Logs:Robes and the Right Fit
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| RL Date: 21 June, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Hattie, Paislie |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee mends robes, Paislie gets one, Hattie offers advice, experience and a favor. |
| Where: Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: From morning straight through until well into the night, large, soft-looking snow falls steadily. |
| Mentions: Jemizen/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Nehmet/Mentions, Nimarie/Mentions |
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>---< Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr(#573RJs$) >----------------------------------<
Spacious but not as large as the Living Cavern, the Commons serves as a
communal gathering space for the Weyr's residents. A collection of tables
and chairs are arranged around the cavern, with some tall stools tucked
under a counter carved into the eastern wall. A motley collection of
braided rugs in Fort colors are spaced through out the cavern to delineate
the arrangements of seating, while several large hangings blunt the chill
of the stone walls. Niches carved up near the cavern's ceiling hold
regularly spaced glows that are kept fresh weekly while a fire is left
perpetually lit in the hearth regardless of season, providing both warmth
and additional light. Before this hearth is arranged a large, leather sofa
and a pair of matching armchairs. Many residents settle here to work,
study, or socialize at different times of the day, though it tends to be
most active in the early evening.
The Commons also serves as a hub to reach other parts of the Weyr: the
Nursery is located across from entrance to the Resident's Quarters and the
corridor to the Workrooms, with the Lavatory situated between the two. The
Candidates' Barracks and the Classroom bracket the archway leading back
out to the Inner Caverns. Though the snowfall outside is of the soft variety, the fact that it's falling at all to join the drifts already piled from recent falls makes the Commons Cavern all the more inviting in the hour just before dinner. By the hearth is spread out an array of robes, common sizes tossed on top of one another and occupying the backs of a number of chairs. Some candidates chatter as they try them on, trying to get the glorified potato sacks that fit them most becomingly. Enough away from this small gathering is Dee, on the floor. Well, no, she's on a braided rug (more comfortable than stone), but on the rug on the floor. She's close enough to be consulted, but far enough that she can give her focus over to the small basket beside her knee and the small, borrowed-from-the-Weyr sewing kit that is getting her through the mending, one tear or hole at a time. Recently given a white knot of her very own, though not yet moved into the barracks themselves, Paislie is in the Commons but she's not paying any true attention to the chattering candidates near the hearth. She's in a chair closer to Dee, farther away from the other candidates than the younger girl, with a book in her lap that she's doing a rather decent job of paying attention to despite the busy nature of the Commons. From the way of the nursery, the Weyrwoman moves through into the commons, two children who are undeniably hers following at her heels, the taller, older girl leading the boy by the hand. Both children are wrapped up warm for the outside world, though the goldrider is not, and they stop when she does, to listen, however impatiently, as she tells them, "Half an hour and no more. Elaruth will watch you and I'll be in the living cavern with your dinner, so don't think you can be hours and I won't notice. Okay?" She must receive an affirmative, for they run off and she moves to briefly converse with the Candidates by the hearth, before she moves to find a seat a little removed from them, opposite Paislie. Hattie curls into it, folding her legs, and regards first Paislie, then Dee. "You like the floor, don't you?" she puts to the latter, a little dry. Dee has the decency to blush in the face of Hattie's observation. "I might like it less if you keep catching me here, ma'am," she admits, but there's humor in her smile and bringing a warmth to the wide planes of her face. "Really, I ought to follow Paislie's example." She nods toward the redhead, "Always sensible. Chairs and all that." The needle is carefully pushed through material and the candidate's eyes follow it, clearly not experienced enough at the task to do it without looking, though the stitches seem fairly straight. "Were those your children?" She asks with interest, a slight tilt of her chin indicating the direction that the youths headed, without taking her eyes away from the robe. Paislie is engrossed in her book, perhaps forcibly so to block out the low drone of other people talking and allow herself to focus, so it's the sound of her name that jars her out of it to glance up first at Dee and then at Hattie. It's the latter her gaze lingers on for a second too long before she's looking at Dee again, "I'm sorry. I wasn't listening. Did you need my seat?" She starts to close her book and unfold her legs as though she's quite willing to give it up if necessary. "The Weyrleader's two, yes," Hattie confirms, automatically casting a look in the direction that the children ran off in, like they could be summoned back by mere mention of them. "Nimarie and Nehmet, who are certain they're going to be riders someday. Most of the time." She's mindful to keep her feet at the edge of the chair, without pressing the soles of her shoes against fabric, though she adjusts her skirts a little awkwardly, to keep fabric flowing over her ankles. "I think you're safe," she tells Paislie, in that same, dry tone as before. "I doubt that she would claim the perch, for she's too fond of the floor. Have you claimed one of those yet?" A nod towards the robes, the question seemingly for both girls. "Nope," Dee offers to Paislie with a smile, though she doesn't make to repeat her previous words. "I'm sure that Nimarie and Nehmet will be riders one day, if that's what they want and what the eggs want for them." The girl would be indulgently supportive of the dreams of youth. "I still have-- yes," Dee stops her answer abruptly and changes it because not mentioning Elaruth's hatching is probably better. "Sweat stains came out with scrubbing. The laundresses were kind enough to let me to my own," is wry, "a right of passage, I'm told. Cleansing one's robes for another Standing. They say it's good luck." She's willing enough to believe, it seems. She offers up the robe she has just finished stitching on, a quick tie off and snip to separate thread from robe. "This one might be your size, Pais," in case the girl is wanting for one. The redhead relaxes, to some extent of the word, back into her seat. She glances down at her book, then seems to decide that the polite thing to do is to close it and set it aside. Hattie is offered a brief, self conscious smile, and she gives her head a very small shake even as she reaches out to take the robe that Dee just finished stitching. "So long as it covers everything," is her only true standard for the robes she'll wear onto the hatching sands. "Thank you," she says more softly to Dee. No matter that the mention is not outright, Hattie still directs her gaze down at her knees for a moment or more, her stare blank and distant, before she finds herself able to look up again with her composure intact. "We had a party and mended all of the robes together, when I Stood," she remarks. Her brows dip. "I mean that we mended the robes as a group, not that we sewed them all together," the Weyrwoman clarifies. "The kitchen was generous enough to furnish us with enough to make it a party, anyway." She glances from the robe Dee is finishing and across to Paislie, the girl given a brief once-over. "You might want to stand up and see," she quietly encourages. "A robe tent could be fun," Dee points out with an innocent look toward the Weyrwoman before flashing the smile that assures she won't attempt it (not right now, anyway). "Was your candidate class close, Weyrwoman?" She wonders. "I'm not... sure..." Dee already slows, realizing something about the path her words are on, then something harder sets into her expression, though not without the usual softness to overlay it as she continues with firmer voice, "that a party would suit the candidates this time, given the constraints of the past turn." She manages to make that sound neutral. Ish. She looks to Paislie instead of Hattie, "Has Weyrwoman Lilah advised you to read the local history, too? Or just me?" Again Paislie looks toward Hattie, but she doesn't maintain eye contact or anything for any notable amount of time. "Yes, ma'am," she says, reaching for her book as she rises to her feet with the robes already in hand. She doesn't flee immediately, looking down at Dee. "Not specifically, no. Just academics. I never took to a craft," is offered with a weak smile before Paislie is turning toward the resident dorms. "I'll just go try this on to make sure it's suitable. Thank you." "...I would hazard that we were, even if we didn't always get along," Hattie says slowly, her gaze gone distant again with the effort of recalling the past. "Though, in the end, it was better that some of us eventually went our separate ways." There's a colder chill to her voice for that declaration, though it doesn't seem to be aimed at Dee or Paislie, the latter of which she watches as she excuses herself and retreats with the robe. When her focus returns to Dee, she observes her for a moment more than might be comfortable, stare heavy, until she brushes an imaginary crease from her skirts. "It's not a bad idea to be familiar with Fort's history," she remarks. "I sought out history lessons after I Impressed. One Weyr's history is not like another's." "If I Impress," Dee responds to the last first, and evenly, "I would enjoy the opportunity if the Weyr's Harpers have time. It's difficult, I think, for me to recognize the non-obvious differences between Fort and Southern and I think lessons would help." She works, while she speaks, at tying a knot into the end of her needle so she can draw the next robe into her lap from the basket, glancing after Paislie's departure and offering a soft murmur of farewell. She looks up at the goldrider thoughtfully. "Do you think it might have been different? If you and they hadn't Impressed? It feels a little like we're all heading off the edge of this cliff, and like it will-- but shouldn't-- matter who ends up with wings under them and who doesn't." There's concern lacing those words, but only lightly. "I think it might be useful for all of you to have lessons about the Weyr's history." Hattie gives a twitch of a shrug. "Whether any of you Impress or not, if you intend to stay for any duration, understanding the history of a place and region can only help. Then none of you would be in the position I found myself in: having an education, but knowing next to nothing of where I was to spend my life." Another shrug, faintly dismissive. "Maybe it's something I should see formally taught. By riders, rather than Harpers, since I imagine very few of you are set to live your lives in a Weyr as the latter." She tilts her head a little and regards Dee for a moment, then glances back at those other Candidates. "...Would you wish to leave any behind?" is a murmured thing. "...If I, and they, hadn't Impressed, I would've distanced myself immediately, I think, solely because I wasn't terribly interested in company. If you are left behind, or others are and you are not... jealousy is a factor. Ill-feeling. You may see someone with a dragon you wish was yours and be unable to communicate with them." "Yes, ma'am," Dee agrees, but quietly. "I'm sure anyone staying would benefit." There's a slowly drawn and released breath, "If I don't Impress, I intend to return to my apprenticeship in Southern. So long as Jem is... well, settled, one way or the other." She's paused her stitching to look up briefly at the goldrider and back down. "I hope he Impresses. It's what he wants, I think, even if he's not sure himself." There's a few more stitches as she thinks. "There are some... Well, no, none I would wish to leave behind, but some that annoy me more than Jem," which is saying a lot her tone indicates. "I'd like to think I'll be happy for whoever Impresses," Dee worries her lower lip, "but I think maybe I've started to get used to the idea that I might, so I'm not sure how I'll feel." Of course she wonders, "Why didn't you want company?" even if it's a personal thing to wonder about. Hattie's smile is nothing but wry. "I think this is the bit where I'm supposed to be insulted that you'd leave us so easily," she replies, matter of fact. "But it looks like it's all or nothing with the two of you, doesn't it? Since Jem has told me he wishes to be wherever you are. If he Impresses and you don't, we can expect him to transfer to Southern. If neither of you do, you'll both return. And if you do, I expect he'll remain in whatever capacity he can." It might sound insincere, coming so quickly on the heels of that analysis, yet there seems to be nothing more than a conclusion drawn when she adds, "He must love you very much." As for her, and the matter of company, she utters a simple, "Because people are not to be trusted." Dee is quiet some moments, her brows dipping, showing growing concern. "I think... if Jem Impresses and I don't, that he'll stay. I'd want him to stay. I don't think a rider should transfer from their Weyr of Impression without a good reason to do so. A sibling isn't a good enough reason." She takes a slow deep breath. "I'd encourage him to stay, anyway. "If I do and he doesn't... He should stay. He'll get in trouble at home," that much is simple and doesn't need much thought. "At least here I can..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I shouldn't be saying, I'm sure." Not to the Senior Weyrwoman, who might be his Weyrwoman long-term. Of trust, she says nothing. What can she say? There's only that brief flash of guilt which might, as easily, be construed as pertaining to her words of her brother. "I love him very much, too." This must seem the safe thing to say in the end. "If Jem believes that you're a good enough reason, then that's that," Hattie states, with no obvious judgement on the matter either way, her tone rather businesslike. "I wouldn't fight it." Slowly, she drops her feet back to the floor and stands, though she gropes for the back of the chair to maintain her balance, or just to be sure that she stays upright before she considers moving off. "...If he does..." she offers quietly, "do you want me to keep an eye on him?" It's only the softer quality to her voice that makes that distinctly different from 'reprimand him at every opportunity'. A murmur that sounds a bit like 'Jem is an idiot' might be heard under Dee's breath as she looks down at the robe. There's a startled look up to the Senior after her offer is made, and a moment where Dee visibly thinks about it. "He's a bit of a handful, ma'am," is rueful and fond. "If you have time, now and again, I'd be grateful, but I wouldn't want to saddle you with... well, more." She manages not to look at the Weyrwoman's midsection. "Then we wait and see." The press of Hattie's lips together is not quite a smile, nor a grimace, but merely silent punctuation. "...I suppose we all wait and see." She leaves Dee there with the robes without a proper goodbye, her path one that strikes out after her children and towards the living cavern, presumably to do as she promised them she would. |
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