Mayte, Majel


They meet again… in the Bazaar. Shopping for things.


16th day, 10th month, 1st Pass, 12th Turn


Igen Weyr Central Bazaar

OOC Date


mayte_default.jpg majel_default.jpg


Central Bazaar

All roads in the weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

In the days following the weyrlings' promotions, Majel has been spending most of her free time bent over hides filled with diagrams and arrows. Studying formations was previously an intriguing mental exercise; now, it's essential to start thinking ahead to how various units would be best placed as they get closer to flying resupply for the first time. This evening, however, finds the bluerider browsing a few stalls along the bazaar street just after dinner, lingering at those which sell tailoring supplies. Fingers test fabric quality and drift over glittery threads: perhaps she's thinking ahead to a new shirt or special stitching for Dyxath's next straps. There's an occasional mutter and narrow-eyed look from someone who recognizes her from her time as a merchant as she passes people by, but her interactions with the suppliers seem pleasant enough, an exchange of names and greetings given as she makes inquiries.

Since graduating to Senior Weyrlings, Mayte has seen a bit less of her weyrling class than before - slowly, classes that all the others are taking, like fire-stone chewing, are taken over by classes in etiquette, politics, diplomacy, and Weyr management. That sounds like fun, right? So when Mayte wanders into the Bazaar, pausing to close her eyes, sniff the wares of foodstalls and listen to the once-familiar sounds of the Bazaar. Her eyes don't stay closed for long because that's just asking to have your purse five-finger-discounted; when they open again, Mayte breathes deeply and starts to make the rounds, pausing at a stall of scarves and fine accessories. Is that a sneer? A longing look? Either way, Mayte's soon moving on and pausing as she moves into Majel's path. No way to avoid it in this busy place: "Hi there, Wingleader," she says with a combination of nod and salute. Business casual.

Turning away from another selection of spools of thread, Majel catches a glimpse of Mayte over at that stall of scarves and fluttery things. Hazel eyes rest upon the younger weyrling momentarily before she starts angling for an adjacent one selling various hair accessories. Midway there, she finds herself all but face-to-face with the goldrider's business-like greeting and salute. "Mayte, " she greets calmly, returning the salute crisply. Small talk isn't her forte, but she manages to tack on a casual enough, "Shopping for anything in particular tonight?"

"Nothing I can put my finger on," Mayte replies cheerfully, "I keep thinking I need to put something my weyr, but I can't tell if it should be a rug, or books, or funiture…" A half-shrug, "So I decided to wander, see if anything catches my eye." Soooo, that's a no, right? Mayte eyes Majel curiously, asking politely, "You?" Looking over Majel's shoulder, she asks, "Is Sacitca's stall still there?" No reason at all to ask that…

"Furniture is a sensible place to begin, " Majel says wryly, but she softens her statement by adding, "It's an odd sensation, having all of this empty space to furnish as we see fit." There's a raised eyebrow and a head-tilt forward in silent invitation to walk together. "I need to replenish my personal supply of thread, " she admits, "but I have a feeling it'll mostly be used for practical patching and alterations in the future, rather than anything decorative." A glance slants toward the perfumist's stall, then flicks back to Mayte. "So it would seem, unless another person has taken over her business."

Mayte lets the obvious comment pass with a grin, but she nods in agreement with Majel: "So much space." A pause, "After living with so many other people for a Turn and some, it's like I'm not used to spreading my stuff out." There's a absentee nod about the thread though Mayte huhs, and starts moving in the direction Majel nods to: "Think they have some heavy thread for leathers?" Mayte follows Majel's eyeline to the perfumist's and huhs, "Good." That's all on that note. Mayte lets it sit for a little and then asks, "How's Wingleading?" How's that for open-ended? The small-conversationalist's nightmare?

Majel gestures toward the stall she just left, raising a hand in greeting to the proprietor once they're within speaking range. "You're not alone. I've never had any space completely to myself, " she shares matter-of-factly. "Nana's room, the dormitories, the barracks, even working the stall for Neb - I've never known anything but communal living." There's a display of threads of various thickness and color; some are more suitable for leatherworking, others are meant for everyday wear. The brightest display of embroidery threads in a veritable rainbow of hues is clearly meant for ornamentation. "Try the coarser spools on that side, " Majel suggests. Lips purse faintly at the other's open-ended query, expression impassive. "Challenging, " is the adjective she settles on at length. Cue a neat deflection: "How are your weyrwoman lessons progressing?"

Mayte nods along with Majel's recitation, but her eyes are drawn to the stall the bluerider indicates and she's distracted to silence for a moment by examining some of the thicker threads. The brighter ones are avoided like they might burn her, Mayte's fingers gently teasing along the feel of dark spools. "They're alright," Mayte replies honestly, "But I gotta tell you, it's a good thing Linny's here, handling diplomacy." Perhaps because of that sentence just now. A brief grin back to Majel, "I think I may never get the hang of it. Records and organizing are so much easier to figure out." That's right. The records. Pulling back from her perusal, Mayte glances over and asks (again why it's good Linny's handling the politesse), "D'you know what wing you'd like to go into?" Threadfest is over, evidently.

Amusement tugs at the corners of Majel's mouth, twitching it into an almost-smile. "Linny gets on well with a great many people." It's a neutral enough remark. For organization being much easier, there's a tilt of a nod. "It stands to reason that you'll have different strengths from the other weyrwomen." And that's her way of nonchalantly pointing out that at least in her estimation, Mayte isn't like them. There's no apparent censure attached to the sentiment, however; it's simply a statement of fact. "Several of the wings appeal to me at the moment, but I expect to have a more definite idea after we've had some more exposure to the options available to us."

A curl of fog eases its way between Dyxath's mind and that of his much larger sister's, bringing with it the rain-shrouded view of pale streets and muted lights. There's a quiet crinkle, not unlike someone lowering a hefty selection of newsprint, followed by a faint puff of cigar smoke in silent inquiry: All good? (From Dyxath)

The possible slant of Majel's comment doesn't go unnoticed, but Mayte turns her grin into a cough, the oldest trick in the book. She does incline her head a little, nodding at Majel's statement: "I can be useful, at least." Nothing like a goldrider with nothing to do. Instead, Mayte's more interested in Majel's wing prospects: "Arroyo's a good wing. Trek," the name falls from Mayte's lips fondly, "Is good people too." As per Mayte's estimation at least. The gold weyrling's mouth opens to continue, but a flash of consideration (or maybe Rhisorath) interrupts that, and Mayte closes it only to say a moment later, "And A'lory is there too."

"We can all 'be useful, '" Majel quotes, seeming quite absorbed in that embroidery display, "but everyone also has their own set of strengths." Blandly, "I'm aware that mine do not lie in placating people or dealing warmly with highly emotional situations." Perhaps it's meant to be an acknowledgment of how arms-length-and-then-some their relationship has been, or simply that she knows she isn't the easiest person to work with. "I like what little I know of Kanyith's." A side-glance happens to catch that tiny pause between what's meant and what's said. "I take it reconciliation with your friend that you mentioned hasn't happened." And that he has some ties to Arroyo.

Mayte snorts softly and for a moment, is lost in thought: "Y'know," and her tone is conversational, "When I was at Keroon for the Gather. That Threadfall hit, and I wasn't allowed to do anything to really help." Turning to Majel slightly, she continues, "And now I can. Just… Not quite how I expected to, right?" Fingers again reach for some thread, but don't quite contact it, millimetres away. Instead, Majel's question has Mayte's hand dropping to her side, stiffening. It takes a moment and a quiet intake of breath before she says, "No." And that's all on that. Mayte's definitely not looking at Majel now, but she's going to get crows' feet early from how the skin around her eyes tightens, and her voice is far too casual when she asks, "How is Tasna taking the WingSecond role?"

"It would have been too dangerous for you to try to assist, " Majel says with a wave of a hand as she drifts to a display of cords, pulling a strand of shiny, dark blue closer for examination. "You can flame, just not exactly the same way that the fighting pairs will. Flamethrowers are fascinating devices. Much cleaner and more efficient than flaming by firestone." Hazel eyes lift at the other's short negative, noting the way she stiffens and that careful tightening about the eyes. "You'd have to ask Tasna how she likes it, " is the bluerider's steady response to how her new wingsecond likes the promotion. "But if you're asking how I think she'll do - I think I can see the logic in pairing us together. We've very different strengths." Releasing the blue cord to rejoin its fellows, she rounds the display table to cast an appraising look over the threads Mayte's been eyeing. Low, but even: "It isn't my intention to pry. I don't like the thought of someone having upset you enough to potentially disrupt your training." An apology?

Mayte's shrug is neither convinced nor believing, but she's much more interested in talking about agenothree and flame-throwers: "It'll interesting. Smells different from firestone, though." Mayte grins for a brief moment, commenting, "The only way I was able to convince Rhis that she shouldn't eat firestone," yes, yes, she heard the lecture from the Weyrsecond, "was showing her exactly what comes up afterwards. And that you have to get rid of that afterwards?" A hand waves in front of Mayte's nose to mime the horrible smelling of it, "You have my sympathies there." Oh and things were going so well. Mayte pauses her perusal again and shakes her head: "It won't. You can rest easy on that." That comes out a lot more convincingly, and then Mayte adds, "Tasna's got a level head. She'll be…" Mayte's brow furrows to remember the words, "A credit to any Wing that takes her on." How's that for formal recognition? Get it? Formal recognition?

Majel does permit herself a small smile at the concept of Rhiscorath confronting regurgitated firestone ash. What would that be filed under? R for revolting? "It's an unpleasant necessity. But we'll both get used to it." It's firm: they really don't have a choice in the matter. For Mayte's reassurance, there's a short nod and a terse, "Good." Waving the shopkeeper over, she makes a small purchase of two spools of light and dark thread, the sort meant for everyday mending of socks and taking in of hems. "I'm going to take these up and give Dyx a bath before it gets too late." There's a pause before she collects her purchase, brow knitting slightly before she falls back on formality. "Give Rhiscorath our best. See you for calisthenics and drills in the morning."

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