Spring 11th, 513AV The room was pinnacle of peace. Silence and the steady hum of work thrummed against the silky excuse for walls, boxing in the noisy silence. It was nothing new for Sosicly but today it was stifling, the beat of the looms working in tandem was near enough to drive her stark raving mad. Pride of their race or no, looms were a beast to work with and she was near quit of it, ready to kick the machine across the floor in defiance. She’d rather literally suffer a dance than continue with the wretched instrument. Wheezing out her frustration, Sosicly took in the loom of the student beside her, how with a subtle infuriating grace and ease the younger girl worked the loom. The beginning of a lovely soft silk already showing in what would be a fine piece for a dress. Now thoroughly disgusted with her own work she shifted away, the corner of her eye catching a figure sweeping towards her. But her focus was solely on the matted mess her piece was subtly becoming, how had that damned strand even went over? A stern hand settled on her shoulder, “What have you been doing?” Sosicly stared up Elyna, both their faces a mask of irritation and disappointment. Elyna’s for Sosicly wasteful and obviously distracted weaving, for she was no longer a student and she meant to be productive and Sosicly’s for her own failure. Sharp nails gestured jerkily at the hand loom but Elyna cut her off with her own slash. Her voice sharp and broking no argument. “You’ve gone and crossed the threads and the beater is meant to be pulled hard. Now get up while I fix it and pay attention this time, Bittaly.” Nodding her head in assent, Sosicly stood and made room stinging from the rebuff, obviously Elyna was not finished and managed to pin her with a look, she felt like a fly in a web. It was not a pretty image all things considered. “The dress it due by the end of the week, I will give the task to someone else unless your foot decides it knows what peddle to press.” “And since you are acting like a student you will be treated like one.” Sosicly shook her head, ready to refute, to reach for her book but Elyna pointed to loom nodded her head to the loom and spoke as if she hadn’t seen, “Where is the beater?” For a sullen second she thought to point to the peddles but her instructors tone was brisk and none of her words had been untrue, huffing silently and retying her hair in a loose knot the younger woman pointer to the instrument in question. “Warp threads?” Another point this time to the upper threads. “Weft thread?” A nail pointed to thread going horizontal. “Shuttle?” Sosicly tapped the piece in Elyna’s hand and found it pressed into her own, the woman’s ‘fixing’ done. “You’re not a student, the client is yours and if there are any mistakes it is on your head,” her words were stern but no longer reprimanding, “now weave.” Sitting down, she was aware of the gazes directed at them and also aware that the woman had kept her voice low enough for no one save the nearest weavers to hear and even they were mostly used to an exchange of some sort where Elyna was concerned. Her hands moved on habit but she tried to focus, her fingers habitually testing the thread before ready the shuttle and placing her foot on the first peddle. The first shed opened the warp threads and the shuttle slid across with practiced ease, hand already reaching to pull the weft thread tight before it had even finished the slide. In a swift move to show her own comfort ability she beat the weft threads down using more force than needed but heard no rebuff, placed her foot on the second peddle and pushed the beater back. Then repeated the actions from the opposite end. She had only managed a few runs before a hand covered her own as she pulled the beater, tugging it down further and with more strength than her already loosening current pulls, tightening up any misguided spaces in the weave. “Tomorrow you will come in early to help the students dress their looms. Then continue with your cloth.” With a mental curse, she noted much to her chagrin that she was now applying a steady, pressured tug of the beater with each pass, which as likely just as she intended. |