Cherrywood [Chek]

The door to her workshop was open. Again.

Oddinya twitched faintly as she increased her pace, a tray of foodstuffs balanced on one hand. She didn’t know what it was about her partially completed workshop that constantly had people poking around inside, but she needed to find out so she could make it stop. At least this time she wasn’t working – looking up to a half dozen brats staring at you might be the worst invasion of her area yet.

At least they wouldn’t be coming back. Odd’s lips twitched into a smirk thinking about chasing that lot out. Still, business at hand.

She bumped the door the rest of the way back open with her hip, striding easily under the doorframe – there were advantages to being rather small, after all – and immediately growling at the sight that met her. She slammed her tray down on the nearest counter with a clatter and snarled, “Put that down! It isn’t finished yet, and you’re getting your oils all over it! If you ruin it, so help me…”

The man was tall, tall enough that up close she’d be looking upwards at quite an angle to meet his eyes, but that didn’t stop her from snagging one of her woodturning chisels and attempting to shoo him away from the partially completed stool, menacing him meaningfully with the sharp blade.

She held it like she knew how to use it on more than just wood.

Dissatisfied with his disobedience to her demands to get away from her work, she went in for a mock stab to drive him back, glancing as she did at the violated stool. She really couldn’t know what damage had been done until she had a chance to examine it, but at least she hadn’t gotten the final leg on and gotten the stain or lacquer on yet. Mr. Must-Touch-Ongoing-Projects would likely have gotten his massive, unsightly fingerprints everywhere.

With growing aggravation as he silently looked between her face, shoulder knots, her food tray and the rest of her body, she finally made to whack him with the chisel to make him take a step back. Blood was terrible to clean off, regardless of how much more satisfying a stabbing would be.

Most would think she’d be used to the treatment by now, and for the most part she was – but this man had gotten on her nerves by touching her projects. Without permission. To say nothing of just walking into her shop. No, he was without the benefit of the doubt today.

But then he had to go and ask the single most…ridiculous question (though she consciously choose to ignore the fact that not everyone could know who was who in a weyr), “Seeing as how I arrived here less than a fortnight ago, I fail to see how I could have been burned in a fire that took place that long before my arrival.” At least she knew what he was talking about – but then, it always paid to research your future home. “No, this,” she gestured at the marks curtly, revealing similar blemishes on her hands and lower arms as she sleeves flapped with her motions, “is natural. And that is all that needs be said on the matter.”

She glared at him, turning her face slightly so she could keep him in the center of her one-eyed vision, “What brings you to my workshop to touch things that are none of your business,” she glanced over his shoulder knots, “Dragonrider?”

The chisel did nothing to the tall rider in the room, as Oddinya had sadly suspected it would not, but at least he accepted her answer and moved on to business. That didn’t make up for the violation of the sanctity of her shop, but at least it meant he’d remove himself from her presence sooner.

She followed him to the counter, kicking a stool over as she went and stepping up, brows already furrowed as she examined the diagram and specifications. “I’ll need to take leg and torso measurements for you both, or you’ll need to get them from your ‘skinny and weak’ man and bring them to me. Shoulder to rump,” she mimed the distance on herself, touching the top of her shoulder and then the top of her leg, just under the cheek of her rump, “and then hip to knee, and knee to floor. Otherwise the chair might come out oddly proportioned.” She swung a cabinet over her head open and pulled out a roll of sting, pushing it aside for the moment.

“These chairs will cost you; less if you’re content with having them stained darker rather than having a dark wood as a base. If you want a dark wood, I’ll need to have custom cuts ordered in from Southern – we’d be looking at…oh, a half dozen marks per chair. Horribly expensive. If you can stand a stained piece, we’re closer to…” she tapped her lower lip as she calculated, “Three marks for the set. Maybe four, but I have an in with a weaver who might get me the padding and seat cover cheaper. Either way, the timeline is within reason.”

She scooted the diagrams for the chairs up to join the string, and firmly pulled the third design out of the rider’s hands, “Hm. You’re lucky I’m trained for this.” She examined the drawing for a long moment, then hopped off her stool to go rummage around in one of the lower cupboards, returning with two cubes of wood, each the length of Q’sis’s hand in the length and width. “I have a bit more leeway on these – this,” she lifted the block with one side polished to a bright, unnatural blue, “is pressure infused with a blue dye that colors the whole block this color. And this,” she set the other block on the counter, it’s polished sample side a soft pinkish shade, striated with ripples of a brighter pink, “is from the root bundle of a local shrub. Two marks for the blue, half for the pink, and another two for the custom carving. These you can touch, if you wish to examine them.”

Odd twitched visibly at the sheer flippant audacity of the dragonrider, slamming a hand down onto the counter and flinging a stray knife at the closing door as he pranced out with her food. She had to breath deeply for a long moment, calming her overwhelming irritation, and then walked across the room to pull the quivering knife free from the wood of the door.

Luckily, she had already discussed this particular potential occurrence with the Headwoman, and had a few, precious sheets of paper with contracts meticulously written out on them in one of the drawers.

It didn’t take her long to find them, pulling one free and digging out a small pot of blue ink and a quill that still had some sharpness to the nib so she could carefully scribble out a few lines of pricing and other requirements. That done, she dug out another block of wood, reddish as requested, with a pleasing burl, and set it on the counter for consideration. The other blocks went back into their cupboard.

Tasks done, at least for the moment, she settled down with her meal to await the return of the wherry-faced dimglow who’d decided to make her day difficult.

Meanwhile, L’kie was reacting to Q’sis ‘s abrupt arrival with his typical exasperated resignation. Luckily, the patient in question was his sister, so it wasn’t as awkward as it could have been when he was bent over her legs and thoroughly measured, the tall tanrider leaving without a word as soon as he was done.

Damali blinked after Q’sis as he strode out, looking between the door and her brother, mouth opening as if she wanted to say something. L’kie, straightening up, sighed, “What?”

The redhead looked at him suspiciously, “Was that…did he just proposition you?”

L’kie planted his face in one hand, heaving a massive sigh, “No.” He was, however, going to have to warn Delilah that Q’sis was being…stranger than normal.

Back in the woodshop, Odd looked up when her door opened again, and had to resist the urge to throw the knife again. “If you want the Weyr to pay for your personal order,” she started without preamble, lifting the piece of paper in the air delicately, “You’ll need this signed by the Weyrwoman and your Wingleader, and then approved by the Headwoman, since it’ll be coming out of her discretionary funds.”