Logs:Rudeness
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| RL Date: 8 August, 2010 |
| Who: Elliem, Uillean |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It is apparently perfectly acceptable to crawl under tables in a weyr. How rude! |
| Where: Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 6, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
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| Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr A passageway hewn into the rock and heavily patched with cement leads a short distance in to the bowl wall, with a door on either side. Aside from the light of regularly spaced glowlamps, the walls are bare, with just a coating of whitewash to cover the otherwise uneven layers of stone and cement. To the left of the entranceway, just a single step inside, a spiral staircase opens out of the wall, leading upwards through the stone. There's a door on either side of the corridor, staggered by a few feet, and at the end of the corridor there's another staircase hewn from the stone, leading upwards to the residential corridor, as well as a door that leads off into bathing facilities. One final door leads into a short corridor containing a few more residential apartments. The door leading to the east opens into an expansive room that seems to provide both a general working space with long, bare benches and chairs, and what will probably be a cozy lounge once it gets more than a single fuzzy armchair. Three tall windows carved into the stone offer air and light when the heavy wooden shutters are left open, though the lounge area has to make do mostly with glows. A hearth at the back of the room provides both heat and basic cooking facilities. The western door leads into another passage, off of which the main workrooms have been built. The loading dock is to the northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall. The windows in the main lounge and workarea have been flung open wide, this afternoon, letting in generous amounts of sunshine and a fresh breeze. It's probably too nice to keep indoors, but the seats nearest the window are an acceptable alternative, which is, no doubt, why Uillean has spread out the designs she's working on upon the table there, holding court across what is probably rather more space than her work really needs. There's a flurry of people about, but for now, most seem to be paying the weaver little attention. And a table over is Elliem. Hunched over, forearms impressed into the edge of the table, the teen remains enraptured by his work. Tiny tools manipulated by his fingers, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he works, making minute adjustments within a clock and then, the inevitable. *sproing* A tiny noise, but one to bring on a wince by the teen as a spring is sprung, clicking free of the mechanism to sail through the air. Yep, the tiny metal thing's path, is naturally, right into the 'next door table's' path, aka right to Uillean's work. Uillean's girlish squeal of surprise is quickly covered with one of her hands, though not before it escapes, resulting in the raised heads of a few others at work in the area. Though she picks up the spring, giving it a moment's attention, it's rapidly dropped carelessly off to the side of her work - not quite flicked onto the floor, but mostly, it seems likely, simply because that would be too much effort. Elliem twists around, eyes beyond his glasses searching about and not coming up with anything right off. There is a long breath, and then the teen is yelling out, "NOBODY MOVE!" Its an impressive call, really. "Nobody move. Nooobody move." The last is drawled out slowly as he draws himself from his stool with consummate carefulness, scanning the floor before his foot is set down. Arms out wide to either side, he twists in place, scanning and searching for that missing spring. In a blink, the teen is on the floor, upon all fours, crawling and peering. "Wait. Waiit, I think I found it." Beat. "Er no, that's a vtol carapace. Yuck. No." And so he crawls and searches, underneath the weaver's table. Already distracted from her work as she is, Uillean doesn't squeal again, as Elliem bellows her instruction, but she /does/ look distinctly unimpressed, putting down her pencil - again - to consider him with distaste. Distaste, however, turns to outright disapproval as he starts crawling beneath /her/ table. "Excuse me," she says, speaking to the air above the table - to the distant wall, even. "I do not believe it is appropriate for you to be crawling beneath my workspace." So close to her legs and all, even if they are tastefully covered by her long skirt. "Please withdraw yourself immediately." "I need my dohicky," Elliem's voice floats from underneath the table. Clearly the technical term. The teen remains upon all fours, crawling about, drawing his palms over the flooring to try to feel out the simple, metal spring. He crawls closer to the weaver's legs, in fact, he could even be right there. "With the trajectory, and taking in account the errant breeze from the windows, and the fact that its cylindrical shape is conductive to a rolling motion, by all accounts, it could have come to rest under here." Uillean pushes her chair back in a hurry, backing up as close to the wall as she can get, with a hurried glance around the room as if to make absolutely sure that no one is watching this, and thinking something awful. "Dohickey?" she repeats, uncertainly, perhaps the only word in his explanation that makes even the least bit of sense - and even then... A moment later, as her gaze slides back towards her work, she seems to have a realization, because, "Oh! This little thing? The one that came flying at me? You really ought to be more careful." Elliem peeks out from under the table right where Uillean scoots back. Seeing as she was so nice to do so, he'll take that available space, and peer up at her through a split of dark hair and beyond his close-work spectacles. Dark eyes squint towards her and dark eyebrows lift at her words, "Perfect. Might I have it?" Uillean half looks as though she's about to cry: personal space invasion, personal space invasion! There's a /boy/ under the /table/. But she swallows, takes a deep breath, and then, with her nose in the air, extends her hand to offer Elliem the screw. Only; "You may have it back, if you promise, next time, not to go crawling around the floor beneath people's legs in an attempt to find it. It's not... polite." Elliem comes out a bit more from under the table, dusting off his hands upon thighs as he kneels before her. He looks to reach out towards the girl, with hand open and palm up to receive the metal piece. He blinks though at her words, "Oh, I can't do that. I drop things. Things fly from my clock. It happens. If it is any consolation, I didn't crawl beneath your legs. Just past them." After considering this for a moment, Uillean suggests, "Then perhaps you could ask people to take a look, should such things happen. Then they may search their own area without fear of being accosted. It would be more appropriate." Nonetheless, she relinquishes the screw into his hands, then wipes her own, carefully, on the expansive skirt of her dress. Elliem counters, his head tilting a tad to the side so one eye becomes invisible with is fall of hair, "And yet, I would not care to burden others with something that is my own responsibility." As the tiny bit of metal falls into his hand, fingers enclose over it, keeping the thing safe. "Thank you, lady." A brief smile makes an appearance over his swarthy features, flashing and then disappearing in the flick of a lamb's tail. "I would prefer--" begins Uillean, but she stops herself, as Elliem smile, and apparently thinks better of the whole disagreement. So, intead, she offers a smile that lasts a little longer than the Apprentice's, and, "You're quite welcome. I hope you have better luck in keeping your bits of mechanical debris together, from now on." Elliem looks to try to climb to his feet, thinks better of it considering her words and the lack of available space, and lifts a single finger to her in momentarily placation. Yep the 'just a moment' gesture'. He ducks back down, shuffles awakwardly backwards under the table, and then pops back up the other side with dusty knees and tousled hair. A sniff later, metal protected in his closed palm, and he speaks, "Things like to fall apart. Often. Maybe some sort of self-contained room would be better, or netting, around me." He twists once more to consider his work area, and the idea is dismissed, "Too bulky. And things would fly through the net." He looks back to her, and the cloth, "Diaphanous cloth... maybe." The disapproval returns to Uillean's expression as Elliem disappears back beneath the table, but she manages not to say anything, this time. By the time he's back at the other side, and sprouting ideas, she looks more understanding. Nontheless, "Now you're just being silly, I think. That wouldn't work either: how would you string it up? And if someone else was using your space... No. I suppose we'll just have to deal with flying-- dohickeys." This is not the first time since gracing the ice-decorated walls of High Reaches that this Smith has been referred to as silly. And as such, it deserves a comment. "I'm starting to think that I wasn't given the name of Elliem, but am, in fact, a guy by the name of Silly." Focus returns to his eyes, and his gaze drops across to Uillean, "Why, I'd use string, of course." Emphasis upon her own word right there too. "That's not--" Uillean breaks off, once again, shaking her head so that dark curls bob about her shoulders. "It's not my fault you keep suggesting silly things." Beat. "/Elliem/. But I shall attempt to use your own name, nonetheless. I'm Uillean, and I should be getting back to my work. As should you, I should think." There is a moment of confusion, and a tilt of the teen's head which isn't too unlike a puppy canine looking at the world differently, "No, I'm Elliem... Wait. Oh! Uillean." As he speaks her name, he is deliberate in the difference of the enunciation, mouth forming the change of syllables and sounding. "Fascinating." He remains in name contemplation for a moment, eyes lost in the flicker of light reflecting from his spectacles 'til her leading words provoke a blink and what might be a startle. "Oh, must I?" Uillean's well-plucked eyebrows raise just slightly at Elliem's deliberate enunciation of her name, but she makes no comment. "Yes," she agrees, firmly. "You must. And so must I. If you'll excuse me?" /She/ intends to get back to work, even going so far as to turn her attention back to her pages, picking up her pencil to recommence her sketching. Elliem is left to stand at loose ends, sort of dithering for a moment and rocking from heel to toe 'til she goes back to her work. Awkwardness possesses the moment 'til the teen flicks a glance about, leans towards her table quickly to stage-whisper, "Just one more thing... thank you," bob his head, and then replace himself at his own table. Perfunctorily; "You're welcome." But Uillean doesn't look up again. She's /busy/. |
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