Logs:Supplies For the Act
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| RL Date: 20 May, 2009 |
| Who: A'son, Leova |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: They have to spend more time together, looking for supplies this time. And old clothes. |
| When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr(#273RJs) 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 outsde each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. Obvious exits: Weyr Entrance Kitchens This autumn afternoon finds two riders rummaging in the stores. They've evidentally already made their way through the supply rooms, rough canvas sacks filled with 'things' in them held in their possession. Now it's just time to find something to wear, to really craft the mold they're about to take on. "Can I use this cane? They'll think that I'm really a gimp then." Where A'son managed to get a can is well... Who knows. He found it someplace in there, and now he's waving it around. "Promise not to hit me with it, and I don't care," Leova mutters from the box she's looking through. "Here. Try this one." It's a heavy wool jacket she tosses his way without particularly looking up. "Got to make sure the laundry tags are out of anything we bring. Could always just take 'em out of a couple of your own shirts, wear those, if we don't find anything here, hm?" "What if we get into a fight? And you're such a querolous woman.. uh.. Lanna, that you know I have to give you a little love smack now and again. To keep you in line. Like any good husband." A'son is waving the cane around again, voice much gruffer than it normally is. He gets hit with a jacket. "Hey, see. This is what I'm talking about. Always throwing things at me." He drops the cane and pulls the clothing in, seeing if it fits. "I think we need hats." "/Funny/." If that dark tone of Leova's means she's regretting this already, still she turns to give her wingmate a looking over. "Not sure about your shoulders. Try actually buttoning it. Here," and she marches over to take care of it if he won't. "Definitely want hats. And you know, forget the cane. Keep it simpler, hm? Lanna isn't /so/ bad. Lonna might be easier. You can be... Sonny." "Lonna and Sonny? /Sonny/. Can't I be... Something cooler than Sonny?" He asks, tone plaintive. His hands wave hers away when he goes to button the jacket up, he dress himself. A'son turns around for her, pulling at the thing. "How does it look now?" Hats. Hats. He taps his lips before turning around and rummaing through shelves just overhead. He peeks into a variety of boxes before settling for one and dumping it down by their feet. "Hats." There's an audible sigh and he unbottons the jacket, pulling it off. "I hate getting clothes." A'son shoots her a look about slurring his name. "Thing about Leova is, if we slur it too much it ends up sound like... Oh, forget it." He drops down to his knees and begins to rummage through the box. An old wool one is taken out and fitted onto his head. "Well?" It's the type with the sort of floppy top and short lid. An old man's hat. "Don't think /I/ like it." But Leova waits him out for what he'd do to /her/ name, waits him through his stopping short. A deep breath later, all she says is, "Not so old as all that. Try... see if you can find something with a better brim? Or a knitted cap, something plain. Think brown. Maybe some blue in there." And then in a lower voice, "Wish we were just playing dress-up, A'son." There's plenty of laughter before he tosses something to her. "I think that would look perfect." It's a bonnet or something like it. A'son does some more digging, "Blue and brown?" He gets something close to what she likes, but it's a dark grey, a little worn around the edges with some blue on the fringes. Her low voice catches him and he glances up, lips pulling into a frown. "Yeah, I know. This is going to be fine. Going to go perfect." Why not: Leova pulls on the bonnet without bothering to look at it too closely. "Better," she says for the gray cap, even if it's not so much with the brown at all. As she's tying the strings, "Maybe they had enough. Won't go after any more..." and as long as he's looking up anyway, "How's that?" There's no playful smile under the ruffled brim, though, just a drawn, tired look. "You look like someone who's stuck married to me." A'son tells her, watching her tie the strings with uplifted eyebrows. "Maybe we could get you a long plain skirt. The type you could hide pants under. ...Do holder women wear pants?" It's a question asked with a totally blank face, "I'm serious. Do they?" He sighs at the other thing though, shaking his head. "If it's not the tithes, it'll be something else. People like that are never satisfied." She can give him a barely-there smile for that, at least, turned up on one side more than the other. "Don't mean it to be that bad," Leova says. And: "Long plain skirt. Yes. Unfortunate bright bow, collar, not too close to my face." She drops down to do some hat-rummaging herself, head tilted down to see, the bonnet hiding much of her expression. "/Outer/ pants... only if she has to, mostly, though it depends on the work. And the wealth... Gray's good, anyhow. Think... you're trying to look good, just not good at it." "Oh, it would be. I'd make a terrible husband." A'son tells her, brushing it aside. "So we have to hide men's clothes under your fake regular clothes." He keeps the hat pulled down onto his head before standing again. He looks around, aiming himself for another box. "Should only be about a week." Rummaging begins anew as he pulls out a lighter jacket with wool lining. It's outer color is black with large wood buttons down the front. This is donned too and he stretches his arms out to see if the sleeves are long enough. "Actually," Leova says dryly, "Just have to have a skirt I can move in. How hard can it be," and that last, it's that much more tongue in cheek. And by the time she looks back up to him and his latest outfit, most of the hats have been put away except for a couple plain knitted caps and a handful of others. "Mm. Better. Do you think? If it's warm enough. Turn around, need to see if there's a badge on the other side." "I don't know, I don't wear women's clothes." A'son points out, buttoning the jacket up. "I hope so. It's Autumn. As long as there aren't any freak snow storms, we'll be okay. Either way we'll make it through fine." He looks down at his pants, "I think I've got enough old pairs that I should make it through fine. Really it's just a matter of long sleeved shirts..." He spins around for Leova to check out the badge-status. Leova laughs this time, briefly. "/Hope/ it's early enough not to see too much rain, too much mud." And what that does to axles. "Two pairs, three, you're thinking? And... looks like something got picked off there. Maybe we can come up with a hold badge, something not too new-looking, cover it. Should do it anyway... do you have shoes already? Walking shoes. Not boots. /Shoes/. Hope you do, saves on blisters." ...Sandals? Sandals are like shoes right, I have those?" A'son stares at her, then looks down at his boots. Then he looks at her feet, what is she wearing? Then it's back to Leova's face. "Do I need real shoes?" He chews on his lip, looking past her. "I'm sure we can find a tag on something or ask Milani. She'd know how to get those." "Not sandals." Leova has a very firm headshake for that. /She's/ got boots on, but then she's in rider gear. Except for that bonnet, anyway. "Maybe... maybe if they're more like hiking boots? Not rider boots and," a sharper look at him, "Don't ask me to explain the difference. But. If they aren't broke in already, going to be hard on your feet..." She sighs out the rest of her breath, sets the lid on the box just short of slamming, stands with the remaining two caps. "Wish we had more time." There's a difference between hiking boots and riding boots? A'son looks like he's going to ask her what that difference is. But then he's ordered not to. His mouth firmly closes. "Right hiking boots." Again he's looking at her feet, then at his. "Got it." Not a chance. "Yeah, me too. But we don't. I figure we've got three scenerios. One, the attack and we catch a guy. Two, they don't attack and we just wasted some time. Three, they attack and we /don't/ catch a guy. And I'd really rather one of the first two happen." "Same here," Leova admits. "/Want/ the first, as long as we don't screw up... Oh." A sidelong look at him. "Lonna didn't have any brothers, let's say. It's why I know the runners: someone had to. Though maybe that won't be so important, for just tagging along, right? And, /A'son/. Our voices. Can't much change those, don't reckon, not and keep it up right. Guess we're from further out? Met... somewhere in the middle? Maybe." "Well, yeah. Of course we want the first one. But the second won't be awful. No harm, no foul." A'son begins to unbutton his new-old jacket, peeling it off and hanging it over his shoulder. He pushes the hat into his pocket and leans against a shelf. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Though I did kind of want to act like a gruff old man." He considers, kicking his heel into the floor. "What do you mean, in the middle?" "Right," Leova has to admit all over again. And: "Somewhere between the 'Reaches and Tillek. I guess? Don't seem to /me/ like I sound like Tillek, but guess that's what anyone thinks about theirs." She moves down the aisle, starts sorting through shirts, shaking and shaking her head until she pauses with a half-smile. Not because of a find, though: "You know, though." Glancing back, "If this works out? One way or another? Can ask K'del for one of those masquerades, like we had when... Sorry. You were gone by then. Anyhow: then you can be grumpy-old-man. How's that." "Oh, our accents. Huh." A'son's mouth quirks and his head tilts. "I guess I sound like I'm from High Reaches. Not much question to it." He's only been here the majority of his life. He doesn't start to search for anything else, instead opting to just follow Leova down the aisle. "We can tell him it's to raise the morale. Because I get this feeling that we're going to need it. Got a few rough winters coming our way, I bet." The greenrider's mouth tightens this time. "Maybe so. /Hope/ not." Shirt after shirt after shirt. She pauses on one with a bit of simple embroidery, just a plain series of diagonal lines rather than anything depicting firelizards or dragons or what have you. Holds out its full sleeve. Lets it fall. She turns back toward him, then, looking up, "Let's pick out a few more things. Pack up. Meet up at... your ledge? After dark again. Go through them. Got to get Vrianth good and fed and oiled before we go, too. Sounds like we'll have to leave pretty soon." A'son pushes off of the shelf he's been leaning on. "Yeah, lets finish. I hate this crap." He tells her, maybe not for the first time recently. Turning back to where they were, he collects that canvas sack from earlier. "I'm going to let Nikoth eat as much as he wants before we leave. Get nice and fat, he's going to be hungry when we come home." He purses his lips, "Yeah, soon. Maybe tomorrow or the next day?" "Right." Back to the shirts. Leova adds, "Remind me to find a baby toy, or clothes, something we'd be giving away." Shirt, shirt, another shirt. "And about the cane. It's not that the fight's to have us... beating up on each other, there. Just to explain the... awkwardness. Compared to the way it /should/ be." He stuffs the jacket from earlier into the canvas bag and then hefts it over his shoulder. "I wasn't really serious about /hitting/ you with a cane at any point." A'son feels inclined to point out, just in case she was worried. "I get all that. We're not going to climbing all over each other in marital bliss. In fact, I think the least amount of touching we can get away with the better." "Arranged marriage," Leova says dryly. She's turned back to the shirts. Doesn't look up. "Go ahead, if you got what you need. Going to be a little longer. Don't... reckon there's more to say." "Glad I wasn't born a holder, that's for sure. Arranged marriages sound scary." A'son glances at her while he shifts and arranges. "Alright. I'll meet you tonight. My ledge? Then we'll go on down to K'del and figure the rest out." There's a quick duck of her bonneted head that might be agreement or something more ambiguous. "All right. Someone'll bespeak." A deeper breath, and by the time Leova's apparently finished with the shirts, two of them slung over one arm as she heads back to the abandoned caps, her expression's untroubled to the point of placid. A'son stays where he is for a minute or two more, watching her head back to the caps. While her expression may be untroubled, his sure isn't. He wipes his mouth and grimaces before he turns and leaves, feet clomping all the way. And when he's gone, and gone for not just a little while, Leova can relax just that little bit again. Shove everything back into place, except what she's taking with her. And go get things /done/. |
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