Difference between revisions of "Logs:Good First Impressions"

Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

Winter isn't much of a time for walking at High Reaches, but given how long the winter is, one has to walk or hole up inside for the lot of it. At least it's not snowing tonight, but the humid chill is enough to need some bundling - that's what might make Aishani easier to see in her approach to the patio in the moon's light, red hat and red scarf bright against long, stylish dark coat. Her stride is long and quick, her hands in her pockets as she starts up the steps, presumably to the bar.

Far less stylish and less appropriately dressed is Evanthe, but she is here nonetheless - she holds something hot, pale fingers wrapped tightly around wide mug with steam curling up through the dark sky. She's watching that, you see, the patterns the steam is making as she makes her way /from/ the Snowasis, absently aiming for a cluster of chairs. That's her mistake, the steam-watching, and not watching her own feet, which soon tangle and send her sprawling in dramatic fashion to come down hard on her elbows. The mug, a nice solid thing the same shade of red as the weyrwoman's coat, explodes spectacularly with chunks of ceramic and hot liquid, hopefully not close enough to splash. Evanthe curses loudly and inelegantly. She maintains her track record of good first impressions.

As Aishani comes up the steps, she is indeed fortunate enough to pause and take in the scene, such as it is. That moment, though brief, allows her to avoid the spray of mulled wine or whatever it was, but it does provide her with an excellent view of poor Evanthe's fall and sprawl. Her dark eyes go wide and she hesitates, unsure whether to pretend it didn't happen for the girl's dignity or to offer a hand up. In the end, the latter wins, and she steps forward to offer down a gloved hand, trying not to look too sympathetic. "Are you all right? Hurt?"

Evanthe held her prone position for a few moments, that frozen position as you wait to find out if anyone... oh, yes, anyone did see, and with a grunt Ev pushes herself to her knees. The gloved hand is eyed, and grudgingly accepted, the girl's face a nice hot pink in the dim light. "Thank you," she mutters. She examines her palms, nicely skinned but no real damage done. "Damnit. No, I'm all right," she replies with a sight - and only then does she realize /who/ she's talking to, eyes going to Aishani's face, then knot, and widening. "Shit. I mean... I... Thank you ma'am. I'm okay. Thank you. Did I... did any get on you?"

After the younger woman has gotten back up (mostly), Aishani reaches into her coat to produce a clean handkerchief, holding it out so Evanthe can at least clean the skinned hands, any dirt off her clothes. The goldrider has the grace to pretend not to notice any embarrassment, glancing down to eye the toes of her boots. "No, it seems my boots are no worse off than the snow puts them anyway," she sighs. "I've avoided the worst of it. Are you sure you didn't do more than scrape yourself up? The rock here isn't what you would call forgiving." She takes a moment to retrieve the mug with one hooked finger; more time to regain dignity and chill.

Evanthe hesitates at first, but accept the handkerchief after a moment. "It might stain," she mutters apologetically, as she presses it hard against the few faint spots of blood that have welled up on her palms. As the goldrider's continued concern Evanthe just seems more uncomfortable, but double-checks just to be sure, as surely it wouldn't be good to mislead the woman about her physical state. "Ahh, fffff-" Pause. "Fooey." Good save. "No, I'm fine, really, just ripped my pants." She gives a dab at her knee now for good measure, before uncertainly offering the hanky back. "Thanks. I'm really okay. Happens all the time," she tags on ruefully.

"I have others." Aishani waves a hand - no big deal - and sets the mug down on the table, still only holding it by the one finger, by the handle. Klunk. The abortive cursing quirks a faint smile Evanthe's way, and she shrugs. "I've said worse for less. And that's unfortunate, though the seamstresses will mend them for you. It just might take a couple days. There's stores as well." Her smile shades into a smirk. "As long as a whole other wing of people hasn't put a run on pants. And does it? The falling or the ripping? I'm Aishani, by the way." An aside; she expects Evanthe to know, or has seen she's figured it out.

Evanthe tucks the handkerchief away in her pocket then, then hides her hands in her armpits against the chill of the evening - she's lost the drink that was serving as handwarmer, and the night is getting no warmer. There's an actual flicker of a smile at Aishani's comment on her cursing, a touch of relief that eases the tension in her young face. "Yeah, it's fine. My ma's a weaver, just moved here a couple weeks ago. Vana. 'Course, she has ideas about me 'doing things myself,'" And the implied quotes are obvious as she says the phrase. "And I can't sew worth a damn. Darn." She wrinkles her nose, but lets it pass without further fuss, given that the woman doesn't seem to mind terribly. "I'm Evanthe. And both. Falling and ripping, the latter more than the former. It's a nuisance," she understates, with a low sigh.

With a nod, "Right, yes. Weavers are always welcome here. I tend to go to the hall for many of my needs, but I'll have to check in with her. I like to be sure the crafters are getting what they need." Aishani has a quirk of lips for 'doing things myself', noting, "If you're doing something for yourself, that would be fine, one would think. We're not all meant for everything. I can sew, but I can't stand it, to be honest." There's a diffident shrug, then she echoes, "Evanthe. A pleasure. That seems... unfortunate. The falling. I'd suggest doing something about it, but I can't imagine you haven't heard that before."

"Yeah, heard it just a few times," Evanthe replies wryly, with a dismissive shrug. "I try." Oh heavens, does she try. After a moment's pause, teenage awkwardness abounds, she sneaks a cold hand out to pick up the mug - making sure, to grip that handle tightly lest the poor cup end up careening to the ground again. "I better take this back in," she says, gesturing over her shoulder. "And head home. But thank you again, ma'am. I appreciate you taking a moment."

"No doubt." Aishani gives the door to the Snowasis a long look, her expression suddenly rather tired. Shaking her head, "I suppose they'll appreciate that, rather than leaving it. I'd meant to follow you, but I think I'll just continue on with my walk after all. And please, it was nothing. It never happened." Another of those waves of her hand, then she turns to the steps, calling over her shoulder, "Mind the last step on the way in, Evanthe." With that, she's off to disappear into the mist of the bowl.