[Log] Pretty Please?
Who: R'dur, Sabi
When: Day 31, Month 2, Turn 8
Where: Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
What: Sabi accosts R'dur about the clothes for the upcoming party.
Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.
Contents:
PLAYERS: R'dur Pierron Sabi
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables
Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Settled at a table by the hearths, Sabriel is very daintally consuming her dinner. Where any weyrbred girl of her age would likely have been done in half the time, the food placed on her fork is measured to be but half a mouthful and each forkful is chewed carefully before it being swallowed. Its a wonder that it doesn't take her from one mealtime to the next to consume her meal.
At the serving tables, R'dur is carefully loading his plate with various items, none of them touching each other, before he gets himself a glass of water and turns, grey-blue eyes seeking out a seat. There's only a slight hesitation after he sees Sabi; then, he heads in her direction and takes up an unassuming stance behind a nearby chair. "Um, hi," he ventures. "Do you mind if--?" He gestures at the seat.
"If you sit there?" Sabi is all too ready to complete the sentence as her brown gaze is drawn up to the rider's face, "As a matter of fact, I insist, sir. I've been hoping to have a chance to speak with you all day. Only I've been kept so busy with my chores," As always when she mentions chores, a look of extreme woe comes across her face. "So I haven't had the chance to come find you." A mercy that, probably. "I'm quite sure we're only being allowed access to the less fine garments to outfit the candidates. Some if it is simply /hideous/, sir. It shan't do." Nevermind that they're only candidates. And its only a party.
That doesn't seem to cheer R'dur up at all. The brownrider eyes Sabi dubiously, bites his lip, and finally nods his assent, settling into the chair with that carefully arranged plate in front of him. "Er. All right. I... I'm sorry?" Her question, catching him off-guard, has him blinking in surprise. "But... why would you think that? What's wrong with them?" For the moment, he doesn't touch his food.
"/None/ of them go with the current color scheme for the decorations, the fabric is poor in quality, its hard to find dresses enough whose style and shades work for the skin tones of the young ladies in the class, and the boys? They're simply /hopeless/. Every time I try to encourage one or the other to wear something, they end up-- well, spoling it entirely. You'd think they didn't /want/ to get dressed up." The horror of it all! Sabi, however, seems genuinely disressed by all of this, her fork having come to rest upon her plate.
"They... probably don't," R'dur says gently, frowning at Sabi. He pokes forlornly at his vegetables before glancing back at the woman opposite him. "I mean, not everyone--not everyone likes dressing up, especially if they have to pick out new clothes to do it in. Are you /sure/ they won't work? The clothes, I mean. Because they're all we have; I don't know what else we can do about it." He shakes his head, frown deepening.
"I am /certain/ there are better stores that the assistant Headwoman is hiding from me." Sabi returns in something of a whine. "And just because they don't like it /now/ is no reason that they shouldn't put effort into it anyway. How sharp and impressive they'll look at the party when I'm through with them!" She sniffs slightly, "They might as well at least appreciate the lengths I go to for them."
R'dur hesitates. "The--the headwomen wouldn't do that," he says. "At least, well. I know Bri--Brijana, I mean--she wouldn't, and I don't think any of the rest would. Headwoman Adele has been a candidate coordinator herself; she understands. It's... I'm--I'm sorry. You'll just--you'll just have to make do. I'm sorry." And he cringes, like he expects her to hit him or something.
Hit him? No. Sabi hasn't a fan to swat him with. So in lieu of physical reprimand, her lower lip juts out and begins to quiver, her eyes and brows working together to effect the most pathetic look of an adorable pup, beginning to glisten with the threat of tears. "But-but-- but! Can't you at least /ask/ them? Couldn't the Weyr's weaver and seamstresses help spruce them up? Oh, sir, can't you do /something/?"
R'dur slides lower in his chair, staring studiously at his plate. "I... All right. I'll ask," he says meekly. "But I can't--I can't promise anything, okay? I still don't think they'll have anything."
Sabi's expression brightens immediately, "Oh, wonderful! You'll fix it. I know /you/ can do it." The young woman replies with a bat of her lashes - as though she didn't even hear that he wasn't making any promises for improvement of the situation. And with that her fork is picked up and a tiny bite is taken from the remains of her meal.
R'dur's cheeks flush bright red, which swiftly spreads down his neck as well. "Er," he fumbles, and finally abandons the subject in favor of a couple of bites of now-cool vegetables. "So, uh. How is--how is the rest of your candidacy going, other than... that?" he asks tentatively.
"Well, the /chores/ are dreadful. Really, I don't see how candidates turn in and turn out have managed." The girl's voice is one of obvious complaint. "And-" She seems about to go on, but the candidate coordinator is saved from futher words by the former Harper student as a trio of male candidates go walking past and she's up quick, "Hey you three! You've not come to get fitted for tunics!" Then with the barest 'excuse me, sir', she's off after them, leaving not-quite-finished plate of food behind her.