Difference between revisions of "Logs:Blonde and blonder"

Weaver Workroom, High Reaches Weyr

This wide, open space is located on the inner side of the corridor, so there are no windows to provide natural light. The remedy to this is a large array of glows, spaced evenly upon the walls to ensure there's always adequate light for even the finest work. Though there are a series of long, wide tables for working at, there's also plenty of open space, here, leaving room for a variety of looms, spinning wheels and dressmaker's dummies, as well as, in a smaller chamber situated at the back of the room, several large dye pots.

The rest of the space is used for storage, both for the enormous bolts of cloth and for smaller items: buttons, spools of thread, needles, and so on.

The looms clatter, the wheels whisper, and the not-just-girls chatter. But across one large table, there's a gargantuan set of bound hides that's attracted the most attention, not just from the few people with weavers' knots but others too. One of them, a weyrling wingsecond who without her jacket and its knot might just be any girl, can't help but peek over now and again from where she's ostensibly draping a mannequin. Even the perky tam set atop her blonde, braided hair can't seem to quite content her today.

"Has anyone said what they are?" A warm alto addresses Telavi quietly from the midst of the nearby tri-fold full-length mirror. Tayte wasn't there moments before, but the open curtain to the small changing room constructed near the mannequins. "The hides." That everyone is so interested in. To all appearances, the tall blonde couldn't care less. She's busy observing the fit of a fur-lined long vest with an outside of brown hide over what are clearly new black trousers that hug her curves and a blouse made of a thicker woven material, dyed to a bright Istan-bloom pink. Judging from the things still hanging in the changing room, the woman has a fair few more things to try on. It's easy for a trained eye to see these clothes were custom made for her.

It startles the younger woman into a quarter-turn's pivot, quick and dancelike without being an actual step. She isn't from around here either, by the sounds of it, now that she's taken in woman and reflections and question. "The new books from the Hall," Tela mentions, her tone friendly, her eyes curious. "Samples, sketches, mostly for next fall. I hope you didn't have to commission those that far ahead." The bias-cut blouse she's working on is a rich garnet red, purplish rather than orangish, and it wouldn't take that trained eye to see that it wouldn't suit the girl's coloring as well as the slate and cream garments she currently wears.

"Ahh," The breathed vowel shows insight and understanding into just what that means for the fashion-savvy of the world, and her interest is piqued enough to turn ocean blue eyes toward the book on the table. "Unfortunately, I'm sure to be in last turn's styles at least through winter. But I'd've frozen if I hadn't commissioned when I did. Well, not frozen, but... It was kind of the Weyrwoman to offer me my pick in the stores but..." Judging from the ensemble, she'd be caught dead before wearing 'whatever' was available. "That's a nice color," She nods to the shirt. "A commission for someone?" It's natural to assume that Telavi might be a weaver, with the knotlessness and her current preoccupation. Tayte lacks a knot as well, but then changing in and out of different clothes has a way of making that happen. With a warm smile for Tela, she steps back behind the curtain to try something else on, though with her voice rising from behind it, she can't mean for that to end the conversation. "Who does your braids?" Tayte's own hair has had pains taken with it today, a fishtail braided carefully and left to fall over her shoulder.

A weaver, if only! "Last Turn's? Surely not yet. You have a few months for that," said with warmth for the not-freezing,Tela's voice a touch more teasing. "Less a commission, more a gift. I haven't quite decided on the collar, I think she'd like it wider, flowy," and the other woman may know clothing, but how much shop talk can she handle? Telavi chances it. "Much more and I'd have to piece it," and then not as much with the flowy. She's turned back to arranging, choosing a few careful pins from the padded band upon her wrist. "And, I do my own. A do-it-yourself girl, really, although I wouldn't at all mind the run of the stores... if not necessarily for braids. Was it an occasion?"

"Well, in a few months, anyway." There's a laugh from Tayte as she steps out in a long woolen skirt with a slit up the side to mid-thigh, dyed a hunter green that's paired with a brown thick turtle-neck sweater, and a pair of black leggings beneath. She diverts on her way to the mirror to come get a better look at the blouse in question. "Could do a bib-style collar that flows. That material looks like it'd do well enough. If she's the sort of girl to like a little ruffle, you could edge it with one to give it a little lift off the rest of the shirt." They're sound enough suggestions, but just one idea of many that could be used, certainly. "You're very good," She compliments with another look at the braids before moving to the mirror. "I suppose so. A welcoming, I suppose. If I had to name it. I'd only just arrived to the Weyr and the Weyrwoman was concerned I'd freeze come winter. She'd have been right, too." But not with these clothes that certainly seem tailored to be fashionable and warm.

The ensemble gets an appreciative look when Telavi finally notices, for all that it's foreshortened now with the other woman's relative nearness. Nearer her, there's that faint scent of firestone that never can entirely wash out these days, mingled with something even subtler that edges it toward perfume. It might be an affectation, then, or just that she works with what she has. Now she fingers the fine cloth, offering that much better a sense of how it does balance body and drape. "What doesn't show is how I'll add little internal buttons and loops, so she can raise the neckline if she likes, but that does mean I have to keep it to more of a flourish than a frill so it can handle the shift. I think that edging might work for something else that I'm still drafting, though. Thank you." Telavi shows Tayte a smile for that compliment, of course, though her gaze soon strays back to her work. As she re-pins there's easy silence, at least until she finalizes the end of a seam, at which point she looks back up and... surely she'd looked at the other woman before, had met her gaze like anyone would, but it's the contrast that might now reveal what a different matter it is to know Telavi's focus. Even her smile is that much more naturally bright, her eyes quick, attentive. "It sounds like a remarkable welcome. I'd offer to guess where you're from, why you're here, but right now... I'd count it as kind if you'd enlighten me. It's been a long month." She has a moue to go with that, too, before her eyes dance up to Tayte again "I'm Tela."

Tayte, by comparison, smells girly. Clearly not a rider, and clearly a girl who not only pays attention to how she dresses, but also how she bathes and makes use of many a foofy hair and body product. Tayte's unbothered by Telavi's lack of enthusiastic acceptance of her idea, a shoulder rolling with a shrug, and a smile tossed back her way, "Anytime. Ideas are cheap. Information on the other hand," Her smile curls in a way that suggests a modicum of wicked amusement. "Well, normally I collect it, but don't so much choose to give it. But since it's been a long month, Tela, I'll be generous." There's teasing in her voice, so while there's some truth to her words, she's obviously not taking them too seriously. I'm Tayte. I suspect the welcome would have been given to anyone else coming from somewhere terribly warm just in time to be somewhere about to get terribly cold. Weyrwoman Azaylia seems a generous type that way. I'm most recently of Ista, and I'm here because I asked for a change, and 'Reaches is the change I got. Now, I'm going to guess rider. Though clearly once a weaver? Or seamstress? You've skill, to be sure," She nods to the blouse in the works. A critical look is given over herself in the mirror there, turning to check the way the skirt falls along her back and there's a little fluttery sigh. "These aren't like Istan styles but they'll do." With another smile for Tela, she's ducking back behind the curtain again.

Perhaps it's to Tayte's credit, or that of Telavi's perception of her, that Tela doesn't expect her to be bothered. Who would expect everyone to have similar tastes, or to take such things personally? "Welcome, Tayte, however belated." Telavi might seem the more girlish for the humor that's entered her tone. "The two of you generous, then, her with clothes-- however unwanted-- and you with your names and guesses. Yes for a rider, yes again for a seamstress," and if not a weaver, that's an old enough ache that it shouldn't show amid the smile-and-mirrors. Not that an experienced bartender's intuition mightn't pick up a twinge anyway. It's after she returns to her work and Tayte's returned to her changing that she says, lightly enough to loft past the curtain, "I'll be glad to see Ista again, soon. Shall I ask after friends of yours?" After Tayte's returned to changing into whatever she's going to change into, where she needn't show Telavi her face.

"No, none to speak of," comes the answer behind the curtain. The voice, at least sounds as warm and carefree as it did moments before. There are moments of rustling before Tayte steps back out in a yellow and pink sweater, detailed blooms knit in a tropical pattern across the chest, drawing attention to the right spots and down-playing where she mightn't encourage attention. This is paired with a black pair of slacks, again, hugging curves, though they flow away from the leg at the knee, flared a little wide and pressed to an angle from knee to toe on the front. "But, if you're going there for pleasure. Drop my name at the bar and it might get you a free drink. You should definitely try an Istan Sunset, and if you had a little too much fun, go back in the morning and ask for Tayte's Sunrise Special. It helps. Ista's a good place for a good time. What's taking you there?" She asks this as she turns in the mirror, checking the outfit from all angles.

Pay attention to the woman behind the curtain? Telavi does, at least to that answer, which receives an easy sound of acknowledgement. In those moments before the paler-if-not-palest blonde reemerges with the patterned sweater, Tela's gotten the remaining pinning completed but her needle's only just begun to dart in and out instead, thread-basting a few specific marks for later. "Weather is what will bring me, if the storms aren't too bad, I think Solith would like the heat of the black sand. And if your name does get me that drink, Tayte, I'll be sure to report back next time I see you! Those drinks of yours..." and, smiling, here she glances past even the woman's outfit to her reflected expression, "are they similar in nature, or just to make it easy to remember them by? I hesitate to ask what would happen if I were to ask for a High Reaches sunset there."

"Solith is your lifemate?" Tayte asks politely, though there's already certainty there. "He? She?" is asked as a follow-up, curiosity showing in her face as she reaches up to tuck a few strands of her hair back where they belong. The more outfits she changes, the messier things are becoming where her hair is concerned. All that off again on again with the shirts, no doubt. "It will." The woman responds with confidence, turning to grin."I used to bartend there. Tell whoever's on shift that you're a friend and they'll mix 'em strong, too." There's a laugh for the question of the drinks. "Well, the share a few ingredients, but the sunset is layered with blue, purple, red and a stripes of orange, and the sunrise is gold, red, and orange. The sunrise is a bit fruitier. And you can't taste the alcohol." Her lips twitch with amusement, "They'd likely hand you a glass of ice." She moves back toward the mannequin, leaning in to peek at the darts, observing the stitchery. "Do you lengthen garments, perchance?"

"She," Tela confirms both with a smile directed to the play of her needle, but then not quickly but all at once she glances back at Tayte, her expression gone quizzical. Still, when has even the discussion of drinks ever not made for a distraction? Admiringly, "Did you. I imagine you have a great many claiming you as a friend, too! Layers are fun, for people who can pull it off," and her tone doesn't leave any doubt that Tayte can, even before she laughs with such open warmth about the ice. If it even has some weavers looking over, well, she doesn't appear to notice. For lengthening, "I do, as a matter of fact," more wryness in her voice now as she pulls the thread through one last time and snips it, inserting the needle in the pincushion at her wrist, "and only wish I had more time to do it in. But I may be able to give you a couple of names if you'd like it done this season?" With that, she begins to release the blouse from its mannequin, her movements quick and confident, no worries about loosening what shouldn't be loosened anywhere in sight.

"You're likely right. Of course, the trick is to tell them you're a friend of Tah-tee's, instead of Tayte." It sounds an awful lot like titties, really, just with a slightly different slur. "Only the ones behind the bar every called me that. Or just Tah. They'll know you're legit." All of this is offered with an unashamed grin, so either there's nothing to be ashamed of in how she got the nickname, or nothing she is ashamed of at any rate. "Oh, does your wing keep you very busy? Here I thought most riders had a fair amount of down time in an interval. The jobs are quite small, actually. Mostly cuffs. But names will do, even if I can't have your expertise." A nod toward the blouse, "You seem to put a great deal of care into your work." It's offered as reasoning for her preference for the blonde's steady hand over just a reference. Rather than moving to change, she lingers still.

Tela's eyes fly wide with what might be betrayal or, more likely, less than holy merriment. "Now the secret code word. This makes me think, if I'd just said 'Tayte,'" the more traditional way, "a trap door would have opened up beneath me and I'd have been thrown to the... whatever you have instead of a writhing mass of tunnelsnakes. As for Interval, I'm eagerly anticipating downtime along with peacetime," she has to make her expression light again, and so she does, even if it's with a jab of a spare pin into its pincushion, "but in the meantime... I'm a weyrling. A weyrling with an actual rest day that I'm actually using for something other than sleep," and so forth. She gives Tayte a rueful smile, and perhaps since she'd mentioned that care, "Tell me about your cuffs. Were they made with fabric enough to lengthen, do you know, or will they need to be replaced?"

"Man-eating fish." Tayte says, expression perfectly deadpan, a brow arching. "Not that they don't have their share of tunnelsnakes, but, trap doors into the depths of the ocean are just so much more convenient, don't you think?" Then her smile breaks, "Oh, a weyrling. That does explain things. Truly, that might work out, for me, though. I won't need cuffs lengthened and replaced or tailored - and it's a mix of both - for a few months yet. Six, if I'm lucky. Will you be through your training by then? Solith can't be too young, or you'd not be here. And I met one of your classmates with a green. She looked sizable."

'Man-eating fish,' Tela purses her lips to keep from laughing, but she knows now. She knows. "Six... we should be about done by then. Should, given how the barracks are filling up. Though if all goes well, things will clear up in about... four months, I'd say? Before we get into wings and have to set expectations for how dutiful we are or aren't." Her dimples show for the first time, for all that hers isn't a full-fledged smile, and she folds the blouse loosely so it will take up less space over her arm. "Which reminds me, bartender... Is there a drink to ask for in the morning, if I haven't had quite enough fun?"

"Good. I'll look you up when the time comes, then." Tayte flashes an appreciative smile to the weyrling. "As for drinks... Well, it really depends on your tastes. I prefer fruity stuff and don't see any reason why not to have what you'd drink at night in the morning. Depends on how early you want to start the party. If you're looking to take a stride toward a good time, there's this red one called 'Tie Me to the Bedposts, Baby'. " She says it with a straight face, and then her lips curl in a half smile, "It's one of the most fun to order, too. There are some traditionalists that would tell you a Bloody Moretta, or a Bloody Fax were more traditional. But if you like clamato juice and don't mind beer, I'd go for the Clam Eye. That one comes out a sort of funny turquoise color. And you know, at Ista, they like their clamato juice." Clam and tomato. What's not to like? There's a little wrinkle to the freckles across Tayte's nose that tell she could name a few things.

Tela's brows go up, one at a time, even as she crouches for a last-minute pin-check of the floor. "Red, red, red, and should-be-red?" No pin, no pin, no pin and... no pin. Satisfied with that at the very least, she glances back up to Tayte, right before she rises. "'Red drink at morning, sailor's warming,' I guess. And turquoise sounds good, Tah, but clam and...no. Just no. Although I know someone where, if she asks what color her sweater should be called one more time, I finally know what to say!" A final glance around's followed by a quicker smile. "Good day."

Laughter follows Telavi out, smiles having met her various words along with one expressive look on Tayte's face to express her thorough and emphatic agreement about clams and their place in alcoholic beverages. "See you around, Tela. Let me know how your Ista trip goes!" The alto calls before the blonde is stepping back into the changing room.