Who Aignes, Kezresan
What Aignes and Kezresan meet again. It's still awkward.
When Autumn - Month 9 of Turn 2717
Where Lake Shore, Fort Weyr

Fort Weyr - Lake Shore
This lake shares many features common to mountain lakes — a brilliant blue jewel nestled amongst the rocks. The waters are crystal clear, and the north shore slopes gently before abruptly falling away into the depths. This lake does have one significant differentiating feature, however. The south shore of the lake is a tumbled mass of rubble, rock and earth of an ancient rockslide smoothed only by the elements in the intervening years. This rubble, as well as the rather sheer east and west faces, makes for the north shore to be the only one easily accessible.

Springs arrival is noted by the disappearing lake ice. As it melts it breaks up into smaller icy bergs. These bob randomly throughout the choppy waters, slowly disappearing as the temperatures rise. They also frequently provide sport and entertainment for the bathing dragons. The emerging shoreline is inviting, though the water remains chilly for their human counterparts. As spring draws nearer to summer, the waters begin to feel quite invigorating with Rukbat's growing shine.

Summer has begun to fade a way and with it, a little bit of crispness is in the air. Along with autumns beautiful blue skies (on the few days its not gloomy and raining), comes sweater season!!! While the lake shore might be relatively vacant of folks partaking in water-based activities, it's not completely deserted. One not-so-brave weaver has donned a cardigan and set up a blanket on the shoreline currently Aignes is setting and muttering undistinguishable curses at the pile of yarn that's accumulated in her lap while pulling at first one string and then another, but not obvious progress being made with that gordian knot she finds herself with.

Relatively vacant is how Kezresan prefers most things to be. Empty. Devoid of people. Or at least, devoid of the crowds that seek to engage him in dreaded socialization. It might just be an off-day for him, for even beneath the thicker jacket and loosely wound scarf, he does not wear the uniform of a Healer but rather the casual attire of one who is not concerned with looking /nice/, but has at least managed to find articles of clothing that are well tailored. It is a walk around the lake that seems to be his aim. At least as far as he can until the landslide prevents further travels and requires him to turn back around. The weaver on her blanket, when he should pass close enough to see her, gets a curious glance and then a narrow-eyed, squinted gaze as he seems to recognize her. It's her tangled knot of yarn that gets his attention next, a frowning twitching at the sides of his mouth, and a comment made before he can think better of it. "I don't think that's how you're supposed to do that."

"It's most definitely not how you're supposed to do that," to say Aignes growled would be an exaggeration. It's more like a kitten who is just practicing how to growl as she tosses those near hopelessly entangled skein of cream and muted blue down beside her. "I think my project cases were rolled all the way from Boll to here." How many works in project she might have is left unsaid. At least the one visibly evident is nowhere near as relaxing as the weaver might have hoped for something to do in some free time. She does look up and there's a flash of recognition that crosses her face when she sees the healer. "Don't try to tell me it's all relative though. I've seen some girls try and pass off garments made of all 'knots'. It was KNOT very flattering."

For the healer's part, there's a whole lot of frowning and skeptical peering at the tangled creation, some mild confusion at the mention of projects, a muttered, "That would be an extremely impractical way to transport it," for the mention of them being /rolled/ because he's just ornery like that, and a final huff of something akin to annoyance at the mention of relativity. "Obviously knots are not relative. A knot either is, or is not, a knot." Very astute. "And that," with a little flick of his finger, a shallow point that barely manages to be a gesture at all, "Is definitely a /knot/." He's not even trying to be sarcastic, either. He's literally just pointing out that it's a knot. "What is it supposed to be?" he wonders, curiosity getting the better of him.

Aignes can at least agree that a knot either is or it isn't. The usefulness of a particular knot is where all the technicalities and arguments might lie. The weaver nods and fishes into the small satchel by her side and ends up bringing out a tiny pair of scissors shaped kind of like a firelizard. The little snout opens up into blades which quickly snip snip some of the pieces in the middle of the knot before she sets them aside again. "It was supposed to be the start of a sock." Her fingers hold up the stray ends so recently clipped. The thread is far finer than that of a normal sweater or blanket, which probably added to the tangle-problem to begin with. "At least, the cream thread was a sock. I'm not even sure where the blue came from. That's what I get for accepting some packing help from apprentices."

"A sock." Kezresan peers at the mess of cream-and-blue, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed as though he's attempting to envision just how that tangle is meant to become a wearable item. It clearly requires a closer look and, being the sort that has no sense of decorum, he'll just invite himself over into Aignes' personal space to take that look for himself. Looming, even. "I see." He doesn't. Not really. And it's evident enough in the altogether apprehensive expression of his. "You're a very odd weaver," he decides.

Somewhere underneath the mass of yarn, there's another cluster of yarn that is less mess and more the starting of a very practical, and simple, sock. At least the toe of it anyways. A few knitting needles might be sticking out as if to indicate where she once had left off. They're still there! If Aignes can ever get to them. The weaver startles slightly as suddenly there is looming and she scoots backwards on her blanket as if a personal bubble of a certain distance is absolutely mandatory. "An odd weaver? You decide that after just looking at a sock?" She raises an eyebrow as she stares back at the man.

It takes him a moment. Probably even two, or three. But eventually Kezresan seems to connect the scooting /back/ with his sudden appearance /forward/ and, after yet another moment (up to four, now!) he does the polite thing and takes a step back. Just the one, though. "No," he clarifies. "I decided that after looking at things. Your scissors are shaped like a firelizard, a rather odd thing to begin with. You're making a single sock when, generally speaking, most people have two feet." A pause, as he seems to consider his position. "Perhaps it is only two things, but I'm sure there are more peculiarities that could be found. I just don't know you very well."

Those moments can really add up as Aignes is going to respond by just staring for a moment as she comprehends that diagnosis, before she gives a rather dismissive snort. "It'd be impractical to try and make two socks at once. I only have one pair of hands." And apparently four sets of needles are needed for this, although the ends of only three are visible in the tangled mess for the moment. "You make first one sock, and than the other. It's not like you put both socks on at the same time…" Although as soon as she says that, the weaver pauses to stare up at the man again. "Although, I guess I don't know you very well either. For all I know you could attempt to put both socks on simultaneously."

Kezresan might not wear socks at all! But no, he does. And the somewhat bemused expression might indicate agreement with her assessment that putting them on at once is a silly idea. A general taking in of the mess; of the three needles (though truth be told, Kez has no idea how a sock would be made, or how many needs it might take to make it, though he's game to make assumptions). "You said it was supposed to be /a/ sock. Not a pair of socks," he counters, less argument and more… attempting to understand the disconnect. The misunderstanding. "But yes, I would agree that putting on both simultaneously would be impractical. May I sit?" at least he asked, even if he's halfway down before he thinks to wait for an /answer/.

Aignes won't leave the man hanging for too long before giving a rather curt nod as indication that yes, Kezresan has permission to sit. It's a fairly large blanket after all. "It will be a sock. And then after I get finished making this sock, I will make it's partner." Although before she gets to even completing the one, there's still the whole untangling business to sort out. "But, there may be a market for individual socks. Unless Fort's laundries have a better system than any I've ever seen?" Who ever gets through a laundry day without at least one sock vanishing?

"That makes more sense," agrees Kezresan, settling himself on a corner of the blanket. The sorting out of tangled thread will be entirely left to Aignes, however. The healer contents himself with watching the chaos unfold. Or… staring out toward the lake. Whichever, really. "It is adequate," comes at mention of the laundries, Kez perhaps missing the connection between missing socks and washing. "There could be a market for single socks. A very /small/ market," he decides, musing on it. "Amputees. Or those that have a birth defect…"

The untangling is a battle, but one that Aignes intends to win, especiallyh since she already had to resort to the big guns in the form of the tiny scissors. Her fingers move quickly pulling ends one way and then another as progress begins to be made. The girl pales a little bit as the conversation takes a very sudden macabre turn. "I was just talking about people losing socks in the wash. Not…" she waves a hand to indicate the alternatives that Kez had already listed as if she's not willing to even utter the words.

"I… Oh." Because while Kez might not be totally adept at reading people, he's at least familiar enough with the concept that /healer things/ are not always appropriate to discuss or well received when he does. This? Definitely a case of the latter. Probably the former, too. And it has him falling into silence, mouth pressed into a little line of contemplation, eyebrows furrowed with the same emotion, a touch of conflict and apprehension in his gaze. A glance at Aignes. A glance at what was meant to, and might still one day, be a sock, and then toward the lake as Kez clears his throat and tries not to make things /worse/ while probably doing just that. Awkward? It might be awkward now.

And while Aignes could be theoretically capable of diffusing the awkwardness by offering some form of 'no worries' or just bringing up any other topic change, the thought does not occur to the weaver. Nope. She's too busy starting to turn a shade of scarlet that might match her skirt as her attention focuses down on the sock-knot in front of her. The good news is that single-minded determination on untangling instead of anything to do with amputees greatly speeds up the process, but eventually the awkward silence is too much for even her to politely ignore. "So… did you work this morning?" Seeing as she only knows a few facts about the man, topics for small talk are rather limited. Work is going to have to be safe enough for the moment.

Kez is just doing that thing, where he's staring at Aignes' hands as she fusses with the knot and seems to have no understanding that it might be /rude/ or not at all helping this awkward mess. The question gets a glance toward her face, at least, and a brief furrowing of his eyebrows. "Yes…" comes the cautious answer. A second or two later, and he supplies a perhaps requisite follow up though, having apparently learned his lesson for the moment, it is a tame, "it was routine," rather than a launch into the gritty details. "Did… you?" Cause that's normal to ask, right?

Aignes is not used to having an audience watching her work at untangling anything as that journeyman's knot is still relatively new and she hasn't found herself settled with apprentices yet. It's only a matter of time though! The nerves of having added eyes cause her to fumble a time or two, but slowly there becomes more yarn and less knot. She does give a brief nod when he confirms that the work was routine. "Good." Because not routine means disaster, right? As for herself, the weaver shakes her head slightly. "No. I was supposed to have a rest day." But like any slightly obsessed crafter, it'll take more than just a simple restday to fully pry work out of her hands. Especially given that her work is something that so many others might do as a hobby.

"Supposed to?" because Kezresan can see clearly enough that she is /working/. But who is he to argue this? Workaholic that he might be. That nearly perpetual frown firmly in place, his eyes narrow just a bit as he scrutinizes Aignes at her work. As though she were a curious creature that he sought to understand. It is not a look that is meant to be rude, but it is probably not terribly polite, all that staring and general lack of propriety. "Are the socks for you, then?" he wonders. Followed very quickly by a inquiring, "how long does it take to make a sock?" as though that were the natural follow-up.

"Personal project," Aignes justifies her totally not working and definitely recreationally untangling thread to eventually make a sock. And then a pair of socks. She straightens up a bit under the extra scrutiny, even though she was barely even slouching before. She turns a look back towards the healer as if just daring him to say something about the difference. Look is broken off to give a slight shrug and continue the detangling. "It depends on the type of sock and the thickness of the yarn. A basic sock with this thickness? About a day. For a single sock. Two for a pair." Just in case there was any clarification, she wants to be extra clear about the whole socks and pairs thing.

"An entire day?" It doesn't sound particularly shocked, but there's a flash of Kezresan's eyes and a somewhat startled expression that betrays him. "Two days, for a pair of socks…" Clearly, he had no idea the time and effort that went into such a simple thing. "I suppose… do you have to hand-make them each time? Can't you just… cut them from fabric and stitch them together?" Like a shirt, or a pair of pants. The next glance toward that not-as tangled ball of string is a bit more appreciative, at least. "Clever."

"About," Aignes waves a hand as she approximates. "More than a half day. Less than a full." She shrugs like it's a perfectly normal amount of time. The dubious look she casts towards the healer at the suggestion of just cutting fabric and stitching together is combined with a small tsk of disapproval for that idea. "You could… but it wouldn't be a very comfortable sock. There are some looms that could help but…" She shrugs. "This was the way my ma taught me. And they can last for turns if you care to darn them as needed. Plus, it's relaxing." Never mind all that cursing she started out with. At least now she is like eighty percent done with the detangling and soon the actual knitting can resume!

It is a dubious look, indeed, for that assertion that it is relaxing. Kezresan clearly disagrees, but is wise enough not to argue. Perhaps it has something to do with the three rather substantial, probably sharp needles poking out from the nest she's detangling. Of mothers, and their teachings, there at least comes a brief wash of understanding across his expression, a sort of 'ah' moment briefly visible before he goes sullen, and then stoic. Carefully composed, or simply back to equilibrium. "I will leave the socks to you, and simply stick with sewing—" but no, he won't finish that sentence, screeching to a halt before the words can finish forming. "Ah. Well. I shall stick with healing," he amends.

Aignes has battled with the yarn enough to finally reclaim the fourth needle, although it did slip out. The weaver's nimble little fingers will carefully slide it back into the loops it fell out of, mumbling a count as she does so just to make sure all stitches are accounted for. "You sew?" She asks, naively enough although the screeching halt has her face contorting into a grimace of 'I probably shouldn't have asked that question' nearly immediately. "Of course you sew… That's actually what I do more often. Quilting, actually." New topic, post-haste!

Kezresan does /not/ enlighten Aignes that his 'sewing' involves flesh, and not fabric. But as she seems to have made the connection, he sees no harm in sharing that, "It's not that different. Akin to a very delicate fabric. Depending on where…" but yeah, no. He'll just stop there before he's talking about the different TYPES of flesh and how to sew them. Quilting. "I have never quilted," he declares. "I have sewn. And not just… for my craft," he clarifies. "I find it tedious. Necessary, but rather monotonous." Which might not be very nice, and Kez seems to realize this when he adds (after a moment of thought and a quiet clearing of his throat), "I can appreciate the… simplicity of it," but that's not quite right, either, and so he'll try again with, "What I am trying to say, is that I can see how sewing would be a task that might ease the mind." Is that /better/? Maybe.

"It can be," Aignes will agree to that. She just spent a good while trying to get two skeins of yarn that shouldn't be one big knot separated after all. Tedious and frustrating she definitely knows. "But the more monotonous stuff can usually be handled by seamstresses and apprentices." The weaver will bristle slightly, but only slightly as the possible insult doesn't seem to have much malice, and indeed has some merits. "But it can go beyond the simple, utilitarian pieces and into an art form, if someone knows what they're doing."

"To each his own," decides Kezresan, which is to say that he likely does not find the appeal , or simply doesn't have the skill, to create art from fabric As the mess of string seems to become manageable (and a fourth needle is revealed!) Kez glances toward the lake instead, then the sky, and finally Aignes again. It precedes a rather abrupt push to his feet, and he carefully removes himself from her blanket, and might have more to do with the dragon passing over head, than the nature of the conversation. The healer's eyes track the progress of the brown, gaze narrowed until he's ascertained that it is landing rather than leaving. He's two steps away before he seems to realize that he ought to say something before just abandoning the weaver. "Ah… thank you for the talk. Good luck with the socks…"

Manageable indeed! Now is time for the sock-making magic to happen. Double pointed needles might be a little bit of magic, but one that Aignes has mastered enough she can take an eye off her work to watch the dragon passing overhead and her impromptu companion's sudden removal. "Thank you as well. Hopefully your next shift is just as routine?" Is that what you wish a healer? She doesn't really sound quite sure, but it's all she can come up with as she gives a bit wave. And then back to work. Hopefully by sunset she'll have at least one sock. Maybe one and a half!

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