Little Stones

Adveturine: For A Kind Heart

2007-06-07T21:24:27Z

At night on the second day of the twelfth month in the third turn, Auree is working on a piece for the Caucus celebration in the Weyr Crafthall. She is not expecting compnay, but gets a visit from Jarvais, regardless. They have some unfinished business to discuss.

After arriving in the afternoon, Jarvais has had a little time to put himself to rights: to reclaim the cot and press in the Caucus barracks, to check in with the Counselor, to check in also with the Headwoman. The purpose of that last visit may be, in another couple hours' time, a matter of some discussion among Caucus students, whose needs are usually tended to well enough by Dendani. For now, though, Jarvais has been permitted to take a little dinner in peace and with the last tidbit of it - a slice of pie - wind a casual route up to the Weyr's craft hall, eating along the way.

It's quiet up in the hall tonight; a few folk work on projects for the upcoming celebration, but the preparations that remain to be made for tomorrow's reception are mostly underway elsewhere, and the young lord Greenfields has quiet in plenty to walk among the workspaces and observe, chewing rhubarb.

Seated at one of the desks, a girl sent to Caucus from the Smithhall is working diligently. It is not entirely possible for Auree to be inconspicuous; the color of her hair often gives her away. She, like the others, is putting final touches on something that will be displayed during the celebration. It's a mosaic of the weyr bowl as seen from above, though the small pieces of colored glass she is using are pushed into a sort of putty, rather than a more permanent medium. One hand nudges bits of glass, selecting what will come next. The other sets them into place. She does not notice the hour, let alone new arrivals with rhubarb pie.

Jarvais takes what could be called his sweet time coming around to her. He has this pie to eat, first of all; and he is interested in watching her work, secondly. So he strolls through the workspaces a couple aisles east of the redhead with the glass and putty, then comes back down the next row closer. Some sort of kindness must strike him at some point because, once the pie's gone, he bypasses Auree's aisle and goes on to the next one; this allows him to approach the front of her desk rather than the back of it. He puts his hands into his coat pockets, the picture of casual, and comes right up so that he can stand close and watch the work like a curious spectator at a gather.

The mosaic is, for now, set against a square of wood for backing, which seems counterintuitive when one is using translucent pieces of glass. She has long had the ability to do the same thing for extended periods of time without becoming bored, but as the final tiny piece is set into place, Auree lifts her head, mouth open to draw in a deep sigh. The sigh never happens. Seeing Jarvais standing there so casually, her parted lips move into a smile that is soft, warm, and familiar. "You've come back," she says, as if Jarvais might need to be informed of this.

If there is something counterintuitive in her work, it is something which - fascinated by the process rather than the outcome, for now - bothers Jarvais little. By the time she looks up he's wearing one of his trademarkable empty smiles, the pleasant little grins that tend to appear on his mouth when he's not tending it carefully enough. "I have," he admits, through that smile, then lifts his lashes so he can look upon the smith instead of upon her craft. Out comes one hand, palm up. "Perhaps you'd like to stretch? I've been snooping while I wait."

"It is not very good snooping," Auree replies as she places her pale hand in his and uses the added support to pull herself up from her seat, "if you announce it. Where shall we stretch?" Her own hazel eyes traveling over the length and breadth of the heir to Greenfields. "You look well."

"There's not many people here to," begins Jarvais, using the hand not in service to the mosaicist to gesture widely at the craft hall, "overhear. - And I've already snooped on you." If he's being looked over, young Greenfields shows little awareness of it; she must know better by now than to take the ponderous and oddly-placed pauses in his speech as sign of any particular strain other than that of speaking at all. He repockets the gesturing hand and turns to face down the row he'd walked to approach Auree. "Travel agrees with me. And how have you - " Word choice; pause. "- fared?"

The smith is familiar enough with Jarvais' unique speech patterns that his pauses give her none of her own. She looks down at her finished piece before turing to face the same aisle that has Greenfields' interest. If he begins to walk, she will follow. "And what has your snooping discovered?" Her hand stays resting loosely in his. "I am well, thank you. A little lonesome for home."

Jarvais begins to walk, turning his arm so that from their lightly joined hands she might find it a simple thing to rest her elbow on his. "Just the interesting projects of the good crafters," he replies, a little more smoothly and therefore likely half-practiced. He turns his head toward her at a wry angle and flashes that loose grin. "I had heard you missed it," the grin breaks through again on the pause, "greatly. I brought you a couple things to try to ease that - good fortune they made it with me."

"Oho," Auree tips her chin down so she might better peek sideways at her companion while her elbow takes the quietly offered invitation to rest on his. "You /did/ get my letter. I was unsure." She glances, then, behind them. Perhaps she expects to find a string trailing these promised items. "Are they very small," she queries, seeing nothing but their shadows, "to hide in your pockets?"

Jarvais glances back also, cued by his companion, expression all innocence. Letter? "One of them is very small," he admits, facing forward again though his eyes stay on her for a moment longer, bright and teasing. "The other is on your bed, so you'll just have to wait and see it."

"On my bed," Auree repeats, a bit of delight sneaking into her soft-spoken words. "How forward." Now, she is only teasing, and that fact is emphasized by the way she leans to bump her shoulder against Jarvais' arm. "But you have the other? Right here?"

"Our quarters -are- rather less than private," observes Jarvais through a somewhat tighter grin, looking away; she has succeeded in embarrassing him, but not enough to put him off his stride. The bump of her shoulder becomes his opportunity, and he slips his arm against hers like to tuck her elbow into his, twining. "I might."

"Might you?" Auree's fingers turn to offer Jarvais' hand a small squeeze. "And what might I do, Jarvs? To win it from you?" She is laughing a little as she asks, hazel eyes drifting closer to green in the glowlight and her own merriment.

"Oh, that's too easy," says Jarvais on a laugh, turning his head back toward her. "You coddle me." There might have been more there; his nickname for her, perhaps, or more scolding, but his speech gives out and he lets the three words lie as spoken while he looks at her through a moment's comfortably tongue-tied silence. Slowly he changes from bright to grave, though pleasant still and fractionally smiling. "You might agree to accompany me to the ball," he suggests.

"You are easy to coddle," Auree replies. Or agrees, perhaps. "I am to agree to go with you? For an unknown present?" She turns to better observe Jarvais, rather than the path before them. "But how will you know, then, if I accept your offer to enjoy your company, or only in hopes of a trinket?"

"You are to agree to go with me," Jarvais replies, or perhaps agrees. He stops walking so he can turn toward her as she does toward him. "And as I can't imagine you'd be won by a - " This pause is not quite so long that one might not assume it was made by design rather than by fault of speech. "- trinket, I would assume you might not find my company objectionable. But - " He lifts the hand not holding hers in an airy gesture and affects an easy grin. "I do have the ungentlemanly advantage of knowing both you _and_ the gift."

The corners of her eyes crinkle as Auree's lips curve up into another smile. "Very ungentlemanly," she replies, her head lifting to better maintain eye contact. "All right. Though it shames me to encourage such behavior, I accept your offer. I'll accompany you to the ball."

"We _are_ in a weyr," murmurs Jarvais, his lashes lowering a little; perhaps by this he means to joke at an excuse for his ungentlemanliness. He'd look more coy if he weren't so easily grinning, flushed a little in the cheeks, obviously triumphant. And if he could speak; clearly - she would know the bemused look his face starts to get when words fail him entirely, no matter how his mind might form them - he cannot. So instead he puts his free hand into his coat pocket, a little showmanship in the turn of his wrist, attention-calling, and waits.

She knows better than to laugh when Jarvais has been so stalled by his own language. She only smiles, watching him with her own pale features unaffected by a blush. Her smaller hand lifts, palm facing up. Expectant. She has earned this gift, after all.

So she has. Jarvais glances down at her palm; his grin twists a little. He squeezes gently the hand he has held lightly in his, then lets go so he can lift that hand to become a cradle beneath the one held out. This way the thing he takes out of his pocket - she might catch a flash of wood, a box, between his knuckles - can be placed into her palm and encased there in his hands around hers. He looks up at her, grave again, and squeezes another time, then pulls his own hands away.

With so solemn an offering as that, Auree is slow to lower her hands down, and slower yet to open the little wooden box. It it studied first, turned, flipped gently. Her thumb rubs over the edges and the top, before fingers finally nudge it open to see what it holds within.

It is a little thing, really, this offering atop a little wrinkled velvet cushion. Lovely they may be, they are the kinds of stones Auree might most appreciate: Broad, glossy pale opals and littler beads of pale ocean amazonite, strung in an alternating pattern with darker sea-green crystals on a simple silver chain. An understated pendant of the same design hangs from the center. A token, a trinket as she called it, but a nice one, and with a purpose: Jarvais looks upon the necklace, then up at the woman to whom he's giving it, and remarks, "I am taking a bit of a gamble on what you might wear to this thing."

There are several beats of silence where Auree studies this simple and elegant gift, once finger lightly tracing the curve of each stone and metal link. Down the pendant and up again, until she's touched each tiny component. "A wise woman would already have her gown underway," Auree agrees. She peers up at Jarvais. "You are lucky I procrastinate. Do you know what they mean? They are lovely. Thank you."

"I was told a couple of things about opal," Jarvais replies, reaching out so that he might touch just one of the stones so identified. Belatedly the meaning of her remark about the gown has him looking up, eyes a little wide; the expression of surprise accompanies the drawing back of his hand, but soon that expression gives away for a wry shake of his head and an easy grin. "You've been buried in your work, haven't you." This could almost qualify as a scold.

"No more than usual," comes Auree's answer. Her finger presses down lightly on the opal Jarvais touched. "Imagination," she tells him. "Dreams and creativity." She peers upwards, lips inching into a tiny smile. "Possibility." Her finger slides down, over the silver link, to rest on a bit of amazonite. "Confidence. Self-respect. Self-assuredness in..." another glance up, "communication." Her finger finds the green quartz. "Protection, healing, a kind heart."

Jarvais lets her begin and complete her instruction in the suggestions the stones convey before he speaks - though he replies enough without speaking, grinning back for her tiny smile on 'possibility' and lowering his head a little on 'communication.' "As much as usual," he murmurs after, putting his hand out for her elbow as if he might take her to walk again, "is, if I recall, plenty to keep you from thinking to have a dress made. I hope you didn't consider not going." His head comes back up and his eyes turn away, dignified; he has not directly confirmed their letters, and evidently will not.

"I know how to manage the tasks I have taken." The box is closed and curled into one hand so Auree's other arm might settle over his again. "I was going," she says. "But I was waiting for something, first."

"Of course," says Jarvais, adequately rebuffed, and teases her for her dedication to her work no more. He walks but slowly; the end of the aisle is not far, and the entryway to the hall not far beyond that, and that beckoning is one to which he does not answer just yet. He turns his eyes toward Auree instead, and gives in to asking, "For - ?"

Auree keeps her pacing with his, so her own, smaller steps are obliged to slow. "You, you silly man," she tells him with a roll for her eyes and a soft laugh. "I wish you had taken a dragon. It would have brought you back sooner."

Auree keeps her pacing with his, so her own, smaller steps are obliged to slow. "You, you silly man," she tells him with a roll of her eyes and a soft laugh. "I wish you had taken a dragon. It would have brought you back sooner."

The thrill of her answer - he expected it, but maybe did not expect it to be given so easily - gives way to sudden solemnity when she says 'dragon,' and Greenfields' heir turns toward its mosaicist and says, "No," after which he's tongue-tied and drops his gaze in apology for the abruptness. His hand seeks hers while he recovers, swallowing. "It's important, how it looks, that I'll travel the road. Besides - " The hard part done with, this time his pause troubles him less and she gets no apology for the moment spent in waiting. "I hardly know any." A flash of grin, to finish.

"I do not think," Auree's hand gives a return squeeze, "they need to know you, to carry you about," is the return tease. "I understand. You were safe, then? The trip?" She looks away, briefly, towards her desk where the mosaic sits. "May I show you something?"

"I'm as safe as I stand here beside you," assures Jarvais, in control of his expressions if not of his speech; the moment's shadow of retrospect, of cautious choices about what he says, does not pass over his eyes until Auree's looking away. It's gone when he looks the same direction, turning his gaze toward her work. "Of course, please," and so he turns to accompany her back to her desk.

"A unique way to put it," Auree murmurs as she moves towards her desk. The putty between each of the bits of glass is touched carefully. Wit a nod, Auree lifts the piece and nudges the wood beneath it. Not a back, but a stand to prop the translucent image upright, the mosaic is carefully set atop it properly. A second indentation is for the placement of a small oil candle. One of her belt pouches reveals a bit of flint and struck sparks light the wick. The smith takes hold of Jarvais' hand and leads him back a few paces to give him the full effect of the picture's backlighting. The glass has not be colored, but painted. Both the painting and the cut of each piece are done in such a way that when the light flickers in one direction, the bowl looks lush and green. When it shines from another angle, the image becomes the cool blues and whites of High Reaches in winter.

Jarvais leaves Auree her hands to work with and stands back while she does so; he willingly follows her lead when she draws him a pace more away so he can see how the piece changes by turns. He lets out a low whistle at the revelation of the light. "That's quite a trick," he breathes, shaking his head, unwilling to take his eyes off the glasswork lest it give up any more secrets he would miss by looking away. After a moment the suggestion of the cooler shades is apparent to him, for he finally steals a quick glance at the artist and asks, "Is it - really ever so green here?"

She smiles, nodding in quiet acceptance of his praise. "Thank you. The cutting and the painting took the most time. It is that green," her own gaze is willing to travel away from the glass bowl and over to Jarvais, "if you are looking down from up high."

"No doubt," says Jarvais quietly, of what took the most time, as if he were knowledgeable enough to agree - but then he jerks a look over at her, a longer one than the glance, and for all of his cautious charm it takes him a second to let out his easy little open smile. "I see," he replies, and lifts the back of his thumb to his mouth, looking away from her and back at the artwork as he does it, trimming an imaginary hangnail with agile teeth before putting his hand hastily away in his coat pocket. "I suppose I should let you finish your work."

"You think it looks unfinished?" Auree asks, her expression quizzical. "Oh dear," her attention turns back to the mosaic as she steps away from Jarvais to blow out the candle and set it aside. "I had though it was done. At this rate I shall never know what you set on my bed."

"I - " Something of a frown plays in the lordling's eyebrows, but he keeps it off of his mouth and out of his eyes. "Wouldn't know if you might have other projects." He holds out toward her his hand, smoothing his expression, lifting his chin a little, putting aside whatever it is he's obliged to put aside so he can smile and ask, "If you're going to the barracks, might I walk you?"

With a shake of her head, Auree expounds, "I have no other projects to work on just now." Her hand is again placed in his. "I should like the company. Thank you."

Hematite: For Calm

2007-05-28T06:46:25Z

Auree receives a letter from Jarvais. On the seventh day of the eleventh month of the third turn, she writes her reply.

She sat in the Caucus commons in one of the chairs that had been pushed into a corner. Auree had always been fond of corners, and she had inhabited this one for hours. She watched, she listened. The conversations were mostly about one thing, and as it was something Auree had no words for herself, she was content to sit quiet and still, and simply observe what everybody else had to say.

Her knees were drawn up, toes wrapped in wherhide slippers curled around the cushion of her seat. Such posture was a mite improper for a young woman, but months in a Weyr seemed to be having their effect on her. Despite the etiquette classes that strove to improve students manners, her own once-impeccable posture was gradually degrading. On her steeply-angled lap rested a thick book. Homework at one time, it also served as a writing surface for the blank hide that rested atop it. Auree dipped her quill into the small pot of ink on the little table beside her chair.

Jarvs,

You have heard such news, but from your letter it seems you have not heard all the news from Caucus. The Weyr is in a state of uproar. You picked a fine time to leave and go home, when I had just come and was still settling in. You can make it up to me by returning immediately. Things have become too strange.

You know the man who was once Weyrleader has died. Everybody has a different name for him, and unsure as to which one is the proper one to use, I'll keep to his old title instead. Yesterday, the weyrling junior weyrwoman, Miniyal, spoke to those in the Living Cavern after dinner. People were expecting, I suppose, fond words from a woman who had lost her...well...it seemed quite open, what they were. I was not there, but those who were recount that she began as everyone thought she would. But Jarvs! She ended by saying that he had murdered the Weyrwoman Yevide! Can you even imagine?

They say the Weyrleaders were there and the Captain of the Guard. They say the Captain met with her immediately and that she said she had proof. We will known the truth of it in time. Everybody has something to say. Nobody is saying it all that nicely.

She rolled the quill slowly between long fingers, looking over what she had written and then blowing gently on the ink to help it to dry. Over the curve of her knees, she watched a pair of blooded boys bicker over whether or not it could possibly be true. Somebody had done it, the one argued. Yes, but surely not a Weyrleader! Former Weyrleader. Same thing!

Auree returned her attention back down to her letter, dipped the tip of her writing tool into ink again, and held her gaze on the letters it began to form.

Beyond this most distressing information, classes go well and I do not think my Master will be displeased with my marks. I feel I have become accustomed to living in a Weyr. I am no longer so much surprised at the number of dragons that reside here. I have become accustomed to sleeping in a barracks again and the means by which one must bathe.

There is so little greenery here that it can be difficult to think in colors other than grays and blues and whites. If you trek several hours away, there is a meadow, and further yet, a waterfall. But here at the Weyr, save for the change in temperature, spring and summer and autumn all seem very much the same. I find I am lonesome for winter, if only to look at something new. I close my eyes and imagine Greenfields as it is now. I love the fall colors there. You may be very pleased with yourself, Jarvs. You have made me homesick.

I believe that addresses near everything about which you have written. There was one last little issue, but as a gentleman would never ask a lady such a thing in a letter, and as I know you to be a gentleman, there is nothing else for me to add that could not be better answered in person.

Auree

She carefully folded up the finished missive, set her book aside, and stood. It was a relatively short walk from the commons to the mailroom. Once there, Auree handed off the letter with a small and satisfied smile.

Opal: For Possibilities

2007-01-29T11:26:48Z

In the midmorning of the twenty third day of the second month in the third turn, Auree meets Jessa in the Caucus Barracks. Jessa puts clothing away while Auree avoids doing homework. They find they have a common woe.

The Caucus barracks are empty, and only a couple of students occupy the commons, mid-morning. Jessa is humming to herself softly as she works her way along the crafter's section, arms piled high with folded clothes. The melody is slow and low, and occasionally marked with a swing of her hips as she sets down a slice of her burden on the end of a bed.

Seated on the edge of another bed, a hide resting on her lap and her back curled forward into one of those positions that etiquette teachers will briskly demand one sit up from, is Auree. She is not so intent on what she reads that soft humming cannot distract her, and the smith girl lifts her gaze as Jessa drifts past. "That's very nice," she offers.

Jessa blinks, pauses, then dips a quick curtsey. "Didn't realise it was out loud, ma'am," she murmurs, juggling the piles of clothes so she can lift one hand to tuck a strand of hair away behind her ear, and venturing a shy smile. Eyes down, she continues on, peeling off three pressed blouses, and settling them on the end of a bed.

There is the beginning of a smile as Jessa responds and though she does not actually voice it, the word 'ma'am' is mouthed as pale fingers begin to roll up the hide. "It was," Auree explains, "I liked it. What song was that?"

"Just a bit of nothing," Jessa murmurs, as she reaches the end of the row, and sets the remainder down on the bed there. "My Ma hummed it, I don't remember the words." She has another shy smile, as she straightens up her pile. "Things from home are nice. Do you know who wears this blue skirt? I thought it belonged to the Journeyman Smith, but I'm not sure."

"Penny?" The other journeyman smith leans forward a little to get a better look at the garment of unknown ownership. "I have not seen her wear it, but I've seen her wear things that are similar. It could be hers. Cot is just there." Auree holds out a hand and points to a bed only a couple past her own. "I'm Auree. Hello."

"Thank you, ma'am." The girl from the laundry walks over to set the skirt down, turning away from it to proffer another of her small curtseys. "Jessa. I'm interrupting your work, I'm sorry." She's not particularly apologetic, though - more, she's shyly friendly, lips tugged up to a small smile.

"Don't be," Auree offers allowing another one of her own faint smiles to appear in return. "I was looking for an interruption. "Do you know much about the weyr?"

"Oh no, nothing, I'm afraid." Jessa trips over herself to provide that answer, shaking her head firmly. "Just blouses, and skirts, and dresses and things." She returns to her stack, and pats it affectionately. "You pile them all up in the order of the beds, and then you can unpile them," she explains. "Except the last few bits, that we didn't have names for."

"I wonder how that happens," muses the smith "The lost names." As Jessa is also lacking in weyr experience, Auree offers a nod. "Me neither," she confesses. "It's different. Makes me homesick, a little."

"The girls who pick it all up don't take proper care, they..." Jessa's right ready to launch into that complaint, and she pulls herself up short, one finger coming to rest on her lips, shushing herself. A shake of her head denies further words, and she lifts the next embroidered blouse, tilting her head to one side as she examines it. "A little homesick," she agrees. "I have my brother here, I'm lucky. It's very strange, though."

"The baths," Auree adds quietly and with a soft laugh, though nothing to further explain why those words are spoken. Jessa is left to decide on her own. Interest is sparked, hazel eyes watching, as the blouse is unfolded. "Good stitching on that one. Nice pattern."

"I know, full of..." Jessa's eyes widen in almost comic dismay, her lips pressing together in a vain attempt to hide a smile. Once more, her finger comes up to her lips, failing to chase it away. Mouth quirking, she schools her face after a moment, and gives the blouse a shake. "It's beautiful," she agrees, wistful. "I'll hang it up where everyone can see, and whoever owns it can take it. That's what they said to do."

"Smart. Good advertising, too, for whoever made it. Maybe some names are intentionally lost?" Auree again studies the shirt before watching, instead, its carrier. "Full of /everybody/. It's awful." The baths.

Jessa laughs, gaze dipping as she turns away to hang the shirt, going up on her toes to snag it carefully on the hooks that are presently empty of coats, meant to serve those in the beds furthest from the door. "Full of everybody and his dog, wandering in and out, and just chatting away, as if..." She's shaking her head, as she turns back to the pile. "I know they're different, but if there was a man I... and he just..." Only head shaking will suffice to communicate the rest of that.

"Yes," and there is a gentle but certain sort of vehemence to the small word. "Exactly," Auree adds. "I try to pick odd hours, but somebody is always there. I keep wrapped in a towel. /In/ the water." She shakes her head. "Too different, sometimes. Common decency, even, is something else."

"They could at least pretend you're not there," Jessa adds, gentle indignation surfacing as she turns back to the pile. "I mean to say, if he came in, and I was there, I... At home, a man's got to marry me if he wants - and here, well, no. Not that he's going to look twice at me, he's..." She trails off there, colouring. "Well, if there was anyone, it'd be different at home. This one's very severe. I suppose it's the healer's."

"The healer's what?" Auree blinks once, slowly, as the hide is officially set aside to slowly uncoil beside her. "Oh. Shirt. You mean there’s /a/ somebody. How tricky." She leans forward a little. "Make him come, keep his back to you, shoo away others." There is a little lift of her lips to suggest that the smith is teasing, rather than offering sage advice.

"Shirt," Jessa agrees, before promptly lifting Medina's shirt to hide her face behind, although not in time to hide swift colour. "No, no, really, ma'am." The shirt comes down, just enough to reveal brown eyes, slightly widened. "He's very handsome, but he hasn't a thought for me, nor should he. But no harm in admiring, is there? Admire fine clothes, admire men of rank. Sometimes I think everything's prettier from far away anyway."

She laughs quietly. "Things are, prettier from far away. Look too closely and you see just the stitches and not the pattern. Have you seen the weyr from up high?" But Jessa is not given a chance to reply, because Auree suddenly snaps to attention. "Bother," she sighs, standing. "Class." The smith girl reaches for the coat draped at the edge of her bed, pulling it on. "Rank is different here, too," she offers as buttons are closed. "Well met, Jessa."

Though Jessa's lips are parted to reply, they're quick to close again, and she nods. Time for another curtsey, and she bobs it easily. "Thank you, ma'am." With another shy smile, she turns back to her contemplation of the unidentified clothes, reaching for the next.

Buttons done, Auree stuffs her hands into her pockets, but she doesn't move away just yet. "The baths. We might...I could be your lookout. If you'd be mine."

Oh. Jessa pauses, in lifting a blouse of fabric so fine that it surely belongs over nearer the Blooded beds. It's a few seconds before she turns her head, lips curving to one of her shy smiles again. "It would be nice, to have..." The girl from the laundry isn't sure what word to choose, and hesitates, but her nod completes the sentence for her.

"Yes," is the quiet agreement, "it would. Lonely here, sometimes, for all the crowds." Auree dips her head into a nod before stepping away from her bed and then moving out into the cold of the bowl.

"Yes'm." Jessa watches the smith depart, fingers curling around the fabric of the fine blouse, until she looks down with a start, hastily shaking out the creases she's created, and returning to work.

Bloodstone: For Renewed Friendships

2007-01-22T23:18:26Z

On the tenth day of the second month in the third turn, Auree runs into Penny in the Caucus Barracks. The two girls know each other from the Smithhall, and the relationship established there is quickly picked up again.

Penny does not spend much time in the dormitory these days, preferring to do her work in the craft hall and staying late -- and early -- in the work rooms there. But even she must come back to sleep and find clothing, and it's this latter task that has her engaged at the moment, rummaging through the press at the foot of her cot and resituating clothes retrieved from the laundry. It's mid-afternoon, one of the days Penny does not have class but when many of her peers do, so the dorms themselves are fairly sparsely occupied.

It appears that at least one other young, female smith does not have class, and Auree steps inside the dorms, her skirts hitched up in one hand and her feet making a sort of squelching sound. She moves towards her cot, which is a few beds over from Penny's. She lowers herself onto the mattress so that wet shoes and sodden socks may be gingerly removed. Toes, red from the cold, are wiggled experimentally before she looks up to notice and identify the room's only other occupant. "Penny," she offers quietly. "Hello."

"Hey," is Penny's reply, perhaps a little distracted, but in tones so warm she could hardly be accused of being dismissive. Her eyes are still on her laundry for a few moments as she puts a few more blouses into the press. It isn't until she looks up with a smile for the person who greeted her that she stops, blinks, stares. After a few seconds of stunned silence, her mouth opens to speak, but doesn't get much past "Wh--" before she halts again. Eventually, she just manages, "You... hi." Surprised, but she summons a smile nonetheless, if a rather confused one.

"Hi," Auree repeats again. She lets the soggy socks fall and bends for her own press, to pull out a fresh pair. "The lake is hard to identify. When there's snow."

Penny is still thrown, and it shows -- being confused is not a state that pleases this particular smith, and she's slow to come up with any sort of civil greeting. "But... are you..." With an effort, she stops the half-formed phrases and takes a moment to watch the younger woman. "Auree. Wow. What are you doing here?" This last is with a smile, as Penny moves over toward where the sodden girl is changing her socks.

The other smith sighs softly as her socks are pulled on and her feet are no longer quite so cold or exposed. "I'm in Caucus," she explains to Penny with a small smile. "Do you have any advice?"

In Caucus. Penny blinks, but at least has the presence of mind not to show any open skepticism. "I didn't know you were coming," she says. "I would've thought my father would've... no matter. It -is- good to see someone from home," she comments, smiling now. "I must have missed you the last few times I visited." She lowers herself to sit on the trunk at the foot of the bed opposite Auree's. "Advice... I ought to have some, shouldn't I? By now people around here are at least exposed to the idea of female smiths," she points out with a wry smile, "so at least you won't have people eyeing your knot with one brow raised."

"I did not realize I would be attending either," Auree agrees with another small but easy smile. "Apparently Master Gersham made the arrangements. Here I am." She blinks, hazel eyes observing Penny as she continues to talk, and a pale hand lifts to touch her own shoulder in the spot where a knot ought to sit. "Oh. Do you think I ought to wear it, then?" She rarely did, at the hall. One of the advantages of being a girl at the smithhall was that everybody already knew who you were. This never particularly seemed to bother Auree.

Penny's smile turns a bit wry. "Wear it," she advises drily. "Otherwise you'll be walking past the kitchen and someone will shove a tray into your hands, expecting you to deliver it." She pauses, perhaps replaying her words in her mind, and then says with a lift of her shoulder, "I exaggerate, but not by much. If nothing else, you ought to wear it for your fellow students' benefit. They won't know who you are, after all." She leans back, resting her palms along the edge of the trunk. "When did you get in?"

All of this is considered, most likely. Auree continues to study Penny and after her words, gives a single nod. Understanding and perhaps agreement. "I arrived on the fourth day of month one. It was very late, so perhaps I should say day five, instead. The trip went well, and I would like to go flying when the sun was out some time, to see the land from above."

Penny nods slowly. "I'm sure you'll be able to find a rider willing, once you settle in. Though at this particular point in time, all you'll see up there is a big blanket of white, with the occasional mountain of white looming out of it." Polite chatter, idle and cheerful, while Penny studies Auree in return. "I have to admit, if I found a rider to take my flying I'd tell him to fly me immediately to somewhere warm."

"Yes," Auree agrees, "but you are from Boll. There are colors in the snow, but you must know how to look for them. I will do as you suggest. Ask. When I'm settled." Auree permits herself another slow blink. "Do you enjoy it here?"

The question, perhaps abrupt but probably not unexpected, nevertheless causes Penny to hesitate. "Yes. And no. I hated it for a long while. Too cold, for one thing. And to be around so many dragons was unsettling. And," she leans forward, with a conspiratorial quirk of her head, "many of the people just set my teeth on edge." Leaning back again, she falls silent for a while; but there is a hint that she is not quite done, by the thoughtful look on her face. A bit of a smile, just a little one, and she lifts a shoulder. "There are compensations, though. Things that make it not so bad. I couldn't say that I hate it here anymore, despite all the uproar over the past few Turns. Not at all."

"There has been quite an uproar, hasn't there," Auree considers as she glances down at her damp shoes, perhaps trying to decide whether to put them on again or no. "I don't mind dragons, or most people, or the snow. That will make it easier. I do worry," her lips spread and lift in another small smile, "about the bathing situation."

Penny laughs, shaking her head a little. "Truth be told, it still makes me a little uncomfortable. It helps though if you think about the fact that no one is really paying attention to you, they're all too busy paying attention to themselves." She pauses, with a quirk of her lips. "Though that's not to say people never look. I tend to go in the late evenings, when I'm working over in the crafthall anyway, and there's not too many people about then." She pauses, and grimaces. "That way also my hair can dry before I walk back through the cold."

"Another good idea. I have been going late at night, and mostly that serves. Only, when others -are- there at that hour..." Auree looks briefly away, pale cheeks warming to a faint rosy hue.

Penny raises an eyebrow, but it's a sympathetic look she directs at the girl. "Oh dear. Who was it?" She crosses her legs at the knee, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her legs, the very picture of interested concern.

"I did not think to ask for names," Auree offers solemnly, although a twinkling in those hazel eyes suggests some other emotion. "The man did have a birthmark just here..." her hand reaches around so her fingers can press at the small of her back, "and the woman had dark hair. Brown, perhaps. It was wet." For Auree, that was more words strung together than is her usual inclination, and she allows silence to return to balance out her verbosity. Finally, she concludes the retelling of her adventure with, "Weyrs are very different."

"Alas, I don't have a record of every birthmark in the Weyr," Penny mourns. "And unfortunately there are an enormous number of women with brown hair." Her smile is perhaps not quite as friendly as it might be, there, but it softens a bit with that last comment. "They are," she agrees. "But not always bad. For me, at least, it has been..." She pauses, lips lightly pursed as she searches for the word. With a smile, she settles on, "An education." She's quiet then, but regarding the woman with a thoughtful look. Eventually, "Auree, if you don't mind my asking... why are you here, anyway? You've never shown any..." There is no delicate way to say it. "I didn't think you were interested in politics and society."

"As I have come for an education, I expect it will serve," Auree considers and, with her words, offers approval for the weyr the the Caucus within it. The rest of Penny's questions leave the other smith sitting still, her expression going blank as her thoughts turn inward. "There are very few of us," Auree says. "We are not well liked in the hall," but this is stated as calmly as if she was discussing the weather. "When Master Gersham steps down, someone else will have to work to keep our place in the craft secure. So, here I am."

Lips remain pursed, Penny's eyes thoughtful as she regards Auree. "It isn't a matter of liking," she murmurs. "But respect is something different." Unspoken, perhaps, is whatever concept of working toward respect happens to reside in Penny's albeit biased mind. "And this is what you want? To be in charge when Master Gersham retires?"

"Whatever it is, it does make things challenging," says Auree amicably. Penny's last question earns her another momentary study and the simplest of answers. "Yes."

"Challenging," agrees Penny, but perhaps there is a bit of dismissal in the word. She glances toward the doorway, and toward the rest of her things on her bed -- the beginnings of an excuse to leave, surely, though she doesn't excuse herself yet. "Well, then it's good he's chosen to send you here," Penny says, her smile bright. "Tell me, you've been here for long enough now -- you've met with the Headmaster, right?"

"No," is Auree's blithe disagreement as she leans back, resting her weight on her hands. "I am told that I should. I would like to take his class. I am sure that I'll meet him at some point in the near future."

"His class is one of my favorites," notes Penny, agreement in her voice. "Though I think most students find it also one of the most intimidating." She straightens a little, tilting her head to one side and smiling. "I suppose that would be my advice to you, then. The Headmaster is a good man to have on your side; it's hard to say what does or does not charm him, but you ought to do your best to make him into an ally. He is--" But she stops herself, with a little shrug. "Well, you'll meet him eventually. I would suggest sooner, rather than later."

"Thank you," the redheaded smith replies. "I shall." She stands, socked feet carrying her over to her press so that she can open it and fish about for something. When she moves away, Auree holds the knot that announces her rank, and she sets about settling it onto her shoulder.

Penny's smile is not quite so bright when Auree moves away, a more thoughtful almost-frown slipping into place. She clears it with a little shake of her head, and gets to her feet. "Well, I'd better get going or I'll miss my last class. Let me know if you need anything, Auree, while you're adjusting to things around here. I won't mind at all." And she actually sounds as though she means it, too, though she doesn't wait for a reply before making her way to the door and leaving.

"Thank you. That's very--" Penny is gone, though, and Auree realizes it as she looks up from arranging her knot. She blinks several times and then picks up her shoes and carries them to the fire, having decided to dry them before wearing them once more.

Aquamarine: For Communication

2007-01-21T07:37:08Z

On the seventh day of the second month in the third turn, Auree does some work, of a sort, in the Craft Hall. Being a crafter, she has every right to be there. Reyce, who is not a crafter but would like some quiet study space, does not approve or her antics. These two are clearly on their way to a fine and lasting friendship.

It has been a few days over a month since a redheaded smith girl arrived in the small hours of the night to a peculiar meeting of people. She has, since then, settled in, begun attending classes, and started to do all the things that students of the (in)famous Caucus are expected to do: namely take notes, do homework, and observe. But there is something else that Auree does which is not directly related to her new studies, and that is what she is currently busy doing:

Seated on the floor (some chairs moved aside to provide space), Auree rests on one hip with legs slightly bent and stretched out to her side. Her weight rests on one hand and the other very slowly nudges a collection of small chips and stones of varying colors in this or that direction, one piece at a time. If there is a pattern or an image to be found in the task, only Auree sees it.

Still adjusting to new schedules around the Caucus, Reyce has to leave his usual hole of a classroom unexpectedly when a government class invades. The sound of pre-class chatter follows him out the door as he slips through the craft hall entrance, and it shuts off abruptly when he closes that same door behind him with a low, throaty sound of dislike. Rather than try his luck with another classroom, the Bendenite goes for the nearest table set out in the hall, but he's hardly thrown down his pile of ratty hidework before he notices the chairs are missing. And then he notices Auree. "The fuck?" he asks her, but the anger he directed at the classroom he left has worn down to a gritting frustration, leaving his tone level and his expression flat.

The young woman puttering about with tiny stones on the floor does not seem overly bothered by the sounds of someone arriving. She does not look up when books are thrown down or when she is questioned and/or cursed at. Her fingers are preoccupied and they lift a red chip, moving it to settle near a cluster of sandy yellow ones. Auree's head raises then and she turns to blink her hazel eyes as she observes Benden. "Reyce," he is identified. "Hello."

Hazel eyes blink back when she names him, and his dulled anger switches quickly into alert suspicion as he scans her features. There is no recognition in his face, and no effort to fake it - he pays little attention to his fellow classmates. He makes no more of an effort to return the courteous greeting "The fuck you move all the chairs for?" he asks, adding words and a gesture to indicate the moved chairs so the reason for his questioning will be perfectly clear.

A hint of a smile causes Auree's lips to lift and then settle again. She does not bother using any words herself. Her free hand, the one that does not rest on the ground and keep her from falling on her face, lifts and gestures in a gentle sweeping motion to encompass the many stones on the floor.

A gesture for a gesture. Reyce follows this return explanation with a slow sweep of his eyes, but in the end he just comes back to stare at Auree again, this time with the corners of his lips downturned. "I see the stones," he informs her, crossing his arms over his chest. He tucks his chin down, his eyes gleaming at her now from within the shadows cast by his brow, and he waits expectantly, with a vexed breath caught up in his throat.

The hand that was held out over her pebbles lowers again to rest, momentarily, on Auree's curved legs as she continues to study Benden. "Then you have your answer," she offers with another brief smile. But in a moment of either pity for his frustration or the desire to seem agreeable to fellow students, she adds, "Combinatorics. It helps me think."

Reyce lacks both pity and agreeability, so his response is to let that vexed breath hack out between his lips. His shoulders pop with the effort of expelling it,but as they do they shift, dropping his arms from their crossed position and allowing one to lean down on the table. His palm flattens on it, fingers spreading out, and his body tilts sideways as he puts weight down into his lean. "Be thinking a while, that many pieces." Growing impatient with the enigmatic exchange, Reyce simply brings the knuckles of his free hand around to rap sharply on the table where he's leaning. "Put this chair back." It's an announcement of his own intent, not a command for her.

She is relaxed in her study, even as Reyce forcibly tries to control his own tension. Auree waits until he's done speaking and after he knocks knuckles against wood before she replies. "Yes." An answer to all of the above statements.

Reyce pushes off the table, the weight and suddenness behind the motion making it creak and scrape as it shifts a small ways to the side. He goes to the graveyard of chairs Auree removed from her think-space and grabs one, hooking it under his arm when he carries it back. He drops it with a clatter, then himself with a thunk as he falls into place behind his hidework, a hand automatically rustling in his pocket to find the stylus he stuffed there earlier.

Auree turns back to her stones and her think-space, several chips getting lifted and moved in a seemingly arbitrary order. So just now, Reyce is left to his own devices. At least until one stone is set down errantly on top of the edge of another. The pressure exerted on the second stone sends it flying, like a pernese tiddlywink, over towards the table, the chair, and Reyce's shin.

Then that tiny thunk, much softer than any of the settling in noises Reyce has been making, would be the sound of stone hitting shin. Small though it may be, it stings, and Reyce shoves away from the table as his knee instinctively jerks up, seeking solace in the press of his fingers over the hurt spot. A hiss marks his pain, and a grunt his response as he stomps down over the stone that hit him, pinning it down. His eyes move swiftly to Auree, pinning her with a narrow glare. "Help much?" he wonders softly.

There is a wince when it is clear that stone and skin have made their introductions. "I'm sorry. That was an accident. Are you all right?" Auree looks between Reyce's face and his shoe. The one pressed over her pebble.

Reyce's shoe grinds that pebble into the floor, rolling it from the ball of his foot to the heel. "I'm fine," he answers in the same soft tone. His foot lifts from the pebble and he gives it a kick that sends it skittering back to Auree, its surface scratched with lines of white from where he scraped it. Reyce watches her face as the little pebble goes hopping through her collection, running out of momentum just short of hitting her in the hip.

The bounces are watched and the pebble, once blue, and now blue and white, is slowly pick up. Her expression, this time, is a small frown. "That was unnecessary," Auree notes. Her fingers curl protectively around the 'wounded' stone and she shifts her weight so that she can lift her other hand and begin sweeping the scattered pebbles and chips into a pile.

Reyce lifts his offending boot over his knee, tiny flakes of blue stuck in with the caked dirt that lines its bottom. "Yes," he admits, picking up his stylus where he threw it down. He sets the tip near the page, but doesn't go back to his writing; he turns his look back to Auree and studies the small frown she wears. "New color," he murmurs.

"I liked the old one," Auree returns. The pile is gathered and the remaining single stone is examined and then set down away from the others. Both of her hands are needed to cup the bits and pieces and pour them into a leather pouch that, until she pulled it over, lay waiting beneath a nearby table.

"Deal with it," Reyce answers, but offhandedly. He has already returned to his work, hunching forward over the paper and glaring at it with the intensity that used to be aimed at Auree. At least this time, he keeps silent while he works, the only sounds a soft scritching of stylus tip and the faint rustle of his pants leg as his foot bounces while he thinks.

There are a series of clinking sounds as stones spill back into their pouch and then the pouch is tied off and tucked under her arm. Auree gathers the other stone into her hand and pushes to her feet. She strides, without an evident rush, over to Reyce to set the pebble down beside his hides. "You deal with it. And you should have carried the four." Words delivered, she moves away from the table and towards the door.

Reyce coolly reaches out to take the pebble, wrapping it up in his left hand without seeming perturbed at all. Her words don't get to him either, as the response - "No shit, it's not my quiz" - follows her away from the table.

Garnet: For Safe Passage

2007-01-20T08:48:52Z

On the fourth day in the first month of the third turn, very late at night, Auree arrives at Caucus. She meets Reyce, Ronan and Neiran, and has a brief reunion with her childhood friend Jarvais. Sadly, Laelle departs before Auree arrives. All of this happens in the Caucus Barracks. Everyone should probably be asleep.

Jarvais' sneaky arrival becomes abruptly less sneaky when he's a step away from the hearth and the occupied prime chair beside it. "Uh, pardon," he whispers, and then steps forward anyway. His face flares orange in the firelight as he steps into its circle, and he puts out a hand to check the pots. Klah. Klah. Water. the water he collects, and lowers it down onto the fire. "Tea," he explains in that same whisper, and inches backward rather than turning around, putting himself in danger of being awkward about Neiran's approach. "Sorry...to... wake you?"

It takes Jarvais stepping between herself and the fire for Laelle's unseeing eyes to return from their flame-induced vacancy. She blinks once, twice, turning her low-lidded gaze to the man from Greenfields. She looks over him, down and up with a flick of lashes. "Evening," she says flatly, her voice a little thick from however many hours of uninterrupted silence. She turns away from the fire to see Neiran as well, though he gets just a nod.

Neiran returns the nod, and even takes initiative to add, "good evening, Laelle." The soft clink of his mug's bottom meeting the wooden surface of a nearby table punctuates his greeting. He turns his head but slightly, regarding Jarvais. "I have brought a tea of elderflower and mint. I hope that that will not be disagreeable." Laelle earns his focus again, as etiquette demands he broaden his invitation to include her. "You are welcome to it if you would wish," he assures, including an elegant hand gesture to indicate the pot Jarvais has just set on the fire, in case the subject of his invitation was doubtable. His hand retracts after it's done its job of gesturing, returning to his side to hang placidly.

"Mint tea's good. And better without," Jarvais backs up a few inches more, but glancing back; now that Neiran's spoken there's no longer any danger of feet being trod upon, and Greenfields' man steps over to the side to leave the healer a free path to the pot just put on to heat. "Cream." It completes the sentence he'd begun seconds before, and after it his gaze seems wholly unwilling to catch Laelle's. Still he faces her, and tucks his hands back from his sides so as to attempt introduction - her own name unnecessary, as Neiran provided it in passing, and as Jarvais won't be using it anyway. "Jarvais, miss. Well-met, and sorry again to disturb your - " He glances at her book, which saves him. "Study."

Laelle follows Neiran's gesture to the tea pot and tips her head, a thank you for the offer, though it manages not to commit to whether or not she plans to partake. Besides, Jarvais' averted gaze draws her attention back to him, the smudged kohl around her eyes narrowing curiously until the man makes his introduction. "Laelle," she returns, expression unchanged and mild. She moves a hand to rest palm-down on an unread page of her book. "No apology necessary."

Add another student to the mix. Reyce emerges from the barracks having barely bothered to dress himself, an unbuttoned shirt and old wool pants thrown on over the shorts and shirt he sleeps in. For all that his appearance seems thrown together, and his mood seems slightly sullen, the Bendenite is sharply awake and his eyes fall instantly on the three students gathered near the fire. He swings an arc when he approaches them, buying himself an extra minute to watch their interactions before he joins them at the fireplace. In case the sound of his footsteps didn't warn them, muffled as his footsteps were, he clears his throat shortly when he gets there. His eyes flick briefly to each face, but it's Neiran he stops on, and Neiran he greets with a jerk of his chin and the softly spoken question, "What's on the fire?"

By way of explanation, Neiran lifts his hand and uncurls his thin fingers, revealing the ubiquitous tea satchel there. "Elderflower and mint," he supplies to the Bendenite, lowering his hand so as to set the satchel and his mug aside until the water is ready. Reyce's sudden appearance hasn't elicited that brow-hike that would suggest this to be an unusual occurrence, and to the coincidence of their little mutual gathering here at an unlikely hour, he pays no heed. "I hope it was not the sound of my trunk hinges that woke you, when I fetched this tea. If it was, I apologize," he murmurs, making solemn amends before any possible grievance could be uttered. "You are also welcome to it." With a nod to Reyce, the healer's dark eyes trace back to the other two here, but he doesn't throw out a kernel of a topic they could all mutually converse about - that duty is left to someone else. Presumably the healer has done his bit; a fact he signals by acquiring the nearest chair for his lean frame to ease into.

Jarvais gives Neiran a glance as the shadow of a healer slips into that chair. The glance, if not so warmed by the fire's reflection and his bit of a smile, would be that of someone flailing, abandoned. It's all the young man can manage to turn to Reyce and offer, haltingly, "Jarvais." And then, to the gathering more at large, "Something... must be keeping us all up." So weak. He smiles, tentative, and retreats toward a chair, any chair.

Laelle takes a long deep breath as yet another man interrupts the quiet room she'd had all to herself. With the following exhale she closes her book and bends to leave it on the nearby table. The blanket gets pulled from her lap and, as her slender legs unfold, her feet aim directly for her shoes. There's a beat of a glance for Reyce but no answer for Jarvais and no further nod for Neiran. She just stands and turns to leave. Her book remains, though, so perhaps she's coming back from wherever eventually.

Reyce follows Laelle's exit quietly, his eyes hooded to shield his own response while he observes her. "No," he answers Neiran sidelong, turning to the healer only after he's spoken, and after he's lost interest in the departing Neratian. "Heard you get it but, awake already." He moves his attention on to find Jarvais, giving a grunt and a nod to acknowledge the introduction. "Reyce," he returns, a low word slung out before the other holder's efforts at conversation. For that, listening, he waits an extra second before he dismisses the weak idea with a light snort. "Just up," he states flatly.

It's not unknown for the Journeyman to respond to particular facial expressions with blank stares that may suggest incomprehension - but the healer well knows the look of someone floundering and silently pleading for help. His eyes slide to the corners of almondine sockets to watch Laelle's departure in silence, only returning to a sedate survey of the two Blood-connected young men once her presence has left the room. Neiran's eyes choose to settle on Jarvais, then, and the words that follow are undoubtedly for him. "You will find that the commons is not always vacant at hours when one would expect it to be. Between socializing, homework, and other activities, many students do not maintain an orthodox sleep schedule. I believe the reduced daylight hours may also have an effect." To indicate that that is conjecture, however, the Journeyman lifts his hand from the armrest and makes a vague gesture. His eyes close in a prolonged blink, and when open again, his gaze is fixed on the kettle expectantly.

"Did I upset her?" Jarvais, evidently more concerned with Laelle's disappearance than Neiran's explanation of Caucus students' sleeping habits, watches the freckled girl slip away and then, subdued, drops into the chair he retreated to. He fakes a smile at the healer, then tries it on Reyce, which does not work at all. "Good - morning, then."

Reyce approaches the hearth, but he ignores the kettle in favor of leaning an arm down over the mantle, and resting his chin on it lazily while he warms before the fire. "Doubt it," he tells Jarvais again, a flick of his eyes going in the direction of Laelle's retreat to show his subject. The smile, indeed, slides off him without any kind of return, and the friendly greeting that follows brings the quirk of a brow but no more forthcoming friendliness.

There's whistling that precedes Ronan's arrival, a cheerful sea chanty whose bawdy words are likely lost on most of the inhabitants of the Caucus barracks. It's no worry to the sailor, though, who makes her way towards the hearth with the klah with a minimum of diversion from her path, swaying her hips around obstacles more than actually stepping around them. "It's not enough good, physical exertion that keeps you folks up all night," she opines, slipping right under Reyce's arm to pour the klah, cheerfully ignorant of personal space. "Either that or not enough bedtime activities," she winks. "But then, I suppose those two can be one and the same." Her bright gaze flits cheerfully between the young men, amused. "Don't they give you people shore leave or something?"

The Journeyman nods in mute agreement to what Reyce's said, adding his silent concurrence for Jarvais' benefit. His lips part, presumably so that some elaboration on Laelle's departure. They end up remaining a little open, soundless, as Ronan appears and gleans herself some klah from right under Reyce's nose. Certainly not the etiquette instructor, that one. The Journeyman closes his mouth, and his lips press together, eyes absenting themselves from the one who's just burst in on their quiet hearth-time with talk of bedtime activities and the like. The reservoir of social skills seems to have dried up, and Neiran says nothing to greet the woman, simply reaching to the pouch at his side to unclasp it and withdraw a few dried leaves, which he puts in his mouth and chews.

The second woman to enter the Caucus Commons is neither singing nor sassing. She steps in quietly, a lumpy bundle tucked under one arm. A sack, full to bursting, is slung over the other shoulder, and beneath that is a knapsack that is equally overstuffed. The slender girl pauses on entering, looking about at those gathered at such a late hour. She blinks several times and shifts her weight, but no comment is forthcoming. When her eyes settle on the heir apparent of Greenfields, however, her lips do hitch upwards into a soft and tiny smile.

Jarvais twists in his chair so he can face away from the fire, too close for comfort, and tangles up his knees in a cross-legged posture that looks awkward, but for the lazy stretch of his back against the chair. Maybe he could sleep like so, and if not for Ronan's sudden interjection of her voice and body, he might even look like he'd consider it - but no, the sailor has him staring. "We are .on. shore, ma'am - ?"

Reyce will keep an eye out for his personal space, if Ronan won't. He narrows his eyes as the humming sailor woman approaches, but when she gets within range of him he backs off the hearth, his lip twitching into a soundless snarl. It's gone by the time she looks at him, replaced with a flat, emotionless stare that soon transfers beyond her, uncaring. Beyond her, there is the figure of Auree, and while she's studying the heir of Greenfields, the bastard of Benden is studying her.

Ronan quirks a brow at Jarvais, amused. "Yes. Yes you are," she agrees with a flicker of a crooked smile over the rim of her mug. "Not that you get much of the fun of shore leave around here. Cheer up, sweetcheeks," she adds with a wry smirk in the direction of Reyce's snarl, taking another sip. "It's a Weyr, you'll find someone." The more quiet members of the group are considered with a relative silence, though there's no telling how long /that/ could last.

Even though Reyce has stepped away from the fire, it's he who gets fielded with the question: "Reyce, has the kettle reached approximate boiling point?" Neiran takes care not to allow his gaze to wander back to the kettle in question or, by proxy (and more importantly) the woman nearby. Completely oblivious to Auree, what with his back to the rest of the room, Neiran stares at a piece of Jarvais' chair, keeping quiet in his own as much as is possible.

As Reyce is the one to spot Auree, Reyce is the one who is given a small signal. After crouching slowly down to set her bundles on the floor where she stands, she rises to place her first finger against her lips in a soundless 'shh' gesture. Then she moves around the perimeter of the room in an attempt to approach Jarvais' chair from an angle that will keep her behind him. Succeeding this, she will lean forward, cover his eyes with her hands and say in a warm and quiet voice, "Guess."

"From what I've seen there's 'fun' of that sort - " This is not one of Jarvais' sudden and halting pauses, the sudden tangling of tongue that renders him wholly silent and obliges him to do things with his hands or expression to bide time. This is the sort of silence one takes on when one has been preparing to make some mildly disapproving if coy remark to a lady sailorcrafter, and not obliged to get up and check on tea, and then had one's eyes shut tight by feminine hands. Jarvais is still and silent in that sort of silence for a moment, and contrary to his usual nature does not pick up his abandoned words where they left off. Instead, he guesses, through a slow-growing smile: "Elderflower and mint."

Reyce drops his eyelids low for Ronan's comment, returning his gaze to her only for that moment when he seems to be addressed. Although he abides by Auree's hushing gesture, more or less, the light snort he gives as he turns away from her may be connected to it. He immerses himself in checking up on Neiran's tea, as requested, and reporting over his shoulders, "Seems like it, yeah." He'll confirm but he won't fetch; once the tea's been judged, he shoots a glance out at the doorway and exhales a light breath. He moves away from the hearth, catching Neiran's eye as he moves past the healer's chair, and murmurs his explanation - "Going out." A swing by the barracks gets him into a jacket, then out into the biting cold.

And perhaps you have seen," Ronan laughs to Jarvais as Auree sneaks up behind him. She doesn't ruin the surprise, though it's just as likely it's because she doesn't recognize the girl either as any sympathy with the trick, sipping again from her mug. At Neiran's question, she looks over her shoulder towards the hearth, eyeing the kettle almost blankly until Reyce declares it suitable. "Huh," she muses, then looks back towards the others.

Neiran nods to Reyce as he sweeps by to depart, unvoiced thanks in the small gesture. He looks to Jarvais to find him being accosted by an unfamiliar female, and smiling about it. Sensing no rescue is needed, the lean healer slides free of his chair and rights himself, surreptitiously smoothing back an invisible wisp of free hair behind an ear before approaching the hearth. The satchel nearby, too, is picked up by a passing hand, brought with him towards the hearth, and Ronan. Despite his silence towards her earlier, Neiran briefly flicks his eyes to the woman's face in some semblance of eye contact, uttering, "pardon me," before he steps in to claim that kettle of water. Once he's pulled it out of the main heat of the hearth with the help of a quilted hand-cloth, its persistent thrumming sound fades as water cools a degree. He sets it down, lifts the lid, and deposits the satchel of herbs within, returning the lid afterwards. The timepiece upon the mantle earns a look, presumably checked to note the time so the tea's steeping can be measured accurately.

The hands move away from Jarvais' eyes as their owner chuckles just once, another low and tumbling sound. "Lovely names," she teases gently, "Terrible guesses." Auree steps around to present herself more properly to the others gathered, even as one of them begins to depart. Jarvais gets her back. "I'm Auree. Hello." Reyce, Neiran, and Ronan are all offered eye contact with this singular introduction that is meant to serve for the trio of people.

The skin beneath Auree's hands is already heating a bit, and when she steps around he cannot seem to bother with a direct look at Ronan - but then, he might be forgiven, because he's a little busy untangling himself from the chair so he can get to his feet. He wastes a split-second becoming as stately as he can manage, a silent hand smoothing back wayward waves of hair, and then he murmurs, "If you'd given me a moment, I'd have introduced you." There's something twitching in his eyes there, and he puts his head down and his gaze up while he tries to sidestep between Auree and the hearth, unblocking himself.

Ronan shifts just a bit to let Neiran by with the kettle, keeping an eye on it until it's out of reach. "Auree," she greets with a quick grin, raising her mug in greeting to the girl and sipping before adding her own, brief introduction in turn. "Ronan. Pleasure to meetcha." There's some amusement in her features as she looks to Jarvais, but for whatever reason, she doesn't make any further comments - yet.

Neiran watches the curious interaction between Auree and Jarvais with only half a mind, not unlike the wavering focus of someone who's had the chance to peek around a doorway and witness a conversation not necessarily intended for them. He nods, once, when Auree has introduced herself, and so returns in kind in his mellow voice. "Good evening. I am Neiran." Neiran, tender of the kettle; he looks at the clock, but finds hardly any time has elapsed. So he remains standing, at long last a press of his lips denoting some kind of vague awkwardness with the ensuing silence.

"Hello," the redhead offers again as Neiran and Ronan introduce themselves. She turns a little bit, twisting her torso so that she might peer over her shoulder at Greenfields. Her eyes move up and down, as if sizing up the young man. "Given a moment," she murmurs, "not much that you /cannot/ do." Auree moves again to allow her to more properly face Jarvais and untwist. Her glance goes, now, to her pile of luggage and then returns to Jarvais. The way her eyebrows raise just slightly, along with the lingering smile on her lips, implies an unspoken request.

Jarvais blinks; it is a solid enough blink that his chin tips up a little, like his eyelids have that much weight in them. "It's late, here," he observes after a moment of wrangling for words, and blinks again, river-rock stare flickering over Neiran then, and not quite levelly at Ronan. "I take it you're moving in." This has no gulpy sense of alarm in it; it is more dry, bemused, even a tick reproachful. Startled, and not wholly appreciative of the surprise - still, he can manage a last sudden and gregarious smile for the redhead, then excuse himself past her so he can take up two parts of her cases, and carry them on into the barracks. He does not return so swiftly as one might imagine he would; Greenfields, in short, disappears.

Ronan leans back against the hearth, watching the interplay with a wry smile of her own. For the moment, the sailor seems content to observe and let the klah sink in and warm her. She does raise a hand to Jarvais' departure, a silent wave, but nothing more.

Neiran watches Jarvais' retreating back for a moment, and then looks to the clock. What he sees there is displeasing, eliciting a further thinning of his lips. After a moment of silent pause, he moves decisively to the kettle, lifting the lid and withdrawing the satchel. He allows it to drip into the kettle for a few moments, and when the droplets wane, he sets it on a discarded saucer. The kettle is lifted, and returned to its place in the hearth. Passing by Ronan, his eyes pass over her face again, briefly. "The hour for tea is passed. Good night, to you both." He looks to Auree, as well, and inclines his head.

To Jarvais' question of her relocation, the taller woman gives a discreet nod and a slightly more mischievous smile. If she is aware that she is being subtly chastised, Auree seems only a little bit delighted by the realization. Once Greenfields' seat becomes vacant and seems destined to remain so, it is Auree who steps over to take it, sinking down into the cushions with a small sigh. Her attention moves to Neiran's knot, and then to Ronan's. "I guess I'd better see," she considers in her soft voice, "about getting one of those little pins. Good night, Neiran."

"Evening," Ronan murmurs to Neiran, raising her glass again with a faint smile. "Someone'll outfit you with one," she adds, looking back to Auree. "If you're lucky, you'll avoid a long sit-down with someone looking you over like trade goods in the process," she winks, taking a sip.

Her hands move to unfasten one of the little pouches from her belt and Auree makes herself more comfortable in her stolen seat. The pouch is shaken lightly, making a muted clinking sound: many small items jostling together. "I won't mind, either way," the new arrival offers blithely.

Ronan nods, absently making her way over to a chair, where she flops down and sits cross-legged, swallowed by the furniture. "So what brings you to these ports?" she asks, smile flickering as she settles in comfortably.

The small bag is jostled again before Auree settles it in the palm of one hand and begins to casually untie it with the other. "I am here for classes," she says simply, glancing up and over at Ronan before looking back down to her pouch. "And you?"

"Sort of the same," Ronan chuckles. "Though on the other end. It's complicated." She tips back her mug, draining the klah within and setting the mug aside. "/Came/ here to do a head count, actually," she admits with a wink. "Don't know who thought I'd suit for that, but I figure it can't hurt to show up."

Ronan is studied by hazel eyes that do not seem to blink quite as often as they should. Auree stays that way as the other woman speaks and then for several long moments after, her hands stopping their tinkering with the little pouch. "You're an instructor," she says, her smile gradual but growing as (what she thinks is) comprehension dawns, "but you did not intend to be."

"Quarter mark for the pretty lady," Ronan laughs with another wink, unfolding from her chair and tugging her sweater around herself. "Masterfisher roped me into it, so here I am. Should make my way back to my bunk, though," she adds with an easy smile. "Got me a brownrider waiting who can't wait too long, if you get what I'm saying."

No blush and no glancing away for the pretty young lady. There is only another long blink and then, at the question, Auree quietly answers, "Yes. Sleep--" but this is modified to, "Have a good night, ma'am."

"I intend to," Ronan chuckles to herself, folding the sweater closer around her form and shoving her hands into pockets in preparation for the cold. "You settle in, Auree. Sleep tight when you get it," she says lightly. Raising a hand within her pocket, she waves, then whistles her way out the door.

Chrysoberyl: For Youth

2007-01-20T07:18:27Z

At one of the many farms that encompasses Greenfields Hold, a man named Alsin married the daughter of the cotholder who owned their neighboring farm as part of an agreement to merge the lands and attempt a new sort of crop on both. The woman's name was Ruetta, and she sadly died giving birth to their first and only child: a daughter they named Auree. Alsin was having a hard enough time managing the merging of two farms, struggling with a crop he'd never grown before and, now, looking for another wife. He couldn't manage parenting an infant single-handedly. Since he was Blood of the Greenfields line (and look here to see how) he arranged to have Auree fostered at Greenfields' main hold. This is how it happened that Auree grew up alongside Ellice and Jassom's children Jarvais and Gerviss.

Auree was a particularly easygoing child. While most youngsters had to get and grab and take and shriek, Auree was more inclined to watch others, to settle quietly in a corner and to amuse herself. She didn't ever seem to be lonely, and indeed spent considerable amounts of time with the other two children and particularly with Jarvais. But, she also seemed to savor the time she could have to herself with her quiet thoughts.

When Auree was seven, Lord Bardo decided to have a mosaic installed in the main foyer of Greenfields. A Master Gersham from the Smithcraft and one of his journeymen, both specializing in the art, arrived and spent two sevens cutting tiles, shaping stones, and piecing the thing together. Auree spent much of those sevens sitting in the same room and simply watching the process for hours. By the time the mosaic was completed, Auree had been allowed access to the discarded bits of tile and stone, and was making awkward little temporary patterns. The girl's quiet, patience, and general interest caught the Master's attention. Those smiths who specialized in the making of mosaics were very few in number and not all that well-regarded in the Hall. It was, in comparison to much of the rest of Smithing, a useless endeavor when seen through practical eyes. It was a struggle, each generation, to make sure that the skill didn't vanish off into obscurity, and the need for an artistic hand, an analytical eye, and the immense amount of patience all required to make a good mosaic artist meant new apprentices were few and often hard to find. Though nothing was said to Auree, her foster family, or her father, Gersham made a note of the girl before he departed.

Life went on simply enough. Auree had her Harper lessons and her general tutelage into what made a proper woman and a fitting wife. She had Jarvais for company, and now drawing and fiddling with pebbles were added to the list of her own quiet pursuits. If Auree found thoughts of her future (when she bothered to think on it at all) a little bit boring, certainly she was too well-bred to say.

Master Gersham returned when Auree was twelve. She had just come back to the main hold from visiting her father, his second wife, and her two half-brothers to find there was a vaguely familiar face asking to speak with her. After introducing himself again, he wanted to know if she remembered when he'd come to make the mosaic? (She had.) If she did any drawing or sketching herself? (She did.) If he might see some of them? (He could.) And, finally, if she would be interested in coming to the Smithhall as an apprentice? (She would.) Alsin took a bit of cajoling from the Master before he gave his permission, but in the end Auree packed up her things and bundled off to the hall.

Like any other smith, Auree began with the basics. There were also, right off the bat, private lessons with Master Gersham on aspects of study specific to the making and placing of mosaics. A girl in the Smithhall was something of an oddity, but Penny and a few others had begun to pave the way, and while the Mastersmith's daughter seemed to be determined to pursue the actual, serious craft, everyone knew Auree was just going to be one of that odd little group of folks that made 'art from stones'. If said 'art from stones' required a good understanding of architecture and geometry, and if considerable knowledge was needed to create tile, select stones, and cut them appropriately, and if creating a mosaic was as reliant on a good analytical mind as it was on a creative eye, these were not the things most of the other Smiths saw. They saw, instead, resources, time, and titles wasted on specialty that many argued had more of a place at Harper or on its own than attached to the Smithhall. Auree got her share of ribbing, both for being female and for working under Master Gersham, but she took it all in stride with her easy and comfortable quiet. It didn't take more than a turn before her contemporaries were assured she was no threat, and she was allowed to make her way and forge a few friendships without much undue harassment.

Auree was passionate about her craft. She found peace where others found tedium, and the balance of analytic and creative needed to do the job well suited her. She walked the tables at eighteen, and spent two turns studying at the hall and traveling with the two Masters and the six other Journeymen that specialized in mosaics, assisting them in their various projects. Two more turns were spent creating mosaics of her own design for clients, and her skill and temperament left the others in her field impressed. Auree was easy to speak to, happy to listen, and had a way of disarming others with her calm. She had managed to be liked in a male-dominated profession, and her skill at her craft couldn't be questioned. Despite her gender, it was Auree that Gersham began to consider for leading his tiny branch of the Smithcraft when the time came for him to retire. But even more than being good at the craft, a Master would need to know the best ways to keep it alive. With rarely more than twenty smiths studying mosaics at a time, there was always the danger that the majority of the hall would decide mosaic making was not a worthwhile pursuit for a smith and withdraw its support. The true task of the one running the speciality would be, really, to make sure it kept running. With this in mind, Gersham pulled a few strings and called in a few old favors. Auree, at twenty two, was sent to Caucus to gain those skills needed to keep her corner of the craft safely where it was.

Moonstone: For Femininity

2007-01-20T06:51:14Z

Bright red hair has been swept back and fastened at the nape of this young woman's neck. The aggressively curly tresses fall to between her shoulder-blades, barely restrained, and escaped wisps as well as wavy bangs frame a round face of very pale complexion. Large, wide set, hazel eyes rest beneath thin copper brows and are framed in heavy red lashes. Her nose is small and a little wide, and her full lips are a rich rose in color.

Neither especially tall nor particularly short at 5'5", this young woman's willowy form lends itself to an illusion of more height than she truly possesses. A slender neck becomes narrow shoulders that lead into svelte arms. Her hands have broad palms and stretched spindles for fingers. She wears a light brown, long-sleeved tunic. The warm cloth holds gently to subtle curves and trails down a flat belly, stopping at her hips. A thin black belt with several small pouches hanging from it is cinched around her narrow waist and the little pouches clink faintly if she moves abruptly. A long, cream-colored skirt traces gently flaring hips and spills down long, sleek legs, stopping a breath before the floor. A pair of simple, brown wherhide boots complete the ensemble.