Who

Sorvani, Finn

What

In which there are incidental sock-puppets, disappointing parcels and icky gourds. And some ill-considered advice, support from Finn to Sorvani. With apologies to Rev.

When

It is evening of the sixteenth day of the tenth month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Stores

Boxes, everywhere: some are buried beneath the fugue of dust and spinner-webs, thrust unceremoniously into unseen corners, full of mysterious contents, their solid lids as yet unbroached. Still others line the dirt-smeared walls, damage evident in the caved-in sides or lids set askew. Littering the floor, debris has been left piled in disorganization, left untouched by inattentive drudges and administrative staff. Dull glows splutter feebly in their worn baskets, and the air is fusty and moist, shrouded in the humidity that is Igen. Moisture collects, languid, in the corners of the cavern, lending their own fragrance of mildew and green, growing things,while the occasional dry scratch of scales suggests inhabitants one might not want to inspect too closely.


Sorvani has escaped the bustle and throng of the ever increasing candidate class as soon as humanly possible. And now she's fossicking through the stores, generally being nosy. Chalk and slate are at hand to provide an excuse for her being here, but otherwise she's just aimlessly wandering the stone room, inspecting the contents as the whim strikes her. Dinner is over, and curfew isn't for a while, and with the new faces constantly flooding the roster it is likely that no-one really will come looking for her.

It's a candidate tradition to escape the dormitory for the relative seclusion of the Stores. It's too late to slip out into the Weyr. And too early to call it a night. Though… Finn yawns audibly. Stretching in a bone-cracking, muscle-quivering rictus before slumping and scratchingat his ribs. Mmmmm …Finn could call it a night. He sighs out the yawned in breath and rubs at his eyerow with the back of a wrist. "Whozere?" He calls out quietly, blinking in the direction of quiet fossicking. He's at his robe. Still. And has stubbornly refused help. Though as the eggs harden and his robe is making progress only glacially, the day may come when he has to ask.

"Oh sweet Faranth!" Sorvani exclaims, her face presently buried in a box full of feathers. Seriously? Feathers? Attempting to shove those displaced by her expletive back into the box (And failing miserably) she continues. "You're a smith right Finn? Can you make teeny-tiny bells?" The glance she gives him is sharply amused, although there is a lingering hardness to her eyes. Still the need to pace is almost instinctive as she moves to the next box. "Do you have any brothers?" Preferably closer to her age. "Cousins? Actually what are trader men like?" The same instinct that has her pacing, also appears to have unloosened her tongue. Although the thread between comments are lost, or remain unspoken.

Finn laughs, holding out a hand in forbearance, "Easy Vani." He nods and opens his mouth to answer, but then there's a barrage of questions. Rapid-fire. The thread between the comments not difficult to divine. The thread is men. Doesn't take a Starcrafter to work that out. (Does it Elle?) Well, it's men after that bit about bells. "I am. Sure. I could. Probably better to see a jeweller though. I don't really have the tools for it." His brow furrows. The other questions seem more pressing… at least, to Sorvani, so he shifts, straightening and considers. "One older brother. And a dragonweight of cousins." Brows loft, crinkling Finn's brow, that querulous canine look, "Uh. I… what?" Brow furrowing, "I mean… Dashing. Handsome. Brave. Dashing. Industrious."

"You said dashing twice…" She points out helpfully, the next box opened to reveal….Socks! ALL of the left (or leftover) socks ever, for the entire history of Igen Weyr. Or that's how it appears given the size of the box, and how full it is. "How'd they treat their women though?" She asks, distracted by the cleanish (really what's totally clean in Igen? Aside from the dragons) sock she's put on one hand, shoving the toes in towards her palm she makes a mouth. HISSSSS. LOOK she made a tunnel-snake. "Jewellers are expensive." The bells are not abandoned after all, she slides the sock off her hand and dropping it back with its mates. Time for the next box! The pacing continues.

"Caught that, did ya? Well," hand to breast, Finn lifts his chin, face angled away, light falling across the noble planes of his face and whattya know. Dashing. Maybe even double-dashing, "'s just true." There's a trap here in this conversation, Finn's Finny-senses are tingling. "How…?" He pauses to laugh at the snake-puppet, eyes lighting up. "What, and I'm cheap? No. I'd pass along all the cost of the tools I'd have to get to work on that scale to you." Lucky Sorvani! The way he's grinning means it's a joke, right? He stitches a loop or two, brows furrowed, at his work or at Sorvani's line of questioning. He taps the crate right next to him. "C'mere. What's eatin' you Vani?" C'mere and tell ol' Finn all about it.

No sitting! No stillness! Sorvani does pace closer however. "Nah, none of the guys would wear them anyway." She dismisses the bells finally with a flap of her hand. Squatting she pulls a cloth-wrapped package from a shelf near the floor. "You know my parents are dead right?" She launches right into the problem without pre-amble, although her attention is rivetted in the gentle unwrapping of the mysterious package. "That's fine, I've had time to deal with it. But it's also given me time to be a little more independent…you know?" Strips of the fine fabric fall away. "I've had to make my own choices, without the instruction of a man." Oh that kind of independent.

Huh? "Maybe a Zingari guy would?" Finn offers the last bit 'would' rising it pitch and slowing in tempo. Is that helpful? He blinks rapidly at that revelation, heart squeezing. "No, I didn't." He listens, quietly, eyes going back and forth from stitching, to Sorvani, to the thing she's unwrappi- OW. Eyes on the needle, boyo. He winces at his finger, drawing the offended digit out from under the cloth and sucking on it. HYGIENIC. Shaking it out before going back to work. His finger has a heartbeat now. Get any blood on the robe? Don't look too closely at the stitching. There might be more. Maybe the dragons would like it? "Whaddya mean 'instruction?'" Finn's stitching pauses as he watches Sorvani for revelations. Whether of package or inner truths.

Sorvani rolls her eyes at Finn, but it's gentle and affectionate. "You know… Do this! Don't do that! Don't be a dirty dirty slut! Marry this man!" Those kinds of instructions. "I mean I get it when I'm working, but when I'm alone…I don't have to worry about it any more." She smiles softly. "I'm kind of in a weird position at the moment. Too young to marry, to old to foster." She she scowls, her thin fingers ripping the fabric ungently. "But according to Threvobek, I'm a lump of metal to rust and tarnish." Seriously. "I don't need protection." Well not any more at least. "I don't need to be sheltered. I know my own mind." Each short sentence is accompanied by another tug. Damn this thing is well wrapped.

Finn blinks. Is… Sorvani telling him that in the absence of a father, she's a dirty slut? Because that's… weird. AH. Threvobek. "Tarnish?" Finn cocks his head. Face crumpling, Finn thinks. And thinking is hard sometimes. He thinks and thinks. "Mmmm, and no one to give you away." No dowry. "Threvobek said what now?" She's all over the place. Finn's expression says, Um? Eloquently. Brows knitted. "We all of us need protection sometimes. Folk what care about us." Light blue eyes are sympathetic. Sad, even? "Can't imagine grownin' up without my family. Naggin'. Frettin'." Finn'd given out a good share of the Reika's gray hairs. He narrows a look at Sorvani, nose wrinkling, "Frustrating, having folks around who care." He grins, eyes dropping to that wrapped bundle. Maybe it's more socks. Finn would like to see Sorvani's rendition of sock-Shalnth and sock-Rhiscorath.

"But he doesn't care?" Sorvani replies immediately. "He's more concerned about my sensibilities to even consider I have the sense to work it out for myself." She snorts. "He assumes because I'm young I haven't experienced life, like I'm some blind idiot-child." She sighs, fingers falling still for a moment. "My mother died in childbirth, I'm not going to race out and screw every guy I meet because I read something in a moldy old journal. I'm Not. Stupid!" Oh yeah, there's the grumpy! "Given what my father was like, I'm extremely thankful I don't have more family." They're like total opposites in that regard.

"Tell 'im you're gold, then. Doesn't rust or tarnish." A bright smile from Finn to Sorvani. He rolls his eyes about one bit, though, and snorts, "Yeah. You should hear my younger sister lay into me sometimes. Like I don't have the sense to come in outta the rain." In fact, he'd stood out in plenty of rainstorms, so this is probably not the best example, but ONARI'S NOT HERE. "Journal?" The glowbaskets are thrown open. "THAT?" Finn laughs now. Like, long, belly laughs. "Yeah, I remember that tarnish comment. That saucy drawing is a landscape." He laughs again and fishes the journal out of a belt pouch. He's taken to carrying it around to study in free moments. Hahaha. Free moments. "Here." He leans out and offers it to Sorvani.

"Exactly!" Yay Finn gets it! Reaching for the journal she snorts. "He even suggested I talk to you about metals. Guess that'll bite him in the bum…if I ever speak to him again." Which is highly unlikely if she has anything to do with it. "And thank you." She reaches out to give his knee-cap the briefest of grateful squeezes. "When does it rain in Igen?" She teases, her humor returning as she opens the journal to the first page. Boring. "I'm still trying to figure out why people want 'it' so much." She admits, tipping the journal upwards for a moment before carefully placing it to the side. There is still treasure to uncover. Eventually, the linen parts to reveal….

"Did he?" Finn shrugs, "Well. I can sorta see his point too." Finn ponders, head tipped to the side, "Ya heat a metal too fast and it's soft at the core. Doesn't come to full strength like if you take your time with it. Working metal is about patience." Are they talking about forging now or… is this the Smith's version of the avians and VTOLS? She did say she hadn't had a man around to explain things. Finn's brows raise and he turns attention back to his stitching, "Though, that's not really much to do with rust or tarnish. I'm usually done with a piece before that happens." A 'piece.' One can hope he's still talking about forging. "He's a good guy. Rev. Good to have around."

More linen, seeing as SOMEONE totally dropped the ball. With a sigh of disappointment she abandons the bundle of rags. "Whoa! No plans to ever let anyone do…" Words fail her. Finn has failed her. "…any heating. Fast or otherwise." She stands, stretching her legs since she's been squatting so long. "But I'm not a piece of FUCKING METAL." Pacepacepace. "And I'm sure he is. He doesn't consider you an object. It's easy to be good to a person." Oooh whats in this jar? She stoops to investigate.

Oh, yeah, that is a let down. It could have at LEAST been socks. "No?" Finn's brows raise. Well that's terrible. Cuz. CUZ. "No, you're not." But she has nicely encapsulated the two sides of the conversation, the real and the metaphorical, rather nicely with her outburst. "I don't think he…" Finn blinks. He doesn't know what Rev thinks. Actually. He looks up from his stitching to watch Sorvani pacepacepace. Why's she so fussed with Re- - - OH. More unshuttered glowbaskets. Hmmm. He leans over to peer at the jar too. Curious Finn is curious. And then stitching. After a moment, Finn smiles real slow, to himself mostly, looking down at the stitches. They're nice and neat, he's got an even hand. No wonder it's taking him a month of restdays. "Sorvani?" his eyes flick up, "Have you ever kissed anybody?" He's not teasing. "Someone you liked?" He's not talking about weyrbrats daring one another to press face.

Clearly all of the socks were in that box right? The jar contains a few desecated grains of something not particularly interesting, so she's off again. Sorvani's pacing stops for a second. "What?" That face, that variation of side-eye and wtf-ery returns, only to fade into the rosiest blush yet. "No." Nor is she likely to because she can't even. Euw, Cooties! "What kind of question is that?" Sure she's ranting and raving, but is it really the appropriate time to discuss this?

"An important question. 'It,'" Finn's brows raise, the weight on the word same as Sorvani's from earlier, "Is worth all the hullaballoo." See, Finn's been paying attention in the Harper classes. Which have an AWFUL lot more vocabulary lessons than in Candidacies past. Finn's not even blushing a little. He's just sittin' there, stitching away, as if this were the most normal thing ever. Talking to a veritible stranger about intimacies. "You got a good head on your shoulders, Sorvani." A beat, a stitch, "Good head, good heart. You'll be fine."

Sorvani clearly remains unconvinced, this is communicated by the height that her brow is now risen. "Uh-huh." But she'll roll with it. Her pacing has slowed, but she's still moving. Gotta keep movin'. The ass end of a gourd sticking out of the ever present dust captures her attention, bending she picks it up and notices a stopper. Stoppers need to be opened, so she does. Euw! She carefully replaces that gourd on a shelf. "What's that got to do with anything?" She asks perplexed, unused to unexpected praise no doubt. "You're not so bad yourself." She returns a compliment with glowing praise (for her) of her own.

Finn's brow furrows, again. You could probably plant in his forehead now, so tilled, has it been with all the furrowing. Fresh topsoil of confusion and concern. Fertile ground. But… he's not too worried about Sorvani because she's that unconvinced. She's not in a hurry, see? That… might not be the right tack to take. But tacking is about sailing and what does he know about sailing anyway. Nothing. He shrugs, "Ya think things through." Sorta. By Finn's reckoning. Don't go by it. Really. "Um." In case he's not being clear, "You're not an idiot child?" Who's gonna go screw guys because of a moldy old journal. Speaking of which, "I want that back tomorrow morning before PT." He gestures at the journal put aside.

"Blind idiot-child." Sorvani corrects, the start of a wry smile tickling the corners of her mouth. But more seriously. "Of course I think things through. That's my whole point." Except for the times she doesn't. But she has stopped that moving. Instead her dark eyes focus on nothing in particular and she chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Yeah sure." She agrees quickly. "Before PT, right." She mumbles, before a wicked little smile lights up her features. "Thanks Finn. This has been…helpful."

Finn gives Sorvani a look, narrowed eyes, but his lips are a giveaway, twitching. He pauses when she stills, some inner sense tingling. Uh oh. What has Finn done? The things set in motion today may reverberate in the annals of Igen for turns. Or… yanno. A seven?

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