==== January 08, 2014
==== Tilla, T'ral
==== Tilla and T'ral make their acquaintance in the Archives.

Who Tilla, T'ral
What Tilla and T'ral make their acquaintance in the Archives.
When There are 0 turns, 3 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

tilla_icon.PNG t-ral.jpg


Archive Library
Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.

A young wingrider holds the door for the rush of people leaving the Archives. That this is the place to be has been making the rounds. Finally people were coming to understand what he's always known. The Archives were IT. A place of organization, exploration, knowledge, imaginations, questions, answer and… he steps into the room. "Whoa." He blinks around. It had changed quite a bit from the last time he'd been here. Some important moments had occurred in this very room (he's including the War Room in 'this room'). He sidesteps through the door, a gitar case banging along at his side. He notes additions, subtractions, a low buzz of pleasant conversation. A smile breaks across his face at each new sight as he makes a slow turn around the room ending up at… the klah stand. He purses his lips, and confesses, "Never really one for klah myself," he shrugs and takes a mug, "But…" he smiles around at the transformed space and tips the mug at Tilla, "To new things."

Tilla is still sipping her klah at the bar, in her own world, or perhaps alternating between people watching and dragon speaking. Adjusting her perch on her seat, she exhales, ahh that's better. "Oh." A pause, "Well they have made some really delicious new drinks lately it seems, this is my second cup.." Brow furrow. "T'ral, right?" She tries to recall the names of the dragonhealer trainees that she's seen around in the general work area.

T'ral's brow furrows and he cocks his head at the woman sitting. Familiar. Familiar. On an impulse he sets the gitar case down and holds out his hands, two planes, palms facing him, one above the another so that all he can see of Tilla's face is her eyes. This is what she looks like scrubbed up. "Ma'am!" He straightens, snapping a salute. Weyrling instincts to salute pretty much everyone are still sharply ingrained.

Tilla nods, "How are you doing today? Can you believe this place? They did a good job, no?" Sip sip as she tries not to spill droplets on the literature on her lap. Possibly not the smartest move, to perch it in that position. We will see. She squints as a few more folks walk by, trying to discern familiar faces.

"Well, ma'am. You and yours?" He follows her glance around, nodding in agreement, "Yes." He smiles, lopsided, looking for the long flat shelves that hold maps, "It's always been one of my favorite places. I'm glad to see it so appreciated."

Tilla smiles, "Oh we're doing fairly well, I was stopping by here to pick up something for me and something for the littles," she gestures towards the reading material with the brightly colored bird drawing on the top. "Voracious readers. Which is good given that you know what is coming back. Indoor activities to keep their minds occupied." You know, in case Mommy is up there being maimed or killed by the sky death.

T'ral eyes the books, "Degar'sOn Grubs and Growing? That IS some heavy reading for little ones." He grins, lopsided. His eyes flick up and east at her mention of Thread. He looks at the other books, nodding, "I enjoyed those. The copies we have here are very nicely illustrated." He smiles, "I used to look at the pictures of the dragonriders and trace them with my fingers wishing I'd fly like that some day." He looks up, smile nostalgic and rueful, with the knowledge of what's ahead, "But who doesn't, right?"

(Tilla's pose missing! (sorry Tilla). My recollection: Discussion of the kiddoes and their readings. Catching up on relevant readings with the Fall pending. She didn't dream of dragons. Impression sorta just snuck up on her. And she wouldn't trade it. A brief communion with Amuirnith.)

T'ral's eyebrows raise. "No?" He shrugs, "All the kids I knew -even the girls- dreamt of dragons." Weyrbred. Whaddya do? If you're Benden's Assistant Headman, you send your son off to Harper Hall so he won't get Searched. And if you're the son of that Assistant Headman, you get taken with the idea of learning from Oldtimers, fed up with Harper Hall's recalcitrance and leave for Southern to study them -er- study WITH them. And then you get Searched. "Well, I put those dreams aside and wham. Esanth." Pride and affection radiate off the young man.

Tilla shakes her head, "I was holdbred, you see. The Weyr was a change of pace that Ma thought might be good for me given what was going on in my life at the time." No further explanation. She finishes her drink, rises, and pays the barkeep. "Sorry to cut this short, but I need to read them their bedtime story and I have an early day tomorrow. Good to chat though!" A grin and wave as she walks out the door.

T'ral salutes the dragonhealer on her way out. He tries the klah tenatively -he's never been a fan and hasn't made an effort to cultivate an appreciation after nearly a turn of Yules' long lamentations about the quality of it since she wasn't blending any more. Plus. Does anyone want to see a hopped up T'ral? Right. He takes a sip and hmms thoughtfully. Not bad. He uncases the gitar and perches on the stool, looking after Tilla. He'd been in and out of the infirmary with Esanth for over a turn and working there for a month and he'd never spoken or heard three words at a stretch from the dragon healer. Tuning up, he runs through a list of the books she and her littles might like to read. There are a few. He'd have to see if there were copies here. He spends the rest of his little break drinking the klah, noodling and chatting with weyrfolk and waitstaff.

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