==== November 10, 2013
==== Donatien, Aife
==== Aife comes to the Cobbler's workshop for new boots.

Cobbler Workroom
This is a true work-room - benches line the walls of this room, and tools are hung with care along the wall. A heavy desk, covered in scraps of fabric, leather, string, and tools lined up by size, sits along one wall, a heavy wooden chair tucked under it.
A cobbler's bench sits in the middle of the room, backed by a large tool-chest that is piled with coloured leathers varying in softness and thickness.
As a nod to the rest of the Weaver's duties, a sewing desk is tucked into a corner, stacked with several rolls of fabric and watched over by a silent dress-form.
Above the benches, shoes and boots hang from racks, lined by sex, size, colour, and finally types. A more reinforced rack supports the heavier work boots that laymen use for working the Weyr itself.

After a long and busy morning at the infirmary, Aife takes her break the best way she can think of - shoe shopping. That means she's there before Donatien's door this afternoon, knocking away as she busies herself in pushing curly tendrils of hair from her face. Perhaps she should've checked whether he was in or not first, but then, finding her on his doorstep wouldn't be so much of a surprise in that case.

Donatien is tinkering away on a design at his desk, alone. There's a glass of whiskey next to him on the table, and he doesn't hear the first knocks, but calls, "Come in!" after the third, "It's open!" The whiskey is in his hand for the potential shoe-shopper to see. "Shoes, shoes, and more shoes!" As a sales slogan, it sucks, but the little touch of a grin on his face indicates he's working on it. Or at least that he knows.

In walks Aife, pausing to the tinkering sounds on the threshold to check the place out before heading in. "Drinking while working, I hear, can be a dangerous thing," is her greeting, taking the time to study Dien's room. "So this is what a cobbler's space looks like, huh? Not too shabby, Dien." Her gaze finally lands on him, the sales slogan getting an amused snort from the healer as she steps closer to studying what he's doing.

"Only if I was dealing with tools," Dien returns with a grin, recognizing the figure entering. "A pen and paper risk only that my fingers will get inked." He holds up the hand, pen tucked into the palm, to show that his fingers are, so far, untarnished. "Welcome to my abo… well, my work room," the Weaver invites, "I finally have everything just as I like it." The 'I' precludes the absence of any apprentices, and Dien leans back, bridging his fingers. "Are you on the search for shoes? Boots?" The grin turns a little more mischievous, "Waders, as I see might become popular, if these rains hold up?"

"Better than having a hand stuck with needlethorns," Aife states, her tone in humor. She stares at his fingers first before she looks about them. "I see you spend a lot of time in here," she observes idly, nodding. "And, I'm looking for boots, to replace these," and she lifts up one leg to show how worn-down the boot is. "I thought I'd come by to see what you've got," she continues to say, dropping her leg and straightening up. The last, though, draws a flicker of amused interest from her before echoing, "Waders? You've been getting a lot of orders for those already?"

Donatien will concede that point, of course, with a nod of his head. As for how long he spends here, "I have found that people start to worry if I'm not here at regular intervals," Dien admits with a grin, "And it's rarely the lovely ladies who seek me so urgently, so this is a welcome change." A tip of the whiskey in Aife's direction. He studies the boots carefully from afar, and mmms, though he can't pass up the chance, "Not yet, but I'm sure." A tip of the book and Dien shows what he's been drawing - a slightly rotund man, in a pair of overall-hip waders. "They'll be all the rage." And now onto the much more interesting topic: Dien puts the book down and rises to his feet, gesturing to the wall of footwear at hand, "Are you looking for a certain colour? Style?"

Taking up the offer whiskey and tipping it back for a drink, "You're all compliment, cobbler," Aife quips on his own words about lovely ladies and welcoming changes. She checks out the drawing, nodding her appreciation of the skillwork before she states aloud, "I should show you some of my work, sometime. Might need to check these waders out, too, since you think they'll be highly needed." She steps back once Donatien gets to his feet, turning towards where he gestures eagerly. Once she gets an eyeful of the shoes on display, she heads toward them like a moth to a flame. Then again, shoes are a pull for many a woman, and Aife is not exception. "I'm always on my feet, so something hardy," is her answer, reaching out to touch something in black. "I go for dark colors like black and brown or coal, since it matches with anything. I got these from a gather," she indicates the one she wears, "and doing what I do every day doesn't give me much opportunity to be flashy, so…hardy, yes. Functional, but feminine." She looks to him then to regard him.

Can an old Weaver help it when he's sought by a young lady such as Aife's self? He chuckles and waves a careless hand, "Only until the rains die down," he says. As for seeing Aife's work, well, Dien is in agreement, "I would find it most educational." And then, to footwear. "Mmm," he says thoughtfully, eyeing Aife in a very professional manner, "Those would all create some lovely palettes with your skin…" Then, Dien is reaching up to a higher shelf and pulling down a pair of dark brown boots, edged with a leather border in cream, "Would these suit your fancy?" he asks, holding them by the soles to show the full effect, turning it to one side, "They're based on riding boots, but a bit… more elaborate."

"I have a feeling that I won't be able to afford your wares beyond what I've come here for," Aife notes on the rain shoes, her smile a bit flirty. "But next time, I'll come by with some sketches." Now Donatien's pulling forth some boots for her look over, and the erstwhile healer is more than happy to oblige. Fingers reach forward to draw down the fabric, her head cocking this way and that in the silence that follows. Then, with a slight frown, "Elaborate in design only, or in their function?" she asks, glancing over at him. It's clear she's contemplating the boots in regards to her, her fingers drawing across it.

Donatien chuckles softly. "Price is a matter of finding the value in the item," and that's the philosophy side of him, but he clarifies, "I am always willing to find a reasonable bargain. It does the shoes no good to sit on the shelf, after all." As for the boots he's holding for examination, Dien comments, "Elaborate in that they are lovely as well as comfortable," which not all shoes manage to be. "They won't make your klah for you in the morning, but they'll get you to it in style." He watches Aife watch the boots, and mmms, "Would you like to try them on?" Gesturing to a convenient bench nearby. Ya know ya wanna.

"Good to hear," Aife answers on bargains, looking pleased. "There's not much in fare when it comes to patching people up." Back to the shoes in question, she steps closer to examine them at all angles while he answers her, nodding and sending him a smirk for his comment on them not making her klah. "You mean they won't sing me a song, either?" she has to tease now. "Damn, man. You could charge extra for those sort of perks. Especially if they could make your feet dance correctly at a Gather or something without looking like a dunce." Of course she's well aware of his stares, the smile turning just a bit more suggestive. At his question, she immediately takes to the nearby bench. She's playful in swinging one leg forward.

Donatien chuckles quietly and pulls over a stool to sit across from Aife. "I'm still working on that creation… as for the dancing shoes? I fear those might be impossible, or else I'd be able to retire comfortably to Sou…" Waiiiit, his cheeky grin says, but now to business: Dien holds out his hand at about ankle-height, "If I may?" First - to remove the offending footwear in question. The new boots are set aside carefully, to be within easy reach. "You said you've had these for quite a long time… Do you have knee or hip pain at all?" A raised eyebrow and Dien adds, "For which the footwear might be the cause."

"If you can put together shoes like that, then I fear your talents are being solely wasted here," Aife remarks on the first, her brow arching at him as she leans back a little. When Donatien offers to remove the worn boot, she extends her leg towards him without hesitation. His other question gets a, "A little on the knee, but I've made ointments to keep it in check. If I'm settled somewhere, I try to go barefoot. That helps, too. I'm on my feet a lot, as you can imagine, so…" There's a small shrug for it before she leans forward and adds, "So what is your recommendation, hm?" Nodding towards the new boots, "You think this is the best one, or do you have something else that would do as well?"

Donatien shrugs - maybe yes, maybe no, who can tell? With Aife's heel cradled in his hand, Dien supports her calf just under the knee with the other and slowly tugs her boot off. "Mmm, hopefully a new set of boots will help with the knee," he says distractedly. He's not ogling Aife's slender leg. Not much at all. "Barefoot is also good, though I imagine you don't get to much in the Infirmary." Grasping the new boot by the heel, Dien checks the sole to ensure size and then slowly starts to slide the shaft over Aife's foot. "These are quite good. The other pair I'd have that would fit your foot shape and be good for walking are in a Harper blue." You know, if Aife's into that sort of cross-Hall stuff.

Shaking her head, "I think some of the older healers would flip if I did," Aife answers on her daring to go barefoot in the infirmary. Do you do anything barefoot yourself?" Is she meaning for that to sound dirty? It's hard to tell with that light tone of hers. It could be an innocent question after all. She watches the boot slide over her foot as he explains the other boot, her nose crinkling a bit at the color. "Not my style, doll," she says on the other one, shaking her head again. "Not unless you can make it with a different color. Do you make boots to order?" she asks now.

Donatien is not a fan of Healers having hissyfits, so he grins, and answers, "Oh, I tend to swim barefoot. I prefer walking around my own room barefoot, now that the stone underfoot is welcomingly cool, compared to Southern's temperatures." A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell his foot status so Dien wraps up with, "And… other pursuits." Press and he might actually say, but for now he's onto new topics, eyeing as the boot slides into place, "I do make custom orders, especially if it's a relatively simple request and by that," wink, "No klah-making, dance-step-guiding shoes." For a moment, Dien huhs, "I'm of course assuming that you prefer flat boots." So presumptuous.

Laughing aloud, "You still are a man that don't say much," observes Aife, watching Donatien now more than the new boots. It's a notation she lingers on, even, before she turns back to the boots at hand. "Flat boots," she confirms with a nod, "but I can go for something a little heel to them, too. Just, nothing that will have me tripping all over myself in front of all and sundry." Once the boot is on, though, she pauses to move her foot within this way and that before slipping her foot from his hands to the floor. She presses her foot to the bottom of the boot, testing it. "Fits better than the ones I've been wearing," she finally states, lifting the foot on a toe to twist it at an angle for her to view. Meeting his gaze, she gives him a nod to suggest that she approves.

Donatien attempts to look playfully offended for a moment, but gives it up quickly. "There's not much to say," he says with a quick shrug, but his eloquent smile might indicate a more interesting answer. As Aife tests the first foot, impatient Weaver fingers wiggle for the other foot, "Let me put the other one on so you can test how they feel standing up." As for how they compare to Aife's old pair, Dien eyes the forlorn unworn boot with a pitying little glance, while saying, "Fit is always important with footwear." Professor Donatien is in da Weyr: "Your whole stride changes if a boot doesn't fit well, and that will lead to other issues."

Offering her other foot, "I don't believe that for one second," Aife notes on his answer with a twitch of her brows. Listening further on footwear, "Is this something you learned along the way?" she asks wryly. "Something learned through experience?" Her foot wiggles a bit towards him then as she tacks on, "Do you fix soles, too? Or is it just shoe-making for you?"

Donatien is quick in pulling off the … boot, and sliding the new one into place, confessing, "Would you believe then, most of what I would have to say is not nearly in keeping with the character I wish to portray?" One eyebrow quirks suavely. He's let on more than intended, but what the heck. "A bit of training while I specialized in footwear, a bit of experience. Talking with Healers, occasionally, though those I've met are usually loath to admit their expertise won't fix something." A little shrug as Dien allows Aife's heel to slip gently to the ground. "I fix soles when the shoes are in good repair," the Weaver says, "I used to be amazed at how attached someone could be to their footwear." Almost a sad shake of his bare head, "Some people are very reluctant for new footwear."

Watching him with her other old boot, "Are you trying to impress me by not showing me who you are, then?" Aife counters, choosing to ask Donatien with a slight smirk. Leaning back with a roll of shoulders, "I'm curious, for the moment," she adds now. "Who are you trying to portray, if the real you is so unworthy?" There's a deliberate pause before she looks away towards the boots and the rest of his words, "Well, I certainly can't wait to get rid of those," she gives on her old boots, talking of attachment. "It was supposed to be one of the first things I was to do when arriving here - new footwear. Just as well you were here, Dien," she notes in amusement as she tries the other boot on and gets to her feet to walk in them. "Imagine what I would have been forced to do without no means of custom boots. The tragedy."

Donatien chuckles quietly and shakes his head a little, "I still am that person, but… older." Because age doesn't always confer wisdom, Dien won't pretend that, "I wouldn't insult by attempting to impress beyond myself. I'm a Weaver who likes his sport, his drink, and his job, not necessarily in that order." And for a moment, Dien pauses, starts a sentence, pauses again, and continues, "I'm not accustomed to long romantic attachments, but I do enjoy discretion." There's no really polite, pat way to say things like that, but Dien tries, for what it's worth. "And I love matching boots with their future owners." And with that, a professional mask flashes again as he watches her walk, "How do they feel? Not too tight in the toe? The heel?"

"Older," Aife echoes that, taking in all that's said including the meanings behind them with a pause, and then an acknowledging nod. It's a considering silence that follows, perhaps the healer more interested in the boots than the conversation before she does look him in the eye rather abruptly and is quick to hitch up that smile that gives nothing away. And then, verbally, there's a quick, "Duly noted. I like them. Much better in the heel, and in the toe." Hands fall on her hips once she studies the boots on her before she asks predictably, "How much? Do I pay now for them? I may have to wait a bit to get some together, but, with time…"

Considering silences are usually the sign of a sale unclosed, but Dien is comfortable with that; "Good," he replies, though almost involuntarily, he looks up just in time to catch Aife's Mona Lessa smile, offering his own quirk of the lips in return. As for payment, Dien thinks on that a moment: "You work for the Weyr, do you not? And those boots would be worn in the discharge of your duties in the infirmary?" Even from his seat on the stool, Dien stretches his legs out, one finger slowly tapping on his chin as his eyes drop to the boots. Well, mostly the boots.

Aife nods on working for the Weyr. "The boots will be put through their paces, that will be sure," she answers smoothly, walking a few paces from him and turning back. "Why, is there a bargain to be had of some sort?" And with bargains, the healer stares at Dien in wait for his answer.

Donatien mms and grins, "Good. Boots look better on feet." Watching the action briefly, Dien nods almost to himself. "Those boots are good for you. As for bargains, I'm sure the Weyr is interested in keeping its Healers on their feet." The Weaver pushes himself off the stool and to his feet, "I'll talk with the Headman on this, to verify, but surely," okay, Dien will pretend now, "You'll remember my face and that I need more than to 'walk it off'?" His tone is entirely teasing, but Dien drops the mood for a moment, "Keep them for now. Let me know how they do with day-to-day wear." No joking, no subtle flirting; Dien's just serious right now.

There's a brief flash of a dimpled grin from Aife, especially when Donatien tells her to keep them for the moment. "I'll keep you in mind," she gives to his teasing, moving to pick up the old boots to tuck them under one arm to face him again. "Thanks," she gives sincerely, inclining his head. "If you do need me to pay, you know where to find me. Which speaking of," and she looks to the door, having spent more time than she had. "I better head back there. I'll keep you posted?" There's another thanks in there with her tone as she starts for the door.

Donatien laughs quietly to himself as Aife starts waltzing towards the door, and then, uncharacteristically sudden, asks, "Can I interest you in a comfortable glass of whiskey? After your shift perhaps?" Tucking his hands into pants pockets, the Weaver shrugs lightly, "You bring the glasses, I bring the whiskey?" Fair's fair, of course.

Aife has the door open when Dien calls about whiskey. She looks back at him over her shoulder, and there's no quick answer this time like it's been. She considers him for that moment for the offer, perhaps bemusement being what's flickering through her gaze before it clears and she bobs her head. "I suppose," she gives easily then, evenly. "I can get some glasses. If you don't mind them being…borrowed." Stolen, more than likely, but before Donatien could reach that conclusion, she's gone.