Logs:Yes, Maybe, And Absolutely Not
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| RL Date: 31 March, 2013 |
| Who: Sabella, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia chats with Sabella while she works and the weyrling searches. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 5, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'zin/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outsde each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. The thing is, Sabella really didn't come to High Reaches Weyr owning a lot of pants. Sure, she had a couple of pairs. But those have been utterly trashed since she impressed. Damn those baby dragons and their mess. And she won't sacrifice any of her nice skirts to Ghislaith, never. Or her blouses. So the time has come for her to take a trip down to the stores and really begin to rummage for clothes. Not that this presents much of a problem for the holder girl, she seems to be relishing in digging through the boxes. The pairs she's picked out are arranged into piles. Any woman who has ever looked for clothes could probably figure the system out. YES, Maaaybe and Absolutely not. The hairdresser-gone-weyrling is sitting cross-legged on the floor, investigating a box of functional looking shirts. With the slow, painfully slow, shift in weather, there's no telling whether the caverns or the bowl will be favored by folks. As a result the storeroom isn't deserted, but it's far from crowded, Azaylia walking down an aisle with several paper's clipped to a board. "Pants." She says gently, tone playful as she makes a show of marking on the page. Her voice is soft, easy to ignore if one wishes, though she's got a curious glance for Sabella's piles. She turns back and tugs at another container of clothing, rummaging around for a few moments until she takes a moment longer to write something lengthy down. Sabella pulls a shirt out of the box, holding it up to herself. Something about the item doesn't do much for her, because she purses her lips together before folding it over gently and putting it into a 'No' pile. The sounds of another's footsteps distract her and she glances up, observing Azaylia's approach. It's possible, probable even that she registers she's in the way of the shelves. Carefully she begins to shift her things over so they're not directly in the goldrider's way of work. While not a proper greeting and more like friendly acknowledgement, the weyrling smiles cheerfully at her before digging into the box again. "Oh, no. It's alright. I won't be doing that side yet." Azaylia is as quick to correct as Sabella is at shifting her things, friendly smile turning somewhat nervous. As if to prove her point, she takes a sideways step in the opposite direction, glow hanging at her elbow brought up so that she's able to read a label. Once the weyrling continues in her search, "You're one of Hraedhyth's, right?" Possessive as it may sound, the question is curiously casual. A pet name of sorts, rather than a true label. "I expect you won't be the last weyrling in here today." Her smile is paired with a soft laugh, eyes pulled back down to the paper as she seems to be counting down a list. "Oh, well. Better to move in preparation anyway." Sabella returns, some of her things already moved. But she's at least slowed in the shifting of the rest, the next item of clothing held out to her body. This one receives a more positive reception and makes it to the 'Yes' pile. "Ghislaith is. My mother is a woman." It's confirmation as well as a turn of light humor, the girl glancing up at Azaylia and flashing a quick smile. "Probably not. That's why I'm tried to get in here now, early bird and all that." One slender hand waves out the rest of how that saying is suppose to go. The board is brought up to shield her lips as cheeks lift above the corners, telling of a smile even as Azaylia tries to hide the embarrassment behind it. "Yes. Of course Ghislaith is. Hraedhyth is protective of you too. Sometimes she convinces me that the way she thinks is the right way, if I'm not paying attention." Thankfully, it doesn't seem to last long. Whether the new weyrling is able to relate or not, the weyrwoman seems to think it's a good enough explanation. The smile is returned, "I hope you can find something with bright colors in there." It may seem offhand at first, distracted as she inspects the contents of another box. "It's spring, after all, and I think you'd look pretty in them." Still distracted, her words are all too genuine. "Ghislaith tells me that Hraedhyth is very strong. I think sometimes she's a little awestruck. I'm not certain if it's because she's a gold or her dam, maybe it's both." Sabs wonders out loud as she folds another shirt over and places it in a pile. If Azaylia is embarrassed or anything, the weyrling behaves as if there's nothing to notice in that regard. Her chatting continues along seamlessly, "It's a mixed bag. I've found some really nice pieces and some of the others are-" Her hand tips back and forth, indicating the so-so of the rest of her find. "Thank you. I don't feel so pretty right now, but I've gotten the impression that comes with the territory." Her smile is playful as a hand goes to touch that shortened hair, still not used to it. Azaylia hugs the board to her chest, exhale sounding suspiciously like a coo, "Oh that's so sweet. And, it's probably a little of both?" She offers, doing her best not to let obvious favortism do the answering for her. "I don't know if Hraedhyth's told me much about Ghislaith. Other than she's quiet... I'd like to meet her, sometime." Once the pages are rescued from her crushing embrace, there's a grimace for a bent corner that she hasn't noticed until now. Thumbnail does its best to smooth it out, gaze bouncing up and down as she keeps up with Sabella's easy conversation. "I always seem to point people in the direction of the Craft Complex. I mean, if you find something that's so close to being right, I'm sure there are Apprentices who wouldn't mind a chance to practice." Marks would probably help, though young folks often work cheaply. The green weyrling's hair gets a sympathetic wince, though she's quick to comfort, "It doesn't look bad. Really. It's cute. I just... wish they didn't have to cut hair. We're in an Interval." Grudge likely held from when she had to get her own locks cut. "I'm afraid that it wouldn't be as exciting as meeting some of her clutchmates. Ghislaith is quiet but not in a shy way, reserved. Private as well." Sabs shrugs her shoulders, clearly at ease now with what will likely be a thing for the rest of her life. "Telavi- one of the weyrlings with us in the barracks, I'll probably go to her if I find something that's close. She used to be a seamstress, I figure we can barter on skills." Done with the box in front of her, she begins to collect the piles and put the rejected ones back where they belong. "It could be a lot worse, I figure. At least when he cut it, he was able to do it along a straight line." There's still palpable relief for that aspect. The weyrwoman has gives a tsk, though it's far from scolding, "All the baby dragons are exciting in their own way. Though I wouldn't want to upset her, if she likes to keep to herself." It may be why Hraedhyth has offered her lullabies and little else, instinct letting the dam know which pups need her more than others. "Telavi." The name is murmured, meant to be remembered should she need it later. "That's good. I forget how many crafters seemed to have impressed this time." Satisfied that Sabella seems to have her own solution in mind, there's a pause as Azaylia plays catch-up with herself. Two boxes, and she turns back with a smile, "He? Sounds as though you have a close class. It's important, getting along and working together." "Yes, a lot of crafters. I used to joke that the Smiths were trying to invade our barracks when I first came here." Sabella laughs, gathering up her pile of prizes. Decent pants, quite the haul. She seems pleased with how that's gone and pulls herself to her feet. "K'zin. One of the invaders." The joke still seems to hold some sort of relative humor, to her at least. Lifting a hand she presents Azalyia with a little wiggle of her fingers. "I'm sorry, but I have to get back. Clothes to sort and a dragon to oil." The green weyrling is polite, waiting for any lingering responses before disappearing out of the stores. "K'zin." Azaylia repeats, not like the last, this time sounding far more fond. "Next time you see him tell him I said hello? And Rasavyth?" As busy as she is, there's no doubt the woman suspects Sabella will see him sooner than she's able. "Or don't." She decides, not wanting the green weyrling to feel like she's obligated. The stylus is tucked behind her ear, fingers lifted in a similar wave. It's natural, not meant to copy, "Of course. You get used to it, weyrlings suddenly leaving to tend to their lifemates." She turns back towards the shelves, pausing only after Sabella has breezed by, "Have a lovely day." She calls around the corner, smile bright as she's convinced herself that she's been heard. |
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