Logs:Sly Insinuations
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| RL Date: 30 December, 2004 |
| Who: Josilina, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 21, Month 9, Turn 1 (Interval 10) |
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| Your location's current time: 17:46 on day 21, month 9, Turn 51, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn afternoon. Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr The kitchens of High Reaches Weyr are contemporary, spare and simple in design, free of clutter. The sleek surfaces are a hallmark of the current Pernese style - polished marble and granite, metalwork, and woods. The background colors of the kitchen are light and neutral, allowing for bold tone accessories to take center stage. The lighting and entryway opening treatments are low-profile and minimalist. The hearths have been fitted with modern equipment and simple, sleek metalwork to add an up-to-date touch to the heavily used areas. The polished granite counters are long and wide, allowing for ample work space. The woodwork is lightly stained, bringing out the natural hues in the grain. A simple cording, in the same bold color as the accessories, borders each cabinet door, accenting the room. Two large islands break up the kitchen into work areas: baking center, butchery, vegetable and side center, and the serving organization center. The floor is tiled with large marble squares, each section carrying a different, yet complimentary color to direct the flow of traffic. The entryway into the Living Cavern has been expanded to fit two doors - in and out - each marked with its own identifying color that matches the tiles just inside the doors, to keep collisions from occurring. The cavern itself has been expanded to include breakfast nooks, where residents can sit to eat, while leaving the main kitchen free from tables and the traffic that accompanies a busy Weyr. Obvious exits: LIving Cavern Lower Caverns Josilina comes through the hides covering the doorway from the lower caverns. Josilina has arrived. Josilina pokes her head in the kitchen, glancing around before stepping into the room. She has a small saucepan in one hand and inside are some cooking utensils in varying states of cleanliness. "Anyone know where these things go? ...I mean the pan. It's clean." It's the lull before the frenetic pace of post-dinner cleanup, and one candidate is enjoying a quiet meal at one of the breakfast nooks. On kitchen duty it seems again, a blood-stained apron has been folded along the bench to the side, and it's only by virtue of facing the entrance way, and being in a quieter area, that she notes Josilina's entrance. Recognition is quick, indicated by an arced brow that slides in askance to the pan. "It'll have to be cleaned again. The utensils in it are dirty. Over there, the second tub of suds." A beat later, Satiet adds a half-hearted attempt at a title, "Ma'am." "Right." Josilina looks over towards the tub, pointing, "That one?" even as she goes over. "Thanks. You're... shards. I'm sorry, I know we've met, but I'm awful with names. Mine's Josilina, by the way." She lets the pan slide under the cover of the suds, wiping her hands needlessly against her skirt. "Having a nice break?" She asks with a cheerful smile. Her hands move to her wrists, as if to push up sleeves that aren't there, before she reaches for a sponge and picks up the spatula she just dropped under the water. "Ma'am." It's cordial, distant, but only for a moment as Satiet sets the fork down and allows an overly sweet smile on her face. "We've met, at the lake once, I think. You were.. babbling." But it's a kind assessment, or at least the semblance of kind, marred by a quick flicker of lashes in a blue study of the woman. But there's a pause and then a frown pulls at her lip corners, the girl sliding off the edge of the bench to step towards the weyrwoman in protest. "You shouldn't be doing that, that's my job. Dishwench that I am. Not as much break as, waiting. For people to finish eating so I can wash the dishes and get out of here." Satiet(#15762POce) Satiet is slight and compact in build, with remnant baby fat rounding her ovular face. In her mid-teens, the awkwardness of her stance betrays youth, and even with the subtle signs of femininity appearing in a gentle mold here and there, it's for certain she'll never grow up to be well-endowed. Sun-streaked raven hair is cut fairly short framing her face in loose waves, the ends curling outward as they hit her shoulders in a messy tousle. In sharp contrast with her skin, as well as the dark set in her tanned complexion, her eyes are a vivid blue, though detached in focus with an underlying aloofness. A thicker sweater has been acquired, the knitting pattern of Tillek and the shading of the soft homespun wool an ocean blue. The cables along the sweater adorn the body, while the sleeves are relatively simple. A pair of fitted black pants cover her legs down to where they're met by thick striped socks. Hand me down boots cover her feet, the scuffs along the edges and the thinness of the sole indicating their age. On her shoulder is the white loop of a candidate at High Reaches. Josilina Josilina is generally unremarkable in her build, of both average weight and height, standing at just short of five and a half feet. Kept long, her hair, when left loose, hits mid-back as a mass of copper curls that tend to frizz, particularly in damp weather. Her blue eyes are set beneath contrasting sienna 'brows and faded freckles sprinkle her face, falling particularly thick across the bridge of her nose and fading as they approach her rounded chin that tends to set so stubbornly. She looks to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties. (+detail available) White and sleeveless, Josilina's button-down blouse is made for the warmer months. A few simple pleats down the front add decoration to the top but it is, in general, far outshone by her skirt. Bright and rainbow striped the skirt ends at her knees and hangs baggily around her legs, cinched in at the waist for a better fit. It sits a little awkwardly, but who can really notice, with all that color? She wears white sandals on her feet; a braided choker of blue, green and yellow ribbons at her throat and her hair is tied back in a 'tail by her red and white scarf. "Josilina." The correction is said with a smile, but her tone is firm. "Ma'am is only for formal occassions, or if you can see gray in my hair." Josilina breaks into a grin at such an assessment, "Was I? I suppose I was. That's not unusual, ask anyone. But I still didn't catch your name." The candidate's step of protest prompts a wave of protest from the redhead, water droplets scattering with the movement. "Don't be silly. I don't mind washing a few dishes - and technically you're not a dishwench, you're a candidate. If your knot's any way to judge." She gives the knot on Satiet's shoulder a little nod. "Satiet," the name is followed by an assertive lift of her chin. "No matter what Linnea says." A darkly humored smile appears in place of the uncertainty of what to do with this woman who's doing her job, and with a bare nod, she returns to the edge of her bench, bringing the plate up to chest level and scrapping the remnant vegetables together. "Well, a dishwench for the night at least. Tomorrow, I may actually get a rest day, or something more amusing. Being stuck in the kitchens for a few days is hardly my idea of contributing. Any halfwit could do th.." she falls silent and instead picks at the wilting spinach. "If anyone half as important as you walks in, we'll pretend I'm doing you a favor," she finally concludes with a half-smirk, half-grin. "Nice to meet you then, Satiet. Properly, I mean, without me babbling." Josilina says with a crooked sort of smile. "And what then, would Linnea say your name is, hm?" She asks, 'brows lifting in amusement as she finishes with the spatula and pulls out a spoon. "A favor? What sort then? Just so the story's all clear, you know, if someone important comes in." Discomforted, the dark-haired girl passes over the mention of Linnea's peevish nickname for her and continues on to latch with light-heartedness to the latter topic. "A favor, I'm allowing you to fulfill your burning desire to be youthful again by helping with candidate chores." A disarming smile brightens Satiet's sun-shaded features, almost reaching her eyes with its intent, before one last petal of wilted spinach is put into her mouth. "Cause, obviously, being young is just so wonderful, right?" The favor's explaination prompts a laugh and Josilina grins. "Right, of course. So kind of you to do that, by the way. But I'll have you know," she points in Satiet's general direction with the sudsy handle of the spoon, "I'm not /that/ old." She returns to washing, adding, "Being young -is- wonderful. I mean, that's not why I'm washing dishes, but there's nothing wrong with being young. Or staying young even when you're not, you know?" "You aren't." Satiet remarks neutrally, apparently not finding that deep well of flattery in her yet. Maybe she's still stuck in assessing the other woman, the current image melded with the babbling sort at the lake. "Did you really want your eggs painted?" The question, while for most may seem entirely out of nowhere, the girl stares levelly at the goldrider. The plate, now empty is brought over and sunk into another bin, those of dishes it seems, the hands remaining under the suds for a moment longer than necessary. "Fingers get cold," she explains and then pauses. "You're not that old I mean. I expected you to be older, but you're only a little bit younger than my mother." Loaded compliment much? "Eggs?" Josilina is briefly thrown by the non sequitor. "Oh. Well, I mean, if I could." Josilina shrugs, setting the spoon aside and drawing a pair of tongs from the water. "It's not like Lhiannonth would -ever- let me. But you have to admit, some of them are sort of... bleak this time around. And gray." She rubs the sponge over the tongs' handle, blinking at the last. "Than your -mother-?" Is her initial, startled response before she hastily amends, "I mean. Thank you. ...I think." Good with tact, this one. "My mother looks younger than she is." Satiet continues on blandly, as if happily unaware of the other woman's gaffe, or her own. "It's in the family, but I guess you look younger than you probably really are? I'd say.." a sidelong glance shifts to include Josilina in her periphery vision, "Late twenties, but I've heard Lhiannonth was clutched turns ago so.." a light shrug, and she continues with washing her hands before picking out a dish to begin rubbing at idly. "In any case, looking younger than you are is always a good thing. I really don't understand some of the girls in the barracks, putting on colors as if it were second skin and trying to look older." A surreptitiously sly look is cast the rider before she continues with her work with a thin veil of innocence. "Have you seen V'lano of late?" Josilina looks pleased, at least, at that age guess, chin lifting a little. "I'm thirty-one, actually. About to turn thirty-two." A shrug follows, "I heard someone say once that you're only as old as you feel, and I like to believe that. But looks matter a bit, I know I don't feel ready to go gray or /look/ old or anything." The goldrider seems again surprised at Satiet's last and her glance at the candidate is mixed with mild curiosity. "Some. Around the sands and all. Why do you ask?" "Riders don't age as quickly it seems. Though I can't figure out how that's even possible, I'd probably go a bit batty with another voice in my head. If," Satiet pauses significantly to rub out a spot on a plate and place it into an empty tub for clean dishes. "What I've heard is any indication of what it's really like." She fashions a quick smile for Josilina, vaguely angelic but blurry at some point along her cheeks where stain of pink coloring leads into overly frank eyes - the kind that's sometimes too good to be true. "I'd just wondered. He owes me a favor, and I've been on the look out, but haven't been able to catch him at the opportune moment it seems. Do you have any idea where he sleeps at night? I could leave him a note or some such." "Oh, it's nothing like that." Josilina says, shaking her head. Her smile softens and becomes a little distant as she gives the tongs a last swipe with the sponge. "Not at all. I mean, yes, there's a voice but it's... well it'll only drive you batty if it's /trying/ to. It's hard to explain." She sets the tongs aside and pulls the saucepan out of the water, tilting it to empty it. "He stays in the guest weyr, I think." She answers, absent-mindedly, coming to alertness only after she's answered. "What sort of favor, if I can ask? And I can probably get a message to him, if you want." Satiet mulls over the initial answer, working through the stacked dishes quickly, with only the most minimal of furtive glances towards the living caverns exit. Her looks are rewarded shortly by a flurry of candidates busing tables bringing in more tubs of plates and utensils, as well as larger serving platters. In the din, perhaps she hasn't heard Josilina's favor as the silence in regards to that subject draws out. "It sounds pleasant, I'm sure, having another voice in here." Two taps against the side of her head with sudsy fingers. It almost makes one wonder what she's in this candidacy for. And then a little while longer, after the candidates go through the swinging doors back for more loads, she shakes her head slightly, "It's nothing very big, nothing to trouble -you- with of course. Just something trivial. I don't require much, I've had more here at the Weyr than I've ever had back home." "-Me- with." Josilina echoes, mimicing the candidate in tone. "For one, it's no trouble. For another, all you've got to say is no thank you - I was just offering to help out. I'm not above trivial things you know." She shifts to the left, making room for a harried looking candidate to dump some dishes her tub. "And it is pleasent. Even if it does sound sort of... odd." A bit taken aback, if it's possible for her to even be startled, Satiet glances at the weyrwoman again, a slow curl upward at one corner of her dainty mouth. "I didn't think the concerns of a candidate would be very high on your list of things to worry over," she begins slowly, a slight change in her inflection adding some latent form of respect for her conversational partner. "But I'll be sure to give your regards later should I find him? After all, you did tell me where he sleeps at night, and.." she smiles, a sudden brilliance to her dark coloring, and a sense of amusement in her eyes. "Well, thank you. I'd like to hear more of how pleasant it is some other time, but.." she glances back at the caverns, "I believe work's about to pick up just now. Perhaps some other time?" Making a sweet-toned attempt at an open-invitation, she brushes suds off her forearm and back into the tub. "Ah, but you're mistaken Satiet." Josilina wipes the pot clean and sets it aside, picking up a dishtowel. "The concerns of candidates are very high on my list. I was a coordinator, once. And I still tend to try and keep up - even more so when they're candidates for Lhia's eggs." Her eyes narrow just a touch but it's a brief change in expression before she smiles, shrugging. "If you like. Er. Just don't put anything weird in his weyr, okay? I'll get in trouble." A nod, "Yes, some other time." She agrees, putting the towel back. "I should get out of the way. Nice to meet you properly, Satiet." She says, giving the candidate a briefly curious look before slipping out. "Good evening, ma'am," is her last response before pulling over one of the vast tubs of plates and beginning to work again. Satiet hums softly under her breath, a song from one of the more well-known harper plays of a cat and a mouse. |
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