Logs:Tea and Flouncing Lessons
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| RL Date: 29 September, 2013 |
| Who: Hana, N'rov |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Hana and N'rov take tea. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions |
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| A smidgen past the main mealtime, finds the living cavern still busy with folks lingering over heals, sharing news, or in general being loud. As such, Hana's found herself taking advantage of the nighthearth. A place to keep warm, a table occupied with a pot of tea, and some chairs, one of which she's occupied to work on some needlework. "So let me know, all right?" High Reaches accent, brash tenor voice, closer to living-cavern loud than otherwise. "Fine, fine," and the answering baritone is both amused and distinctly Boll-inflected: that speaker's not from around here. Until he is, literally, when he helps himself to a chair at Hana's table. "Expecting guests?" N'rov inquires in lieu of asking if that seat's taken, with an eye towards what the auburn-haired woman is working on. Hana glances up, head tilted slightly to the side, before smiling, "Well, it would appear to be now; would you care for a cup of tea?" she asks, ignoring any claims of ignorance she could rightfully call upon. The work is fairly simply; embroidery along the edges of what may well be a winter's shawl. The material, at least, is thick enough for it. "I would," N'rov says without missing a beat, sliding what had been his mug of klah away with the casual push of one hand: clearly tea takes a far higher priority. He's got a grin for the woman, for her smile, even as he sits back. "Should I ask what's in it, or should I just trust you? And what are you working on, come to that." "Tea, as it would be a crime of the highest sort to put anything else in it, unless for medicinal purposes," Hana claims, putting down the work on progress to go about pouring the cup of tea for her new companion, "It's a cowled shawl - or will be, once I'm finished with it. And did you want sweetner in it?" Apparently sweetner is exempt from the label of crime, even as she also takes the time to refresh her own cuppa. "I am a believer in medicinal purposes," the bronzerider avows in his turn, tapping one side of his jacket before reaching within. Not that he offers Hana the sleeker-than-classic flask once he's retrieved it; instead, N'rov keeps his hand curled loosely about it as though it were some hatchling chick that could be crushed. "Having come from a different clime, of course, it behooves me to be careful and," there's a distinct smile in his eyes, some joke he hasn't yet made her privy to, "take my medicine. Sweetner I'll take too. I may need it. This cowled shawl, is it for you?" Hana hms in agreement, "I rather dislike the heavy jackets - I can't seem to move in them very well. If it turns out as well as I hope, I shall probably make others, but one should always test out new attempts themselves." The flask is given a bit of a look, then a bit of a smile appears again. "High Reaches - Weyr, more so than Hold - is rather interesting to adapt to from other places. Thankfully, I've yet to go to any place more so." After judging both cups filled properly, the young woman slides the slightly less filled one towards the amused rider. "Perhaps I should try one on for myself. Or not, lest I be converted." N'rov tips her a smile and the cup a moderate dose from his flask, though he doesn't yet cap the latter; rather, "Would you care for a few drops yourself? Or have you adjusted well enough, from wherever you're from, that you don't need to take anyone's medicine anymore?" There is a quick shake of the head, "I'm not so fond of such additions, but I thank you for the thought..." Hana trails off, before admitting, "I suppose I should ask for introductions. While I have a good idea..." How many Fortian riders are hanging about, after all?, "Manners do suggest otherwise. I'm Hana," she adds, before eyeing the fella. Mostly width of shoulder, lenth of torso. "It would be a challenge of a different sort to modify the pattern. Not undoable, however." The rider stashes the flask before turning gray eyes and a mischief-laden smile to her. "Very pleased to meet you, Hana. I'm N'rov, of course. The one attached to Vhaeryth," as though there could be another. Perhaps he recognizes her look, for he inquires, "Should I pose? And are you weaver Hana, seamstress Hana, curious Hana? I have it on good authority that my clothes fit, but I am open to the occasional surprise." Hana laughs, and shakes her head, "Me, a weaver? Heavens no. Something of a seamstress, something of a hand with needlework, but nothing so structured, N'rov. And there is little need to pose unless you really want a shawl, cowled or otherwise, especially with that jacket of yours no doubt well enough for breaking the path of wind. Merely, as you said, curious enough to consider how much longer and wider it would have to be to provide enough cover." While she talks, N'rov sips his tea in the comfortable manner of one who's grown up with a mother, or foster-mother, who likes such things. "You don't care for structure. I see now. And yet, the cowl, which means you care even less to be cold," he speculates. "I appreciate your specifying that it's the path of wind to be broken... and no, I have as yet no heartfelt desire for such clothing, except perhaps to scandalize my girl. Do you think that would do the trick, Hana, or do I need to work harder, reach further?" "Oh, most certainly reach further - a shawl is a small enough thing when it comes to scandal." There is a pause as Hana takes a sip of tea, before adding, "Have you considered a dress? It shaln't do much for wind, but it certainly could fit the criteria of shock." As for the breaking of wind, well - there is a reason she's still wearing a lurking grin. N'rov might be thirstier than strictly appropriate for tea, given how he extends his cup in a silent request for seconds. "Perhaps it depends on the dress. The last time I wore one, I was impersonating our senior weyrwoman, with an... official primatur, shall we say. They were 'turn-around days,' you see, everyone switched roles; I want to say that she passed herself off as a weyrling. Imagine what great good fun I had, ordering menus about." "Dare I suggest all the menus included additions to the drinks?" Hana asks with a bit of bemusement, habit having her refilling the cup with little delay, "And I would suggest a good dress for toss dancing. Plenty of room, easy to breath in, and of course, plenty of flounce." The bronzerider takes the cup with appreciation but without further additions; perhaps he thinks he's had enough medicine for now. "Too late to suggest that, sadly. Perhaps I'll breathe a word into the ear of whoever gets the job next time," N'rov says, "if there is a next time." Which, given the quality of his smirk, there may not be and, if so, for good reason. "'Flounce.' I'm not quite sure I follow, Hana. Would you be so kind as to illustrate?" "I suppose I can - I do need to be on my way, after all. Would you care for me to leave the pot of tea with you?" Hana offers, before getting to her feet. It's the work of a moment to fold away the shawl into the basket, and then to finish off her cup of tea, but by the time all is said and done, she's standing with basket over arm, and glancing at the rider. "Of course, this has taken me turns to learn how to do correctly, so do not worry if you can't get it on the first try." "I wouldn't object in the least. However, I cannot promise to return it to its rightful home," but then there are drudges for that sort of thing, aren't there? N'rov leans back again, his own cup hovering before his smile but not concealing it in the least. "I understand," he says, his baritone graver by far than his expression. "Although I cannot hope to measure up, I will endeavor to not let it quash my spirits and will instead try, try again in the hopes of someday approaching the shadow of your accomplished example." "That's the spirit! Now, keep in mind - the trick is to send the hem swirling out, so that it catches more air with each bounce. Therefore, you give a good turn," Which Hana does, a little swish at the end that sends the hem flaring out, "Then you give an extra bounce with each step." And then, yes, she flounces out of the Nighthearth. Though then her head pops back in, "The kitchens are just fine for leaving it - or just let someone know it's left in there. I borrow a set whenever I'm in need. It was nice to be introduced though, N'rov - have a pleasant evening." N'rov watches all this with every appearance of fascination, despite that her current dress may not meet true flouncing standards. "Turn, bounce, bounce, flounce. If I master it, I'll be sure to credit you," he assures her disembodied head. "In the meantime, Hana, good eve." As for the teapot, he'll surely let someone know something. |
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