at the girl. "I'gand, brown Khavoth's, " Paige elaborates about her brother while reaching to give the floppy toy under her arm a little pat. "He's a'lookin' fer somethin' t'give t'someone's kid, he said, but didn' say who 'twas fer." Helpfully, she supplies, "Impressed a few turns back. Five or so, somethin' like tha'." I'daur is already nodding at the name, even before Paige clarifies when her brother impressed. "Khavoth, right. Had 'im," he agrees with a nod. Then, dryly, "Okay kid. For a weyrling." Paige doesn't quite raise a hand to her mouth in time to stifle a small giggle. "S'an alrigh' guy, fer a brother, " she returns in kind, at least somewhat amused. "Khavoth's done him some good, I reckon. Seems like he's kinda settled down some from how he was 'fore he left home." And she tips another look toward the fluffy toy. At the very least, he's apparently taken better to the idea of children - not his own. The idea of what I'gand might have been like before his impression has I'daur nodding absently, not apparently that concerned over it. "Does that, most of 'em. The dragons. Guess you'd know well as any, though," he agrees, with another squinting look at the toy. "S'missin' an eye," he notices then, points out just in case she hasn't. "Guess so, " Paige replies, eagerness rapidly replacing amusement. "Yeah, 'tis. I figure I'll take 'er home with me, fix 'er up a bit and brin' it back t'him another time." Repairing a child's toy, after all, is nothing like applying new stitching to thick straps. "Ah, Khavoth's a'brin'in him down t'see it. Better not keep him a'waitin', " even if she's been kept a time or two. "G'luck findin' yer hammock, I'daur-sir. Nice meetin' ya." Bowl-ward she goes. |
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