Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fashion Emissaries"

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

The dinner hour being upon High Reaches, the area of the bowl nearest the Living Caverns is busy with people coming and going, dragons landed and in flight. Further out from the edges, K'del's tall figure might easily be lost amidst the movement, though he carries a glow-lamp against the early evening dark, and ambles easily-- apparently making the most of the weather, which, for late autumn in the High Reaches, is relatively pleasant. Perhaps he's heading for somewhere in particular - the worksite on the far end of the bowl, perhaps - but he's apparently in no particular rush, even so.

One of those dragons readies haunches and launches away from the bowl in a practiced leap that leaves four misplaced looking women in its wake. All of them clutch a heap more luggage than is likely safe to attempt, but at least one of the girls has her belongings bundled so tightly against her chest that it's unlikely she'll let anyone else come near. The shortest among them loosens one hand enough to tug her jacket a little tighter closed, though Saliqa can't quite manage to fasten it around her own burden. It's a wide wooden box, carefully locked multiple times, and illy fits under her arm. "Come on," she instructs the others, "No need to be standing about here." Another, brunette and wide-eyed at the other traffic about the bowl, leans forward to give a hesitant sniff to her neatly folded package. "Ohhh, they better not turn out smelling like dragon now." The bemoaning is met by a hearty, but not entirely unwary, preparatory deep breath from Saliqa. "If they do, then we wash them."

Wherever K'del is headed, it can obviously wait even longer than merely the time it takes to amble there. The arrival of the group of girls catches his attention, and though he doesn't - instantly - approach, his footsteps do slow to a halt so he can consider them each in turn, his glow-lamp lifted to help him see. It can't be too hard to pick Saliqa out as the 'leader' of the group, and so, while he aims his easy smile at all of them when he finally does approach, it's to the black-haired girl that he aims his words. "Need a hand?" Beat. "Appear to have quite a handful, there."

It's easy to tell that they're grouping together, like a scared pack separated from the herd. However, that doesn't mean there isn't a certain amount of primping that happens when K'del approaches. They all straighten up, becoming presentable and huddled, rather than just huddled. Saliqa, for her part, sizes the rider up as well as herself. "That is very generous of you," she intones in a very automatic manner, "But not necessary, thank you." In the glow of the lamp, she keenly catches his apparel, his knot. A kind of furtive hand-gesture around the edge of her wooden box is signal enough to the other ladies. They all execute poise-perfect curtsies, even with their burdens; Saliqa is the last to do so. Afterwards, she clears her throat and stiffly delivers an obviously practiced-- "Duties to High Reaches Weyr and its leadership. We are fashion emissaries from Crom Hold, hoping to impart some brightness on our neighbors struck with tragedy."

And nor is K'del immune to primping. Or nice-mannered young women. Indeed, gossip around the coverage area has probably been flavoured, from time to time, with the understanding that, as well as being no more than a /teenager/, High Reaches' Weyrleader is quite a fan of the ladies. The curtsies earn a bemused kind of expression, though he hastily performs a little bob of a bow in return, rather less perfect than their offering. But-- "/Fashion/ emissaries." Incredulity shades his tone, raises his eyebrows. "From /Crom/." There's no question in it, though his eyes do dart from one girl to the next, as if silently seeking out something that might make sense of this. He doesn't seem to find anything, because his next remark is, "Got to realise how, um, /bizarre/ that sounds, right?"

Saliqa's critical in her reception of that bow, the slight twitch that escapes around her mouth nearly ruining what is otherwise a nice emotionless face of no-judgment. K'del will find no respite in the rest of them, there's even a muttered, "Well, at least we know he listens," from somewhere about the brunette's spot when he makes to repeat words with that marked emphasis. Back on the leader, she now purposefully breaks that diplomatic nothingness to offer the Weyrleader a loaded smile. Loaded with too much sweetness. "You'll find we dress ourselves quite well in Crom, sir," Saliqa announces, and then, "I've changed my mind. We would so much love your help." There is little warning but this before she makes to dump her large wooden box right into K'del's arms. Should he hold onto this one, he'll find that each girl takes her turn to hand off something of theirs onto him until he has quite a comical pile. The only one not to is a curvy blonde who continues to hug her suitcase to her chest with no intentions of letting any Weyr residents get their grubby hands on it.

Not a... /good/ first impression of the weyr, really, nor second. K'del seems aware of this, his expression uncomfortably awkward, and then increasingly so as he gets loaded up - he offers no argument, no resistence - with so many of their belongings. He has to adjust his footing to keep a hold onto it all, but otherwise, the weight of it doesn't seem to impact him much. Strong and dumb, maybe? "That wasn't--" he begins, angling his head around his burden to return his gaze to Saliqa. "What I meant. Just... look, never mind. Welcome to High Reaches. Obviously, we're grateful to Crom for thinking of us, being so /thoughtful/. Best get on in, I guess. Chilly out, after all." As he says this, he turns about, taking a few steps forward before, conversationally, he adds; "Not sure what you're used to at Crom, but there's not really much space for people who /only/ do, you know, luxuries, around here. Suppose we can find useful things for you to do, though. Plenty of work."

To K'del's slight credit, the attitude seems to have been planted even before his arrival. But not without their manners, the four do bleat out their gratitude at his transformation into pack mule, and the invitation to go inside. Two of them are wearing outfits more for looks than function, meaning they're shivering more than the others. Saliqa is outfitted practically but she's also, notably, the one with the least amount of assets to, well, display. There's also a tinge of denial in her towards that appreciative gleam she spared for his good sportsmanship. "Thank you for your kind welcome," she settles on, coming up beside him to return that gaze more easily. They are setting the pace so that, at the mention of work, the others are nearly left behind when they come to an abrupt halt. The blonde scurries to catch up and affords Saliqa a furtive tap on the arm, "He said work." Another chirps, "Well, isn't that just like a Weyr, working the guests." That's probably the brunette, whose track-record is so far for snippiness. Saliqa passes along a look of encouragement to her pack-sisters then turns her step more business-like to K'del. "I'd like to speak on my friends' behalves for another option more /befitting/ their breeding." The suggestion is not /necessarily/ that this breeding is above work. Just whatever K'del was going to say.

"My pleasure," assures K'del to the group, his smile outwardly as warm and friendly as it was before they commenced their interaction, though Saliqa, at least, might note still the wariness in his eyes. Their reactions to his mention of work don't /especially/ seem to surprise him; indeed, that's probably a hint of amusement around the corners of his mouth. The girls may well know, as K'del certainly does, that there has been at least /one/ guest at the weyr in recent turns who does not pull her weight in any official capacity - but Yuliye is Lord Crom's neice, likely heir, and a /political/ emissary. Perhaps that's the difference? His answer certainly suggests that it might be, for, without missing a step, he tells Saliqa, "Sure we can find something appropriate. No stables, or laundry, or whatever. You can appreciate, I'm sure, that I can't just have you eating my weyr's food /and/ taking my people's marks... can't imagine Lord Aughan would really intend such a thing." His too, too innocent tone probably implies that actually, he /can/ imagine such a thing, and is doing his very best to avoid it.

If they've heard of a guest, or even a couple of guests, they've now chosen a stony silence. Fashion-forward, hair curled to the nines, and noses stuck up, they are choosing to accept their fate with the quiet dignity that surely those eyeing them do not understand. There's only a sort of bemused snort at the mention of 'stables' because, surely, /that/ one was a joke. Saliqa also does not falter in keeping up with him, both in step and also with a graceful, allowing nod. "I mean no offense, sir, in suggesting that what you here see as appropriate will not be what we do. Therefore, I put forward that we, together, might come to an arrangement. Your individual effort of finding something will not be required, though the sacrifice of your thought and time is appreciated. I'm comforted in knowing that my Lord Aughan intended for us to be /courteous/ to each other, and I will fulfill this duty to the best of my ability. I'll do any work put to me, as a gesture of openness." She bows her head, bringing hands together to clasp underneath the tiny curve of her breasts. Her brown-eyed gaze moves ahead of them, having completed her evaluation of K'del. "My friends will not." To him, "However, I'm sure we could all agree they'd be able to take up their duties from back home, and assist in the tending of clothes and the making of beds, as is a lady's place."

K'del presumably follows what Saliqa is saying, though he's silent and unemotive as she says it, concentrating, perhaps, on keeping his burden within his grasp as he navigates across the bowl and towards the caverns. The entrace to the Inner Caverns is a little further from their starting location than the Living Caverns, but he heads directly for the former all the same: no need to entertain the /entire/ weyr, after all. "As will I," he assures her, when there's space for him to talk, presumably with regards to Aughan's intentions. "Sure you're right, we can come to some kind of appropriate arrangement. Imagine the Headwoman'd be better suited to arranging all of that." Beat. "I'm sure you can be included in... whatever comes up. No need to sacrifice yourself or anything." If he's backtracking, he's doing it in good grace, and this time, without any particular awkwardness. "Sure we can find some space for you all to... do whatever it is you do, too." The fashion stuff is not, evidently, his /particular/ area of expertise. No surprises there.

"It's not a sacrifice, I'm only too glad to do my duty," Saliqa supplies with the graciousness of one imparting this wisdom to someone less fortunate, though then she tails it with, "As Weyrleader, you have duties..." She's a step off of putting a question mark on there. Instead, as they near their destination, she manages to put a cautious hand on his overburdened arm and hopefully draw him to enough of a stop. The goal is to retrieve her own wooden box from his pile of things, since none others approach to take the rest off his hands. "Then we'll require temporary settings before I can speak with this Headwoman. The trip over here was... tiring, you might imagine." Phrased loosely, it becomes an invitation for K'del to be /courteous/ like he promised and suggest they're tired, wouldn't they like somewhere to refresh themselves... There's this tempting hint of humor behind her eyes at being clueless towards fashion. But she only offers, "Too kind." Ever that string of over-pleasant pleasantries.

Duties, yes. K'del marks with with a nod: yes, of course. He stops promptly, at the weight of a hand on his arm, tipping his head so that he can give Saliqa his full attention, letting her box leave his arms without remark. Perhaps there's some humour hinted at in the corners of his mouth, his own eyes, in the wake of hers, but he avoids that subject, instead attending to the more immediate. "Travel always is," he says, lightly. "I'm sure someone on the Headwoman's staff will be around, able to find you somewhere to rest... no doubt they can work out more permanent arrangements in the morning. If you'll follow me?" He barely pauses a moment more, before launching into motion once more, to take them through the caverns, to - in not too much time - some delightfully dormatory-style accommodations. Charming.