WHO: Leova, Sunniva
WHERE: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
WHEN: Day 26, month 11, turn 17 of Interval 10 (October 2nd, 2008)
SYNOPSIS: An unusual conversation over garlic bread with Leova and Rhonda lands Sunniva with a rock and entirely too much to think about.



While the main meal hasn't been served out in the main cavern, the kitchen staff is busy at work to do just that, a couple early plates spared to bribe a couple greenriders from getting in the way. So that's what they're doing: taking up an eating nook all to themselves, by dint of sitting across from each other at the open end of the table, and eating. And talking. And eating some more. "And if you could have seen her face... Here," Rhonda says, and a moment later, Leova's surprised into a laugh. "No /kidding/. Thank Ishawith for me? and pass the garlic bread."

Cue the arrival of a hustling candidate; one who doesn't have any kitchen-related chores at the moment but likely has reasons of her own for rushing in. A new scarf of dark purple is around her neck and Sunniva's got her hands folded around a kerchief-wrapped parcel and a bookmark. She slows once she is in the kitchen proper, though enough out of the way as to warrant only a fleeting look from most of the staff. A step over here and she's within earshot of the greenriders, though seemingly oblivious of their conversation. Up on tiptoes she goes. "Oh, oh where-"

It's a crowded cavern, they're used to talking around a variety of people, and so the greenriders keep on keeping on: Leova's gotten her garlic bread, is giving herself a high quotient of garlic breath and Rhonda quite a few nods interspersed in the black-haired woman's going on about this and that, something to do with a sow who got herself into a farmer's fermenting apples, and of course that can't end well. Not that it looks to be ending anytime soon.

This bodes not well. Sunniva frowns, lowering to flat-footed and with the line of her mouth going equally flat. She half-turns and then "Oh! Oh, excuse me," is directed to the two greenriders, with only a faintly disappointed lack of recognition manifesting on her features. Being the polite one that she is, she'll wait for acknowledgement before continuing, her grip on the items in her hands shifting slightly.

"Yes?" Simultaneously. When Sunniva finally gets their attention, she /gets/ it, and even if she was just excusing herself, it's time for introductions now. "Candidate," the black-curled greenrider says happily, maybe too happily. "Which one are you? She's Leova." Which leaves Leova narrowing her eyes at the other greenrider, adding, "Rhonda. Ishawith's." Which means Rhonda tacks on, "Vrianth's." Leova: "What are your thoughts on garlic bread."

"Oh, I-" glance to Rhonda, glance to Leova, nod and awkward, but graceful, curtsey to both "-I am Sunniva -- of Fort, searched by Wroth. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances." Green eyes flick to Leova, then, mouth rounded into an 'oh'. But what she was intending to say is derailed by the query. "Garlic bread? It is very good," she answers rather hastily, sounding as confused as she looks.

"Wroth." Leova laughs low, under her breath, amber eyes quite level as she watches Sunniva: this while Rhonda's all aflutter about getting /curtsied/ to, and even hops up, the better to offer the poor girl a seat further into the nook whether she likes it or not. "We have a little more than," and the other greenrider interrupts her, "Even Leova can eat. Sit." Leova, barely a question: "Unless you're on duty, hm?"

"Wroth is a dear," comes across as slightly more defensive than Sunni would have liked and she makes a face that's rapidly schooled into politeness when Rhonda gets up and offers the seat. Propriety dictates that she take it -- and she does, with a gentle, "Thank you," and a smile, for the seat and the offer of garlic bread. To Leova, a shake of her head and a hasty, "Oh, no. I am done for the day." Thankfully.

"Why do you think that?" It's pretty neutral the way Leova says it, verging on positive if anything, but Rhonda's eye-rolling expression? Not so much. And Rhonda moves for the bench, too: either sitting down, if Sunniva's slid down far enough, or a prompt for the same. If the candidate sticks out her feet much beneath the table, she's likely to encounter a bundle of something lumpy beneath the table, but otherwise there aren't any surprises. Unless one counts what she gets for her thanks, a basket of the aforementioned garlic bread slid her way as a you're-welcome, though at least she's not expected to share either of the others' plates. And then they're both looking at her. Expectantly.

Oh. At least that one's not articulated, though it's clear in her eyes. "Well, he just seems that way. He allows me to rub his eyeridges and he never seems to be ill-tempered -- at least, not around me." So, Sunni's heard otherwise, but it still baffles her. Somewhat. And she does scoot far enough down to encounter those lumpy-somethings, concern registering briefly before the distraction of bread is provided. Then: "But, the only truly ill-tempered ones I have met were in the infirmary, so it is understandable."

The greenriders share /looks/, Rhonda over Sunniva's shoulder before she sits and Leova says mildly, maybe more to the other greenrider than the candidate even, "He does like the attention. Dragon infirmary, then?" And then has more bread, at which point Rhonda takes advantage of all that chewing to get nosy some more. "How come you said yes, anyway? Riding's not a," and here she trades looks with her friend, "long-skirt sort of thing."
Long distance to D'kai: Sunniva has seen hers on ... but never long enough for a scene. ;P

"I was learning dragonhealing at Fort," Sunniva explains, leaving her wrapped things in her lap while she extends a hand delicately to exricate a small piece of bread for nibbling upon in between answering and listening. Rhonda's query draws a slow blink and then a rise-fall of narrow shoulders. "Well, no. But it-" the rote answer, the usual answer seems inappropriate here, so she shifts gears slightly "-seemed the right thing to do. Something I needed to do, if that makes sense?" Her mouth twitches, unreadable for a moment. "And I am rather more adaptable than I appear."

Fort. Rhonda's looking more at Leova than Leova's looking at her: Leova, she's looking at Sunniva. "Looked into our dragon infirmary here?" She doesn't emphasize the possessive, but it's there. "And it might. Why, though? Did you think you needed to do it." Rhonda: "So you wear trousers on odd-numbered days?" Leova: "You can ask her a question too, you know. Only fair." Rhonda: "Because we're /all/ /about/ fair." Laughter.

A shake of her head precedes a soft, "I have had too much else to think about, to be honest. But I have been studying, when I can." Not a 'no'. The point of Sunniva's tongue pokes out briefly to wet her lips and then her gaze flicks to Rhonda before settling on Leova. "Because it was the first choice /I/ made, in a lifetime of letting others decide for me." Maybe it surprises her. No matter. A sidelong look to Rhonda. "And I do not wear trousers; I will if need be, but not until then." A girl's got to have some standards. Back and forth again, which leads her to just shake her head. "I have only one, but it can wait."

Leova might have replied to Sunniva's first comment, but it's the second that narrows her focus: not exactly disbelief, not precisely pity, it becomes a slow nod. And she's still looking, right up until when Rhonda abandons ship and takes her plate with her, the Boreal greenrider saying too sweetly, "You're right. It would be hard to be less adaptable than you appear. Leova? I'll see you when you're done with her." And off she goes. Leova... looks after her, and then rubs her forehead with her palm, but doesn't apologize for her friend. Just turns back at Sunniva, somewhat wearily. "Dragonhealing. Whose choice was that?"

There's only a politely neutral inclination of her head to Rhonda, no comment made aside from a "Do take care." And then the other is left and Leova remains, with Sunniva moving to fold her hands in her lap after wiping them clean on a napkin. "Berit's," she responds readily enough, mouth distorting slightly. "But I rather like it. It is something different to do, better than what I suppose the Headwoman would have had me doing. Not that I do not enjoy mending clothing, but-" dragons are something more likely to appreciate being patched up? Perhaps that's it.

Leova's toying with what's left of her garlic bread, turning it over and over in her fingertips like a block of particularly light wood. And she listens. There's little enough reaction to the girl's sister's name, just a nod of acknowledgement, and perhaps even that's more for the sake of the faint grimace. And finally, for the mending and patching and all, "I'm a trainee myself." But. "If you could. What would it be? Go back to your family and marry? Become a headwoman yourself? Do dragon-mending forever, or as much of it as there's to be had, in Interval. Options."

"That- that I do not know and was hoping to find out." This is spoken rather plainly to her hands, jaw tightening just a little before she looks up again. "I cannot go back home," is a matter-of-fact admission, "so, Fort has been sufficed in its stead. For now." Sunni's appetite has fled, leaving the bit of bread still on the table. Enticing as it once was, it doesn't hold her interest as much as the conversation. So: "Dragonhealing is something I am good at, I think; herbalism, perhaps more so. But beyond that-" she has only a helpless shrug, mouth set at an equally helpless angle.

Leova doesn't /ask/ how many Turns the girl has, not to know. Instead, quietly, "What's more important to you? To do something you're good at, more than other things and other people, or to... live in a place, or in a style, that's what you like? For instance. Even if your family won't take you in, if it's the holder life you want. There must be options."

It's worthy of a pause, a pause that's broken in due time with a low-pitched, "What is important to me is happiness. All of this -- being here, being there, dragonhealing, being a candidate -- is in pursuit of that." Hands splay, then curl, Sunni's expression darkening thoughtfully. "How can I know what I want, if I do not know what is out there /to/ want?"

"Happiness." It curves just the corner of her mouth: one corner, one side. And when Sunniva is done speaking, Leova answers even more softly, so that she'll have to listen closely or even lean in if she wants to hear. "Are we talking about... happiness... for you? Yourself. Would a bottle do?" She lets that hang, lifts a shoulder, lets just that shoulder fall. "Or there are other ways. But. Thing is. If it's /wanting/. You want what you want, don't you? Maybe you'll change your mind later. Maybe there's something you think you should want. But wanting just /is/."

She leans in. Perhaps she gets the gist of it; perhaps not. Regardless, Sunniva clarifies, "I would give anything to just /fit/ somewhere, where I could be happy. To be-" words are sifted through, but she settles on emphasizing, "-to /be/." Her mouth flattens, then is drawn into a thin kind of smile. "It is not difficult to feign the kind of thoughtless obedience I was told to give; not hard to accept what fate my father and brother would eventually dictate. That- that is not what I want. Not any more." A minor revelation to herself, but one that is more worthy of consideration later. "A bottle." A sharp laugh. "Would it help? Honestly?"

"To fit." Leova regards her from that slight distance. She doesn't smile. There's just steadiness. "What does it mean, to you. What would it be like. Fitting. Do you mind obedience? Acceptance? Even if you disagree. Don't know anyone who doesn't have to accept, some things, even if there are a couple who maybe don't have to obey. And the bottle... don't reckon it would help, myself. But I'm not you. Some people... but that doesn't matter." She sits back, all the way back, at last.

And as Leova leans back, Sunniva sits up, prim posture having been hopelessly ingrained in her. The words, this time, must be mulled over more thoroughly; while she ruminates, she studies the woman with a mute expression and a flare of intensity in her eyes. Then: "If I minded it, I would not have done it for so long without question." Or seemingly so, but the implication is there. "There are rules, after all, that must be obeyed; tasks that must be done. Certain aspects that must be accepted, difficult though it may be." A flicker of a smile, there and gone. "I rather think I have managed that last, somewhat. It is easier now; easier still without needing to worry overly much about my sister's thoughts and opinions on the matter." Blink. And a nod to the bottle-topic, then a shake of her head to dismiss the idea; not for her.

"Plenty of people do things that they would really prefer not to," Leova mentions quietly. "For quite some time." She spins the bread in her fingertips again, has a nod for rules and tasks and things to be accepted. Like it or not. And sisters. Carefully, "One of my clutchmates, her younger sister had already Impressed here. Was Weyrsecond while we Stood, even. You might imagine that it wasn't always... easy." But that's as explicit as the comparison gets. "So what I'd say is, if you want to make changes, it's a good thing you're Standing here and not there, hm? Because of dragons and death-do-you-part, the odd randy bronze or wing exchange aside. And if there is someone for you on any sands at all, that's when a lot of your choices end." She takes a deeper breath, and now she too smiles, a bare curve to her lip that sparks brighter in her eyes. "And either way, count yourself lucky, hm? That you get to make any choices about paths like that at all. Though you might be doing that already."

"Such is sometimes how life goes," Sunniva concedes, sympathetically. The description draws a deep furrowing of her brow, then a slow nod, a low, "With her, it would only be worse. Bad enough that I accepted to be here in the first place; she would be more elated if I do not Impress and return than if I do and stay." Pause. A slow, "I do not think I will be able to go back. After, that is, if no dragon seeks me." But she remains undecided and leaves it there with a waggling of fingers. "If one does, then so be it; though it is hard, here." A smile starts, verging on a laugh. "The weather is awful." Leova's smile is mirrored, reflected and refined to a natural brightness. "I do. I did not, not when I first left ... but now? Yes, very much so."

"At the same time," as Leova apparently isn't loath to ride one side and then the other, "If the place were truly what satisfies you, one person driving you away would be a shame. Even one in her position." She's shifted her toying with the garlic bread, moved on to breaking off the parts that have that extra spicy buttery wash, leaving the crust behind in fractured crumbs. "So. Sounds like you have a plan. On the one hand, your decision would be made. On the other, you have time to make up the rest of your mind. Do I have it right? And," freely going along with the girl and that old favorite of conversational threads, "Were you ever here in summer? It's glorious, and even now, it doesn't get as cold as Fort. The wind off the sea, they say. But I'll grant you the rain." And there's that smile again, tipped to the side.

"It is not so much her ... driving me off as me knowing she would not be supportive. That she- well, might work more actively to try to 'protect' me." Not to say she doesn't look a little saddened at the idea. But her head shakes and Sunniva reaches up to brush some hair from her face and behind an ear. Confirmation is a smile, "Yes, that is it. Stay or ... decide to stay or go. To where, if not here, I do not know but that will be for later." To the next, her head cants, birdlike, with a negatory, "I have not, but I am sure it is wonderful. It is just- the cold. Being out in it, rather; it might be better if I am here longer." But as that's up in the air, she doesn't touch further on it.

Leova gives Sunniva a long look. "You look old enough to be a grown woman," she says. "And a body might think that a whole Weyr might give a girl enough to keep her busy, without getting in the way of her sister making her own successes. Or mistakes." But she lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. "Later," she agrees. "Meantime, you got enough to keep you warm? Layers of sweaters and hats and hoods, thick stockings, something for your skin."

It's Sunni's turn for her smile to go a bit lopsided. "I am; in truth, I am older than her, but she is ... persistent and I have never had much desire to counter her. She finds time for that," meddling, of course, "if nothing else." But, as the conversation transitions elsewhere, she leaves it at that. "Yes, I think so -- though I had to get a few things from stores and alter them somewhat." A once grievious offense is reduced to a shrugged off event. "A friend brought me some lovely gloves and a scarf as well," fingers lift to touch the scarf in question, "and I have plenty of things for my skin."

"Sometimes it doesn't seem worth it." Leova keeps it neutral, lets that, too, go although her gaze stays level for moments more. And if she'd ever heard how offensive altering can be, it certainly doesn't show, the way she listens and the way she nods. "So you're all kitted out. Milani," not Millie, not here, "is helpful for that. But. You said you had a question? Just one, even now?"

A nod. She plucks at a sleeve -- altered stores clothing, a far cry from her once-preferred finery -- then looks up to Leova again. "Yes, yes she is. She has been wonderful and friendly." Sunni's hands then drop to her lap, as if making sure the things she brought are still in place. "Yes, I- I did. Just the one for you, for now," with an unspoken reassurance that there may be more, later. A breath is taken in, then released; a cleansing thing. "Would you be willing to part with a river rock?"

"It isn't pretense," Leova says quietly. "Just the way she is." And she takes in just-the-one with a nod, easy enough with it: not needing reassurance, herself, for all that she might well give it. The rock? "Of course. And you're lucky: a few of them have had to go up to my ledge, with permission, to get it. Here." She pops the extra-garlicky bread into her mouth, wipes off her fingers, and reaches one-handed down beneath the table to come up with a sack and set it on the table. It looks easy, as though the weight's quite light, though the way the sack settles speaks otherwise. She unfolds the sack's mouth about its contents. "Go ahead. Pick." Rough ovals of water-smoothed stone they are, of varying size, the largest the size of a man's head and the other two not too much smaller. The smallest is the plainest, dark gray, unvarying but for a crack right down the middle. The middle stone is a third light gray, two-thirds dark. And the largest must have quartz to it, the way it glitters.

"Oh." It's been a long time since she's uttered that from the start. And then another, "Oh!" at the explanation. A relieved "Thank you, Leova," is given, as earnest as the smile that bubbles up. Of course, once the weight of the bag -- or, rather, its contents -- becomes apparent, Sunni's smile falters and her lips purse. All three rocks are examined, long fingers gliding along this, that, and then the last. It's the middle one, the dual-toned one, that she finally places her hand on. "This one." Nevermind carrying it; that'll be an interesting ordeal. And then, on the heels of her claim, another, "Thank you."

And Leova's been watching, steadily, that progression of expression. That /reaction/. "You're welcome," she says, easily and not without a certain lurking humor, before swaddling up the sack again and setting it to her side. One-handed again. "What do you have so far, how close are you to finishing up?" and with that, she starts settling her plate and the basket and the nearby napkins all together: finishing up, indeed.

The rock is retained, though Sunniva gives it a sidelong and suspicious look. Then, that gaze re-centers on Leova and she recounts, "A meatroll, a bookmark, one of the Weyrleader's socks," cue a wrinkled nose "and this, now. Better than I was a few sevendays ago." In more ways than one. As Leova starts to straighten up, she assists where she can.

"Didn't save the sock until last, hm?" and Leova does let her help, no polite no-not-necessary there at all, sliding the stack of dishes her way to return and briskly wiping up the table's crumbs. Its surface gets one more look, a critical one, and then she rubs out one spot before dropping the folded napkin-and-crumbs atop the plates. "All set." She hoists up the bag, gives Sunniva an inquiring look: they done?

"I felt it was best to treat it like pulling off a bandage." Done and over with, quickly as possible. Sunniva has to shift things around a bit, but manages to get the rock in her arms and the other things stashed artfully in the folds of her scarf. The inquiring look is answered with an affirming nod and an earnest, "Do take care. And thank you, again." A final dip of her head is given, and then she proceeds onward and out en route to the barracks, her original purpose for being here having been conveniently -- and thankfully? -- forgotten.

"Bandages, don't usually have to live with the smell." Leova leaves her with that, a smile and a, "Welcome," before swinging past and out towards some unknown destination. But whatever it is? It's bound to be rainy and cold.