Spinning the Time Away

Xanadu Weyr - Caverns

A massive cavern in it's own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as are the walls where numerous tapestries hang to provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt, leveled carefully but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.
The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area, however, is the one near the Kitchens where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. Its plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr and equally plain that on such occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are appropriated from all the other areas.
A big fireplace is set into the wall near the Kitchens as well, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.
Exits lead off in all directions, a big archway the largest and that leading outside. Shallow stairs to the west lead to the offices and administration area while tunnels to the east lead to the infirmary, kitchen and resident's quarters. Southwards, a sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs and southwest is a wide tunnel, carefully roped off to avoid accidents.

The current time for zone 9 is: 2688.6.17 02:28:40

It's almost impossible to decide: is it early morning or late night? Does it matter? The caverns, usually a bustling hub of the Weyr's daily life find themselves quiet. Almost too quiet, even the local firelizards are sleeping, as are the few weyr felines, and one drunk bluerider, snoring quietly in the corner after a dispute with his weyrmate. Just the perfect time of night to sneak a bit of personal time. Quiet footfalls preceed her, as she arrives…not unknown, but rarely seen out and about, socializing. She takes her duties as a headwoman's assistant very seriously, but everyone needs a bit of time to themself. She arrives, carrying a basket full of bumps of brightly dyed fibers, and a few wooden spindles, poking out of the wool like the spines of a needlethorn bush. After a moment, she chooses a seat, puts down her basket, and goes to get klah before she settles in, picking and choosing a few colors with the eye of an artist and grabbing her carding combs, to blend them together a bit…preparing the fibers for spinning.

Generally not a common denizen of the indoor areas, the tanned bronzerider, E'on, would be a much more usual sight to those that are most often outside of the weyr's main areas. Perhaps it is the lack of open sky, or breeze or trees or any number of factors. Then again, perhaps it is best blamed on the strange night hours: that indeed, it's pitch black and most of the sane are asleep, with many more hours to go before the early risers climb out to being their day. Yet so, E'on strides out of the Hot Springs area, attention entirely down into his palms, rubbing a towel over a wrist and palm, darkened areas of the skin that a wash has little hope to fully battle. Most of the towel is thrown around his shoulders and neck, long thick hair making a sadly soaked cape of it. His hair is a dark brown with the wet and the night's dimness, making his notably red mane far less abraisive in color than normally. He slows at a scent of klah, orienting towards the source in distracted interest.

Ocelara glances up, as if surprised to hear another living soul about, and then quirks her brows up a little. It takes her a moment, before she places name, rank, maybe even dragon. But she notes from where she sits, "I'd just put a fresh pot on, if you want some." But you're going to have to serve yourself!

"Sounds excellent," E'on says simply, in his natural and relaxed, low bass way; if it was louder or more busy, he might be difficult to pick up on at a distance with that muted response, but in the open, silent dark night, it's well suited. "I'm unfortunately poor with names, can you remind me?" he inquires, after some time spent filling a mug, and wrapping broad palms around it, pleased by the warmth.

She only smiles a little, plucking up a little bit of fluff and twisting it just so, before she loops it around a metal hook at the end of a weighted instrument…one good flick of it down her thigh, and the fluff begins to transform itself into a thin, brightly colored slip of string, slowly dropping towards the floor. "Ocelara."

"Ocelara. All right. Thank you for humoring me," E'on answers, at ease, with a similar echo of mild smile, and selecting a seat for himself, although he doesn't pick one particularly close to her project or personal space. "What will that string become, eventually?" he asks, though his attention is at first, on the klah as he sets it aside for now, and idly begins a project of his own— raking his hands into and working to squeeze more of the water out of his hair.

She shrugs, "This is a singles…I'll ply it up with another and then it will be yarn. And then…well. After that, I suppose it'll be what it will be. I haven't thought that far ahead." She grins a little, "Some of it…well, it's only there to be pretty…" Her fingers and hands move nimbly, without her looking; picking up more fluff and transforming it into brightly colored thread. She pauses, and walks the singles up her fingers, then winds the thread onto the shaft of the spindle…the goes back to repeat the process.

E'on watches her work as she describes a bit more about the thread, head inclined a little, not in any particular rush, mind clearly not really on his own tangle. In fact, he seems content to watch the thread wind, in a distant type of way, as if looking past it, or through it to some other location or memory that isn't actually present in the flesh (or fiber, as the case may be). If his silence is awkward, he is clearly not aware of it.

She doesn't seem to notice any silence, or any awkwardness. The fibers flow through her fingers, transforming like dreams into reality, from gold to red to flaming orange and back again, with flashes of blue and green…like some strange tropical flower. Silence seems to suit her, though she's not reticent or unfriendly.

Eventually, perhaps due to switching from drying to starting to braid, E'on speaks again, breaking into the silence, in a thoughtful tone. " his drying half-brushing work into roughly twisting and then braiding his hair back, working from the crown and pulling each side in large sections into it. "My sister, Irela, is in the weavercraft. I remember quite well her attempts as a child… she had a rocky start with it," E'on says, with a sudden flash of a warmed grin.

Ocelara glances up, and laughs a little, "Father holds a ovine-station near Hannista, and Mother was a Weaver until she married. Most of my brothers and sisters are in the craft as well." She laughs, "I remember being maybe four Turns…and one of my sisters putting a spindle in my hand; I must have known how to do it before that, but I remember…because we began to see who could spin the longest thread. We held the spindles over the edge of a steep slope…and if it broke, you had to climb down and get it."

E'on chuckles, "Her Weaver interest was out of the ordinary for my family anyway, and man, was she terrible at first, but she's doing well now," E'on says, with evident pride in his younger sisters. "…but I wouldn't say I didn't give her a hard time about her thread. That was my job as her brother, of course." His expression is cheeky, amused, despite being mostly mellow. No doubt a fierce teaser of sisters in the past.

She laughs a bit, "Oh, I suppose I had the talent. Just not the desire." She pauses to wind the single onto the shaft again, "I turned my knot in, after I stood. Not that I don't love spinning, it's just. They want consistancy. The same thing, over and over and over. I got bored, I suppose…"

Silence meets that line of comment, though if she glances at him, it's more that he's thinking over what she's saying than that he's out of opinions or things to say. He's nearly done with binding his hair back; french braid that's now turning very red due to that it's just damp, not dripping. And all out of his way, which was the point of that. "That, I understand. I did not expect to impress… at all. But I know things would have been different for me, after standing, even if I hadn't," E'on observes, brows slightly drawn. "Although I think my answer would have been to go even more heavily into my craft," he admits. "But physical work is a stress reliever, to me."

That produces a bit of a shrug, more self-directed, "I'm sure some might have said I took an easy way out…but I was not happy in the slightest…and the idea of another ten to twelve Turns having to do what I was told before I had the slightest chance to do my own thing. No. And it's not been so bad here." After a moment, she smiles, "In fact, I rather like it."

E'on arches his brows some, "I don't think completely changing your way is the 'easy way out'. In fact, I think /not/ questioning what you want is probably the 'easy' way. Or the way of denial," E'on smiles briefly, well aware his own description of himself fits within that category, to an extent. "But, I also wouldn't be able to try again. Will you stand again, do you think? Or have you, since the first time?" E'on asks.

She laughs at that, "Oh, I don't think so…I stood the once, and I haven't been asked since. I think the bluerider that searched me was either enamored of a pretty face." She makes a self-depreciating eye-batt at that, "Or his blue was just really generous. Besides, I'm too busy to try and stand again. We've all been picking up slack, of late. Until the Weyrwoman chooses a new Headwoman proper, at any rate."

E'on tilts his head some, with a brief smile, "No, once you stand once, you can come back. Until you become too old, anyway," E'on appends, with a gesture of hand as if to fan that factor out of the way, with a chuckle. "But it's up to you to want to keep trying. It's rough. I'm still not sure if I would have stood again, but no way to know, now. And, no offense, but I do think standing is something the Weyrwoman would understand you taking a bit of time to do, busy or no," E'on says, lifting his hands slowly in an expressive shrug.

Ocelara smiles again, and reaches to wind the spindle yet again, but reaches and puts it down instead. Taking a moment, she stretches her arms, her hands, her fingers and wrists. "A moot point, perhaps, as there aren't any eggs on the sands right now anyway." She grins, amused at some inner thought.

E'on laughs briefly, "No, I guess you get some time to get all that busywork out of the way, so, then, no excuse?" E'on says lightly, but it's clearly teasing, he isn't out to push it. He scoots down in his seat some, until he discovers his klah is empty, and stands, leaving his moist towel to hold his seat (from the tons of people just hanging around ready to take it, at 2:30am), and gestures at her cup in mime of picking it up, "Refill?"

Ocelara glances at her cup, but then smiles, "Oh, that'd be lovely…thank you, E'on." See? She did recall your name! One of the perks of being a bronzerider, perhaps. Everyone knows your name. Or something. "Other than a good scrub, what has you up at this hour? I don't think I recall seeing you in here this late."

Yes, Something. But there's a lot of sense in that: that people do know and have opinions on — and trust, or distrust— who are the potential leaders in the Weyr. Which makes it worse to have trouble with names in return, but E'on handles it smoothly, with a reserved, relaxed smile and nod, picking up her cup to take along with his own for the refills. But before he does, he stands with the cups, to answer her query. "Ah, I often have variable hours… more of a night creature than I used to be. Just not always apt to spend the hours here, in these empty, sleepy caverns. But Turlath was exhausted tonight; so I had to do something or other with myself," E'on says, as if he hadn't particularly thought about the 'why' until she asked. He excuses himself with a glance to the cups, moving off to refill them, and return, extending hers towards her, wary of her project so as to keep it away from it— respectful of that she may not want spilled klah all over it.

Her graceful hand is there, to intercept the mug before it can spill on those fibers! She takes a soft sniff, as if to enjoy the aroma, and then takes a sip…bitter and strong, she takes it without sugar or milk! "A fair enough reason." She's not there to judge…though perhaps small talk is not her forte.

He realizes late that she might have wanted something in it, and visibly flinches a little, "Ah, I forgot to ask if you wanted milk, or…" E'on looks at the cup, not seating himself yet, simply standing with his own. "What about you? Too busy to take time to sleep?"

She smiles, "Full moons or something. I'll pay for it tomorrow, I'm sure. But I certainly don't feel sleepy." Mugs of hot klah probably do NOT help.

Since the cup seems to be all right, E'on sits back down, sweeping his towel aside with a loose gesture into a lumpy pile, and nods a little bit. "Yes, I'll pay for being on a different schedule than Turlath, but, well, he did it enough to me when he was tiny, I get some leeway," E'on smiles privately with a shake of head.

Ocelara grins a bit, and notes, "I stood at the clutch just before yours, I do believe…" As if it were important to orient herself in time and space. "He's what…three turns, give or take? I suppose he's like any baby…or was like any baby." Like that hadn't really crossed her mind yet!

E'on chuckles and shakes his head, "Not even that old yet, no; he's about two and a half," E'on answers, in the manner of someone that probably could have given how many days, if she was really that curious. "But he acts like he's older than I am, much of the time now," E'on chuckles, but it's affectionate, towards the dragon. "But he's always been that way, trying to impart 'wisdom' on his clutchmates," E'on says, with a slight roll of his eyes, but shrugs: "Which… I didn't, and don't, find to be bad, really. I don't think it's bad that he cares."

She laughs a little at that, amused. "I'm always astounded at the range of personalities in dragons." She puts her mug down, and picks up her spinning again, going back to the latter task. "You'd think I would be used to it by now."

"I'd say they're like people, but. Maybe saying they have the same /range/ as people is better to say," E'on says, taking a long time to have several long drinks of his klah. "But that makes very real sense to me — that the range is much like us, that there's matches for all kinds of people, and with how much they can influence our lives— even regardless of their colors and what that can cause. But anyway. I don't mean to wax on about him, really. I can imagine you didn't come to sit here to think more about dragons," E'on apologises.

It draws a gentle expression from her, "I don't mind listening to people talk about their dragons, or their runners, or their firelizards, or their children." None of which she has any of her own, yet! "The best stories, sometimes…come from those who ramble on and on."

E'on gets a look of horror briefly, "I'm rambling on and on?" he asks. "Ouch. Last time I rambled was during my candidacy," he frets, but smiles some. "Too much klah, maybe. I'm trying to tone that back," E'on says, smoothly, such that it's probably difficult to determine if he's serious, or entirely making fun of the fact that he's usually more terse.

Ocelara smiles again, an easy expression for her. "I didn't mean you specifically. If you'd like, I could start waxing verbose about fiber quality, or lack thereof, or what inorganic acid dyes do to delicate wools, or the advantages of a zee ply to an ess ply."

"Agh. Now, that's a reminder of my sister I could probably live without," E'on says, making a face and shaking his head. Either the klah has loosened him up, or over time, he's relaxed more than at first introduction. "What about the duties you've been so busy with?" he asks. "Or is that more… sensitive in subject, with the new leadership," he asks, hiding his clearly amused little smile behind the klah mug.

She shakes her head, just a bit, "Just busy…with the shake up and the comings and goings…Hardly secretive, but guaranteed to put you to sleep better than a double fifth of peach brandy."

E'on nods in acceptance, or understanding of that, turning his eyes out over the cavern, as if picturing or thinking about said shake-up. "Everything changes, from the top, on down. It will be interesting, at the least. Each wing impacted in some way as people are moved about. We'll just have to see." His expression is positive, though.

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