Logs:Odds And Ends
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| RL Date: 29 September, 2008 |
| Who: Paige, R'uen |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'uen startles Paige in the storage caverns. She's putting together a basket for Paddy; he's in the process of getting loads of socks back up to his weyr. Dragons and weyrlings, among other things, are talked of. |
| Where: Stores, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 11, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
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| Late afternoon it may very well be, breezes tending toward cooler outdoors and weyrfolk, finishing up their chores for the day, but Paige is secreted away somewhere on the main level of the storage caverns, having planted herself in one particular cave an hour or two earlier. Rustling around in several bins, head occasionally disappearing into one while she hunts for something that's proving elusive, she's at least got a motley collection begun at her feet; some pieces of blue-green cloth, sticks of cinnamon, a chipped piece of shell that looks as if it was once part of a piece of jewelry. R'uen, it seems, was buried in some other section of the stores and now he comes meandering along the aisle with a bundle of socks in one arm and a sweater hanging over the other. Dark eyes set on Paige from behind and maybe it's her bin diving that quirks his mouth, or the very weird collection of things at her feet, but the Weyrleader smiles to himself as he approaches. He clears his throat quietly. Engrossed in her quest, Paige is undoubtedly startled by the throat-clearing noise; a little yelp of surprise heralds her emergence from the bin, pale eyes wide. " -- R'uen-sir, " she manages to get out, if a bit breathlessly. "Yer havin' better luck'n I am, I hope." Perhaps just then noting that he's carrying socks and a sweater, she adds with a small grin, "Sure looks like y'did." R'uen has a ready grin for the surprise in her eyes. "Socks," he tells her, barely a turn of his torso to draw attention to the arm full of them, just in case his enunciation should be questionable. "Without holes in them." That part's important. "So what are you looking for? What finishes the haul of... cloth, cinnamon and... what's that last thing? Part of a shell?" He's glancing down at her feet now, looking like he might consider nudging at her collection with the toe of his boot; while the foot does shift, it doesn't come anywhere near actual contact with her new belongings. "Ain' got time t'mend yers no more?" jokes the young greenrider, tilting a thoughtful look down at the bin whose depths she was previously exploring. "Oh, um. Lil thin's, " she answers vaguely about her odd collection, smile quick. "I been tryin' t'put t'gether a - gift basket o'sorts. Gotta be lined with the cloth, and decorated with the shell and anythin' else I can find. There's gonna be cookies in the middle, too. Cinnamon ones. So there's gotta be cinnamon." See, it all makes perfect sense! "I'm better at patching holes than darning them," R'uen admits, but then for a brief beat her accent seems to baffle him. His mouth twists to the side, eyes narrowing his focus as she speaks. But yes, yes it does make perfect sense. "Oh, gift basket. Who for? Anyone I know?" Paige's expression grows a tad shy, but her face just lights up when she says simply, "S'fer P'draig." A small hand darts out to add a miniature, wooden spoon to the collection. Something else seems to occur to her just then; little side-steps bring her further around the bin so that he can easily access it, too, if need be. "I ain' in yer way, am I?" she asks then, hesitant. "P'draig. Weyrlingmaster. The one who moved to Ista?" R'uen recalls, or recites, it could go either way. "A little spoon for.. retrieving the bits of cookie when they fall off in his glass of milk?" His brows go up, she's moving out of the way. "Oh, no no. I can get around you. I just thought I'd stop and say hello. I can leave you to your hunting though, if you want. I don't mean to interrupt. Well, not much anyway." "The very same, " confirms Paige brightly, peeking down at her motley assortment of items, pleased. "Bits o'cookie? Naw, s'kinda - they're all s'posed t'be lil sentimental thin's, " she admits at last. "The spoon's there 'cause he's a baker, " she explains tentatively while peeking back up at him. The other items probably have meanings attached to them, too, but she isn't as forthcoming about those. Or, perhaps she's just more engaged in reassuring him that his presence isn't a bother. "Oh! S'awful nice o'ya. Y'ain' interruptin', not at all. 'Less y'needed t'talk t'me 'bout somethin', " you know, all official-like. And whether that's the reason for his interrupting or not, she continues. "Yer afternoon been goin' good?" "A spoon because he's a baker." He says it in a tale-telling sort of way, like the start of some fabled story: once upon a time, she gave him a spoon because he was a baker. R'uen adjusts his sock-filled arm, a pair, tied together, dangling like they might fall. "Awfully nice of -you-, putting a gift basket together. Special occasion? Turnday or whatever?" He sets his hip against the side of the bin, settling in for at least a moment or two. "Or is it something private. Don't let me pry." And he means that. He's just as willing to answer her question. "The afternoon's been good, yeah. Successful so far. I figured, winter coming, it might be time to stock up a bit on warm things to wear." "I, um, I dunno when his turnday is, " Paige confesses with a little flush. Well, that rules out that occasion. "I jus' wanted t'make him somethin' nice. S'been three months." Milestone occasion, then. Still, she glances over at his aforementioned socks again, chin bobbing in a series of nods. "Oh, o'course. Dun ferget somethin' warm fer yer head, too, when it gets colder. Hat'sre great thin's t'have 'round. -- And Zaiventh's doin' good?" "Not that then," R'uen says aloud. And whatever guesses he could have for that three month milestone remain unspoken, questions unpressed. "Hats," he says instead. "Do you knit? Crochet? I can't help you look for anything, can I?" he tosses out as well. "Zaiventh's well. Proud of himself, though that might be a bit of an understatement. It wouldn't surprise me if Tiasheth got an earful sometime. She's luck if she's avoided it. She's well?" Paige shakes her head briefly, moving a few items aside in the bin that clatter lightly against the walls to root around for something else. "Naw, I dun know how t'make m'own stuff. I jus' make do with whatever looks warmest in stores. Picked somethin' out las' winter with Berit. I 'spect it'll do plenty fine fer 'nother few turns. Plain hats seem t'last the longes'." Amusement colors her next words, mouth twitching into a cheery grin. "If'n she's gotten earfuls, I ain' heard 'bout 'em. She's doin' real, real good. Awful excited 'bout the idea o'Zaiventh and Zibeth havin' lil'uns. More children fer her t'play with, " she explains, chuckling. "More little ones?" R'uen repeats, brows up appreciatively though something in his expression is still reserved. "Little ones like... kids? I don't suppose she's had a lot of time with weyrlings; she's still pretty young herself." Finally that dangling sock slips free and the space it leaves has a few more pairs tumbling out of his arm. So now R'uen is bending to collect them when he mentions, "It's pretty wild to think about. That's he's... making dragons. Weird." "She likes kids, " Paige says plainly, as if that weren't already obvious. "Helped a whole mess of 'em build sandcastles down by the lake. And they like her, too. She likes the idea o'anythin' tha's small and young and growin', I reckon, though she hasn' had no time with other weyrlin's yet. S'why she's so happy t'know that he and Zibeth're gonna have lil'uns." Watching him fetch socks for a fraction of a second, she bends down to assist him with the retrieving. "Can' 'magine what tha's like, " she says after a moment, thoughtful. "I bet 'tis excitin', though. He's a'lookin' forward t'it?" He cants his head to the side, "Does she like plants too? Baby animals? Thanks," added in for her help. R'uen adds the socks to the top of his armful. "Need a bag or something, before I scatter socks across the bowl. Maybe I can cram them in my pockets." And as for making baby dragons, "He's looking forward to it. Goin' on about how next time there will be more. Sands so full of eggs there's hardly room for them to hatch." He rolls his eyes and stands again to try wedging the socks into the pocket of his slim-cut pants. "Adores 'em, " Paige assures him, getting to her feet after he gets to his. "Maybe y'can find a lil bag 'round here t'put 'em in?" she suggests, renewing her search efforts. "S'gotta some spare lil'uns 'round here, somewheres." There's a little grin for his elaboration on Zaiventh's outlook, a laugh escaping her. "S'awful lotta eggs. Poor Zibeth." Or whichever queen gets to be so lucky. "Yeah, poor Zibeth," R'uen says with a touch of sarcasm. He doesn't linger on it. "I think I can get most of them in my pockets," he updates, though now that he's got some stuffed in his pants, he's already starting to look a tad ridiculous, socks hanging out at his hips from awkward lumps. A few more get stuffed in his jacket pockets as well. "Well, I imagine when the time comes for the eggs to hatch--the real ones, not the endless sea of them Zaiventh imagines--she'll be hanging around the barracks all eager for them to poke their little heads out." "Y'sure?" And Paige glances up from her search, only to have to stifle another giggle with the socks that are adding odd lumps in his pockets. A triumphant noise later, she produces a small basket from a different bin, offering it to him. "S'lil too small fer me t'use fer cookies, but maybe y'can bundle up the socks 'round each other and stack 'em in there? Or the ones y'can' get in yer pockets." For the idea of Tiasheth hanging around the barracks, eagerly awaiting the emergence of weyrling dragons, she beams. "I'm sure she'll be. Already thinks 'tis an awful good idea." Small though it may be, R'uen looks quite pleased to receive the basket, to pile what socks didn't fit in his pockets into it; now he's lumpy with a basket of socks. It's a picture. "I'm sure they'll be just a curious about her," he says. "Tiasheth," he adds, a grin so cheeky he might just wink. But he doesn't. "Good luck with your gift basket. I hope P'draig appreciates all your hunting." He puts fingertips toward his forehead, 'toward' because the basket on his arm makes it a touch awkward, and gives her a rather playful salute. Paige's smile for him is bright, hopeful. "Thank ya, R'uen. I jus' hope he likes it." To his playful salute, she fires off a well-executed one in response, though her expression belies its seriousness and relegates it to a similar sort of playfulness to match his. "Good luck gettin' back with all them socks, sir." Apparently, she thinks he needs it. R'uen gives her a careful bow, neither socks not sweater dislodged, and with that he turns to head off toward the exit, leaving Paige with some privacy while she continues gathering those personalized trinkets for the former weyrlingmaster. |
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