Logs:Goldrider's Help
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| RL Date: 17 February, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea brings Irianke a tray and ends up helping her with a few other things. |
| Where: Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 1, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Telavi/Mentions |
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>---< Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr >------------------------< This hollowed out bubble cavern is large. Tendrils of steam come from a corner near the lower caverns entrance to the weyr. It's situated near a separated cave that has hanging glass beads obscuring view of it, likely the bed chamber. The outermost room is decorated in bright colors and a lot of interesting pieces of art hung on the walls. A large stone table sits in the entrance from the ledge atop a yellow and teal rug. The furniture is chaise lounges on other sectional carpet pieces and a cabinet of liquor. The glassed-in bookshelf is filled with volumes and volumes of books and scrolls and locked from prying eyes. It's likely that this afternoon isn't the first time that Lycinea has been in this particular weyr, given how long she's been at the Weyr, but with each new occupant (and, let's face it, this weyr has seen more than a couple), things change, and that, paired with the chilly weather, is probably why the slender blonde lingers after placing the covered tray on the table and moving to hang the small pot of what is probably soup on the hearth and put on the kettle. At least she does what's been asked of her first, before turning to visually explore the knickknacks of glass and wood, that, of course, eventually draw her curious hand. Some of those decorative pieces are tiny but sturdy: small figures of wildlife on Pern and one especially pretty colored glass vtol that sits atop a green leaf. Others are a little larger, some of them fragile others not. Like that piece of beach bark, smoothed out over time and turned over to act like an artistic bowl for the carved wooden fruit. There is a long, curved wooden sword that hangs on the wall in between two abstract tapestries and the warm smell of vanilla and cinnamon spices permeate the air. Is that a sound from the baths? Nothing further is heard after a long while, so no, must just be the pool naturally lapping over the edge. Lycinea almost certainly doesn't intend to have any of her trespasses noted by the weyr's occupant, who certainly isn't home. Only the maybe sound has her jerking when her fingers were just about to close on one of those carved fruit, and not the top-most one, so her jerk tips the beach bark just so the carved fruit can make their daring (and noisy) escape to the floor. And wouldn't you know it? Some of them roll, and so a flustered teen winces and then immediately starts to hunt them down. The sounds of water sluicing down a body and back into the pool could be heard, if Lycinea weren't so distracted. She still might hear it anyway. Then there are bare, wet steps on stone and that airy sound of light fabric flying through the air on a robe's way down and around a body. All of these culminate into Irianke coming to stand with one step into her front room and an, at first, bewildered, and then amused look flying in quick succession across her face. She'll wait silently for now, her arms folding under her chest. To Lycinea's credit, she's on her hands and knees trying to fish one of the fruit out from an awkward place (in relation to her) under one of the chaise lounges. She's giving the retrieval effort her all, two other pieces already held out behind her in her other hand. It's only after she's got the runaway that she comes back onto her knees with a little huff and blue-green eyes fall on the dark haired woman waiting there. Her mouth forms an 'oh' without sound, the guilt briefly betrayed in her eyes, before, "I'm sorry, Weyrwoman, I was just... putting these back," which isn't technically a lie, so she smiles and pushes up onto her feet. "They're lovely," she adds a half-second later. La la la, nothing to see here. "They do tend to wander off on their own." Irianke's response is absolutely mild, but it's a thinly poor veneer to mask the laughter inherent in her warm voice. The very end tendrils of Irianke's hair is damp, suggesting a relaxing bath rather than a cleansing one, and this much closer to Lycinea, she smells of lavendar and and the ocean. "Put their recalcitrant selves back where they should go and come." The goldrider sheds her robe on her way towards the beaded curtain where her bedroom is, "I need some help getting into my dress for tonight. Do you know how to do hair? I can't get mine to do what I want anymore. The air is different here." "Yes, ma'am," is about as meek as Lya ever gets. It's only half genuine, but at least it's a token effort. She does carefully and quickly do the woman's bidding, even turning the one that might have a little dent in it that wasn't there before so the dent can't be seen. She glances back toward the older woman, not, it seems, concerned about the shedding of the robe, only a little surprised by the words. "Yes, ma'am." This one is more meant, but it's also less meek. "Hair. I've been learning from Assistant Weyrlingmaster Telavi and some others." She turns and follows at a bit of a distance. "What kind of something did you want?" The bead curtain clinks when Irianke pushes her way through. The small bed chamber is filled with a canopy bed and a large wardrobe. There's nothing of work here, just a night stand that holds the latest book she's reading and the excessive amount of glows and candles once more. Laid out on the bed is a stunning rust orange confection with all the most fashionable frills, tucks, and looks like it'd show a very decent amount of indecency but in a fashionable way. "It just came this morning from the weavers. It's not very suited to this climate, but of course, I didn't realize I'd be moving when I requested it. I'm hoping to wear it somewhere nice before they won't let me leave the Weyr. Bring it here? Careful," she calls back with a bright smile over that bony shoulder, "I already snagged a rough finger against the material." The curtain clinks again to admit Lya, who seems to struggle with it for a moment, or at least has the need to look back at it once she's through it. Then she's stepping more quickly to approach the weyrwoman. She stops short of the bed with the dress, something like a gasp (but maybe more of a choke) escapes as her eyes fall on the dress. "Wow," is at least a complimentary exhale. She's hesitant to touch at first, but that makes her all the more genuinely careful once she actually does, draping it across an arm while the other holds up the torso and she moves with quiet steps over to the older woman. "Are you weyrbred?" asks Irianke, holding her arms up so the dress can fall over her head and onto her body. She's... well, she's a dragonrider. Trim, athletic, nice to look at all that jazz. She also does not seem to care much about being like this in front of someone else. "There should be a stool here somewhere if you need to be taller." Oh yes, there's a trio of full length mirrors near the wardrobe and that stool she mentions. "Mostly, ma'am," Lya answers distractedly, the bulk of her attention is on the dress in her arms. Once she realizes what Irianke intends, she starts shifting the dress so she can accommodate the upraised arms. It takes a little doing, and an ankle hooked around that stool to pull it closer to be used. "I got here when I was six," which probably explains why it doesn't seem to bother Lya over much to be here with Irianke like this. It's not like she's looking. The dress descends, loose until all the ties are fastened and the buttons done up. The sleeves start at the very ends of her shoulders and fit snugly about Irianke's arms three quarter of the way. "Lace me up?" The request is very nice indeed, but carries expectation that her commands will be followed. "I think she said there'd be a few buttons right at the small of my back but it should be laced top down and the tie tucked into the skirt. Six?" The Igen drawl shifts from talk of her attire to Lycinea's past without missing a beat. "I never stayed in one place very long, not until Niahvth found me on the Igen sands and this is the first time I've left to live somewhere else in many turns. What did you say your name was again?" It really isn't very often in Lycinea's life that she's been in direct contact with the goldriders, and getting direct instructions from her has the desired effect of them being followed. She's careful with the laces, "Do you always wear things so complicated?" She can't help but ask, "I'm not sure I'd ever get dressed if I had to do up this much on my own." Then again, she's wearing pretty simple work clothes (at least these aren't the patchy ones!). "Yes, ma'am. I'm eighteen now. So ten turns. Twelve. I mean twelve." Doesn't she? "Sorry, math." Not her strong suit. "Lya, ma'am. Well, Lycinea, but I like Lya." Not Lycinea. "What did you do that you traveled?" Obviously, not many people travel a lot, so she might have some thoughts, though she doesn't volunteer any guesses. "Traders. Free folk," with extra emphasis on the free. In the mirror, Irianke's flushed cheeks and face twitch a little bit, as if an unpleasant thought occurred to her just then, but a backwards hand to smooth out her dress and a look down and back up repositions the smile on her lips. "Not really. I wanted to try it on since I just got it and I'm hoping there's a gather I can drop in on somewhere to dance the night away before Niahvth gets truly glowy. I treat myself to one new Gather dress each season." The skirt is less full as it settles against her body and the drape of the dress, once cinched up, fits like a glove. Shining eyes admire herself in that mirror, looking past her shoulder to where Lycinea works. "Lya. What do you think?" "Free," Lya repeats. She doesn't hesiate in saying, "I've heard it said that being a dragonrider is the only true freedom there is," and then asking, "Is it true?" Irianke must be something of an expert. "Beautiful," Lya offers without any hint of guile once the question has been posed. "It's a nice color on you. There's some craft festivals this week, but the next proper gather isn't until day twenty, at Crom. If I were you, I'd wait to wear this one to the Southern Hold gather on day twenty-three. Warmer there this time of the turn." She must have swallowed a social calendar, and feels the need to explains, "I like gathers and things. They're pretty much the only time I leave the Weyr." A single shoulder rises and rolls in a bit of a shrug that tries to dismiss her interest as casual. Irianke's brows hitch higher and higher when Lycinea parrots the known Gather schedule for much of Pern. By the end, there's a genuine laugh emanating from deep within her belly and a hand comes to rest against the collar line of her chest. "Well, I don't know if Niahvth will hold out that long and I'm afraid when your life is dictated by your dragon's rising schedule you learn to see the signs. Like," the older woman turns to grasp Lycinea's shoulder and turn her out to the main room. The beads clink as they walk through. Her hair is still undone. "If you look out on the ledge, you'll see that her hide seems to shimmer, like a hazy humid day. It's not glowing, but it's there. I tend to want to take long baths for hours as the day gets closer and have the most amazing and unsettling dreams. She'll rise soon, mark my words and I want to get one last drunken, freeing day out of it and wake up sore in all the right places next to a stranger before I come home. You said you do hair?" Lycinea tenses when the goldrider takes her shoulder, but she goes. What else do you do in the face of a goldrider that wants something? She looks uncertainly at the dragon, she squints her eyes, she scrunches her nose, she's trying to see it, but perhaps her general lack of familiarity with the up-close-and-personal of dragons keeps her from really seeing it. Still, she'll say, "I see," meaning that she understands. "Unsettling dreams?" Her brow wrinkles. "Well, Nabol's gather was officially yesterday, but there's probably still some things going on there today. Or might be anyway, if you wanted to try." What's a little trip between? "Or you know, you could throw yourself a party. A pre-rising, I'm a weyrwoman kind of party. That's allowed, right? I mean, you could call it a welcoming party, since you never really got one, did you? And you're doing us all this great big favor or whatever," not like she follows or cares so much, but it sounds good, doesn't it? "I do hair, yes. I know a lot of braids, and some up-dos. I know a little about cosmetics too, though I have less experience doing that on other people." She fidgets a little and looks to the goldrider. "Could you put my hair up and make it look... pretty. I miss feeling pretty," says the all too attractive woman. Somehow, it doesn't come off as fishing for compliments. Her hair is oddly limp. "I'm sure I could find something if I wing about enough. There are traders who winter down south who probably revel nightly. Don't worry about me, Lya." Irianke's voice wraps around that nickname fondly. "I can handle myself well enough. My combs and pins are in the bath. Do you think jewelry would look nice with this? Or should no, I should just go bare. Traders aren't the most honest of people at times if they think they spy an easy mark." "Bare," Lya says it decisively. "The dress is... it's a masterpiece on its own. Jewelry would just take away from it, I think." Not that Lya actually knows what a masterpiece looks like, but the commissioned thing is lovely on the goldrider, so, close enough for the once-weyrbrat's purposes. "I'll put it up. I have an idea," which is promising since that's where it all has to start when it comes to hair. "When you're ready, Weyrwoman," she says politely, as indication that the goldrider can lead the way at her leisure. Irianke takes the moment to readjust her wooden fruit as they walk by, turning to flash Lya an impish smile. In doing so, something in the girl catches her gaze and she reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. "You're refreshing," says the goldrider, then turns towards her bath room, where Lycinea works magic and they converse about the best types of shadows to make eyes look sultry and inviting. Eventually, Lycinea is dismissed and Irianke is on her way somewhere south with a warm set of furs wrapped around her for protection from the cold and for her dress. |
Comments
Edyis (18:32, 18 February 2015 (EST)) said...
<3 This!
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