[Flashback] Tickling One's Interest (Fenilen)

[Raiyari]

Tickling One's Interest Spring 38, 509 A.V. Rai stumbled along the twisting maze of tunnels, confused and more than a bit frightened at the idea of spending too long in this cramped space. While Wind Reach's heights posed no problem for the young Lhavitian, the tunnels certainly gave her their fair share of chills. She longed for the open sky, to see the stars of her Goddess once again. But what she wanted didn't matter. Raiyari's had those thoughts drilled into her long ago. This was her Awakening, her task. Her one chance to prove herself worthy to be a Shinya. I must not fail, the Acolyte repeated for the umpteenth time today, steeling herself against the weight of tons of rock that she felt pressing in on her. A Wind Eagle feather. A simple feather was all she required to complete the task. But, like any quest that the Star Lady sent the Acolytes on, Rai was sure this would pose a signifigant challenge. Right now, she was having an especially hard time nagivating the complex tunnel system of Wind Reach. In other words: She was hopelessly lost. Rai looked completely out of place among the Inarta that she had encountered. Among the fiery redheads, Raiyari's own black hair and Acolyte uniform made her stick out like a sore thumb. Finally, Rai decided that she simply couldn't take this anymore. Pride or not, she had to ask someone about where she could find an eagle. Of course, she didn't know that the eagle's aeries were pretty much inaccesable to those without eagles of their own. I'm asking the next Inarta I see about where to find an eagle. I meet their rider, ask for a feather, and we're done here. There was an opening, another tunnel leading down to her left. It cast a warm glow on the surrounding area, and she was almost certain that this meant there was a fire inside. Curiously she peeked in. Where there was man-made fire, there were people. And where there were people, there were answers to questions. "Hello? Is anyone here?" she asked, somewhat timidly. After growing up with the polite Lhavitians, the bluntness of the Inarta was somewhat intimidating. Refreshing, yes. But still intimidating. Engaging in conversation with one could prove an interesting experience, if she managed to retain her politeness with whoever might speak with her.

[Fenilen]

Heat. Heat was a feeling he was too familiar with, but that was to be expected, given his profession. Sweat ran down the pale face in rivers as he stood next to the Batch Oven, a stone table next to him. A dedicated arm rushed to wipe the flowing rivulets from his face, and then it went back to work. Today, his work consisted of something trivial, but, if he actually thought about it, not entirely outside of his skill level. He was simply filling molds, creating things that was predefined and generic, such as cups and... well, all of these molds were cups, when he thought about it. The three molds laid out before him, complete with ordered plungers, mold locks, and caps, were all for identical cups. Someone had requested the creation of three identical glasses to replace a few the had broken, Fenilen inferred, from what Yidah had told him when he was given the assignment. It didn't actually matter all that much to him. So long as he was given the chance to practice his skills, he was entirely pleased with himself and his standing.

Sweat-covered hands fiddled with the mold as heat pounded against his back. Quickly, he pushed the wooden handles of the first mold together, the two on the right and the one on the left. The hinges of the mold made an uncomfortable, pained sound, that of metal grinding on metal without the blessing of oil or other lubricants, but the Inarta was not going to complain. These molds were, at least, of above average quality. Once the handles were pushed together, his other hand dashed to the mold lock-- a long, thin piece of metal, meant to run through the three circular holes attached to the handles. Pushing carefully, he guided it down through those holes, listening to it click and clatter against them reassuringly. When it finally made it allthe way through, he rotated it a bit, locking it into place, so that the mold was locked closed, ready to be filled with hot, molten glass. A ladle found its way into the batch oven as that all-to familiar heat bombarded his arm relentlessly, causing it to pour sweat at an increased rate. Soon, though, he liberated it from the relentless assault, bringing it back out to the mold, where he poured it into the hollowed, exposed center. With attentive eyes, he watched carefully, making sure that the mold did not fill too far. When it was filled to just the right amount, he let the extra pour back into the batch, placing the ladle down on the table as he secured the ring cap in his now free hand, securing that on top of the filled mold with a twist of his hand. Finally, he drove the plunger down into the depths of the mold with a quick push, creating a cavity in the center of the glass. With that final step complete, all that was left was cooling. Swift feet and certain hands carried it to one of the many annealers in the Hot Shops, into which he placed it gingerly.

The same steps were repeated twice more, for the two remaining molds. Soon enough, though, they were also within the confines of the slow-cooling annealing furnace, lowering themselves down to the temperature of the room outside with the metal pressing around them, shaping them without any extra effort from Fenilen. Molds were so simple, yet so effective. Sure, they took the fun out of producing the actual product, but they produced a craft that was often outside of his own skill range, which was wonderful in its own right. He would never admit it, of course, but they were also almost impossible to fail with. He hated failure. When the final piece found its way into the annealer, a small smile played across his face. That had been Yidah's last assignment for him for the day. With that, he was entirely free to roam the Hot Shops or the city of his own accord. His throat and lips parched, begging for water to replenish the fluids he had lost in the never ending torrent of heat, he decided upon the second. He would go and get some food to satiate his empty stomach, and with it, some precious fluids to replenish his deprived system.

The still-swift legs turned his body speedily and precisely, carrying him quickly, but not exactly gracefully, towards the exit, earrings and eagle feathers clinking against his cheeks and neck. As he exited, though, his graceless step became even more graceless. His shoulder collided with that of a figure he had only glimpsed partially out of the corner of his eye. Without even thinking, he chirped out a quick apology in Nari, putting a little bit of distance between himself and the person he had bumped into, in case they were the type of person that got aggressive over the smallest physical infractions-- like Yidah. The glimpses he caught of her as he moved slightly further away, though, more more detailed, taking into account her long, lush, dark hair, her smooth skin, which flowed into small, almost almond-shaped eyes. The way she dressed was even more of an oddity than the way she appeared compared to the Inarta of Skyinarta. She wore some sort of flowing robe, the arms of which appeared to baggy to be of any sort of practical use. They would let all of the cold air of the world in, while keeping none of the heat trapped. She wore some sort of sash, and... why were her pants so tight? They clung to her legs, unlike her sleeves. Who would *ever* wear their pants so tight!? Fenilen furrowed his brow in confusion, moving his own bryda-garbed legs. Clearly, someone so foreign that he had never seen before did not speak a lick of Nari. The statements in Common he did know began to piece themselves together.

"Uh," he said softly. "Apologies," he then stammered out, his face still wearing a look of certain, dedicated confusion. "Can I, uh, help you? Who you? What you looking for? Why you in Wind Reach? Why you going into the Hot Shops?" he assailed her with questions, forgetting the precious word "are" in every single one of his sentences. Obviously, his education in the Common language was no where near as great as his curiosity, and he would need a little more tutoring from the foreigner while she was here answering his questions.

[Raiyari]

Raiyari winced in surprise as a figure suddenly popped out of the tunnel opening, colliding with her shoulder. She was immensely thankful that he hadn't brushed against her bandaged left arm, which was still throbbing with pain from the Yukman encounter. But the stranger seemed dedicated to ignoring her, walking right past her without a second glance. It wasn't vanity, nor pride that made her uncomfortable with this behavior. It was simply the impoliteness of it. As a Lhavitian, politeness was so important in society that to not encounter it was odd indeed. But, as she reminded herself, she was in Wind Reach now. The people were different here, as she had learned just yesterday. Suddenly, he stopped walking away from her, instead choosing to ask her a few questions? This was good, this was a conversation of sorts. He seemed to apologize, and the resume of politeness relaxed her a bit, though it was dampened by the assault of questions. The stranger certainly seemed as odd as his speech, but given she was in a foreign place, that couldn't mean much. He was quite handsome, and was much more decorated than the one other Inarta she had met. The loose and baggy pants he wore seemed to be the norm for this race, as everyone was wearing them. Rai spied the eagle feathers adorning his ears and suppressed a sigh. Considering she was in a city famed for its Wind Eagles, the fact she couldn't even find one, let alone a single feather, was depressing. And when she did find one, convincing its owner to give her a feather would be most unlikely. Rai, from what little experience she had, knew that this race was often blunt, leaving no room for intricacies. Passionate, proud, and strong, the Inarta both confused and interested her. But they would probably not take well to being treated with a simple cold politeness. So Rai cut herself some slack and smiled. "My fault," Rai stammered in Nari, bowing to the stranger as she spoke. The young woman quickly realized that his other questions would not be as easy to answer, and she had no idea how to say most of them in Nari. "I am Raiyari Chiyeko, Acolyte of the Shinya. I fear that I'm quite lost." She was rather disappointed in herself that the only word in Nari she managed was 'lost', but it would have to do.