Lyubomir is Searched!

Xanadu Weyr - Workshops
Some crafts are ill-suited to being tucked away in a cavern, too loud or too dangerous to be desirable. They've been clustered here, out in the meadow away from others. The central building is made of stone and glass, the roof shallow as it slopes away from the thick central ridge that holds forges and kilns for smiths, glassworkers, and others.
The smith forges are loud, dim and hot; windows here are covered with soot or have been replaced for safety. The large common area holds the main forge lodged against the central wall, with bellows at the ready and a chimney rushing high to open in the ceiling outside. This is the area that the apprentices are taught in and are able to use. The nearby wall clasps a vast and unspecialized collection of tools, while the built-in shelves of another wall host jars of nails, crates of wood and metal scraps, spools of wire, sacks of sand, and heavy bins of Cromcoal, all decorated with a fine coating of grime and sawdust. To the other side of the main forge, set against the outer wall, there are separate forges for Journeyman and Master use, each one kept clean and neat, even when in the midst of a project.
Further back there are heating systems and molds for metal and plastic alike, and a set of machines used to grind gears and cast various parts. There's a pump to bring up water for quenching, though it won't stay cool for long given the heat this workshop holds even in winter.
On the other side of the broad central wall is the glass shop, brightly lit through the heat-resistant fixtures and many windows that show off the skills of the crafters of Xanadu Weyr. That central wall and the one opposite it are both lined with kilns and glass forges for the glasscrafters to do their work. The portion of the room near the main entrance seems to be devoted to teaching, as a number of mobile diagram boards have been erected there with desks arranged in semicircles around each. The central portion of the room serves as the production area, with barrels of sand and various additives arrayed beside several long tables and charts, and finally, the back wall is made up almost entirely of cabinets and storage shelves.
There are other workshops scattered nearby, smaller buildings for the various other crafts that are better suited to be where the wind sweeps out over the sea and carries fumes and smoke with it or for those who need to catch their breath after the din of the forges.

It's later in the afternoon or probably evening, depending on how one determines the difference between the two. Is it where Rukbat sits? The length of shadows? Whatever it is, Lyubomir's just- well, working. It's what he does. He does a lot of it, especially of late. He's in one of the smaller buildings, the door left wide open so the fresh air can breeze through. At the moment, his current project appears to be working on the rewiring of some fancy-pants gooseneck lamp, though he's probably not technically licensed to work on electrical things. He's repaired lamps, though, so this isn't anything really new to him. It's only a little ironic that his work is being lit by a similar type of lamp. Nearby, a pair of firelizards are taking their one hundredth nap of the day, as is tradition.

LATER IN THE AFTERNOON? Perfection. Doesn't the Senior Weyrwoman have better things to be doing with her time rather than travailing the Weyr and stompy-stomp-stompity-stomping her way through the Weyr? … Probably. BUT IS SHE GOING TO DO BETTER THINGS WITH HER TIME? Not at all. Lyubomir probably has perfectly good reason to be here in the workshops, canoodling electrical things and being himself, but Risali is a whirlwind that breezes through like a tiny hurricane bracing for impact with Cat 5 winds. SHE WALKS PAST, SHE KEEPS GOING, SHE DISAPPEARS, and just when that ominous klaxxon warning of imminent danger seems to subside, she STOMPS BACK. STOMPSTOMPSTOMP. Right to Lyubomir. Look, if you were hoping for a human that gave a single care about personal space, Risali is not that human, so it's absolutely unreasonable but no less her to come to a standstill beside Lyubomir, pressing her shoulder into his arm or his side, and crossing her arms over her chest. One leg goes loose at the knee, her hip juts just slightly with a slight check of attitude, and those grey eyes hone in on whatever it is he's doing. One, two, three, and then she blinks her attention to his face, brows rising if his eyes are on her before they drop back to his work. "That looks complicated," she says, with the air of somebody that doesn't know if it actually looks complicated or not. "Show me."

The STOMP-STOMP-STOMP of an ANGERY BIRD angery(?) Weyrwoman is certainly something to sit up and take notice of - if one were sitting at all, that is. He's standing, which makes that difficult. Still. Lyu pauses in his efforts at threading wiring through the crooked neck of the lamp, tilting his head accordingly to track Risali's movements through the workshop area. Maybe, if he listens long enough, he'll pick up a patter-oh-no, she's right there, isn't she. Of course she is. The hairs at the back of his neck stand up and the handyman OH-SO-SLOWLY cranes his head to peer over his shoulder. The tendons in his neck practically creak. It's that slow. Yes, she's next to him, but still. "Uh." Her brows lift. His brows lift. It's a LIFT-OFF until he recognizes her and he clears his throat all awkward-like. "Weyrwoman. It's not, not really. Just have to make sure you have the right tools and supplies and-" the directive to show her is enough to briefly trip him up. But, then, he tilts the thing enough to show her how he's feeding the wiring through. "Here, this wiring connects to the switch - and this one gives it power once it's plugged in."

IT IS THE MONTH OF SPECTACULAR SPOOKS. For the writers, anyway. STILL, it stands to reason that Horror Risali is not so misplaced after all. NEITHER ARE HER EYEBROWS. Look, it doesn't have to make sense. The important part to take away from ALL OF THIS is that the societally correct use of her title, 'Weyrwoman,' is corrected with a distracted (and perhaps slightly off-put), "Risali," and then she's leaning forward to get a better look at just what it is that his hands are doing to that POOR, INNOCENT LAMP. Her head tilts this way, then that, and when Risali straightens again, her eyes linger for a moment more before jumping back to Lyubomir's face. Her hands come up just as the hints of a question manifest in the subtle lines of her expression. "May I?" At least, if nothing else, she's polite enough to await his permission for that, even if the slow-to-come half-smile at her lips, the one so riddled with mischief it'd be hard to register it as anything else, is borderline impolite. It does imply that she's waited this long on purpose to breathe out, "And hello to you, Lyubomir. I like your shirt." Does she know him, or know of him? IT DOESN'T MATTER. SHE KNOWS WHO HE IS AND DEFINITELY WANTS TO TOUCH HIS LAMP.

The lamp is being violated. Really, there's no other way to describe it; there are wires and more wires, and Lyu just keeps shoving more in there and it's just- well, it's not a hot mess because nothing's turned on but still. The correction is taken and returned with a faint ghost of a smile in the face of that HORROR RISALI. "Risali, as you like." Her 'may I?' is met with a moment of consideration, a quick double-check to make sure the lamp really isn't plugged in. And then? The whole mess of wires and metal and bendy bits and lampshade is offered over to the Weyrwoman's hands. Hopefully, they're capable. If not? Oh well. He can fix it. Maybe. And he's just about to turn away to maybe check on his firelizards to make sure they aren't actually dead when her next words catch him off-guard. "Uh- ah. Thank you, We- Risali." It doesn't at all sound like Were-Risali, what are you even talking about. Worse: she has his lamp now - and he's not a genie. He's silent for a moment before remembering that people sometimes like to have conversations. He rolls the dice and lands on conversational topic #153: "Leirith has a fine clutch out there."

"Thank you." Because she do like. Risali also patiently endures the time it takes Lyubomir to ensure she won't succumb to electric shock before handing his work off to her (wholly incapable) hands. And listen, just because Risali doesn't wholly understand just what it is she's supposed to be doing with those wires to connect them, it doesn't stop her from trying. In fact, her concentration is already honing in on what she's doing with her own hands when Lyubomir's words about Leirith and her clutch quasi break through. She doesn't look up, she doesn't tilt her head, she doesn't directly address Lyubomir at all when she exhales, "Well, now you've done it." BOOM. Did the whole building shake? Yes. But Risali seems wholly unconcerned, instead turning to Lyubomir and extending the lamp to him amid the thud of another monstrously-sized something trying to make its way through the workshop's doors. BOOM. "Like this?" Probably not like this, but Risali leans her hip on the workbench with casual poise while chaos descends around them and awaits Lyubomir's answer with a raise of her brows. BOOM.

It's fine. It's okay. It's not like Risali can set fire to anything by just handling some wires and metal. … right? RIGHT?! Lyubomir, contented with the knowledge that he's pretty sure the goldrider does not actually have electricity-based powers, settles in to watch from the side, though he doesn't chime in with any directions or instructions or, really, anything unless she asks. He's not that kind of guy, evidently. His presence is merely that, a presence. One that visibly tenses as the world is suddenly filled with BOOMs. "What?" He heard her exhalation and maybe some of the words, but the shaking of the building distracts him. It distracts him so much that he almost doesn't catch her offering the lamp over. Oh. Oh no. Oh what nightmare has he inadvertently invoked?! "Ye- hold on, let me," and, by let me, he means 'let me get my head on straight'. There is no adjusting of what she's done, just an assessment of the lamp's guts. "It's pretty close," might be way off the mark, but whatever. It's fine. "This one should go to the switch, here, but-" that BOOMing, man. "-… it's not an earthquake, is it?" Because what else COULD it be?

Risali looks UNPERTURBED for all that she should be diving beneath tables alongside those wise enough to value life over curiosity. Instead her brows just raise higher, patience maintained and then exorcised when more mischief pulls at her lips and a breathy huff of laughter escapes her. "I guess that depends on who you ask." Surely Leirith is some form of Natural Disaster, even if she is not quite the ground-shaking behemoth 'Earthquake' might imply. It's probably lucky then that the doors give way (or somebody got smart and opened them) in just enough time to allow one OBNOXIOUSLY LARGE NOSE to STUFF ITSELF IN THE ENTRYWAY. Risali's finger comes up, ticks towards that xanthous-colored blockade, and deviance hits her eyes. "It's that. I'd say cover your ears, but —" But it won't do him any good. Not when that bombastically larger-than-life voice thrums into existence like the heady-beat of a house party. « HE APPRECIATES MY EGGS. MINION. DID YOU HEAR? ASK HIM. HE IS CLEARLY A BADASS TO KNOW BADASSERY WHEN HE SEES IT. » Which is why Risali's humor shifts, softens, turns to something a little more amicable as she sets the lamp down — for now — and turns her body fully to the man beside her instead. "You did say she had a fine clutch." A beat, two, three… "Did you want to get a closer look?"

It started off so nicely, too. Just a handyman doing what a handyman do when a Weyrwoman asks him to. And now, suddenly, the building is shaking and it's not the kind of shaking that's going to be sparking the rumor mill, either. Or, rather, not the FUN rumor mill. And it's just a good thing that A) Risali seems to know what's happening and B) Risali has the lamp. Odds are good that the young man would have dropped it if it were in his care - if not at the sudden opening of doors to let a GINORMOUS SCHNOZZ to materialize in the workshop, then definitely at the mental blaring that leaves him temporarily deafened in some sense. "No, that wouldn't have done any good," he agrees, his voice louder and flatter than it probably should be, but he's dealing with two layers of ringing in his head at this point, so his volume is just going to be all wonky. He jams a pinky into one ear and wiggles it around like that'll help somehow. It doesn't, but it makes him feel like he's doing something valuable. "They really are some nice eggs. I took a peek earlier," he admits, though likely only as part of his duties to the Weyr. "But, ah- sure, I'd love to get a better look at them. I've been in the stores and here pretty much all day, otherwise." Wait. Is she putting something down that ISN'T the lamp? He's apparently not picking it up.

AND SUDDENLY, LEIRITH. Look, she's alarming even when she's not trying to be alarming and, for what it's worth, Risali would have at least replaced the lamp in the event that her lifemate's boisterous brand of entrance resulted in its total ruin. But the lamp is safe (for now), and so are the denizens crowding around the workshop-space. Lyubomir's admittance draws another huff of laughter, one that lingers in the pull at the corner of her lips as she watches him speak and then bumps her shoulder into his person. "Did you?" Take a peek, she means. But if he's missing the point, intentionally or not, Risali's head bobs this way and that as if to say they could do that, except she's digging into one of her inner jacket pockets and producing the pristine white of a candidate's knot. "I had something a little more…" a beat, as Risali considers the word and settles on, "permanent in mind." Now she's holding it up for him to see but not take, pressing her back to his desk and leaning into it as grey eyes jump from the knot to Lyubomir's face and her head tilts to one side. Those lips pull sideways, a crooked manifestation of a genuine smile as she breathes out, "I think it would complement the shirt?" You know. For what it's worth. « AND I'M NOT SAYING YOUR SHIRT COULD USE A TOUCH OF BADASSNESS, BUT IT COULDN'T NOT. » Ignore the laughter. She means well. "And for what it's worth, you can still do all of this, drink — but not get drunk — and enjoy the, ah, physical benefits of being a human so long as nothing that's going to call you, 'Daddy,' results." IT'S A BARGAIN, MAN. DO IT, DO IT, DO IT.

"I- yes, I did, though I couldn't stay long to-" oh. What. Wait. WHAT. Lyu looks at the nose, then at Risali, then back at the nose as if expecting it to turn into diamonds or something? Then back to Risali, who has two tickets to that thing he likes a white candidate's knot. He sucks in a breath. Holds it. Lets it out nice and slow, which turns into an "Oh." His expression falls into unreadable territory for a long moment, maybe one that's a little too long by some standards, but he's processing, okay. And it's a lot to process, which leads him to briefly scrub at his face and look at the ceiling, then back to the knot, as if it might somehow transform into something else. A lamp cord, maybe. Maybe he's imagining this whole thing. But, no. No. No imagination here (he's not that creative, let's be honest) and there is definitely a Leirith and a Risali and a candidate's knot. And whatever issues he's working through will just have to be dealt with later (there are a lot; the back-issues are downright soul-crushing). "If you think it will complement the shirt," he finally says, one corner of his mouth hitching into a wry half-smile. "And she thinks it'll add a bit of badassery, then- well. My mother didn't raise any fools and turning this down would be a fool's errand." He extends his hand in acceptance, but isn't so uncouth as to actually take it unless or until it's offfered. "I- ah." The last gives him pause and he does grimace at that, shaking his head a few times. "I don't think that'll be an issue at all, no. Thank you, Risali, Leirith. It would be my pleasure to Stand for those- ah, exceptionally badass eggs out there." No. Stop. Lyu, you make 'badass' sound awkward. It's weird.

MORE LIKE NO, LYU, DON'T STOP. But rewind, because Risali does catch the subtle nuance in those minutiae expressions, the wryness of his smile that brings an unspoken question to hers even as she endures those words he imparts with attentive patience. It's only once he's done that Risali takes one step forward, bridges what distance remains between them in a move not at all meant to be improper. Is it uncouth to ignore his extended hand? Because she looks to it as she steps past it. "I think it's the other way around, to be honest. I think you'll add a little bit of badass to the knot." And Risali's gesturing her intention with a minute movement of her hands towards him, a raise of her brows meant to give him just enough time to stop her hands if he doesn't want her to keep progressing forward. But if he doesn't stop her, the Weyrwoman's attention will fall to her hands and the careful ministration of her fingers as they pin the knot to his chest with careful motion. One huff of laughter brings, "Honestly, I'm not sure the fools errand isn't accepting the knot." And whether she's smoothing down his shirt and stepping back to admire her handiwork, or simply watching whatever his hands do with it should he have prevented her from pinning it herself, those grey eyes jump back to his. "But it's too late to run now. When you're done," with the lamp, so says that sudden cut of her eyes to it before they rise back to him, "Make sure you report to the Weyrlingmaster or one of his Assistants." Because those will be his new overlords now. Still, she's going up onto the tips of her toes and pressing the point of her forefinger to his nose, that mischief back on her lips as she breathes out a slow, "Congratulations, Lyubomir." And maybe it's magic, MAYBE IT'S MAYBELLINE, but the workshops entry is suddenly vacant one very yellow nose. « MAY THE BADASS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR. » And just like that, there she goes, catching his chin in her fingers with a gentle tug in passing as she makes her way around him and toward the entrance. She's just about out when she turns to walk backwards, voice raising just enough to be heard when she amends her exit with, "And thank you! For the lesson!" But just like that, she's gone, laughing as she tucks hands into her jacket pockets and steps back out into the world.

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