Round and Round it Goes [Open]

[Gray]

She had developed a routine now that she had been at the Weyr for a few days. She had budgeted her time to allow for both Dragon and Wher lessons. She had even budgeted in time for A'til and Asperath, not that she would tell him that he had time devoted to him. Despite the fact that he and the viridian were huge mother hens, she had to admit she liked spending a little time with her brother. Especially now that she could pick and choose when she wanted to see him. The Weyr was certainly big enough for her to avoid him completely if she wanted, and she had a special deal with Masque. He got a treat if he didn't tell her brother what she was up to. The purple was more than willing to comply.

But today, Matilda had her heart set on working on her weaving. Today, she would forgo her evening nap. It was a horrible idea, of course. She would probably be sluggish later that night, and she certainly would regret it that next morning. But Matilda needed to practice. She was not about to give up her craft, even if she had only been in the craft for a short time. So gathering up the needed materials, Matilda looked through the candidate barracks, and snuck off. Lachesis sat latched to her shoulder, chittering and scolding her. Didn't Matilda know she was supposed to be sleeping? Didn't she understand that she would be tired? What a bad child! Atropos and Clotho followed along, lazily drifting on the breeze.

Matilda, with a few shhs to the green, ignored her and carefully made her way through the tunnels of the lower caverns to the Workrooms. Setting her back down, she settled herself on a stool, and piled out a spindle. Already it had a bit of thread coiled around it, maybe two or three day's work, with a lead ready to accept more.

“Atropos, man the door. Keep an eye out. Lachesis, you go down the hall. And Clotho? Go find something good for me, ok? This schedule has been putting a dent in my gossip.” The odd, fleshy colored pink trilled happily and set off, her sisters behind her.

Hunching over, Matilta started her work, humming a rather high pitched, wavering song that to some, might cause goosebumps and chills. Pulling the fibers long and thin, she started to spin them tight into fine threads, pausing to wrap what she had made around the spindle. It was tedious work, but watching the thread on the spindle grow made her feel accomplished. Like she had done something good.

[RhiaBlack]

Sleep was for the dead.
At least, that's how he had always thought about it. Acetone had been restless, and in every sense of the word he had done much the same for N'tharon. Now, the Blackrider was out wandering. The Lower Caverns were good for that, and since his Forges weren't that far away, it made for a good bit of exploring. Acetone was good at handling tunnelsnakes, the ones that got aggressive, at any rate. He didn't worry for much.

The thought of encountering anything but Whers at this hour, though, hadn't even hinted at the corners of his thoughts. He'd been contemplating some measure of work either with his jewelrycrafting, or with the harder, more robust smithwork. He wasn't a Master yet, so there was always time to try. Always time to study, learn, and get better.

Yet here he was, trolling through the corridors, searching for nothing in particular, but nevertheless idly letting his mind wander as it often did. Much as he was willing his feet to do the same. It was too sharding warm out to do much, and he suspected a reprieve from the Forge's heat would do him a bit of good. He'd been on patrol all day with Sintharith, so once the Black had been left to sleep inside their weyr, and Acetone had been loathe to do the same, it had resulted in N'tharon's rather forced suggestion from the Black firelizard to take a walk.

The steady thunk of thick-heeled boots against the cold stone floor would alert anyone of his approach - he wasn't precisely stealthy, never had been, probably never would. Past the storerooms, beyond the food stores, past the workrooms, mind the humming from--wait, what?

N'tharon paused. No, that was definitely humming. Most Riders not on patrol were either outside or at supper by now, maybe napping to prepare for their patrol times if they hadn't done them already. So it had to be either a Wherhandler, or a Candidate. Maybe a Crafter, but he doubted it was the former. It was too early for Whers. That left Candidate or Crafter.

He followed the source of the sound - around corners, along other hallways. Like some great, large shadow, he slid in against the doorframe, leaned in the entryway with one shoulder against the hewn stone opening. Arms laced across one another, and he sized her up.

"Little late to be working on crafts, isn't it?"

[Gray]

Lachesis was the first to notice someone wandering around. Person! Hers would have to know. She Alerted Atropos and Atropos alerted Matilda. The girl paused in her work, but not her humming. She questioned if it was A'til, for he was the only one she was really worried about. When the answer came, she shrugged a bit. Atropos told Lachesis to ignore it. Colors had been picked and designated, to make this whole communication easier. Seafoam for A'til and Vesperath, a bright chartreuse for Yeses, a bright red for no. The signals she got were certainly red, bt it did mean Matilda was prepared for when someone leaned against the doorway. Atropos peered at the man, staying as still as a statue.

“It is, but I've got to fit it in where I can. Can't let myself get rusty, or forget about it if I want to make Master one day.” It was only as she was winding new thread around her spindle that she looked up and flashed him a smile.
“I will get Master one day, you know. I've decided on it. Even if I'm old and it hurts to work.” She plucked at more strands, pulling them apart, until they were thin whisps. Holding the Spindle between two fingers, she gave it a sharp twist and watched it spin for a few.

“You aren't here to tell me to go to bed, are you? I don't think you are. My brother would have come down himself if he knew. I'm guessing you aren't a Handler, either. They're probably still asleep. Which means you're either a crafter, or dragonrider.” Looking up from her work again, she tilted her head a bit.
“So which is it? Unless you're both. I know not everyone just rides dragons.”

Atropos crawled from her perch and flew down to curl around Matilda's shoulders, keeping her eyes on N'tharon.
“Of course, you don't really have to tell me. I don't know why you wouldn't, but I've heard people keep odder secrets.”

[RhiaBlack]

N'tharon raised a dark brow, arms sliding a bit more fully across one another, over the width of his chest with the stance of support for his leaned-on shoulder. Acetone trilled a greeting at the flitter nearby, quiet as it was, but he didn't move otherwise from His' shoulder. N'tharon observed her while she spoke, contemplative though he didn't give voice to anything shrouded in his thoughts. Not yet, anyway.

"Might take you longer than most, yes, if you're a Candidate," he assumed from the manner she spoke that she was - crafters wouldn't note about 'not getting rusty'. "If you can find time between drills, patrols, Threadfall, all that sort of thing. Probably better when there's nothing to fight but boredom."

His tone was even, neither annoyed nor precisely cheerful. More bored than anything else, and Acetone flicked from his place on His' shoulder to sweep down past the doorway and to a far ledge. The copper ball that His, himself, and Sintharith made a habit of playing seek-and-find with lingered on a far ledge, tucked into a corner. The Flit had only seen it when the light hit it just right. He pilfered it, and rather than between, flew back to His' shoulder with a trill of glee. The orb was dropped into N'tharon's hand, and the Blackrider rolled it across his fingers. It was no bigger than a golfball, this one. A new one he had made recently.

"Journeyman Smith, yes. N'tharon of Black Sintharith. I have no concern in where you go, I'm not a Candidatemaster, and you don't appear to be doing anything uncouth or troublesome, so I can't see why anyone would have. You've been here a few months, I assume? Unfortunately I don't have much...inspiration, motivation, what have you, to rub elbows with most of those here, so I can't say I've ever seen you before."

All the while, N'tharon's gaze settled intriguingly on the spindle in her hands. So she was a Weaver. He had seen many of them at Ista, but he hadn't had the time to actually -watch- them work. It was almost melodic - no wonder she had been humming.

"So do you dabble in Harper as well, or did I simply stumble upon perhaps the only person in this Weyr who isn't irritated by silence?"

He looked her over. She was young, dark. Paler than most of the girls he had seen here, outside a handful, but the depth of the black in her hair contrasted exceedingly sharp with the rest of her. It had initially taken him a bit off-guard, but it wasn't as if there was anything -wrong- with her.

[Gray]

Atropos relaxed a bit and trilled back a greeting. Oh look, he had a flitter. Flitters were good signs of good people. Matilda in turn, continued her work, thing fingers pulling at fibers and twisting the spindle, letting the thread twist tight before wrapping it around with the rest of the already finished thread.

“It might be easier, but easy isn't any fun. It's soothing, too. A way for me to wind down after classes and chores. I'm sure you understand. Sometimes, I'd rather worry about messing up a spool of threat, or a pattern instead of worrying about saving people.” She paused for a moment and shook her head.
“Not that I do much saving people, just yet. My brother says that there's a partner waiting for me, I just have to wait.” Waiting was not a problem. In fact, A'til seemed more invested in her impressing than she was. Not to say she didn't want to, she did. But she guessed he just wanted her to feel as complete as he did. She shrugged a bit.
“We will see. Fate's an odd thing and sometimes likes to tease us.”

Atropos oozed around Hers' shoulders, her mottled hide bright against the girl's dark hair. She watched the black firelizard with mild amusement. What was he after? Oh. The ball was pretty. Flicking her tail back and forth, more akin to a canine than a firelizard, the green followed the ball's return. Shifting the spindle to one hand, Matilda reached up to brush her fingers over Atropos' head.
“That is good, I'm making progress and I'd hate to have to stop. Trouble isn't really my thing. I've had enough of it in my short lifetime. But it is lovely to meet you, N'tharon. That seems about right. I'm often rushing around with chores and such. So I'm not offended that you've not seen me. I'm sure you are all quite busy.”

She was nearing the end of her fibers and reaching down, she picked up a few more skeins of wool, trying to pick similar shades of color from what she had. “No, I just like to hum while working sometimes. Silence is nice, but when it comes to spinning like this, it's nice to have a sound accompanying it. Using one of the larger wheels you often have it's natural sounds to keep you focused. But drop spindles are silent.” She looked up to see what Atropos had been staring at, since the firelizard hadn't really moved from earlier. Had he made that? She did not voice her question, but her eyes focused on the ball for a moment.
“As a smith, do you specialize in anything? I've never known much about smithing.”

[RhiaBlack]

N'tharon leaned back against the doorframe once more, content to linger there for now. Acetone slithered in against His' shoulder, attention settled on the flitter draped around Matilda's shoulders. He wasn't so bold as to go over and actually greet the other firelizard, much as His wasn't the sort to interrupt or be a bother otherwise to Theirs'. For the time being, Acetone lingered where he lay, though there was an undeniable curiosity to his dark little expression.

"I do, actually," Nel remarked quietly. "I find myself in one of four places, more often than not. My weyr, the Dining Hall, my Forges, and then the patrols and threadfighting. It tends to drag one's thoughts away from the dour states that socializing in this place can bring them to, having something to do with my hands. Makes the day pass with more haste, if nothing else."

He shrugged slightly.

"Not really a matter of being busy, I just don't tend to be social. Those here seem to have their own social circles, and it's too much work to waste my time trying to get into them. Sintharith chases when he feels the need, and that's the extent of my social work. Been accused of being something of a hermit at times, but I imagine that's what anyone's reaction would be. I fly thread with the rest of them, they don't really have anything else to say about me. I like it that way. If they don't have anything to say, they don't have anything to gossip, though I get my fair share back on that no matter how much I try to avoid it. Some people just can't leave well enough alone."

N'tharon's fingers wrapped the small orb with a sense of rhythm, as it was shifted with scarcely a second thought and continued its way across the backs of his fingers, over his knuckles, then promptly into his palm and repeated all over again. All the while, his full attention lingered on Matilda.

There was something about her he just couldn't place. Couldn't put his thumb on; perhaps the relaxed manner she had with him. She didn't look stressed or fearful at the presence of a Dragonrider, something he wasn't used to. She didn't look anything but content, in a way he had never seen before. Not completely happy, but...comfortable. That was the best he could word it. It was something that drew him in, and in that right while he didn't feel compelled to pry into learning anything personal about her - not having only just met her, of course - he did want to continue watching. There was something almost melodic about how her hands worked the spindles. She had an eye for detail, and suddenly he felt a slight pang of self-warding. What had she picked out from him? What had he betrayed?

The thought of anyone pinning him for who and what he really was drew the smallest of shivers along the length of his spine, but his response betrayed nothing of his emotions and concerns.

"I make a lot of jewelry. Bracelets, rings, necklaces, charms, and the like. Hobbycrafting, more than anything else. I can Smith just about anything, but small, intricate things keep my hands busy. Fetches a fair share of Marks at the Gathers, too. I should think I'll have requests at this next Hatching, had a few new Weyrlings from Ista while I was there, they wanted the eggshells from their Dragonets made into some sort of keepsake. Necklace charms, such as that." A small frown, before he shifted his attention to the orb, then back to her. "But aside from that, just your everyday Smithwork. You have a specialization for your Weaving?"

[Gray]

She was glad to find someone who thought the same way. She loved her craft. She adored her craft, in fact, and working it, even just a bit, melted away the stress and ache of chores even if it was for a bit. Not that chores were all that stressful in the grand scheme of things. But for an apprentice and a candidate, they were one of the major things she had to worry about.

“I saw similar during my short time at the Hall. Circles formed, often tightly knit. If you would excuse the pun. There is nothing wrong with that, of course. But I can see why you would not want to waste your time. Social circles can be very carefully balanced. One thing going wrong and you could end up with enemies instead of friends.” She frowned a bit as she wrapped the newly made thread around the spindle. The color was off, just a tad. In the end she'd most likely end up dying the whole lot. But it was bothersome until then.
“I worked mostly in gossip. Though I tried to spread the good, rather than the bad. None of that petty, vitriolic stuff. I don't want to be in the middle of a fight. But I always liked to talk about who met who, who was becoming friends with whom, who's projects were coming along nicely.” Atropos flicked her tail, slipping down Matilda's back to settle on the ground. The green poked her nose through the girl's bag, picking through fibers. Maybe she could find something better for Matilda to wok with.

The best thing about spinning was that it was easy to hold a conversation while working on it. IT wasn't a healer's busy work, nor did it take the concentration a harper's compositions might. It was easy, and it allowed her to watch who she was speaking with. N'tharon was so... Calm. Though she wasn't sure calm was the word to describe it. The word she was looking for though flitted about at the back of her mind, hiding from her. Oh well.

Looking over the fibers gathered, she pursed her lips a bit. Yes. This batch would certainly need a good dye. Perhaps a green, or a red. With the turn of season, she wanted to do something that matched the world outside. But just what? That she could mull over later. She was in the middle of a conversation, after all.
“Jewelry? How interesting. I would love to see some of your work one day. I never got to really see much of it. But I like the idea of it. Delicate, intricate pieces adding accents to bring out a person's good features, or to class up an outfit? Lovely.” She twisted the spindle once more, her sea-green eyes flicking up to really focus on him.
“I'd have never thought to work dragonshells into a piece. It's a very good way to always remember that special day. Hopefully there are some interested after the hatching. The eggs do have a lovely color to them. Kalesk's are also rather pretty in their own way.” Shells. Could she use dragon shells? For a moment the idea of a dress appeared in her head, tiny bits of shell sewn into intricate designs trailing down it. It would be lovely. It would be new. But would shells hold up like that? She'd have to see if she could get a few shells.
“Not yet, I'm mostly learning the basics, bit by bit. I do hope to specialize in clothing one day though. An outfit can say so much about a person. It can tell stories of where you came from, or where you want to go. I want to do new things. I want to make it so looking elegant is not something only reserved for Lord and Lady holders.” There was so much more she wanted to do, but it would be silly to spout off all her ideas to this almost stranger.

[RhiaBlack]

Well-spoken, too. It wasn't often he found himself engaged with a Candidate who had such an expansive vocabulary, at least for what age he suspected she was. Intelligence, and he found that attractive. Always had, probably always would. His expression never betrayed it - it seldom ever did, a penchant that he had adapted in order to guard himself from anyone spotting a shift in his attention.

A small smile flashed briefly at the pun, and it coupled with a deep-chested laugh, quiet as it was. Sintharith grinned up in their weyr.

She is rather striking, NelMine.
Too young for me.
Perhaps not for long.
Don't you start making promises I won't keep.

Sintharith's draconic laugh chuffed into his thoughts, and it drew a wry grin from his lips - one that masterfully faded from his initial smile.

"I'd say it seems easier to spread good news than bad, but misery loves company, so I hear more bad than good these days. A pity, as it certainly seems we need far more of the better stuff given what's happened in the last few months. Turns, even."

He sighed faintly, and Acetone slithered down his arm, perching at his bent elbow to tilt his head at Atropos. What was she doing? Well why don't you go ask. Acetone's tiny forepaws settled on N'tharon's bicep, before he scaled down His' vest, then pants, and finally dropped to the ground to hide shyly behind Nel's boot-clad ankle. N'tharon nudged him with his other foot's toe, and he chirped in surprise at the contact before he remained where he was. N'tharon let him alone.

"Do you attend the Gathers? I remember seeing Candidates at the last one...if you make a habit of crafting things to sell there, perhaps we could work out some form of business agreement. If you're unable to go, I can take your things with me to sell with mine, and bring your Marks back to you. Likewise, if for some reason I can't go, I'll send my pieces on with you, and you could do the same?"

He shifted forwards, moving out of the way of a Drudge carrying a sack of something or another past, towards the storage rooms. With that brief movement, he was right back to leaning on the doorframe.

"I've found seashells make a rather adequate stand-in, if for some reason you can't find eggshells. They're both relatively heavy-grade, at least as far as more delicate things go. Sintharith brings me more than I can use, I can have Acetone bring the excess down to you, if you like. I do a lot of pieces with mother-of-pearl and pearls, as a result, so perhaps it would behoove me to send you some to get an idea as to what you'd put them with. If of course you'd be inclined to do so."

He looked down at himself at the mention of clothing. Well, there was certainly something to say about that, he supposed. N'tharon wore only two colors, ever. Black, and Silver. The latter was usually jewelry, at that.

"I suppose there isn't much to tell about mine in that case, hmm? Beyond the fact it helps me stay out of notice, I'd suspect. Who knows. Some people are drawn more to the color than repelled by it, it seems like. Especially around here. I dislike brown or bronze, so barring those, dressing fully in any other color would draw more attention than I like."

He raised a brow, and in the course of the conversation, Acetone had managed to work up enough courage to creep out from behind His' ankle. The Black firelizard slinked towards Atropos, before pausing a few inches away to wait for her to get her head out of Matilda's bag. He didn't want to startle her. His little forepaws hooked over one another, and he settled back on his haunches without a sound.

[Gray]

It was nice. Nice to speak to someone who didn't talk down to her. Nice to talk to someone who didn't try and manipulate her right off the back. Even better, he wasn't afraid. Of course, that could be he didn't know, but he was also and adult. Adults weren't scared of the holdless like children and teenagers were. They were smarter than that, or at Matilda hoped so.

“Misery does love company, wouldn't you? Sadness is much less interesting when alone. It can bring such breakthroughs though... I can see why people spread it. We're all a little miserable deep down inside. It makes us happy to know we're not the only ones suffering. Dalibor, from what I've gathered, has had quite a share of misery.”

Matilda figured misery made people strong, and a whole Weyr's worth of it made Dalibor strong in it's own way. Those she had met were loyal. Loyalty was always good, and the Weyr itself had repaired and readied themselves for what ever came next. It was noble.

“I've not been able to attend one yet. I'd like to, as I've heard they are rather interesting. So many people, with all kinds of wares.” She paused to listen to his deal and thought it over before nodding.
“That sounds like it would work out well, that way we both profit. Hopefully I'll have a few things to sell when the next one comes around. You'd have to give me a run-down of prices, of course.”

Matilda's eyes lit up with the mention of the seashells, and ideas started to blossom and bloom. They were small, fledgling ideas, but she'd have to sketch some out when she got back to her room. Hopefully Lavi didn't mind.
“That would be perfect, seashells, especially mother of pearls, would be such a nice accent to a gather dress. If you have extras, I'd love to give it a try.” Her fingers trembled a bit as she pulled herself from mental sketches and color palettes, thus stopping the spindle mid twist.

Starting it back up, she looked over N'tharon. Black with silver accents, hmm? Well. That wasn't unusual. Her own attire was mostly black with a sash of pale green, a color much like Lachesis' hide.
“No, no black and silver can tell quite a bit. Beyond what you said, it tells that you prefer darker areas. Your forge, I'm guessing, is somewhat dark, probably mostly lit by the light of the fires themselves. It hides stains and mess easily, too. So you don't have to worry about soot, or blood, or anything else that might happen. It could also compliment your dragon. I've noticed some riders and handlers tend to dress in colors that match, or look good with their bonded. I think it's a pride thing, though black goes with most colors. So that's a bit of a stretch. You could also say it says you want your work to shine through. Dark, simple clothing would be a nice backdrop for your pieces.” She, of course, wouldn't know how much was right unless he told her, but Matilda did feel she had a good eye for clothes, and what they could tell her at first glance. Emerging from the bag with a maw-full of fibres, Atropos was a bit surprised to see he was so much closer now. Padding over, she placed them in front of him and looked at him. Was he coming to help? She tilted her head and chirped questioningly.

[RhiaBlack]

"It does. There's a saying that two negatives make a positive, so I would suspect that either someone was really smart as far as sayings went, or it was someone who went through a lot of bad times and came out better for it. Who knows." He shrugged slightly, gentle as to keep from unseating himself from his lean.

N'tharon's eyes lingered on her work, more than her hands. It was interesting, and he found himself almost entranced by the easy but articulate movements of her fingers and hands. He should only hope to be that deft one day. She had long fingers, it appeared, at least while she was working. Agile.

She will do great things one day, MineOwn.
Yes. Yes, she will.

"This place is a hive of bad luck, so I hear. Well...not so much luck as happenings. Plague, fires, strange Hatchings, stranger mating flights, it seems. Hopefully with any luck, most of the bad things are over, but I'd expect that fate isn't done with this place by a long shot."

For several minutes, he just watched her work. It was almost soothing, the manner of quiet she seemed content with, at least as far as personal work. The forges were a noisy place, so it wasn't often that he could linger in both shadows and relative silence. Or something as easy to listen to as Weaverwork. She wasn't overly loud, either, which was always a plus. He hadn't much tolerance for loud or boisterous women, or men for that matter. He could be that way, of course, but it wasn't often. Normally when something displeased him, but then again someone would have to linger around him long enough for that to be the case.

"If you'd like to go, I'll be happy to take you with me. I don't sell at all of the ones I attend, so we could go to those if you'd like to get an idea for how it works and what's available there, as well as who tends to go. I'd have to have you brought by another for ones that I have a stall for, as Sintharith isn't very large, so he can't carry both of us as well as all my things. Prices are easy enough to manage, most of the clothing I buy is men's clothing, of course, so we would have to check in on some of the other stalls for women to get an idea as to what to charge for those."

She was speaking his language, and he found amusement in that.

Be careful, MineOwn. I think you're starting to like this one. You've already used up all your space for 'people you can't be snide to' for one turn...
You hush. She's not like the rest of them. She amuses me. I can't quite put my finger on why, though.
Like the Cyanrider?
No, no. Not like Sol. No, she's...something else. She's not from here, or anywhere like here, it's...I'm not sure.

The mental conversation distracted him briefly, his eyes wandering around the room before resettling on Matilda. It was going to bother him, what he found so amusing about her. What pulled at him.

It does not help that she looks somewhat like Synestria.

Instantly, the mental shut-down resolved a quiet apology from his Black, but N'tharon's mood had already served to recoil from the blow. His eyes darkened, but otherwise he didn't appear to really shift otherwise. Though the appraising of his attire brought a half-smirk to his features.

"You are a sharp one, hmm? Yes, yes. My forges are dark, lit by the fires, though I tend to only wear pants, maybe a vest down there. You're right about the backdrop, though. I tend to use black cloth, it takes less away from the pieces. Colored cloth tends to be distracting."

He nodded towards her clothing, smirking as her hands stopped the spindle, only to pick it back up again.

"You wear dark clothing, too, all outside that sash. I'd say perhaps some hidden bright side to all the dark color, but I can already see there is one. You strike me as very sensible, and I can't say I see many Candidates with that trait. You work while you talk, too, which is nice. So many who can't do both, only one or the other, and that seems to irritate some people here beyond myself. You're going to go far here on that alone, let alone other skills you have."

Acetone cheeped back at Atropos, and made grabby-paws for her to give him something to do or carry. He wanted to help, too! It looked so interesting, all those different things to see! He could hold things for her, while she picked them out, that would help, wouldn't it? He chirped in inquiry, and N'tharon briefly looked towards his Black to make sure he wasn't getting into anything. Nope, best behaviour as most times. Good. One less thing to concern himself with, as he looked back towards Matilda.

"What other things do you work on, aside from dresses? Other types of clothing, floor-coverings, tapestries, things like that? I've been looking for a new set of blankets for a time, perhaps I could commission you to make some for me, when you've the time. If, of course, you would be privy to that sort of thing. I can bring you measurements when I see you next."

[Gray]

She felt the pull of a string at the back of her head, a tiny note of alarm. Clotho. The Firelizard had news. Good? Bad? She could not tell, but it was information for Matilda. She could wait until later, though. It was nothing game changing, Clotho would have been much more insistent if it was. Winding the latest length of thread around the spindle, she judged how much she made. She was nearing half way, not a bad amount for the work she had done. If she kept it up, she would be able to churn out thread so quickly she could spend more time working on other pursuits.

“Bad luck is really a test. Greatness doesn't often come out of cushy surroundings. You've got to test it with hardship and fire, though not literally for the latter. I think it's made the people here stronger, more interesting, don't you? To have weathered such difficulty, but still be happy when an egg hatches, and a new pair bonds. It's special. They even took in Holdless. How many Weyrs would do that, especially after what happened? Not many, I think. Dalibor is unique.” She stared at the spindle as it spun. This place was very unique. Even with dragons dead, a queen gone, they had only showed the hints of anger. They did not lash out aimlessly at the holdless. They were kind. Matilda still remembers Sol's promise, she remembered they way they were put at ease and offered a new home.

She started as he spoke again, lost in her own thoughts for a bit too long to just brush it off as focusing on her work.
“I'd like that a lot, as long as I wasn't a burden. Of course, being a candidate, my future is rather up in the air. But as long as I'd be able to, I'd like to accompany you.” She gave him a bright smile, but as usual there was a fierceness about it, and twisted a bit of freshly made thread around a finger.
“If needed, I can help as well. I may not be a smith, but If needed I could watch over the stall while you look around. I'm sure you too like to see what others are offering.”

His silence was met with her own, and she turned to her work. Refasten the hook, pull at the fibers, and give the spindle a twist. So practiced was she, that it seemed mechanical. Precision honed by practice and passion. Occasionally, she'd look to Atropos and Acetone, and sometimes back to N'tharon. She didn't question. She had sen A'til go quiet while he mentally spoke to his dragon, and tended to assume something similar was going on. Though N'tharon did not wear the slightly peeved expression A'til did when dealing with Asperath's jokes. Then the silence was broken.

She listened with a small smile on her lips. She had been right on some accounts, which pleased her. Matilda, like many folks, enjoyed being right occasionally. Then it turned to her. She nodded a bit as he spoke, agreeing with him silently.
“You're right. Sensible has always been of great importance to my brother and I. The luxury of bright colors is one I only recently gained, and I intend to use that to my advantage. Not for myself, though. I don't think a lot of bright colors would work for me. It's just not who I am. I'd rather make others look bright and beautiful.” She was not the best at being complimented, and his herself behind her hair some.
“Oh, thank you. It's a skill I picked up as a child. It's all a matter of learning to split your attention.”

Atropos chirped and nudged the fibers towards the black firelizards. She pretended to pick some up, and then turned around to go back to the back, looking over to chirp at him again when over there. Hopefully he understood to pick them up and follow. Stopping the spindle, Matilda reached over to brush along the green's back. She gave the firelizard a look that meant 'Be nice'. Not that Atropos needed to be told, no one deserved her ire yet! She chirped again at her new friend and dug into the back, pulling out another wispy cloud of wool.

“Before I was apprenticed, I would mend clothing and blankets, and haphazardly stitch together blankets from scraps of worn ones. They were always important, so that was one of the first things I learned. They're just as important as clothing, though many still like furs stitched together. Tapestries, well, I am not there yet. I'd like to. They seem like a great challenge. Memorializing a piece of history through color and thread. It's just fascinating. I'll have to learn it eventually, if I ever intend to get my Mastery.”

[RhiaBlack]

"I hear much about these Holdless," N'tharon offered, straightening his posture before he shifted to lean with the other shoulder against the opposite side of the doorway, "But I don't think I've ever met any. I suppose the prospect of living outside a Hold doesn't register with me as much. Most Holdbred or Weyrbred, I assume they have a predisposition towards them because of the whole reason most of them become that way. I admire their courage, at any rate. It takes a great deal of it to know that you don't have much protection if Thread falls, but that doesn't seem to stop them."

He plucked at some lint on his shoulder, before re-crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"You would think people would want to learn from them, they've probably picked up some pretty useful survival tips in their time out there. Can't be too prepared, in case we're ever caught out for some reason or another during Thread. Doubtful among Riders, but doesn't completely negate the chance."

He was rambling. Frowning at himself, he turned his attention to Acetone, who had picked up on what he was being directed by Atropos to do. Pilfering the fibers, he carted them where his newfound director had indicated, and set them down - moving back to the bag to retrieve more that she had portioned and decided on.

"Bright does not necessarily mean beautiful, but I know what you mean. I tend to find the darker, more neutral colors to be more attractive, but that's only personal preference. You'll have good business from here, I suspect. There are several I have spotted in my day-to-day travels throughout this place that enjoy the louder colors and brighter hues." His lips pulled into a small smirk, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived. "I've got furs, also...they're useful for the colder Winter months here, but the undersides tend to be a bit scratchy for the better ones. Nothing like a good cloth blanket underneath to save one's hide from other hides."

He rubbed the side of his face, the five o'clock shadow creeping across his jaws as the copper ball was grasped in the other hand. Once the appraisal of his features had been obtained, he was back to rolling the orb across his knuckles and thumb.

"This place seems to be especially forgiving, for those who've got a sordid past of sorts. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't taking refuge here....there are several that Ista who dislike me immensely, have for a while now, and it's nice to be back here. Things tend to get tense for a while, and then everyone relaxes and it's back to business as usual. I suppose that's what always drew me here, over every other place I could have transferred to. Dalibor understands what it means to move on. Not forget, but just...let things go." He sighed, and turned his attention back to his Black.

"You have others aside from that one?"

N'tharon nodded towards Atropos.