Difference between revisions of "Logs:Drawn Into a Spinner's Web"

Your location's current time: 21:31 on day 1, month 9, Turn 51, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn evening.

Candidate Barracks(#430RAJs$) This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items. The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl. Contents: Candidate Cots Firelizard Perch(#8812JSae$) Obvious exits: Weyrling Training Room Bowl

The women's side of the barracks is rather empty at the moment, most candidates either catching an early rest, or out to enjoy the warm fall air with their remaining energy. The picture-depicting rug in the middle of he room has had cleared away from it any chairs or tables, and now calls out to the eye, naked in its faded nature. Linnea sits alone on her cot, which is far removed in one sloped corner of the cavern. A string of bright red thread makes the journey from her lap to her mouth, suspended and wetted there before she precisely deposits the dampened edge through a needle's eye. The girl herself hardly pays her task any mind, her focus contemplatively encompassed by that rug.

The quiet is soon marred by the arrival of a slight raven-haired girl, with two girls at her side. Blithe chatter follows the trio, the central figure that of Satiet. "I hope you told him there was no way on Pern you'd even look at him, let alone speak with him or more," she remarks, one brow lifted up to regard one of the girls in mocking dismay. "You've chores to do, and well," she smirks dryly, hand gesturing towards the outdoors, "He's hardly worth getting in trouble for if you got caught." Hands fall complacently into the pockets of her trousers, a general glance tossed towards the caverns and finding it mostly empty except for a few candidates, blue gaze zoom in on one. "Evening, playing the wallflower today? Or are you generally just a loner?" Pleasantly cool, the alto is directed towards Linnea.

Linnea's thoughtful study of the worn rug convolutes itself into a mixed expression: joy at seeing Satiet and her faithful followers approach, and unbridled trepidation. "Great. This will either be wonderful, or I'll be humiliated...again," mutters the girl, her voice low as she bends to locate the needle she'd just about dropped when she was spoken to. Genially, when her head raises, she's plastered on a smile, almost the kind a puppy might wear, only of doubtful integrity. "Neither. I had some mending. I'm tending to it while the light is still good. Good evening," she nods to the girls who accompany Satiet, as if seeking a semblance of sincerity from them before she takes a deep breath and addresses their leader. "I trust you haven't ruined your pants yet, Satiet? Or are you so set on chores that they're a never-you-matter, boys about or no?"

"Boys go where they want to, I can hardly help it if.." she pauses, a soft giggle exhaling with her breath. The lightened expression is proffered the two girls around her, who've since given Linnea a look smug acknowledgement, a small jerk of the dark-haired candidate's chin dismissing them to wherever. Silkenly, they impart their good-byes and amble back out towards the bowl, the discussion of before started up again. Satiet watches their progress out, before flopping easily onto the cot next to the other girl's, "You should come out with us more often." A small, sly smile accompanies her invitation, "It beats sitting here mending at least."

Linnea wastes a long moment studying the response of the two girls before they beat it, as if administering a litmus test of sincerity. Doubtful, her eyes nonetheless flick to Satiet's, that quick motion tempered by an intent shift back to her needle and thread enough to give away her desire to fit in and be included, no matter how repulsive it might be. "C--come out with you?" Her voice, which starts small, gains in volume and momentum, the rate speeding up as she speaks, almost ending in an innocent tone. "Why would I have cause to go out with you? I've my own set of chores, and my family isn't about to let me out of our tasks as well. You wouldn't suggest I shirk chores, would you?" A look at the cot Satiet's sat upon brings a half-frown of insider confiding, "Be careful. Dundren sleeps with a tunnelsnake tooth in his cot for luck, and he's lost it somewhere in the sheets. Disgusting, isn't it?"

"Find someone to take them over for you. Maybe Dundren could." Satiet advises carelessly, the overly large shoulder falling off her shoulder a bit as she positions herself more comfortably. "Does he? Maybe that's why Tiersi yelped last night. She and Dundren pretend not to be together, but it's so obvious, don't you think?" The girl's nose twitches delicately, a disdainful sniff for the non-present pair. "At least they're matched for each other, those noses, big hands" her brow lifts significantly at the last comment, a wicked smile on her lips. "In any case, who said shirking chores. You've some free time, haven't you? I'd go half mind without a few hours in the evening to myself, and well, I find you amusing." If anything's sincere, it's this -- the blue eyes lingering expectantly on Linnea's wide forehead, slipping down to attempt to catch her gaze. "What say you?"

Linnea's mouth just about falls open as Satiet continues her critique of the absent pair, and her eyes widen, the irises darkening in color to match her incredulity. "You shouldn't--I mean, they're not even--" These protests are half-swallowed, Linnea debating the line between what she sees as a twin status: 'pretend friend of Satiet's' and what is in her mind, 'decent person.' The fence wobbling is almost clearly imitated in her facial expressions, and she's just about lured in until she's described as 'amusing.' Even then, her retort falls somewhat short of ireful, and weakly she returns, "I'm not sure that I'm interested." In walking with you? In the potential pair? "Dundren wouldn't be capable of my chores, and I'd rather not get in trouble for work that is in error."

"It's too bad." Satiet studies her nails, brushing the tips of one of them idly to shine in the glow's light. Slender legs swing off the edge of the bed, and after she gets to her feet, lazy steps bring her near Linnea's cot. There, she flashes the other candidate a disarming smile, hand falling onto the other candidate's shoulder. "I can't hardly speak with them," a tilt of her head to indicate two of her cohorts, "And you seemed likely enough to actually, y'know, talk with." Without asking, the slight girl perches herself onto the opposite edge of Linnea's cot, ankles crossing neatly. "I could find someone likely enough to take over some of your chores. V'lano was such a sweetheart to take over some of my kitchen duties." Rule number 2133 of teenage figureheads: when in doubt, name drop and bat lashes sweetly. "And I should be getting something deliciously fun sometime at the end of this sevenday."

As Satiet's shadow falls quite literally on Linnea, the seated girl pricks her finger with the needle, drawing a bead of blood to the surface. "You're blocking my light," is quietly murmured as she stifles the puncture's brief response. "Well. They've been nice enough to me. And--you got someone /else/ to do some of your chores? Isn't that, I don't know, against the rules or something? I mean, I know Rasiter chips firestone for Tiersi, because she's so small, but that's different." Oops. Belated realization that she's shared ammunition with the potential enemy. Linnea clamps her mouth shut, then can't hold back a peep. "He seem kinda...I don't know. Goofy? Anyway. I'm not surprised he said yes. I don't think he could tell a girl no." Daring her to prove otherwise.

Satiet smiles encouragingly, first putting her arms behind her and then falling backwards slowly to peer up at the other girl. "Tiersi's.. cute. If I were a guy, I'd probably help her out here and there. It's always good to do favors for other people." An expectant intonation lingers in the girl's alto indicating unsaid words that probably include in debt somewhere in there. "Rasiter though," her chin lifts so she can level Linnea a look, "Is a sweetheart. You should try talking to him sometime instead of just sit along the shadows. He could help you out, I'm sure. You could be almost.. pretty if your hair was cut better. To hide that forehead." Even backhanded compliments can sound genuinely caring - sometimes, and at least the smile on her lips is heartfelt, touching the ice glints of her eyes. "I could talk to him for you, if you're interested that is." Once the offer is made, her head falls back against the soft bedding.

"Sure, you go ahead and talk to him," Linnea mumbles, twining her thread aimlessly around her finger. "But don't do it for my sake." She tugs the twined thread off of her finger, and its loose loops unravel. One hand goes to her hair as it is discussed, reflexively tightening the ribbon that holds in back in place. "I'd rather do without the cut. I like it this way. It stays back, out of the way." She rises, smoothes out her blue skirt, and takes a few steps toward the rug. "I've been meaning to see if I can make an improvement to this," she confesses, her toe tapping against the design in a worn and faded place that was once a bowl of meat strips for young dragonets. Misinterpreting the favor comment, Li requests, done with the subject of boys and dating, "I don't suppose you could get the favor of some black dye? I could probably make headway with that."

"Then I've no reason to speak with him. He's a bit stumpy for my tastes. Goofy's a good word." Another look is slanted the hair from her prone position, Satiet's eyebrows twitching at the reply. "Your loss. Joilin, the blonde here earlier," she explains, "Kind of fluttery in thought and memory, she's handy with shears. And your eyebrows could do with a good shaping." Fingers trace patterns blindly along Linnea's covers, an elbow nudged into the girl's hip. "Black dye to do what? I could ask, I suppose. There's none in the stores to ask for?" A soft snort brings her off her back and on her elbows, dark hair swinging in lazy arcs. "Are you planning on painting the weyrwoman's eggs for her with black dye?"

Linnea has cause to again gape at Satiet, though it might be less evident by the direction of the glowlight. "I thought you said he was a sweetheart," she repeats, puzzled. "I suppose I've missed some of the subtleties that mark your interaction---my eyebrows? No way is anyone cutting any of my eyebrows. They grow that way, they stay that way. I don't need anything pointy near my eyes." She kneels down on the floor, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her posture so she has the least bow in her back possible. "I'm planning," she continues, speaking to Satiet as though she were a dimglow, "On making some repairs to this unloved foot-traffic tapestry. The colors are all faded, and while the whole thing is far too shoddy to repair," here she flicks back her ponytail and dons a vocal quality that comes direct from her brother, which is to say, haughty, "it can be improved vastly by having each scene outlined. For example, in a clear black thread. And no, there is none in stores. I checked there first."

A peal of laughter follows immediately at the end of Linnea's words, Satiet's cheeks flushing with a bit of pleasure. "You're refreshing, trying to talk down to me like that. Strangely, I like you, and whether you like it or not, you'll sit with us for meals tomorrow." It's said in the tone of one who's never been denied before, lacking the cajoling of before, and now just matter-of-fact. "I'll see what I can do about the dye of yours, it's a fair enough trade, though I think you're getting the better end of it. Consider it a favor on my part, and let me see the end result, hmmm? I'm sure you'll do a lovely job." From elbows, she shifts back to resting on her hands, chin touching her shoulder as she casts the other girl's back an overly casual look. Assessment flickers in her gaze, and a smug smile emerges while the Linnea is distracted. "It's good t see you're bathing lately. Joilin insisted she'd never seen you in the bathing rooms and I tried to tell her differently, but you know how girls are sometimes. I can even lend you some of my rosewater. I've precious little, but just a little dab makes everything that much nicer."

Silence marks Linnea's measuring of the demand-vs.-favor value, and numbly, she allows her silence to be her assent. Her needle plucks at the worn threads of the rug aimlessly, little achieved but what she'd defend aloud as 'damage assessment.' Head still down, Linnea's perfectly held carriage wanes, sagging that oh-so-carefully held line. "I'd like some, if you can spare it. In return," she counters, not one to enjoy a favor left open, though her voice comes with a slight waver mixed with a hard edge, "I'll treat your blouses to a tuber-broth ironing. So that you needn't trouble, of course."

As the girl slides off the cot's edge easily, one hand dusts off her pants, the other waving breezily at Linnea in deliberate misinterpretation of the girl's offer. "Don't worry about it. I don't mind favors for friends." Waiting for a few minutes for the other candidate to turn, a thin smile is allowed onto her features. "I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, Linnea. Joilin will save the nicest muffins for us, she's usually up at the crack of dawn to put on her face. Hope the mending goes well." And as long strides as her short legs allow, carry Satiet out of the barracks in a self-assured amble.

Linnea remains on her hands and knees, her elbows sagging down onto the carpet, then her face resting against her upturned palms. As Satiet passes, she starts to speak, then stifles the words, instead nodding stiffly without looking up or showing her face. For a moment, even the needle drawing red thread is forgotten, brightly standing out against the dull and faded colors of the rug. The girl sighs softly, exhaling a jagged breath as she's left alone at last, to consider over and over again the scene she'd just taken part in, replaying and analyzing details like the blurred shades beneath.