Tahi, F'in


Tahi is looking for a present, F'in helps. Clutchmates catch up.


It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the second month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr

OOC Date 08 Oct 2017 07:00


tahi_default.jpg f-in_default.jpg

"How, uh… is this a good friend?"



Only by sheer willpower has this room turned to the better in the last decade — for it once was an ominous room of discord and decay, but no more. Boxes and bins are everywhere, sorted in meticulous order. Glows hang from regular interval, the painstaking commodity of all fanatical storekeepers: light, to better see those who return items they got from Bin A into Bin B. Moisture collects in the air, a long-running war between those assigned to work these halls and the air itself — so far, the workers seem to be winning, but in the end, everyone dies.

"Ow," comes a muffled, unhappy sound from underneath a shelf in a dark corner in the stores — but this is not a lead in to a murder mystery or a horror film, so the 'ow' is followed by another quieter bang and foot-shuffling noises, rather than blood-curdling screams. Because its bearer is Tahi, there is also no muffled swearing. "No, Golgrainth, your directions are not helping — " And then from that dark corner there is light, as the glow the greenrider was carrying blinks back on again. She's weaving between shelves, noting that things have been moved from where they were two sevens ago (which is, of course, perfectly normal for such a busy space). There's definitely a drive to find something in particular, but it's not the series of dishes she appears to have found.

F'in has grown altogether too dignified to snatch moments with his paramours somewhere like the Stores. Particularly since the Weyrwoman's efforts to tame the entropy of sand and humanity are, by all measures, succeeding. From darkness in another aisle there's some quiet rustling, grunts. After the flare of light from Tahi's glow, silence. And, finally, a throat, quietly cleared. "You okay there?"

"Hm? Oh — " The question was actually meant for Tahi, and she straightens up to look around the corner of shelves to try to place the speaker. "Yes. I simply stood up too fast while looking for something that was not where I thought it was. Kitchenware and baby blankets are far from the same department." She's still squinting, trying to place where everything has been reorganized since her last visit. "The new assistant headwoman, I have heard she is smart and efficient, maybe she moved things about?" If it's Magdaline's fault it is at least undoubtedly going to all be positive improvements. Tahi just doesn't know where to look for baby blankets.

There's some more shifting and grunting. The man's voice is likely to be unmistakeable. That mutty Bitran brogue muddied with a half-dozen other dialects. All the same, recognizeable or not, he shuffles into deeper darkness. "Can't say I've worked out th' new scheme. I'm sure it's fine." There's a flash of color. Red? "Seems as clean an' organized in 'ere as I've ever seen 't." He looks up and sees Tahi's face lit by glowlight. "Tahi." There's another clearing of his throat, "C'n ya gimme a 'and, 'ere?" The Weyrleader steps forward into the light. His arm is trapped agianst his head, both arm and head trying to use the same neckhole - too small - and his other arm put elbow first (and trapped) in one of the sleeves. A single pale-blue eye peeks out at the greenrider, "'re ya lookin fer kitchenware 'r baby blankets?" Yes, altogether too dignified indeed.

At first, Tahi smiles; then she wrinkles her nose and eyes up a little and looks to be trying not to laugh. "I do not think it fits," she points out, though she does as asked and tries to help the Weyrleader's arm (and then, presumably, head) out of the sleeve. "Or if it does fit, it does not fit at quite that angle? Baby blankets, a friend is about to have a baby and so I thought I would bring something helpful but dishware — " Dishware is not going to work very well.

Seams stretch near to bursting before their combined efforts resolve almost all at once into F'in wearing the red tunic. "Thanks." He runs hands down the front, smoothing it. "Whaddya think?" Something curious flutters against his fingers and he looks down. Ach. The tunic is inside out. He reaches for the hem and puts a hand out to Tahi, "Ya might want ta stand back." In a blink he's got the thing stripped off and is flipping it inside out. Or outside in. How it wasn't. "Oh, I should do that. 'Nari's expecting 'er first." F'in beams, bright as if it were his own. "Aye, no. Ye'll want something, ah, softer 'n dishware." It should be noted there aren't any textiles at all where F'in is. "Think I saw some o'er 'is way." He points with a gesture and begins moving in that direction, foxed by a fastener that's caught. "'ow're you an' Golgrainth?"

Squinting still, Tahi manages a, "Something is still off," before F'in seems to figure it out and she does exactly that. With the getting out of the way. And then moving in the direction guided, where hopefully baby blankets actually are! "Yes, that may be better — oh, congratulations on the impending niece or nephew, though I assume not in the next couple of weeks?" Tahi's friend, it seems, is genuinely about to have that baby. A couple of weeks, or tomorrow, that's about how specific childbirth so often is! "I am well enough, she is — she cannot complain, which does not stop her from trying."

The real question is: Is there a baby section? Probably. There are an awful lot of babies who routinely and inexorably grow out of things that will need to be re-used. F'in pads along companionably, "No, it'll be some months fer 'Nari." He picks up on that unspoken thread of urgency (Thread is always urgent) and points again, then pauses. He tips up on his toes and peers around, skin pebbled with the relative cool of the Stores, scrimshaw scars gleaming in dim light. He grunts and tips down, recalibrating their path through the myriad stacks of goods with another gesture ahead. He lags back to throw the tunic on now that he's gotten it all sorted. He laughs, it's a bright happy sound echoing starngely, ringing on hard surfaces and muted by soft. "Mouthy, is she?" He nudges Tahi with an elbow, "D'ya finish th' drawing of that wee flit?" It's WELL grown by now.

"I have a few albums of them," Tahi says with a light smile; firelizards are often her best and most reliable models. It's easy to get them to stay in place with bribes of food. Humans move too much. Dragons forget what they're doing — sleeping dragons are pretty easy, though. "Find yourself needing firelizard art for your office? They pose well. Golgrainth is always nothing but … commentary." Much of which she is still providing about Tahi's TERRIBLE sense of direction that needs SO MUCH WORK WHY CAN'T SHE FIND ANYTHING THEY CLEANED UP IN HERE DON'T YOU KNOW, but none of that's getting relayed. "Thankfully she does not fit down here. These are blankets, just too big." It's a start!

"I saw some shears back there." The locked section where expensive crafted goods are stored. F'in tosses a thumb over his shoulder. He makes scissor fingers at the big blankets. Voila! "Maybe o' Trill." His brow furrows, where has she gotten to? "'r my ol' wagon." Too late for Garf. "'r Rhakanth. I think 'e'd pose for ya." And by 'pose' F'in means 'sit there and stare off into the distance thinking unknowable and strange thoughts.' "It's a blessin' sometimes, I think, Rhakanth doesn't share s'much." He pulls bins from the shelves, peering, digging. Nope. No baby blankets here. OH! He turns and faces Tahi, drawing up, "Whaddya think?" The tunic is on properly now. All limbs and extremities occupying their expected openings. Fasteners fastened. Right side out. By a small miracle, front side forward.

Staring off into space and sleeping are generally the best ways to get dragons into artwork. When they're dragons in front of one's eyes, and not theoretical dragons, but Tahi has never been one for making up murals. The only sketches she does without models are the ones she does for the wing, and that's more often than not taking description. Looking up from the blankets she's rifling through, Tahi nods once, approving: "Now it fits. And yes, I think you would be right to appreciate a quiet dragon. Golgrainth has never been that. He would make a good model, Rhakanth. Ah." She has found a baby blanket. It's REALLY UGLY, but it's a start.

That's the second start so far! Third time's the charm. "Ach. Woman. 'at's all ya got? 'It fits.'" He cranes his head back to try and look at himself and grunts, giving up. "I'm not sure what ta make of 'im 'alf th' time. I'm pretty sure 'e's smarter 'an me. It's a little scary, ta tell ya true." Which isn't saying a lot, let's be honest. "Oh! Good!" F'in beams and scoots over to look at Tahi's prize. "Oh." His mouth rounds, a forced smile settling in place. "How, uh… is this a good friend?"

"It is a great improvement over how it previously did not fit," Tahi continues, though that grin now makes it look like she's being just as playful as she is literal. All of this is good, important information! Can't go out in clothes that don't fit, are worn backward, and have your arm in a head hole. "He is definitely smarter than Golgrainth, though do not let her hear me say that." « I HEARD THAT. » Tahi keeps ignoring her, "We were close when we were younger, I think I owe her something in a better … color." Which eventually she will find, with F'in's help, even if they are looking through hideous, scratchy blankets another thirty minutes. There's probably a prize found for Onari's future baby in there as well: something soft and appropriately non-garish.

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