Everyone should have a little pretty! (open)

For all that she loved sewing—it was relaxing—mending and resizing the same boring clothing everyday did tend to get a bit tedious. Two years it had been, almost to the day, since she was lured into a not so unpleasant trap but a not so pleasant bluerider. Though, if she had her druthers she likely wouldn’t change the outcome of that day. Since moving into the Weyr she’d made better friends than she’d ever had between High Reaches Hold and Weaver Crafthall combined. At both places she’d been surrounded by half-siblings and never quite belonged. Landarkin had been a superb father and her half-siblings by him had been adorable and loving. In stark contrast, her biological father and his array of bastards had been far less welcoming though Jysandar had warmed up to her a bit once he’d learned she possessed a rare talent for embroidery.

In short, while the situation hadn’t exactly been ideal, she couldn’t exactly complain about the outcome. Her only wish was that she could send word to her mother and father—Landarkin not Jysandar—not to worry; that she was safe. However, there were days she wondered how safe she truly was. She shared her roommate’s reservations about the public lashings as well as her aversion to Flights. Men high on hormones weren’t the easiest to avoid, she’d come to discover, though she’d managed well enough so far. In fact, she’d done quite splendidly when it came to avoiding too much attention and keeping to herself. She had her few friends, of course, but outside of Seijin and Aparicus, she hadn’t particularly gone out of her way to initiate very many relationships. She’d just kept her head down, repaired torn tunics and taken in trousers.

Of course, every now and then, when she’d finished her pile of clothing and if she had a bit of stashed away floss to spare, she would embroider some of the nicer clothing, using her fairly good memory for color and figure to make renderings of various dragons about the weyr. Her favorites were the blues, of course. As of yet, no one had caught her at it and she wasn’t quite sure how anyone would react. It was just that she’d run out of places to embroider her own clothing without it looking utterly ridiculous and Apari's nice clothing was bedecked in an array of flowers; Shards, even Seijin had let her at his clothing. Surely no one would begrudge her a bit of beautifying and she’d done her best to make sure that she at the very least didn’t do something like put a green dragon on a brownrider’s tunic. Somehow she rather doubted that would go over well.

She was embroidering just such a tunic—a rather handsome brown she’d seen lazing about earlier that day—on the cuff of a tan tunic when she became aware of the increased chattering around her. The Weavers were assembled in a sheltered alcove that opened directly onto the Gather Square allowing the maximum amount of light in as glowbaskets weren’t always the best to see by. The only reason she even noticed the chatter was that she was certain someone had said her name. Blinking, she looked up from where she was carefully stitching the leading edge of the dragon’s wing and became acutely aware of the sound of clipped boot steps heading in her direction. She was slightly off to the side from the others and slightly turned away to dissuade any idle chatter.

Had someone finally discovered her little hobby and come to protest? Surely the other Weavers knew her skills by now and could identify her as the culprit. An image of B’jin bound to a post flashed in her mind before she shook her head and chastised herself for being fanciful. Listening more carefully to the murmur of the other Weavers as the boot steps halted, she bit down on her lower lip and carefully bunched the tunic in her lap so that her project was hidden. Would the lash a woman for sewing?