Logs:Very Helpful
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| RL Date: 7 December, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, Estanei, Mirinda |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A discussion of the merits of N'rov. |
| Where: Living Caverns, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'rov/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions |
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| Leggy, striking, and holding court to a bevy of Sandstone riders. That's Estanei, fully aware of how she (and likely her swinging hips) looks when sauntering away from the wing table to the scant buffet line this much time after lunch, and picking through the remnants of food. She leaves behind a table of chatter, though not laughter, and amiable enough camaraderie, a welcome sound, surely, in the recovering days after such sickness in the area. Having spent the morning-- and well into the lunch hour, too, by the looks of it-- attending to the caverns, Mirinda looks both a little tired and a little flustered as she joins the buffet line behind Estanei. It's likely she doesn't intend to engage; it's probable it was absolutely and entirely an accident that her foot slips upon some spilled gravy and sends her careening forward. She stops herself with the edge of the table, but if the sound of that slip isn't enough to attract notice, the slap of hand to table might well be. Red-faced, shame-faced, Fort's weyrwoman ducks her gaze. Faranth knows Dahlia and Mirinda have been seen working far enough away and on separate but complementary tasks often enough that it can't be said that they're joined at the hip, and yet with Mirinda's appearance come Dahlia as well. Dahlia's walk in from the kitchens, wearing weariness like an itchy sweater, sees her heading toward the buffet line, in time to witness (but nowhere near enough to assist with) Mirinda's show of grace. "Hey! No need to get that friendly!" Estanei's voice is as striking as her looks, strident a little, for the perceived jostle and she darts a look back. It being Mirinda doesn't change her demeanor much, until she catches sight of the red face and shame visible on the edges of the Fort Weyrwoman's ducked gaze. "Aw, duckie, it's ok. These things happen when you're not blessed by natural grace." Sarcastically sweet in only the way she can, the wingleader holds out an arm, in case the other woman needs such assistance. Dahlia's arrival does not go noted just yet. Mirinda does not, thank you very much, need assistance. It may be possible for a perceptive eye to see the way she bristles, ever so slightly, but her expression turns to something more neutral, and more composed even so. "I'm sorry," she says, simply. "But no harm done, I hope. Estanei, isn't it? Sandstone." She's evidently anticipated Dahlia's arrival behind her, because she glances over her shoulder to find the other goldrider and acknowledge her, though dark gaze returns to Estanei a moment later. "Getting to know our new wingleaders, Weyrwoman?" Dahlia's opening remark is quietly delivered, no doubt with the intention of keeping the wry humor of those words, the tone even gently teasing. The younger goldrider's smile is small, but directed past the Monacoan to the brownrider, "Wingleader," has friendliness and something else that adds depth to her voice but isn't readily identifiable. The hand extended to Mirinda, withdraws, coming to rest against the hip jutted out so obligingly as Estanei considers the approaching goldriders. A flicker of something, trepidation, disappears just as quickly as it appeared, and a bright toothy smile flashes in its place. "No harm. My ass always could use a gentle caress or two randomly in the middle of the day." Not that that happened, but hey, who's counting? "Dee," says the wingleader, unrepentant about utilizing the diminutive in lieu of the name. "Should I worry? There must be some joke about two goldriders and a wingleader in search of food. What's left of that sea hold fish is delightful if," she slants a glance at the torn apart carcass of fish, "Scant." Mirinda's cheeks go pink again, at that mention of Estanei's ass, however unmolested, but she presses a smile into place and says, dryly, "I can't imagine there's a better way to do it than-- do worry. I'm sure we're quite fearsome, en masse. I've been known to tear a person apart to get the last of the," a glance at the table, "Salted fish?" "Always nice to have a reminder," Dee will grin at Estanei. "Fish," is said as if Estanei gave name to the exact thing Dee didn't know she wanted. The scantness of the offering is observed and draws an uncertain but hopeful, "I think I saw another tray of that in the kitchen," from the young woman. Without explanation to either woman beyond, "I'll be back," Dahlia is retracing her steps. At least she'll be putting her fear inspiring to use elsewhere and reducing the overall load that faces the brownrider. "Steamed," corrects Estanei pleasantly. "Just a touch of some salty sauce, ginger, scallions, and it's delightful. Well, as you can see, appreciated by all." Sandstone starts to disperse, as if by some invisible directive, or it's just that late and they have places to be, duties to do. It certainly might have something to do with the way the brownriding wingleader looks in that general direction preceding the departures. "How are you settling in, Weyrwoman? Fort's hospitality and all." "Steamed," repeats Mirinda, acknowledging the correction with the glimmer of a smile. "I'll have to try some, then, if Dahlia comes back with more--" She casts a glance after the retreating goldrider, though seems content to fill her plate with other things, not paying their actual content much mind. "I'm managing, thank you. Fort has been very hospitable to me, of course." Partial truth or no, she says it with a straight face. "Dahlia has, of course, been a great help." "Has she? I would take credit for searching her, but that honor goes to someone else, I'm afraid." Estanei manages this with the straightest of faces. Now that her ass isn't being groped and she's not in danger of losing her job with two goldriders converging on her, the brownrider relaxes, turning to go back to picking through the remnants of lunch. "Are you enjoying our Weyrleader?" So many different ways this could be taken, so many different ways that innocence could be construed, and yet. And yet, Estanei seems absolutely genuine in this, somewhat distracted, inquiry; a spoon is pooling together the leftover rice and vegetable dish to dump into her plate. Mirinda, whose attention had been lowered towards the green beans, lifts her gaze in surprise. She falters. Then, "N'rov's been very helpful, too. He's been showing me around the coverage area, which has been..." A pause. "Very helpful." That this is a very neutral comment on the weyrleader has certainly not escaped her notice; her smile, as she says it, is bland. That Dahlia returns, accompanied by fish means she won, that that fish is carried by a kitchen assistant and not the weyrwoman herself means she also lost. Clearly, she still has things to work on in the way of asserting her authority. "It would've been out even if I hadn't gone looking. There might be a life lesson there," Dee murmurs, amused, as she rejoins the women. "I didn't miss anything exciting, did I?" It's asked so innocently, one might even buy it. "The only times I rue Reyarith wasn't born green is when I think of how delightful flight coitus must be with our dear Weyrleader," says Estanei, just as Dahlia arrives, how about that. "He's pleasant on the eyes to work with, I'm sure. Very helpful indeed." With new fish here, the wingleader pauses, just long enough to consider whether to let someone else have first crack, and then reaches for the spoon herself to scoop out some of the white steamed flesh onto her plate. Lucky Dahlia: she can see Mirinda's expression tighten, ever so slightly. She's not embarrassed by this, weyrbred as she is, and yet... "Yes," she says, simply, setting down the serving spoon from the green beans in order to pick up a piece of bread, instead. "Very helpful." It's... really good that Dee isn't drinking something. She chokes anyway and is overcome with a coughing fit, her cheeks flaring into a blush for all that she's as weyrbred as the next girl. It's probably the delivery that does it. Dahlia is no help here as her eyes tear up from the coughing, even as she makes gesture that she's okay-- no really, she's fine! "Are you ok?" asks Estanei with all due politeness, if impishly amused politeness. The only non-weyrbred woman here, folks. "I'm not saying anything noone is aware of, am I?" N'rov is a pretty boy after all. "Well, I'll leave you two to your weyrwomanly work," how she manages that to sound just a little disparaging is emotive vocal skill, "I've some shuffling to do with my wing and a table of hidework waiting for me in my weyr." Wingleader, plus plate, and an extra step of sass in her swinging hips, simply walks away from the goldriders after sharing her thoughts on, well, nothing. Mirinda opens her mouth to respond, but truthfully, the fact that Dahlia is coughing so hard is by far a priority over actually saying farewells to the impish, terrifying Estanei. "Are you...?" going to die? Gestures or no gestures, this is a serious concern! Dahlia's fit is helped to end by her surprise at the brownrider's slightly disparaging tone, brows lifting slightly as her coughing settles and she gives a mute nod to Mirinda. Her brows swoop down in confusion and she leans a little bit toward the older woman to ask quietly, "Did she just dismiss us?" The words are colored by both uncertainty and mild disbelief. "She should've been a bronzerider," seems to slip out on the heels of the question, doing nothing to help the blush in her cheeks. Wryly, "I do believe she did." Mirinda's at least half amused by this, shaking her head. "Remind me not to introduce her to Olivya, mm? Have you enough to eat? Let's sit, before someone else..." Really, the living caverns are dangerous. The look Dahlia has for the idea of a force that would be Estanei and Olivya together (or the explosion of those forces being opposed) is writ expressively of horror. It's quickly dismissed though, glancing once more after the brownrider's exit before she hurriedly gets a small helping of that fish she was after, and a few other items to put on her plate before moving to where there's seats at one of the smaller tables. Fewer chairs mean fewer potential dangers. "Are you up for talking work or do you need a break?" It's not unusual for Dahlia to be thoughtful this way; goodness knows people ask her enough and she's been good about taking afternoon naps (or at least periods away from work) when she needs them, looking to her health in her continued recovery. "To be honest," Mirinda admits, "I'd rather take a break. Sometimes I feel like I'm swimming in work, all the time, every day. I think I need to start instituting a policy with myself that mealtimes are not for working through, unless it absolutely cannot be avoided." She eats the way she always does: one forkful after another, barely even seeming to taste the food. "Does that mean you want to talk about N'rov's assets?" Dahlia asks this as she places elbows on the table, bridges her fingers and places her chin daintily atop them. It's obviously a joke, one she doesn't even hold for too long. "They keep bringing me furniture," seems to be a much more real and non-work related conversational topic. "I tell them it's fine, the workmen bringing it tell me they have orders, they tut when I try to tell them otherwise, it's ridiculous. Are they doing the same thing to you?" Mirinda chokes, just quietly, for that reference; clearly, this is a no. Head tipped to the side, however, she gives Dahlia a more thoughtful glance. "No," is her answer. "But then, my weyr was largely still furnished when I arrived-- I suppose the furniture comes with it. Do just have it sent back to stores if you need to. There's no need for you to fill the space up with anything unnecessary." "I will," Dahlia sighs, "I just wish-- no," she stops herself. "That's going to get too self-pitying. Poor goldriders." For this, she has to flash a grin at Mirinda. "Want to take our food outside? It's a beautiful day and it's probably the only chance we'll get before dark." That last is rueful, but already Dahlia is pushing back her only just taken chair to move to just do it. In this, at least, Mirinda is willing to allow Dahlia to take the lead; outside, then, to enjoy the sunshine while they can. |
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