Sock & Storms Don't Mix
IC Date: Day 6, Month 8, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: Rysia, Reyce, Imari, Issa
Location: Living Cavern
Synopsis: Stormy day. Wet. Miserable. Four people gather around the hearth in the living cavern to discuss weather, socks, gossip and a few other things. (Thanks to Reyce for posting the Log I could steal; his revenge was working overtime that night!)
Living Cavern,
Afternoon
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
It's a quiet afternoon, the time that a good Caucus student spends in class - Reyce, however, is not a good Caucus student. He's obviously been out in the storm that's raging outside, because his clothes are somewhat damp, and for that reason he's just hanging out by the hearth, leaning dangerously far back in his chair so he can prop his bootless feet up on the table. He has to share the warm space, however, with a group of aunties and young weyrbrats who are spending the rainy afternoon trading stories near the fire; whenever the story telling gets too loud and enthusiastic, he pins them with a reproachful glare, though he says nothing.
Rysia makes her way from the upper caverns, shawl over her shoulders, basket on arm. She heads directly towards the hearth, and goes so far as to drag a chair over nearish the aunties, tale-telling youngsters, and glowering Reyce. "'lo, Reyce," comes the pleasant enough greeting, as the young resident pulls out knitting needles, her knitting, and the two different green-coloured skeins of yarn. "How bad is it out there?"
With a basket in her hands that looks to be mending of some sort, Imariel meanders into the Living Cavern, pausing to look around herself. Her own clothes are a little damp, the hem of her skirt even slightly muddy, considering how much has been tracked inside by those escaping the storm. Giving a shake of her head to rid her scarf of any raindrops, she makes her way to the drinks table, selecting a mug of klah, and then heads to the hearth. Upon seeing others there, she smiles and inquires, "Is there room for another damp person?"
Reyce's gaze moves to Rysia when she greets him. A reproach lingers from the last glance he gave the storytellers, just a moment ago, but he closes his eyes to let it fade, and perhaps to give himself time to dredge up Rysia's name from memory. When he opens them again, it's with more recognition, though he doesn't bother to confirm her name and simply answers her greeting with a grunt. "Was bad," he answers, just as a loud thunderclap reverberates outside, prompting excited screams from several weyrbrats. "Still is," he adds drily, gaze rolling towards the entrance and - on the way - landing on Imariel. A permissive shrug answers her question.
Rysia doesn't stab her eye out with that thunderclap, not even when she jumps. Her hand on the other hand.. Well, anyway, there's a wrinkle of the nose, as she nods, "Thinkin' I'm glad I don't have to be leavin' the caverns unless I've a need. Hey there, Mari." She takes the moment to scoot the chair a bit to the side, nearer Reyce with his bare feets, to make room for the seamstress.
A smile is offered to Rysia, and Imari pulls up her own chair to take maximum advantage of the light and heat from the hearth. "Hello, Rysia -- still working on the blanket, or is this something new?" she asks, glancing up to Reyce as she sets her basket on the floor. "The lower cavern was just so dark and gloomy, I thought I'd come up here for awhile," she explains, sorting through the basket and coming up with a piece of hide. "Oh, I thought you might like this," she says to the other woman, holding out the hide. "I sketched you while you were working one day." The drawing is good, capturing not only Rysia's likeness, but her mood while she worked.
Reyce grunts again to answer Rysia's wrinkle-nosed comment, absently stretching his own feet in their socks - soaked through, it would seem, by whatever puddles he had to go through outside. He glances down when she scoots her chair closer to his, but judging the distance between them still a safe one, he soon enough settles back and tunes out the womanly chatter about knitting and such.
No flying knitting needles here, no-siree-bob. Rys starts to knit, as she turns to look at Mari's offering, peering a bit as she looks, "I... well. I didn't even notice you doing so. That is very nicely done, even if I am sayin' so m'self." As she straightens up, there's a pause to count stitches, then a nod, continuing on, "What had you out an' about in this sort of weather. Surely not the company of the Cavern..." she asks Reyce.
Imari goes back to sorting the mending, finally pulling out a nice tunic with a sleeve half torn out. Threading her needle with appropriate thread, she takes up the mending and starts to work. She seems in a complacent mood, content to sit and sew, and not contribute much to the conversation at the moment. After all, she doesn't know the gentleman with wet socks. Steaming sock, that have that wet socks smell, at that.
Reyce hasn't noticed the smell of his wet socks, so he keeps them - rather inconsiderately - propped on the table for all to see and smell. Rysia's question prompts him to reach a hand up to splay across his collarbone, scratching over an especially damp patch on his shirt - to judge by the patterns of wetness, he was wearing a jacket at some point. Most likely the leather one now lying under his chair. "Just crossing the bowl," he answers. His eye rolls down to Imari, watching her for a second before it's on to the seamstress that addressed him. "Sent to fetch something from the commons."
Rysia ahs, and nods, then glances at the feet, and tilts her head slightly, "Waitin' for your socks to dry out a'fore headin' back out?" Click-click-click, goes the wooden needles, between words, before adding, "Can't really blame you on that, though one of the kitchen folk might."
If Imari is paying attention, she's doing so while working, glancing every now and then to the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. The sewing is going well enough, the seam coming together nicely. "It's certainly wet enough out there," she remarks, nodding toward the wet socks. "If you took them off, hung them on the back of a chair, and propped your shoes in front of the fire, they'd likely dry faster," she suggests to Reyce.
Reyce lifts one of his legs, just by an inch, so he can peer at the table beneath his feet and see whether his socks have been dripping. They haven't, but there's a spot of condensed moisture where his heel was touching, and at the sight of it he gives a little grunt and draws his feet back off the table. Mission accomplished, ladies. "Drying out, yeah," he confirms; heading back out, he does not confirm. Stretching his feet out under the table, now - at least it puts distance between them and the table company - he glances at Imari. "Don't want my feet bare," he explains simply.
Rysia has to grin a bit at that, before shaking her head, "Well, guess I'm glad they don't reek - that'd make eatin' later a bit difficult - if not for the reek, then for the fact kitchen'd be bein' a bit upset." One knows what they say, if at first you don't succeed, try try try (teasing) again.
There's a nod, and then Imari is digging into the bottom of the basket, pulling out a pair of socks. "If you'd like a dry pair, these don't belong to anyone. They've been sitting around the laundry for about a month now, and nobody's claimed them," she says, laying the socks on the table as an offering to the young man. "That way, yours can dry, and your feet won't be bare." A pause. "They're clean, too."
Reyce tenses at Rysia's words as that tease apparently strikes it mark. He shrinks a little bit away from her and sinks further into his chair so he can stretch his feet out more. Imari's offered socks get eyed warily for several seconds before he reaches out to touch them, his gaze flicking back to her for confirmation of something - who knows what, as he doesn't really wait for a response - before he reluctantly draws them in. "Thanks." Another flickered glance towards her, and then he turns his back on the two of them while he exchanges his wet socks for the (apparently) clean new ones.
Rysia let's out a breath, almost a sigh, before pointing out, "I was just teasin'. Suppose I should stop that, always misjudin' the words, an' such." She hmms lightly, then asks Imari, "What happens with the stuff that no-one ends up claimin'?"
The socks are well enough made, and warm. Imari nods, and then goes back to her work, her good deed, apparently, done for the day. "You can keep them," she offers. "Like I said, they've not been claimed for over a month, and I was just going to take them down to stores later. No sense in letting good socks go to waste." And, she's bending over her work again, hair falling forward to partially hide her face. Turning to Rysia, though, she replies. "Most of it goes down to stores. Some of it goes to the Aunties for the littles, if it can be cut down for them. Rest ... if it's really torn up, goes in the rag bag for cleaning cloths, an' all."
Reyce turns his head to look over his shoulder at Rysia's words, offering a small shrug but no words of his own in response. Then it's back to his new socks, which indeed he finds well made enough to fit his feet, letting the two women discuss the fate of other, similarly abandoned clothes while he reaps the benefits. His wet socks removed, he holds them tucked by his side, out of sight of his tablemates, while he pads to the nearby fireplace, then throws them over the tops of the boots he left there some time ago. He retreats to his own seat silently.
Rysia hms, and nods, "I'll have to see about layin' claim to the knittin' things for the rag-bag. Could probably use the yarn in one way or another, dependin' on the condition of it. Usually, a good soak and wind takes care of a multitude of problems." Rys regains a bit her smile once Reyce returns, continuing to chat with Imari.
"There're a few heavy sweaters down there now," Imari replies. "Don't know who they belonged to, but the yarn's in good shape. I can grab them for you, if you'd like." Finishing the tunic with a knot and biting the thread with her teeth, she folds the garment and takes a breath. "Day like today makes a person want to curl up someplace warm and doze," she offers, chuckling softly while she watches the fire. "Time was, I'd just sit and watch the storm." Another piece of fabric is pulled from the basket, this time a decorative piece that's not so much mending as frivolous. "By the way," she says, turning to Reyce. "I'm Imariel," she says by way of introduction.
Reyce is just stretching out in his seat again - curling up and dozing is not quite his style, but certainly kicking back and doing nothing should suffice - when Imariel's greeting draws him somewhat alert again. "Reyce," he answers, glancing down at the work in her lap before up to her face. "Of Benden," he's just helpful enough to specify, since he's not wearing his knot. He abandons his plan of completely stretching out and becoming useless, for now, instead leaning forward again while he props an elbow on the table and angles his body slightly towards the other two.
Rysia doesn't drool. Honest. But a flare of interest is certainly apparent, "That'd be absolutely lovely, Mari." The young weaver-knitter pauses a moment, then stretches, a few crackles and crunches heard from her back, "An' on that note, drink time. Anyone else want anything?"
"Well met, sir," Imari offers, nodding as she checks the embroidery. It's well done, a pattern of interlaced dragons in all their colors around what looks to be the collar of a tunic. Then it's back to the basket to pull out some very precious gold thread for the queens. "Ah, I've some klah, but thanks, Rysia," she says, looking up and smiling. She glances back to Reyce. "Benden, hm? I've never been there, just down to Boll when I apprenticed."
Reyce's gaze has already trailed off to Rysia, alerted by those crunches in her back. He restores it to Imariel briefly, with a nod just to show he's heard, but first he has to consider the offered drink. "Could take some klah," he admits. "Spoon of sweetener." His lips draw down briefly as he makes the request, but he's quick to turn his gaze away from Rysia so his frown won't seem directed at her. That hand propped on the table reaches up to scratch his stubble.
Rysia nods, and puts down her knitting, before popping up to her feet, and then it's off to the table with the drinks, bouncing back and forth, off of various table and bench-ends, before pouring a couple of mugs full of the liquid, one spoonful of sweetener in one, and rather more in the other. The way back is a little less bouncing off things, and a lot more slower, but neither of the mugs spill. She hands off the one first, then sits down with rather more care then the excerise should require.
"Such a storm," Imari remarks as another clap of thunder rumbles through the cavern. "Haven't seen one this bad in a while, even counting the one last sevenday. Sounds like drums, 'r something out there." She shakes her head, threading her needle with the gold thread. "Did you hear anything about the ..." She glances around, as if curious who might be around to overhear, "... last 'fall over Nabol?" she asks Rysia. "There was talk of some riders going against the 'Leader's ruling again." A cluck of her tongue.
Reyce watches Rysia's bouncing progress across the room, his eyes squinted thoughtfully, though he's quick to snap out of it and take the mug when it's offered. In return, he grunts his thanks while he holds the mug up to his lips, testing the heat before he drinks. Its placement saves his expression from showing when Imari introduces the topic of Nabol - at least, aside from the quickly-banished narrowing of his eyes. Certainly that comment draws more of his attention than the storm, which he's grown used to hearing since he's been drying off in the cavern for so long; he lets Rysia answer, though, while he drinks from his klah.
Rysia shakes her head, and admits, "I've been avoidin' the Aunties when they get goin' lately, and most riders I know don't be goin' out of their way to visit me these days." The words are without rancor or bitterness, a simple statement of fact.
Imari nods. "I was just wondering if --" And she stops, nodding and looking back down at her work. "It's hard not to wonder sometimes. When there's talk of things, and ... you get to thinking." She gives Rysia a soft smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Didn't mean to bring up ... things." Her hands move over the collar, stroking the dragons, one by one, tracing them with a fingertip. "Hard not to remember, sometimes."
Reyce, senses something amiss, more from Imari's response than Rysia's simple one, and so he promptly ceases to be even so much as an eavesdropping part of this conversation. Turning his attention towards the hearth, he sips from his klah quietly and, by all appearances, zones out.
Rysia shakes her head at Imari, "Wonderin's fine, an' natural. Just not up to listenin' to various folks slanderin' whoever they want. First this person, then that person, truth havin' little to do with matters, just whatever sounds the most interestin'. If they are that bored, they should find other ways of entertainin' themselves." This comment is probably not the most diplomatic, given the other group by the hearth, hence the quietness of the words, before she adds, "Don't worry about it, lass - if it doesn't be botherin' you, who'm I to be sayin' elsewise?"
"Well, I don't like the tone of what I'm hearing, 'sall," Imair replies. "Time was, listening to the prattle was kind of entertaining, you know? Fun stuff of who was seeing who, and oh, wasn't so-and-so drunk t'other night. Now, there's so much ... wrongness in what they're saying." She shakes her head. "Don't like the way folks are talking. Just wish things were like they were when I was little." She shrugs, glancing toward Reyce, and then down. "Shouldn't be talking anyways, I guess. Talk doesn't solve anything, I don't guess." She casts Rysia a grateful smile. "Heard there's gonna be a Gather, soon. You planning on going?" And her fingers begin working on the golden dragon, now.
Reyce has been quietly slumping into his seat while they talk, doing a good job of zoning out although a few of their words reach through to him. When they do, he flicks quick glances their way, but soon enough he finds ample distraction in the nearby storytellers, who have just broken out in a storm of giggles over their most recent tale. He narrows his eyes at them, then, as if the explosion of sound were enough to jerk him out of his zoned-out reverie, turns his eyes back to Rysia and Imari, once again alert to their conversation, if still non-participatory.
Rysia hms, and nods, "It's bein' here, I think I heard? If so, I think I'll be doin' m'best to make it. Have a dress for it, an' everything." She falls silent for a moment, looking at her knitting, before shaking her head, and asking her two companions, "What about you two? Mari, I'm guessin' you'll be around? What about you, Reyce? The Causus lettin' folks get away for such things?"
"I don't know," Imari replies, shrugging. "Last Gather I went to was with D'ban, and I'm not sure I'm up for it. I helped a couple of the girls find dresses down in stores, but I don't have anything nice enough. I'll probably just stick around and help others get ready." She glances over at Reyce, tilting her head to the side. "Caucus? Ah, all right. Didn't know you were a student." But she looks at him, waiting to see what his answer to Rysia will be.
Reyce stretches his arms out in front of him on the table, pushing the klah mug out with them while he stares down at it. "It's at the hold, yeah," he tells Rysia, beginning to twist the mug between his palms. "It's just a Gather." Now with a flickered glance and a small shrug for Imari. "Don't have to dress for it. I'm not going to." Though he is going to go, apparently, to judge by his response.
Rysia's smile is a bit wistful, "Well, the dress was to be a present for a gather - or a dance. Figure I should be wearin' it at least once. An' Imari, you don't have to do anything, but it might be nice for listenin' to music, or just to sit an' watch - but as you are most comfortable with." Despite the fact she's just sat down with a mug of klah, she's putting away the knitting, after a quick glance towards the upper halls. To Imari, "I've not been down here, and you have no idea where I'm off to, alright?" A quick grin is offered, one that mostly reaches her eyes, and then she's off, bouncing as she goes, mug left behind. On the hells of her disappearing down into the lower caverns, a familiar, and similiar looking older woman comes in - then heads off to one of the *other* offshooting caverns.
"I suppose, Rysia," Imari replies. "I do like the music, and I'm sure the Aunties will need help watching the little ones." She's wavering, and then nods. "I'll probably go, no worries." As for the last, "Not a word. Rysia ... who?" And she smiles, waving as the girl slips away. The older woman gets a glance, then it's back to her embroidery. "It's different for a girl," she remarks in reference to Reyce's comment about not dressing up. "Most of them want to look nice for the men. So, they need new dresses and things."
Reyce raises his head to watch Rysia's departure, tracking her as much as he tracks the similar looking older woman who appears (and disappears) right after her. His head is still raised, then, giving him extra height over Imari when he looks at her, listening to her answer. "It's your thing," he concedes, shrugging and reaching for his klah mug. He settles over it, taking a short drink while his eyes flick across the room, then back to the weaver.
"No, not /my/ thing, really," Imari says in response. "I leave that kind of thing to the others. I have no need to attract anyone's attention." Not anymore, that implies. She finishes the gold dragon, this time using a small pair of scissors to snip the thread. "So what are you studying at the Caucus?" she asks, curious, perhaps.
Reyce settles his klah mug into the palm of his opposite hand, warming it against the heat coming off the ceramic. His brow quirks up at the finality that enters her tone in that last statement, the expression lingering as he examines her for several seconds more, her question left to hang in the air unattended while he does. A little grunt breaks him out of that, as he turns his gaze down to watch her embroidery work on the dragons. "Stewardship," his simple answer comes at last.
"Ah," is Imari's answer, nodding. "Admirable profession. I've been helping Heriet some, and it's a lot more complicated than I ever realized. She has my respect for all she does." A pause, and she chooses now a bright green thread, fixing the needle and continuing her work. "I'd thought about asking to become an assistant, but I don't know if I have the needed skills. My mathematics leave something to be desired, though I can do the basics."
Reyce pulls his hand back out from under the mug, looking at the ring it left on his palm. He closes his fingers over the escaping warmth, absently forming a fist before he looks up at Imari. "Math you need for it's not hard. Sometimes you need to a rate for something, but mostly it's just adding, subtracting, listing numbers." Having said this, he draws in a deep sniff and looks off at the fire. "Basics'd get you by so long as you keep the numbers straight."
"I don't have any problem with keeping numbers straight," Imari replies, smoothing the fabric out over her knee for a moment. "And I can do the adding and subtracting. Multiplying, though, and fractions ... well, they give me a bit of trouble sometimes." She shrugs, studying the embroidery. "Mother didn't think much of schooling, but Da said it was important, so I learned.'
A rolling, muffled rumble of thunder is followed by a peal of laughter as two riders come racing into the shelter of the caverns from the bowl, just as soaked as everyone else to come through that door, though they seem decidedly less disturbed by that fact. One is a lanky bluerider with a hide-wrapped package under one arm, the other, a short female greenrider with dark curls that follows just a step behind. The living cavern is as far as their paths go together, though, and they part with a joke and another carrying laugh, both smiling as the bluerider takes his package to the upper caverns and the greenrider wanders toward the radiating heat of the hearth. Issa's walk is measured with the slew of drips that trail along behind her, each step the source of another few splatters. As she weaves through the tables, she sights Reyce and Imari among the storytellers, engaging in what could be called conversation, and one of her eyebrows leaps up into a dainty arch. "H'lo, you two," she greets, remnants of that earlier laughter still left in her voice, when she's reaches a conversational distance. Though her jacket has a hood, she seems to have neglected to use it, and water streams down to drip off the ends of her water-tightened curls as she alternates her gaze between the two of them, coming to a halt just behind their chairs.
Reyce's attention twitches towards the entrance at the sudden laughter, but he's involved in math questions now, so he doesn't look as closely as perhaps he should. Dropping his fingers out of their lightly clenched fist, he lets the knuckles drum one-by-one back onto the table as he answers Imari. "So memorize. That's all you need, and the fastest way to get multiplication. Fractions are just-" interrupted by Issa's greeting. The familiar voice registers with him now, as he leans his elbow onto the table - away from her - and eyes her dripping curls. "Don't touch me," he requests flatly, eyes following a raindrop that travels along her nose. His own clothes have now dried off enough that their earlier dampness is almost impossible to detect.
Imari turns at the sound of a voice, smiling. "Issa -- oh, dear, you're all wet!" Understatement of the turn, that. She scoots her chair over, giving the greenrider plenty of room to take the chair Rysia just abandoned. "Do you want a towel? I can fetch one from the lower cavern, if you wish." She's ready to set aside her embroidery and do just that.
"Don't bother, Imari," Issa answers quickly for the girl's offer, just now beginning to undo the buttons at the front of her jacket. "I'll dry on my own, soon enough." Reyce's request isn't so much ignored as purposefully violated. A sneaking gesture, she reaches up a hand as she passes behind his chair to give his right shoulder a quick tap with a single finger, a forbidden touch that's accompanied by two small droplets that fall and soak into his near-dry shirt. Her conversation continues, with the addition of an impish grin. "Never heard of talking about fractions while doing the mending. Does it help?" she addresses Imari as she shrugs out of her jacket, letting it slide to the floor before she sinks into that open seat.
Reyce just closes his eyes when she touches him, dourly unsurprised by her willful disobedience. He makes a quick point of reaching to the shoulder of his shirt, where those droplets sank in, and pulling it away from his skin - really, his own former dampness, and not Issa's two measley droplets, is to blame for the way the sweater sticks to him, but he gives her a reproachful glance all the same. Predicting another infringement, perhaps, he draws his klah mug away across the table, blocking it behind his elbow. Of course, Rysia's klah mug, with its more generous sweetener, is still there for the taking.
"Oh, well, we were actually talking about my problems with multiplication and fractions," Imari replies, explaining. "I've been helping the Headwoman a bit, and was thinking of asking to be an assistant, but I wasn't certain my math skills were quite up to par." She gives the greenrider a smile. "How's Oshisyth, these days? give her my best, please?" The girl chuckles. "You want some hot klah? Or tea? Something to warm you up?" The embroidery isn't forgotten, it's lying spread on her lap, the pattern of interlaced dragons taking shape well under her expert fingers. "I was just talking to Reyce about mathematics, and he was telling me that to multiply is mostly memorization. I never thought about it like that." She turns back to Reyce. "You were saying that fractions are only ... what?"
"Fine, fine," Issa provides as an answer to Imari's questions, then with a quirk of her grin, negates her offer with, "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The greenrider is really quite dry underneath her jacket, if one neglects the effect that her damp curls now have on the shoulders of her shirt, several darkened droplets showing on the red fabric. She reaches out with a booted foot from her seat, stepping down on her jacket and bringing it further in toward her chair as the seamstress keeps talking. Then she does, indeed, infringe again on Reyce's dryer territory, but in a much less intentional way. Her swamped boots stretch out beneath the table without any heed as to how close they may come to his feet. There she lounges, wet hair pressed against the back of the chair, fingers interlaced over her abdomen. After repositioning herself, she lets them continue their conversation about mathematics, switching her gaze expectantly to Reyce.
Reyce is not about to let his new socks get soaked again, so as soon as he realizes where Issa's putting her feet, he jerks his own out of the way. He does it, however, without reproach this time, simply straightening his posture in the chair so he's no longer stretched out with his feet next to hers. His gaze lingers on the greenrider for a while, wary, before he draws his klah mug back into range and dares shift his attention off her and to Imari. "They're just the same stuff. Once you've got the multiplication tables it's easy to work with them." With a short shrug, he takes a slow drink of his klah.
But Imari is sitting quietly now, considering what Reyce answered, and appears to be fairly absorbed in her emboidery. The storytellers are still at it, and she pays them about half an ear. That is, until she decides that staring into the fire is a pleasant enough pastime and sips her mug of klah for a moment. It's only a moment after she sets the mug down that she realizes everyone's being rather quiet. So quiet thunder from outside is easily heard. "I wonder if it'll let up anytime soon." Mused, softly. A silence breaker. Weather. A safe enough topic.
But Imari is sitting quietly now, considering what Reyce answered, and appears to be fairly absorbed in her emboidery. The storytellers are still at it, and she pays them about half an ear. That is, until she decides that staring into the fire is a pleasant enough pastime and sips her mug of klah for a moment. It's only a moment after she sets the mug down that she realizes everyone's being rather quiet. So quiet thunder from outside is easily heard. "I wonder if it'll let up anytime soon." Mused, softly. A silence breaker. Weather. A safe enough topic.
Issa's attention wanders during all the talk of math, to the children gathered around those aunties, now stunned into wide-eyed silence by the recounting of some particularly harrowing part of the tale. Her own eyes grow a little glassy as she stares, explaining away her silence, at least in part. Comments about the weather, however, pull her gaze Imari-wards again. "Not likely. Sweeps an hour ago have the rain pretty far to the south and still coming." She reaches up with both hands, then, gathering her hair and leaning sideways (away from Reyce) to squeeze the majority of the wetness from the curls before settling back. As she does so, something occurs to her and she turns a light frown to Reyce. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"
Reyce has let his own attention wander to the fire during that extended silence, holding his mug up close to his face even though he only drinks from it occasionally. He's in the middle of one of those drinks, though, when Issa asks her question; his eyes flick back to her, but with klah in his mouth he can't do much more than shrug in the first moment. Then, "Yeah. I read the book." A substitute for actually going.
Imari watches the children, and gives a shiver at the story herself, pausing in her work to watch the fire and wrap her arms around her midsection. There's a bit of a pensive expression on her face, as if she's lost in her own thoughts. She finally reaches for her klah, turning to Issa. "A couple of the girls down in the laundry were asking after you the other day," she says to the rider. "Saying they haven't seen much of you recently. Lila and Chorie, I think it was. I know you're very busy these days, but it would be nice if you could drop down and let everyone know how you're doing." It's not an admonishment; more, perhaps, a wish to see more of someone they all knew at one time. Before her Impression, of course.
"Mmm." The mild note of disapproval for Reyce's skipping class has probably found more words on a previous occasion but, for now, Issa leaves it at that tuneless hum and lifts away her frown as she turns to Imari. "I've been meaning to. Just... busy with other things, is all." In fact, one of those things just happens to be sitting in the chair next to her. "Tell them I'll see if I can swing in for a bit in a few days. I've a rest day coming up." She crosses her arms across her chest but it's more uneasy than it should be in her reclining position. Fingers tapping gently at her elbow, her gaze drops to Imari's embroidery, then further to her basket. As if reminded of the duties of her past life, she offers with a smile, "Do you want some help with any of that, by the way? I'm just sitting here. I might be a little out of practice, but I'm sure I could handle something light."
Reyce meets Issa's disapproval levelly, his own gaze untroubled by her frown. His eyes are only just starting to slide away when, at the mention of other things, he jerks it back to her, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smirking, one-edged smile. He's wiped that look off his face, of course, by the time his gaze passes evenly over Imari, sparing a glance for her embroidery work again until, like Issa with the math, he phases out over the topic of embroidery.
Imari smiles at Issa, nodding in understanding about being busy. "Well, we do miss you, Issa," she says, almost shyly. "Not that there's a one of us who wasn't pleased when you Impressed. Lila brought a wineskin down to the laundry and we all had a drink in your honor." She laughs. "Well, maybe it was just a good reason to have a drink, but your name was mentioned. At least once!" Another soft laugh, and then, "If you'd like. It's mostly just shirts with seams ripped." She shakes her head a little. "You riders are rough on clothes." But there's a teasing sparkle in her eyes, and she sorts through a few things, pulling out a white shirt. "I've another needle around here someplace." And voila! the girl produces needle, thimble and appropriately colored thread.
Issa straightens in her chair, feet pulled up so that she can cross her legs, hands uncrossed from that uneasy position running along her trousers to brush away lingering wetness. She gives a light chuckle as Imari mentions the celebration her Impression sparked, but humbly says nothing. Instead, she remarks, "Seams I can do," and accepts both shirt and needle from Imari, placing the latter in her lap while she sets about threading the former. "Believe me, I know," the laundress turned greenrider responds, pausing to wet the end of her simple white thread before attempting to pass it through the eye, "I still do my own mending. Nothing like a bit of respectable work now and again." The thread finally finds its way through the needle and she spreads the shirt out with her other hand, easily sighting the torn seam along the shoulder. "I find the inside of the knees hardest to patch, myself. Something about the straps rubs it wrong or something."
Reyce's gaze idly wanders over to Issa when she starts to work with the thread, watching her at this for a moment or two before he retreats back to the fire. Now that she's pulled her legs up out of the way, he can claim the space under the table again, stretching out in his chair and leaning his head against the back. He pours all but the last dregs of the klah down his throat, cheeks briefly puffing with the held liquid, then puts the empited mug down on the table and settles completely into his chair, eyes closed and chin tilted up.
"Yes, that's always hardest, especially if it's older material," Imari replies, glancing at Reyce. "I think some riders wear their clothes till they literally fall apart." She chuckles. "I would imagine mending for students would be a little easier," she remarks, still chuckling. "Probably less stress on the inseams and knees. Maybe more on the elbows, or something much easier to fix." She takes a last drink from her mug, setting it on the table. "I spent the morning trying to repair some leathers, but that's not my specialty. So, I came out here to get away from all the gossip. It's really getting bad down there. People aren't stopping to think how they sound. And, I thought I'd try to work more on the collar. It's still not finished. I don't know if it ever will be."
"Oh, I think you'd be surprised," Issa contributes, amusement trickling in, "I'll bet the students' inseams get abused just as much as the riders'. This is a Weyr, after all." And everyone's riding dragons, clearly. She passes a glance to the close-eyed Reyce, but her eyes quickly return to the simple seam she's repairing. Her hands fall into the old rhythm quickly, needle flicked through the fabric quickly, deftly as she pinches the fabric together. Eyebrows lower only slightly at the mention of gossip, but she smoothes her expression with a smile and quickly glances up at Imari, imparting curiousity, as she asks, "How do they sound?"
"Vicious," is the simple answer. "It's not like it used to be, Issa, when everyone just laughed about who was seeing whom, and who stayed out all night. There's an ugliness to it, and it's rather disturbing." She pauses, picking up her thread again. "A lot of it's about the wingleader and that girl they arrested, speculating whether or not they're guilty. Some are saying they should be staked out for thread." This last seems to horrify Imari, and she shakes her head. "I wish it were like the old days, when I was growing up. I don't know what's happened to the weyr. The bad shouldn't outweigh the good."
Issa's lowered eyes thin over the news of the gossip, though there's really no surprise in her expression. The same sort of things seem to be flying from many mouths these days. "It's been a rough turn or two," Issa concedes slowly, shaking her head over her work and sending a wayward drop of water down to splatter on the white shirt. "It'll get better. Things will calm down. They're already starting to. And, much as people will talk, there's not going to be any staking out for Thread." The greenrider seems wholly sure of this fact, her needle whipping through the fabric with more force than is strictly necessary. "Though, according to... all the people that were attacked... the woman they've arrested is guilty. They say she's even confessed." Issa finishes off the seam by twisting out a knot to rival any surgeon's suture, her hand flying easily through the well-practiced motion so that she can raise her eyes to glance, first at the still immobile Reyce, then back to Imari.
Reyce's immobility suffers a small crack, one eye opening midway through the seamstresses' conversation and rolling down to fix on Issa. For that brief glance she spares him, he goes so far as to open both eyes, though he's still not saying anything. His hands draw down to his stomach, crossing there mildly, while he draws a socked foot up along his leg, apparently scratching an itch there.
Imari is quiet a moment, just staring into the fire. The children are dispersing for baths and dinner, the Aunties shooing them back to mothers who've finished work or back to the creche. She waits until the noise dies down, then, "I hope so, Issa," she says quietly, picking up the thread and rewinding it around the spool. "It's not the same weyr I left, and it takes some getting used to. Of course, I was younger then, and didn't pay quite as much attention to things. I shouldn't listen now, but it's all you hear. All the bad that's happened." She looks up. "I didn't know this girl. I think I saw her in passing, but that's about all. If it's even the one I'm thinking it is." Imari shrugs. "I don't much like gossip, and here I am indulging in it. Silly me." The laugh is kind of forced. "D'ban always told me to just ignore it." Soft, a little hollow sounding.
"Good advice," is all Issa has to say as the name of the deceased rider is brought up. She straightens the mended seam out over her knee and inspects it in silence for a moment, tugging at it gently before she lifts the shirt away. Folding the good-as-new shirt, she offers a soft and soothing smile for Imari. "Probably better to be like Reyce here, impervious to wagging tongues like ours." Carefully, she steers her tone away from the hollowness found in Imari's, treading between sympathy and cheer. Her eyes switch to the Bendenite and she offers a grin that's strained by something unspoken. "Anyway, this one's done," she informs Imari with more lightness, offering back the white shirt though she holds onto the needle and thread, at the ready for another task.
Reyce rolls his head back and to the side, responding to the clanking sound of a new dinner tray being set out on the serving table far behind him. The sound of his name prompts him to lean his chin back up, regarding Issa and Imari for a moment before he struggles upright with a quick grunt. "I'm getting dinner," he decides, leaning his hands on the table and half-pushing himself up. "Either of you two want anything?" While he waits for them to answer, he moves towards the fire, inspecting his boots and sticking a hand inside to see if they've dried yet. Alas, no: that hand withdraws and wipes off against his side.
"You're right, of course. I think it's just the dreary day. Everyone seemed in a bad mood, and here I am being just as bad." She brightens a bit, smiling at the shirt. "You haven't lost your touch, Issa," she says, and the smile is a bit less sad. "So tell me what you've been up to? Is G'bit still around? I haven't seen him much, but, then I don't get out much anymore." There's no more of the hollow emptiness of a moment before, Imari having given herself a mental slap or something to snap out of it. "And your friend here shouldn't talk so much, why, we can hardly get a word in edgewise," she adds with a teasing laugh. "Thank you, just some meatrolls will be fine for me, and maybe a glass of juice. I can give you a hand if need be."
Drawn away from watching the traces of sadness disappear from Imari's countenance, Issa considers Reyce for a second or two before she answers. "Just a plate of whatever you're having," she says, less a statement and more of a question as she seeks confirmation that he can handle all of that by his lonesome. But she's distracted from that by Imari's tumble of questions, however, and turns back to the girl. Her fingers fidget, winding her idle thread around one finger before pulling it off again and moving to the next one. "Well... G'bit and I haven't been together for a long... long while now," she feels the need to remind Imari, voice lowered slightly, "but we're still close. Same wing and all that. We ride 'falls. Drill. Other than that..." Issa lifts her shoulders in a sheepish sort of shrug, the gesture of one who has nothing else to give. "Other than that, normal life underneath the chaos of the Weyr is really rather," her gaze flickers toward Reyce, "blissfully mundane."
Reyce, despite the lowered voices, undoubtedly catches some of that, though his only visible response is a slight check to his steps and the thin, almost unnoticeable narrowing of his eyes as he walks past them - without a word, giving more weight to Imari's tease - and heads to the serving table. Apparently, he can handle it all by himself, and he's even tough enough to fetch it all in socks. Imari's meatrolls get tossed to the corner of his tray so there's room for two plates, identical servings of pasta (with identical overdoses of meat sauce) and a few raw vegetables for good measure. He doesn't bother with drinks, but even so, it's a good few minutes before he returns, setting the tray down in the middle of their seating arrangement and hence in front of Issa.
"Oh, I know you're not together together, I was just wondering how he was doing, is all. I don't see many of the riders anymore, and I was just curious," Imari says as Reyce moves to get dinner, and she leans a little closer. "Did hear some folks flew Nabol. I hope no one was seriously hurt." Her words come out almost as a whisper, but, then, she doesn't want to get anyone in trouble. She sits back, then, picking another shirt from the basket. "More sleeve seam damage, if you're willing," she says with a grin. "I mean, I'll happily take advantage of your good nature."
"Perfectly willing," Issa responds, smile spreading wider as she reaches for the offered shirt. But then Reyce's return draws her attention and she turns that smile on him, welcoming him back, though she says, "But after we eat, yeah? These tired hands could use a break." It's a dry tease, those hands that now toss the shirt gently back to the basket having withstood hours long stretches without break. Uncrossing her legs, she scoots her chair further under the table with a wooden scraping, reaching up to nudge the tray closer to Imari so that she can retrieve her meatrolls. Then her voice takes a turn into more solemn overtones, as she says, "Lost a bluerider. Some injuries. But, considering how few riders they had, they were lucky."
Reyce steals his plate off the tray, leaning unhesistatingly over into Issa's space as he does so. He lingers there while he picks out a fork that slipped away beneath Issa's plate when he set the tray down. A little flip rights the fork in his grasp and it's on to the eating, keeping as much of the heavy meat sauce balanced on the noodles as he can. His eyes are on his food, but a slight tilt of his head in the direction of the other two indicates he's still listening, despite his prolonged silence.
"Very lucky, indeed," Imari agrees, accepting the food after setting her own work aside. "And, yes, after we eat I will gladly hand you those shirts." There's a twinkle in her eyes, now. "Thank you, Reyce. That's very kind of you," she says, nodding. "And, since you were kind enough to fetch food, I'll get drinks. What would everyone like?" She rises from the chair, picking up her empty mug, and the full one Rysia left there. "Issa? Reyce? -- Juice, water, klah?" There comes another boom of thunder, and she looks over toward the exit. "I do not envy anyone riding sweeps today."
As Reyce leans, Issa's hand falls along the back of his reaching arm, wordless thanks for the food. "Oh, um," the greenrider hesistates, flipping a damp curl out of her way as she turns her face up to Imari. "Klah? Two sweetners." And, with the tray all to herself, Issa simply pulls it closer, her left hand fishing blindly about for the other fork. Her eyes are turned toward Reyce, however. "Sorry," she offers quietly, smiling over at him. "I haven't gotten to talk with her in a long time." Fork found, she sinks the head of it into the pasta, blurring the lines of the meat sauce as she mixes it into one big jumble. "You alright?" With Imari. With embroidery. With endless chatting.
Reyce raises his eyes to Imari at the question, fork with balanced noodles poised before his mouth. "I'm fine," he says of the offered drink, his elbow reaching out to nudge his own emptied klah mug as evidence that he already had something. He'd go back to his plate, after that, but Issa's quiet apology draws him back up. A quick, sinus-clearing sniff, and then he nudges her lightly with his non-fork-holding elbow. "Yeah," he confirms, looking down at her plate and watching her blend the sauce. He gives a short grunt. "It's fine. Just nothing to say." His eyes flick up to meet hers, if they can, while he eats his pasta.
Imari takes her time in fetching the drinks. Perhaps she's not as oblivious to things as she might seem, and gives Reyce and Issa some few moments alone. Once she's at the drinks counter, she chats for a few minutes with the girl there, and a couple of lower caverns people who've wandered in. Then, armed with two mugs of klah, she heads back to the table, again pausing for a brief moment of conversation with one of the Aunties who is having some trouble with her tray. Then, and only then does Imari return, setting the mugs down first, then herself. Picking up a meatroll, she turns toward the fire, just watching the flames for a few minutes of silent contemplation.
"Oh, so I can touch you now?" Issa teases, glancing down at the spot where he nudged her arm before she looks up to, indeed, meet his eyes. The pasta mixing pauses and her elbow swings up to return the nudge. "Am I allowed, hm?" The fork is then fully dropped and her right hand sneaks under the level of the table, dealing a quick pinch to his side that grabs more shirt than skin. Playful grin is turned up at him as she leans in, eyes dancing across his features. But then, Imari returns with a scraping of mugs and Issa pulls back to reclaim her fork and set about to eating again. "Thanks," she offers, reaching out with her left hand to point at one of the mugs, "This one?"
"Yes, that one," Imari answers, taking her own mug, sipping after taking a few bites of meatroll. "Issa, when I finish, I really should get back down to the caverns," the girl says, smiling. "Much as I love seeing you again, I really am supposed to be showing one of the new girls around," is added, "and, I've got a ton of mending to finish tonight before I sleep." She takes the last bite of her food, then impishly grins as she licks her fingers. "Besides, Reyce there's a lot better company to look at than shirts and me." The grin is good natured, and not at all upset. "I don't blame you, either," she adds with a wink. "I'd rather look at him than mend shirts, too." With a laugh, she rises, gathering up the basket. "Don't be a stranger, Issa. We do miss you downstairs. It was nice to meet you, Reyce. Enjoy the socks." And, with basket and mug in hand, Imari makes her way to the lower caverns.
Reyce's lips twitch up thinly at the corners as he allows Issa to nudge and pinch him without protest. "You were wet," he points out calmly, dropping his fork back to the noodles. "You're dry, you can do whatever you want." The smile quirks a little higher, daring her as she leans in, but Imari's efforts to be tactful come just a moment shy of success. He withdraws as Issa does, propping an elbow on the table on the side away from her, and absently picking up his fork again. Alas, his efforts to be subtle also come just a moment shy of success, as Imari's parting comments make all too clear. Reyce's eyes widen slightly as she makes them, his gaze lowering to the table so he won't have to meet anyone's eye. Once she's gone, after a protracted pause, he whuffs out, "Okay." Then it's on through dinner.
Players: Rysia, Reyce, Imari, Issa
Location: Living Cavern
Synopsis: Stormy day. Wet. Miserable. Four people gather around the hearth in the living cavern to discuss weather, socks, gossip and a few other things. (Thanks to Reyce for posting the Log I could steal; his revenge was working overtime that night!)
Living Cavern,
Afternoon
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
It's a quiet afternoon, the time that a good Caucus student spends in class - Reyce, however, is not a good Caucus student. He's obviously been out in the storm that's raging outside, because his clothes are somewhat damp, and for that reason he's just hanging out by the hearth, leaning dangerously far back in his chair so he can prop his bootless feet up on the table. He has to share the warm space, however, with a group of aunties and young weyrbrats who are spending the rainy afternoon trading stories near the fire; whenever the story telling gets too loud and enthusiastic, he pins them with a reproachful glare, though he says nothing.
Rysia makes her way from the upper caverns, shawl over her shoulders, basket on arm. She heads directly towards the hearth, and goes so far as to drag a chair over nearish the aunties, tale-telling youngsters, and glowering Reyce. "'lo, Reyce," comes the pleasant enough greeting, as the young resident pulls out knitting needles, her knitting, and the two different green-coloured skeins of yarn. "How bad is it out there?"
With a basket in her hands that looks to be mending of some sort, Imariel meanders into the Living Cavern, pausing to look around herself. Her own clothes are a little damp, the hem of her skirt even slightly muddy, considering how much has been tracked inside by those escaping the storm. Giving a shake of her head to rid her scarf of any raindrops, she makes her way to the drinks table, selecting a mug of klah, and then heads to the hearth. Upon seeing others there, she smiles and inquires, "Is there room for another damp person?"
Reyce's gaze moves to Rysia when she greets him. A reproach lingers from the last glance he gave the storytellers, just a moment ago, but he closes his eyes to let it fade, and perhaps to give himself time to dredge up Rysia's name from memory. When he opens them again, it's with more recognition, though he doesn't bother to confirm her name and simply answers her greeting with a grunt. "Was bad," he answers, just as a loud thunderclap reverberates outside, prompting excited screams from several weyrbrats. "Still is," he adds drily, gaze rolling towards the entrance and - on the way - landing on Imariel. A permissive shrug answers her question.
Rysia doesn't stab her eye out with that thunderclap, not even when she jumps. Her hand on the other hand.. Well, anyway, there's a wrinkle of the nose, as she nods, "Thinkin' I'm glad I don't have to be leavin' the caverns unless I've a need. Hey there, Mari." She takes the moment to scoot the chair a bit to the side, nearer Reyce with his bare feets, to make room for the seamstress.
A smile is offered to Rysia, and Imari pulls up her own chair to take maximum advantage of the light and heat from the hearth. "Hello, Rysia -- still working on the blanket, or is this something new?" she asks, glancing up to Reyce as she sets her basket on the floor. "The lower cavern was just so dark and gloomy, I thought I'd come up here for awhile," she explains, sorting through the basket and coming up with a piece of hide. "Oh, I thought you might like this," she says to the other woman, holding out the hide. "I sketched you while you were working one day." The drawing is good, capturing not only Rysia's likeness, but her mood while she worked.
Reyce grunts again to answer Rysia's wrinkle-nosed comment, absently stretching his own feet in their socks - soaked through, it would seem, by whatever puddles he had to go through outside. He glances down when she scoots her chair closer to his, but judging the distance between them still a safe one, he soon enough settles back and tunes out the womanly chatter about knitting and such.
No flying knitting needles here, no-siree-bob. Rys starts to knit, as she turns to look at Mari's offering, peering a bit as she looks, "I... well. I didn't even notice you doing so. That is very nicely done, even if I am sayin' so m'self." As she straightens up, there's a pause to count stitches, then a nod, continuing on, "What had you out an' about in this sort of weather. Surely not the company of the Cavern..." she asks Reyce.
Imari goes back to sorting the mending, finally pulling out a nice tunic with a sleeve half torn out. Threading her needle with appropriate thread, she takes up the mending and starts to work. She seems in a complacent mood, content to sit and sew, and not contribute much to the conversation at the moment. After all, she doesn't know the gentleman with wet socks. Steaming sock, that have that wet socks smell, at that.
Reyce hasn't noticed the smell of his wet socks, so he keeps them - rather inconsiderately - propped on the table for all to see and smell. Rysia's question prompts him to reach a hand up to splay across his collarbone, scratching over an especially damp patch on his shirt - to judge by the patterns of wetness, he was wearing a jacket at some point. Most likely the leather one now lying under his chair. "Just crossing the bowl," he answers. His eye rolls down to Imari, watching her for a second before it's on to the seamstress that addressed him. "Sent to fetch something from the commons."
Rysia ahs, and nods, then glances at the feet, and tilts her head slightly, "Waitin' for your socks to dry out a'fore headin' back out?" Click-click-click, goes the wooden needles, between words, before adding, "Can't really blame you on that, though one of the kitchen folk might."
If Imari is paying attention, she's doing so while working, glancing every now and then to the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. The sewing is going well enough, the seam coming together nicely. "It's certainly wet enough out there," she remarks, nodding toward the wet socks. "If you took them off, hung them on the back of a chair, and propped your shoes in front of the fire, they'd likely dry faster," she suggests to Reyce.
Reyce lifts one of his legs, just by an inch, so he can peer at the table beneath his feet and see whether his socks have been dripping. They haven't, but there's a spot of condensed moisture where his heel was touching, and at the sight of it he gives a little grunt and draws his feet back off the table. Mission accomplished, ladies. "Drying out, yeah," he confirms; heading back out, he does not confirm. Stretching his feet out under the table, now - at least it puts distance between them and the table company - he glances at Imari. "Don't want my feet bare," he explains simply.
Rysia has to grin a bit at that, before shaking her head, "Well, guess I'm glad they don't reek - that'd make eatin' later a bit difficult - if not for the reek, then for the fact kitchen'd be bein' a bit upset." One knows what they say, if at first you don't succeed, try try try (teasing) again.
There's a nod, and then Imari is digging into the bottom of the basket, pulling out a pair of socks. "If you'd like a dry pair, these don't belong to anyone. They've been sitting around the laundry for about a month now, and nobody's claimed them," she says, laying the socks on the table as an offering to the young man. "That way, yours can dry, and your feet won't be bare." A pause. "They're clean, too."
Reyce tenses at Rysia's words as that tease apparently strikes it mark. He shrinks a little bit away from her and sinks further into his chair so he can stretch his feet out more. Imari's offered socks get eyed warily for several seconds before he reaches out to touch them, his gaze flicking back to her for confirmation of something - who knows what, as he doesn't really wait for a response - before he reluctantly draws them in. "Thanks." Another flickered glance towards her, and then he turns his back on the two of them while he exchanges his wet socks for the (apparently) clean new ones.
Rysia let's out a breath, almost a sigh, before pointing out, "I was just teasin'. Suppose I should stop that, always misjudin' the words, an' such." She hmms lightly, then asks Imari, "What happens with the stuff that no-one ends up claimin'?"
The socks are well enough made, and warm. Imari nods, and then goes back to her work, her good deed, apparently, done for the day. "You can keep them," she offers. "Like I said, they've not been claimed for over a month, and I was just going to take them down to stores later. No sense in letting good socks go to waste." And, she's bending over her work again, hair falling forward to partially hide her face. Turning to Rysia, though, she replies. "Most of it goes down to stores. Some of it goes to the Aunties for the littles, if it can be cut down for them. Rest ... if it's really torn up, goes in the rag bag for cleaning cloths, an' all."
Reyce turns his head to look over his shoulder at Rysia's words, offering a small shrug but no words of his own in response. Then it's back to his new socks, which indeed he finds well made enough to fit his feet, letting the two women discuss the fate of other, similarly abandoned clothes while he reaps the benefits. His wet socks removed, he holds them tucked by his side, out of sight of his tablemates, while he pads to the nearby fireplace, then throws them over the tops of the boots he left there some time ago. He retreats to his own seat silently.
Rysia hms, and nods, "I'll have to see about layin' claim to the knittin' things for the rag-bag. Could probably use the yarn in one way or another, dependin' on the condition of it. Usually, a good soak and wind takes care of a multitude of problems." Rys regains a bit her smile once Reyce returns, continuing to chat with Imari.
"There're a few heavy sweaters down there now," Imari replies. "Don't know who they belonged to, but the yarn's in good shape. I can grab them for you, if you'd like." Finishing the tunic with a knot and biting the thread with her teeth, she folds the garment and takes a breath. "Day like today makes a person want to curl up someplace warm and doze," she offers, chuckling softly while she watches the fire. "Time was, I'd just sit and watch the storm." Another piece of fabric is pulled from the basket, this time a decorative piece that's not so much mending as frivolous. "By the way," she says, turning to Reyce. "I'm Imariel," she says by way of introduction.
Reyce is just stretching out in his seat again - curling up and dozing is not quite his style, but certainly kicking back and doing nothing should suffice - when Imariel's greeting draws him somewhat alert again. "Reyce," he answers, glancing down at the work in her lap before up to her face. "Of Benden," he's just helpful enough to specify, since he's not wearing his knot. He abandons his plan of completely stretching out and becoming useless, for now, instead leaning forward again while he props an elbow on the table and angles his body slightly towards the other two.
Rysia doesn't drool. Honest. But a flare of interest is certainly apparent, "That'd be absolutely lovely, Mari." The young weaver-knitter pauses a moment, then stretches, a few crackles and crunches heard from her back, "An' on that note, drink time. Anyone else want anything?"
"Well met, sir," Imari offers, nodding as she checks the embroidery. It's well done, a pattern of interlaced dragons in all their colors around what looks to be the collar of a tunic. Then it's back to the basket to pull out some very precious gold thread for the queens. "Ah, I've some klah, but thanks, Rysia," she says, looking up and smiling. She glances back to Reyce. "Benden, hm? I've never been there, just down to Boll when I apprenticed."
Reyce's gaze has already trailed off to Rysia, alerted by those crunches in her back. He restores it to Imariel briefly, with a nod just to show he's heard, but first he has to consider the offered drink. "Could take some klah," he admits. "Spoon of sweetener." His lips draw down briefly as he makes the request, but he's quick to turn his gaze away from Rysia so his frown won't seem directed at her. That hand propped on the table reaches up to scratch his stubble.
Rysia nods, and puts down her knitting, before popping up to her feet, and then it's off to the table with the drinks, bouncing back and forth, off of various table and bench-ends, before pouring a couple of mugs full of the liquid, one spoonful of sweetener in one, and rather more in the other. The way back is a little less bouncing off things, and a lot more slower, but neither of the mugs spill. She hands off the one first, then sits down with rather more care then the excerise should require.
"Such a storm," Imari remarks as another clap of thunder rumbles through the cavern. "Haven't seen one this bad in a while, even counting the one last sevenday. Sounds like drums, 'r something out there." She shakes her head, threading her needle with the gold thread. "Did you hear anything about the ..." She glances around, as if curious who might be around to overhear, "... last 'fall over Nabol?" she asks Rysia. "There was talk of some riders going against the 'Leader's ruling again." A cluck of her tongue.
Reyce watches Rysia's bouncing progress across the room, his eyes squinted thoughtfully, though he's quick to snap out of it and take the mug when it's offered. In return, he grunts his thanks while he holds the mug up to his lips, testing the heat before he drinks. Its placement saves his expression from showing when Imari introduces the topic of Nabol - at least, aside from the quickly-banished narrowing of his eyes. Certainly that comment draws more of his attention than the storm, which he's grown used to hearing since he's been drying off in the cavern for so long; he lets Rysia answer, though, while he drinks from his klah.
Rysia shakes her head, and admits, "I've been avoidin' the Aunties when they get goin' lately, and most riders I know don't be goin' out of their way to visit me these days." The words are without rancor or bitterness, a simple statement of fact.
Imari nods. "I was just wondering if --" And she stops, nodding and looking back down at her work. "It's hard not to wonder sometimes. When there's talk of things, and ... you get to thinking." She gives Rysia a soft smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Didn't mean to bring up ... things." Her hands move over the collar, stroking the dragons, one by one, tracing them with a fingertip. "Hard not to remember, sometimes."
Reyce, senses something amiss, more from Imari's response than Rysia's simple one, and so he promptly ceases to be even so much as an eavesdropping part of this conversation. Turning his attention towards the hearth, he sips from his klah quietly and, by all appearances, zones out.
Rysia shakes her head at Imari, "Wonderin's fine, an' natural. Just not up to listenin' to various folks slanderin' whoever they want. First this person, then that person, truth havin' little to do with matters, just whatever sounds the most interestin'. If they are that bored, they should find other ways of entertainin' themselves." This comment is probably not the most diplomatic, given the other group by the hearth, hence the quietness of the words, before she adds, "Don't worry about it, lass - if it doesn't be botherin' you, who'm I to be sayin' elsewise?"
"Well, I don't like the tone of what I'm hearing, 'sall," Imair replies. "Time was, listening to the prattle was kind of entertaining, you know? Fun stuff of who was seeing who, and oh, wasn't so-and-so drunk t'other night. Now, there's so much ... wrongness in what they're saying." She shakes her head. "Don't like the way folks are talking. Just wish things were like they were when I was little." She shrugs, glancing toward Reyce, and then down. "Shouldn't be talking anyways, I guess. Talk doesn't solve anything, I don't guess." She casts Rysia a grateful smile. "Heard there's gonna be a Gather, soon. You planning on going?" And her fingers begin working on the golden dragon, now.
Reyce has been quietly slumping into his seat while they talk, doing a good job of zoning out although a few of their words reach through to him. When they do, he flicks quick glances their way, but soon enough he finds ample distraction in the nearby storytellers, who have just broken out in a storm of giggles over their most recent tale. He narrows his eyes at them, then, as if the explosion of sound were enough to jerk him out of his zoned-out reverie, turns his eyes back to Rysia and Imari, once again alert to their conversation, if still non-participatory.
Rysia hms, and nods, "It's bein' here, I think I heard? If so, I think I'll be doin' m'best to make it. Have a dress for it, an' everything." She falls silent for a moment, looking at her knitting, before shaking her head, and asking her two companions, "What about you two? Mari, I'm guessin' you'll be around? What about you, Reyce? The Causus lettin' folks get away for such things?"
"I don't know," Imari replies, shrugging. "Last Gather I went to was with D'ban, and I'm not sure I'm up for it. I helped a couple of the girls find dresses down in stores, but I don't have anything nice enough. I'll probably just stick around and help others get ready." She glances over at Reyce, tilting her head to the side. "Caucus? Ah, all right. Didn't know you were a student." But she looks at him, waiting to see what his answer to Rysia will be.
Reyce stretches his arms out in front of him on the table, pushing the klah mug out with them while he stares down at it. "It's at the hold, yeah," he tells Rysia, beginning to twist the mug between his palms. "It's just a Gather." Now with a flickered glance and a small shrug for Imari. "Don't have to dress for it. I'm not going to." Though he is going to go, apparently, to judge by his response.
Rysia's smile is a bit wistful, "Well, the dress was to be a present for a gather - or a dance. Figure I should be wearin' it at least once. An' Imari, you don't have to do anything, but it might be nice for listenin' to music, or just to sit an' watch - but as you are most comfortable with." Despite the fact she's just sat down with a mug of klah, she's putting away the knitting, after a quick glance towards the upper halls. To Imari, "I've not been down here, and you have no idea where I'm off to, alright?" A quick grin is offered, one that mostly reaches her eyes, and then she's off, bouncing as she goes, mug left behind. On the hells of her disappearing down into the lower caverns, a familiar, and similiar looking older woman comes in - then heads off to one of the *other* offshooting caverns.
"I suppose, Rysia," Imari replies. "I do like the music, and I'm sure the Aunties will need help watching the little ones." She's wavering, and then nods. "I'll probably go, no worries." As for the last, "Not a word. Rysia ... who?" And she smiles, waving as the girl slips away. The older woman gets a glance, then it's back to her embroidery. "It's different for a girl," she remarks in reference to Reyce's comment about not dressing up. "Most of them want to look nice for the men. So, they need new dresses and things."
Reyce raises his head to watch Rysia's departure, tracking her as much as he tracks the similar looking older woman who appears (and disappears) right after her. His head is still raised, then, giving him extra height over Imari when he looks at her, listening to her answer. "It's your thing," he concedes, shrugging and reaching for his klah mug. He settles over it, taking a short drink while his eyes flick across the room, then back to the weaver.
"No, not /my/ thing, really," Imari says in response. "I leave that kind of thing to the others. I have no need to attract anyone's attention." Not anymore, that implies. She finishes the gold dragon, this time using a small pair of scissors to snip the thread. "So what are you studying at the Caucus?" she asks, curious, perhaps.
Reyce settles his klah mug into the palm of his opposite hand, warming it against the heat coming off the ceramic. His brow quirks up at the finality that enters her tone in that last statement, the expression lingering as he examines her for several seconds more, her question left to hang in the air unattended while he does. A little grunt breaks him out of that, as he turns his gaze down to watch her embroidery work on the dragons. "Stewardship," his simple answer comes at last.
"Ah," is Imari's answer, nodding. "Admirable profession. I've been helping Heriet some, and it's a lot more complicated than I ever realized. She has my respect for all she does." A pause, and she chooses now a bright green thread, fixing the needle and continuing her work. "I'd thought about asking to become an assistant, but I don't know if I have the needed skills. My mathematics leave something to be desired, though I can do the basics."
Reyce pulls his hand back out from under the mug, looking at the ring it left on his palm. He closes his fingers over the escaping warmth, absently forming a fist before he looks up at Imari. "Math you need for it's not hard. Sometimes you need to a rate for something, but mostly it's just adding, subtracting, listing numbers." Having said this, he draws in a deep sniff and looks off at the fire. "Basics'd get you by so long as you keep the numbers straight."
"I don't have any problem with keeping numbers straight," Imari replies, smoothing the fabric out over her knee for a moment. "And I can do the adding and subtracting. Multiplying, though, and fractions ... well, they give me a bit of trouble sometimes." She shrugs, studying the embroidery. "Mother didn't think much of schooling, but Da said it was important, so I learned.'
A rolling, muffled rumble of thunder is followed by a peal of laughter as two riders come racing into the shelter of the caverns from the bowl, just as soaked as everyone else to come through that door, though they seem decidedly less disturbed by that fact. One is a lanky bluerider with a hide-wrapped package under one arm, the other, a short female greenrider with dark curls that follows just a step behind. The living cavern is as far as their paths go together, though, and they part with a joke and another carrying laugh, both smiling as the bluerider takes his package to the upper caverns and the greenrider wanders toward the radiating heat of the hearth. Issa's walk is measured with the slew of drips that trail along behind her, each step the source of another few splatters. As she weaves through the tables, she sights Reyce and Imari among the storytellers, engaging in what could be called conversation, and one of her eyebrows leaps up into a dainty arch. "H'lo, you two," she greets, remnants of that earlier laughter still left in her voice, when she's reaches a conversational distance. Though her jacket has a hood, she seems to have neglected to use it, and water streams down to drip off the ends of her water-tightened curls as she alternates her gaze between the two of them, coming to a halt just behind their chairs.
Reyce's attention twitches towards the entrance at the sudden laughter, but he's involved in math questions now, so he doesn't look as closely as perhaps he should. Dropping his fingers out of their lightly clenched fist, he lets the knuckles drum one-by-one back onto the table as he answers Imari. "So memorize. That's all you need, and the fastest way to get multiplication. Fractions are just-" interrupted by Issa's greeting. The familiar voice registers with him now, as he leans his elbow onto the table - away from her - and eyes her dripping curls. "Don't touch me," he requests flatly, eyes following a raindrop that travels along her nose. His own clothes have now dried off enough that their earlier dampness is almost impossible to detect.
Imari turns at the sound of a voice, smiling. "Issa -- oh, dear, you're all wet!" Understatement of the turn, that. She scoots her chair over, giving the greenrider plenty of room to take the chair Rysia just abandoned. "Do you want a towel? I can fetch one from the lower cavern, if you wish." She's ready to set aside her embroidery and do just that.
"Don't bother, Imari," Issa answers quickly for the girl's offer, just now beginning to undo the buttons at the front of her jacket. "I'll dry on my own, soon enough." Reyce's request isn't so much ignored as purposefully violated. A sneaking gesture, she reaches up a hand as she passes behind his chair to give his right shoulder a quick tap with a single finger, a forbidden touch that's accompanied by two small droplets that fall and soak into his near-dry shirt. Her conversation continues, with the addition of an impish grin. "Never heard of talking about fractions while doing the mending. Does it help?" she addresses Imari as she shrugs out of her jacket, letting it slide to the floor before she sinks into that open seat.
Reyce just closes his eyes when she touches him, dourly unsurprised by her willful disobedience. He makes a quick point of reaching to the shoulder of his shirt, where those droplets sank in, and pulling it away from his skin - really, his own former dampness, and not Issa's two measley droplets, is to blame for the way the sweater sticks to him, but he gives her a reproachful glance all the same. Predicting another infringement, perhaps, he draws his klah mug away across the table, blocking it behind his elbow. Of course, Rysia's klah mug, with its more generous sweetener, is still there for the taking.
"Oh, well, we were actually talking about my problems with multiplication and fractions," Imari replies, explaining. "I've been helping the Headwoman a bit, and was thinking of asking to be an assistant, but I wasn't certain my math skills were quite up to par." She gives the greenrider a smile. "How's Oshisyth, these days? give her my best, please?" The girl chuckles. "You want some hot klah? Or tea? Something to warm you up?" The embroidery isn't forgotten, it's lying spread on her lap, the pattern of interlaced dragons taking shape well under her expert fingers. "I was just talking to Reyce about mathematics, and he was telling me that to multiply is mostly memorization. I never thought about it like that." She turns back to Reyce. "You were saying that fractions are only ... what?"
"Fine, fine," Issa provides as an answer to Imari's questions, then with a quirk of her grin, negates her offer with, "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The greenrider is really quite dry underneath her jacket, if one neglects the effect that her damp curls now have on the shoulders of her shirt, several darkened droplets showing on the red fabric. She reaches out with a booted foot from her seat, stepping down on her jacket and bringing it further in toward her chair as the seamstress keeps talking. Then she does, indeed, infringe again on Reyce's dryer territory, but in a much less intentional way. Her swamped boots stretch out beneath the table without any heed as to how close they may come to his feet. There she lounges, wet hair pressed against the back of the chair, fingers interlaced over her abdomen. After repositioning herself, she lets them continue their conversation about mathematics, switching her gaze expectantly to Reyce.
Reyce is not about to let his new socks get soaked again, so as soon as he realizes where Issa's putting her feet, he jerks his own out of the way. He does it, however, without reproach this time, simply straightening his posture in the chair so he's no longer stretched out with his feet next to hers. His gaze lingers on the greenrider for a while, wary, before he draws his klah mug back into range and dares shift his attention off her and to Imari. "They're just the same stuff. Once you've got the multiplication tables it's easy to work with them." With a short shrug, he takes a slow drink of his klah.
But Imari is sitting quietly now, considering what Reyce answered, and appears to be fairly absorbed in her emboidery. The storytellers are still at it, and she pays them about half an ear. That is, until she decides that staring into the fire is a pleasant enough pastime and sips her mug of klah for a moment. It's only a moment after she sets the mug down that she realizes everyone's being rather quiet. So quiet thunder from outside is easily heard. "I wonder if it'll let up anytime soon." Mused, softly. A silence breaker. Weather. A safe enough topic.
But Imari is sitting quietly now, considering what Reyce answered, and appears to be fairly absorbed in her emboidery. The storytellers are still at it, and she pays them about half an ear. That is, until she decides that staring into the fire is a pleasant enough pastime and sips her mug of klah for a moment. It's only a moment after she sets the mug down that she realizes everyone's being rather quiet. So quiet thunder from outside is easily heard. "I wonder if it'll let up anytime soon." Mused, softly. A silence breaker. Weather. A safe enough topic.
Issa's attention wanders during all the talk of math, to the children gathered around those aunties, now stunned into wide-eyed silence by the recounting of some particularly harrowing part of the tale. Her own eyes grow a little glassy as she stares, explaining away her silence, at least in part. Comments about the weather, however, pull her gaze Imari-wards again. "Not likely. Sweeps an hour ago have the rain pretty far to the south and still coming." She reaches up with both hands, then, gathering her hair and leaning sideways (away from Reyce) to squeeze the majority of the wetness from the curls before settling back. As she does so, something occurs to her and she turns a light frown to Reyce. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"
Reyce has let his own attention wander to the fire during that extended silence, holding his mug up close to his face even though he only drinks from it occasionally. He's in the middle of one of those drinks, though, when Issa asks her question; his eyes flick back to her, but with klah in his mouth he can't do much more than shrug in the first moment. Then, "Yeah. I read the book." A substitute for actually going.
Imari watches the children, and gives a shiver at the story herself, pausing in her work to watch the fire and wrap her arms around her midsection. There's a bit of a pensive expression on her face, as if she's lost in her own thoughts. She finally reaches for her klah, turning to Issa. "A couple of the girls down in the laundry were asking after you the other day," she says to the rider. "Saying they haven't seen much of you recently. Lila and Chorie, I think it was. I know you're very busy these days, but it would be nice if you could drop down and let everyone know how you're doing." It's not an admonishment; more, perhaps, a wish to see more of someone they all knew at one time. Before her Impression, of course.
"Mmm." The mild note of disapproval for Reyce's skipping class has probably found more words on a previous occasion but, for now, Issa leaves it at that tuneless hum and lifts away her frown as she turns to Imari. "I've been meaning to. Just... busy with other things, is all." In fact, one of those things just happens to be sitting in the chair next to her. "Tell them I'll see if I can swing in for a bit in a few days. I've a rest day coming up." She crosses her arms across her chest but it's more uneasy than it should be in her reclining position. Fingers tapping gently at her elbow, her gaze drops to Imari's embroidery, then further to her basket. As if reminded of the duties of her past life, she offers with a smile, "Do you want some help with any of that, by the way? I'm just sitting here. I might be a little out of practice, but I'm sure I could handle something light."
Reyce meets Issa's disapproval levelly, his own gaze untroubled by her frown. His eyes are only just starting to slide away when, at the mention of other things, he jerks it back to her, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smirking, one-edged smile. He's wiped that look off his face, of course, by the time his gaze passes evenly over Imari, sparing a glance for her embroidery work again until, like Issa with the math, he phases out over the topic of embroidery.
Imari smiles at Issa, nodding in understanding about being busy. "Well, we do miss you, Issa," she says, almost shyly. "Not that there's a one of us who wasn't pleased when you Impressed. Lila brought a wineskin down to the laundry and we all had a drink in your honor." She laughs. "Well, maybe it was just a good reason to have a drink, but your name was mentioned. At least once!" Another soft laugh, and then, "If you'd like. It's mostly just shirts with seams ripped." She shakes her head a little. "You riders are rough on clothes." But there's a teasing sparkle in her eyes, and she sorts through a few things, pulling out a white shirt. "I've another needle around here someplace." And voila! the girl produces needle, thimble and appropriately colored thread.
Issa straightens in her chair, feet pulled up so that she can cross her legs, hands uncrossed from that uneasy position running along her trousers to brush away lingering wetness. She gives a light chuckle as Imari mentions the celebration her Impression sparked, but humbly says nothing. Instead, she remarks, "Seams I can do," and accepts both shirt and needle from Imari, placing the latter in her lap while she sets about threading the former. "Believe me, I know," the laundress turned greenrider responds, pausing to wet the end of her simple white thread before attempting to pass it through the eye, "I still do my own mending. Nothing like a bit of respectable work now and again." The thread finally finds its way through the needle and she spreads the shirt out with her other hand, easily sighting the torn seam along the shoulder. "I find the inside of the knees hardest to patch, myself. Something about the straps rubs it wrong or something."
Reyce's gaze idly wanders over to Issa when she starts to work with the thread, watching her at this for a moment or two before he retreats back to the fire. Now that she's pulled her legs up out of the way, he can claim the space under the table again, stretching out in his chair and leaning his head against the back. He pours all but the last dregs of the klah down his throat, cheeks briefly puffing with the held liquid, then puts the empited mug down on the table and settles completely into his chair, eyes closed and chin tilted up.
"Yes, that's always hardest, especially if it's older material," Imari replies, glancing at Reyce. "I think some riders wear their clothes till they literally fall apart." She chuckles. "I would imagine mending for students would be a little easier," she remarks, still chuckling. "Probably less stress on the inseams and knees. Maybe more on the elbows, or something much easier to fix." She takes a last drink from her mug, setting it on the table. "I spent the morning trying to repair some leathers, but that's not my specialty. So, I came out here to get away from all the gossip. It's really getting bad down there. People aren't stopping to think how they sound. And, I thought I'd try to work more on the collar. It's still not finished. I don't know if it ever will be."
"Oh, I think you'd be surprised," Issa contributes, amusement trickling in, "I'll bet the students' inseams get abused just as much as the riders'. This is a Weyr, after all." And everyone's riding dragons, clearly. She passes a glance to the close-eyed Reyce, but her eyes quickly return to the simple seam she's repairing. Her hands fall into the old rhythm quickly, needle flicked through the fabric quickly, deftly as she pinches the fabric together. Eyebrows lower only slightly at the mention of gossip, but she smoothes her expression with a smile and quickly glances up at Imari, imparting curiousity, as she asks, "How do they sound?"
"Vicious," is the simple answer. "It's not like it used to be, Issa, when everyone just laughed about who was seeing whom, and who stayed out all night. There's an ugliness to it, and it's rather disturbing." She pauses, picking up her thread again. "A lot of it's about the wingleader and that girl they arrested, speculating whether or not they're guilty. Some are saying they should be staked out for thread." This last seems to horrify Imari, and she shakes her head. "I wish it were like the old days, when I was growing up. I don't know what's happened to the weyr. The bad shouldn't outweigh the good."
Issa's lowered eyes thin over the news of the gossip, though there's really no surprise in her expression. The same sort of things seem to be flying from many mouths these days. "It's been a rough turn or two," Issa concedes slowly, shaking her head over her work and sending a wayward drop of water down to splatter on the white shirt. "It'll get better. Things will calm down. They're already starting to. And, much as people will talk, there's not going to be any staking out for Thread." The greenrider seems wholly sure of this fact, her needle whipping through the fabric with more force than is strictly necessary. "Though, according to... all the people that were attacked... the woman they've arrested is guilty. They say she's even confessed." Issa finishes off the seam by twisting out a knot to rival any surgeon's suture, her hand flying easily through the well-practiced motion so that she can raise her eyes to glance, first at the still immobile Reyce, then back to Imari.
Reyce's immobility suffers a small crack, one eye opening midway through the seamstresses' conversation and rolling down to fix on Issa. For that brief glance she spares him, he goes so far as to open both eyes, though he's still not saying anything. His hands draw down to his stomach, crossing there mildly, while he draws a socked foot up along his leg, apparently scratching an itch there.
Imari is quiet a moment, just staring into the fire. The children are dispersing for baths and dinner, the Aunties shooing them back to mothers who've finished work or back to the creche. She waits until the noise dies down, then, "I hope so, Issa," she says quietly, picking up the thread and rewinding it around the spool. "It's not the same weyr I left, and it takes some getting used to. Of course, I was younger then, and didn't pay quite as much attention to things. I shouldn't listen now, but it's all you hear. All the bad that's happened." She looks up. "I didn't know this girl. I think I saw her in passing, but that's about all. If it's even the one I'm thinking it is." Imari shrugs. "I don't much like gossip, and here I am indulging in it. Silly me." The laugh is kind of forced. "D'ban always told me to just ignore it." Soft, a little hollow sounding.
"Good advice," is all Issa has to say as the name of the deceased rider is brought up. She straightens the mended seam out over her knee and inspects it in silence for a moment, tugging at it gently before she lifts the shirt away. Folding the good-as-new shirt, she offers a soft and soothing smile for Imari. "Probably better to be like Reyce here, impervious to wagging tongues like ours." Carefully, she steers her tone away from the hollowness found in Imari's, treading between sympathy and cheer. Her eyes switch to the Bendenite and she offers a grin that's strained by something unspoken. "Anyway, this one's done," she informs Imari with more lightness, offering back the white shirt though she holds onto the needle and thread, at the ready for another task.
Reyce rolls his head back and to the side, responding to the clanking sound of a new dinner tray being set out on the serving table far behind him. The sound of his name prompts him to lean his chin back up, regarding Issa and Imari for a moment before he struggles upright with a quick grunt. "I'm getting dinner," he decides, leaning his hands on the table and half-pushing himself up. "Either of you two want anything?" While he waits for them to answer, he moves towards the fire, inspecting his boots and sticking a hand inside to see if they've dried yet. Alas, no: that hand withdraws and wipes off against his side.
"You're right, of course. I think it's just the dreary day. Everyone seemed in a bad mood, and here I am being just as bad." She brightens a bit, smiling at the shirt. "You haven't lost your touch, Issa," she says, and the smile is a bit less sad. "So tell me what you've been up to? Is G'bit still around? I haven't seen him much, but, then I don't get out much anymore." There's no more of the hollow emptiness of a moment before, Imari having given herself a mental slap or something to snap out of it. "And your friend here shouldn't talk so much, why, we can hardly get a word in edgewise," she adds with a teasing laugh. "Thank you, just some meatrolls will be fine for me, and maybe a glass of juice. I can give you a hand if need be."
Drawn away from watching the traces of sadness disappear from Imari's countenance, Issa considers Reyce for a second or two before she answers. "Just a plate of whatever you're having," she says, less a statement and more of a question as she seeks confirmation that he can handle all of that by his lonesome. But she's distracted from that by Imari's tumble of questions, however, and turns back to the girl. Her fingers fidget, winding her idle thread around one finger before pulling it off again and moving to the next one. "Well... G'bit and I haven't been together for a long... long while now," she feels the need to remind Imari, voice lowered slightly, "but we're still close. Same wing and all that. We ride 'falls. Drill. Other than that..." Issa lifts her shoulders in a sheepish sort of shrug, the gesture of one who has nothing else to give. "Other than that, normal life underneath the chaos of the Weyr is really rather," her gaze flickers toward Reyce, "blissfully mundane."
Reyce, despite the lowered voices, undoubtedly catches some of that, though his only visible response is a slight check to his steps and the thin, almost unnoticeable narrowing of his eyes as he walks past them - without a word, giving more weight to Imari's tease - and heads to the serving table. Apparently, he can handle it all by himself, and he's even tough enough to fetch it all in socks. Imari's meatrolls get tossed to the corner of his tray so there's room for two plates, identical servings of pasta (with identical overdoses of meat sauce) and a few raw vegetables for good measure. He doesn't bother with drinks, but even so, it's a good few minutes before he returns, setting the tray down in the middle of their seating arrangement and hence in front of Issa.
"Oh, I know you're not together together, I was just wondering how he was doing, is all. I don't see many of the riders anymore, and I was just curious," Imari says as Reyce moves to get dinner, and she leans a little closer. "Did hear some folks flew Nabol. I hope no one was seriously hurt." Her words come out almost as a whisper, but, then, she doesn't want to get anyone in trouble. She sits back, then, picking another shirt from the basket. "More sleeve seam damage, if you're willing," she says with a grin. "I mean, I'll happily take advantage of your good nature."
"Perfectly willing," Issa responds, smile spreading wider as she reaches for the offered shirt. But then Reyce's return draws her attention and she turns that smile on him, welcoming him back, though she says, "But after we eat, yeah? These tired hands could use a break." It's a dry tease, those hands that now toss the shirt gently back to the basket having withstood hours long stretches without break. Uncrossing her legs, she scoots her chair further under the table with a wooden scraping, reaching up to nudge the tray closer to Imari so that she can retrieve her meatrolls. Then her voice takes a turn into more solemn overtones, as she says, "Lost a bluerider. Some injuries. But, considering how few riders they had, they were lucky."
Reyce steals his plate off the tray, leaning unhesistatingly over into Issa's space as he does so. He lingers there while he picks out a fork that slipped away beneath Issa's plate when he set the tray down. A little flip rights the fork in his grasp and it's on to the eating, keeping as much of the heavy meat sauce balanced on the noodles as he can. His eyes are on his food, but a slight tilt of his head in the direction of the other two indicates he's still listening, despite his prolonged silence.
"Very lucky, indeed," Imari agrees, accepting the food after setting her own work aside. "And, yes, after we eat I will gladly hand you those shirts." There's a twinkle in her eyes, now. "Thank you, Reyce. That's very kind of you," she says, nodding. "And, since you were kind enough to fetch food, I'll get drinks. What would everyone like?" She rises from the chair, picking up her empty mug, and the full one Rysia left there. "Issa? Reyce? -- Juice, water, klah?" There comes another boom of thunder, and she looks over toward the exit. "I do not envy anyone riding sweeps today."
As Reyce leans, Issa's hand falls along the back of his reaching arm, wordless thanks for the food. "Oh, um," the greenrider hesistates, flipping a damp curl out of her way as she turns her face up to Imari. "Klah? Two sweetners." And, with the tray all to herself, Issa simply pulls it closer, her left hand fishing blindly about for the other fork. Her eyes are turned toward Reyce, however. "Sorry," she offers quietly, smiling over at him. "I haven't gotten to talk with her in a long time." Fork found, she sinks the head of it into the pasta, blurring the lines of the meat sauce as she mixes it into one big jumble. "You alright?" With Imari. With embroidery. With endless chatting.
Reyce raises his eyes to Imari at the question, fork with balanced noodles poised before his mouth. "I'm fine," he says of the offered drink, his elbow reaching out to nudge his own emptied klah mug as evidence that he already had something. He'd go back to his plate, after that, but Issa's quiet apology draws him back up. A quick, sinus-clearing sniff, and then he nudges her lightly with his non-fork-holding elbow. "Yeah," he confirms, looking down at her plate and watching her blend the sauce. He gives a short grunt. "It's fine. Just nothing to say." His eyes flick up to meet hers, if they can, while he eats his pasta.
Imari takes her time in fetching the drinks. Perhaps she's not as oblivious to things as she might seem, and gives Reyce and Issa some few moments alone. Once she's at the drinks counter, she chats for a few minutes with the girl there, and a couple of lower caverns people who've wandered in. Then, armed with two mugs of klah, she heads back to the table, again pausing for a brief moment of conversation with one of the Aunties who is having some trouble with her tray. Then, and only then does Imari return, setting the mugs down first, then herself. Picking up a meatroll, she turns toward the fire, just watching the flames for a few minutes of silent contemplation.
"Oh, so I can touch you now?" Issa teases, glancing down at the spot where he nudged her arm before she looks up to, indeed, meet his eyes. The pasta mixing pauses and her elbow swings up to return the nudge. "Am I allowed, hm?" The fork is then fully dropped and her right hand sneaks under the level of the table, dealing a quick pinch to his side that grabs more shirt than skin. Playful grin is turned up at him as she leans in, eyes dancing across his features. But then, Imari returns with a scraping of mugs and Issa pulls back to reclaim her fork and set about to eating again. "Thanks," she offers, reaching out with her left hand to point at one of the mugs, "This one?"
"Yes, that one," Imari answers, taking her own mug, sipping after taking a few bites of meatroll. "Issa, when I finish, I really should get back down to the caverns," the girl says, smiling. "Much as I love seeing you again, I really am supposed to be showing one of the new girls around," is added, "and, I've got a ton of mending to finish tonight before I sleep." She takes the last bite of her food, then impishly grins as she licks her fingers. "Besides, Reyce there's a lot better company to look at than shirts and me." The grin is good natured, and not at all upset. "I don't blame you, either," she adds with a wink. "I'd rather look at him than mend shirts, too." With a laugh, she rises, gathering up the basket. "Don't be a stranger, Issa. We do miss you downstairs. It was nice to meet you, Reyce. Enjoy the socks." And, with basket and mug in hand, Imari makes her way to the lower caverns.
Reyce's lips twitch up thinly at the corners as he allows Issa to nudge and pinch him without protest. "You were wet," he points out calmly, dropping his fork back to the noodles. "You're dry, you can do whatever you want." The smile quirks a little higher, daring her as she leans in, but Imari's efforts to be tactful come just a moment shy of success. He withdraws as Issa does, propping an elbow on the table on the side away from her, and absently picking up his fork again. Alas, his efforts to be subtle also come just a moment shy of success, as Imari's parting comments make all too clear. Reyce's eyes widen slightly as she makes them, his gaze lowering to the table so he won't have to meet anyone's eye. Once she's gone, after a protracted pause, he whuffs out, "Okay." Then it's on through dinner.