Who

Finn, Linny

What

Linny drops by to see Finn after her installation.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr, Caravan Grounds, Reika Encampment

OOC Date

 

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Caravan Grounds

Deep grooves in the hard packed earth criss-cross a large patch of denuded ground, bearing mute testament to the caravans that frequent this area. Despite the midden holes set back a ways from the main center of traffic, the air is sweet, redolent with the sagebrush that forms a loose perimeter around the flattened expanse. In what is as close to its center as the vague boundaries suggest, a stone ringed fire pit has been dug and surrounded with the odd log or two, ash overflowing from its darkly blackened core.

It is the twenty-eighth day of Winter and 34 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


The morning sun is nearing its crest and one of the warmest places IN the whole encampment is Finn's forge. For a change, rather than being at the fringes of things, noisy craft that it is, folk are clustered around, taking advantage of the heat put off by the forgefire, coals glowing and flaring as Finn pumps the bellows. The young trader helps an old Auntie up off of the stool where she'd been knitting (there's a regular stitch and bitch forming), and he dimples at her when she pats his cheek with wrinkled leathery hands, knitting tucked into a basket. The other Aunties murmur amongst themselves, darting looks at him, some fond, some disapproving, all the while the click-click-click of their needles underscores the -now-resumed- musical ringing of Finn's hammer. Ting-ting-ta-ting. Ting-ting-ta-ting.

In walks a rather exhausted looking Linny, for once actually looking her age, or perhaps even older, but instead of looking tired and dirty for having been awake for more than a day, now she just looks tired and freshly bathed, slightly damp waves bouncing behind her. Having spent a great majority of her life at High Reaches, the goldrider seems mostly immune to the cold, though she has bundled up slightly, at least opting to wear pants as opposed to her usual dress. Too cold to walk around like that without panties on. The woman seems to be walking on auto-pilot, only managing a slight offered smile for the Aunties, as she walks towards Finn, and when she reaches him, she puts her forehead against his back, letting out a tired groan.

At the goldrider's arrival the aged Aunties struggle to their feet and drop respectful, if creaky, curtsies. Word had reached the encampment of Linny's installation as Igen's newest Weyrwoman. Their dark eyes follow her progress past them to young Finn, some clucking VERY quietly in disapproval as they resume their perches. Or, maybe they're just uncomfortable in the cold. Old bones, you see. Finn tenses at that touch, hammer pausing in its rhythm. A sunny grin splits his face, Rukbat's rays abeam, "Linny!" He twists around to kiss her on the cheek, pressing his forehead to hers briefly, eyes bright as he asks, "Step back a bit?" Dangerous work here. "Cold makes this chancier than normal," Ting-ting-ta-ting. Ting-ting-ta-ting. Over his shoulder, "Congratulations! I just heard this morning!" A flash of teeth bright against work-stained scruff.

Linny takes a step back as instructed, if a little slow and extra careful due to being so sleep deprived and around such dangerous things, though she's mindful enough to shoot the Aunties a silencing look. She's not in the mood to defend her relationship with Finn, especially not with gossipy old women. "Thanks. Though I've only been brought on because of the current disaster going on with the cotholds. Been up all night researching and reading, and then this morning had a meeting with everyone to decide what we're going to do, and my day isn't even close to being over. I'll be lucky if I get to sleep again tonight." Right hand reaches up to run through damp hair, fluffing it up slightly as she finishes the motion, going to cross arms over her chest, careful not to touch her gloved left hand in the process. "What are you working on?"

Ting-ting-ta-ting. Ting-ting-ta-ting. Finn shifts at the mention of the cotholders, with nary a bump in the smooth rhythm of hammerstrokes. Ting-ting-ta-ting. Ting-ting-ta-ing. Jaw muscles bunch, "And what did you decide?" He's still talking over his shoulder, facing away from Linny, so he doesn't see the ginger treatment of her still-healing hand. Ting-ting-ta-ting. "Linny. You'll think clearer with rest." He pauses, hammer poised and fixes Linny with a curious squinty look. "Have you slept?" It doesn't suit him.

"Well, I can't necessarily say what we decided, at least in public, since we're trying to figure out who is leaking sweeps information. If it is, in fact, someone." Linny bows her head to scratch at her forehead, perhaps doing so to cover up a little yawn, but then she's shaking her head at his question, carefully putting her right hand back where it was around her. "No. Found Sadaiya and Mayte in the caverns last night, they told me what was going on, and I got to work right away. Haven't had time to sleep." But knowing that Finn probably isn't going to be happy about that, right hand raises again to flap around. "I'll take a nap later." Maybe. Probably not.

Finn's brows climb his forehead at 'leaking sweeps information.' He tenses, head dropping, even as he continues hammering away. "Why don't you take a nap while I finish this," he nods off towards his wagon. "Hinges," by the way. He answers her question from earlier. "I'll wake you up when I'm done," in the best possible way.

"No." It's as simple as that really. Stubborn to her core, Linny's not about to admit that she's tired after pulling her all-nighter, especially when there's still more work to be done. "I don't know how busy I'll be later, so this might be the only time I get to see you today. I want to get to spend time with you when I can, unless you want to spend the night tonight and sleep while I work." Even if Linny's bed is super comfy now. "Speaking of, I'm having my things moved into my new weyr as we speak. Just wait until you see it," smile wide with excitement when it comes to her new home. "It's beautiful."

Finn rumbles, jaw clenching. He takes up tongs, and puts the soon-to-be hinges back on the coals. Stripping off his gloves he turns back to Linny, taking her jaws in either hand and -as is his wont- kissing her breathless. "I'm sure it is," her weyr. Beautiful. He straightens, hands still at her jaws, thumbs brushing her cheeks, then stilling as he braces her face in his hands, "Go sleep," intent. His expression softens, mouth twitching at the corner, "I, uh, I like the idea of you waking up in there." And then his hands roll down her shoulders, teasing her hands free of their foldedness. He lifts both hands to his face, Linny's fingers folded over his own, pressed to his mouth, light eyes looking at Linny over her knuckles. Full on charm offensive, Finn-style.

It's obvious the way Linny melts under his touches, going from steadfast conviction with arms crossed over her chest to being practically a teenager swooning over her man. Even if she has to tense her body momentarily as the healing skin on her left hand pulls and tugs, it's totally worth it, and even more worth it to not let him see the pain it causes her. Dark eyes, filled with emotion, stare back at him for a few silent moments before her head starts nodding slowly. "Just don't let me sleep too long, okay? I really did want to spend some time with you." And here he is making her sleep! If she wasn't so tired, she'd definitely be more offended.

Offended, whatever for?! If she wasn't so tired she'd realize he was looking after her. Silly women and their silly stubbornness. Because FINN wasn't stubborn. Nooooo. "Hang on," he releases Linny's hands and drops out of sight for a moment, rummaging under his workbench. "Lemme put this in the wagon first. Warm it up," a metal pot. He's picked it up with his gloves buffering his skin. Within the pot, coals glow, radiating heat. "Right back," He hustles off with the pot and -somehow, with no hands- manages to unlatch his door, disappearing inside the wagon momentarily.

Linny watches him go with that pot, no doubting the look of love and adoration clear on her face as she stands there, but it's only a moment before the Aunties pull her attention back to them, ears having caught some disapproving words about the previous exchange (of saliva) between the two of them. "Oh, don't you have anything better to gossip about? Surely there has to be some young girl around here knocked up out of wedlock that you should be talking about," she snaps, dark eyes narrowing briefly before looking back in the direction of Finn's wagon to check on his progress.

Probably knocked up because of Finn. Whhhhhaaaaaaat?! Not really. Maybe? No. Finn comes back out, hopping off the last step, landing with both feet at the same time before looking up and smiling at Linny. He's carrying a teapot and pauses to break a skim of ice off of his water barrel before ladling up water into the pot. Looped over the fingers of his hand, a half-dozen or more mismatched and chipped teacups. This makes ladling a challenge, but he manages before ambling back to the forgefire and settling the teapot on a burner set into banked coals off to the side. There's already a pot of sweetener nearby. Maybe not the first time he's made forge-tea. "While we wait," is his explanation to Linny as he sweeps by. Hands freed he sweeps Linny into a great big Finn hug, lifting her off the ground and burying his face in her neck. "Congratulations," again. He'd said that already right?

Dark brown eyes watch every movement of his until she's wrapped up in that hug, eyes squeezing shut as she laughs softly against him with the sound ending in a soft, content sigh. "Thank you. It's nice to know I'll be staying here, that I have a home now." Since Linny has travelled Pern since arriving from the Oldtime, bouncing from Weyr to Weyr. The goldrider pulls back so she can look at him, and although her eyes are tired, her smile is anything but. However, it doesn't take long for her face to smooth, turning serious, eyes studying his as if looking for an answer to an unasked question. In the end, she opts to voice that question. Or statement, really. "Come live with me."

"Staying somewhere doesn't make it a home," says the trader. It's simple for him, "People make a home. Family." And she's got that now. Roslin. D'ren. Linden. R'nar. Kaelidyth. Though she always had Kaelidyth. He loosens his arms and lets her slide down his chest, squinting over a tight-lipped smirk. "And be a kept man? Not for me." He turns to tug his gloves back on and take up the tongs and hammer, that piece is way hotter than he should have let it get, registered in a flash of knitted brows, "Plus, I need to be here. Working. Taking care of," Onari, "my family, my contracts." Finn has a home already. He will always have one, son of the Wagonmaster, unless he turns his back on everything and goes off to shack up with a queenrider.

Linny luckily has a steadfast and true poker face, and so when he wastes no time in rejecting her offer, the goldrider doesn't let there be any evidence of hurt anywhere on her face, though she's glad when he turns back to his work so she doesn't have to keep up with it. "So then what are we?" she asks him then, hands rising and falling with a little frustration, but she's careful with how hard that gloved left hand of hers hits against her thigh. "What do I call you? I can't keep calling you my lover, because it's more than that." Certainly to her, but hopefully to him, as well. "So if you won't live with me as a weyrmate, are you my boyfriend?" Damn those Aunties for having a front row seat to this.

"'Inamorato,'" offers one Auntie, gray brows quirking as her needles click-clack. "I was always fond of 'sweetheart,'" croaks another, she pauses, eyes cast off into the dim mists of memory, one hand reaches out to squeeze her friend's knee, "Do you remember Tor," big sigh. "Do I?" replies the other, a somewhat prudish snip in her voice, she lifts her chin and looks at Finn and Linny, sniffing, "Betrothed," is what it should be by her reckoning. "You're better off barking up some other tree, Madame Weyrwoman," says the shriveled old biddy, "He's been climbed by so many, it's surprising there's a branch left." The other ladies click-clacking pause, mouths dropping agape. The teapot on the coals begins to shrill. Finn turns, snagging the pot with its tongs, "Marna, that's not nice to say and you know it." Finn, with surprising dexterity arranges the teacups and scoops tea into a little cloth sack that, PLOOOOCH, goes into the teapot. He flips a sand timer and goes to stand nose to nose with Linny, all up in her space, looking down with a dopey grin. "Boyfriend, girlfriend. Those are words other people need. I don't need a word for you," not something so generic or meaningless, "You're My Linny."

Dark eyes flick from Finn, to the informative Auntie, back to Finn, and they do not look amused, but before her mouth can open to snap off some sort of sarcastic remark or biting question, the teapot is talking instead, and the weyrwoman falls silent. For the time being. But Finn silences her once again with his words, and the unamused melts into love once again, but there's still a tinge of something hidden in the pools of her eyes. "That just sounds like something someone would say when they don't want to commit." Linny calls 'em like she sees 'em. Her hands toy with his shirt, picking at it with her right hand while allowing it to be a resting place for her left, voice falling quiet, out of range of the Aunties. "C'mon, Finn. You know how I feel about you." Which hints to the fact that she remembers her declaration in the infirmary.

Finn's arms go around Linny's waist and Marna can just choke on her reprovals. Finn, attuned to subtle imperfections in the things to which he applies his attention notices this tinge of Linny's. "'Want' doesn't factor into it." He shakes his head, correcting, "'Isn't.' I'm not committed. Not how you mean." Finn is a creature of Now and brutal in his honesty. "I've been straight with you all along. And I won't tell you I love you until I do." Up close he can smell her scent, feel her uncertainty and he wants nothing more than to comfort that hurt away and see Linny smile again, but he- oh, wait. This is Finn. No buts. He lifts a hand to press Linny's left very gently to his chest, other hand sifting her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Those hinges were going to be ruined.

There's almost a protest on her lips when that left hand of hers is moved, but since he's careful with it, Linny says nothing, but she does stare at it, at the red, angry scars that peek out, too long for the glove to cover, frowning as she fights the urge to pull her hand away, out of his sight. "So am I wasting my time?" she can't help but to ask, after all of that honesty and the reminder that her doesn't love her, with Marna's talk of branches still in her head.

Concern knits Finn's brow as he sees Linny's eyes drop to her hand, he lifts his hand off of hers, "Did I hurt you?" When she makes no move he carefully covers her hand with his again. He looks at her, light colored eyes shadowed, "Maybe. I can't answer that for you, Linny." And they'd been having such a nice time. "I've said it before and not meant it," Finn's jaw muscles bunch, the nosy Aunties cluck disapprovingly, whether at Finn's admission or because they REMEMBER the painful aftermaths he's referring to. "I've said it and thought I meant it." His eyes drop down, away, remembering, "That wasn't any better. I'm not going to do that again." Either one of those 'thats.' He glances at the sand timer. It's nearing done.

Linny simply shakes her head at his question, opting not to go into how self-conscious she feels about those nasty scars, at least not now while they are having an in-depth conversation about something else serious. She digests his admissions, filing them away in her brain as she continues to stare up at him, brows growing more furrowed as time goes on. "Maybe the better question would be…do you think you're wasting your time with me?" Because the goldrider can deal with her time being wasted in seeing things through with Finn, but it would be terrible if he felt that way about her.

Finn tenses at Linny's question, eyes flipping wide, "Never." Except when she's trying to exhort admissions of love from him instead of accepting the bits of his soul he's carved off and hammered into tools to keep her safe. Finn made Linny a weapon. Not a tool. A dagger. Meant for killing. That's the clearest and darkest declaration of love he could possibly make. A betrayal of his love and lust for life in creating a blade designed only kill. But he's not one to articulate things that way. "Tea?" He brushes a kiss on her lips and withdraws to pour out tea into all the little cups, no sweetener for Marna, though STARS KNEW she could use it. Finn gives Linny a little cup, steam curling up and dissipating.

Seemingly content with that answer, Linny allows her expression to fall easily back smooth, even a little grin tugging on her lips as she accepts the cup with her right hand. Still being overly careful with her left one. The goldrider finds a safe spot, something to lean against, as she blows gently on the tea. "I'm sure you think I'm crazy," she murmurs, focused only on Finn, allowing her eyes to convey things she doesn't with her words. "But getting Threadscored will make you think about your life. What you're doing with it. Who's in it, who's important." And since Finn seems to be one for honesty, Linny lets out some of her own. "There are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want to do with you, but you're just not ready for them. But, I guess all I can do is hope that someday maybe you are ready."

Cups deployed, Finn glances at his hinge, cooling on the anvil, it needs to go back into the flames again and he hadn't even hammered on it. It was probably going to be a loss, those hinges. He pokes at the hinges with tongs, metal scraping on metal. "Crazy? No." The same thing had happened to him. Was still happening to him. Finn cocks his head at the Weyrwoman, the gulf between them measured in more than turns, the turns were the least of it. Finn could be anything at this point. Linny was things. The whole point of being young was forging your way. Finding your depth. Coming to things -maturity- in your time. It could be forced on you by circumstance and there were plenty of differences in Finn now from Finn a turn ago, but … actually accepting maturity and responsibility was a whole other matter. Finn understands all this only on an intuitive animal level. Freedom. He wants freedom. And he's just at a point where he's got some and Linny wants to put a collar on him. She's put her finger right on it. He isn't ready. But he's wise enough, at least, to know and say so, even if he doesn't completely understand why. "Actually, would you mind serving, Linny?" Finn asks. Hopefully that hand of hers could handle a tea tray and a half-dozen cups. Finn, turns to the task of banking the coals for lunch. It was getting about time for a break to eat.

Taking the question to serve as a sign that she needs to stop with all of the serious talk, Linny stares at the tray for a moment, taking a few steadying breaths, preparing herself for the way having to carry the tray will tug at the skin on her left hand. But after the spectacle she's created in front of the Aunties, she needs to do something to put herself back into their good graces. Threadscore be damned. If she rips open skin, it'll heal again. And so the goldrider quickly and easily lifts the tray and caries it over to the Aunties, putting on her best diplomatic sweet smile as she passes out the tea, letting them bend her ear about whatever they feel like. The Aunties don't need to be spreading the gossip that the older weyrwoman is in love with the younger smith who isn't ready to commit to her. It simply won't help her reputation within the Weyr of being a diplomatic hardass.

Serious talk is done out here. Finn still wants to know what she and the others plan on doing about the bandits. And what's going on with information about sweeps leaking? Terrifying. And enlightening. Finn would actually be an excellent diplomat if any of what he did was on purpose. It's not. Not really. He'd convinced Linny to take a nap, kept her from storming off in a snit at his recalcitrance to declare his love and given her an opportunity to bond with his people. All good things. Embers banked, Finn sets about shuttering his workship. He whistles, a short blast, and Garf lopes up, sniffing at everyone's feet and shins with bright hopeful eyes. Food? Food. Finn? Food. Finn-lady. Food. Food. Not-food. Food? The dog is tall and lanky, not showing any signs that a moon or so ago he'd been at death's door, and Finn with him, if for different reasons. Finn, latches Garf to the forge, scratching the rangy dogs ears and kissing the Aunties on their cheeks. Even Marna. Who sniffed, but had turned her cheek up all the same. "Leave your cups there, ladies, I'll get them later." Finn drains hisown own teacup and snags the teapot from it's heated perch before turning to his wagon. He offers Linny his arm, "Nap time." Snuggle time.

"Oh, I get an escort to nap time?" Linny asks as brows lift while she looks up at him, rather pleased with that turn of events. Fingers waggle to the Aunties as they depart, though surely them leaving together for 'nap time' will only fire the women's own gossipy embers. "Really though, don't let me sleep for too long. I should have new reports sitting on my desk as we speak, and I need to review those before tomorrow." Even if the goldrider has a full day before heading to the cotholds for meetings. "Not to mention I need to stop in to my new weyr and make sure they arranged the furniture the way I requested." The life of a weyrwoman is never done. Never dull, never boring. And hopefully the same can always be said for her love life. Speaking of, now that they are away from the Aunties, "Will it… bother you if I continue to tell you how I feel about you?" If she tells him she loves him before bed, before she leaves him, whenever she feels like telling him.

"Of course! An honor guard for our new Junior Weyrwoman," Finn straightens himself up and dusts his tunic, wincing down at the smut and grime, "And a grand one at that!" He opens the door to his wagon, now pleasantly toasty - or, at least not freezing, and waggle-waves at the Aunties who are shifting closer to the banked embers of the forge. This conversation was gonna be all over the weyr before lunch was over. He waves Linny up the stairs before him, "I won't let you sleep too long." He doesn't say how long. What answer he has in reply to her last is lost as the door to his wagon closes.

"Marks to macaroons she's pregnant," quips one Auntie. "Or will be soon," sighs another. All around purse-lipped tea sipping.

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