Logs:Two Women And A Couch
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2013 |
| Who: Telavi, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Telavi's on the hunt, again. She and Azaylia talk in the midst of couch inspections and inventory. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Barnabas/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. In the autumn, a young woman's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of... couches. Or so it might be supposed of Telavi, who's taken up hunting amid the storerooms yet again, accompanied by just a telltale wisp of brimstone. No, firestone, probably, although she's otherwise neatly pressed and dressed with her hair tucked up under its cap as always. She's standing across the aisle from a very recent delivery, looking at the article in question with its curvilinear back and rolled arms... and the frayed marks in the upholstery of each. There have been some very recent deliveries worth noting, depending on one's interpretation. To some, a month can be considered recent. It's a process, taking inventory before things can be sorted, though after a few sevens of steady work it seems as though Azaylia is on the very last of a tithe. No doubt the Acting Weyrwoman has already been to the stores, or will be shortly, but having several eyes overlook things ensures accuracy. Clipboard weighed down by a hearty stack of papers, the goldrider looks up to find Telavi standing and staring. After lifting several pages, the object of her focus earns a mark next to it. "What's wrong with it?" Not an accusation, airy curiosity lobbed easily at the weyrling. The weyrling doesn't immediately look, eyes pinning her target as though to finalize some angle before she lets it go. It's but a moment, though, before she leaves off to turn towards the voice, her easy sideways step the sort that would make her skirt swirl if she had the luxury of wearing one. Telavi's smiling, and that's even before recognition enters her gaze, made greyer than their usual blue-green by the glowlight. "Weyrwoman." Given the occasional class's brief acquaintance, she adds not much less informally, "It looks as a firelizard's had a heyday with sharpening its claws," though really it's not actually that bad, "and... would you be able to tell me if anyone's died in, beneath, or near it? Because really, I'd like to avoid that." Familiarity with several weyrlings leaves Azaylia comfortable with most, "Telavi, hello." Her soft smile widens, stylus' end lifted to her lips as she tries to stifle a laugh, "Does it?" Obviously the glows aren't bright enough where she stands if she can't see all that, taking a few steps closer as she reminds, "And please, Azaylia is fine. Let's see," Those same pages are flipped in order to find the newly donated couch, a sad coo leaving the goldrider's throat. That doesn't bode well, does it? "Weyrmate troubles. Neither wanted the couch after splitting up, looks like." Unfortunate, but at least it's not a dead body. Tela moves back to make room, another easy side-step, her head tilted in interest. "Well then," she says. "Their loss might be my gain, although it will still have to pass the sniff test. Would you see that, the spoils of splitting, as a drawback? Or the death, if there had been one, for that matter." She's not so far away that she can't pat at a pillow, not quite proprietarily yet, more like measuring. The stylus is slipped behind an ear, half-hidden by locks left stylishly loose from the rest of her well placed braids. Azaylia rests the clipboard against the curve of her hip, considering both couch and Telavi's question. "Maybe if you were planning on being weyrmated one day, the couch might be bad luck?" Not dismissive, but amused by both weyrmating and superstition. "I wouldn't, no. In fact, I might want to look into a new couch myself." This smile she doesn't try to stifle, "There's a big dip in the one I've got now." "Contrariwise, if you weren't planning on such a thing, it might be good luck instead?" Telavi's smile deepens into dimples, just for a moment, though then she drops into a lighter tone of voice that doesn't mirror the other woman's quite so closely. "The way you say that, I'm assuming you don't like... dips. Or at least not a big one? I've tried this one out, it's not bad at all, but that's to my taste and I don't know about yours." "I was just wondering that myself." Azaylia admits, so it's unlikely she has an answer for Telavi's dimples. As for her opinion on dips, "Oh, I don't mind it so much. I just... never really considered ever replacing any of my furniture." Obviously the weyrling is an inspiring sort, to put such a novel idea into the weyrwoman's head. "Though, I'm going to guess you're still shopping for a first?" Yes, it really has been that long since her class was given their weyrs. Productivity demands she lift the clipboard back up, angling the page towards the nearest glow in order to confirm the existence of a few nearby items. She may have to flick through papers to do so, but what company can be kept in the stores won't go unappreciated. "How are you doing?" Distracted, but none the less genuine. "Why not?" Telavi's smile is quick. "Is it otherwise so marvelous? I'm sure there are others who would be thrilled to have your hand-me-downs." She sits neatly on the arm of the couch, legs folded to one side, knees bent enough that her toes don't quite touch the ground. "You're right that this would be my first couch. I'm dreadfully choosy, and sometimes I just don't like to make do," but she shrugs, unworried. "The worst that could happen is that I have to live without one even longer. That isn't always a hardship," though she glances at the goldrider, does she see it otherwise? "And doing, in what sense? Politely, I'm fine, thank you." The possibility of people being thrilled, well. Obviously Azaylia doubts that, though it's in good humor, "My weyr already had furniture when I moved in. I've added a few things," As has Hraedhyth, "But I didn't give it much thought. They still work." Function over form, of course. Which may be the reason she's in awe at Telavi's picky nature, "No, I wouldn't call it that." Hardly a hardship at all, judging from the amused glance she aims at the younger woman. Manners are brought into question, and she probes a bit deeper with a light bite to her lower lip, "Rudely, how is weyrlinghood treating you? Or, are you doing well considering..." Everything. "The state of things." She won't wander far, pausing to hunt for the objects placed closer to the couch. It's nothing Telavi would argue with, to the point that she smiles back, with that much more of a gleam for catching Azaylia's own look. "Not rudely at all, actually, I just didn't know what you wanted. It's exhausting. Exhaustive. But flaming, that's amazing. How was it for you, if I may ask? If... not the flaming part, necessarily, though I liked learning flamethrowers back at Benden too." "Challenging." Azaylia answers after a long moment to consider memories that would otherwise be left alone. "Building a flamethrower, learning about how it worked was the easy part. Using it?" There's some strain to that smile, "I was afraid of hurting myself, which would have hurt Hraedhyth. That, and she wanted to flame like the rest of the class." Given the fact that half of Telavi's class of Hraedhyth and Szadath, weyrling Azaylia was successful in curbing that interest. "I hope Solith is enjoying herself?" As a green, she's allowed to go near the firestone. "I can't blame her. And," Telavi's tone drops to something confidential, "it's so interesting, hearing about these bits we wouldn't, otherwise. She is enjoying it, Solith is, possibly a little too much as she doesn't always want me to get the smell off, and it just permeates. I think maybe she thinks it means she's a big dragon, now." The stylus scratches at the paper and then stops, Azaylia blinking over at Telavi, "Bits?" She's confused by the words and intrigued by the quiet tone. Solith is familiar enough that just her mention has the goldrider's smiling once more, "It does, in a way. Just one more step towards seniorship, and then graduation. I wonder if she'll..." The weyrwoman rarely means to offend, care taken to find just the right words. "...get serious? It felt like forever before Hraedhyth fit her body, if that makes sense? Even after graduation." Tela's is a light shrug, "Bits of stories, maybe?" For all the care in Azaylia's tone, it's that pause that flushes her cheeks that little bit, as though brushed by some invisible wing. Still, "Fit, how so? Believe me, I wonder if Solith will get serious, too." Her still-light tone plays with would-be worry, diminishes it. "Oh. If you want stories..." Azaylia draws out, "The only reason I kept such a close eye on Hraedhyth was because of a queen before her. Iss-- Iskiveth. She ate some firestone, but not enough to make her sterile, thank goodness." And if that doesn't sound like something Hraedhyth would do in her youth, then Telavi doesn't know the warrior queen well enough. The glows might help to wash out the weyrling's flush, or perhaps the older woman knows better than to comment on it. "Hraedhyth was hatched a queen, has always known what she was. But with everything that's happened since... Iolene, I think she's really realizing what that means." Possible reflections go unmentioned, likely unnoticed by her as she reassures, "I only wondered because I enjoy how Solith is, what Hraedhyth shows me. If she does... get serious, I just hope it's not too much." As the older woman talks, Telavi reclines slightly, enough to rest her arm along the couch's curving back. "I've read of her, of course, but... firestone! Now that you mention, I think I had heard that, though I wasn't sure how much credence to give it. People do like to gossip." She doesn't weight it. She likes to gossip, the more so in Sabs' company, even if she hasn't had nearly the chance to of late. Tela flashes her dimples at Azaylia, too, very much on purpose this time. "Thank you for your kind words. In fact, you remind me of something else someone said, actually it was Weyrlea..." Perhaps that wasn't on purpose, given what even weyrlings might have noticed of Hraedhyth's withdrawal. Tela blushes that much more, to boot. There's a long look to the corner opposite of Telavi, a favorite spot for certain weyrwomen. Azaylia remains strong, instead walking past the tempting couch to take inventory on the other side of it. "Oh no, it happened. Meara," Along with everyone else who may have remembered Iskiveth's antics, "Was sure to let us know." The weyrwoman has no dimples of her own, marveling at Telavi's generosity with a bright smile. It doesn't fade, though there's a hint of concern in her gaze, "Taikrin?" She prompts, gently, smile softening at the weyrling's blush, "What did she say?" Why did Tela stop? "Yes," Tela says, her tone fleetingly that of gratitude. Her ankles have drawn up, abutting the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry, I feel as though I ought to title her Weyrleader. It's said Hraedhyth no longer supports her mate, though," and Azaylia had talked about her dragon realizing what it means to be a queen, "and you're here, right here. I don't wish offense. What do you think I should do?" Steady, gentle nods of encouragement come to a halt at the mention of Hraedhyth's mate, Azaylia's gaze dropping suddenly to the clipboard. Quietly, "There's no reason to be sorry. You're free to feel how you'd like." From others it might be a resigned brush off, but it sounds genuine coming from her. "Hraedhyth is still very fond of Szadath... But feelings-- favoritism shouldn't get in the way of what's best for the Weyr." Surely dragons think with such depth. Her smile is only slightly strained when she looks back over at Telavi, "I think you should do what you think is right. If that means Taikrin is your Weyrleader..?" The weyrwoman must disagree, but it seems as though she's willing to leave Telavi's opinion unchallenged. Perhaps it's the other woman's care that lets Telavi speak gently in her turn. "I feel as though I ought," she repeats. "Whatever I feel, all the many things I might feel, I'm a weyrling, you see. Until my masters say otherwise..." She looks at Azaylia, so earnestly. Azaylia is caught by surprise by Telavi's insistance, taking a few steps closer, each step a moment longer for her to consider. "Just because you're a weyrling doesn't mean you aren't allowed your own thoughts. Or is it you're afraid of... being wrong?" Her head tilts some, "Because what I think is right might not be the only way." Or a way, but such doubts don't have a place in this discussion. Tela smiles, a purse of her lips that makes it to her eyes. "It's not that I'm not allowed my own thoughts... most of the time," and that's almost a laugh. "It's how I express myself, do you see? Politeness, and rules, and instructions that that don't ordinarily require us to delve into our hearts, spirits, navels even. In fact, anything but, for efficiency." "I don't think I do." Azaylia admits, apologetic, gaze softening with the faint curl of her lips, "I don't know that it's impolite to consider Taikrin Weyrleader." The back of her stylus taps against her paper, offering with some hope, "I won't be offended if you do." And she isn't. "In that case," Tela says more lightly, "I should ask if you'll take a couch instead?" She pats the article of furniture upon which she still sits, avoiding possessiveness with the airiness of her gesture. She'd tried it out first, it has its issues, but perhaps Azaylia would like it that much more? Still close enough to inspect, Azaylia turns her attention from the weyrling to the couch she's perched on. "Not this time." She decides with a laugh that matches Telavi's airy gesture, "And honestly, my..." Weyrmate has such a different meaning, it's avoided entirely. "Friend tends to use my couch more than I do. I feel like I should get his opinion before replacing the one I have." Poor couch, so unloved. "That seems sensible," Tela muses, her mouth quirking up. "If you like his company still, at least! If you got a light little thing, a fragile-looking love seat upholstered all in pale colors, that would send a very different message." She doesn't urge one way or another, swinging a foot that had seemed all but pinned down before in an easy, shallow arc. "I'll sign my name in for it, then, at least until something better comes along. Or three better ones, anyway, I've a mind to do without a table and what's better for company, really?" "He would break it." Another laugh, Azaylia picturing a certain ex-con trying to squeeze himself into that descriptive little loveseat. When Telavi makes her decision, it's productive enough to remind the goldrider to pick up the pace, drifting to the side until she finds a new cluster of items to write down. "Nobody says you have to keep it forever." She's in agreement, "And if it's taken you this long to find that one..." Well, at least it will act as a nice placeholder while Telavi waits for those three better ones to come along. "Exactly," Telavi says, pleased. With Azaylia moved on at least that much, at least seeming preoccupied, the weyrling indeed does give the couch a quick sniff here and there before trying it out one last time. She sprawls along it, her feet in the air not because there's not room but to keep it from being further soiled, and then bounces back up. It doesn't even creak: the final test! With that, the girl circles around and busies herself with signing up just as she'd said. Azaylia's on Tela's way out, so she pauses there. "Is there anything else? I wish you well with your... inventory," or whatever it is. "I don't know of anyone who's not glad to have Tillek's tithe." Is she aware of Telavi's more intimate tests? If so, Azaylia doesn't comment or even turn her head to get a better look, all to fascinated by the crates of supplies in front of her. "Hm?" Somehow her polite focus has turned genuine, and it takes a moment to tear away to answer the weyrling. "Inventory, yes. I..." Surprised, but pleasantly so when the tithe is mentioned, "I'm... thank you. That's nice to hear. Enjoy your new couch, Telavi." Her name uttered with some fondness, the weyrwoman grateful for the pleasant mood she's now in. No, it doesn't seem as though there's anything else. "Thank you. I try. We'll see how long it lasts," those last words delivered in a tone that teases at optimism with its make-believe darkness. With that, Telavi heads briskly down the aisle, leaving Azaylia and the couch alone... with all the many, many, many other items in the stores, Tillekian and otherwise. She'll be back.
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