Log: Special Work Order
Who: Mikandros, Milani
When: 20:33 of day 9, month 11, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr
What: Millie's working late, Mik was seeing to his mother and stops by for a quick chat. Mik gets a haircut, a surprise and a work order.
Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr
This room is too small to really serve as anyone's room but a little too big to be relegated to closet status. Oval in shape, it has a large wooden door that grants or bars access and smooth walls carved with inset shelves that hold tidy rows of scrolls and ledgers. To the right of the door, a table large enough for six to squeeze in at is often occupied by the assistant headwomen during tithe season and a pitcher of water and glasses stand ready to serve in its center at all times.
Squarely in the center of the room is the headwoman's desk, a massive affair of well-polished wood and many drawers bearing neat stacks of hides, incoming and outgoing baskets, many paperweights and a glowbasket stand with several small baskets that allow the light level to be adjusted to suit the task at hand. The rear wall of the office, behind the desk bears a vividly hued tapestry depicting a tithing scene with wagons pulled into the Weyr being unloaded. To the left a small hearth shares a flue with the main fireplace in the common room and is capped with a stone mantel that currently holds a collection of small rocks, shells and other knick knacks that presumably belong to the Headwoman.
It's getting late, but the lamps and glows still cast light in Milani's office. The common room outside has gone quiet, most of the Weyr's residents gone to bed, though there's still bakers in the kitchen on shift and others of that nature. Still. It's quiet, but for the scratch of Millie's pen.
Passing by on his way back to the barracks, late to bed a normality as he regularly risks his mother's wrath to check up on her at the end of the day, it's a wet Mikandros that pauses outside that lighted office. Shrugging out of his heavy jacket and stooping to quickly remove muddy boots, before a gentle tapping and his drifting baritone, "Milani?"
Milani blinks a few times and looks up. "Oh, Mik ... shells, you're drenched," the headwoman exclaims, rising and crossing to the candidate. "Is it still pouring out there? Come in, I think I have a towel!"
"Ye mean t'say it's stopped, at some point?" Mikandros grins, though it's an expression that has sleepiness chasing at the edges. "'S all right, though. Jacket got most of it, it's jus' m'head I was too dim t'cover. Thank ye," as he steps inside. "Yer workin' late again."
"I'd hoped it had," Milani says with a little smile and fishes around on a shelf, comes up with a little dish towel and mimes toweling off his hair. "Last tithes are due in, so I'm trying to get caught up. And you? You're out late ...'
Mikandros shakes his head slightly, "If it has stopped, it's started again." Spoken with a mild amount of regret for not being able to give her better news about the weather. "Still expectin' trouble with that?" Meaning the tithe, even as he steps a little closer to reach for the towel. "Aye... been across t'Ma's weyr. Think she's finally, -finally- startin' t'get used t'me bein' around. Didn't even throw anythin' at me, this time."
"I hope not," Milani says sincerely, stepping in closer herselfe. The towel isn't handed over though, apparently she means to do the drying herself. "Losing the wool and furniture off of that one train was a bit of a blow."
Mikandros stills for a moment as he watches Milani's face. When he moves again, it's to lift his hands to pull out the thong that keeps his runner tail in place, dropping his chin down towards his chest. "Thinkin' I might cut it b'fore th'hatching," he notes absently, sleepy brain wandering down strange paths. Or maybe just wanting to see what she thinks of that idea. "How much damage were m'folk able to compensate fer? Not enough, I imagine, but... Guess ye can't tell me if we're any closer t'findin' out who's behind all th'trouble?" Where 'we' means the Weyr's higher ups.
Milani settles the towel in place and starts to give his hair a vigorous rubbing. "I could cut it for you, if you trust me," the headwoman says with a little smile. "That way you can avoid the shear-chop if you impress," she jokes lightly. "It'll be different, but I think it might suit ... " the towel stops and her hand runs lightly along damp hair, tugs out a strand to contemplate for a moment. "They helped a lot Mik. Thank you again." Her head shakes though at that question. "No ... I'm sorry."
Mikandros tries to keep Milani in view, but between the towel and long hair, ends up deciding it's just easier to close his eyes. "Heh, thinkin' ye or Rimara'd be th'only one's I'd trust near me with a pair of shears," he rumbles softly, with a little bit of a shift as he clasps his hands quite firmly behind his back. Twitching his head to flick a strand of hair out of his eyes, he smiles. "Nah, don't be. I understand. M'jus' frettin' 's all. What about Da an' Kistiana? They gonna be allowed t'stay on fer a time?"
A few more passes of the towel and Milani tosses it over the back of the nearest chair. "I think so," the headwoman answers with a little smile and steps away towards her desk, draws out a pair of scissors. "So. Moment of truth now ... or wait?" she asks, head cocked to the side a little.
Scraping his hair back with his fingers, Mikandros is just automatically starting to gather it back into his customary tail. A blink, and then a chuckle. "Yer prepared fer anythin' ain't ye?" Watching her with a little smile, "Thinkin' it's probably best not t'wait. Also thinkin' I might need a bit of convincin'." Utterly, sweetly innocent.
"Generally speaking, yes," Milani says with a little laugh and comes back around the desk, scissors in hand, but she passes by the candidate to shut the door first. "Have a seat?" she invites, gesturing to one of the chairs pulled up to the table. "Shouldn't take too long," she notes, and her eyes dance at that last bit. "Mmmhm. Be a good boy about it and we'll see, might be reward in it for you."
Mikandros' grin is cheerful, his dimple gouging his cheek. Not that he was aiming to get a hair cut when he stopped by to say hello, but he obliges the invitation. Dropping carefully into a chair, relaxing back into an easy half-slouch. Tall enough that the curved-spine position shouldn't hamper things. "Ah Milani," he can't help himself. "Ye ain't given me a chance t'show ye how good I c'n be." Playfulness only. He respects the rules, no matter how much he'd love to break them.
Milani waits until he's sat down to tuck the towel around his neck, even damp to protect his clothes from falling hair. She stands behind him, smiles down at him, one hand to that dimpled cheek. "Well ... I have all these work orders you know, I could write one up special for you," she says quite innocently herself. Then works her fingers through his hair, collecting what would usually go into a tail and makes a neat cut to simply take that off, reaches forward to lay that on the table, then sets about neatening and shortening up the back.
Mikandros turns his cheek into her hand, just a little. "Ye could, I expect. An' jus' what might 'special' be?" But then he's got to hold his head still while she cuts, and so he does, sitting patiently. "Huh," is let out when she lays what used to be his tail on the table.
Snip. Snip. Snip. By the time she's done, there's a fair bit of hair on the table and more clinging to that towel. Short and smooth in the back a little longer in front, to spike upwards and Millie runs her hand through it to do exactly that, then sets the scissors aside. Carefully the towel is unwrapped, turned to brush lingering cut strands away. "Wow ..." the headwoman does say as she comes around in front of him. "That's a big difference. But a good one, I have a mirror in my room .. but not here." Her hand reaches gently for his chin, tipping his head upward so she can look him in the eye. "Something about making the headwoman happy and rearranging the office," she says with a little lopsided grin.
Mikandros just sits patiently through all that snipping, even as his eyebrows quirk into tighter and tighter worry for the amount of hair finding it's way on to the table. "-How- much ye cuttin' off?" He looks up at her as she moves around into his line of sight, hands reaching up self-consciously to pat cautiously at his now slightly spikey hair. With a cheeky grin, "Thinkin' I'll take a look in some still water or somethin' later. See how much damage ye did." Chuckling, then, "If'n ye were wantin' me t'flex m'muscles fer ye, shoulda jus' asked. What'cha need movin' then?" Brown eyes bright as they meet blue-green.
"Enough," Milani says about his hair, laughing and she reaches forward again to run fingers through the spiky bits, then down along his face. "I don't know if 'muscle' is the word I'd be using," she says next and after a moment's hesitation, aims to drop down into his lap, arms curling around his neck. "Move /me/ a little," she says jauntily, challenge dancing in her eyes.
"Ah, shells," Mikandros mutters as he gets a lapful of Milani, curving his arms gently around her. Turning his face towards her neck, a soft brush of lips against skin. Holding back from one concern only, even as his hands shift to rub upwards along her back, "Yer sure?" Deep voice perhaps as much felt as heard.
That brush of lips sends her eyes closed and Milani lets out a quiet sigh, neck lengthening as she tips her head to the side. His question though, brings back momentary seriousness, one hand lifting so she can trace his face with light fingers. "Just a kiss, Mik," she warns, "but ... I should lock the door. Just in case." She kisses his cheek, a lightweight promise and slips out of his lap to go turn the key in the lock before she comes back to him to make good on what she just offered.
Loathe to let her go, Mikandros keeps his hands in sliding contact, face turning towards those caressing fingers, aiming to press a kiss into her palm. "'S just...." But, really, he's not going to argue, and her kiss stopped his words anyway. Swivelling in the chair to watch her, smouldering heat behind his eyes. Standing to meet her return, arms reaching to pull her close and head dipping to give her a proper, deep, kiss, the enthusiasm of his youth tempered by a very real desire to let her know how much he appreciates her. Just her.
"Shh," is what Milani says when she comes back, finger lifted to press to his lips before that kiss. There's enthusiasm aplenty in return, her arms laced around his neck again, while kisses are traded back and forth. After a little while though, in a break for breath: "I should give you a /real/ work order. No preferential treatment," the headwoman warns, tilting her head up and back, grinning at him with mischief in her eyes again.
Mikandros somehow finds air enough in his lungs to chuckle into her shoulder. "Ask, an' ye shall receive, m'lady." A happy little sigh, as his fingers brush gently over her hair, before he too is lifting his head. Greeting with mischief with a twinkle, and a sweet, disarming smile. "How about... tidying up?" he muses, bringing the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "Now that I've gone an' made ye a mess."
Milani laughs again and presses the tip of her finger to his nose. "No, a real work order," the headwoman says seriously and slides off his lap again to go ruffle through the work orders, comes up with one. "Moving boxes from one room to another. For both of you," she says and hands him the card. "Good honest work. Give you both a workout," she says with a wink and stretches up off of his lap. Milani grins at him, taking a moment to admire that new haircut. "Mm. You do look fine," she tells him sincerely as she straightens her clothes up a little. Briefly she leans in to kiss his forehead, rumples his hair again. "Go get some rest, Mik. Those eggs will probably be hatching soon, and either way, impress or not, you're going to need the rest. Because if you're left standing ... I have plans for you, my friend. And if you do, your dragon'll be keeping you busy for a while until I can get my hands back on you."
Mikandros laughs cheerfully, "Ah, yer a feisty lass an' no mistake. Movin' boxes it is." Accepting the card, though it'll get set on the table until he's got a pocket back to slip it into. Hitching up and straightening his trous, grinning at the tousle to his hair before pulling it less askew. "So do ye, darlin', so do ye," and meaning every word. Remembering to grab the card, aiming one last kiss at her cheek before turning obediently for the door. A pause, "Milani... ye are beautiful. An' I'll be lookin' forward t'that day. Sooner, or later. Ye get some rest, yerself, darlin'." And he will undo the latch and slip out the door, pausing only to gather up the pile of boots and jacket he left against the wall. And off to bed he goes, to sweet dreams.
"Feistier than some," Milani quips with a wink. She leans into that kiss a little, reaches up to pat his cheek again. "Thank you," she says quietly, watches him go then turns to tidy up, with a little cheery whistle before getting back to work on the mountains of paper on her desk, apparently all the better for that little pick-me-up.
When: 20:33 of day 9, month 11, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr
What: Millie's working late, Mik was seeing to his mother and stops by for a quick chat. Mik gets a haircut, a surprise and a work order.
Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr
This room is too small to really serve as anyone's room but a little too big to be relegated to closet status. Oval in shape, it has a large wooden door that grants or bars access and smooth walls carved with inset shelves that hold tidy rows of scrolls and ledgers. To the right of the door, a table large enough for six to squeeze in at is often occupied by the assistant headwomen during tithe season and a pitcher of water and glasses stand ready to serve in its center at all times.
Squarely in the center of the room is the headwoman's desk, a massive affair of well-polished wood and many drawers bearing neat stacks of hides, incoming and outgoing baskets, many paperweights and a glowbasket stand with several small baskets that allow the light level to be adjusted to suit the task at hand. The rear wall of the office, behind the desk bears a vividly hued tapestry depicting a tithing scene with wagons pulled into the Weyr being unloaded. To the left a small hearth shares a flue with the main fireplace in the common room and is capped with a stone mantel that currently holds a collection of small rocks, shells and other knick knacks that presumably belong to the Headwoman.
It's getting late, but the lamps and glows still cast light in Milani's office. The common room outside has gone quiet, most of the Weyr's residents gone to bed, though there's still bakers in the kitchen on shift and others of that nature. Still. It's quiet, but for the scratch of Millie's pen.
Passing by on his way back to the barracks, late to bed a normality as he regularly risks his mother's wrath to check up on her at the end of the day, it's a wet Mikandros that pauses outside that lighted office. Shrugging out of his heavy jacket and stooping to quickly remove muddy boots, before a gentle tapping and his drifting baritone, "Milani?"
Milani blinks a few times and looks up. "Oh, Mik ... shells, you're drenched," the headwoman exclaims, rising and crossing to the candidate. "Is it still pouring out there? Come in, I think I have a towel!"
"Ye mean t'say it's stopped, at some point?" Mikandros grins, though it's an expression that has sleepiness chasing at the edges. "'S all right, though. Jacket got most of it, it's jus' m'head I was too dim t'cover. Thank ye," as he steps inside. "Yer workin' late again."
"I'd hoped it had," Milani says with a little smile and fishes around on a shelf, comes up with a little dish towel and mimes toweling off his hair. "Last tithes are due in, so I'm trying to get caught up. And you? You're out late ...'
Mikandros shakes his head slightly, "If it has stopped, it's started again." Spoken with a mild amount of regret for not being able to give her better news about the weather. "Still expectin' trouble with that?" Meaning the tithe, even as he steps a little closer to reach for the towel. "Aye... been across t'Ma's weyr. Think she's finally, -finally- startin' t'get used t'me bein' around. Didn't even throw anythin' at me, this time."
"I hope not," Milani says sincerely, stepping in closer herselfe. The towel isn't handed over though, apparently she means to do the drying herself. "Losing the wool and furniture off of that one train was a bit of a blow."
Mikandros stills for a moment as he watches Milani's face. When he moves again, it's to lift his hands to pull out the thong that keeps his runner tail in place, dropping his chin down towards his chest. "Thinkin' I might cut it b'fore th'hatching," he notes absently, sleepy brain wandering down strange paths. Or maybe just wanting to see what she thinks of that idea. "How much damage were m'folk able to compensate fer? Not enough, I imagine, but... Guess ye can't tell me if we're any closer t'findin' out who's behind all th'trouble?" Where 'we' means the Weyr's higher ups.
Milani settles the towel in place and starts to give his hair a vigorous rubbing. "I could cut it for you, if you trust me," the headwoman says with a little smile. "That way you can avoid the shear-chop if you impress," she jokes lightly. "It'll be different, but I think it might suit ... " the towel stops and her hand runs lightly along damp hair, tugs out a strand to contemplate for a moment. "They helped a lot Mik. Thank you again." Her head shakes though at that question. "No ... I'm sorry."
Mikandros tries to keep Milani in view, but between the towel and long hair, ends up deciding it's just easier to close his eyes. "Heh, thinkin' ye or Rimara'd be th'only one's I'd trust near me with a pair of shears," he rumbles softly, with a little bit of a shift as he clasps his hands quite firmly behind his back. Twitching his head to flick a strand of hair out of his eyes, he smiles. "Nah, don't be. I understand. M'jus' frettin' 's all. What about Da an' Kistiana? They gonna be allowed t'stay on fer a time?"
A few more passes of the towel and Milani tosses it over the back of the nearest chair. "I think so," the headwoman answers with a little smile and steps away towards her desk, draws out a pair of scissors. "So. Moment of truth now ... or wait?" she asks, head cocked to the side a little.
Scraping his hair back with his fingers, Mikandros is just automatically starting to gather it back into his customary tail. A blink, and then a chuckle. "Yer prepared fer anythin' ain't ye?" Watching her with a little smile, "Thinkin' it's probably best not t'wait. Also thinkin' I might need a bit of convincin'." Utterly, sweetly innocent.
"Generally speaking, yes," Milani says with a little laugh and comes back around the desk, scissors in hand, but she passes by the candidate to shut the door first. "Have a seat?" she invites, gesturing to one of the chairs pulled up to the table. "Shouldn't take too long," she notes, and her eyes dance at that last bit. "Mmmhm. Be a good boy about it and we'll see, might be reward in it for you."
Mikandros' grin is cheerful, his dimple gouging his cheek. Not that he was aiming to get a hair cut when he stopped by to say hello, but he obliges the invitation. Dropping carefully into a chair, relaxing back into an easy half-slouch. Tall enough that the curved-spine position shouldn't hamper things. "Ah Milani," he can't help himself. "Ye ain't given me a chance t'show ye how good I c'n be." Playfulness only. He respects the rules, no matter how much he'd love to break them.
Milani waits until he's sat down to tuck the towel around his neck, even damp to protect his clothes from falling hair. She stands behind him, smiles down at him, one hand to that dimpled cheek. "Well ... I have all these work orders you know, I could write one up special for you," she says quite innocently herself. Then works her fingers through his hair, collecting what would usually go into a tail and makes a neat cut to simply take that off, reaches forward to lay that on the table, then sets about neatening and shortening up the back.
Mikandros turns his cheek into her hand, just a little. "Ye could, I expect. An' jus' what might 'special' be?" But then he's got to hold his head still while she cuts, and so he does, sitting patiently. "Huh," is let out when she lays what used to be his tail on the table.
Snip. Snip. Snip. By the time she's done, there's a fair bit of hair on the table and more clinging to that towel. Short and smooth in the back a little longer in front, to spike upwards and Millie runs her hand through it to do exactly that, then sets the scissors aside. Carefully the towel is unwrapped, turned to brush lingering cut strands away. "Wow ..." the headwoman does say as she comes around in front of him. "That's a big difference. But a good one, I have a mirror in my room .. but not here." Her hand reaches gently for his chin, tipping his head upward so she can look him in the eye. "Something about making the headwoman happy and rearranging the office," she says with a little lopsided grin.
Mikandros just sits patiently through all that snipping, even as his eyebrows quirk into tighter and tighter worry for the amount of hair finding it's way on to the table. "-How- much ye cuttin' off?" He looks up at her as she moves around into his line of sight, hands reaching up self-consciously to pat cautiously at his now slightly spikey hair. With a cheeky grin, "Thinkin' I'll take a look in some still water or somethin' later. See how much damage ye did." Chuckling, then, "If'n ye were wantin' me t'flex m'muscles fer ye, shoulda jus' asked. What'cha need movin' then?" Brown eyes bright as they meet blue-green.
"Enough," Milani says about his hair, laughing and she reaches forward again to run fingers through the spiky bits, then down along his face. "I don't know if 'muscle' is the word I'd be using," she says next and after a moment's hesitation, aims to drop down into his lap, arms curling around his neck. "Move /me/ a little," she says jauntily, challenge dancing in her eyes.
"Ah, shells," Mikandros mutters as he gets a lapful of Milani, curving his arms gently around her. Turning his face towards her neck, a soft brush of lips against skin. Holding back from one concern only, even as his hands shift to rub upwards along her back, "Yer sure?" Deep voice perhaps as much felt as heard.
That brush of lips sends her eyes closed and Milani lets out a quiet sigh, neck lengthening as she tips her head to the side. His question though, brings back momentary seriousness, one hand lifting so she can trace his face with light fingers. "Just a kiss, Mik," she warns, "but ... I should lock the door. Just in case." She kisses his cheek, a lightweight promise and slips out of his lap to go turn the key in the lock before she comes back to him to make good on what she just offered.
Loathe to let her go, Mikandros keeps his hands in sliding contact, face turning towards those caressing fingers, aiming to press a kiss into her palm. "'S just...." But, really, he's not going to argue, and her kiss stopped his words anyway. Swivelling in the chair to watch her, smouldering heat behind his eyes. Standing to meet her return, arms reaching to pull her close and head dipping to give her a proper, deep, kiss, the enthusiasm of his youth tempered by a very real desire to let her know how much he appreciates her. Just her.
"Shh," is what Milani says when she comes back, finger lifted to press to his lips before that kiss. There's enthusiasm aplenty in return, her arms laced around his neck again, while kisses are traded back and forth. After a little while though, in a break for breath: "I should give you a /real/ work order. No preferential treatment," the headwoman warns, tilting her head up and back, grinning at him with mischief in her eyes again.
Mikandros somehow finds air enough in his lungs to chuckle into her shoulder. "Ask, an' ye shall receive, m'lady." A happy little sigh, as his fingers brush gently over her hair, before he too is lifting his head. Greeting with mischief with a twinkle, and a sweet, disarming smile. "How about... tidying up?" he muses, bringing the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "Now that I've gone an' made ye a mess."
Milani laughs again and presses the tip of her finger to his nose. "No, a real work order," the headwoman says seriously and slides off his lap again to go ruffle through the work orders, comes up with one. "Moving boxes from one room to another. For both of you," she says and hands him the card. "Good honest work. Give you both a workout," she says with a wink and stretches up off of his lap. Milani grins at him, taking a moment to admire that new haircut. "Mm. You do look fine," she tells him sincerely as she straightens her clothes up a little. Briefly she leans in to kiss his forehead, rumples his hair again. "Go get some rest, Mik. Those eggs will probably be hatching soon, and either way, impress or not, you're going to need the rest. Because if you're left standing ... I have plans for you, my friend. And if you do, your dragon'll be keeping you busy for a while until I can get my hands back on you."
Mikandros laughs cheerfully, "Ah, yer a feisty lass an' no mistake. Movin' boxes it is." Accepting the card, though it'll get set on the table until he's got a pocket back to slip it into. Hitching up and straightening his trous, grinning at the tousle to his hair before pulling it less askew. "So do ye, darlin', so do ye," and meaning every word. Remembering to grab the card, aiming one last kiss at her cheek before turning obediently for the door. A pause, "Milani... ye are beautiful. An' I'll be lookin' forward t'that day. Sooner, or later. Ye get some rest, yerself, darlin'." And he will undo the latch and slip out the door, pausing only to gather up the pile of boots and jacket he left against the wall. And off to bed he goes, to sweet dreams.
"Feistier than some," Milani quips with a wink. She leans into that kiss a little, reaches up to pat his cheek again. "Thank you," she says quietly, watches him go then turns to tidy up, with a little cheery whistle before getting back to work on the mountains of paper on her desk, apparently all the better for that little pick-me-up.