Talasi

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=22 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="040000d2egerdp.gif"> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=145 BGCOLOR="#333399" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="03fa2c00erkjzj.gif"> <div> <B>IBRoadRunR</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Current Characters"><U>Current Characters</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Retired Characters"><U><B>Retired Characters</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id20.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Game Links"><U>Game Links</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Information"><U>Contact Information</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id130.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Site Map"><U>Site Map</U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=458 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="IBRoadRunR"><U><IMG SRC="1ad26300.gif" border=0 width="38" height="48" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A>  </FONT><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#336600" FACE="Times New Roman" ><I>IBRoadRunR</I><I> </I></FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#663399" FACE="Times New Roman" >  </FONT> |    <B> </B><A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Retired Characters"><U><B><IMG SRC="0f40e0e0.gif" border=0 width="14" height="14" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B> </B><B>Retired Characters</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id76.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Alitzah"><U>Alitzah</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id77.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Annika"><U>Annika</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id89.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chaela"><U>Chaela</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id78.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chameri"><U>Chameri</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id90.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Shansi"><U>Shansi</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id79.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Sydnie"><U>Sydnie</U></A>   |   <B>Talasi</B></div> <div> <IMG SRC="04107040.gif" border=0 width="263" height="4" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <B>Talasi</B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#993380" FACE="Arial" ><I>The precursor to Shansi</I></FONT></div> <div> Visitor</div> <div> Igen Weyr</div> <div> Third Rock</div> <bR> <div> <B>Talasi</B></div> <div> <IMG SRC="2c1c0e00.jpg" border=0 width="192" height="224" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0">Silky, dark, cream and cocoa skin is smooth and soft across defined cheekbones, slanted eyes, straight nose, full, proud lips, and the high crest of her forehead. Hair the color of mahogany and deep umber bears the sun-kissed gleam of aureate gilded copper in its rush of curls. Her large eyes are a deep brownish-green shade, and the 'lids fade from a faintly rusty color to a pale almond in the corners.</div> <div> Soft curves of developing young woman are tucked into the sisal and linen folds of a dark sable dress. The dress scoops modestly at the neck, just a shade from being tight across the alternatingly generous and slender lines of her figure. Sleeveless, the dress is, and very long, so that not a flash of legs shows beneath. Long, slim arms are toned but not muscular; hands long fingered with clean, shapely nails. Brown boots of a more tawny, sun-ripened shade stretch up to some unknown level beneath the skirt and appear unadorned.</div> <div> Tall for her age, with a slender figure that promises to be generous in its day, she is actually just at 14 Turns, 6 months old. She looks to be about closer to 16 Turns.</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <U>Her Introduction Log</U></div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli pages: Over fifteen turns since Kit would've been home regularly. Visits since Impressing would've been fairly sparse and short, thanks to Chas. ;) Which isn't much of an answer, I suppose, but Kit's not going to be expecting Talasi here, and Talasi would doubtless have gotten a better look at her goldriding aunt than her aunt at a niece. ;)</div> <bR> <div> <B>Igen Weyr -- Living Caverns</B></div> <div> The largest inside area of the Weyr, the living caverns still manage to maintain a comfortable, homey feel to them. Tables nearly too numerous to count are lined up across the length and breadth of the caverns. Specific tables are generally reserved for certain wings, but the majority of them are free-for-alls. The Weyrleaders, as well as favored riders and residents of the Weyr have taken the table furthest from both the kitchen and the hearths for themselves. The hearths are kept very low, only burning enough to keep stew warm.</div> <div> Favored drinks are kept on ice, interspersed amongst various tables. Baskets of rolls and fruit are set out. There are, of course, set mealtimes, but the staff has long since acknowledged the fact that people will sit to talk and nibble in here at all hours of the day and night. In the cooler parts of the evening, the caverns are the sight of many games of chess, checkers, dragonpoker, and whatever other game the residents might find interesting.</div> <div> Beautiful tapestries decorate the walls, generally very old and ornate ones. The entrance leading to the kitchens can be sensed by the increased heat, and the one to the inner caverns by the inviting coolness.</div> <div> Obvious exits:</div> <div> Kitchen Inner Caverns Bowl Tunnel </div> <bR> <div> <B>Cheia</B></div> <div> Whisps of silky red hair intertwine with locks of blondish beauty, and these mixture falls tenderly to her slender waist. Muscular, yet thin and slender, build carries thoughout her small, yet not too short, body. Silky complexion is home for crystal emerald eyes, full, healthy, ruby red lips. Her cheeks are slightly red, like an eternal blush, and her lips seem fixed in a permanent merry smile, however even the fog of sorrow can fill emerald eyes and lips can curve downwards in the deepest of frowns when times turn sorrowful and sad.</div> <div> Four sizes two big sandy yellow cloak droops from her shoulders, the bottom goes down and drags behind her like a dress, and the hood shadows her whole face perfectly. Beneath can be seen midnight shirt, tight, low cut neckline, and no sleeves. Also, she wears tight black pants, whose ends are curled up so that they fit okay. Boots are sandy yellow and hide underneath her pants, even though they are rolled up.</div> <div> Carrying:</div> <div> Letter</div> <bR> <div> <B>Kitaeli</B></div> <div> An older woman, perhaps nearing her forties judging more by the creases at the corners of deep brown eyes and less by her apparent fitness, Kitaeli has a confident stance that's more striking than she is in looks. She's relatively tall for a woman, narrow of build, with features suggesting darker-skinned racial ancestors, klah thinned with extra milk. Fine bones and a narrow jaw give her an almost petulant look offset by the intensity of her attention and ready, sometimes minxish smile. Unruly, tousled dark hair with a bit of curl that only makes it look more untidy, doesn't seem to stay well in the nape-of-the-neck tie with which she holds it back, but that's probably partly because it's barely shoulder-length.</div> <div> She wears typical Igen dress, a shrouding robe over light, cream-toned cloth trousers and a warmer, nearly yellow tunic, belted at the waist with a braided cord in Igen's black and yellow, a matching knot at her shoulder twisted in the signature pattern of a junior weyrwoman, triple-looped with tassles of gold thread. Sandals reveal feet with toes well-splayed from frequently barefoot walking, while long-boned hands show prominent joints, suggestion both of the same strength that's in her quick, certain motions, and possibly early arthritis.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Taria</B></div> <div> Taria has a ready smile for those who admire her; two perfect dimples dot her cheeks when she displays it. She carries herself with an air of confidence and quiet power; self-assurance and compassion. She views the world through a pair of piercing, ice-blue eyes, with excitement and wonder, always looking for new things to experience. Her silky brown hair is pulled back into a braid that falls to her hips. Taria appears to be about 15 turns old.</div> <div> Today, Taria is wearing a pair of tan riding breeches, that fit her petite frame snugly, while giving maximum flexibility, with a matching tunic tucked into the waist. She wears a pair of tanned wherhide riding boots, the heels clicking sharply upon hard surfaces as she walks. She can usually be found to be wearing, or carrying, a wherhide riding jacket that is much to large for her, and shows the wear-and-tear of time.</div> <div> Upon her right shoulder, she wears a plain yellow and black resident's knot of Igen Weyr.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Feyena</B></div> <div> By any standards, Feyena is a dark woman, at least in appearance. Sunbronzed to a hue so deep as to make the whites of her eyes seem almost unnaturally bright and clear, and her broad smile seem a stark contrast, though not necessarily an unpleasant one. In truth, that she would appear a woman of such contrasts is pure chance, the work of sun, wind, and none too gentle desert life. Thick hair, the darkest brunette that bears the faintest hint of midnight's purplish blue, might seem a bit coarse in appearance, though a closer look would show proof of the careful maintenance that goes into keeping the worst of the ravages sun and sand have wrought upon it at bay. It frames a long face, the features carrying the finer hints that once might have been considered aristocratic, but now seem more chiselled bone smoothed over by richly sun-shaded flesh. Wide set, large almond shaped eyes of a brilliant peridot flash with a startling amount of perception, the intent regard behind them lit with the depthless consideration of one who is, while always somewhat curious, more simply aware than truly seeking. High cheekbones, the apples tinted with the vague rose of youth and vital energy, a solid, slightly squared jawline, and a gently tapering chin frame full, dusky rose hued lips, the slightest twitch to one corner suggesting a neverending amusement with the world around her.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Serani</B> (?)</div> <div> She is a tall woman, her figure lithe and graceful, long, muscled limbs imbued with a certain fluidity of motion that suggests some sort of longtime training toward that effect; that, perhaps, and a modicum of naturally bred ease with her body. Were it not for that unconscious confidence and grace with which infects both poise and movement, she might seem gawky, and indeed, to those who are unaware of her habits, she often does. Her voice, a subdued reflection of the mind whose thoughts it conveys, is an almost husky contralto, honeyed and quiet, rarely raised beyond a purposeful murmur unless one of her more ebullient moods has been roused.</div> <div> In truth, overall, her appearance would almost seem lazy to some, even when in motion, that peculiar purposefulness and easily found comfort suggesting a casualness that many might consider less than desirable. Others still understand it, and realize that the willowly young woman, still only just a girl, is a dervish of suppressed energy held neatly in check through practice and self control.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli slips up from the Bowl looking fairly windblown and cheerful, heat or no heat. She checks over her shoulder, then nods to herself and turns to consider the room as a whole, particularly the tables toward one end where the food and pitchers are.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi is seated at the end of one table, legs crossed nicely, sipping at a glass of some deep red liquid. Head tilting back slightly, she purses her lips and watches Kitaeli enter. Her eyes narrow, faintly.</div> <bR> <div> Cheia is slouched comfortably into a chair, her feet stacked ontop of a vacant seat and glass drawn up towards her mouth in between slow, thoughtful sips; which occur, it seems, in measured paces. Eyes are kept lowered onto her hands, she doesn't /seem/ to notice anyone else, even Kitaeli's entrance.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli misses the one regard and the one non-regard, instead winding between tables to catch up with the non-running pitchers and the handful of mugs available. She peeks into a couple, leaves them, then settles on another to fill and sip at, leaning herself against the heavy table with a puff of a sigh.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi taps one finger lightly along her cheek, then sets the glass down, gaze still on Kitaeli. Lithe movements bring her to a stand, and she starts walking towards the goldrider. Her voice is but a soft murmuring, low and even, as she draws up near Kitaeli, "Well, well, well."</div> <div> <Chat> Kitaeli feels... stalked.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli's attention flicks to the approaching girl, and her stance shifts subtly so she's more facing than not facing. Long, knotted fingers lace around the mug, and she lowers it to watch, brows and the corner of her mouth quirking with interest, and at least a touch of amusement.</div> <bR> <div> Serani wanders in, tugging off her gloves, and scans the room, smiling when she recognises faces.</div> <bR> <div> It would appear Cheia's eyes are no longer on her hands but surveying the scene with amused boredom; rather contridicting.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi takes note of that amusement, she does. But for now, she merely dips her head forward, softly asks, "Kitaeli, don't you recognize me?" Her own, answering amusement flashes briefly in her eyes before she flicks her gaze up and down the goldrider, unmistakably appraising. "Your sister would be ashamed of you -- " Smile slowly deepening, she pauses a moment before finishing, "To not even notice the familial resemblances. What a waste of fine features." But apparently she can dismiss such things, because she finishes on a lilting note, "I'm Talasi, daughter to your eldest sister, Maele."</div> <bR> <div> "My sister would know me too well to be ashamed," Kitaeli says after a breath's pause, then grins slowly. "Tal'si, is that really you?" Then she shakes her head, looking amused again. "Silly thing to say. Whatever are you doing _here_, of all places? Is Maele all right?"</div> <bR> <div> Serani quirks a brow and grins as she heads over to Cheia, covering a chuckle at the look. "G'day, Cheia. How've ou been?"</div> <bR> <div> "Dandy fine." Cheia remarks in a droll voice; sarcasm taking place happily in her tone. Then her expression reaches a genuine grin and she shrugs, "Pretty good; just enjoying being back for now."</div> <bR> <div> Talasi nods, shortly, then summons a demure smile, "Oh, Maele's fine. Just -- worried." She drops the last word lightly, and moves quickly onward, "I've taken a bit of a trip from Bitra, you see. Too much stability is a bore, and my parents felt a change in scenery might be...in order." But she's not going to linger on that topic by choice. "So, Auntie-mine," she smirks, voice still soft, "What brings /you/ here?"</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli's not so easily diverted after long turns with the most stubborn dragon this side of Benden. "Worried? About what?" Fickle, though. She shifts the mug, sipping briefly, and cocks her head to one side, canine-style. "Transfer, of course. I thought that would be all over the Weyr by now." Teasing, too.</div> <bR> <div> Serani grins at Cheia. "Wonderful... we wouldn't want to you be disappointed here again." She winks, heading quickly for a glass of wine. "Do you want anything while I'm up?"</div> <bR> <div> Talasi nods, lips curving, and locks her fingers together in front of her, "Indeed, but I'd not yet caught the name. Some said you were from Ista, even." She shrugs -- makes one wonder just where she hears her rumors, almost. "What a /delight/ it is to find my very own family here." Her head tilts, "You'll have to excuse Ralen, my brother ... he's off chasing the Weyr's assorted 'amusements.'" She flicks her wrist lightly towards the kitchens, long fingers spread.</div> <bR> <div> "I've something." Cheia raises her glass to be seen and then lowers it back near her mouth where she takes a sip.</div> <bR> <div> "I remember him," Kitaeli says, perhaps a touch dryly. She leans away from the table and moves toward another, snagging out a chair with the toe of her boot. "Sit down. I'd love to catch up on family matters. It's been so long." She takes her own advice, arms folded on the tabletop. "Fort, actually. Ista? Faranth, I've been at Fort for over fifteen turns, how'd they get the notion I was from Ista?"</div> <bR> <div> Serani nods and shrugs. "I wasn't sure. Just thought I'd mind my manners." She grins impishly... manners? "Anything new happen with you lately?"</div> <bR> <div> "Watching family reunions." Cheia mutters, thinks, "No." is her second reply.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi chuckles and follows Kitaeli, dropping more gracefully into a chair and again crossing her legs in a deliberate habitual motion. "As would I. Mother and Father both are well, and would send their greetings had they known you were here. His business flourishes." Another faint shrug is her response to the question, "I've no idea whatsoever." Perhaps because they were drunk off their..."Ask around yourself if you really want to know, but I doubt it matters much."</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli nods a little. "Probably not. You said 'worried,'" she reminds, swirling her juice mug and watching the girl thoughtfully. "I'll have to send my regards, too. I'd have visited more, but..." She simply shrugs, not much of an answer, but perhaps answer enough.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi frowns, features molded into something just bordering on a pout, briefly, and then looks up, "They believe that Bitra is not the proper location for a growing young woman of my .. tastes." She taps one finger lightly on the table, angles her head to sweep a gaze over the others in the caverns, "But really, this isn't quite the place to talk of such things." That's distaste in her voice, now.</div> <bR> <div> Serani has disconnected.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli, clearly curious now, nevertheless nods and lets that slide. "Bitra is interesting. /I/ grew up well enough there, though." She shrugs one shoulder and raises the mug to rub lightly against her cheek. "The heat here," she comments with a sigh, "is getting to me. /Chasith/ adores it."</div> <bR> <div> Feyena walks in from the Road Outside of Igen Weyr.</div> <div> Feyena has arrived.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi settles back into her chair, relaxing now, "Does she? I can't imagine. But then, I don't believe I've caught more than a glimpse of your ..." She searches the word, then finds: "lifemate before. You really didn't visit much at all." Or perhaps Talasi was just busy doing other things.</div> <bR> <div> "She's right outside," Kitaeli says with a nod toward the Bowl. "I asked her to stay a bit, though she wanted to go perch and sun somewhere. I'll have to introduce the two of you later, if you'd like that." Her grin turns a bit lopsided and sheepish, and again she shrugs. "Chas scares people. Even the folks didn't like her much." Meaning, doubtless, her own parents.</div> <bR> <div> Taria has connected.</div> <bR> <div> A little scuffle, thunk, step brings Feyena limping in, the cane in one hand evidently to assist in lieau of the cloth bandaged wrap ankle she seems inclined to use as little as possible. Clutched in her other hand is a small bundle and a pair of odd looking shoes with blunted studs poking out through the soles. She gives a nod to those she first spots upon entering, lips quirking up in a light, though affable, smile before she makes her way over to pick out a table to perch at.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi lifts one brow at the reference to her grandparents. "That I should. Interesting creatures, dragons." And no, her voice is not mocking in the slightest. "As are their riders. Tell me, Kitaeli. Just about how many riders are in this Weyr? I've no doubt you're aware of the pertinent facts, with such a position as you hold." Newly arrived or no. She gets to her point, "And how many of each color?" Her gaze passes lazily over Feyena as she awaits an answer, but without the customary nod of acknowledgement.</div> <bR> <div> Taria slinks out of the kitchen, her prize, a bubbly, held closely to her body. Noting the small crowd, she straightens up, and strides purposefully to a table. Once there, the girl slides into a seat, curling her feet beneath her, and begins to carefully devour her bubbly.</div> <bR> <div> "Everytime I see you enter you're eating another stolen bubbly!" Cheia rolls her eyes dramatically at Taria.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli arches a brow again, peering curiously at Talasi, then shrugs and narrows her eyes, considering. "Four gold, counting Chasith. A couple of dozen bronzes, a good hundred greens, fifty or so browns, the rest blue. If you mean exact numbers," she adds, clearing her throat and sipping at her juice, "you'll have to wait. Chasith's memory is better than mine. Now, my question to you-- Why?"</div> <div> <Chat> Kitaeli underestimates greens, doubtless.</div> <bR> <div> Taria pauses mid-bite, sliding her gaze towards Cheia. "Not... every time!" she protests, but the look on her face belies that. Trying to appear less guilty, she flashes a brilliant smile at the other girl, dimples making their presence known; a good attempt, if she didn't have a bit of bubbly on the corner of her mouth, to begin with.</div> <bR> <div> Feyena settles onto a bench with a little flump, choosing a table nearby the seeming center of activity, her bundle dropped onto the bench beside her while she situates herself comfortably. She keeps an ear cocked idly to the conversation once she takes up one of the shoes, fingers dipping inside to tug out the thick alyer of hide layering the insole. That set aside, she grows quickly involved with testing the integrity of the remaining studs, each given a little wriggle, and the holes where others once were set each having a finger poked through to the accompaniment of a little tsking sound.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi waves a hand in dismissal, smoothly murmuring, "Call it curiosity, if you must name a reason." Meanwhile, her eyes drift again to Feyena, curiosity definitely registered in their depths. She leans forward, voice lowered, and asks, "What /is/ that woman doing?"</div> <bR> <div> "Curiosity's plenty." And Kitaeli has plenty of her own, and is studying Talasi with a rather puzzled expression now. But she lets herself be diverted to looking at Feyena. "Fixing her shoes?"</div> <bR> <div> Talasi arches one brow, "For herself? Why, whatever for?" That's what marks take care of -- marks, and men.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli looks back to Tal, brows arching -- both of hers. "I imagine because she wants them fixed?"</div> <bR> <div> If she's catching any of it, Fey doesn't seem too inclined to answer yet. Then again, maybe she's just not catching it? With a little cluck of her tongue on the roof of her mouth, she tugs one of the studs out, eyeing its dented tip critically before setting it aside. Another, and yet one more follow before she finally sets the shoe aside, taking the other up for much the same examination.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi tsks delicately, "Menial work. That's not for ladies." She looks back at Kitaeli, expression returning to normal, and fluidly switches topics, "So, tell me something else. How did it feel for you to leave behind your friends at Fort?" Not exactly subtle.</div> <bR> <div> "If doing it yourself gets it done faster...." Kitaeli trails off, one-shoulder shrugging again. "You're very tactful," she adds, more than a little pointedly herself. "But I'll live. I have Chas, and I can visit when I have time. Junior duties aren't light, but there's always a little free time."</div> <bR> <div> Talasi nods, as much to the assessment as to the answer. "I don't believe my parents have any intentions of 'requesting' my return soon. Though they might have to drag my brother back, for his own sake." She looks calmly amused, no flicker of emotion giving away her true feelings on this exile of sorts.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli hesitates, perhaps realizing what the question might have meant, and asks more gently, "Would you prefer to go home? I could probably talk them into it."</div> <bR> <div> Taria finishes her bubbly in due order, and after some urging from one of the older riders, wipes her mouth clean. Turning in her seat, she hugs her knees to her chest, and watches the wordplay between Kitaeli and Talasi curiously; both people whom she doesn't quite recognize, though the former is more familiar.</div> <bR> <div> Shifting in her seat, both shoes now given a thorough once over, Fey reaches a hand out to rummage through the small bundle at her side. Drawing a small collection of what look to be new studs from it, she casts a mildly incurious look toward the nearby table before bending back to her task. One by one, her time sweetly taken to ensure the job's done right, she pops each stud through a waiting hole in the soles of her shoes, testing them as she goes. What doesn't work receives that little tsk, what does is merely given a slight twitch of a brow and is moved past to allow her to work the next one in.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi shakes her head quickly, smile flashing, "Not at all. You see," she trails one finger along the edge of the table, then smiles again, "Here, I am given the freedom of *not* hearing Mother's lectures. Your sister -is- inclined to disciplinary talks. Though I do miss father's business. Quite entertaining, that." Belatedly, she adds, "And, of course, society. There's something to be said for having a Lord Holder for an uncle, as I'm sure you could have figured." Her smile fades delicately, "I'm hesitant to see how Igen celebrates." There's something rather harperlike about her, like a performer following all the right cues.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli has noticed it, too, but either doesn't care or simply isn't commenting. "I'm sure she only gives them if they're deserved," she says, not without a wry curve of a smile that puts the lie to it. "His gambling?" Yes, she's more blunt. Chasith's influence. "I'm sure it is. Always loved a spot of dragonpoker, myself." She nods to the latter, laughing. "Weyrs are more serious than Bitra, I think you'll find, but there's entertainment enough to be had."</div> <bR> <div> Talasi nods. "Gambling indeed. Nothing quite like watching the same men return much as their pockets allow to the same games, thinking they might win just this /once/." She stands, "Of course, they never do. One really must wonder at the wit in that, for all the marks they have acquired." She smiles, voice softening again, "But if you'll excuse me, I believe it's time to chase my brother away from your cooks and helpers." /She/ intends to eat, and eat well, despite her brother's ... interferences.</div> <bR> <div> It seems tedious work, this fixing Fey's embarked on, though she seems content enough to indulge in it and the moment of quiet it allows her. Mind you, there's still that ear that just might be canted to catch the swirl of conversation, but she doesn't seem as though she's ready to join in. After all, it's a personal matter. Eavesdropping might suit, but barging into the middle just wouldn't be her way. So she simply continues her work, eventually managing to get both shoes restudded, which leaves her to reinsert the insoles and gives a final testing of a rather rudimentary piece of cobbling.</div> <bR> <div> "Excused," Kitaeli agrees, mildly amused again. "Drop by the weyr sometime, and I'll let you meet Chas. Say hello to your brother for me, will you?"</div> <bR> <div> Taria uncurls from her seat, and pads across to serve herself a mug of redfruit juice. She watches Talasi leave curiously, then shrugs to herself before returning to her seat.</div> <bR> <div> Talasi nods, "That I will." Turning to go, she pauses, looks back down at Kitaeli, "I do think this will work out quite nicely, having you here at Igen, too." With a cool smile, then, she makes her grand exit du jour -- right into the kitchens.</div> <bR> <div> Kitaeli chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "That girl...." But she leaves unsaid whatever she'd meant to say, and instead turns her attention to the other two nearer cavernsgoers, particularly Feyena.</div> </td> </tr></table></body>