a menial business [open]

[kite]

"There ya go," the woman said carelessly, pushing open a door. Warm steam poured briefly out, welcome enough in the cool of autumn. "Wash what needs washed, fold what's arready clean, and mend anythin' with holes."

With that, the drudge was gone, off to whatever business she thought more important. Malta stepped into the warm laundry room, her dark eyes moving steadily across the vats for cleaning clothes. There were several piles of clothing, presumably sorted into dirty, clean, and what required mendin'. Malta's lips twisted into an expression of wry amusement; this was not what she'd envisioned her life at Trelis Weyr being like. Funny, how dragons changed everything.

After some internal debate, she settled herself near the pile that needed mending. Pulling back the shield on a nearby glowbasket nearly all the way, she quickly had a needle threaded with sturdy, slender cord. It didn't take long to sort the clothing into items that would require sturdy thread and finer pieces, but the majority of it fell into the former category. She doubted most Weyrfolk with fine clothing trusted a rabble of Candidates to haphazardly repair it. It was mostly stuff made of practical wool, or thick riding leathers, and she took a moment to find an awl. A lot of the leathers looked too thick for a needle to penetrate, and she didn't fancy spending useless hours trying to push a slender bit of metal through wherhide.

Soon enough, she had a shirt in hand and wielded her needle quickly, mending a tear. It was child's play after the careful suturing of a dragon's wing, or even the more crude stitching of a person. Finally, a task that she knew how to do, and better than was required. After a few moments, she hummed under her breath, feeling very content as she competently set things right, even if only in a small way.

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