Log: Of Wood and Old Age
Who: Lachai, P'draig
When: day 23, month 2, turn 20
Where: West Cavern Workroom, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's trying to finish up a late turnday present for Palia when Lachai comes along with questions and they share thoughts on aging grandparents.
West Cavern Workroom, Ista Weyr
Though busy in their own right, the west cavern and workrooms tend to be quieter than the lively living caverns. A wide thoroughfare meanders through the room and is kept clear despite the worktables and benches of all shapes and sizes that keep the Weyrfolk occupied. Here is where much of the Weyr's work is completed, from pottery and weaving to strap-work and sorting almost everything imaginable. A companionable hubbub and murmur rises and falls with the passing of the hours. The easternmost section has been partitioned off as a quiet gathering area with chairs, sofas, and a notice board used for passing along messages both official and not. Other tunnels stretch off in all directions, though the most commonly used are to the cardinal points.
For all it's nice out, P'draig's chosen to set up shop in the work rooms today and is working with several pieces of wood, whittling knife wielded with some skill, likely from long turns of practice. The pieces probably look like a random jumble right now, though it might be possible to deduce the shape of a head on a torso, emerging.
By some twist of fate - perhaps called lunch - Lachai is only entering the caverns; he isn't working at all. When a cursory glance around the room reveals P'draig, he veers that way with the force of curiosity. The interest is likely visible on his face as he approaches from an angle, keeping an extra safe distance away from any knife-wielding, but unable to resist an elbow on the edge of the table and a slight lean. He squints at the shape, perhaps trying to guess it's finished appearance even now.
The knife makes a distinctive sound as it shears away shavings from the main body of the piece that Paddy works on. It's Lachai's lean more than anything else that brings his gaze up to the leatherworker and he grins over at the other man. "Hey there. How's things?" The interesting look sees both of his hands lifting both the wood and the knife to demonstrate. "Doll for my daughter. I haven't quite finished it though her turnday was last seven."
"Oh, ah, I didn't mean to interrupt you," Lachai mentions when he's spotted, though he also eagerly deepens that lean when the wood is offered for better viewing. "Things are... well, they're interesting," he holds out a hand that doesn't quite make it to touching the in-proces doll. "No lack of things to do which is just how I like it. That's very nice, making a doll. Though it seems you've picked up a bad habit or so. Wasn't it... someone else, making late with the presents before...?"
P'draig hands over that particular piece which seems to be a leg. "That's all right, a little break is called for now and then," the brownrider says seriously. "And I hear you there. Too much downtime can make for feeling restless." He laughs at the last, shakes his head. "I gave her her other presents, but I hit a snag with the doll-making and had to start a couple of the parts over. Some bad knots that I didn't see in the wood, so I had to start the right leg and arm over, though the rest is fine."
Lachai graciously accepts the chance to examine the wood, running a thumb carefully down the toy leg and then offering it right back. "Restless, yes. And I also came here expecting to have to change..." He trails off, frowning down at the table. His head comes back up right with the talk of snags; he nods several times in understanding. "It can surprise you. Hm, I never, ah, got quite as much into wood but the things people can make... really quite fascinating. May I- what were the other presents that caused less trouble?"
Listening expression gives way to questioning: "Change ...?" P'draig encourages finishing that sentence. "And unexpected things can happen anytime, yes," he agrees, taking the leg back and resuming the careful shaping to make it look like the other one on the table. "Some things people make really are amazing. Sculptures. That kind of thing. I just do really simple. A doll is about the most complicated I can do," Paddy says laughingly. "I'm much better in the kitchen." There's a touch of curiosity on his face for the question about Palia's presents but P'draig answers without quetioning: "My mother made some outfits to go with this doll, so she has a little preview of what's coming. I also /did/ finish the little cat figure I was making for her to add to the little collection she's got going and a new swimsuit for her surfing lessons. Her mother sent some nice things up from Southern and other friends were very generous too."
"The kitchen," Lachai echoes dryly when it's mentioned, "Now there's somewhere I should stay out of." As P'draig details the present list, the younger man picks idly at some of the mess left over on the table. He brushes little wood chips into a pile and finds pieces of someone's old, cut-up ribbon to add to it. "Yes, yes. That all sounds very nice. Collections are such great things to build on. Anyway, a doll still means something. Technique-wise, I mean. There's delicate hands and a face to manage, after all, depending on how much you go into it..." He stretches backwards some, eventually straightening out of most of that lean. A hand passes over his mouth and then he crosses both arms loosely over his chest. "You asked - change? I'm sure I've brought it up before, just thoughts about being here. Not doing my usual work. Not seeing the same people." He clears his throat, "Not that the people here are bad, necessarily, of course. Not that."
P'draig reaches over to stand up the doll's torso. "Paint, is a wonderful thing for faces," he says with some humor dancing in his eyes, because all he carved were the vague impressions of where eyes, nose and mouth might go. He winks at Lachai then, sets that part down within reach should the leatherworker decide to take it up and resumes shaving down that leg: the foot is starting to appear, slowly but surely. "No good with a frying pan and kettle?" on the subject of kitchens and then there's a little pause and he nods. "Ah, that. Wasn't sure if you meant that or something else," Paddy notes.
Lachai puts out a hand, palm up, with a little half-smile - acknowledging the shortcut of paint. "It works," he says, not quite judging. Since the part's near him and all, he picks up the head-piece, turns it this way and that, then absently rolls it along his knuckles. "No good. I don't know one spice from another. It's all very.." Very waving of hands in the air to demonstrate craziness. Which manages to toss the doll's head off his knuckles. Luckily, he immediately twists to the side and catches it before it rolls anywhere else. It's cautiously set down back near P'draig's other things and then he backs up, palms out, to suggest he'll keep away from now on. "Yes, that. That. Mostly just that. But I'm faring. Better than... well, better than Gran, really."
The work is pretty good, not craftsman quality, but decent enough to make a child's toy for a much-loved daughter. P'draig chuckles, nodding for that. "Yeah, it does." The head's departure earns a lift of brows but a laught too. "Watch it there, or it's Palia's disappointed wrath you'll be facing," he teases a little. "Mm. At least you know it. Some people seem to think it's just a matter of walking in and mixing things together. There's a lot more to cooking than it might seem on the surface." His hands pause and P'draig looks up at Lachai more closely. "Howso?" is asked quietly.
"I know enough about my own work to believe everything else requires just as many steps that I can't see," Lachai replies - after an exaggerated brow-raise to suggest Palia's wrath is something worth fearing. On being close examined, he pulls back further, fiddling his hands together. "Oh, it's just... the pains. The reason I came back, of course, so I'm not exactly, well, surprised. It's just... odd. Knowing her before I left, I wouldn't have expected it. I feel a little--" He tilts his head to the side and winces slightly. Eyes move away but then find P'draig again. One hand half-raises then falls awkwardly. "Honestly, when I first got here, I wanted to believe she was faking it."
There's a nod about work, though P'draig doesn't pursue further in that direction. His expression creases with sympathy at what Lachai describes with his grandmother though. "It's hard. Seeing someone change from what they were to something else because of old age and pain?" he hazards and lowers his gaze back to the work-in-progress, thumb tracing a slight irregularity in the wood. "My grandmother's about lost her wits. She doesn't always remember people. Or she thinks I'm my father and my sister is my mother."
Lachai shuffles some, still appearing uncomfortable, though he continues talking easily enough. "Yeah, it's, uh, it's not very pleasant. Not being able to do anything, really." His eyebrows dip, his forehead tensing, at P'draig's own story. "That's an unhappy way to live." He says, softer, but glancing up right after, "I mean, if you know you're doing it. It can't, uh, feel right. Forgetting important people. I'd imagine." He braces a hand against his temple briefly, running fingers along his forehead and seemingly erasing his expression with that gesture. Sympathy to match the rider's own from earlier takes its place. "That is, I'm sorry to hear that."
"I don't think she really notices, to be honest," P'draig replies quietly. "It's harder for us watching from the outside. She seems perfectly happy, just you know, confused. My brother lives in the same Weyr that she does and helps to care for her so she remembers him pretty well. It's everyone else she mixes up." The brownrider smiles across at the leatherworker. "Just meant that I -- I get it. It's hard to watch. She must be frustrated by it? Not able to do what she used to do."
Keeping quiet for the rest of the explanation, Lachai remains open, understanding. He grimly nods but manages a short-lived smile in return. "Mine, frustrated? She's milking it, really. I don't know if it's a cover for how she really feels, for which I couldn't blame her... but.. I'd prefer to see her struggle to do things than to be so... dependent." He glances away, thinking, considering his own wording. "That sounds a bit wrong. If I can explain - she always prided in doing everything herself before. Now to have her not even want to try..."
"Giving up or just using it as an excuse to get me home," Lachai expands, tapping the typical two fingers against his mouth and then using them to gesture out into the air, "Which means she's still able enough to scheme. So, ah, good for her there."
"Upsides and downsides," P'draig notes with wry humor and gives that leg a last pass with his knife, then stows it and starts to tidy up. "Sweeps this afternoon, so I'd better go get ready. But ... hang in there Lachai."
When: day 23, month 2, turn 20
Where: West Cavern Workroom, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's trying to finish up a late turnday present for Palia when Lachai comes along with questions and they share thoughts on aging grandparents.
West Cavern Workroom, Ista Weyr
Though busy in their own right, the west cavern and workrooms tend to be quieter than the lively living caverns. A wide thoroughfare meanders through the room and is kept clear despite the worktables and benches of all shapes and sizes that keep the Weyrfolk occupied. Here is where much of the Weyr's work is completed, from pottery and weaving to strap-work and sorting almost everything imaginable. A companionable hubbub and murmur rises and falls with the passing of the hours. The easternmost section has been partitioned off as a quiet gathering area with chairs, sofas, and a notice board used for passing along messages both official and not. Other tunnels stretch off in all directions, though the most commonly used are to the cardinal points.
For all it's nice out, P'draig's chosen to set up shop in the work rooms today and is working with several pieces of wood, whittling knife wielded with some skill, likely from long turns of practice. The pieces probably look like a random jumble right now, though it might be possible to deduce the shape of a head on a torso, emerging.
By some twist of fate - perhaps called lunch - Lachai is only entering the caverns; he isn't working at all. When a cursory glance around the room reveals P'draig, he veers that way with the force of curiosity. The interest is likely visible on his face as he approaches from an angle, keeping an extra safe distance away from any knife-wielding, but unable to resist an elbow on the edge of the table and a slight lean. He squints at the shape, perhaps trying to guess it's finished appearance even now.
The knife makes a distinctive sound as it shears away shavings from the main body of the piece that Paddy works on. It's Lachai's lean more than anything else that brings his gaze up to the leatherworker and he grins over at the other man. "Hey there. How's things?" The interesting look sees both of his hands lifting both the wood and the knife to demonstrate. "Doll for my daughter. I haven't quite finished it though her turnday was last seven."
"Oh, ah, I didn't mean to interrupt you," Lachai mentions when he's spotted, though he also eagerly deepens that lean when the wood is offered for better viewing. "Things are... well, they're interesting," he holds out a hand that doesn't quite make it to touching the in-proces doll. "No lack of things to do which is just how I like it. That's very nice, making a doll. Though it seems you've picked up a bad habit or so. Wasn't it... someone else, making late with the presents before...?"
P'draig hands over that particular piece which seems to be a leg. "That's all right, a little break is called for now and then," the brownrider says seriously. "And I hear you there. Too much downtime can make for feeling restless." He laughs at the last, shakes his head. "I gave her her other presents, but I hit a snag with the doll-making and had to start a couple of the parts over. Some bad knots that I didn't see in the wood, so I had to start the right leg and arm over, though the rest is fine."
Lachai graciously accepts the chance to examine the wood, running a thumb carefully down the toy leg and then offering it right back. "Restless, yes. And I also came here expecting to have to change..." He trails off, frowning down at the table. His head comes back up right with the talk of snags; he nods several times in understanding. "It can surprise you. Hm, I never, ah, got quite as much into wood but the things people can make... really quite fascinating. May I- what were the other presents that caused less trouble?"
Listening expression gives way to questioning: "Change ...?" P'draig encourages finishing that sentence. "And unexpected things can happen anytime, yes," he agrees, taking the leg back and resuming the careful shaping to make it look like the other one on the table. "Some things people make really are amazing. Sculptures. That kind of thing. I just do really simple. A doll is about the most complicated I can do," Paddy says laughingly. "I'm much better in the kitchen." There's a touch of curiosity on his face for the question about Palia's presents but P'draig answers without quetioning: "My mother made some outfits to go with this doll, so she has a little preview of what's coming. I also /did/ finish the little cat figure I was making for her to add to the little collection she's got going and a new swimsuit for her surfing lessons. Her mother sent some nice things up from Southern and other friends were very generous too."
"The kitchen," Lachai echoes dryly when it's mentioned, "Now there's somewhere I should stay out of." As P'draig details the present list, the younger man picks idly at some of the mess left over on the table. He brushes little wood chips into a pile and finds pieces of someone's old, cut-up ribbon to add to it. "Yes, yes. That all sounds very nice. Collections are such great things to build on. Anyway, a doll still means something. Technique-wise, I mean. There's delicate hands and a face to manage, after all, depending on how much you go into it..." He stretches backwards some, eventually straightening out of most of that lean. A hand passes over his mouth and then he crosses both arms loosely over his chest. "You asked - change? I'm sure I've brought it up before, just thoughts about being here. Not doing my usual work. Not seeing the same people." He clears his throat, "Not that the people here are bad, necessarily, of course. Not that."
P'draig reaches over to stand up the doll's torso. "Paint, is a wonderful thing for faces," he says with some humor dancing in his eyes, because all he carved were the vague impressions of where eyes, nose and mouth might go. He winks at Lachai then, sets that part down within reach should the leatherworker decide to take it up and resumes shaving down that leg: the foot is starting to appear, slowly but surely. "No good with a frying pan and kettle?" on the subject of kitchens and then there's a little pause and he nods. "Ah, that. Wasn't sure if you meant that or something else," Paddy notes.
Lachai puts out a hand, palm up, with a little half-smile - acknowledging the shortcut of paint. "It works," he says, not quite judging. Since the part's near him and all, he picks up the head-piece, turns it this way and that, then absently rolls it along his knuckles. "No good. I don't know one spice from another. It's all very.." Very waving of hands in the air to demonstrate craziness. Which manages to toss the doll's head off his knuckles. Luckily, he immediately twists to the side and catches it before it rolls anywhere else. It's cautiously set down back near P'draig's other things and then he backs up, palms out, to suggest he'll keep away from now on. "Yes, that. That. Mostly just that. But I'm faring. Better than... well, better than Gran, really."
The work is pretty good, not craftsman quality, but decent enough to make a child's toy for a much-loved daughter. P'draig chuckles, nodding for that. "Yeah, it does." The head's departure earns a lift of brows but a laught too. "Watch it there, or it's Palia's disappointed wrath you'll be facing," he teases a little. "Mm. At least you know it. Some people seem to think it's just a matter of walking in and mixing things together. There's a lot more to cooking than it might seem on the surface." His hands pause and P'draig looks up at Lachai more closely. "Howso?" is asked quietly.
"I know enough about my own work to believe everything else requires just as many steps that I can't see," Lachai replies - after an exaggerated brow-raise to suggest Palia's wrath is something worth fearing. On being close examined, he pulls back further, fiddling his hands together. "Oh, it's just... the pains. The reason I came back, of course, so I'm not exactly, well, surprised. It's just... odd. Knowing her before I left, I wouldn't have expected it. I feel a little--" He tilts his head to the side and winces slightly. Eyes move away but then find P'draig again. One hand half-raises then falls awkwardly. "Honestly, when I first got here, I wanted to believe she was faking it."
There's a nod about work, though P'draig doesn't pursue further in that direction. His expression creases with sympathy at what Lachai describes with his grandmother though. "It's hard. Seeing someone change from what they were to something else because of old age and pain?" he hazards and lowers his gaze back to the work-in-progress, thumb tracing a slight irregularity in the wood. "My grandmother's about lost her wits. She doesn't always remember people. Or she thinks I'm my father and my sister is my mother."
Lachai shuffles some, still appearing uncomfortable, though he continues talking easily enough. "Yeah, it's, uh, it's not very pleasant. Not being able to do anything, really." His eyebrows dip, his forehead tensing, at P'draig's own story. "That's an unhappy way to live." He says, softer, but glancing up right after, "I mean, if you know you're doing it. It can't, uh, feel right. Forgetting important people. I'd imagine." He braces a hand against his temple briefly, running fingers along his forehead and seemingly erasing his expression with that gesture. Sympathy to match the rider's own from earlier takes its place. "That is, I'm sorry to hear that."
"I don't think she really notices, to be honest," P'draig replies quietly. "It's harder for us watching from the outside. She seems perfectly happy, just you know, confused. My brother lives in the same Weyr that she does and helps to care for her so she remembers him pretty well. It's everyone else she mixes up." The brownrider smiles across at the leatherworker. "Just meant that I -- I get it. It's hard to watch. She must be frustrated by it? Not able to do what she used to do."
Keeping quiet for the rest of the explanation, Lachai remains open, understanding. He grimly nods but manages a short-lived smile in return. "Mine, frustrated? She's milking it, really. I don't know if it's a cover for how she really feels, for which I couldn't blame her... but.. I'd prefer to see her struggle to do things than to be so... dependent." He glances away, thinking, considering his own wording. "That sounds a bit wrong. If I can explain - she always prided in doing everything herself before. Now to have her not even want to try..."
"Giving up or just using it as an excuse to get me home," Lachai expands, tapping the typical two fingers against his mouth and then using them to gesture out into the air, "Which means she's still able enough to scheme. So, ah, good for her there."
"Upsides and downsides," P'draig notes with wry humor and gives that leg a last pass with his knife, then stows it and starts to tidy up. "Sweeps this afternoon, so I'd better go get ready. But ... hang in there Lachai."