Logs:Storeroom Donations
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| RL Date: 17 February, 2015 |
| Who: Azaylia, Farideh |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia thinks she has too many clothes, and Farideh helps her sort through them. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 1, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Hana/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions |
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| Storerooms 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.
A basket piled high with folded linens and various other fabrics obscures most of Farideh's face as she maneuvers the alleyways of the stores. She walks with a purpose, peering from behind her burden, and politely side-steps anyone that happens into her path, with a tight smile. It's towards one section of shelving that she wanders, and eventually arrives at, setting her basket down with a heavy exhale. Her hands are brushed against her pants, her hair pushed back; then, her hands fall to her hips as she surveys her literal pile of work. With a dubious quality, her eyes flick from the laundry to the Weyrwoman. Visibly she hesitates, and then takes a few tentative steps forward. "Did you-- did you need any help?" she asks uncertainly, staring at the crates Azaylia has just set down. "Hm?" Azaylia sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so as she regards Farideh. There might be a flicker of recognition in her gaze, but nothing that inspires her to even attempt a name. "Not really. ...maybe?" Less uncertain and more simply changing her mind, "Maybe you can help me decide what other people might like, and what should just be thrown out?" There's a small smile as she adds, "Or used for patches." She motions toward the boxes, welcoming Farideh to inspect the old dresses, linens and various shawls that the Weyrwoman has collected over the years. "I moved weyrs and found that... well. I had a lot of outfits that I don't really wear." Her hands move to her hips, expression playfully stern, "I think my assistant has been sneaking them into my wardrobe." Given that Azaylia is not one to overly indulge in clothing. While the goldrider is sorting out what she wants, Farideh keeps stepping closer, wearing a baffled expression. "Thrown out?" she asks skeptically. "None of it should be thrown out. There's always other uses, if not as they were intentionally meant. Patches, rags, aprons--" She catches herself and stops, offering a pleasant smile before squatting down next to the closest crate. "It's only a matter of sorting them according to their most appealing, renewed purpose." Her fingers brush the topmost selection of cloth and she lifts her curious eyes to Azaylia. "I'm sure she meant well. It can always come to the Weyr's usage, right? If not your own." "See, that's what I was thinking." Azaylia agrees with growing warmth to her smile, "But with the way some people talk, you'd think I was wearing rags." She's still playful in her accusation, crouching down as Farideh does and plucking up a dress that is out of style, but still in fine shape. The majority of what's in the boxes are still wear-able, if waiting for alterations to be made if one were looking to be fashionable. There's a glance at the abandoned basket of linens before she decides, "Who better to help me than a laundress?" She gives a soft nod at the mention of her assistant, "I'm sure she did. It's not like I really mind, it's just that she's very mindful of clothing trends and I am... very not." Admitted with a soft laugh. "What about you?" "Some people wouldn't know a cothold tailor from Lady Miule's weaver," is the laundresses annoyed reply, though not, it would seem, towards Azaylia. "You could ask one of the seamstresses, but they're prone to go on and on--" Farideh sucks in a breath and lets it out slow, shaking her head while she lifts the top dress and presses the fabric between her fingers. "You don't see the need to be dressed in the current styles? Have you found the right weaver to attend your needs? You know, I knew this girl, and she hired this weaver from out of Nerat. Yes, Nerat, and he got her measurements all wrong and it was a mess, and then he tried putting her in wool, saying it was the in thing." Her eyes roll skywards - weavers, amiright?! Still, "I don't have a need to look nice. I'm just a laundress. It's fun to look at illustrations and dream though." "I... can see a need, I suppose." Her lips pull into a faint frown, "I'm sure there's talk about Weyrs who 'can't afford' to keep their Werywomen in the best gowns." Azaylia's bland tone makes it obvious what she thinks about that. Farideh's tale draws her attention, as well as her amusement, that smile returning as she sorts. "Wool?" Even she's incredulous there, brows pinched in obvious pity for the aformentioned girl. "I do tend to bounce from weaver to weaver, I admit. It isn't that they don't tend to my needs, I just... I guess that part of farmlife has stuck with me, even after all these years. I think strangers spend more time thinking about what I am, and what I should be wearing, than I do." She motions to the boxes in front of them, "If you see anything in particular you like, you're free to have first pick. I'm sure with a high-quality base, you can get a seamstress friend to breathe new life into it." "Is there? It's not the clothing of Weyrwoman that many talk about these days," Farideh says, flipping over the next two items in the crate. "Wool, in Igen heat." It's a woe-betide tone that carries along the laundress' sentiments, accompanied by a mild pout. "I'm not sure what he was thinking. Needless to say, she got a new weaver and was much happier after that." Her verdigris eyes lift from the dresses in the box, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "You should really commit to the one. A good one. That knows how to flatter your body type. It's amazing what the correct silhouettes and complimentary colors will do," she says sunnily, going back to the castoffs; she's digging around in the bottom, looking over the side. "A well-dressed woman is a remembered woman. And, oh--" Her cheeks flush and she ducks her head, smiling apologetically. "I shouldn't." Azaylia seems curious, "I've never been good on keeping up on gossip. What do they talk about, these days?" Since it certainly seems as though Farideh is a fount of fashionable knoweledge. The added detail brings her close to gaping, "In Igen heat? Are you sure he didn't have a vendetta against her?" When the laundress declines, the goldrider ducks her head to peek at Farideh's flushed cheeks. "No?" She does press, if gently, "I understand if you'd rather not wear someone's hand-me-downs," Or perhaps she's trying to understand, "But if it's because you don't think you should... have pretty things? That's silly." She straightens up, inspecting a gauzy sundress before placing it in the growing 'good' pile, "Once we've got these sorted, it'll be first come first serve." "No? You could sit in the kitchens or the laundry, and not even say a word, to get an ear full. They don't talk about you-- often." Amusement lights up the girl's face, laughing at the obvious frivolousness of the laundress and their counterparts, the kitchen aids. "Everyone is talked about Benden's issues, and that gold with the-the memory problems. Of course, no one has stopped talking about the debacle at High Reaches Hold." Farideh stops sorting through the clothing to look up at Azaylia, expression frustrated. "Poor Lady Issedi and poor Lord Devaki too. I think his decision was just." She flourishes a hand, waving around a white shirt, and resumes dissecting the things in the crate. "That's not it. I just shouldn't. Other people might need it more, you know," with a wrinkling of her nose. "But maybe just one, if I find anything. It would be nice to have a warm dress." But not wool, obviously. "That's certainly a relief." If Azaylia is even capable of sarcasm, those words come close. Mention of the Hold has her stifling a grimace, though the flinch is obvious as her hands slow to a stop. She doesn't open her eyes until after a few breaths, blinking until they're no longer glassy, "I... Of course I support Lord Devaki in his decision." And yet. "Issedi and I were friends. We didn't visit often, but we... I wish I had taken more time to see her." Trembling fingers find their strength once again, returning to the task with obvious ferver. "If anyone in this Weyr is in such a need that you can't indulge in one dress... Then maybe I should be talked about in the kitchens." An attempt at humor, however dry. The Weyrwoman's flinch doesn't appear to register like it should to the laundress. There's still a thin smile on her face, her eyes watching Azaylia while she moves a couple things out of the crate and into a separate pile on the floor. "I'm sorry. She seemed like a lovely woman. I never met her, but they talked of her in a positive manner. They had a romance, you know," Farideh provides, like Azaylia wouldn't know, even though she just confessed to being the deceased woman's friend. "It's tragic, but most good love stories are, aren't they?" It's a question, posed to the older woman who should surely know, but her attention is easily stolen again by the garments she's separating. "I have two dresses, but not cold weather dresses. I don't know that I'll ever get used to this weather." "Not just lovely, but kind. She was Holdbred through and through but... she never thought less of me. Of where I come from." Of the Weyr, which she now oversees. As for romance, "I never doubted how Devaki felt about her. Or how she felt about him." There's some embarrassment as Azaylia confides, "I don't much care for the tragic love stories. My books are the kind where the lovers ride off into the sunset together. Or, fly." If it's a book about dragonriders. Her own escapades are left unsaid, which may hint at inexperience when it comes to romance. Running her fingers over a thin, summertime shawl, "I know there are plenty of warm dresses in there." Similar to the one she's wearing now, no doubt. "Mostly in blue-- but I think there's a white one? I was feeling adventurous the day I had it comissioned." Surprisingly, there's no remarks of the Weyrwoman's commentary on Issedi's personality, but Farideh does chew on her lower lip while she sorts. "I can't decide what's worse. Having a great, adventurous romance, only to get married and have kids, and live a mundane lifestyle with no hope for soaring higher, or having that romance stolen from you too soon. Neither sounds like something I'd wish for." Basically, there's no middle road, to her. "A few-" Her eyebrows lift, her gaze too before it drops to the crate. "What does it look like?" is her question, pushing aside layers of fabric in her search for that particular piece. Azaylia considers the options, pointing out, "You don't have to have children, even if you were to get married? Could always strive to keep the adventure going." There's a soft shrug as she adds with a breathless laugh, "I don't suspect I'll ever fall in love, myself. I'm happy with what choices the Weyr offers." Her lips gain a mischevious quirk, "Though I believe most people search for that special someone." She drops a silky piece of fabric in order to help Farideh look for the one dress in particular, "It's a little tight-- or it's meant to be warn that way." Given Azaylia's height and athletic physique, it would need to be altered to fit the laundress. "White, long sleeved, and sort of fuzzy? If it's wool, it's very soft." "It's not like, if you get married, you have the choice to go between all the time like riders do. It's bound to happen, if you're--" Farideh tucks an errant curl behind her ear and keeps shifting fabric in search of the dress. "I haven't ever. I don't know that I want to. What if he just dies? This Weyr sees its share of tragic deaths, anyway. I wouldn't want to get my hopes up," she explains gently, her fingers wrapping around a swath of white that she eagerly pulls out of the crate. Standing, she holds it up to her front, for the goldrider's inspection. "This one?" "Good point. I forget, sometimes." The priveledges that come with having a dragon, regardless of hue. "It sounds... messy." Romance. "What if he dies. Or, what if he gets bored? They do that, you know." Speaking from experience, while also not. "I had my share of angry weyrmates coming to find me, before I thought to have Hraedhyth check." The dress Farideh holds is certainly too long her, and it has plenty of extra fuzzy fabric to work with. Pristine white, the dress could be a sweater if it weren't so long, a mix of provocative and conservative. "That's the one! It's pretty, but I find I enjoy darker colors for winter. I hardly wore it." A hand flutters, and she smiles up at the girl from where she's still crouched, "You're welcome to it." "Gets bored?" That brings a frown to her face, wearing down the pleasantness of before. "They do, don't they. I hadn't thought of that, but if you love someone, how in all of Pern can you get bored?" Farideh isn't comprehending that one, and gives the dress a little shake to smooth out the folds. She looks down, to where the dress puddles at her feet. "White is refreshing. Dark can be--" Her nose scrunches up and she folds the dress gingerly over her arm. "Thank you, though." "As I hear it, some people fall out of love? I honestly have no idea." Azaylia gives a little shake of her head, not likely to give it much more thought than that. The dress gets one last fond look before she's back to digging into the first box, "I like white and gold for when it's warm." With a bright smile, "You're very welcome, ah... I didn't catch your name." Or if she did, it's been forgotten. "Falling out of love," is repeated whimsically, her eyes finding the corrugated ceiling, as if someone could have scrawled the answers to all of life's miseries there. "White isn't as favored for winter, because you might be mistaken for a pile of snow." Which is obviously not attractive on any front. "Farideh," she supplies with a smile. "You won't have to worry about this. I can sort it for you. I'm stuck down here for the rest of the day, stocking linens. I'm sure you have other things to do." It's a helpful offer, guileless. With another soft laugh, "I can't imagine anyone mistaking you for a pile of snow." It's said as a compliment. Azaylia gives a soft nod, "Farideh, right." The Weyrwoman doesn't look to abandon the task just yet, "I made some time for myself to handle this today. If I get called away, then I'll leave you to it." She half accepts the offer, otherwise continuing to sort through the boxes. They'll manage to finish one of three before Azaylia's bulky brown firelizard appears with a written request for her. Her farewell is a pleasant one, however quickly she gathers herself in order to tend to other duties. |
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