Logs:Never Before
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| RL Date: 22 August, 2014 |
| Who: Oliwer, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Oliwer and Tayte 'just talk'. |
| Where: Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 8, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: G'laer/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Miska/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr A passageway hewn into the rock and heavily patched with cement leads a short distance in to the bowl wall, with a door on either side. Lit by regularly spaced glows, the white-washed walls have been covered over by colorful tapestries, wall hangings and pieces of art made from metal and wood. To the left of the entranceway, just a single step inside, a spiral staircase opens out of the wall, leading upwards through the stone. Further down, a doorway opens to either side of the corridor, while at the far end, there is a hewn-stone staircase leading up to the residential quarters, wreathed by two final doors to private quarters and the bathing room. The door leading to the east opens into an expansive room that seems to provide both general working space - with long, bare benches and chairs - and a cozy lounge complete with over-stuffed sofas and a few fuzzy armchairs. Three tall windows are carved into the stone, and offer air and light when the heavy wooden shutters are left open, though the lounge area has to make do mostly with glows. A hearth at the back of the room provides both heat and basic cooking facilities. The white-washed walls are bedecked with decoration - from quilts, to tapestries, to wooden carvings and metal sculptures. The western door leads into another passage, off of which the main workrooms have been built. The loading dock is at the northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall. It's in one of the armchairs in the lounge that Oliwer is currently settled. He has knitting needles in his hands, yarn in his lap and a young woman crouched in front of him, apparently trying to explain to him what he's doing. He has some few rows already knitted so the basics must not be beyond him entirely. But the woman is rising, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder before she's making her way off to her own things. Oliwer is left to knit by himself. It's a good thing he has some measure of natural dexterity or this would probably be a lot messier. Tayte spends a lot of time in her room these days, but she probably reasons that it's hardly considered exerting herself to take a very leisurely walk from her room on the ground level down and along to where the lounge is to fetch herself cups of tea a few times in a day. Today, her lavender maternity shirt is tied under her breast so that her figure isn't entirely obscured, the baby bump just poking the front of the fabric over her middle enough to be there. She has to stop on her way to the tea because there's Oliwer with his knitting needles and she's startled into a laugh. "Sorry, sorry," she's hurrying to say, moving closer to the healer. "It's not you I'm laughing at. I just-- I didn't realize you knit." It's not until Tayte is laughing at him that Oliwer looks up from his work to peer at the woman. He doesn't look upset at all. Baffled, really, if anything. His warm gaze takes in the various details a healer is prone to noticing (or any human, really). "No offense taken, don't worry. I can't say that I do knit, however. I don't know if one could realistically call this that yet." Oliwer offers the woman a smile. "You're looking well." There's another laugh from Tayte, this time rueful. "I suppose you say that to all the pregnant women you speak with as a matter of self-preservation." There's a tease revealed in her smile and the she's settling carefully into the chair next to him. "For what it's worth, it looks like knits and purls to me, though your gauge could stand some practice." The smile has turned kind and rather than saying 'is this your first attempt?' she asks tactfully, "How long have you been knitting?" "It helps that most pregnant women do look well. Some don't seem to handle it as well as others, I'll admit. But you generally seem like a pleasant lot. After the first few months, anyway. Until the last month or so." Oliwer offers a smile with the last, so that might be considered teasing of his own. "Well, I suppose a bit over an hour or so now. I figured it would do me good to get some professional advice. And G'laer can be very distracting." Which is presumably why he's here and not making a mess of yarn in the weyr he shares with the greenrider. There's easy laughter for his first comments, which might well be eclipsed when Tayte flinches at the greenrider's name. It's clearly an involuntary response, but suddenly the blonde is awkward, shifting slightly away from Oliwer as if he might somehow be an extension of the destruction his weyrmate is capable of inflicting. "Well," she manages at last even as she's shifting to rise even though she's only just sat down, "Do keep at it. With knitting, every stroke helps." "Tayte," says Oliwer with an apology in his voice. "Stay. Please? It's been too long since we've been able to just... talk." Without things being completely weird. Have they ever actually been able to do that? Well, if there were ever a good time to start, now must be it. He waits to say anything else until she makes a decision one way or another, though he starts to set aside his knitting so he can focus his full attention on her either way. She looks ill at ease but she doesn't make it out of the chair in the end. Tayte bites her lower lip, unconsciously chewing it a moment before she says, "Don't stop on my account. Maybe I can help." The blonde shifts to pick up the mess the yarn ball has become and starts working through the tangle. "I'm working as a knitter, well, technically a weaver's helper now. But knitting, really. For the Weyr." Hello topic change! When it's clear she's staying, Oliwer relaxes somewhat into his seat and nods in a slightly self-deprecating sort of way. "I'd appreciate it, I assure you. But I'm not sure it's fair to ask you to work while you're free." His smile is as kind as it usually is. "You aren't working in Snowasis anymore?" It's not like he goes there that often, but the idea doesn't seem surprising as his gaze falls briefly toward the swell of her abdomen. "Healer Miska recommended not." Snowasis. "And modified bed rest, given my history, if I want to carry the baby to term. And that degree of lack of movement combined with lack of drinking more than a glass of wine made my work as a vintner impossible as well. So, just knitting now." Tayte continues to work the maze of yarn with her nimble fingers. "I don't mind." Then her eyes finally rise to find his face, "You've been well?" After a moment she even dares to ask, "And your weyrmate?" Oliwer nods along as Tayte explains, as though it all makes perfect sense to him. Which, you know, it probably does. "Small price to pay to make sure it's healthy," he notes with a quiet sort of thoughtfulness. "I'll admit it's relieving to know that it's definitely not mine." That's somewhat lighter, teasing. No hard feelings! "I have been well." As for his weyrmate, Oliwer seems uncertain how to answer. "He's had some... difficulty. Adjusting. I think he's working it out, though." The last is said with a small hint of pride. "And you and...?" He doesn't say the bronzerider's name. He might appear to punch him in the face if he says his name out loud! The teasing, no doubt well-intentioned, misses the mark and the woman looks pained a moment. She hides it as she echoes, "Small price," in agreement. What's her craft and her chosen avocation worth in the end? Could it measure up against motherhood? She nods silently to the words of the healer and his weyrmate. Forgive her for not asking more. Instead she answers, "We're not together anymore. For my own good, he decided." This conversation just gets happier and happier! "Oh," says Oliwer, surprised. He's silent for a moment, then offers, "I'm... sorry to hear that." No doubt he's actually not sorry but assumes that's what the woman would like to hear him say. "Even with..." the healer gestures vaguely in the direction of her belly, looking confused. "Forgive me for saying, but he doesn't seem the sort to let go." "Not his," this much she says briskly, "Mine. It's mine." Clearly it's not only hers, but that's probably to curtail specific inquiries. Tayte works at a particularly stubborn knot. "I thought he wasn't the type to let go either. But he knocked up his wingleader, so maybe I wasn't so special after someone else was known to be carrying his child." She shrugs. A flinchy sort of shrug. No doubt she's done a lot of thinking about the whole situation, and probably too much about H'vier's motives. Oliwer is rather well-studied in how babies are made despite his own failures at trying to make one with his weyrmate. So he only nods and leaves that be. A man that can take a hint! "I can't imagine that's the case, Tayte. You're a beautiful, smart woman. Any man would be a fool to let you go. But your bronzerider, in my experience, has been known for being somewhat foolish." Foolish, short-tempered, impulsive, violent... same thing. Much to G'laer's relief, surely. "He's not my bronzerider anymore." Surely semantics aren't the most important thing now, but the distinction is important to Tayte. "I offered to weyrmate him then and there, if that's what he wanted. But he didn't." Or at least, he didn't accept the offer. She sighs softly and shakes her head. "Anyway," her tone is suddenly forced into cheerfulness. "We'll all be better for it. K'del will screen my suitors from now on and maybe one day I'll meet an actual decent human being to be tethered to. In the meantime, I shall grow fat and happy with child. Until, you know, the end, when I will be fat and miserable." She manages a smile, even if it's little weak. There's a small, slightly concerned frown on the healer's lips as he studies Tayte for a few more moments, then turns his attention down to his knitting again. "Well, if there's anything I can do for you to make anything easier, as a friend, not just a healer, I'd be happy to help you however I can. I have to admit, I find it comforting that you don't have to deal with him romantically anymore. You're right. You'll be better off." Never mind that he's still with a man she's even more afraid of than the bronzerider. His gaze flickers up and he offers her a tentative smile. Tayte can't meet his gaze when he smiles, so she looks at the yarn ball. Theres a tangle that helps her keep her tongue in check since, yes, the healer is still with that Very Scary Man. "I'm sure I'll be quite too busy with the new baby and the girls and learning my new job after the baby comes to notice if he's sleeping with everything that moves." Uh-huh. She doesn't believe it. "If you like, I can give you some lessons. Knitting, I mean. I spend most of the day in bed or on my loveseat." She blushes because... well, they share some history on that particular loveseat. "And it's really quite boring," she hurries on, "and I've got knitting to do, so company would be nice. And I promise, not a drop of alcohol this time. For me anyway. You can help yourself as you like," she offers her collection. Oliwer doesn't comment on the bronzerider's promiscuity. He probably figures it's just better to move on away from him. "That would be brilliant. So long as it isn't stressful for you at all." He clears his throat at mention of the loveseat and her bed. If he's shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat, that's probably just a coincidence! "I'd love to keep you company when I can. I think I'll pass on drinking, though, too." He's smiling again, but it's a bright one now. "The girls will be around a fair bit," Tayte offers as if this should be comforting. "Well, when they're not being looked after. I'm... trying to keep them from joining the ranks of the children raised by nannies, but it isn't always easy. I'm not a very exciting mother for my one and a half turn old nor for my seven turn old." Though certainly it could be worse. "I think you've done a great job with them so far. I really do. Even if you can't be as entertaining as they'd probably like, I'm sure they like that you're at home with them a lot these days. But I'm happy to help with them, too. I love children. They've just never been a possibility for me." Not between Oliwer's job and, well, his preferences in partners. The former being somewhat more of an issue than the latter. Tayte manages not to flinch at this, in fact, she pretends she doesn't even think about the baby that might've been his. Instead, she smiles, and it becomes more real as the moments move on, "I'm sure the girls would be thrilled for the company. Yvalia is quite bright and I'm sure she'll have questions for you, what with Healer being so close to Harper. That's where she's wanting to go in a handful of turns." Or, at least it was at last report. "I like to think Tahvra is quite bright too, but it's more difficult to say with her being so young still. She does put a lot of questionable things in her mouth. But I recall that's just what they do at that age." There's a certain maternal affection in her voice. If anyone doubted before that Tayte loves being a mother, the way she speaks of her girls would go a long way in reassuring them. "I'd love to talk to her. Maybe I can talk her into thinking about Healer instead," Oliwer teases as his attention shifts back down to the knitting that he hasn't been paying that much attention to. "I might argue that putting things in her mouth is a sign of curiosity, which is a necessary component of intelligence." He's a healer. That means he knows what he's talking about. The mother has a smile for that, "You're welcome to try. Whatever makes her happy." She, at least, won't force her children into one Craft or another. The ball of yarn seems to be set to rights now. "That should make things a little easier for you." Tayte reaches over a hand to touch one of his on the needles, "Remember, not too tight. Every thread needs a little bit of room to play, but not too loose either." For a moment, it seems like that advice could mean much more, but then she's pushing up from her seat. "Come by whenever you like. I'm almost always there, but I do have a project I'm to finish by evening, so I need to get back today. You will excuse me, won't you?" But she doesn't wait for an answer, possibly because first she's going to refill her tea, and only once the steaming mug is in hand is she walking slowly back toward her room, with one more smile to be her farewell. |
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