Logs:Tanner Extraordinaire
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| RL Date: 27 March, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, L'hai |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia and L'hai are awkward at each other. Hraedhyth 'visits' Kolniveth. |
| Where: Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 5, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr A passageway hewn into the rock and heavily patched with cement leads a short distance in to the bowl wall, with a door on either side. Lit by regularly spaced glows, the white-washed walls have been covered over by colorful tapestries, wall hangings and pieces of art made from metal and wood. To the left of the entranceway, just a single step inside, a spiral staircase opens out of the wall, leading upwards through the stone. Further down, a doorway opens to either side of the corridor, while at the far end, there is a hewn-stone staircase leading up to the residential quarters, wreathed by two final doors to private quarters and the bathing room. The door leading to the east opens into an expansive room that seems to provide both general working space - with long, bare benches and chairs - and a cozy lounge complete with over-stuffed sofas and a few fuzzy armchairs. Three tall windows are carved into the stone, and offer air and light when the heavy wooden shutters are left open, though the lounge area has to make do mostly with glows. A hearth at the back of the room provides both heat and basic cooking facilities. The white-washed walls are bedecked with decoration - from quilts, to tapestries, to wooden carvings and metal sculptures. The western door leads into another passage, off of which the main workrooms have been built. The loading dock is at the northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall. If one ever has the need to feel small, then look no further than the forge within High Reaches' craft complex. Even Azaylia's noticeable height seems insignificant when compared to the beast of a journeyman lumbering alongside her as they leave the smith workroom near early evening. The weyrwoman seems to be explaining something, motions excited though her soft voice offers nothing in the way of juicy snippets. After she's gone and run out of breath, there's one last invisible circle drawn on opposite palm with her fingertips. Eventually the two will part, the journeyman giving a grunt as he puzzles over what has been said. The rider is less eager to venture out into the chilly fog, despite warm dress and cloak, deciding to linger in the complex she once knew so well. Less intrusive now, the tanner presence has receded to its corners, letting scents of heavy workload stay behind the thick door to the individual workrooms. In the general lull of the complex, L'hai's secured territory near an outdoor exit, unperturbed by the occasional blast of chillier air as workers enter and exit. Paved with a layer of sweat along his exposed arms, there's a chance he covets it. Sat forward on a stool, he leans into the hide draped across the stretcher that sits, braced on his knee. Feet, one far in front, one perched on a toe below the stretcher, balance him as he sways forward and back with the sweep of the blade taken across the hide, stripping it of animal hairs. Because she's close, or denied him his routine shot of outdoor fog, the concentrated worker's eyes lift to spot Azaylia, blink with familiarity, then drop. Curiosity has already drawn Azaylia in, so to speak, maintaining a distance between them that goes beyond mere manners. Her steps are slow, careful, brown eyes locked on the sweeping silver of L'hai's blade as he works. She's close enough now that he might catch her sudden inhale, eyes widening when he looks up. Bracing herself for the stroke she'll surely cost him, it's only when the motions continue that she releases the air in quiet relief. "That looks..." Like hard enough work that she's still worried about breaking his concentration. Simple curiosity insists that there's no harm in standing quietly and watching. Eyes lightly shifted to the corner without his head raising, L'hai's pace slows within the instinctive wait for the end of her sentence. A tic of confusion arrests his mouth, then he assumes her loss of interest and continues the nearly paused scrape. It's a distinctive sound between them, metal against skin. Stroke, stroke. Productivity indulges curiosity. The next break is meant, purposeful; he shifts one foot closer to his seat and repositions the stretcher, beginning to slide it towards the ground. With a flick of his gaze he reads that Azaylia's still near, her feet in danger. So he smoothly switches, hefting it across his other knee instead with a flex of arms to lean the whole contraption off to one side. The better to clear the hair left on and show where it still clings. Without a moving blade at work, he relaxes the fraction that puts him looking back over at Azaylia, squinting at her. "Welcome basket weyrwoman." A trail that has not gone cold, but is masked all together by the passage of turns and acrid urban air. Hraedhyth is not subtle as she follows the path once forgotten, bridging her primal realm to touch upon the bronze's contrasting thoughts. She braves such a journey for one thing, and one thing only. ...What was his rider's name again? (Hraedhyth to Kolniveth) Subtlety has no place here. A puff of smokey appreciation for the dragon's forwardness greets her at the end. Gnawing noises, like of construction-- a building, half-done, clouded with the sawdust of stilted progress, forms the bronze's voice. « L'hai. » Shot out, then done. Transaction complete. Except for the lone whiff of old complaint. « Not that a body can tell anymore. » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) It's an easy silence on the goldrider's part, perhaps desperate enough for a distraction that the work of a tanner appears fascinating. The chance that Azaylia's interest is genuine is as likely, moving closer when the opportunity arises in his half-pause. It isn't her intention to be underfoot, and if she is the weyrwoman does her best to shuffle out of the way. "Oh." His acknowledgment has her straightening up, hands politely folded in front of her. "I... yes. Azaylia." She reminds, all too aware with how hard it is to remember names at times. Yep. She fidgets, perhaps impatiently, "And you're..." Airy tone suddenly slams down with borrowed certainty, "L'hai!" If that isn't telling, surely her relief is. "It's been a long time. I... so you keep busy?" Awkward, now that there's more talking than tanning. To L'hai, Kolniveth rumbles, low, with the bass of a drill far below ground. « She forgot your name, dude. » To Kolniveth, L'hai calmly stamps down on the loose board, stifling the noise. « I am forgettable. » To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth's own dark smoke is stirred by a mental sigh. The relief lingers a moment longer, delicate perfume claimed by the gold while gentle floral notes are not of her. « L'hai. » She echoes, contralto tense with an oath that it won't be forgotten again. Though their business is done, the queen invites herself to stay a bit longer. « He is different. » An observation, a question, an offer for him to explain if the bronze wishes. L'hai's stare remains brutally unreadable, blank, uninvolved in responding to any normal social cues in the woman, though his mouth tics subtlety to the side after the brief rapture of his name. "I, uh," Awkward, basically always. For a calm stare, he's much less so in voice, lacking composure as he prods at his deduction. "Yes. Busy, yes. I'm keeping-- " Noticing his repetition, his voice catches self-consciously; he clears his throat. "Busy." A firm slap at the stretcher loosens some more hair and brushing it off the hide, he then turns his hand over and wipes the back against his leg. He's covered in the evidence of his day: work with more than hair has tainted his clothes, and his arms here and there, while he hasn't any sleeves. "Now, especially," he adds with a soft sniff, glancing along the room, "with weyrlings." Harder, thicker: cigar smoke coils after the feminine mix, chasing its skirt out the door. « He's L'hai. » Seems explanation enough, now twice given, a notation that's a black chalk mark against gold-- or that complaint, buried under other paperwork. « Tanner extraordinaire, don'tcha know. » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) If it's only a stare L'hai offers, Azaylia has been exposed to far worse faces since the bronzerider's transfer. Where patience might be best when dealing with this particular rider, she can only offer eager curiosity. "This," What he's working on at the moment, "Is for the weyrlings?" It only takes a moment longer for obvious thought to pull her back, spine straightening during a bout of short-lived embarrassment. "It makes sense. I never stopped to think about where the leather for straps came from." Then again, with a dragonet as needy as Hraedhyth, a lot went unnoticed. To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth behaves, even as he goes about shooing her bond's feminine wiles. Her pulsating ferocity is still felt, at the moment laying dormant while they're being civilized. There's a sooty snort for the charade, but the warrior ambassador is willing to play his game. The gold's touch may be rough, but there's a certain amount of care as she goes rifling through what is readily available. Not snooping, just keeping busy, « I did not know. » Now she does. "Oh, uh... some. They go into stores, too," L'hai's consistent breed of self-awareness, too resigned to be precisely self-consciousness, smothers any nearby embarrassment. He plows-- rambles-- straight on, "The weyrlings, I mean. Well, the leathers do, too. Point being," his hand strokes over the newly smoothed portion of hide over his lap, "Making sure what's taken there is replenished and, ah... to bring in new to encourage, well, older riders to surrender theirs to stores. It's a-- a, ah." Eyes flick to the ceiling then down. "Cycle." Boots scuff on the floor as he adjusts. The stretcher sidles back onto his knees, blade resting on one edge. Somewhat of an explanation, too, for the early start the tanners have been getting. Those spending any portion of time in the complex have come to understand that some of the tanning processes can take months to settle. "Oh," eyes suddenly flush with realization as he leans back, start of an apology causing him to lick lips as it leaks into his tone, "Or did you mean where the leather comes from exactly-- " She's allowed to rifle, suggesting that nothing of any importance lies out there, spread between them in the dusky office of his thoughts. Scuffing echoes that from his rider, like boots hitting wood. Relaxation sifts, as masculine as any scent-- musky, telling of hardwood and cinnamon. Perhaps he hasn't entertained in a while. So that even female company is company. He leads, « So, what does that make me, sweet cheeks? » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) This shouldn't be new information, should it? She is a weyrwoman after all. Azaylia gives a quick nod for his fractured explanation, only once he reaches what possibly sounds like the end of a though. And then he starts up again. "O-oh, no. I just meant..." Fingers unfold from each other, motioning towards the task still stretched out in front of him. "I know where it comes from." Said with only a hint of uncertainty, accepting that if she were to let him continue, she'd end up learning a lot about leather. There's a glance for the exit, eyes captured by the swirling fog, thoughts obvious even as she continues, "Do you have any time for personal projects?" She corrects herself quickly, "I mean, commissions?" It's the petname that has Hraedhyth giving another unladylike snort, sound tainted by the gold's unapologetic amusement. She pauses in her rummaging, drums rolling in time with the prolonged flick of stacked papers, « A bronze. » What may have once been simple-minded youth has matured into blunt honesty. Flames curl thoughtfully, her own smokey scent mingling in the closed quarters they currently share. « It depends on what it is you want to be. » For now, Kolniveth (for she does not forget the names of her people) is of L'hai, tanner extraordinaire. (Hraedhyth to Kolniveth) L'hai's mouth shuts with a snap, the letters of course nearly printed across his forehead in thin wrinkles. "Yes," he murmurs, soothing himself as he leans back, irreverent to her uncertainty, "Beastcrafter." A tilt of his head indicates her shoulder, "Formerly." Her glance to the exit affords him one; face turning down, blade lifts-- pauses. The crease meant to portray a disturbance gets righteously defeated by the first strike of real possible interest in his eye. Turning more rapidly, humanly, to her. Not that his tone manages to reflect it. Pessimistic to the point of defeating his own enthusiasm, he patiently responds, "I do. When I have a commission that I've set time aside for." He hums regretfully, mouth souring, "It's not always a specific one." But tanners have no need of dragons. Merely their hides, the flat disposal from off their structure-- Kolniveth's large and, as noted, bronze. Meat, that bulk which defines him chars to a grizzled toughness. « Cheat sheet, sweet cheek. » A blast of pleased smoke having filled Hraedhyth's snorting nostrils at the blunt sound. « The answer's chopped liver. » An old argument, gone with the screech of wheels. Burnt rubber; foreign things. It's clear the bronze's own straight-forward confidence allows no such answer to be true. « And if it's fifty-percent want, then it's fifty-percent demand. » Of the 'supply and' fame. « You on the market for a bronze, then? » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) "I'm not..." Azaylia's own hesitation continues for as long as it takes her to weigh the pros and cons of encouraging him, "...completely sure how it's all done." Manners and her need to please win out, obviously. "You could tell me about it, sometime?" A subtle stress on that last word in particular. When L'hai suddenly turnsr, the weyrwoman's unintentional lean is straightened a second time, breathless squeak leaving her. "Oh. Uhm. I was asking because Hraedhyth has been getting some ideas, and a tanner could certainly help." She doesn't mean to be cruel, dangling the prospect in front of him just as duty's call becomes unbearable. "I'll save the project for you. I actually have work of my own to do. Thank you for humoring a nosy goldrider." The fairwell may be swift, but she lingers long enough for his response, if there is any. He'll receive that chilly woosh of air as the woman's long strides disturb the fog that eventually swallows her retreating form. To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth meets the squeal of foreign machine with bared jaws, tension rippling through the air as drums steady themselves. Grim composure is too much to be anything but playful, the gold almost gleefully accepting her fate. Two for flinching. Something's lost in translation, street to the plains, « All of the bronzes are of use to me. » As is Kolniveth. Instinct catches wind of what might be a challenge for that which has already been won, a borrowed chill from her brown mate settling in her shoulders. Though, « I am always 'on the market' for willing bodies. » His slang is awkward on her tongue, the gold deciding that it has been too long since she has wrestled with a bronze as large as he. Whether she's able to convince him or not, Hraedhyth's visit continues until she is called away-- likely by a needy dragonet. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:35:12 GMT.
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*snortlaughs at Kol to L'hai pro* Poor L'hai. C'mon, it's a big weyr! >_>;
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