Kaida and M'try talk about ugly hats.
RL Date: 11/6/09
IC Date: 2/22/21
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
In case anyone thought there was even a remote chance that the weather might possibly one day be nice again... M'try looks pretty well holed up in here, mud-boots in front of the hearth, socks drying on his feet, warm clothes draped haphazardly over a table to drip dry, that kinda fun stuff. Tucked into a corner of the sofa, his legs stretched to the fire, he entertains himself in the usual way-- pencil, sketchbook, absorption. From harper to candidate to weyrling, some things never change.
Does anyone even remember what nice weather looks like? At least Kaida isn't required to step foot outside unless she chooses to, her clothing comfortably dry as she wanders through the commons. The same can't be said of her hair, hanging down in damp tangles; someone's been bathing while most of the rest of the Weyr was at lunch. With a workbasket hooked over one arm and hairbrush in hand, slippered feet bring her over towards the hearth. A pause, an arched eyebrow -- wet things on the /table/? "Ma--" Stop, correct. "M'try. Mind?" With a nod at the other end of the couch. Not that it isn't like, incredibly belated but, "Congratulations, by the way."
Certainly no one in here remembers the warmer months, not judging by the sniffling and quiet complaining that takes place among the clusters of people ranged around the commons. For his part, aside from making a mess, M'try seems detached from the problem, his attention dragged upward at the shuffling steps and then catching on all that hair. "I'm sorry?" He reconciles her request only belatedly, then ahhhs and shakes his head, gesturing with the end of his pencil toward the empty expanse of sofa. "By all means. I think I've only got it to myself because people are afraid of the sight of damp socks. And thank you, by the way."
The other eyebrow joins the first, at least until he catches on to what she was asking. "Afraid of the sight, or the potential for a horrific odour?" Kaida asks, lips twitching into her reserved smile as she plunks her workbasket down onto the couch first. She follows only after her hair has been gathered over one shoulder, settling into a comfortable slouch and placing her brush in her lap. "What's his name, Moreth?" No, she really hasn't paid all that much attention, though there are undoubtedly others who could rattle off all fourteen pairs and their origins. "Nice to see that you still have time to draw."
"I haven't thought to ask," M'try admits at her first question, his toes flexing briefly while they get a contemplative look. "It seemed too much like looking a gift horse in the mouth." Once the hair's resettled, he adds an appreciative, "That's tremendous, by the way. Though I imagine you have your work cut out for you. --Mohraith, with an O-H and an A-I," and the assumption that she can figure out where those letters fit. "I don't have the time, technically, but I think they thought we might drown if they kept us out there any longer, so I think most of the others are studying."
Kaida's undoubtedly more interested in the socks than the flexing toes inside them. "It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the puddle forming under the table, I'm sure," she notes dryly, though still looking faintly amused. Tipping her head a little, her smile turns pleased and even brings a sure hint of warmth to her eyes. "Thank you. It's worth it. Mohraith," repeated presumably in the oft-practiced memory-fixing exercise, her focus on the pronunciation. As for the rest, "Unless you want me to knit him a hat, I don't think I'll ever have need of spelling it." Shoulders hunching, she makes a face. "Shells, what've they got you doing that needs to be done out in /that/ muck? Surely they aren't making you run in it? That's just dangerous."
M'try leans his head back against the edge of the couch, trying to peer over the back of it toward where his stuff's piled. He concedes her point with a shrug, ankles re-crossed so he can make sure the toe-toasting is a thorough, even process. "Calm down?" he suggests to her conclusions, a wave of his hand meant to indicate his current state of leisure-- however damp it might be. "They don't have us doing anything out in that weather at the moment, hence the reason I'm in here instead. But I appreciate the apparent indignation on my behalf. Do you knit hats?"
Calm down? Grey eyes narrow, eyebrow arches and spine straightens, the weyrling having just earned himself one of Kaida's looks. "Is everyone in this Weyr only inclined to think in terms of 'right this minute?'" Bland would be a good way to describe her monotone delivery of that question. When her shoulders lift this time, it's in a shrug. since she's sitting up now instead of slumping, she might as well get around to brushing out her hair, and so she does. With her gaze now on the flames in the hearth, "Occasionally. Mostly as items of trade out of my personal wool stock. Unless someone wants a particularly fancy pattern or design that'll make it worth my time. Most people don't want to pay Craft prices for something any old auntie can do." With a brief wave of her brush to indicate any number of just such women scattered about who fit that description, knitting, mending, needlework and whatnot all in hand.
M'try clears his throat in light of that look and finds a sudden interest in his sketchbook, resting it on the arm of the sofa and pretending it's necessary that he finish some line or curve right away, thank you. He takes the question as rhetorical, his eyes lifting from his paper only when she starts indicating the old ladies ranged around the room. "I suppose it would be a little frivolous to shill for a Weaver-knitted cap when my mother-- Harper, by the way-- could probably make one if she was so inclined. I've scavenged one, is why I ask. In a striking combination of green and orange. Where 'striking' rhymes with 'repulsive.'"
Kaida's apparent mollification just might have something to do with that reaction. At least she doesn't go far as to look smug about it? If anything she just looks kind of sleepy, actually. "It depends on what you--" Distracted, she doesn't actually get around to finishing that statement as she twists in her own attempt to peer at M'try's pile of damp clothing. Just in case the hat in question is in evidence. "Well, it would be frivilous if it were an official commission. Apprentice," and boy does she sound sour when she says that word, "work is cheapest, of course, but there's always the mark up for the Hall's cut. Or supervising Journeyman or Master, as the case may be. You know how it is." Or she assumes he does, anyway. "But a straight trade would be something else entirely."
Since it's not visible, M'try informs apologetically, "I tend to shove it in my coat pocket. For fear someone will steal it." Which is a lie, and a blatant one at that. The rest of his stuff, the blue scarf and mittens, the gray sweater, is of the homemade variety, someone with patience if no imagination. "Apprentice work," and he sounds amused in a quiet way, edging a quick look Kaida's way at her sourness, "is likely more than a weyrling can afford, anyway, so it's a moot point. Especially given my lack of bargaining chips for a straight trade." Scribble scribble pointedly.
"You never know. There might be a colour-blind hat thief lurking around the corner," Kaida notes, one side of her mouth curling upward in a crooked smile. Returning to the time-consuming task of working the tangles out of her hair, she's back to watching whatever shapes the flames choose to reveal. "So your own work suddenly lacks value because you're a weyrling and not a Harper?" With a pointed glance for his pointed scribbling. "Wool is one of the few things we /haven't/ had any troubles with, so I expect you'll be able to scavenge another hat out of stores eventually."
"Thank you. I wasn't feeling quite paranoid enough," M'try says with a pull at the edge of his mouth, flipping closed his sketchbook and setting it aside so he can shuffle off the sofa. Not that anyone would actually likely steal all his soggy stuff, but he pads around to the table to pick up his stuff, to arrange it a little more neatly over the backs of chairs, which are then pulled to where he can keep an eye on them from the sofa. "No, my pockets suddenly lack marks because I'm a weyrling and not a Harper. My work has always been of limited value. Unless you happen to be a rich holder who needs an ego boost."
For just a second, Kaida looks positively gleeful as M'try gets up to rearrange his things. It only lasts a second, and then it's only her eyes that betray her continued amusement. And her somewhat chirpy -- for her, which really isn't very -- sounding, "You're welcome." It helps that the untidy heap is now a much tidier arrangement, too. "You haven't met very many people who actually appreciate art, have you?" she guesses after a considering pause. "All things of beauty have value. Translating that into monetary value isn't always easy, but it can be done."
Oh, what a fine line the little pervert walks. "I haven't met a great many people who appreciate my particular art, no. I'm sure they're out there." Sitting back down, M'try wipes fingers dampened from handling his attire on the knees of his pants, scanning the present occupants of the room, his attention hanging briefly on a sour-pussed auntie who looks very prim with her knitting. "I'm fairly sure they're not in here, though. I confess to the occasional bout of envy with people who have easily marketed skills."
"Your particular art. Just what /do/ you draw, anyway?" Since Kaida's never actually asked and now he's piqued her curiousity. It's his own fault. "Portraits, obviously. Is your scope really that limited?" Could it possibly be gratifying that she sounds doubtful when she asks that? Setting aside her brush the Weaver fluffs her bangs with her fingers, follows that with a puff of upward-directed breath to disorder them again. "That sometimes presents its own problems." Easy marketability.
"People," M'try answers readily, one of those he's got on stand-by, yep. "And most people don't buy pictures of other people. I /can/ draw other things, I suppose, but even then, how many people really buy quaint little illustrations of sprays of flowers or... still-life images of fruit?" Grasping for some other inane image at the end there. "Does it? I would have thought it was at least gratifying, to have a skill that's in demand. Surely, winter keeps you occupied?"
Sorry M'try but, "For an artist, you really don't have much imagination, do you?" Kaida might learn to keep a lid on her judgment calls one of these days. /Might/. Her dubious look lasts a moment longer, brows drawn together and mouth hooking downward. "If all you're focusing on is faces and poses," and she strikes one for purpose of demonstration, suddenly every inch the prim and pinch-mouthed haughty lady, "or contrived scenes, then it's no wonder you don't believe your work has any intrinsic value." Finished in a more natural and relaxed posture. "Tcha!" she scoffs suddenly. "Gratifying, if people were more capable of seeing beyond the obvious. Yes, winter keeps me occupied, with copious requests for the same old basic patterns and designs."
M'try's only answer to the accusation is a mild, arcane smile, no telling what thoughts go on behind his eyes while that expression's maintained. "I never said my work lacked intrinsic value, Kaida. On the contrary," tattooed on his forehead, "its intrinsic value is perhaps the only value it has. The question of it's /monetary/ value outside the scope of a narrow scope of patrons..." That's where he's wobbling his hand dubiously. "I fear that, when we try to branch out from the same-old, as you put it, we wind up with orange-and-green knitted caps. What would you have us uneducated masses do?"
Kaida's gone from doubtful to outright skepticism. Of course, lacking all pieces of this puzzle as she is, that might be expected. She also gives up, lifting her hands to rub the pads of fore- and middle fingers against her temples. "I could actually show you some combinations of certain shades of orange and green that aren't repulsive at all." Just to be contrary. "Uneducated masses. Honestly." Swiping her hands back over her head, she untangles her fingers from her hair and takes a moment to squint at him, before turning her attention to collecting her current project -- something with scalloped edges and three shades of green leading into cream -- out of her basket. "What I would /like/ to see, for my part, are more people who are confident enough to actually make a decision based on their own stylistic preferences. The number of times I hear 'well, what do /you/ think' or 'everyone else seems to be wearing this.'"
M'try glances down the length of his own person, makes a point of fidgeting with the cuff of his bland-colored sleeve, with the hem of his bland-colored shirt, and then finally lifts a look back across to Kaida with a questioning twitch of his brows. "Perhaps it's just their way of admitting their shortcomings? We're not all competent at dressing ourselves beyond the barest of necessities. Which is why we rely on those with taste--" His hand opens to indicate the Weaver, convenient example. "--to make us look better. Though, in my defense, I'm not actually sure what everyone else seems to be wearing most of the time. Not green and orange, I'm confident."
Since he's calling attention to it, Kaida gives his attire a thorough visual assessment. It's the type of look that frequently either makes men preen like popinjays, or squirm like bugs caught under a cat's paw. New reactions are always fun. "No. I think green and orange might be slated for next turn." Deadpan. "There's a difference in the way someone who truly seeks fashion advice asks, and the way someone who simply wants you to make the decision for them does. It's the latter variety that should just stick with the barest of necessities, easily provided by the plethora of skilled but untrained women--" Because lets face it, sewing and knitting are mostly viewed as women's tasks. "--employed by Weyrs and Holds as seamstresses. If one isn't seeking something at least marginally exceptional, why waste the marks?"
M'try doesn't exactly squirm, but he doesn't look like he's enjoying the survey. What's good for the goose evidently is not so good for the gander. He winds up crossing his arms and re-crossing his ankles, like that somehow makes her gaze less penetrating, all the while wearing a "yes?" expression. Not that he ever actually says "yes?" to her. "Vanity," he answers her musing with utter confidence, certainly not the retreating worry that had him fidget under her stare. "I had this commissioned by a the Weaver Kaida," with importance. "It sounds far better than, 'I scavenged it outta stores,'" with sheepishness.
Kaida's twice-over finished at his face, and yes that's a smirk on her lips. And he might not actually say the single word question, but she decides to answer that expression anyway. "Adequate. For working clothes." She tilts her head, lifts one shoulder into a shrug. "True enough. It's a silly reason though, you have to admit. I'd be more inclined to take pride in the patience and ingenuity of 'scavenging' than in getting something brand new, myself. Take your hat for instance. You went in looking for a hat, so that's all you looked for. You could have just as easily found yourself a knitted child's sweater in a colour or combination more appealing to you, sweet-talked an auntie into unravelling it and reknitting it into a hat you could actually not mind being seen wearing. Without even spending a single thirty-second."
"Will you think less of me to admit that it's not working clothes, it's everyday attire?" M'try really could've just let that one go, but foolish honesty. There's more, especially judging by the way he tilts his eyes upward at her talk about unraveling and reknitting, and his mouth opens like he'll comment. And then-- "You really haven't lived until you've had a voice booming about his awakeness in your head, trust me." Up, feet in boots, all that half-dry gear piled back on, he wastes little time in departing to silence that mental thunder, adding only a hurried, "If you hear of a weyrling rummaging through children's sweaters for no apparent reason, at least you'll know why, Kaida." Off he dashes.
At least Kaida takes him completely at his word, giving a hurried nod though her expression turns vaguely dismayed at 'you really haven't lived.' Yes she has, thank you. Rather than trying to add in any more remarks, she flaps a hand at him and calls out a "Don't slip and break anything!" Since 'clear skies' is kind of a cruel joke right about now. She and her knitting keep the comfy seat, huzzah!
IC Date: 2/22/21
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
In case anyone thought there was even a remote chance that the weather might possibly one day be nice again... M'try looks pretty well holed up in here, mud-boots in front of the hearth, socks drying on his feet, warm clothes draped haphazardly over a table to drip dry, that kinda fun stuff. Tucked into a corner of the sofa, his legs stretched to the fire, he entertains himself in the usual way-- pencil, sketchbook, absorption. From harper to candidate to weyrling, some things never change.
Does anyone even remember what nice weather looks like? At least Kaida isn't required to step foot outside unless she chooses to, her clothing comfortably dry as she wanders through the commons. The same can't be said of her hair, hanging down in damp tangles; someone's been bathing while most of the rest of the Weyr was at lunch. With a workbasket hooked over one arm and hairbrush in hand, slippered feet bring her over towards the hearth. A pause, an arched eyebrow -- wet things on the /table/? "Ma--" Stop, correct. "M'try. Mind?" With a nod at the other end of the couch. Not that it isn't like, incredibly belated but, "Congratulations, by the way."
Certainly no one in here remembers the warmer months, not judging by the sniffling and quiet complaining that takes place among the clusters of people ranged around the commons. For his part, aside from making a mess, M'try seems detached from the problem, his attention dragged upward at the shuffling steps and then catching on all that hair. "I'm sorry?" He reconciles her request only belatedly, then ahhhs and shakes his head, gesturing with the end of his pencil toward the empty expanse of sofa. "By all means. I think I've only got it to myself because people are afraid of the sight of damp socks. And thank you, by the way."
The other eyebrow joins the first, at least until he catches on to what she was asking. "Afraid of the sight, or the potential for a horrific odour?" Kaida asks, lips twitching into her reserved smile as she plunks her workbasket down onto the couch first. She follows only after her hair has been gathered over one shoulder, settling into a comfortable slouch and placing her brush in her lap. "What's his name, Moreth?" No, she really hasn't paid all that much attention, though there are undoubtedly others who could rattle off all fourteen pairs and their origins. "Nice to see that you still have time to draw."
"I haven't thought to ask," M'try admits at her first question, his toes flexing briefly while they get a contemplative look. "It seemed too much like looking a gift horse in the mouth." Once the hair's resettled, he adds an appreciative, "That's tremendous, by the way. Though I imagine you have your work cut out for you. --Mohraith, with an O-H and an A-I," and the assumption that she can figure out where those letters fit. "I don't have the time, technically, but I think they thought we might drown if they kept us out there any longer, so I think most of the others are studying."
Kaida's undoubtedly more interested in the socks than the flexing toes inside them. "It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the puddle forming under the table, I'm sure," she notes dryly, though still looking faintly amused. Tipping her head a little, her smile turns pleased and even brings a sure hint of warmth to her eyes. "Thank you. It's worth it. Mohraith," repeated presumably in the oft-practiced memory-fixing exercise, her focus on the pronunciation. As for the rest, "Unless you want me to knit him a hat, I don't think I'll ever have need of spelling it." Shoulders hunching, she makes a face. "Shells, what've they got you doing that needs to be done out in /that/ muck? Surely they aren't making you run in it? That's just dangerous."
M'try leans his head back against the edge of the couch, trying to peer over the back of it toward where his stuff's piled. He concedes her point with a shrug, ankles re-crossed so he can make sure the toe-toasting is a thorough, even process. "Calm down?" he suggests to her conclusions, a wave of his hand meant to indicate his current state of leisure-- however damp it might be. "They don't have us doing anything out in that weather at the moment, hence the reason I'm in here instead. But I appreciate the apparent indignation on my behalf. Do you knit hats?"
Calm down? Grey eyes narrow, eyebrow arches and spine straightens, the weyrling having just earned himself one of Kaida's looks. "Is everyone in this Weyr only inclined to think in terms of 'right this minute?'" Bland would be a good way to describe her monotone delivery of that question. When her shoulders lift this time, it's in a shrug. since she's sitting up now instead of slumping, she might as well get around to brushing out her hair, and so she does. With her gaze now on the flames in the hearth, "Occasionally. Mostly as items of trade out of my personal wool stock. Unless someone wants a particularly fancy pattern or design that'll make it worth my time. Most people don't want to pay Craft prices for something any old auntie can do." With a brief wave of her brush to indicate any number of just such women scattered about who fit that description, knitting, mending, needlework and whatnot all in hand.
M'try clears his throat in light of that look and finds a sudden interest in his sketchbook, resting it on the arm of the sofa and pretending it's necessary that he finish some line or curve right away, thank you. He takes the question as rhetorical, his eyes lifting from his paper only when she starts indicating the old ladies ranged around the room. "I suppose it would be a little frivolous to shill for a Weaver-knitted cap when my mother-- Harper, by the way-- could probably make one if she was so inclined. I've scavenged one, is why I ask. In a striking combination of green and orange. Where 'striking' rhymes with 'repulsive.'"
Kaida's apparent mollification just might have something to do with that reaction. At least she doesn't go far as to look smug about it? If anything she just looks kind of sleepy, actually. "It depends on what you--" Distracted, she doesn't actually get around to finishing that statement as she twists in her own attempt to peer at M'try's pile of damp clothing. Just in case the hat in question is in evidence. "Well, it would be frivilous if it were an official commission. Apprentice," and boy does she sound sour when she says that word, "work is cheapest, of course, but there's always the mark up for the Hall's cut. Or supervising Journeyman or Master, as the case may be. You know how it is." Or she assumes he does, anyway. "But a straight trade would be something else entirely."
Since it's not visible, M'try informs apologetically, "I tend to shove it in my coat pocket. For fear someone will steal it." Which is a lie, and a blatant one at that. The rest of his stuff, the blue scarf and mittens, the gray sweater, is of the homemade variety, someone with patience if no imagination. "Apprentice work," and he sounds amused in a quiet way, edging a quick look Kaida's way at her sourness, "is likely more than a weyrling can afford, anyway, so it's a moot point. Especially given my lack of bargaining chips for a straight trade." Scribble scribble pointedly.
"You never know. There might be a colour-blind hat thief lurking around the corner," Kaida notes, one side of her mouth curling upward in a crooked smile. Returning to the time-consuming task of working the tangles out of her hair, she's back to watching whatever shapes the flames choose to reveal. "So your own work suddenly lacks value because you're a weyrling and not a Harper?" With a pointed glance for his pointed scribbling. "Wool is one of the few things we /haven't/ had any troubles with, so I expect you'll be able to scavenge another hat out of stores eventually."
"Thank you. I wasn't feeling quite paranoid enough," M'try says with a pull at the edge of his mouth, flipping closed his sketchbook and setting it aside so he can shuffle off the sofa. Not that anyone would actually likely steal all his soggy stuff, but he pads around to the table to pick up his stuff, to arrange it a little more neatly over the backs of chairs, which are then pulled to where he can keep an eye on them from the sofa. "No, my pockets suddenly lack marks because I'm a weyrling and not a Harper. My work has always been of limited value. Unless you happen to be a rich holder who needs an ego boost."
For just a second, Kaida looks positively gleeful as M'try gets up to rearrange his things. It only lasts a second, and then it's only her eyes that betray her continued amusement. And her somewhat chirpy -- for her, which really isn't very -- sounding, "You're welcome." It helps that the untidy heap is now a much tidier arrangement, too. "You haven't met very many people who actually appreciate art, have you?" she guesses after a considering pause. "All things of beauty have value. Translating that into monetary value isn't always easy, but it can be done."
Oh, what a fine line the little pervert walks. "I haven't met a great many people who appreciate my particular art, no. I'm sure they're out there." Sitting back down, M'try wipes fingers dampened from handling his attire on the knees of his pants, scanning the present occupants of the room, his attention hanging briefly on a sour-pussed auntie who looks very prim with her knitting. "I'm fairly sure they're not in here, though. I confess to the occasional bout of envy with people who have easily marketed skills."
"Your particular art. Just what /do/ you draw, anyway?" Since Kaida's never actually asked and now he's piqued her curiousity. It's his own fault. "Portraits, obviously. Is your scope really that limited?" Could it possibly be gratifying that she sounds doubtful when she asks that? Setting aside her brush the Weaver fluffs her bangs with her fingers, follows that with a puff of upward-directed breath to disorder them again. "That sometimes presents its own problems." Easy marketability.
"People," M'try answers readily, one of those he's got on stand-by, yep. "And most people don't buy pictures of other people. I /can/ draw other things, I suppose, but even then, how many people really buy quaint little illustrations of sprays of flowers or... still-life images of fruit?" Grasping for some other inane image at the end there. "Does it? I would have thought it was at least gratifying, to have a skill that's in demand. Surely, winter keeps you occupied?"
Sorry M'try but, "For an artist, you really don't have much imagination, do you?" Kaida might learn to keep a lid on her judgment calls one of these days. /Might/. Her dubious look lasts a moment longer, brows drawn together and mouth hooking downward. "If all you're focusing on is faces and poses," and she strikes one for purpose of demonstration, suddenly every inch the prim and pinch-mouthed haughty lady, "or contrived scenes, then it's no wonder you don't believe your work has any intrinsic value." Finished in a more natural and relaxed posture. "Tcha!" she scoffs suddenly. "Gratifying, if people were more capable of seeing beyond the obvious. Yes, winter keeps me occupied, with copious requests for the same old basic patterns and designs."
M'try's only answer to the accusation is a mild, arcane smile, no telling what thoughts go on behind his eyes while that expression's maintained. "I never said my work lacked intrinsic value, Kaida. On the contrary," tattooed on his forehead, "its intrinsic value is perhaps the only value it has. The question of it's /monetary/ value outside the scope of a narrow scope of patrons..." That's where he's wobbling his hand dubiously. "I fear that, when we try to branch out from the same-old, as you put it, we wind up with orange-and-green knitted caps. What would you have us uneducated masses do?"
Kaida's gone from doubtful to outright skepticism. Of course, lacking all pieces of this puzzle as she is, that might be expected. She also gives up, lifting her hands to rub the pads of fore- and middle fingers against her temples. "I could actually show you some combinations of certain shades of orange and green that aren't repulsive at all." Just to be contrary. "Uneducated masses. Honestly." Swiping her hands back over her head, she untangles her fingers from her hair and takes a moment to squint at him, before turning her attention to collecting her current project -- something with scalloped edges and three shades of green leading into cream -- out of her basket. "What I would /like/ to see, for my part, are more people who are confident enough to actually make a decision based on their own stylistic preferences. The number of times I hear 'well, what do /you/ think' or 'everyone else seems to be wearing this.'"
M'try glances down the length of his own person, makes a point of fidgeting with the cuff of his bland-colored sleeve, with the hem of his bland-colored shirt, and then finally lifts a look back across to Kaida with a questioning twitch of his brows. "Perhaps it's just their way of admitting their shortcomings? We're not all competent at dressing ourselves beyond the barest of necessities. Which is why we rely on those with taste--" His hand opens to indicate the Weaver, convenient example. "--to make us look better. Though, in my defense, I'm not actually sure what everyone else seems to be wearing most of the time. Not green and orange, I'm confident."
Since he's calling attention to it, Kaida gives his attire a thorough visual assessment. It's the type of look that frequently either makes men preen like popinjays, or squirm like bugs caught under a cat's paw. New reactions are always fun. "No. I think green and orange might be slated for next turn." Deadpan. "There's a difference in the way someone who truly seeks fashion advice asks, and the way someone who simply wants you to make the decision for them does. It's the latter variety that should just stick with the barest of necessities, easily provided by the plethora of skilled but untrained women--" Because lets face it, sewing and knitting are mostly viewed as women's tasks. "--employed by Weyrs and Holds as seamstresses. If one isn't seeking something at least marginally exceptional, why waste the marks?"
M'try doesn't exactly squirm, but he doesn't look like he's enjoying the survey. What's good for the goose evidently is not so good for the gander. He winds up crossing his arms and re-crossing his ankles, like that somehow makes her gaze less penetrating, all the while wearing a "yes?" expression. Not that he ever actually says "yes?" to her. "Vanity," he answers her musing with utter confidence, certainly not the retreating worry that had him fidget under her stare. "I had this commissioned by a the Weaver Kaida," with importance. "It sounds far better than, 'I scavenged it outta stores,'" with sheepishness.
Kaida's twice-over finished at his face, and yes that's a smirk on her lips. And he might not actually say the single word question, but she decides to answer that expression anyway. "Adequate. For working clothes." She tilts her head, lifts one shoulder into a shrug. "True enough. It's a silly reason though, you have to admit. I'd be more inclined to take pride in the patience and ingenuity of 'scavenging' than in getting something brand new, myself. Take your hat for instance. You went in looking for a hat, so that's all you looked for. You could have just as easily found yourself a knitted child's sweater in a colour or combination more appealing to you, sweet-talked an auntie into unravelling it and reknitting it into a hat you could actually not mind being seen wearing. Without even spending a single thirty-second."
"Will you think less of me to admit that it's not working clothes, it's everyday attire?" M'try really could've just let that one go, but foolish honesty. There's more, especially judging by the way he tilts his eyes upward at her talk about unraveling and reknitting, and his mouth opens like he'll comment. And then-- "You really haven't lived until you've had a voice booming about his awakeness in your head, trust me." Up, feet in boots, all that half-dry gear piled back on, he wastes little time in departing to silence that mental thunder, adding only a hurried, "If you hear of a weyrling rummaging through children's sweaters for no apparent reason, at least you'll know why, Kaida." Off he dashes.
At least Kaida takes him completely at his word, giving a hurried nod though her expression turns vaguely dismayed at 'you really haven't lived.' Yes she has, thank you. Rather than trying to add in any more remarks, she flaps a hand at him and calls out a "Don't slip and break anything!" Since 'clear skies' is kind of a cruel joke right about now. She and her knitting keep the comfy seat, huzzah!