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“Has your pop finally found you a permanent assignment?” Shenette climbed up on the stool next to Karathael, watching her record the hall’s inventory in careful handwriting. “Or is he bouncing you somewhere else tomorrow?”
“Ugh,” Karathael grunted. Ever since her eighteenth turnday, Thaeleron had his daughter moving between all three buildings of the Smithcraft Hall - the forge, the woodshop, and the glass studio - to assist a different smith every sevenday. Almost none of them had any use for an assistant, so she’d been forced to waste her time making conversation and finding her own things to do. She found the experience both uncomfortable and boring, not that she would dare mention it to her parents. “He’s done, thank Faranth, but my mom told me what it was about and now I’m disgusted with both of them.”
“I knew it was fishy! Why did they make you do that?” Shenette leaned forward, her blonde hair pooling on the table where her friend was trying to work. That was why Karathael kept her own bushy brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck - to keep it out of the way.
Karathael gently brushed her friend’s hair off of the table with one hand, scowling at nothing in particular. “My dear mother, Karalea…” her eyes rolled dramatically back in her head, “has decided that it’s time for me to ‘take on adult responsibilities’.” She put up her fingers to make quotation marks in the air. “She doesn’t care that I already do half of the paperwork around here. She doesn’t care that I’ve been working all the grunt jobs to make myself useful. She says I have to get married and give her grandbabies.” A visible shudder went through the young woman, causing the pen to make a small blotch on the inventory sheet. “Dang.”
“Hmm,” Shenette leaned back, thinking. “What’s wrong with marriage and babies? I… I kind of want that some day, you know? I like taking care of people.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, if that’s what you want. But… I like personal space, and I hate touching. I definitely don’t want anyone sucking on me - I know how babies eat. I know how they’re made, too. All of that married people stuff. Ick. No thank you,” Karathael griped, writing the next row of numbers with dark, sharp strikes. She glanced up at her friend, hoping she wasn’t being too harsh. “You’ll be a great mom some day, and a great wife. It’s just not for me.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. Shells, even hugs give you the crawlers,” Shenette replied thoughtfully, repeatedly twisting her hair into a ponytail and letting it drop. “You just need to find a husband that also values personal space… if there is such a man.”
“Pop wants me to marry one of the smiths so I don’t have to move. That’s why Mom had him passing me around like a weird bug.” Karathael sighed, pausing to blow on the wet ink before putting the list in the designated folder. “I guess there are one or two that aren’t completely awful to be around.” She wiped the ink off on a piece of cloth before putting the pen back in its spot. “Not that I want to have their babies.”
Karathael looked at her friend, who was still perched on the stool, contemplating. Shenette had been flirting with different guys for turns now, although it never seemed to grow into anything serious. “Hey. You’re older than me. Aren’t your grandparents itching for you to get married? Have kids?”
“Nope,” Shenette grinned. “Gramps doesn’t care what I do, provided I’m happy. But Gran told me that if I get knocked up at the Weyr like my ma did, I should stay there. She’s too old to raise another one.” It was true. Shenette’s grandmother was probably the oldest person either of them knew - far too old for waking up with tiny babies or chasing rambunctious toddlers. “But I’m not doing that, anyway. I’ve decided that I’m going to convince Jefisden to send me to Harper Hall as an apprentice.” She stood up, a determined look shining on her face.
Karathael grimaced. If Shenette were a boy, she would probably already be at Harper Hall. She was a bright student, a talented flute player, charismatic, and ambitious. But as a girl, those same skills transformed into useful traits for a wife and mother. The harper, like Karalea, saw such roles as moral imperatives rather than optional tasks to take on. “If anyone can convince Jefisden, you can,” Karathael assured her friend before reluctantly adding, “but I wouldn’t count on it.”