Nap time!
RL Date: 4/22/09
IC Date: 7/16/19
Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#378RJs)
Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.
Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.
Aleczir has fallen asleep. Which is a very strange thing for him to do anywhere, let alone here. But, in a chair he's gotten very familiar with at a table he's gotten rather attached to with the papers he's awfully possessive of, he's zonked out with his face buried in his folded arms. No telling how long he's been there; not long enough for some kind-hearted auntie to wake him, but not briefly enough that he hasn't started snoring.
Snick. That would be the sound of the headwoman's office door closing. Tired footsteps start away from the door, pause. Change direction and quietly, Milani settles down in the next chair over, watching Alex sleep. Her hands lace across her middle and she just sits there for a little bit, waiting to see if being stared at in his sleep might wake him.
It might. Or maybe fifteen minutes... a half hour... however long is all he gets anyway. He sure sits bolt upright without any warning or audible provocation, his head snapped back and his breath caught abruptly. Looking left, looking right, looking-- "How long?" Since she's sitting there watching, Alex apparently believes Milani can give him some sort of temporal reference point.
Milani picks up her watch from her belt, turns the face. "Twenty minutes," the headwoman replies quite seriously. She hasn't been laughing and teasing quite so much lately. "Do you need help getting your things home, Alex?"
Aleczir looks wide awake. Whether or not he is. "Twenty--" One eye twitches, fitting twenty minutes into whatever long-winded scheme of numbers account for his sleeping habits, and then he's able to smile pretty easily; "No. Inertia alone should get me at least that far." He nods, the door with the impenetrable number of locks. "Do you need help?"
"You were already asleep when I came out of my office and that was twenty minutes ago." Milani leans in a little. "You were snoring already. If that means anything." Confidential. "Not tonight, thanks. Just heading up to bed myself in a little bit. But I thought I'd help keep watch over your stuff while you were sleeping."
"So we'll say-- twenty-five. It's like, ah, lidding a glowbasket?" Alex shakes his head, not quite the metaphor he would have liked, but metaphors never liked him much in return. "Most... people... aren't so interested in my stuff. But I appreciate the gesture. Next time you abruptly lose consciousness, I'll return the favor?" Pencil, pencil, pencil, where? Under here? Next to...? Ah, behind ear. Of course.
"All of a sudden. Like when the sun just /drops/ behind the rim and the bowl goes dark," Milani tries another metaphor. "Thanks. It wouldn't do for the work orders to go missing," she agrees and smiles faintly for the pencil search. "Other than falling asleep at random. How're you doing?"
Oh god. "Well, no. Because the sun actually-- the planet moves at a constant rate, so even though the sun looks like it's dropping, really it's more that the-- I just eventually have to fall asleep." There, that's what Alex was trying to say. "I'm busy." He doesn't mean that to sound exactly the way it does-- he's busy, go away-- more in response to her question, but the way his eyes drop to the work don't help with his /intent/ versus the appearance. "You don't seem the same."
"I know. But it doesn't stop it from seeming like it just drops," Milani points out. "And ... doesn't everyone?" Her smile is faint, more wry than anything else and she nods once. "All the papers. The pencil. You do seem it," she agrees. His statement though, she just takes a breath, lets it out. Then all at once: "It's not something I really want to talk about. Let's just say it's been a really rotten month."
Aleczir's expression apologizes for Milani's bad month, sorrowful eyes and all, and he leans his arm far across the table, over the papers and all, to offer up his pencil in between his thumb and his forefinger. It's not a very good pencil, having been chewed, stuck behind his ear, used to scratch his forehead, and even-- occasionally-- put to the task of writing, but he seems to think it might make her feel better?
What can a girl like Milani do, but reach out and take it with another little smile. "Thanks, Alex," she says quite seriously and fidgets with the pencil a little, then leans forward, with a little scrap of paper pulled from her pocket to draw ... of all things, a little flower. With a smilie face. "At least there'll be candidates and tithes soon. That'll keep everyone busy, right?"
"Can I have some of them?" Candidates? Tithes? Smiley-faced flowers? "I have this... project?" Alex's fingers dance over the papers. "And I could use people to lift things, hammer things, carry things. I heard that's what candidates do?"
"If you really need the hands, tell me what you need. Make a list. And as they come in, I can give them special projects," Milani agrees about providing him with free slave labor.
Pencil, pencil, pencil, where? Under-- ohwait. Alex makes himself lace his fingers, makes himself stop trying to write down his list right now, makes himself smile lightly across at Milani like he's not trying to accomplish 10,000 things right this second. "I will. Make a list. Soon. Thank you. I have to go."
Milani starts to hold the pencil out to him. But then: he has to go. She nods once. "I'll remind you," the headwoman says in a quiet voice and pushes to her feet. "Try to sleep in your bed, okay?" Her hand reaches to his shoulder for a moment, then she's moving on. Not towards her own room but out into the caverns. Wherever /she's/ sleeping tonight, it's not at home.
"I have a..." Bed? Really? Alex bundles up all his stuff, folds it into his arms, and only then realizes it makes it impossible to wave or shake hands or anything. Oh well, Milani's going on about her business and he-- has to get his room unlocked with all his papers in hand. There's a solution to this problem; if he just stands there, staring at the door long enough, it will present itself.
IC Date: 7/16/19
Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#378RJs)
Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.
Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.
Aleczir has fallen asleep. Which is a very strange thing for him to do anywhere, let alone here. But, in a chair he's gotten very familiar with at a table he's gotten rather attached to with the papers he's awfully possessive of, he's zonked out with his face buried in his folded arms. No telling how long he's been there; not long enough for some kind-hearted auntie to wake him, but not briefly enough that he hasn't started snoring.
Snick. That would be the sound of the headwoman's office door closing. Tired footsteps start away from the door, pause. Change direction and quietly, Milani settles down in the next chair over, watching Alex sleep. Her hands lace across her middle and she just sits there for a little bit, waiting to see if being stared at in his sleep might wake him.
It might. Or maybe fifteen minutes... a half hour... however long is all he gets anyway. He sure sits bolt upright without any warning or audible provocation, his head snapped back and his breath caught abruptly. Looking left, looking right, looking-- "How long?" Since she's sitting there watching, Alex apparently believes Milani can give him some sort of temporal reference point.
Milani picks up her watch from her belt, turns the face. "Twenty minutes," the headwoman replies quite seriously. She hasn't been laughing and teasing quite so much lately. "Do you need help getting your things home, Alex?"
Aleczir looks wide awake. Whether or not he is. "Twenty--" One eye twitches, fitting twenty minutes into whatever long-winded scheme of numbers account for his sleeping habits, and then he's able to smile pretty easily; "No. Inertia alone should get me at least that far." He nods, the door with the impenetrable number of locks. "Do you need help?"
"You were already asleep when I came out of my office and that was twenty minutes ago." Milani leans in a little. "You were snoring already. If that means anything." Confidential. "Not tonight, thanks. Just heading up to bed myself in a little bit. But I thought I'd help keep watch over your stuff while you were sleeping."
"So we'll say-- twenty-five. It's like, ah, lidding a glowbasket?" Alex shakes his head, not quite the metaphor he would have liked, but metaphors never liked him much in return. "Most... people... aren't so interested in my stuff. But I appreciate the gesture. Next time you abruptly lose consciousness, I'll return the favor?" Pencil, pencil, pencil, where? Under here? Next to...? Ah, behind ear. Of course.
"All of a sudden. Like when the sun just /drops/ behind the rim and the bowl goes dark," Milani tries another metaphor. "Thanks. It wouldn't do for the work orders to go missing," she agrees and smiles faintly for the pencil search. "Other than falling asleep at random. How're you doing?"
Oh god. "Well, no. Because the sun actually-- the planet moves at a constant rate, so even though the sun looks like it's dropping, really it's more that the-- I just eventually have to fall asleep." There, that's what Alex was trying to say. "I'm busy." He doesn't mean that to sound exactly the way it does-- he's busy, go away-- more in response to her question, but the way his eyes drop to the work don't help with his /intent/ versus the appearance. "You don't seem the same."
"I know. But it doesn't stop it from seeming like it just drops," Milani points out. "And ... doesn't everyone?" Her smile is faint, more wry than anything else and she nods once. "All the papers. The pencil. You do seem it," she agrees. His statement though, she just takes a breath, lets it out. Then all at once: "It's not something I really want to talk about. Let's just say it's been a really rotten month."
Aleczir's expression apologizes for Milani's bad month, sorrowful eyes and all, and he leans his arm far across the table, over the papers and all, to offer up his pencil in between his thumb and his forefinger. It's not a very good pencil, having been chewed, stuck behind his ear, used to scratch his forehead, and even-- occasionally-- put to the task of writing, but he seems to think it might make her feel better?
What can a girl like Milani do, but reach out and take it with another little smile. "Thanks, Alex," she says quite seriously and fidgets with the pencil a little, then leans forward, with a little scrap of paper pulled from her pocket to draw ... of all things, a little flower. With a smilie face. "At least there'll be candidates and tithes soon. That'll keep everyone busy, right?"
"Can I have some of them?" Candidates? Tithes? Smiley-faced flowers? "I have this... project?" Alex's fingers dance over the papers. "And I could use people to lift things, hammer things, carry things. I heard that's what candidates do?"
"If you really need the hands, tell me what you need. Make a list. And as they come in, I can give them special projects," Milani agrees about providing him with free slave labor.
Pencil, pencil, pencil, where? Under-- ohwait. Alex makes himself lace his fingers, makes himself stop trying to write down his list right now, makes himself smile lightly across at Milani like he's not trying to accomplish 10,000 things right this second. "I will. Make a list. Soon. Thank you. I have to go."
Milani starts to hold the pencil out to him. But then: he has to go. She nods once. "I'll remind you," the headwoman says in a quiet voice and pushes to her feet. "Try to sleep in your bed, okay?" Her hand reaches to his shoulder for a moment, then she's moving on. Not towards her own room but out into the caverns. Wherever /she's/ sleeping tonight, it's not at home.
"I have a..." Bed? Really? Alex bundles up all his stuff, folds it into his arms, and only then realizes it makes it impossible to wave or shake hands or anything. Oh well, Milani's going on about her business and he-- has to get his room unlocked with all his papers in hand. There's a solution to this problem; if he just stands there, staring at the door long enough, it will present itself.