Difference between revisions of "Logs:Sunniva Gets Socked"

Laundry duty. It is one of Sunniva's most treasured of tasks, rivaled only by infirmary work. A wayward glance to a sock is enough to remind her of something else, something that all the other candidates have been doing but that she's simply not had much time or innate inclination toward doing. Why this is any different, she does not know ... nor is she particularly in a mood to question the impulse as she might otherwise. An empty basket is hefted and she slips out of the cavern, taking a discrete path toward the Weyrleader's complex. Her purpose is simple and single-minded: to seek out N'thei or Satiet ... or, Faranth willing, both of them. Habitually quiet footfalls are soon followed by a low-pitched query at the entrance of what she presumes to be the weyr of one or the other, features congealed into a mask of polite trepidation. "Weyrleader?"

That would be the Weyrleader's weyr, yes. Fortunately, Wyaeth is out-and-about somewhere, therefor not haunting his ledge and being strange and scary when Sunniva makes her light-footed approach. N'thei, however, is a different matter. The voice-- a girl's voice!-- at the edge of his weyr alerts him from the deeper recesses; he ought to be out-and-about by now, somewhere around mid-morning?, but he's still loitering at home. Setting his buttons, running a hand along his chin to test the closeness of a daily shave, he arrives in the tunnel leading out of the weyr with a curious frown in place-- different from his mean frown, his accusing frown, the whole pantheon of other frowns he possesses. On sight of Sunniva, that dubious expression deepens and he pointedly looks beyond her, to the ledge, to the bowl, for someone /other/ than this particular candidate. Finally, seeing she is indeed alone; "Do you need something." Because why else?

Ah. There. Her posture straightens -- as if such a thing were possible -- and her expression resolves into something rather more neutral than before. Unobtrusive and purposeful, that. The basket is shifted to rest better on her hip; her head is lifted to properly look at the man with no residual hint of her previous wariness. Brows lift subtly, wordlessly -- thought briefly -- curious. With some, there is no mincing around a topic and Sunniva presumes that the Weyrleader is one such person. So: "Yes. An old sock of yours, sir. For the scavenger hunt."

"You want--" N'thei needs a moment, a moment to wrap his head around this request, a moment to realize that this girl, with her nice posture and her strange-perfect manners, has come to collect a /sock/. His jaw works silently while he processes the request, while he eyes Sunniva like he's still waiting for the punchline. Finally; "You want a sock." Eyes narrow momentarily, frown creases more sharply, and he lifts a hand to beckon her into the weyr behind him. The sudden turn of his shoulder and steps into the weyr make it very clear that he never doubts that she'll follow behind him like a good-little-candidate. The weyr itself: Finely furnished as befits a Weyrleader, but the outer weyr (all that's visible) has no real personal touches, hardly looks lived-in save for the bottle-and-glass that sit ever ready on the mantel.

There is no verbalized confirmation, nor is there much need -- the expression on her face will only lend credence to the idea that she is not possessed of any distinct sense of humour at the moment ... if ever. As he moves inside, so does she dutifully follow a calculated three paces behind with her practiced, ghost-quiet tread, head ducking slightly and the line of her mouth, the cast of her features, steadfastly set to 'obedient'. A well-trained Sunni, yes. The contents of the weyr are given a fleeting, appraising look, but her attention remains on the man, watching for any cue that she ought to stop or move elsewhere.

In to the belly of the beast... N'thei lets her stop whenever she deems fit. He does not, it seems, expect her to follow him all the way through to the inner weyr. That's where he goes, where he disappears for a short spell, and that's from where he returns with socks rolled up in one hand. But handing them over would be too easy; he stops, the sock-hand held back slightly from the girl, and gives her a dubious, one-eye-squinted frown. "Now, what's in this for me again?" It's too obvious a question not to address.

And stop she does, about dead center of the room with the empty basket still residing against her hip. There, she waits, impassive and quiet until he re-emerges from his lair; but when he doesn't hand them over, her eyebrows lift subtly, the effect lessened as she lifts her head a little as well. "It is for the scavenger hunt," she reiterates, "so I do not rightly know what would be in it for you, sir." But that gives her a moment's pause and then Sunni's head tilts, oh-so-slightly to a side, a curious edge to her voice. "What is it that you would want?"

What is it he could want... N'thei let's just enough time elapse before he even starts to answer to make one thing very plain: there are a /lot/ of things he could want. But then there's a long, half-smiling look at Sunniva with her basket and her primness, and he winds up shaking his head. No, he's not going to answer in all truth. "Get the rest of my laundry while you're here, girl, and I don't like my shirts stiff." Sock offered from the ends of his fingers.

Perhaps she anticipated such a request; perhaps she might have offered to do it anyway, with that basket at the ready as it is. "As you wish, sir." Sunniva ducks her head, acquiescing readily to the request -- and then compounding it with, "If you have any mending that needs to be done, I can see to that as well. Since I am here." With a birdlike tilt of her head the other way, her eyes settle upon him with a surreptitious sense of appraisal; gauging. She does not, however, take the sock. No. Her hand extends instead, palm up, for him to give it.

"If I had anything that needed mending." N'thei gives her a bland look over that, a really-now light to those cool gray eyes. "You'd be the first to know." But now. And if she's not taking the socks, she's not likely to get them, since he just stands there with them on his palm, with an expectant slant of his head. Sunniva will have to be adventurous-- daring even!-- if she expects to walk out with the socks. Pluck the forbidden fruit, girl, it's such a harmless thing.

Harmless? She has her doubts. With a shallow nod to his words and none of her own to add, that only leaves the matter of the socks. Stubborn only pays in a situation where she knows she can win out; here, Sunniva is forced to quickly acknowledge that he will not /give/. It was worth an attempt. And, so, she reaches to take them, her eyes unmoving from his face. Which, if successful, results in a "Thank you" and leaves only the task of acquiring and tending to laundry; easy enough, in comparison.

N'thei does nothing to prevent her claiming the socks, just watches her hand like it's a fly and he's the spider. Come closer, little meal. But she just plucks them neatly, and he frowns with renewed disappointment. "Your sister's a lot more sport than you are," he remarks sorrowfully. "Laundry's in a bag in the weyr." Another thing he expects her to retrieve on her own. Already, his steps lead toward the ledge, his back turned to Sunniva.

"I am not my sister. You would do well to remember that." Cast back with a subtle edge, something echoed in her eyes as much as in the press of her lips; a crack in the mask. How common a comparison must that be, sister to sister? No 'sir' this time; she has what she wants. No 'do take care' or 'good bye'; the comparing of sisters is enough for her to eschew any trappings of propriety. And as he moves away, so does she, a purposeful stride taking Sunniva further in to gather the laundry and complete her end of the deal.