Logs:Happy Turnday, Telavi! (K'zin Style)

Happy Turnday, Telavi! (K'zin Style)
"I'm not going to make it easy, I know you like to work for your prize. So here's your first clue, and there will be others, the best I can devise."
RL Date: 11 June, 2013
Who: Telavi, Solith, K'zin, Rasavyth, Babetta
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: K'zin goes overboard with a turnday treasure hunt for Telavi. Fortunately, she likes it and doesn't think he's a nutter by the end of the day.
Where: All over Pern
When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 31 (Interval 10)
Mentions: Alida/Mentions, D'kan/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, G'then/Mentions, Kinai/Mentions, Kinzi/Mentions, Jinja/Mentions, J'ssan/Mentions, Leia/Mentions, Sabella/Mentions, Nakasha/Mentions, Meara/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Wakina/Mentions, Zianarius/Mentions, Zifria/Mentions
OOC Notes: Significantly backdated because it takes FOREVER to play a whole day via gdocs. Babetta NPC'd and non-vignette sections ST'd by K'zin. This is part vignette, part scene, but mostly just fun. Also, there are terrible rhymes; you've been warned.
View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr It's a step up from the ledge and its heavy curtain into the elegant, dark-flecked weyr. In the depths of the cavern, a short spiral staircase rises even further, ending abruptly in an alcove that extends over the dragon couch; bright, colorful scarves adorn its iron railing like so much festive fringe. To one side of the balcony, past the hooks that keep straps and stray gear contained above a small press for shoes, three more curved steps rise high enough to double as additional seating before they reach the archway to the inner weyr. Past a faded tapestry, the crescent-shaped room is furnished with more ironwork and heavy wood that comprise a large hearth and an equally impressive sleigh bed, the latter with a colorful coverlet atop of all its furs. Standing at the foot of the bed, a huge, intricately carved armoire faces outward and creates a sort of alcove. Though there's certainly room for more furniture beyond the comfortable, curvilinear couch that sits before the hearth, even the traditional table and side chairs are missing in favor of space. Despite the dark elegance of most of the furnishings, the bones of the weyr are quirky, charming like the ledge-cluster outside: each room slightly smaller than average, their heights staggered, growing stuffy in the summer while in winter remaining cozy and warm no matter how cold it gets outside. It's early morning. Too early for someone who has the day off. But not everyone has that luxury. Rasavyth's arrival was quiet and K'zin had to take time preparing his surprise on the ledge. A whisper of secrecy to Solith, « A surprise for your Telavi. For her turnday. She will be happy. » Rasavyth is confident. Of course, after she gets over being grumpy about being awoken. Once the tray was set, with berries, and berry pancakes, and berry pastries, and of course bacon (because every turnday should have bacon), juice and just about anything else a turnday girl could want for (complete with a slender vase with flowers), the bronzerider slips in past the curtain, and it's quick, quick, quick, to her bed, pausing as invades the sleeping area to ensure they're alone. While it's not impossible that Solith could be grumpy about being awoken, Timor also hasn't crashed into Belior anytime recently, and besides, surprises. Even as she lifts her head, yawning right through a dozily appreciative recognition of Rasavyth and all this happy-making, she goes about the arduous task of actually lifting her outer lids and... what's that smell? It doesn't smell juicy and bloody, but still. It would be a better surprise if she got a piece, she lets him know. And if Solith gets one... well. Telavi actually isn't alone, if only because there's that little green firelizard who still shows up occasionally. It's now wedged atop a pillow that's not one of the spare pillows, because that would be too easy, but Telavi's. It lifts its head and chirps with so much bright interest that Tela makes a noise and slithers backward beneath the covers, so far that only some tufts of whisky-blonde braids poke out. Oh, the surprise is for both of them, Rasavyth is quick to assure the green. She's going to get to fly all over Pern today. And while many of the surprises are for her Telavi alone, the first Solith can share with her, and Rasavyth promises to make surprises just for Solith on their turnday. All of this without words. K'zin knows better than to get too close. It's not like he makes it a habit of coming into her weyr while she's sleeping; if anything, this qualifies as a rare occurrence. He grins at the sight of the lump beneath the covers, possibly as excited as he hopes she will be, and the green firelizard gets a part of that look too. "Teeeelaaaa... Teeeeelllaaa... Teeeeeelaaaaaaa!" His baritone comes in a quiet sing-song. "Rukbat's risen, so should you. It's your turnday!" He announces, as if she doesn't know. Well! In that case. Solith's all anticipation, even if it is still sleepy anticipation, not yet rising but certainly stretching, rolling out her delicate-looking wings with the comfort of knowing where everything is about her and that they won't get snagged. Also, bacon. The firelizard promptly gathers itself and jumps up, aiming to circle around and land upon K'zin's shoulder because he's its new best friend. Bacon. "K'...?" It's muffled, but Tela knows that voice. She twists onto her side, narrow turquoise straps showing silkily at her shoulder as she pokes her head back out from the furry cave. Someone might have been celebrating the night before, but even so her smile's wide and bright. "Hi. Hi." That's even before she's seen the tray. She blinks at him. Her eyes aren't wide and bright, just bright, or mostly bright. She knuckles sleep out of one of them, and that's better. "What if I don't want to rise. You're not my wingsecond anymore. Can't make me." Like that other time. K'zin laughs as he shifts his shoulder so the green has more room to land on. Her turns his face to the wee beastie, asking with amusement, "Are you the turnday girl?" Then he looks down at the tray in his hands and back to Telavi with a mock-sigh. "Well, you don't have to rise. You're right. I'm not your wingsecond. But if you choose not to rise, well... I'll just have to eat all this with my new friend here," Beat. "And you'll miss all the other surprises I've lined up for your turnday. And Solith is so looking forward to the treasure hunt." Rasavyth, courteously, transmits these two words, Treasure hunt, with excited emphasis to the green. "But if you'd rather not rise..." He starts to turn, slowly, though given what she knows of his appetite, the threat probably isn't idle. The firelizard is all happy to not only perch but try to lick K'zin's nose once, or maybe his ear, if he keeps looking at it that way and doesn't feed it bacon. It's mid-sized as such creatures go, a tawny green that's dappled all over its body but for darker wings and rings all down its tail. "Traitor." Tela might mean the firelizard, might mean K'zin, might mean Solith or even Rasavyth who corrupted or at the least co-opted her delighted green into the cause with the h-word and the t-word both. "Fine." He can get a rise out of her: she sighs, then sits up not quite as slowly as he's turning and says with a lady's poise, "'I must bow to your threats, for the sake of my Hold, but never think that your dastardliness will be forgotten. Nay, it will live forever in the minds and memories of men.'" At least, it's with a staged lady's dramatics, and yes, her dimples are showing. "How far do I have to get up? Is this close enough?" Sitting up on the side of the big bed, her feet still pulled up, the coverlet pulled back over the furs that layer over her lap like so many skirts. "'Methinks the fair maiden doth protest too much.'" K'zin quotes, expression amused as he turns back, stepping to her, carefully, no claws desired from the firelizard, and sets the tray down over her lap. "Though I'd be careful how you throw that word dastardly around. Say it too much and I might have to climb into this bed and show you just how dastardly I can be. And your bacon? It will be a casualty of war. Going to the scavengers." Speaking of scavenger, he glances to the green again before reaching down to break off a small piece of said bacon, and offer it up, standing beside the bed. Tela's smile has a little too much mischief in it. "'Life is short. Eat your bacon first.' Thank you." She pushes her braids back behind her ears, wipes off her fingers on the napkin, and after she's stolen a strip of the aforementioned savory, takes a moment to admire the berry-everything. And the flowers. Once she's finished the bite and the very glad little firelizard finishes its own, "It's lovely. Do you take bribes?" She holds up what's left of the rasher for him to sample if he likes, if careful not to get so distracted that he instead steals back the whole plate. At least, without having to work for it. "And... just how soon are we likely to have certain wingseconds showing up here? If, you know, I do say the d-word." K'zin leans down to take the bite offered, and then swoops in to interrupt her meal to press a kiss to her lips. Intense, but brief, and no tongue. She's eating and all. He straightens with a grin. "You have the day off, but I'm depending on a bribe to a certain wingleader keeping my out of extra duties for showing up late this morning. But she knows where I am, and will come if she has to, I'm sure. So I won't give her reason to need to." He steps back away from the bed, a blush touching his cheeks. "So you eat, but listen up. I'm only doing this once, and it's important. Okay? Don't interrupt." He forbids, before clearing his throat: "Tela, it's your turnday. I want you happier than you can say. So I hope you won't continue to lay, And instead start your day. Any day should start with you being clean and nice, So to get rid of your grumps I've brought you a breakfast that's more than just rice. It's true your turnday comes at a time of snow and ice, So today you're going on a treasure hunt that will take you places, some a little warmer and nice. I'm not going to make it easy, I know you like to work for your prize So here's your first clue, and there will be others, the best I can devise. Go to the place where cards and dice make for fun, But don't tarry at the tables, you've only just begun. Near the Hold, there's a spot you shouldn't shun Full of hot, steamy water, so awesome you should be clean by the time you're done. Don't forget to look around and take in the scene, As you take your time to clean and preen, Your next clue is there, camouflaged in green, And guarded by stones, fifteen." K'zin grins upon completion. "So. Have fun! I'll see you tonight." And with that he's turning on his heel to make his escape! After that initial sigh, because deprived, Tela sits and listens with fascination... if not so much that she can't nibble on her array of berries at the same time. Stepping back really probably was a good idea. Even Solith pays attention. And not even cue cards! She blows a kiss after him, looking all sweetly comfortable as though she'd just stay here and munch away... but as soon as K'zin's gone she's out of bed and scribbling down notes. Some of that training just may be paying off! Telavi does have to pause here and there after the first slew so the berry pancakes and what's left of the bacon don't get too cold, and they probably don't get as much attention as they deserve, but after that first burst and double-checking with Solith she can slow down and enjoy the rest some more. She eats the berries next, because fresh is best, but then it's time to freshen herself up and pack a bag. The flowers have to stay, sadly, but the pastries can come along with some other odds and ends she thinks she might need or want, bed and dishes neatened in her wake. Of course she has to do her hair, even if there might be soaking, and put on something nice with options of something nicer in the bag. Finally, after a stop at the Snowasis because it has cards and dice and other nice things, they're off to Bitra at last! And yes, Rasavyth can confirm the visualization along the way. Bitra is not warm this time of the turn, but thankfully the nearby hot springs are. Large enough for dragons, even, though these are the further pools from the Hold, lest more Hold relations end up upside-down because of weyrling shenanigans. There's a neon green drape of fabric in a pyramid shape by one of the pools, clearly the one intended for Telavi. The fabric is tucked under rocks, and under the green there's chalk on the stones that reads, "Dig a little deeper." Buried treasure is the best kind, right! Under the sizable stones (About two hands, and rounded), is a sturdy basket of bathing supplies, all scented in a pleasant, but not overpowering flowery aroma. There's scrubbies of all kinds, and moisturizing creams and oils for her hair. Clearly K'zin did not make the selection, likely a helpful Journeyman Healer judging by the stamps on the products. But there's oddly no note. But it was said that the clue would be here, with these fifteen stones, so... where to next? Where to next: into the pool, of course! But Telavi has to get there first. Although she and Solith had been peering downward with uncertainty while the green was circling, now that the green's landed, Tela's adopted quite the air of belonging here upon spotting the other rider soaking in the pool. Not that she bothers her, just a quick wave and smile unless the woman strikes up conversation. She's too busy hunting, Solith looking over her shoulder, not hiding her excitement. The cache. The marker, which gets folded up and put neatly into her bag. The supplies, which of course have to be sniffed and then shaken, to see whether any of them rattle. Even the firelizard shows up briefly to 'help' with the shaking before vanishing again, possibly to lick the abandoned plate even cleaner. The ground beneath the basket, on the off chance it too looks disturbed. And then Tela makes it to the water, with Solith who's now minus straps shortly after her, both careful not to disturb the woman any more than she might be already. No Weyr-Weyr relations getting upside-down either, please! The flowery choice, while not specifically her, must meet with approval because then Tela has at it with a weyrgirl's habitual care to use as little as she can get away with while still having it be nice, to make it last. Look around, he'd said. She does. Any more chalk markings? Anything else? Not that she can't be distracted into just enjoying herself along the way. The other rider seems content to soak in silence. Her lifemate is-- well, somewhere else! Looking around wasn't just a line, it seems for high on the relatively sheer cliff wall is another thickly-lined phrase, "Telavi, Telavi, won't you let down your hair? (Don't take too long. You'll miss your appointment.)" It must have taken him ages to scratch that up there, even with a draconic boost. But there she has it, another little clue to keep her from getting pruney. All of a sudden, Solith can see how her rider's so grateful that the other rider's busy with her own business, and not just see in the metaphorical sense but one that's quite literal with Telavi's blush. She stares at the message, stares at her name up there and that blush just rises. After a moment she checks over the label of the shampoo bottle and then unpins her hair, unfastening and rinsing so she can get to the shampooing because what if something's in there? Or else falls out of her hair along the way... because for all she knows, he'd been there long enough to do just that. If Rasavyth's listening, well, Solith's entertained. Oh, yes, there is a shadow of Rasavyth's ooze. It's visible only at the edges of Solith's perception though. Enough to keep tabs, to help course-correct if something goes amiss, but... they designed (they, together) this whole day for Telavi and Solith. It is not something they wish to intrude upon. It is icing on the cake to know they are entertained. K'zin is good, but he's not that good. Sleight of hand into her hair would certainly have gone awry. No, there is no new clue suddenly forthcoming, only what was foretold to be among the stones and marked by green. Only what she holds and what's in the basket beside her, nothing more. There may be no messages in Telavi's hair, but Solith takes the opportunity to nose her hair all over as though there might be, and only then give her the message of oh, no, sorry, nothing at all. Which gets Solith water flicked in her face for it, but she doesn't mind, it was worth it. Telavi looks around. Looks and looks and looks. Solith looks around. Looks and looks and looks. That last is while Tela's not looking, because she's far too much a hedonist to not enjoy the actual sudsing and everything, and then the balm that goes on afterward, and then somewhere between them it clicks. Appointment. Appointments are with people. The only person mentioned is the healer, and with that... taking a while with sudsing and adding this or that oil or ointment is one thing, but getting dressed when it's not for someone's benefit is another, and Telavi is quick to dry and dress and then re-strapped Solith is quick-- after her rider's made the tight-woven marker into an impromptu waterskin to try and splash her name off the cliff, even should that only wind up drawing more attention to it-- to take them between. Off to Healer Hall! Tela, if not Solith, can hope that there's someone there who's expecting a no-longer-teenager with ice crystals in her hair. It won't take much asking to identify the mark on the products, and for Telavi to receive directions to said Journeyman's office. She'll be greeted by an man in his mid-30s, soft of hand, voice, and smile. Evidently she's not late as he says, "Weyrling K'zin mentioned you would be by this morning. We have a number of things lined up for you. Are you comfortable with a facial, manicure, pedicure, massage, salt glow..." He goes on to rattle of an array of spa treatments, including one tailored to get her hair lustrous, patiently explaining any she has questions about before sending her off with an apprentice to go to the appropriate treatment rooms. It's not a large section dedicated to these activities, but large enough. The whole area reserved for these things has a sense of quiet and calm. She can elect whichever services she wishes, and they'll carry them out. It won't be until the restful part of her day is over, some hours later, that the apprentice will give her the next clue, on a slip of hide: "Relaxed and glowing you (hopefully) now are, Another quick trip between will take you far. A body like yours deserves something so grand Visit the place of fashion and try out your hand, A design class waits for you, Ask for Journeyman Klamoo*. *(Actually, her name is Babetta, but Klamoo rhymed.)" After receiving the scant care it's had to receive for the past nine-plus months, even if it's the best she could do all this time and still get her work done, Telavi really can't argue that her hair's as lustrous as she'd like. If she's taken aback by the extent of it, wide-eyed with interest that slides in and out of concern, still the healer's easy to relax with and he does answer all her questions and it sounds like so much fun and it is her Turnday and it's not like K'zin's here to argue with, now is he. Would she, were he here? She doesn't have to admit to knowing. Certainly she's in no hurry to get going, the act of reaching out for the next clue the most work she's willing to do... until she reads it, and disrupts the calm with laughing. This time she's not in so much of a hurry to abandon ship, but abandon it she eventually does, with a murmured promise to the journeyman to remember her name should he care for a favor down the road. A favor of the transportation variety, at least. She's scrupulous with pinning her newly-trimmed hair back, with not just donning but arranging the spare clothes she'd brought with her, and even indulges in what's left of the berry pastries before taking herself and her bag and its rock to Solith and the next mission. Which, she tells the green, has the likelihood of being warm. Warm and sunny! Boll's tropical air currents are welcoming to the green popping into the sky. The WeaverCraft is used to dragonriders coming in and out to accept special orders and deliveries, so there's only a little buzz about Solith's appearance. An inquiry will have Telavi being brought to Journeywoman Babetta. There's a drafting table set up in her office, with fabric swatches everywhere. There are templates for bodies strewn about and Telavi's mind is sure to get an exercise. She's certainly familiar with many of the concepts, but Babetta's knowledge of female clothing design seems to be endless and her taste, judging from the woman's outfit, is superb. There's no lack of time or patience. It'll be hours, and a nice lunch provided, before the lesson is drawing to a close. All this pretty-making time, and now Tela has to think. It's a good thing she had that snap of cold from between, and now with her jacket up she literally rolls up her sleeves and gets to work. The greenrider's a touch rusty at first but then when it clicks, she's voracious: rather than beginning with what she might want first, instead she's aiming to get a lead on what the journeyman has in mind and where she's coming from, whether she has a particular style or favorite area of wardrobe that she gravitates toward, the better to get a baseline on the woman. And of course she takes notes. Along the way, while the woman's taking her measurements for choosing the dress form and writing up the drawings, she asks with carefully light curiosity, "What do you look for in an apprentice, Babs," now that the journeyman's gotten her past the full 'Journeyman Babetta,' "if you don't mind my asking? It's too late for me, of course," in all sorts of ways, "but of course I'm curious. How did the Hall find you?" "Passion." Babetta's answer is easy. The woman has a calm grace about her, a composure that would befit a Lady of the Hold. The stretch of the tape and the notations of the greenrider's dimensions are made with expert precision. This is basic. "Ours is a craft where passion counts. But it must be passion paired with aptitude. There's room for all sorts though. For instance, there was an apprentice girl once who couldn't for the life of her design something that most wouldn't turn up their noses at for the sheer amount of color she put into it. She's specialized to dyes now, and is one of our best." It's anecdotes like this that Babetta has been all too pleased to share with Telavi throughout the afternoon. "My mother was a lady's maid to one of the Hold ladies when I was young and I used to pester the weaver to no end whenever she came to fit a new gown, once the lady was otherwise engaged, of course." No ill-mannered displays allowed! "It was a natural fit once I was of age, and the Headwoman was able to arrange it." Her story isn't an uncommon one. As for her style and inclinations... K'zin was directed well to her. She's a good all-'round instructor. The word disconcerts the weyrling, the former seamstress, the onetime girl who'd wanted. Her eyes drop, lashes fanning against her skin, but she doesn't otherwise move except by direction. "A credit to your Hold," Tela does murmur for the headwoman's arrangements. "A Healer friend of mine has a similar story, though her mother still hasn't quite adjusted... and one of my clutchmates, her mother did hair for ladies. It makes for quite an assortment, between all of you! Doubly lovely that you've made yourself a place that suits you." Her smile for Babetta is warm, appreciative, and refuses to be anything else. "I like to think of it more as a credit to myself." Babs murmurs her response, one hand pausing on the greenrider's shoulder to flash a soft smile, "What one does for the honor of their Hold or Craft is all very well, of course, but what's truly important is what one does for herself. It's..." She trails off giving a squeeze, "It's better that you should be proud of the actions you take than that they be given as credit to some group that might or might not know you're even of their ilk, wouldn't you say?" Regardless of whether or not the greenrider agrees, the hand that paused goes back to it's task. A credit to herself, "Of course," and Tela's blushing now, something that the comforting hand doesn't exactly abate. Only, and her voice is soft too, "I want to be, Journeyman, but... and this is nothing against you or what you say, it's just I have to be careful not to be too proud, sometimes, and most days I'd like to be a credit to where I'm of, even if they don't know me the least little bit." All of a sudden, hearing herself, she laughs a little and slips the affectation of lightness back on like the clothes she'll don next. "You must have people saying the oddest things around you, Journeyman. Babs. Maybe even bartenders," notorious listeners that they are. "Being too proud can be a problem," Babetta admits softly, her hands moving effortlessly; the turns of her work here showing in the way she moves. "But having too little pride in oneself is, I think, the greater of the two evils." A pause as she steps back to consider her next step, fingers rising to curl under her own chin, elbow resting on her elegant hand. "After all, there will always be someone in the world to knock you down a few pegs. How often do we come across those willing to build our egos back up?" One surely outweighs the other, unfortunately, seems to be her point. "No odder than they do around others they're comfortable with." Babs assures the greenrider with a warm smile. "Now. Ready to move on to something more instructive?" Without direction, Babs'll gladly give the girl a brief overview of everything, and will focus in on whatever garments seem to interest her most. Telavi hadn't thought of it that way, and it shows, visible in how her glance slips back from offhand to intent. The weyrling voices it in so many words, too, followed by a lower-murmured, "Genuinely, anyway, not lickspittles." She settles into the overview with her lengthening notes, the shorthand she'd practiced in wingleader meetings put to a different use now, and featuring Babetta's more life- than strictly weaver-advice starred in the margin; when it's time to focus, she arrows in on fit. "Especially while riding," Tela explains. "There's nothing worse than binding up, you know? Other than chafing, maybe," said with a wrinkle to her nose, her greenish eyes at once big and rueful. "But saggy-baggy isn't a good look either. And what do you think of split skirts for casual wear, Babs, versus full skirts with leggings beneath? If only the leggings would hold up at the knee, but mine just don't like to." The matter of fit is delved into with some of that passion Babetta mentioned she looks for in apprentices. Clever tricks of darting and gathers are shared, focused on functional with a balance for fashion. Her opinions on full skirts versus split skirts seems to favor both for different scenarios, but she also notes that a well-made pair of trousers can sometimes be the best choice of all. When they're finally done with the details of fitting, the tips and tricks that Tela's taken such care to note down, when her blush is just a memory, she can't help but give Babs a sideways glance from beneath her lashes. "And I do have to ask, now that our time is nearly," surely, "up, just what would you put me in?" Not instructions, not patterns, but style. "Weeell," Babs draws the word out as she considers her response, eyes moving across Telavi in what isn't exactly a critical way, but more of a gathering in the whole of her. "It would depend on what your purpose was." And this is where things start to get a little girlier and more fun. The catalogues come out. It's not even just the most current season's either, she draws from older books with pages whose colors have faded slightly and gone a little brittle. It'll be at least an hour of flipping through all of these things comparing her thoughts on what Telavi might like in different situations. That's the thing: Telavi wants different things and, moreover, to think of what she might not already have thought of. There are the grand gestures, there are the tiny hidden details, there's even sometimes the blending in, but there are so many possible variants on them all. And moreover, what she seeks out is less what she would like, and more what Babs makes of her. Those catalogues, though, she'll go through those with pleasure, and not without stray comments on what might better suit a friend or 'How could anyone have worn that, ever?!' The trouble with this game is that Babs isn't out to make Telavi into something; she's not giving the greenrider anything to go on. After a series of back and forth questions that simply lead nowhere, Babetta slips into the chair beside Telavi instead of where she'd been standing behind the seated rider to flip the catalogue pages. Her look is composed, but the intensity of her eyes are the sort of look that all but guarantees the woman is looking straight to Telavi's core. "Telavi," Her words are always so well-formed, each given it's full weight and pronunciation, but now they seem even weightier, "You've known me for less than an afternoon and you seem more concerned with how I would have you be than with who you are and how you should express that." The words are delivered carefully, with the gravity so personal a comment should be delivered, but with a gentle sensitivity that carries through her question, "Why is that? Are you not certain of yourself? Or unhappy with the self you are certain of? Who is Telavi?" A hand gestures to catalogues, "We can look through books of pretty clothes, but you're not going to find what you're looking for with them, or with me. I'm just a weaver," She shrugs her shoulders, "To wear something well, you must know how to wear your own skin first. I cannot tell you how to do that." That certainly gets Telavi's attention, and she's sitting up straight, too. She listens closely, hands folding into her lap, and there's something about her good weyrling pose that would be familiar not only to Meara and Quinlys but Jo... although this variation is, indefinably, just the weaver journeyman's. Her shoulders are back, not uncomfortably, and her head's slight tilt wouldn't be acceptable as part of a formal stance but accentuates just how closely she listens. She doesn't shy away from Babetta's searching gaze, but rather leans forward just a touch in response, as though that could better let the woman look her fill. Perhaps it's that combination of gravity and sensitivity that lets her listen, and wait, in that way that's so natural and relaxed. Even with the questions, she waits until the older woman is done. "Thank you," she responds to Babetta with a slow-blooming smile, "for thinking about that. For saying that, instead of just moving on. I," here Telavi pauses, her cheeks just slightly pinker. "If you'll give me a moment?" It's a deep breath that she draws in, draws on, not all at once but gradually. The chuckle that comes is low and sweet. It's not a noise that judges the greenrider for needing a moment, but rather a warm sound that makes her expression somehow softer. "Take all the time you need. We're not in a rush." The Journeywoman assures softly, taking the moment to lean toward Telavi to gently close the open catalogue. Just now, the focus isn't on anything found in that book. "You don't even need to answer me, if you don't wish to." The way she says this leaves no doubt that she's welcome to answer, but the woman isn't meaning to make her uncomfortable with the question. "It's just something to think about. Direction is something that can come from without, but typically that sort of direction is somehow lacking. When you're at a gather, and you see women at the dance square, the ones who catch the eye, who look the most beautiful aren't always the ones with the finest clothing or outfits, it's the ones who have confidence in the fit of their skin, and then the clothing on top of it. I'm sure you've seen more than one Lady in enviable garb that just looks horrid because she's tittering about nervously or wan looking in the colors she's dressed in or just plain unpleasant." She chats not because there's a need to fill the space, but because she means to put Telavi even more at her ease. After that chatting is done, however, Babetta falls silent and simply awaits whatever Telavi would like to say, her patience never ebbing. (If it takes too long, of course, lunch will arrive, but that's no fault of Babs'.) At that description of the Lady, Telavi's dimples begin to show at last, the barest indentation at first before they deepen. "I have," she agrees. "I'm not worried about being her. I'm..." she sits back, smiling back to the journeyman, holding up thumb and forefinger with about a fingerwidth of space pressed between. "A thimble, you see. Work with me? Sometimes people just notice me as being made out of metal, or maybe they think easier-to-get leather, or even something just decorative, like the glass miniatures at a Gather booth I used to visit," but that's off topic and Tela knows it, her dimples reappearing for a moment. Sometimes her glance drifts into more thinking along the way, but mostly she's meeting Babs' gaze, her own clear and open; if this isn't something she'd have been able to articulate a Turn ago, now she can try even if it isn't exactly easy. "Sometimes people see the thimble end-on, and notice the little impressions that can hold the end of the needle and keep it from slipping, even if they don't know what that means and just see a design. Sometimes people can even see it from the other end, how it opens up so my finger fits in just right. Sometimes people see it from the side and notice the rim where it's rolled, and others get close enough to notice the engraving but might miss the rim, and there's also just one place on the side where the pattern changes, where my uncle had the smith put a 'T' for my name." If there are a few more words on the inside, or other markings on the outside such as the slight dent of a firelizard tooth, they're very much off topic too. "They see different things, but I still am... who I am. Which isn't necessarily a thimble! It just seemed the simplest way to explain. It's like how 'Journeyman Babetta' is that little bit different than 'Journeyman' or 'Babetta' or 'Babs.' I like wearing different clothes for being at home than for drilling, I like how putting on my leathers isn't just practical but also gets me more in the frame of mind for that work, I love going home and taking them off and washing up and putting on something soft and cushy and nice. Even when I go to Gathers, it's fun styling myself up to look different ways, different times. A friend of mine likes to wear sort of fluttery, bohemian, artsy clothes and she's happy, and she's lovely to sew for, but I wouldn't like being locked into just one. Do you see what I mean? Yes, I'd very much like to see what you see, but that's to try on. If I liked it, if it felt right, I'd wear it again when I wanted to. If it didn't, I like to think I'd go back to my favorites or try something else that's new." Her cheeks are pinker now, but her eyes are bright, without any look to the books at all. Babs doesn't interrupt. Her gaze remains focused on Telavi's face, her own chin tilted slightly down so her look is that much more intent. It's not an unnerving stare though, it's more a gentle focus that shows she's both listening and interested in what Telavi has to say as she explains her metaphor. The metaphor must meet with approval for there's a small smile as she starts that grows as it goes on. She reaches out a hand, gently placing thumb and forefinger in a similar spacing to the one Telavi had used, but wider. Wider so she can place the fingers under Telavi's chin and gently turn her face this way and that, as though to see her from all angles. "I see you." It's a simple enough phrase but so complex at the same time. The depth of her eyes leaves no doubting of that. Releasing the weyrling's face, she gracefully rises and looks down to the catalogues, "I would say, Telavi, that you are a creative and passionate designer and that these," She thumps a knuckle on the leather cover of the nearest catalogue, "Will not serve you. I'm not saying that you shouldn't have something commissioned every now and again, but if you've the skill, you're better off designing for yourself. You'll be happier that way. And more comfortable, not matter what look you choose." She starts to gather up the catalogues, "That said, I think we should focus on creating patterns and design this afternoon. We can cover some things about fibers as well, if you'd like. It is, after all, your turnday, I believe." She quirks a smile over the small but sizeable stack of catalogues, "Happy turnday, Telavi," It's genuine, but amused. Then she moves to put the catalogues away and pursue the plan, now that they have one. Though there's that initial moment of resistance that suggests Telavi could have withdrawn from the other woman's examination, it melts into the ease of complete willingness, neither anticipating nor delaying but simply letting herself be moved. She watches Babs watch her, and at the end lifts one hand to the back of her neck, right before her slow, solemn nod that says yes, she's seen, she's been seen. When the journeyman speaks, a smile begins to dawn slowly in her eyes, only gradually moving with the lift of her cheek to bring out the curve of her mouth. Her dimples never do quite show, it's not that full-fledged, but they will later. "Thank you." Later, over lunch, so not much later at all. Though after that they'll disappear again, it will be in the name of getting down to work. Telavi is put through the paces, or her brain is, anyway. After lunch, there's two and a half hours more of private instruction before things are drawing to a close. Right about the time that everything is getting put away in preparation for Telavi's departure, there comes a knock on the door to the office. Babs glides to the door and opens it in such a way that doesn't reveal what's behind it. "Ah yes, thank you." She can be heard to say. Twisting back toward Telavi, there's a mischievous curve to her smile, "Telavi, you wanted to know how I would dress you, yes? Would you still like to?" The door is still slightly ajar, the woman's hand on it's frame. Telavi glances quickly up from her bag of holding that's taken time to sort; with that rock in the bottom, she's had to be extra-careful with her precious notes and basket and bottles and everything. Just about any other time, surely, she might joke about no, not at all, but especially with that mischief there's an immediate, "Yes!" followed by a dimpled, "Please." "Very well. He brought a sketch so I could get a sense of you," Babs begins as she starts to open the door, "I admit it's not a completely original design, but I tweaked it a little so it would be one of a kind." The dress that is carried by an apprentice is immediately raised up by the tall girl so it can be displayed properly for Telavi to see. "He brought this, too," The journeywoman pulls out a scarf, one of the greenrider's own that's a mixture of the slate blue and peach she's so fond of. It's the same slate blue as the dress held aloft. The dress is a semi-formal affair, coming just to the knee. The bodice is full of stitching that mimics ferns or feathers, creating holes across the breast, holes that are filled by a pair of overlapping layers of peach tule. The shoulders angle in towards the neck, creating a uniquely pentagonal neckline. A thin belt of a peachy leather wraps around the waist just before the skirt flares. There's even a version of the fabric feather-ferns that has been sewn on one side of the skirt at an angle, but in a pretty peach with limited beadwork for a little sparkle. And no outfit would be complete without shoes. A pair of matching low-heeled shoes, slate blue with fabric-feather accents of peach down the sides are held by a second apprentice. "Will this do, dear?" Babs inquires, watching Telavi's face. It looks just her size. Sketch? Surely not that kind of sketch, and yet Telavi's blushing anyway before the dress can even be displayed, her hands flattening against her thighs upon realization as though she could press down the high color in her cheeks. Her eyes are that much more wide when she glimpses the dress itself, and then her scarf, her scarf, and she hasn't even gotten to the shoes yet before her lips part and she says unsteadily, "I'd really like my scarf back now, please." She stretches out a hand for it, the other half-covering her eyes as though she really, really has to take care of this part, before she can even really look at anything else. Her scarf. "Of course," Babetta's smile doesn't waver as sHlike it? It's yours whether you do or not. I can have them wrap it up for transport and you can forget about it in the back of your wardrobe if you like, although I think he rather expects to see you in it tonight. He mentioned something to me about a special dinner." If Tela doesn't snatch her scarf back, it's a near thing, force of will alone. She holds it up to her face like an oversized handkerchief that she's not about to blow her nose on, instead just inhaling deeply. Does it still smell like her, to the extent it does like anything at all? Like him? Like weavers, somehow? "I do like it," she's quick to say, except then she has to say, "I think I like it, I'm sure I'll like it, I just haven't gotten a very good look at it yet," because she's still more or less treating it as though it were the sun looking a little too bright. Even sunrise, peachy clouds amid a leaden sky, or perhaps the beginnings of a lovely twilight. "Babs? Journeyman? Could you please ask your people to just hang it... over there... and shut the door... and come here a moment?" While she resurrects what's left of her cool? It smells like all three at once. There's the faintest bit of her familiar scent, the manlier musk of K'zin, and a trace of clean and lavender that must be the Weavers' contribution. Babetta looks concerned then, waving a hand to instruct the apprentices to do ask the greenrider is asking. Soon enough the dress is hung and the apprentices have closed the door behind then. The woman's deep-seeking eyes search Telavi's face, "Are you alright, Telavi?" Telavi shakes out her scarf while they're doing that, a quick flick of a gesture by its corner that opens it up neatly and lets her then arrange it about her throat. She's careful not to look at the dress too closely, instead turning to meet the journeyman's eyes, though her gaze winds up being ever so slightly through her partly-lowered lashes. "The hours with you were marvelous," she says frankly. Marvelous, says her voice. "I don't need to look at it to know, if it has your stamp on it, it's going to be well-made and harmonious and oh so wearable, too. I just," she hesitates. "What you said about expecting?" "Yes?" Babetta's head tilts slightly to one side, listening with focus and quiet intensity in the way that she did before, not contributing more than that one simple word to encourage Telavi to say whatever it is she feels she needs to say. "Expecting," Tela prompts. "Expectations. That is." She peers at Babetta as though the journeyman might, just might have delicate sensibilities despite all she's seen of the woman thus far, including but not at all limited to her greater age and rank, and most of all, the knowingness she carries around with her like a mantle. "He really didn't have to give me anything like this," she says finally. "Not to persuade me to... anything. It's very generous, and costly, too... and at the same time, worth more to me than anyone else." Not just because the dress looks to fit her, in colors and in tailoring both. "I've made a habit of not being missish, and we talked about how I had seemed so concerned about what you thought about me, and I wasn't, that way," but there goes that blush again, this time more girlish than otherwise. "I really wonder what you make of it all. Is this... usual? In your experience?" "No, he didn't." Babetta answers the unasked question. "When he arranged this with me, he seemed..." She pauses, thoughtful, "Well, perhaps, inordinately concerned that you should have a very happy turnday. Which only leads me to think that he cares for your happiness very much." Then it's the calm, collected Journeywoman's turn to blush. "As for cost, well..." She reaches to self-consciously smooth her hair, "I wouldn't worry so much about that. If someone wants to spend their marks on you, I say let them." There's more to the story, that much is clear, but she's not, at this moment volunteering more of it. "A girl should enjoy her turnday, whether it's usual or not. And, my dear, in my experience, days like this," And maybe she doesn't even know the whole plan, but certainly her part of it, "Don't come around very often in life. Don't ruin it for yourself with worry. Enjoy it." Then she takes Telavi by the shoulders, giving an encouraging squeeze and turning her around to face the dress. "I had them tailor it for your specific measures while we've been working. Let's have you try it on to make sure they got it right." There's a roll of her eyes and it's evident in her voiced, "Apprentices." But, she can't hide that it's affectionate as well. Inordinately. Does Telavi say it out loud, or only shape it with her lips? But she's then distracted somewhat from her own thoughts, delighted, "You're blushing." She doesn't interrupt Babetta further, she has to listen and take it in and then, yes, be turned around to see the dress. Though she has her eyes closed. "You aren't going to be like my friend's mother, are you," and Tela adopts a wicked accent here, straight from an eastern seahold plus a raspiness that must be the woman's own, "'These turns are the best of your life, enjoy them, it only goes downhill from here!'" That's a question, after which she stops peeking through her lashes at the dress and actually looks. She looks, and once she's rubbed her hands unnecessarily on her own clothing, touches and surely it's not long before she does indeed try it on. Somewhere along the way, in between admiring out loud the lovely details, "Is there a story behind that blush, Babs? Or did you," and here her voice drops as though this could be the most salacious thing of all, "give him a discount?" "Oh, no," Babetta assures with a laugh, "No, I wouldn't say these are the best turns of your life. Not by far. I was just meaning that... well, how many girls do you know who can say a boy did this kind of thing for them?" Certainly not only a handful in the world, but it's not as though it's an everyday kind of occurrence. "I'm just saying you should enjoy it. He obviously put a lot of effort into making sure you did." By the time that the blush is followed up on, the Journeywoman is no longer blushing. She fusses over the way the skirt sits. that the tulle is placed just perfect as it peeks out of the bust-line. It's here that she is when the question is asked, and her face tilts up from where she was watching the peach as she adjusted the fabric to meet Telavi's eyes, quite close. "I suppose you would be one of those girls that would rather a boy spend less on her." Her eyes roll, lips set in a smileless show of tolerant amusement. Then she shifts around behind the greenrider and places her hands on her waist, directing her with a gentle push to the full-length mirror. "The friends and family discount, if you must know." "I was just making sure," Telavi murmurs, even a little primly; perhaps she and her friend have heard such things more than just a time or two. For all her primness there, though, all the fussing puts her at ease as though that at least she's used to; even with Babs looking up at her right there, she seems to think little of it but for, moments later, a bemused smile that doesn't entirely have to do with the here and now. For the journeyman's words, "If a boy has the money and wants to, that's one thing, not that he... I don't know, borrows it and then growly scarred-up men come by demanding interest and hack off a thumb or two. That would never do. Don't you think? Or if then a couple sevendays go by and he complains that he has no more money and it's all your fault, by which I mean mine," and surely there's not even a slight edge to the amusement in her hypothetical, unless Babs is as good with voices as she is with dressmaking... or with weyrlings. "Or picks something awful and expects you to enthuse about it, maybe, which this is clearly not." She voices that opinion before she makes it to the mirror, just in case, but the view is proven out. She looks. She smiles. She twirls. She has to fidget with one of the sleeves, then, but then comes more twirling to see the skirt swing out, her cheeks pink again, a touch giddy. "The beadwork, Babs," she says with a little sigh. Then, teasing, "Was he friends-or-family before or after you met him?" Looking into the mirror again, of course she has to play with her hair, imagining up or down, this or that. Babs looks amused for the way Telavi goes one about scarred-up men and boys complaining they have no more marks. Quirking an inquisitive brow, "Do you know much about his finances?" Since it sounds like she does. "Has it occurred to you, Tela, that this might genuinely be about you enjoying your turnday and not about how it makes him feel to have you enjoy your turnday? Just because a boy expects you should wear something to dinner doesn't mean you have to, or that he'd necessarily be disappointed if you chose to do otherwise. It's your turnday after all. Maybe he wanted to give you a good excuse to wear it? Or maybe not. Maybe he does think of you as his own personal doll to dress and do with as he pleases? Does that sound like him?" The Journeywoman's tone reveals something of disbelief, of a knowing. Then further amusement as Tela twirls and comments on the beadwork. Her tease meets with unflappability this time, "Telavi, what are you implying?" It's a serious question, and her no-nonsense tone implies she expects a serious answer. "If you want to know what the nature of my relationship is with K'zin, ask. Don't coyly bandy words with me." "It's not as though he's a Lord's--" son? favorite? Does it matter, when Babetta keeps talking? Telavi listens, and listens, and sighs, which if nothing else tests the stitching of her bodice. "Yes, ma'am," she says finally, underscoring the title with a transparent touch of a pout. "No, he's not like that." Her dimples are showing, though, just for a moment: perhaps in reaction to that knowing, perhaps something else entirely. Later, post-twirl, she pauses in playing with her hair to look back at Babetta if only in reflection. The dress makes her eyes bluer, but it's the journeyman's question, her statements that puts the quieter consideration into them. Tela lowers her hands, slowly. "But I like... hmm. I don't know about bandying, but what you said made me curious and I wanted to follow up but not ask," hand on hip, stern face, "'Tell me or else.'" She drops the attitude. "Not put you on the spot. Though I think he'd like to have a relation like you, even if it were a secret one he'd only just discovered." Maybe especially then. "Are the children of the wealthy the only ones with marks to spend on a pretty girl?" Babetta questions, moving her hands then to touch Telavi's hair, helping tuck a few tresses artistically, curling one around her finger to provide a little wave - one sure not to stick, but an idea. "You don't know about bandying." Disbelief is obvious in her voice and expression as she leans to the side to show Telavi her face in the mirror. "Something tells me you're an expert at 'bandying'." There's a roll of her eyes for all Telavi's attitude, "Do you know that none of that is asking either? There was a demand, a diffusion, and a dissembling. But no asking." Evidently, the greenrider won't see an answer from the Weaver taking any of those tacts. She said Tela was pretty. Telavi dimples at her all over again. "There are marks and then there are Journeyman Babetta's Special marks." The girl seems to enjoy the arranging the more for how the arrangements don't stick, for how her hair agreeably curls up only to bounce out again, and especially that mirror-peering. "I admire your alliteration," and possibly also Babetta's identification. And so Telavi puts her palms together like a very, very good girl, and says to Babetta above them, "Journeyman-Babetta-Babs-ma'am, won't you please, please tell me... 'the nature of your relationship'?" Which may not measure up to all the discussion, but at least it's been a diversion. There's a drawn out sigh from the Journeywoman. "You are something else, Telavi." It's not exactly a tone that could be interpreted as insulting, but neither is it complimentary, just a touch exasperated. "I don't play games, child." Which is how the delivery of the line is being perceived, evidently. She turns to move to her desk, plucking up a hide. Babetta sounds wearied now, "Your next clue, Telavi," and she holds it out to the rider. It's not as though she hadn't been warned, but Telavi's clearly taken aback; when she doesn't mean well, that's one thing, but here... She straightens, no longer so pert, and purposefully puts her shoulders back enough to not roll in the way they'd like. The dress doesn't deserve that, if nothing else. "I apologize, Journeyman," she says formally. In Babetta's absence, in what distance there is from mirrors to desk, she puts her hands over her eyes for a long moment, pressing the heels of her palms into her cheekbones. It may leave red marks, or maybe that's the flush that this time she really can't control, but by the time Babetta turns back she's dropping her hands and moving to meet her in a swish of skirts. "I am sorry, Babetta," she says, taking the hide but not yet looking at it, "I didn't mean... like this." She doesn't make excuses. "K'zin is my nephew," Babetta allows at last, "Or rather, my ex-nephew. Things didn't work out with--" This must be the reason for the blush, as it's back again, "With his aunt." Holder and Craft sensibilities do argue that as a reason to blush. "I knew him when he was young. Used to visit on occasion. Kinai, his aunt, was always fairly maternal." She leans against her desk, arms folding across her chest, "More maternal than his mother, if you ask me." Which of course Telavi didn't. "In any case, he was a sweet boy and we've kept in some contact over the turns. Especially since his sister apprenticed to us." Tela's blush beat Babetta's to the punch, right on the heels of nephew, but then it never had really gotten a chance to recede... though the intrigued trepidation that follows with his aunt certainly helps. Not that Tela's anywhere near recovered enough to ask, especially not here, not even in the woman's own workspace. "Oh," she murmurs. "I'm sorry," only this time it's the more traditional type, what one says but also genuine. "Is there a message to pass on from his sister, do you think?" In lieu, under the circumstances, of encouraging reminisces. "Oh, I'm sure she'd have said if there was," Babetta says with a smile, "She was the one holding your shoes. I was going to introduce her, but--" The Journeywoman's expression is gentle. "You looked so upset. But I don't think you should worry about any message. He visited with her when he came to set this all up. With us both, even." Of course she was there. Of course she looked that way. Of course Babs would remind her? "Of course," Tela murmurs, that wryness still in her eyes when she glances up at Babetta. She doesn't ask about discretion. Rather, she brings herself to smile and then dips her head to glance at the clue for the very first time. Babetta gives Telavi the silence she needs to consider the next clue: "Primped, polished and hopefully glowing with pride, Whether to see friends and family, it's left for you to decide, But to your old home you should go hence To pick up a basket of wine is just a pretense You've a few hours to kill, so use your time well, Don't forget to grab the wine and meet me back where I dwell. Dinner will be waiting, so try not to be late. All will be ready by half past eight." Below the text is a drawing, a map that Telavi is likely familiar with. There are a series of written clues, "Start at the entrance of the living cavern, take 50 steps toward the inner caverns" etc. The path will lead her to where the basket of wine has been tucked away. It's after reading the first line and then the second that Telavi starts over, reading out loud this time for all that Babs could have been expected to have looked at it herself-- for the mimic has borrowed K'zin's own intonation to do it with. Not that her voice is as deep as his, and she doesn't try to drop her own pitch more than a few steps, but the way he talks is there and the earnest humor of earlier, also. She doesn't read it quite straight, for the rue that touches 'glowing with pride' is her own, briefly overlying the warmth that implies just how endearing it all is... if that isn't just mimicry too. "And then you probably saw the 'go here, walk this way, do that' part," which may well be entertaining for passersby as well as Tela herself, but the girl doesn't seem to mind. "He does know what I like." She keeps it from being other than a short pause, moving on with a look to Babetta. "But I have to warn you, according to the earlier clue, you have an easier-to-rhyme alter ego: one 'Journeyman Klamoo.' So if anyone comes around asking after Klamoo, you'll know what's going on... I shouldn't ride far in this, it'll rumple, or walk in the snow either." She pets the material. She'll have to change out of it, surely, if not for too long. But this time, when she raises her glance to Babetta, there's not a statement but an as yet unasked question waiting there. One more. Babetta is simply smiling at the greenrider, "For all of your worries, my dear," See? There's been nothing unfixable even with Telavi's previous moment of... whatever it was, "You seem to be enjoying your turnday just fine." The Klamoo chatter is paid no mind by the woman; that's just more of Telavi's distractions and games. "You can change, of course," The woman answers that point, gesturing to the changing screen where Tela first put the dress on, but sensing there's something more, perhaps, she questions softly, "Was there something else, Telavi?" What is with that woman and her knowing smiles? If Tela winds up practicing such things in her little mirror, it will be because of Babetta. Rather than comment, she whisks behind the screen, trusting in the weaver's wisdom that, yes, there's a way to undo it by herself. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't lift onto her toes to peek over the top, one hand resting lightly on the frame for balance. "Once upon a time, he," it's been 'he' through this, for her, "ducked a question about his Turnday. It's probably nothing, I feel a little silly, but if there's anything an auntie thinks a girl should know," now might be the time. "You can see why it might come to mind!" That last's said with a little laugh; she's begun to release the closure with her free hand, one sleeve already slipping off her shoulder. "His turnday?" Babetta inquires right back, her tone thoughtful. "Truthfully, child, we weren't that kind of family. You know, he's one of seven children, right? Hard to keep track of all those turndays. Not to mention now the wives, and children." Her tone is apologetic. "Kinzi might be able to tell you better. They write back and forth I know." She's still thinking when Telavi finishes changing, "Actually, I haven't thought about their turndays in-- well, quite a few turns now. It's been awhile since his aunt and I were together. But," Promising! "I'd address such things with delicacy. I asked him about the family when he was here and, well, Kinzi had told me, but I didn't really think it was true, but his father's acting like Waki's dead. And several of his brothers are right on board. Kinzi and her younger brother are probably the only two still speaking with him. His mother might, but she's always been something of a wildcard." There's no chagrin at 'child' this time, not in context, the more so since she's the one who invoked the aunt. Though now and again Telavi disappears more fully behind the screen, right on the heels of those seven children, her head pops back up to display a wrinkled-up nose and, "Awful brothers. He's," but no, she's ducking back, presumably to finish changing but also, there's such a thing as too much information, even for maybe-minor things, even for aunts. The wives and children get her peeking out again, dimples showing momentarily even when they really shouldn't, moments before she steps back from behind the screen with the hem of the held-up dress swishing against her knee. There's the dress to settle, the delightful shoes to tuck away with the other things... which leads to something like a squeak when she almost drops a shoe and finds herself juggling it for a moment before she can properly stare up at Babetta from her crouch. "Like he's dead?!" She looks horrified. Also, pretty fierce. "Please tell me his aunt was his mother's sister." The look on Babetta's face at Telavi's opinion of the brothers is a little grim, but looks like she might just agree with the greenrider. "Maybe not awful," She says after a moment, "But easily led. Zianarius is a difficult man at the best of times." As for the like he's dead, she elaborates, even as she moves to get the special garment bag and hanger from the chair where the apprentices left it, holding it up so Telavi can deposit the dress in it's proper place. There's even a special buttoned pocket for the shoes. "Waki was the rebel, you see. Zianarius and Wakina were raising a brood of MineCrafters. They were both MinerCrafters, so of course, their children would be too. Waki changed all that when he defied his father and decided to apprentice Smith instead. After him, Kinzi came to weaver, and Waz went to BeastCraft. That was just before his aunt and I parted ways. And yes, she was his mother's sister. I can't even imagine. I don't know why she's stayed with Zianarius all these turns. It's not as though she even likes the man," Then, abruptly, Babetta's blushing and feeling as though she's said too much, obviously, from the way she clams up. "I don't expect any harm will come to the dress on the rest of your trip. Just make certain to hang it nicely when you're done with it tonight." Dress: safe topic. 'Easily led' earns another wrinkle of Tela's nose, and at this rate it really is going to freeze that way. In her distraction she murmurs, "We have a wingleader, Z'ian," though even then she's careful to emphasize the honorific's elision and then add, "Unrelated." Getting everything tidied at least keeps her occupied enough to avoid adding side notes for a while, though her brows shoot up at 'rebel.' But she can only keep silent for so long, even if this is a murmur too: "And all of them still crafters! Originally, anyway." And that blush, as well as the comment that precedes it... Babetta receives a far too fascinated look from the greenrider, an instant before she discreetly averts her eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Oh, and where is she posted these days, anyway?" Telavi, keeping topics safe for seconds. She gives Babetta a particularly luminous smile before taking on the dress in its carrier. "Thank you again. I'll really have to tell K'zin how much I appreciated your graciousness." "Originally, but that makes it twice over that Waki defied his father. Once in choosing a craft, and once in choosing to stand." There's a sad smile, "Some don't understand that being a dragonrider is an honorable calling in of itself." Babetta takes a moment to fuss with the dress in its carrier as Telavi holds it, "I'm not actually sure where Wakina is. That's better answered by Kinzi, or K'zin." Then she reaches out and up to touch Telavi's cheek lightly, "It's been a pleasure, Tela. Mostly." With the exceptions of the few tense moments of establishing the bounds of teacher and student. "If you'd like more lessons in the future, we can see what we can work out." She offers with a smile, her hand dropping away, "But you'd best be on your way before time gets away from you." She'll walk with the greenrider to the courtyard where a hug and a kiss to each cheek will send her on her way. Mostly, which conveniently establishes all over again, at least if the rueful lift of Tela's cheek under her touch is anything to go by. "Thank you," she says, again, and a third time as the charm before Solith wings her away, Solith who obliges Telavi's silent request by making a particular show of their departure. It's difficult to return to colder lands, but return they do: not to Benden, right at first, but rather to their weyr. There's the dress to hang up, after all, but a few touch-ups for the green's oiling... and another berry pastry to nibble on once Tela's hands are clean again. From there, her movements are quicker and even more practiced: changing her clothes, rearranging her hair, more like what those she knows of Benden would expect. More like: she can't get them to be quite the same, not now, not even wearing the blouse whose shoulder seams she'd resewn. Solith watches her as she repacks her bag, and thanks to the tight curve in that long neck, watches her as she chooses the better set of straps. She doesn't really have an answer for the green, but she does find a smile, and a gentler stroke along one rippled neckridge. They have time, but they don't have forever. Between is as brief as it always is. She's very careful. They both are. Home-- Solith doesn't really understand, and Telavi can't quite explain, what the sight of Benden's moonlit mountains does for her in the instants before she hears Solith bespeak the watchdragon and the old brown, she knows somehow that it's old Turinth who lost an eye before she'd ever been born, answers back. It's supposed to be bittersweet, or bitter, or sweet, but instead it's a leap of her heart that just is, the thimble slid into place on her finger just before she begins her work. It's not always like this, not quite. When they visit during Benden's day, she often asks Solith to slow, to widen her spiral that she can see ledge after familiar ledge, and point them out, too. Sometimes dragons' riders step out to wave, and sometimes the dragons greet them, too. Some of them Solith even remembers, or maybe they resonate, less pieces than layers. She wonders if, someday, Solith will know every one. This is a nighttime visit, more like an escapade, or the end of one. Benden's so far east of High Reaches that most people are asleep, but they know that Toraveth is still awake and they know that others will be, too. Tela remembers giddy flights home, hanging on tight, starry-eyed under the stars in a way she can never do now; now she has to keep a clear head and know the way herself. Solith doesn't slide to a landing, and neither does she stick it, instead slowing and slowing and slowing so gradually as she descends that it seems inevitable, so that it's just a matter of putting out her paws and the dark ground rising up to meet her. Just for a moment Telavi can't breathe, her heart is so full. She can feel Solith like a smile, one of the ones she could resist if she really wanted to, only she doesn't. Then Solith turns her head, and she remembers to adjust her coat that's too light for this weather, really, to run her hands over her hair and put away the spare pins and replace them with the hair-stick that's now in no danger of falling out between. She slips down and then Leia's running out of the caverns to greet her, Leia who pays attention and has connections, whose litmus test in a bar is how someone reacts to her name... which is why, if she really doesn't want to risk it, she doesn't tell them the real one. They hug each other, and Tela breathes in the familiar fruity scent of her friend's hair just as Leia begins to say, "Are you wearing perfume? You smell different," and they laugh. Tela explains, part of it anyway, and midway through she realizes that the reason why it feels like she's separate, watching herself, is because Solith is watching them. Tela never has introduced Sabella and Leia. Maybe at Turnover... She begins the game early on, partly so she doesn't run out of time, partly because over here it's late, mostly because she just can't wait to jump in. Even so, she winds up shuttling back and forth between Solith and Leia and the other night owls who have gathered in the caverns, borrowing Annabet as a route marker when she goes out to visit the green. One of the girls laughs at Telavi's attentiveness, but Tela just shrugs, the charms swinging prettily from her hair-stick in a way that catches another's eye. It's her knot that the curly-haired woman's gaze winds up lingering on, though; she's a bit older than the rest of them, in her mid- to late twenties but more importantly, more settled. A bluerider, familiar-looking in a way Tela can't immediately place. She nods and moves on, though, and that's the end of that... at least, Tela would like to think she's moved on, because the next step involves hopping diagonally on one foot with her arms up to the ceiling, which probably doesn't require holding her arms up, but Tela's not about to go anything less than full tilt now. The trick is, has always been, to make it look fun. Like this is the best thing ever, and it's not as though that's hard to do. Next is generosity, and now that she's found her prize, it's nearly as natural for Tela to share that first wineskin around; she doesn't have to, but in a way she has to all the same. It makes her glow, inside, to watch the light in her friends' eyes brighten even more as the glowbaskets dim, sparked by playful banter and fueled by the good white wine. There's gossip, too, while huddled around one of the long tables, some of it less playful than otherwise; some of it Telavi enjoys the way she would a harper's tale of some dramatic shipwreck, oohing and ahhing in all the right places. She checks in with Solith again, mentally this time; the green has gotten comfortable with Toraveth, something G'then doesn't exactly encourage and she'd rather not think about why. She'd also rather not think about what Zifria has just whispered, leaning in with her head tipped to hers and those soft southern syllables tickling Tela's ear. Zifi says she knew all along that's how it would go down. Telavi doesn't contradict her. She also doesn't ask why nobody told her sooner. It's not that she wants to escape her uncle exactly, but he's so serious, what with the crate of things from when she was little that's too much for now, that she'll have to come back for later. As eager as she'd been to see him, to get one of those careful hugs, to ask how he's been-- before dutifully asking after his already-asleep weyrmate-- so now is she eager to get free. It's not just that the weyr is different now than when she'd all but lived there; it's still warm against the cold of Benden, after all, and the mid-height ledge still has icicles in the same spot that she used to break off and duel Leia and Jossan-now-J'ssan with. It can't be how she senses time, time whispering like taffeta along the link from Solilth and the elastic cord to Rasavyth beyond, though she remembers what his aunt said and she remembers how the day's been and she really, really doesn't want to be late. She's dressed her hair the way her uncle likes, the way he'd said once reminded him of her mother but with a curving curl all her own. She's dressed herself the way she used to, which she thinks has nothing to do with her mother at all; it's always felt comfortable but now it's tight even though she'd double-checked two days before that it fit. She remembers what his aunt said. She remembers the time zones. She remembers... she remembers. When she and Solith leave, with parcels if not the crate in addition to the wine, she doesn't ask her to fly by the lower ledge that had once, she'd thought, been hers. ...time, time, time... Once they're back into High Reaches' airspace, which is just as dark but a lot less late, when all that's left to do is sail down to the ledge that really is theirs and not far down at all... Telavi wonders how to time it. She wonders it in a part of her head that's all hers, that she guards because she remembers what happens when she lets go. She isn't sure what she'd do with it, but wouldn't it be convenient to know? Then Solith is landing and it's quick, quick, quick: a quick washing up, a quick brushing out of her hair, a quicker change of clothes right down to her skin. Quick, quick, slow: finishing up her toilette and, remembering Leia, touching the slightest dab of what really is perfume to her pulse points. Tela finishes untangling the charms of the hair-stick, arranges her hair into an updo and adds that in too. It can't be her only jewelry, though, not with that dress, so she adds a fine gold chain about her throat. It might be a bit much. It's probably a bit much, these flickers of anticipation that catch her unexpectedly, like when she bends to add a barely-there ring to one toe. But she doesn't feel like a doll, or if she does, it's her own, and she always did like playing better with... Another flicker, more like a shiver, when she fastens the old hooded cape about herself, its fur lining tickling her neck. When she slides the first delicate shoe on, it hides the ring. She's wrapping herself up. She can't wait to see. Of course, then she winds up thinking a little more, in that place Solith can't see, if that can really be counted as thinking at all. Rasavyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr What a spectacular weyr! Its large ledge boasts a pair of perfect hollows, room enough for a pair of bronzes, and just inside the entrance are a series of shelves cut into the stone, ideal for displaying small knickknacks and keeping everything organized. Questionably Painted Weyr, High Reaches Weyr At the back of the weyr the cavern branches into two good-sized back rooms with a double-sided fireplace occupying the wall they share. The weyr even comes already decorated. It has an ornately carved bed and press in both of the rooms; the front area offers a polished rectangular table and six matching chairs, a set-up perfect for entertaining. Rugs are scattered across the floor, their colors bright and cheery to match the walls. But oh, those walls! Some artistic hand has painted mural on every wall, filled with bright colors and bordered by mixed fruits and vegetables. The mildest murals are filled with exuberant scenes of dancing people, but most of them are of a more... questionable nature. They're certainly not the sort of thing any concerned parent would want their children to see, though they give the weyr a definite party atmosphere. It had been a quick flight to Rasavyth's ledge, back when they had visited regularly, but just now it's interminable. Solith flies excruciatingly slowly, and while Telavi can't fault her care given how she's sitting sideways to crush the dress less, every wingbeat seems so deliberate and decisive instead of just going. Momentum will take them there, if Solith will only let it, but Solith won't. Telavi would rattle her heels if she weren't concerned about losing her shoes. Telavi tells her, Go! but Solith still won't. In fact, Solith lets Telavi know that she might just spin an extra time about the bowl. They are, after all, early... Telavi sighs. Solith lands. Rasavyth might have thought to say 'No, not yet!' or 'Come back in five!' or something. After all, the puzzles and searching and the whole day, really, was so carefully planned. But that's not the kind of thing you say to a turnday girl. Things are about half-ready, it seems. Rather than interrupting the 'getting ready' flow to go greet Telavi on the ledge, when the greenrider enters, he's hurriedly arranging the table, one arm holding dishes he must have borrowed from someone, or the stores, for they're far nicer than the usual serving things around here. He's setting the table with reaches, and half the dishes have been uncovered and paired with serving utensils, and the candles are on the table but not lit, and he's half-dressed. So about half-ready for the guest of honor. His pants show promise of a gather-worthy outfit, but he's bare-chested, probably to prevent any spills or other accidents from requiring a complete wardrobe change. But as soon as Rasavyth tells him that Tela's gone in, he's twisting mid-place setting to catch her up in his gaze, and his whole face lights up in the most rewarding fashion. All right, so she's struck a pose with that big gaudy curtain of his, because really the dress and everything else deserves an entrance... but Tela's own expression can't manage to be posed in the least. Or composed, really, not with those bright eyes and what becomes a brilliant smile in response, right before she twirls so the cape flares out and parts to show the dress beneath. "I come bearing gifts," she assures, and indeed she's got a wineskin in each hand. Even as she's asking, "Do you want me to wait outside?" she's walking towards him. So much for a neat and orderly table. K'zin's eyes can't seem to pull off Telavi as the fine china gets clattered onto the tabletop, heedless of how it causes what's clearly a soup to get nudged and slop out of its terrine. His jaw is slack, and it takes him a minute of staring before his body stiltedly begins to reply to his brain's requests for action. Momentarily unaware of the fact that he's not even dressed, he moves toward the greenrider. "Wow, Tela. You look beautiful." It's not the first time he's called her beautiful, though pretty tends to be his word of choice more often. But the first since their 'first' together, and the first time when he's not trying to convince her of something. It comes off differently, more meant and significant. Maybe he didn't even hear her question because he doesn't answer it, one hand is sliding around the back of her neck, the other around the back of her hip to pull her close, his head tilting down and lips coming to a brief pause an inch away from her own. "Happy turnday," is his murmur before the distance between lips is eliminated, his intention an inspired kiss. Maybe he'd planned to do it, but not like this; this kind of kiss couldn't be planned. 'He said Tela was beautiful'... except it's not like that, less with the dimples for the words of his reaction and more with the out-and-out and equally unplanned glowing for it all put together. When K'zin comes for her like that, it proves to be a good thing that Telavi had gotten a chance to check out his chest-- no hardship there-- and verify its sauceless state, because sauce or soup or pretty much any sort of food just wouldn't have paired well with her dress, and why be distracted when she can and does kiss him back? Dropping the wine would probably be sacrilege, but... it's not like it's a bottle, and it's not like it's going to explode, and most of all, it's not like Telavi's really thinking enough to even make those calculations, because again with the kissing. It's probably also a good thing he hadn't lit the candles. The kiss does go on... and on... and on... and there's the barest suggestion from a shift in K'zin's hips that he'd like to do more than just kiss, but exercising what is surely monumental self-restraint he closes his lips to seal the end of the kiss and step away. It takes a moment for full awareness to come back, in which he's simply got his arms now wrapped around her waist, smiling down at her. Then awareness. The wine skin! Sacrilege indeed. K'zin steps back from Telavi, stooping to pick up the thing and then smiles in an almost sheepish way, "I didn't quite get to finish setting up. But, dinner's hot, so..." He glances back toward the table, "Let's?" "Dinner sounds delightful," Telavi says with those rosy, well-kissed lips of hers, in a way that's still a little too soft-focus to promise her usual level of dinner banter; smiling back at him, she switches the remaining wineskin to her other hand for balance without anything remotely approaching sheepishness herself, and even moves towards the table before the swish of fabric and fur reminds her, "I shouldn't eat dinner in my cloak. Would you kindly assist me? Or... I suppose I could do it myself, if it would be too dangerous." Either way! "And I should probably not eat dinner without my shirt." K'zin notes, his tone comically thoughtful, as though it really takes him time to come to that conclusion. Maybe it does, in fact; only so much blood in a man's body, and that was one knee-weakening kiss. He reaches then to carefully divest her of her cloak, the movement so careful when it comes to reaching around her from behind to undo the clasp at her neck, the lifting upward and off and his oh-so-careful carrying of it that way, arms extended above his head toward one of the taller wall hooks. He places it carefully before moving back past her toward the bedroom, "I'll be right back." And so he is, with not only tunic but doublet. He's only just begun the buttons on the front of the slate blue thing that, while not the exact same hue as her dress is mighty close to matching, and wears well with the black pants and cream-colored shirt. "Probably," only Telavi's tone is more like comically wistful. "You don't have to do it up all the way, though," she adds graciously, or at least it should turn out that way, but there's something about the care he brings to bear that softens her tone beyond the sense of the words. When one hand moves by, half of the clasp in tow, she dips a kiss to his fingers, oh-so-lightly. And while he's changing, well.. there's certainly something useful that a girl could be doing in terms of the dinner and the china and maybe even cleaning up slopped soup, but that girl is not Telavi, because Telavi is gainfully employed in leaning against the back of a chair and just smiling in the general direction of where he's disappeared. "What if I declared that on my Turnday, any men I eat dinner with have to go without shirts?" she has to call after him, only to add, "Not counting my uncle!" But when he reappears, now... the doublet. The look. There might be, before she catches herself, a wiggle. "Is your uncle coming to dinner? I planned for two," K'zin answers her as he approaches, "I only planned for two." Though given that her uncle isn't with her, it might be a safe enough bet that they'll be dining alone. "If you'd rather I didn't wear a shirt, I don't have to. Ras just said it would be proper since you were all dressed up, that I get dressed up too." There's a smile then, "Auntie Babs did a great job with that dress." Or so he thinks, but more importantly, as he picks up the china and finishes setting, "Do you like it?" She has to laugh, and then look stern right on its heels, which means that it comes out not very stern at all. "My uncle is not coming to dinner," Tela informs K'zin, "and neither is his weyrmate." Whatever fleeting sourness informs that last word, it's disappeared with her next appreciative look-over. "Mmm. Keep it on for now, actually. I like the doublet, it's very, 'Hello, I do have broad shoulders, thank you for noticing!' Also, the buttons. And, not only did you not tell me she was your Auntie Klamoo, you also didn't tell me she's amazing. And also, gracious." And also... but she's not going there. "I do like it. The dress. The rest. And your rhymes. Thank you." First, there's laughter, prompted by her comments on his dress code. "I'll thank you for not stroking my dragon's ego so much when it comes to fashion, please. I'm still battling the war of the Pink Monstrosity with him." Whatever he means by that isn't explained as he sets down the last fork, emptying his hands. "So I'm still setting for two?" K'zin feigns genuine confusion. Uncle, not Uncle, Uncle's Weyrmate, not Uncle's Weyrmate, who can keep track! He's moving on to uncovering the rest of the food dishes then. Having to move past Telavi, he's pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "I'm glad you liked her. Once she thanks him, his hands fall to his sides and a very honest look settles on his face, brown eyes searching hers as he asks softly, "Have you had a happy turnday, Tela?" As though Tela won't ask. Though... she doesn't, yet, unless the quizzical tilt of her brows counts when it's towards the ledge instead of K'zin. His feigning catches her enough to look back quickly, but not for so long that she doesn't laugh, holding up two fingers in answer-- the number of the setting shall be two-- and then, oh, food. Food to look at, and lean forward to identify and catch a whiff of, if she can... before his kiss brushes a smile upon her lips without having touched them at all. It would be easy-breezy to answer his next question with the truth, yes, yes, of course, isn't that what anyone wants to hear? And it is true. She could answer facilely, which is also simply, and tell the truth. She could answer facetiously, so transparently untruthfully that it's true too, or at least not at all meant to deceive. Only he's looking at her that way and she sighs, and smiles, and lets that openness fill her eyes when she says, "It's been happy, it's been marvelous, it's been shaky, it's been all sorts of things. I like to think I'm still having a happy Turnday, too," she adds at the end there, only to teeter on a questioning note as though Babs were whispering in her ear about chatter. There's all kinds of food. There's not much of any one dish, but more small amounts of a wide variety of things. All of them smell good, and certainly she'll have a lot of choices. There's bound to be something she likes in all of this. It must have taken him time to collect it all from the kitchen's dinner offerings, and then to wrap it all up, transport it, and so on. Really, other than drills, her turnday must have been the only item on his to-do list for the day. Her openness and honesty is rewarded with one of K'zin's big, warm genuine smiles for a moment before he very obviously goes to play it cool, his mask exaggerated, "Well, if you're under that kind of misapprehension, who am I to correct you? Feel free to go on believing that, as you like." He can't hold it too long though, his smile breaks back through and he can't not move back over to her once the job is done and wrap his arms around her from behind, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he gives her a snug hug. He stays, probably longer than he should with dinner cooling, before stepping a few steps to one side and pulling out her chair politely, "My dear?" He offers with a little playful look. Tasty things. Tasting things. Telavi might not have been able to survey all of it yet, even, but there wasn't a turned-up nose anywhere in sight. Well, until K'zin gets that mask out and she gives him exaggeration back, saying with a sniff, "Fine. I will." It's no elaborate retort, but it's also not like she's trying hard to repress the amused quiver to her pursed mouth. She has the food to eye some more, after all, at least until he hugs her like that and her eyes slip closed and she leans back into him, trusting. Finally she does straighten, though, even before he steps back, because dinner is cooling and all of a sudden she's hungry. "Why, thank you, kind sir." Tela's dimples show briefly as she eases in to sit, careful of her dress. "We're actually putting our special lessons to use, wouldn't our weyrlingmasters be proud. Practicing." She'll even wait until he's seated himself, until she's offered a light clink of glasses, until they have had a chance to sample the samples before asking, not quite laughingly, "'Pink monstrosity'?" She doesn't quite give it the emphasis both words may deserve. "Practicing?" K'zin sounds, and as with so many things tonight, only sounds, surprised. "I thought this was what I was practicing for all along. Beautiful woman, fancy dinner, what else are those lessons supposed to be for?" It's like he wasn't listening. The grin betrays his words though. "See? I'm even getting to practice my 'smooth talk'." He carefully helps her scooch the chair in a little and then moves to take his own seat. Then there's the question of the Pink Monstrosity. "Oh, no. I'm sorry. We can't talk about that. You'll never want to sleep with me again. This is something that transcends Turnday allowances like shirts off at the dinner table." He makes a gesture that she should begin with whatever she likes. "We could, perhaps, discuss the topic, in general. Tell me, Telavi, do you feel men wearing a shamefully girlish pastel pink anything are non-threatening?" Any kind of clothes. Shirts, pants, Telavi's imagination can certainly run with that question and the idea that there is a Pink Monstrosity. At that, Telavi really has to let her laugh out to play, even before K'zin explains. And when he does, "Very nice. What's the next step, I play Lady Edeline and you try to talk me out of some of my," here her pause is not only for effect but also so that she can commandeer some of the tiny pickled corn, afterward glancing up at him nearly through her lashes, "...tithe?" As for the Monstrosity, between bites, "That does sound major, 'transcending' and everything. Keeping in mind that I'm not so convinced about the shame of girlishness, on men or off them," here she might stage a frown, at least if it hadn't been sabotaged by whatever delightfully gooey thing she'd just eaten, "I think that a non-threatening man wearing a pastel pink apron would be non-threatening, and quite possibly charming. Not practical, but charming. But is that at all what you were looking for?" What with the starting out as non-threatening anyway, and all. "Do you think Lady Edeline would go for something like that?" K'zin leans towards Telavi and then acting as though he's suddenly realized that wasn't the right thing to say, he goes on, "I mean, why would I waste my talents on Lady Edeline when you and your tithes are the ones I'm interested in." Once she's served herself, K'zin starts helping himself. He is, notably, very careful not to be the one to finish off any of the dishes, always some amount left, in case she should want seconds of her turnday dinner. "So you don't think the color pink worn by a man grants him some kind of crazy automatically non-threatening edge?" Maybe how she put it was complicated enough to make him think she might agree with him. He sounds hopeful at any rate. "Assuming the man isn't out to be threatening." This time Tela wrinkles her nose at his quip, not unamused but either it's less entertaining or else she's just less entertained. While she doesn't immediately seem to catch on to the care K'zin takes with the food either, when she does... then she gets a smile that's openly secretive playing about her lips, right before she takes half of what's left of one mini-dish he'd seemed to like and then waits: will he take all that remains? Half of what remains, in which case she can try half of that? Or will he leave it be altogether? That's fun. But it doesn't distract her from answering his question with a firm, "No," though possibly K'zin's phrasing might have tipped the scales with the 'crazy.' "Especially if he looks uncomfortable. Maybe it would work, a little, if he looked utterly comfortable in something you wouldn't expect, in a fun way? The thing is, he may not be out to be threatening but that doesn't mean he isn't, and looking uncomfortable just makes it worse." The slight lift of her shoulders might be just as slightly awkward, but it isn't uncomfortable, at least not for her. Tricky Tela, with her halving of the food. But not tricky enough. Klever K'zin's knew to eat before dinner so he wouldn't accidentally inhale anything the turnday girl wanted, so the dish goes untouched. Actually, his portions, though he's had a bit of everything, might seem a little light upon reflection. Then in a complete departure from manners, K'zin is leaning around his chair to shout toward the tunnel, "See? I told you!" Before he's beaming at Telavi. "Thank you, Telavi. If I can get ten people to agree with me, I don't have to wear it. Ever again." That's motivation enough in of itself for him to bring it up. But now all the topics seem to be tied up neatly with bows, as far as he's concerned, which allows for a change. Eagerly, "So, tell me about your turnday. Did you find all the clues alright? Ras was trying not to be too 'present' but to still be 'around' if you needed help." Because the one on the wall was really hard to miss, right? Not obvious at all. Now Telavi's looking too, and laughing, "I see. Ulterior motives. Are you allowed to bribe them? Not that I think you'll have to bribe them." She holds up her wine glass between them to signify pause, "I did find them, they were so much fun, but." This is a serious but. At least, it would be if one only listened to her voice. She leans forward to ask in something close to a whisper, "Are you sick again? Tell me you're not sick again. Your appetite." "No, no bribes. And no blackmail. And no unfair coercion of any kind. I couldn't, for example promise you I'd do whatever you wanted me to do to you tonight in bed and have your answer still be considered valid, if that was the reason for such a commitment." Not that on her turnday, his tone suggests, there'd need to be any kind of other reason. K'zin leans close for the 'but', it sounds serious! And after all his careful planning, what could be so wrong and serious? Her question has him laughing, then blushing and looking sheepish. "I-- er, no. Rasavyth pointed out that I tend to eat a lot of food without thinking about it. And that for your turnday I should make sure you got to have whatever you wanted. So I ate, in the kitchens. Enough to not steal anything you liked, especially." He nods to the dishes. "A perfectly good loophole, closed." Telavi sighs, which might be a sight to see in that dress, and of course she has to be the one beaming at him, now, for that blush. "So clever. I suppose it wouldn't be right to blindfold you and feed you bits and see which you liked best, then? Because if you're not actually wanting to eat, it's not as much fun. Which this is, by the way, all those choices.... How did you bribe Sabs, anyway? Did it involve more than the words 'Turnday' and 'please'?" "He never leaves loopholes in his deals." K'zin grimace, and it's real, so it must be a real thing. "I could eat." The bronzerider goes on, a little hurried to get to a different, more pleasant topic, "But... you want to feed me? Sounds-- kinda ---" Can you say weird to a girl on her turnday? He doesn't look enthralled with the idea in any case, but he does volunteer, "I think there's probably better uses for that blindfold..." Then he gives a little roll of his shoulders, "It didn't involve any words. I just left her a taste of what I'd planned for you on her ledge and then crossed my fingers. I didn't get written up for being late, so it must have worked." "It's just that... well, all right, so when we did it, it was a bunch of us girls and we were tasting drinks, and the idea is that when you don't know what you're getting, it's different," but Tela isn't saying it as though she's attempting to convince him to try it, only to explain where it came from. There's a hint of a smile. "And I'm glad you didn't get written up, not that it surprises me." She peers at the table, or rather, its contents, in the end going back to just a couple of things: the noodles, some fruit. Then she slides all the dishes near her away, not far, wipes her hands on the napkin, and folds them at the edge of the table. Tela looks at K'zin then, only it's more that she looks at him, a hint of a smile playing about her lips: as though if she looked long enough, or in the right way, she could see the rest of what he's made of. Or, possibly, as though she already might. It won't last more than a few moments, though; then she'll sit back, even have another sip of wine. Well, if she's finished, there's no sense in good food going to waste. K'zin makes quick work of the remainder. Then he's on his feet. As he moves around "Now, remind me," As if he doesn't know, "How old are you today?" He moves to the room, closing the covers of the glow baskets until there's only the one left on top of the cabinet next to the table left. The cabinet that usually contains the glasses and so on that holds that one remaining glow basket is where he heads next. He crouches in front of it and pulling a covered tray out from inside, using his body to largely block line of sight as he fiddles with something, his back to her. "Two hundred and sixty months," Telavi answers promptly, and the rustle of fabric might betray how she's sitting up a bit, the better to look... even though he does make a better wall than a window. "Twenty. That's kind of big deal, isn't it? Two-zero and all." The scent of matches being lit one after another probably clues in a little bit to what is going on behind the K'zin-curtain-wall. "Do you feel your turnday has been sufficiently special?" "Mmm." Rustle, rustle, silence. "I do," Telavi agrees after that moment. "Delightfully, in fact. Which isn't to say I can't still be surprised." That might just be, amid another rustle, a squeak from her chair. The last basket is extinguished, but there's still a glow coming from the top of the cabinet. K'zin turns towards the table with a large round plate in hand. Slender candles, twenty, to be exact, are tucked into the top of what looks like a berry pie. The bronzerider's smile is big as he makes the presentation, setting it down in front of her carefully. "Happy turnday, Telavi. Make a wish." Telavi's just plain smiling as she looks from the pie to K'zin, eyes shining in the same light that gilds her rosy cheeks and plays with her hair and makes the rest of the room dark beyond them. That's a lot of candles, and they're melting fast, slender as they are. If the pie's going to remain edible, she needs to stop looking dreamy-eyed and decide; stop musing over possibilities and pick; stop wondering and weighing... and wish. And then she does, And then candle after candle gutters on that same long breath, until in the end... It's dark.

---

---

Comments

D'kan (D'kan (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 23 Jul 2013 00:35:32 GMT.

< Wow, wee bit smitten, huh?

K'zin (K'zin (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 23 Jul 2013 07:15:31 GMT.

< Oh, if only it were so sweet and simple. Boy's got Issues.

Leave A Comment

Name (required):

Comment (required):