Welcome aboard, Eila.
RL Date: 6/21/08
IC Date: 10/31/16
Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#868RIJLs)
This small cavern has the crisp smells of a recent cleaning, mingled with its more usual smells of klah, woodsmoke, and people. Baskets of glows are scattered about the room, lighting up dark corners and generally providing a cozy atmosphere. Several chairs sit at a large, round table, and more chairs are against the walls, waiting for use. A large, soft fur is spread out in front of a small stone hearth which keeps the cavern warm for its occupants.
The quiet part of the evening, the Weyr winding down from its day of labor and bickering and threatening and such. There's almost no one in the common room, a rare thing, but the fire burns cheerfully and there's a basket of fruit on a table near the arm chairs, and the only person in the room looks to have availed himself of its hospitality. Seated before the fire, his boots splashed with mud and set to dry, N'thei stretches his socked feet toward the flames and stares-- not at the fire, but at the brandy bottle in the middle of the table before him. If force of will could really affect the inanimate, this bottle would be ripe for an explosion.
The humming precedes her, the small form that slips into the room, and though tuneless, it's cheerful enough. First visible, a bundle of hides, and underneath, long fingers tightened around the furs, and then, finally, Eila. She's about to cross through the room, empty but for an unfamiliar figure by the hearth, but plans are foiled by a child's toy - casually left behind to trip up her foot, her leg, and send the whole lot tumbling forward with a dismayed gasp from the girl.
There's no such thing as a quiet note alone around here. N'thei kens to the sound, starts right up out of his reverie and pitches forward in the seat, the better to swing around and look for the source. He turns just in time to see Eila tumble, and he watches the fiasco with a calm tilt of his head, a slow raise of his eyebrows. Then-- applause. Slow, steady, clap, clap, clap.
Eila quickly scurries to collect the furs, but the clapping draws her attention away from folding them neatly against each other, and, from her awkward, undignified kneeling on the floor, she manages a rather impressive glare. "You could, of course, help gather a few of these-" a flicker towards his knot, then, begrudgingly, though not without a hint of respect, "-sir."
"Could." That's a given. N'thei's tone accept that as a given. So does the droll smile. "Would involve getting up though, and I'm afraid someone will come along and steal my seat while I'm not looking." Because there's soooo many people in here tonight. His smile is too-bright, too-helpful; "You could, of course, watch where you're going."
"Mm-hmm," she's still bent, gathering her spilled wares, so perhaps the man doesn't see the irritated grimace, the tight set to her lips. But as she straightens, it's still quite visible. So perhaps he does. "And can you see through an armload of firestone, dragonrider? You're staring at the flagstone when you walk?" The rugs are stacked neatly, now, but still on the floor, and her hands are free to ball into fists as she places them on her hips.
Eyes cast briefly toward the ceiling, an expression of thoughtfulness quirking his eyebrow upward, N'thei begins with a cautious tone; "Have a feeling you're trying to make a point." Lowered, his attention rests momentarily on the stack of rugs, then on the rather slight girl trying to carry them off. "Not sure what it is though. Sure it's a good one."
Oblique frustration, now, flickering across her features, and Eila's folding herself to collect up her armload again, if only for something to do with herself. "Yes. And it would be, if... if..." What is the point she's trying to make, anyway? Her mouth purses rather unattractively as she takes a few deep, slow breaths. Then: "Are you always quite so aggravating, sir?"
Honestly, with gravity! "Yes." N'thei casts about in his memory for a few seconds, eyes slanted off to one side while he scans then returned to Eila with another helpful smile. "Almost always. Where are you taking those, anyway." His interest must be minimal, for he's no sooner asked than he turns back to face the fire, to restretch his half-damp socks toward the warmth. "And why."
"Ah." Just a word, then, and she's dismissed, free to go? Seems not, and Eila takes the opportunity of his turned back to stick out her tongue and pull a face at the back of his head. And then, light, blithely as she turns as though to leave, "If you must know, I'm theiving them from your storerooms. Caravan's got to turn a profit at the Weyr, you know, and might as well take what we need than trade or even pay good marks for it."
With the same gravity, this time with renewed interest; "Perhaps you haven't been warned that the weyrleader does not have a sense of humor." Not that N'thei can be assed to get out of his chair and make more than a threatening voice. His toes do look very happy being toasted. "What's your name, girl." The way he puts inquiries, the question-mark really does not apply.
There's the reply, on the tip of her tongue, ready to flit carelessly across the room, but something stills them. There's a long moment of silence, as the girl chews thoughtfully on her lower lip, then finally - lowering the hides to the floor again, though less haphazardly this time - she replies, slowly, "Eila, sir." And there's not a trace of anything but the most genuine deference in the words.
"Eila." N'thei files that away, no longer looking anywhere near the girl. He's back to his previous occupation, that of watching the unopened bottle with unwavering visual fixation. "And what do you do here, Eila." Pause, pulse of flame in the hearth as a lump of coal dislodges and tumbles deeper into the embers. "Beside fall on your face and make clever quips."
"My caravan's in for the sevenday, but it's leaving shortly, sir. I'm staying behind - Headwoman willing - but for now I've been doing a bit of trade, bit of chores, bit of - falling on my face, sir." It all spills out in a rush of sound, tumbling over each other in the hurry to string into a coherent sentence. She's reddening, now, and her hands have clasped to her front, eyes downcast. Not that he's even looking at her. Not that he's even standing, or even... but for those words, oh, those cool words!
Observation: "You say 'sir' too much." N'thei tosses that out there, not even a suggestion, just a point of fact. "What will you do if you stay?" There! A real question, the upturn of his voice at the end to punctuate it appropriately.
"Better safe than sorry, s-" But it's broken off. Observation taken. Eila's silent for another moment, still gnawing at her lip, still picking at her nails, but slate eyes lift to look evenly at the back of the weyrleader's head. "I've spoken to Milani, she says I might do what I could around the Weyr until I settle into a proper duty. Crecheworker. S-server, maybe. I don't know." This last is an awkward admission, hanging most gracelessly in the air after she's spoken it.
"So." N'thei can be heard putting things together in his mind, drawing conclusions. "You don't really have anything to offer, but you want us to put you up. Hmn." That's when he decides to stand up, a slow process after as long as he's been sitting there. Boots are first, mud to be flaked off with a swat of his hand. "Well. Welcome. Suppose."
Eila bends to begin collecting her furs, again, clutching them to her chest. "Um," this thought is turned over and over, accompanied by a few shuffling steps backward. "Yes, I think that's about right. Sir." It's slipped out before she can stop it, though it's more defiant than its priors. "I have as much right to be here as any of the other-" What? Dragonriders? Certainly not. Lower Caverns workers? Perhaps. "- Either way, thank you. Suppose."
N'thei turns a look right at that pause. Any other what? His quick, eager smile, the new brightness in his eyes asks, challenges her to fill in that blank. But she doesn't, and he steps into his boots, bends to lace them up with amused disappointment. "Watch your step. General advice. Not..." He looks around the floor for the toy that fouled her up in t he first place, slips the bottle in his coat pocket.
A hefting of her armload, higher, and she's missed that brief flash of interest, though when she levels her gaze over the hides she meets the daring expression with her own nonchalant smile, though her feet scuff at the floor and finally she glance down, away. "Excellent advice, Weyrleader. Be sure I will. And for your information," and she chins the topmost fur, "I'm bringing them to the children's wing. Chilly night, tonight." And with that, she turns on her heel.
Approving, N'thei buttons up his coat, but stays back, presumably to let Eila have her departure without interference. "Good. Be a shame if all those little. Kids. Froze to death." Kids not being the word-of-choice, he halts a little to put it out there. "Night." Smile.
The last word is echoed back to N'thei, drifting over her shoulder as Eila pads out the doorway. "'Night, sir."
Eila disappears down the tunnel leading to the children's cavern as it curves out of sight.
Eila has left.
IC Date: 10/31/16
Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#868RIJLs)
This small cavern has the crisp smells of a recent cleaning, mingled with its more usual smells of klah, woodsmoke, and people. Baskets of glows are scattered about the room, lighting up dark corners and generally providing a cozy atmosphere. Several chairs sit at a large, round table, and more chairs are against the walls, waiting for use. A large, soft fur is spread out in front of a small stone hearth which keeps the cavern warm for its occupants.
The quiet part of the evening, the Weyr winding down from its day of labor and bickering and threatening and such. There's almost no one in the common room, a rare thing, but the fire burns cheerfully and there's a basket of fruit on a table near the arm chairs, and the only person in the room looks to have availed himself of its hospitality. Seated before the fire, his boots splashed with mud and set to dry, N'thei stretches his socked feet toward the flames and stares-- not at the fire, but at the brandy bottle in the middle of the table before him. If force of will could really affect the inanimate, this bottle would be ripe for an explosion.
The humming precedes her, the small form that slips into the room, and though tuneless, it's cheerful enough. First visible, a bundle of hides, and underneath, long fingers tightened around the furs, and then, finally, Eila. She's about to cross through the room, empty but for an unfamiliar figure by the hearth, but plans are foiled by a child's toy - casually left behind to trip up her foot, her leg, and send the whole lot tumbling forward with a dismayed gasp from the girl.
There's no such thing as a quiet note alone around here. N'thei kens to the sound, starts right up out of his reverie and pitches forward in the seat, the better to swing around and look for the source. He turns just in time to see Eila tumble, and he watches the fiasco with a calm tilt of his head, a slow raise of his eyebrows. Then-- applause. Slow, steady, clap, clap, clap.
Eila quickly scurries to collect the furs, but the clapping draws her attention away from folding them neatly against each other, and, from her awkward, undignified kneeling on the floor, she manages a rather impressive glare. "You could, of course, help gather a few of these-" a flicker towards his knot, then, begrudgingly, though not without a hint of respect, "-sir."
"Could." That's a given. N'thei's tone accept that as a given. So does the droll smile. "Would involve getting up though, and I'm afraid someone will come along and steal my seat while I'm not looking." Because there's soooo many people in here tonight. His smile is too-bright, too-helpful; "You could, of course, watch where you're going."
"Mm-hmm," she's still bent, gathering her spilled wares, so perhaps the man doesn't see the irritated grimace, the tight set to her lips. But as she straightens, it's still quite visible. So perhaps he does. "And can you see through an armload of firestone, dragonrider? You're staring at the flagstone when you walk?" The rugs are stacked neatly, now, but still on the floor, and her hands are free to ball into fists as she places them on her hips.
Eyes cast briefly toward the ceiling, an expression of thoughtfulness quirking his eyebrow upward, N'thei begins with a cautious tone; "Have a feeling you're trying to make a point." Lowered, his attention rests momentarily on the stack of rugs, then on the rather slight girl trying to carry them off. "Not sure what it is though. Sure it's a good one."
Oblique frustration, now, flickering across her features, and Eila's folding herself to collect up her armload again, if only for something to do with herself. "Yes. And it would be, if... if..." What is the point she's trying to make, anyway? Her mouth purses rather unattractively as she takes a few deep, slow breaths. Then: "Are you always quite so aggravating, sir?"
Honestly, with gravity! "Yes." N'thei casts about in his memory for a few seconds, eyes slanted off to one side while he scans then returned to Eila with another helpful smile. "Almost always. Where are you taking those, anyway." His interest must be minimal, for he's no sooner asked than he turns back to face the fire, to restretch his half-damp socks toward the warmth. "And why."
"Ah." Just a word, then, and she's dismissed, free to go? Seems not, and Eila takes the opportunity of his turned back to stick out her tongue and pull a face at the back of his head. And then, light, blithely as she turns as though to leave, "If you must know, I'm theiving them from your storerooms. Caravan's got to turn a profit at the Weyr, you know, and might as well take what we need than trade or even pay good marks for it."
With the same gravity, this time with renewed interest; "Perhaps you haven't been warned that the weyrleader does not have a sense of humor." Not that N'thei can be assed to get out of his chair and make more than a threatening voice. His toes do look very happy being toasted. "What's your name, girl." The way he puts inquiries, the question-mark really does not apply.
There's the reply, on the tip of her tongue, ready to flit carelessly across the room, but something stills them. There's a long moment of silence, as the girl chews thoughtfully on her lower lip, then finally - lowering the hides to the floor again, though less haphazardly this time - she replies, slowly, "Eila, sir." And there's not a trace of anything but the most genuine deference in the words.
"Eila." N'thei files that away, no longer looking anywhere near the girl. He's back to his previous occupation, that of watching the unopened bottle with unwavering visual fixation. "And what do you do here, Eila." Pause, pulse of flame in the hearth as a lump of coal dislodges and tumbles deeper into the embers. "Beside fall on your face and make clever quips."
"My caravan's in for the sevenday, but it's leaving shortly, sir. I'm staying behind - Headwoman willing - but for now I've been doing a bit of trade, bit of chores, bit of - falling on my face, sir." It all spills out in a rush of sound, tumbling over each other in the hurry to string into a coherent sentence. She's reddening, now, and her hands have clasped to her front, eyes downcast. Not that he's even looking at her. Not that he's even standing, or even... but for those words, oh, those cool words!
Observation: "You say 'sir' too much." N'thei tosses that out there, not even a suggestion, just a point of fact. "What will you do if you stay?" There! A real question, the upturn of his voice at the end to punctuate it appropriately.
"Better safe than sorry, s-" But it's broken off. Observation taken. Eila's silent for another moment, still gnawing at her lip, still picking at her nails, but slate eyes lift to look evenly at the back of the weyrleader's head. "I've spoken to Milani, she says I might do what I could around the Weyr until I settle into a proper duty. Crecheworker. S-server, maybe. I don't know." This last is an awkward admission, hanging most gracelessly in the air after she's spoken it.
"So." N'thei can be heard putting things together in his mind, drawing conclusions. "You don't really have anything to offer, but you want us to put you up. Hmn." That's when he decides to stand up, a slow process after as long as he's been sitting there. Boots are first, mud to be flaked off with a swat of his hand. "Well. Welcome. Suppose."
Eila bends to begin collecting her furs, again, clutching them to her chest. "Um," this thought is turned over and over, accompanied by a few shuffling steps backward. "Yes, I think that's about right. Sir." It's slipped out before she can stop it, though it's more defiant than its priors. "I have as much right to be here as any of the other-" What? Dragonriders? Certainly not. Lower Caverns workers? Perhaps. "- Either way, thank you. Suppose."
N'thei turns a look right at that pause. Any other what? His quick, eager smile, the new brightness in his eyes asks, challenges her to fill in that blank. But she doesn't, and he steps into his boots, bends to lace them up with amused disappointment. "Watch your step. General advice. Not..." He looks around the floor for the toy that fouled her up in t he first place, slips the bottle in his coat pocket.
A hefting of her armload, higher, and she's missed that brief flash of interest, though when she levels her gaze over the hides she meets the daring expression with her own nonchalant smile, though her feet scuff at the floor and finally she glance down, away. "Excellent advice, Weyrleader. Be sure I will. And for your information," and she chins the topmost fur, "I'm bringing them to the children's wing. Chilly night, tonight." And with that, she turns on her heel.
Approving, N'thei buttons up his coat, but stays back, presumably to let Eila have her departure without interference. "Good. Be a shame if all those little. Kids. Froze to death." Kids not being the word-of-choice, he halts a little to put it out there. "Night." Smile.
The last word is echoed back to N'thei, drifting over her shoulder as Eila pads out the doorway. "'Night, sir."
Eila disappears down the tunnel leading to the children's cavern as it curves out of sight.
Eila has left.