Logs:Yawning And Yarn
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| RL Date: 2 February, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Vienne |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Vienne comes upon a worn out weyrwoman. They have a nice chat. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. The nighthearth isn't typically bustling with activity, even if tonight it feels as though almost everyone has crammed themselves into the lower caverns. The traffic may be heavy outside of the nook, a bubble of heat to be found as the blizzard rages on outside. In a chair closest to the fire sits Azaylia, her head turned towards the wall and away from others. A basket of yarn, needles, and half-formed ideas sits next to the chair along with a table that holds a mug of cooled something. Her fingers are fanned over the mix of hides and papers that cover her lap, bubbly script not that of a trained scribe and marking it as one of the weyrwoman's own copies. Vienne is still wrapped in her winter gear, shoulders hunched and damp from melted snow. Her hand aren't blue or anything, but she has that rosy breathlessness of someone who has just braved a deep and terrible kind of cold and is still trying to adjust to the fact that she's inside and no longer has to fight the wind and snow for every step. Her eyes set on the nighthearth, the hearth itself rather than the whole of the cozy nook, with a mindless determination and it's not until she drops into one of those comfortable chairs by the fire that she seems to realize Azaylia is also enjoying the warmth here. She turns her slack mouth into a bewildered smile. "I walked across the bowl," she explains. "And I am not walking back. Oswinth is going to have to come get me. Or I'll just have to live in here until spring." So basically, she's starting to understand about High Reaches and the snow. Strong hands remain somewhat curled, muscles keeping a subconscious grip on the pages that would otherwise flutter to the ground. Azaylia doesn't answer the bluerider, her head still turned. Upon closer inspection, one might realize the woman's head is less turned and more propped up, eyes closed and mouth somewhat open. Behold, the magnificence of a Weyrwoman. There's a sharp inhale as she turns her head with a squeak, blinking wildly as she attempts to recognize her whereabouts. In the meantime, "O-oh. Morning." More like evening but forgive her, she's a bit disoriented. "Oh!" That's the sound of Vienne realizing she's just roused Azaylia from her slumber. The bluerider goes entirely still after that, as if being quiet now can retroactively send the Weyrwoman back to sleep. Her eyes big and mouth pinched, she blinks back across the way, reconsidering just how wise it would be for such a thing to happen. After all, sleeping upright can be pretty painful. "I... I'm sorry," she gets out, slowly beginning to move again -- at least enough to pull off her hat. "It's evening." As her chilled fingers begin work on her buttons, she also mentions, "Probably bedtime." Hint hint. Azaylia begins to arch until the paperwork threatens to slide out from under her fingers. She gathers it up and places it next to her mug before lifting her arms and resuming the grand stretch. Yawn-squeak. "Mmm? Oh, no." Airy voice is even softer now, lips curling into something drowsy but genuine. "No need to apologize. Too much cider and the fire's so warm..." And the lack of regular sleep doesn't help, judging from the purpled crescents beneath her eyes. "You were saying something? Oswinth and spring?" She sits up now, looking only slightly embarrassed. Vienne is quick to shake her head, to frown rather than repeat her rambling comments to the sleepless young woman. "It was nothing," she insists, shrugging from her jacket and leaving it in the chair as she gets up again. "Do you need a warm up?" she asks with a gesture toward Azaylia's mug. "Or... was that cider." In which case, adding fresh klah to the cup wouldn't do much good. Vienne's insistence has Azaylia's toes pushing against the floor even more, sitting taller to give the illusion of being alert. "I'm sure it wasn't." She argues ever so gently, but doesn't push. When the bluerider brings attention to her mug, the weyrwoman's gaze holds on it a bit too long. "Yes, it was cider." Reaching over she grabs the handle and turns back to the hearth, dumping the remains in a golden arc that does little to put out the roaring flames. The cup is returned and she folds her hands in her lap, "No thank you. Ah... Vienne, right?" The gentle argument does little to convince Vienne that her babbling arrival is worth repeating. "I was just talking about the snow," she explains, recognizing that just because it's new and astounding to her, it doesn't mean that there's any reason to believe anyone else hasn't heard all there is to say on the matter. And since the goldrider was drinking cider, Vienne leave her to deal with her cup while she fetches herself a mug of klah. "Yes," she confirms for her name as she retakes her seat, perched on the edge so she can be as close to the fire as possible. "We met the other day in the living cavern." But she frowns a little again, looking at the papers and knitting and other peripherals Azaylia has collected here. "It's terrible out there." Azaylia confirms, not that it's exactly what the older woman may have been getting at. Cupping a hand in front of her mouth, she gives another high pitched yawn, large enough to have heavy eyes watering. "It's easy to remember." The fact that the harper-trained rider is a transfer likely helps. She follows Vienne's eyes down, her own brown gaze flicking over what seems like reports from turns and turns ago and lower to her basket of yarn. "I'm sorry." She mumbles, now having the sense to seem even more embarrassed. "It probably isn't very comforting to catch one of the weyrwomen of your new home slacking off." Her hands smooth nervously over the skirt of her dress, "I don't do it often. Promise." Vienne shakes her head, mug hovered below her chin in both hands. "It never occurred to me," she promises. "You weren't slacking off. You were nodding off." It's about there that a sly, quiet smile returning, making light. "If anything, it's proof that you do very little slacking." Or at least she's more than willing to let it spin like that. After finally taking a nice, warming sip from her cup, the bluerider glances toward the yarn again, her head tipping barely in that direction. "You knit? I don't know when you'd find the time." Azaylia gives a breathless laugh, "Thank you. That's a very nice way of putting it." Brows bounce up, face stretching oddly in an effort to keep herself up despite the lingering cider in her system and the warm air. "Is Oswinth alright in the cold?" What has the goldrider heard? "I do." She answers a bit too quickly, "I mean, I used to. A lot. I don't have much time, these days." She admits with a nod for Vienne's observation. "Every now and again I get the urge. Or if there's a turnday coming up." The second half might be a joke, given that slowly spreading smile. "He's holding up all right," Vienne replies with a nod. "He doesn't sit out in the snow too much. I think he'd rather like to, honestly, but we're trying to be cautious." It would seem the bluerider assumes that Azaylia has indeed heard something, but the smile she returns is little more than polite. "He promises me the cold hasn't bothered him." She pauses for another taste of klah, a hearty swallow like she trying to get as much heat into her belly as she can. "I was thinking of taking it up. Knitting. It seems like it would be a nice way to keep occupied." She might not take the comment about turndays as a joke, but then what has the bluerider heard? "Hraedhyth..." Azaylia's certainty fizzles some, words slowing as she takes on a thoughtful expression. "She doesn't worry, exactly. She may have thought he was, ahm," Only now does she realize how it might sound, "...broken." Quick to add, "She used to think the same of Szadath when she was younger. He's got a gap in his teeth." So it isn't as if the blue is being picked on. Conversation seems to be just as good as klah, the goldrider much more awake as she bends to drag the woven basket closer. "It is. I did it a lot more as an apprentice. And a junior." Back when there were four weyrwomen to High Reaches. "Are you having trouble finding things to do here?" Curious, she trades her question for the craft supplies as she pushes them closer to be inspected by Vienne, if she'd like. It's not until the word 'broken' that Vienne pulls her lips between her teeth, small mouth disappearing altogether as her glace flicks downward. "He has some trouble, yeah," she admits, her voice lacking the hesitation that might be displayed on her face. "But we manage pretty well." She's happy enough to let conversation move on to the knitting, even if she doesn't look entirely certain what she should do with that basket of craft supplies. "Not exactly," comes her answer. "It just feels a little... contained." In the end, she decides just to touch some of the yarn, able to appreciate its softness and offer her praise to Azaylia in the form of a smile. "Everyone talks about how long winter is, I guess maybe they've started to convince me." Azaylia closes her eyes, "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I'm usually better at translating Hraedhyth." The blunt queen likely needs it. "He's different in a way she doesn't understand, yet." There's a note of something hopeful as she opens her eyes, looking to Vienne with a smile that's partly apologetic. There's a flutter of fingers, encouraging the bluerider to touch the colorful tendrils, some of which lead to unfinished projects. "I... think I know what you mean. Knitting might help with that feeling, yes." Says the expert. She's hardly a 'Reachian native herself, no matter how patriotic the weyrwoman's wardrobe may appear to be. Though Vienne did not seem to appreciate her dragon being deemed broken, at least she's quick enough to accept the apology, her return smile a little extra cheerful to assuage any guilt on the weyrwoman's part. "He's a little different, it's true. It's nice of the queens to think of him." Because it's not just Hraedhyth who seems to have taken notice of the odd little blue who has joined their number. "Anyway, it's just that Igen, everything is open. The sky is open. And here, it's all so close." As she lets the yarn wind through her fingers, her glance skims sideways toward the busy cavern, people still milling and making the most of the indoor space available to them. In the midst of it, she spies a wingmate, who waves her over. "Oh, I think I have to..." Extracting her hand from the craft basket, she inches aside on the chair to gather up her jacket, careful with her mug throughout. "I'd like to find someone to teach me," Vienne gets out as she stands, though that's neither here nor there since that wingmate is still waiting for her. "It was nice talk again," she says, her smile a bit apologetic as half-steps away. With a glance towards the bluerider's wingmate, Azaylia understands, "Oh. No, please. It might be important." Even if it isn't, the goldrider hardly expects Vienne to keep her company all night. "I could." The offer doesn't sound entirely like polite conversation, smile matching in its sincerity. Leaning down, she tugs the basket closer once again as the older woman makes her apologetic escape. "Yes it was. Have a good night." The weyrwoman's smile is weighed down by her fatigue only after Vienne turns her back. |
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