[Log] An Offensively Bright Skirt
Who: Evayne, Tiriana
When: Day 3, Month 8, Turn 19
Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Evayne share touching moments. Or something. There is also a really ugly skirt.
Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.
Contents:
Evayne
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns
It is apparently a night for being comfortable without quite seeking sleep yet. Evayne has settled herself into a chair fairly close to the hearth (surprise, surprise), her jacket slung over the back of said chair, her boots sitting down at the feet. All comfy. The young woman has a pile of bright yellow cloth in her lap that is /likely/ to be a skirt -- it's starting to take on that form, anyway -- and she's currently working on the hem, sewing carefully as she continues the long process of making it look like it ought to the rest of the way. Not that her full attention is on it; for all that she's *mostly* watching what she's doing, her hands sort of still as she seems to forget what she's doing in favor of staring at the fire every once in a while.
Evayne is not the only one thinking of a quiet evening by the fire; Tiriana is drifting down the hallway herself, on her way toward the nighthearth. The fact that someone else has beaten her to the choice spot gives her pause for a moment, but then she goes ahead. She toward the fire to flop down in a comfortable chair herself, taking advantage of the warmth; in the Reaches, deep in the caverns, the chill often lingers even in midsummer. The girl in the next chair over--and her bright yellow fabric--earn a slow glance from the Weyrwoman, and, eventually, a, "Hey."
The sounds of movement earn a sort of absent glance, just enough to ensure that no, she isn't hearing things, and yes, it's actually a person and not Something Else, and Evayne keeps with her sewing. It's the flopping into the chair and subsequent greeting that actually bring her attention up, and Eva turns her head to offer a smile in the other woman's direction. There's only an instant's pause before she's adding a little respectful dip of her head to that smile and replying, "Evening." Beat. "You're well tonight, I hope?"
"Bleh," says Tiriana, quite feelingly. And she slinks lower down in her chair, sprawling out gracelessly into it, with her hands folded over her chest. But she's still a fidgety thing and after a moment, she sits up a little bit, just enough to pull one foot up in the chair alongside you. "I'm fine," she says now, nevermind that first response. "You? What is /that/ supposed to be?" A nod takes in the would-be skirt.
"Right now, it's...mostly a mess," Evayne admits easily, lifting it up to dangle it where it can be seen -- the waistline hasn't been touched, yet, though she's made good progress on the hem. "Eventually, it will be a skirt, and it will be an offensively /bright/ skirt." The cloth, needle, and thread are all set aside, and she's going through the motions of a stretch, stifling a yawn. "I'm doing well. It's been a good enough day. You want something to drink, while I'm up?"
"It's offensively bright /now/," Tiriana points out, grimacing when Evayne holds the skirt up for her to see. "I should just ban yellow from my Weyr. I never liked it," muses the goldrider as she slouches down, weight mostly leaned on one arm of the chair. She cants her head slightly, looking over the skirt again and then its maker. "Long day. Water--just water. Please," she tacks on.
"Well it is, yes," Eva agrees, sliding up to her feet and going through a round of careful stretching. "Just think of it as something good for target practice, though -- wouln't it just be /so/ satisfying to, say, see it get all muddy?" She sends a look that's all mock wide-eyed innocence in Tiriana's direction, and then she's sliding off to collect a few mugs with liquid in them. It doesn't take her long, and she's soon enough coming back and offering a mug of water to the other woman.
Tiriana doesn't drink, just toys with the mug, her fingers drumming on its side. "Yeah, but people get annoyed when you shred their clothes and stomp them into the mud," she points out, rather wise on this issue. "Or throw it onto the fire--we could throw it onto the fire now and be done with it." And she tips her head toward the fire in the hearth, one brow lifted promptingly as she studies Evayne and finally takes a drink.
Once the mug's been taken, Evayne slides back over to her chair to curl back up in it, lifting her own mug to take a careful drink. She's watching the Weyrwoman in turn, attentive, though she is still wearing a light smile. "We /could/, and yes, they do tend to get annoyed with such things. But, say, an accidental splash in a puddle or something along those lines, and they couldn't rightly get annoyed with you." Beat. "I'd rather not toss it in the fire, honestly. I rather like my offensive colors, though if it's any consolation I wasn't planning on wearing it out and about around here."
"But that's no fun. What's the point?" Tiriana asks, shaking her head like Evayne's missed it entirely. "Why bother doing anything to it if you're not going to go all the way with it. --And there are plenty of other colors," is tacked on at the end, as that yellow skirt gets one more withering look. "Other bright ones that aren't ugly yellow. Where else are you going to wear it, anyway?"
"There are plenty of other colors," Evayne agrees lightly, reaching down to pick up the cloth and start folding it all up so that it can be stuffed under her jacket where it's not quite so /actively/ offensive. "I'll probably be hunting around for some blue, soon, though I might have to send to my da, for the shade I want." Beat. "And because if you just splashed it with mud, not only do you cause a need for changing and aggravation and all that -- you get multiple uses out of that enjoyment." Sweet smile. "As far as where I was going to wear it...visiting somewhere warm, probably. Or a gather. One of my friends promised to take me somewhere warm eventually, and it's a good somewhere warm cloth and color."
Tiriana just shakes her head, Evane's viewpoint sitll eluding her. "Yeah, okay," she says, not agreeing at all, but letting it slide for the moment at least. As for warm places, she just wrinkles her nose. "Why would you want to go /there/? It's so hot your clothes end up all sweaty and gross and people stink and it's just ugh." She shudders. "Rather stay at the ones around here, or Fort maybe--the cool places. Go south for the winter parties."
Once the skirt is safely hidden beneath her jacket, Eva settles into her chair again, wrapping both hands around her mug and taking a good long drink from it. "I spent a good long while at Igen," she explains, her smile touching with something wry. "So I got very used to the heat. I've finally adjusted to the weather here -- and it is lovely, it really is -- but there are moments I crave the heat. Just to visit, though." She turns her head with that said, looking down towards her feet as she wiggles her toes. "I haven't had a chance to thank you, up till now. So, thank you."
"Igen." Just the name makes Tiriana cringe, with a delicate shudder for its desert heat. "Always lived in the cold--Ierne, Telgar, here. Well, except for Southern, but I moved out of there as soon as I could. I was three, I think?" She frowns for a moment, thinks, nods. Close enough, apparently. And she lifts her mug to take another drink, though the motion is aborted quickly at Evayne's latter words. "Huh?" she says, somewhat less than eloquently.
"Yeah, the heat is pretty near unbearable until you get used to it, and I distinctly remember it being nearly unbearable even /after/ I was used to it. But I miss it, sometimes," Evayne replies conversationally, smile curving up a little bit further. "Did it take you very long to get used to Reaches winters? I've been told it takes some getting used to even for people who enjoy the cold." Pause. "And, well. The 'shitty' comment stuck with me. About traveling. Started me on that whole /thinking/ thing."
"The Reaches?" Tiriana says, brows lifting. She sits up, sprawls onto the other arm of the chair, closer to Evayne. "The Reaches hasn't got anything on Telgar. Too close to the coast, I think--Ierne had the same thing, and it's just an island. Fort's even worse, too, I think--not that I've actually /lived/ there, but. You know." Or maybe she doesn't. Either way, Tiriana doesn't bother explaining, and instead moves on, with a briefly befuddled expression when Evayne clarifies herself. "What I--oh, that? Started you thinking? What, not going to be a traveler-trader-thingy anymore?"
"To hear some talk about it, the winters are worse here than /anywhere/," Evayne points out, impish smile making an appearance, if only briefly. "I find myself reassured, though. I haven't spent so many winters up where it gets cold; mostly just when I was little, or the last few years, and of course it's going to seem rough in comparison." The little bits of tension that she'd been clinging to in her shoulders finally start to evaporate, and she settles a little more comfortably in her seat. Relaxing. She does not, however, give the chuckle voice when it tries to escape, instead just clearing her throat. "Yes, that," she says. "I can't say there weren't other considerations, because there were, but the...very different perspective, to what I was used to...got me thinking about all of it. I think you're the first person I've ever met that actually spoke so...well, bluntly, about it. And no, I'm not going to be a traveler-trader-thingy any more. I...well, this place grew on me very quickly, to put it mildly."
Tiriana waves a hand, dismissing that. "People just like to bitch about us because we're High Reaches and we're better," is her firm take on that subject. "People think we're cold or something, but we're just tough and we don't put up with their crap." Nod nod. And she smirks, a smug expression as she shifts around, her legs swung over the chair arm and dangled. She lounges back in the opposite corner. "Like that. Not going to tell you how wonderful and free and happy roaming around the country sounds. Because it sounds shitty, never... you know." A shrug; she doesn't conclude that statement. Instead; "Other considerations? What, you meet some guy?"
"Yeah, like that," Eva agrees, flashing a brief grin. And then, she relaxes the rest of the way, putting her head back and letting her eyes drift half-closed, bringing her mug up so she can take a good long drink from it. "Yeah, I know." Because she does, or she wouldn't be staying. "And no, I didn't meet some guy. I'm not about to make life decisions based on /that/ again. No, I just...I had a home, for a while. I had the same people around, every day. Somewhere where people who wanted to catch up with me...could. I can't go back to Igen, and homesick isn't /exactly/ the right word, but it's close enough."
Tiriana's brows furrow as she processes this. There are an awful lot of thigns she could say, and likely a number of them aren't very nice. But what she eventually says is, "Oh. Yeah." It's a vague agreement, and she's quiet for a moment, taking a drink of her water before she speaks up again. And maybe it has just been a very long day, but she admits, "Not easy. Like the moving all around, like Telgar and here and then Fort for R'uen, and... yeah." Shrug.
There's a brief pause, and then Eva's lashes lift enough for her to glance sidelong over at the weyrwoman, studying her again. "Not easy, no," she finally agrees, speaking just a little bit more quietly. "On the other hand, worth it and easy don't /usually/ go hand in hand. Or when they do, it's about time to start /really/ paying attention." That last bit is said wryly, a little dry chuckle following the words. "Don't know if deciding to stay is going to be any easier, but at least the difficulties will be different ones."
For a moment, Tiriana narrows her eyes, thoughtful rather than angry. Then, she notes, "Sound like Satiet. Except she was more poetical. She said it with harper's songs--you know, epic love, ruined lives, all that sort of stuff." A shrug. She purses her lips for a moment, then moves on, with a shake of her head. "Staying's easy. Less packing," she notes, with a half-smirk, lighter after that sort of seriousness.
While she generally doesn't have much trouble with her words, Eva is given just a little bit of a pause by Tiriana's first notation. Still, it's not /much/ of a pause, and she finally decides on a quiet, "I wish I'd gotten to meet her." Yes, that will do. And moving right along. "Less packing, yes. Which I'd /like/ to say didn't influence my decision, but...well, that may or may not have been one of those other considerations."
It will do, yes. "Yeah," is all Tiriana says, not thinking about it much before she moves on, quickly, to that other subject. "At least you don't have much shit to haul around, I bet," she says now. "Just clothes, pretty much, right? Last time /I/ moved, we had clothes and then the furniture and all that stuff. Took forever, and it was just next door. I mean, have you ever tried to get a table off a stupid dragon that's too busy trying to sleaze all over /your/ dragon to be still?" Huff.
And that other topic is dropped, though Evayne is now watching Tiriana again, nothing particularly intent to her expression. Just attentive. "Pretty much just clothes," she agrees, grin making another appearance. "I cannot say I have ever had that experience, no," she comments. "I...it must have been an adventure, though not really the incredibly enjoyable type. Moving tables is difficult enough without involving difficult dragons, too."
"Exactly," says Tiriana, somehow smug for earning Evayne's agreement. She slings her legs back down from the arm of the chair, straightening up and leaning forward as though she's about to stand. "I swear, if there were a fast way to get it here on the ground--but no. It'd take months to cart it from Fort by wagon, and anyway." The anyway goes unspoken as she does get up, dusting herself off and straightening her shirt up. "Should get home. He's supposed to be on his way now. Goodnight," she tells Evayne as she starts to leave.
The smugness brings out Evayne's grin again -- she certainly doesn't look put off by it any. "Months, the potential for any number of horrible things..." She gives a little mock shudder, then unwraps one hand from her mug so she can lift it and give a little wiggle of her fingers. "Good night," she replies, lightly. "Thank you for the company, tonight. Enjoy the rest of your evening."