It's not Embroidery

Xanadu Weyr - Observation Level
Dark blue seats form a semi-circle around the sands below, the lowest row separating from the sands themselves by merely a railing. The seats climb upwards, each row a bit higher then the previous, and they are broken up into sections by 3 sets of staircases. Lights are evenly spaced along the outer wall, lighting the seats and the sands easily, though they tend to be dimmed unless a major event is taking place. A large balcony looms overhead, darkening some of the seats, providing a place for observers of the draconic kind to watch without obstructing the view for others.
When one looks over the railing, the oddly hued sand below can be seen easily, the circle-shaped area of the sands spread out to the far walls, the sand itself a unique mixture of red and white grains.

It's fairly late evening, a time of night seeing much of the weyr happily gathered in the living caverns, enjoying their dinners and friendly company. That, however, leaves the galleries delightfully empty, and is the perfect opportunity for an antsy, uneasy candidate to seek some solitude. So it is that Quila is up here, up at front, leaning against the front railing with her chin propped in the palm of one hand and her expression distant.

Too bad about that solitude thing, because Quila is no longer on her lonesome; from the foyer, the sound of Relion's heavy boots scuffing on the stairs that lead through the observation area is clear and obvious, in the otherwise still area. His attention is more out to the sands than to others in the observation seats, at least at first. He has a mostly empty looking brown bag in hand, and a bright white candidate robe hung draped over his forearm. He'd sat and did mending chores here before, so it's little surprise that he'd return to work on this project, too. He spots Quila standing by the rail, brows lift with a brief smile, but he doesn't interrupt her vocally.

The sound of heavy boots is, indeed, noticeable. Quila twists just enough to look back over her shoulder to see who's arrived, and recognition receives a glimmer of a smile in return. Still, she'll continue her thoughtful pose for a few minutes longer, eyes scanning over the eggs. Eventually though she turns, standing instead with her back to the railing and leaning against her elbows, considering her fellow candidate and his present occupation. The robe and whatnot. "Tailoring in order?" she ventures, voice low as she breaks the quiet.

In those minutes, Relion moved more quietly, perhaps an unconscious awareness to not bother the person already here. So when she turns, she'll find him seated, long legs out on the seat in front of him, though just resting against it, not dirtying it— and turning the robe inside out. To her question he releases a loud, long sigh though, and a smirk. "Either they're too short, too narrow in the shoulder, or too wide all over," Relion observes. "I'm going with… less wide all over," he adds, with a flash of healthy grin.

Quila will push away from the railing then and take the liberty of helping herself the seat just next to him, which she settles into with her usual languid comfort, leaning back and legs stretched out. "Not goin' for the short? Flash a little thigh, really impress those beasties?" she says jokingly, tilting her head to eye whatever implements of alteration he brought with him. She gives a little sniff, lips pursed, and then rests her head against the back of the chair. "Might have to ask for help with mine. Not much of a seamstress, me."

Relion shivers at the thought, "I don't /want/ the dragon that's attracted by /my/ manly thighs," Relion laughs with a teasing smile to one side of his mouth. "Hahaha, I could pretend, but- yeah, I had help," Relion says, showing her. "One of the other Candidates — Meria— is in weavercraft. She put these pins in for me… so I just have to do the gruntwork of sewin' up the spots," Relion says. It's a robe, it isn't exactly complicated to bring the sides in more snugly so it's not a tent around the lower body, but he clearly needs the fabric for his shoulders and chest. A weird fit, for what most candidates are expected to be physically, in their low teens. He starts to work on it; slow, plodding, but not poorly.

Quila chuckles softly, nudging his elbow with her own. "It'd turn heads, at any rate. 'Course, I've got the opposite problem. Robe doesn't fit badly, but too long for my shrimpish self," she says with a sigh, brushing her fingers back through her hair. His 'secret' is noted with appreciation, though. "Meria, huh? I'll look her up. Could probably follow a line of pins without mucking it up too badly." Then she'll settle in for a companionable silence while he gets to work, attention drifting between his serviceable stitches and the shadows of the eggs on the sands down below, before asking, "All well? Ready for…?" And that question is filled in with a general wave towards the eggs.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," Relion says, pausing in the stitchwork to look out towards where her gaze leads, out to the eggs and the golden queen standing guard with them. He considers for a time. "Rylavi thinks it's all random," he comments, and gestures out to the field. His tone suggests he hasn't quite decided if he believes that or doesn't believe, just that it /is/. "I think…. that it might not matter whether it is random, or not, really," he chuckles. "Are you ready?"

"Random?" Quila repeats quietly, and then gives a little shrug. "No way to know, I suppose, but… both my parents are riders. From the way they describe it, it's more than that." She chooses her words carefully, fingers tracing a pattern on the armrest between them. "Meant to be. Pick you because you are exceptionally suited to them. An inexplicable connection transcending… so on and so forth," she finishes, with a hint of a laugh in her voice that borders on the embarrassed. "May be nonsense. Children's stories." But there is that note that implies that she hopes it's not. "Don't think it's possible to be ready, really. But ready for it all to be done with."

"I suppose I can see good things both ways. If it's not random… than us going down there and touching the eggs could have meant something, more than just an .. advanced look. But if it's just that, well, it does prepare us, to have some experience with another mind traipsing around up here," Relion says, tapping his forehead once with a finger, before doing a few more stitches. "Well… I'm ready to see what happens. And I think that's enough," Relion says, with a thoughtful, but steady, warm tone, and moves his free left hand to touch the back of her hand on the armrest once with warm palm.

Quila nods thoughtful agreement as he offers his pearls of wisdom, a quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Suppose that's a healthy attitude. Either way anything goes, it's for the best. Random or not. If we impress or not. Upside to every turn, right?" As she feels that light touch to her hand she looks over, just a glance from the corner of her eye, and with a smile she'll turn her small hand over to give a brief squeeze to his larger, if allowed. "It's enough. Definitely. It's worth it, either way. Met some good folk along the way," she adds with a pointed look, smile on her lips. "Hafta stay in touch, you, after you impress."

Relion flushes some, though it's more connected to awareness of her informing him of how Super Positive he's being. "Well, maybe if I say it enough times, I'll believe it too," Relion says with a brief, perhaps darker half-smile, but it fades soon enough, a hint of a quirk that he's perhaps intentionally putting his best foot forward. He laughs a little and prods her palm with one finger, "Why're you so sure it won't be you? You're the one with weyr in your blood, with your parents," Relion observes.

Quila can't help but notice that, too, that sudden coloring in his complexion, though for the moment it just earns a sidelong look that hangs somewhere between amused and fond. "Brainwashing yourself, huh, Woodcraft?" she says lightly. "S'pose I'm doing so in my own way. Tellin' myself I don't care." Then that question, and the prod at her hand, gets a wrinkle of her nose. She shakes her head, expression saying that she has no good answer, though she does her best anyway. "Just doesn't seem possible. Doesn't seem real. Parentage doesn't mean anything, necessarily. I spent my whole childhood waiting, just waiting, with bated breath, for that searchrider to come snatch me up. After a point I just stopped waiting. My sister never was searched, my brother never was searched… figured it just wasn't for us." She laughs it off, though, a soft sound and a wave of her hand. "Silliness." A glance towards the doorway, the darkness outside, and she sighs. "Getting late." She makes no move to leave yet, though.

Relion isn't working one-handed, but hardly seems to even notice or mind the distraction she's proven to be from his little project of alteration. Then again, despite that positive attitude about how easy it is, it wouldn't be too long of a guess to suspect he MIGHT not want to be doing it, but it's one of those things. He watches her quietly as she talks about the searchrider, blue eyes mellow, but not cold. "I see. Something you wanted badly, but… gave up hope on," Relion says, with a thoughtful watch of her eyes and expression.

"Something like that," Quila confirms, meeting his eyes with a fairly neutral expression. "Grew out of. Something. Torn now. I'm being presented with the childhood fantasy, but also means giving up the life I actually built." It isn't in her nature, however, to dwell on such heavy topics for any length of time, and she brushes the topic off with a shake of her head, dropping her eyes away. "But I suppose we'll see, soon. One way or another." That said, she gives one more tight squeeze to his fingers, probably both fairly rough from their chosen lines of work. "I'll let you work, Woodcraft. Gotta have you lookin' mighty fine come hatching day," she says, tone light again, as she makes to stand.

Relion tips his head a little bit as she withdraws from the more serious topics, but doesn't fight or push about it, stays seated, his lap still full of the white candidate robes; just another glaring reminder, as if their location so close to the sands wasn't enough of one, of what's to come. "I think you'll make what you want outa your life either way, Quila," Relion adds, tone similarly light, though he's not joking. "You don't strike me as someone who'd just lay back and let life wander over her," Relion chuckles, curling fingers against hers, but she can pull away if she wants to go, easily.

Quila will stand there a moment longer, letting that touch linger. "S'pose that's true enough," she agrees readily, with a flash of a smile to boot. "Always did know my own mind." Now she pulls her hand away, and with a quick motion she kisses her fingertips, and then presses them briefly to his cheek. "Again, good man to talk to. Wish you luck on your embroidery," she adds, with a teasing wink, and then she turns to go.

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