Who

Ginger, evka

What

Two candidates work on two very different robes. Candidate Bingo log.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Nighthearth, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 24 Jun 2018 23:00

 

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Nighthearth

A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.


It's close enough to supper time that chores are done, but it's not quite time to eat yet, and it's too sharding hot to be outside. So, candidates can be found scattered within the weyr's caverns, doing this or that or the other thing. One particular candidate, has found a comfortable hidey-hole near the banked fires of the nighthearth, her sewing supplies spread out around her Reveka is squinting, working some eloquent stitching in a shade of egg white onto the hem of what seems an altered sort of candidate robe, it's certainly got more form and flare than most robes, though still remains appropriately demure. Then again, this fashionista isn't letting herself be seen in something akin to what might as well be the Pernese equivilent of a moomoo. Having some of her old fire back has Reveka on the 'warpath' with her robe, something to focus on other than her own swirling thoughts.

Ginger is no fashonista, but she too is seeking a cool spot to ply her needle. She arrives with a small workbasket slung over one arm. It contains a white garment folded over her equipment and supplies. She claims an armchair by the simple expedient of leaving the basket on it while she goes to pour herself a mug of klah, and sets that carefully on the floor before she sits down and starts to unpack what she's brought. But here's another candidate! "Hello there. Are you… Reveka?" She hasn't actually spoken to the recent arrival yet. "I'm Ginger. Is that your robe?" Her own is shaken out to reveal that the garment is in fact finished, apart from one little problem. She adds sourly, "I put my foot into the hem of mine last time I had it on," And there's the fallen hem, sagging at the bottom of the garment for a surprising distance.

Reveka blinks and looks upward, klah colored eyes raking a moment to focus on the person speaking to her. "Hmm? Oh, yes. I'm Reveka." A little bit of paranoia creeps in. What had this other candidate heard? Yes. She sees the knot. "Well met Ginger." Still, she's sociable and plants a smile on her lips. "Aye, I opted to make one from scratch. All the used ones were so formless…" She eyes the garment Ginger pulls out and tries not to smile too much. "Might have been a bit much eh?" Was she the only one here standing for the first time?

Ginger looks over at Reveka's robe. "That's… different. Distinctive. It'd be a shame if anything happened to it on the Sands, the amount of work you must have put in. Have you shown it to anyone?" She means, anyone in authority. She holds up her own robe. "Mine's just plain." It is, too: it's entirely lacking in decoration, and while it isn't a sack, there's only enough shaping to make it look as if it's a reasonable fit at bust and waist. It won't cling, and it won't emphasise what little she has by way of curves. It does fall to below her knees, and the skirt has enough material in it that she could run away from an irate dragonet if she had to. Closer inspection will reveal that it's well-made, however, with properly finished seams and an invisible hem. Well, invisible except for where it's coming down. Whoever made it apparently knows how to sew.

Reveka shrugs. "If something happens, it happens, it would not be the first outfit I've lost to Grand performances." She shakes her head no, when asked if she shown her robe to someone of authority, not having actually done so yet. "Am I supposed to? Talya saw it when I started it… " Lower lip is now chewed in thought as she looks over her robe of white.

Ginger frowns at the question. "It doesn't hurt, if you're doing something a bit different. Better than risking the powers-that-be deciding it's too glittery or something at the last minute." She inspects the hem of her robe for a few moments, then wrinkles her lips. "I think I'm going to let the hem down, seeing as it's half down anyway. I've grown since I made it." She fishes in her basket, produces a tiny stitch-ripper with a wooden handle and a sharp point, and starts unpicking the rest of the hem. "So, how are you finding it at Southern? And where were you Searched from?"

Reveka nods. "Aye, that might be best then eh?" She's gotten a bit too used to not having anyone to answer to really. And no one had ever questioned her performance outfits. So, this is something new to get used to. "Thanks for the advice!" Bending her head back to her own stitching, Reveka smiles. "One tends to do that as one gets older, be glad you had the forethought to add extra fabric back then." Better safe than sorry, right? Ginger's questioning causes a stilling of Reveka's hands and she has to take a deep, cleansing breath before answering, her chest tight with melancholy and home sickness and heartache. "I find I quite like it here in Southern, the weather suits me." Her voice is a bit softer too. "I was searched on Southern soil….. but I'm from up north." Where up north? She's not exactly telling yet, maybe in a little while, but even the word Igen is torture to say still.

Pick, pick, pick… It's an unexciting job, but it goes fairly quickly, as long as Ginger keeps her eyes on the work. A little pile of broken threads gradually grows on the arm of the chair as she pulls them out of the fabric, but the concentration means that Ginger isn't noticing Reveka's reaction to her question. She therefore asks the obvious question. "Really? Whereabouts? I'm from the north originally too, but I came here when I was a babe." The last few ends of thread join the pile, as she admits, "The forethought was my Ma's. I did the sewing, but she made the pattern. It had little tucks in that I've already let out, too. She's a seamstress, so she knows about that sort of thing."

"Oh, all over really, mostly the desert, grew up in the caravans." Good vague answer Reveka. "A seamstress eh? Lucky avian. I had to beg our caravan weaver to teach me because purchasing his works can take a life salary."

Unfortunately, Ginger only knows about one desert. "Igen area, then? I was born at the Weyr there - got loads of relatives over there still. One of my cousins Impressed not so long ago, the lucky woman." She returns the stitch-ripper to her basket and produces a pincushion instead, complete with pins. Then she starts to flatten out the folded hem and re-pin it, using a finger joint as a crude measure of where to pin. "Ma's pretty good. She made me learn basic sewing even though I hated it, but I suspect I'll be glad of it one day."

Reveka flinches. Damn. No getting away from that one. She'd given too good of a clue. "Aye…. Igen." The word may be a bit strained, "More the desert than the actual weyr, but my caravan has deals there, and they now spend most of the turn there. Who was your cousin?" That bit interests Reveka, because gossip to the Zingari is like bread and wine. "It's a damn fine skill to learn, damn servicable too….. had to stitch someone up once, was glad then I knew how to sew."
Reveka sighs and begins packing her things away, her stomach grumbles loudly.

Ginger keeps pinning, but she stops to look up at Reveka with sudden interest. "You had to sew up a person? That's pretty good, to be able to do that." Her eyes return to her work as she continues, "My cousin's called Ainslee. She was a seamstress, too, before she got her blue. Her father's my Ma's brother, uncle G'vain." She looks up. "Oh, are you off? I guess it's dinner time. I'll just get this pinned before I pack up."

Reveka nods. "Aye, my belly is givin' me the fits, time to eat it says!" Reveka continues to gather her things as she talks. "Oh yes! I saw her impress along with my…." Reveka cuts herself off short, like, really short, "Someone I know too. Lucky group that one." Things all gathered, Reveka tumbles them into a basket and straightens. "It was really nice to meet you Ginger, I hope we get to sit and talk again sometime." She gives a slight bow, since her hands are full, and graces the woman with a bright smile.

"Sure! And let's hope someone's saying that about us in a few sevendays, too! See you later - in the barracks if I don't see you at dinner." Ginger returns the other girl's smile, raises a hand in a parody of the salute they're supposed to give all dragonriders, and then returns to her work until the task is finished.

Reveka meanders off then, to find her meal, and a place to sit that does not require her to crowd someone with her sewing basket.

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