Logs:Between Weyr And Hold
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| RL Date: 26 June, 2015 |
| Who: Celestra, Casseny |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Casseny happens by while Celestra is on duty and picks at a point. |
| Where: Records Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Early in the morning and late in the evening, the cold rain falling turns to almost-pleasant snow, but most of the day is mired in a bleak, gray drizzle. |
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>---< Records Room, Fort Weyr >----------------------------------------------<
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors
that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs
that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows
of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by
freestanding shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit
aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region
decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above
to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that
would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in
shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of
the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the
fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the
contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given
the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with
desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the
records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors
that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide
larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink,
paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located
cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are
typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty.
>----------------------------------------------< It's been a quiet day in the Records Room, the hushed voices of those within and soft scritching of pen across paper the only sounds coming from within. For the most part, the room is relatively empty now, save for a few souls that linger to make use of the plentiful books. Celestra currently sits behind the duty desk, hair tied up into a neat bun. A pair of spectacles sit on the bridge of her nose as she leans over, one open book slightly off to the side while she transcribes its contents into the scroll before her. Some of the soft chatter begins to grow louder and louder, due to sheer proximity. Casseny, with a hide held near to her chest, and an assistant, Jumin, discuss in low voices. The man speaks twice as often, and as much, as the girl, concluding at last with a shrugged, "That's all I know." Casseny delays a second, before nodding him back to work. A haze of distraction grips her as she strides more aimlessly forward, knuckles of the arm keeping the hide to her arrayed lightly against her lips. Still, she catches on the presence of Celestra, pulling to a stop in the duty desk's vicinity. An intent stare marks time, never relaxing, and hanging on the harper's glasses instead of her face. For the most part, blue eyes are intent on their focus, though a twitch might be seen irritating the corner of one eye at the increase of volume. Celestra pays them no mind, hearing only muffled sounds in place of words as she tunes them out. The pen in her hand continues to dip into the pot before returning to the scroll's surface, it's dark ink flowing across the page to match that contained within the book. Even as the voices quiet, she does not look up. It's another moment before she feels someone's intense gaze and deems it necessary to look up from her work. Sharp eyes regard the young Candidate from above the rim of those spectacles before slender fingers move to push it upwards onto her bridge. The pen is placed leaning on it's pot, and hands fold together, fingers lacing. "May I assist you with something?" she asks, voice slightly hushed but with a musical ring to its tone as it lilts in query. Casseny's head minutely tilts when she's questioned, leaving that the sole response for another drawn-out second before she voices, "Southern Boll." It's as much statement as explanation, and sparse for both. In an adjustment of her balance, her posture shifts all over. Brilliantly colored eyes shift down to the hide, back up to Celestra. Then, only after another distinct pause, does the girl close the distance between her and the desk. Up to a polite talking distance for the current hush of the room. A long arm reaches out languidly and yet with contained purpose, stopping just to brace a couple fingertips against the angle of the desk's very edge. Branching out from the others, her forefinger lifts and creates a line indicating the hide the harper works upon-- did work upon, before interruption. "Is it quite imperative?" Perhaps there may have been a time when a young Celestra would have become irked with a slow response. But time and teaching has tempered her patience. What the Candidate finally does say in response receives a slight lift of an arched brow. With nothing else forthcoming, the Harper is left to wonder what exactly was meant by the singular statement, this marked by a quizzical furrow of her brows as Casseny approaches the desk. The Harper's gaze follows the finger as it points to her recently abandoned work before rising back to make eye contact. Laced fingers separate, leaving one hand free to wave dismissively in regards to her question. "Nothing that can't wait." And then the hands come together again. "And what of Southern Boll?" A single gate opens on Casseny's face; a single weight lifted. Celestra has allowed the thought of conversation. The girl's smile is not quite one, barely making the expression while giving a perfect impression of it on the mind. Except then she continues to, ever so steadily, stare. Which sucks some of the friendly politeness from it. As though realizing, Casseny sucks in and then exhales a low breath and most of her posture relaxes incrementally and her eyelids flutter several times. "I was born at a different Weyr. Grew up here, and in the Hall. Never a hold." Fingers lift off the desk, lightly touching the hide in her grasp. She gently moves it just slightly away from her chest with her fist's weight; just enough to keep her hand there in continuance. "Would you tell me about it. A little?" Celestra's gaze does not waver, even in the face of evident staring received by the Candidate before her. Observant eyes do catch the slight shift in expression, a minute lift of the corner of the lips in the imitation of a smile, the obvious shift shift in posture. Her head tilts marginally to the side at the request. The Harper relaxes her own posture, straight as a rod it had been, deft hands removing the spectacles to place them on the desk. She leans back in her chair and waves to the seat just off to the side of the desk, especially placed for those with extensive inquiries for the recordkeeper on duty. "What would you like to know? Just Hold life in general?" Casseny's head shakes just slightly: no. But, since she skirts around the front of the desk to drop into the chair, it must be for the spoken questions, not the offer. How heavily and carelessly she goes onto the seat suggests an impatience for the physical, uncaring. But, right after, each overly long limb on the awkwardly still-growing girl makes itself unavoidable and she brings her hands to her lap and her ankles under the chair-- bumping into its legs-- all angles. Blue eyes drop to the spectacles. Her hide has ended up in her lap, below her almost folded fingers, and the scrawl on it is scratchy, nearly incomprehensible. The kind of thing you curse to see on a healer's note, the morning after, when you can barely remember their instructions from the night before. "What's the first thing that came to your mind when I asked?" In an effort to become more relaxed, Celestra rests her own arms to either side of her chair, one long leg crossing over the other within the hollow of the desk. Slender fingers lace together once more, resting in her lap as she watches Casseny move in that evident I'm-a-growing-teenager way. The hide is eyed, keen eyes catching the scratchy scrawl, a huge contrast to her own rather neat script that lined the pages of the scroll on the desk. The question is mulled over, gaze thoughtful. "Memories, primarily. Of my time in Southern Boll. The students I taught, the events that occurred." A pause. "I was raised in Fort Hold for most of my life. There are some differences between the two places, though perhaps not as many between a Hold and a Weyr." Casseny's back straightens, as though better posture were a sign a respect for Fort Hold's current events-- struggles, perhaps. Its differences. Little more than a curl of her lips, indistinctly aimed, shows on her face for it. She has a poker face that'd be bettered if she could infuse a little more charm, a little less absolute diligence; her rosy cheeks would benefit, too. For now, she remains subtle, allowing a vague fondness to crinkle her eyes at the mention of students. It dimmed easily, was overtaken by Fort. As Celestra quiets, Casseny withholds that silence, leaving it be while she formulates her next sentence without an insistence on keeping up constant chatter. "Between a Hold and Weyr." It's almost like she's titling an essay. But she carries on faster than before, "Storms wouldn't have been as bad down south. How did aid go?" There's only a slight shift in expression as Celestra ceases talking, the silence filled with careful observation of Casseny at her change in posture. A lift of one corner of her lips that might be amusement for the Candidate's own change of expression, the subtleties of which are not lost on the Harper. The following question is followed by a furrowing of brows and a downturn of her lips. "As well as it could have, I suppose." she answers, purposefully vague, before smoothing out her expression. "Better than other places, I'd imagine. The Holds have their own ways of managing." "That was a lot of words to say nothing." Casseny slowly blinks, tilts her head; it's an allowing gesture, paired with, "Very little." Not that, even previous, her tone harbored any vindictiveness. Nothing critically negative in the way she watches Celestra, head remaining at an angle. With her hands in her lap, she's found a nail to methodically clean. Soft tic, tic, tic. "I'll fold." Decided with a potentially rare warmth mellowing out her tone. "I'd like to know more about those ways. Emergency protocols. And not just what we," we, "do or think as healers." The Harper knows full well the ambiguity offered with her reply, though Casseny's reaction to it does little to bring forth any other information. At least for the time being. Celestra's lips curl slightly when the Candidate finally voices her desire to know more. Her relaxed position shifts to where she leans forward, raising her interlaced hands to allow her chin to rest there. "There are some records in reference to emergency protocols. Though most are usually archived within the Holds themselves." There's a moment of careful regard for the young Candidate. "Why do you wish to know?" Curiosity gets the better of her, desire to find out why exactly a Candidate wants to know the ways of a Hold. Existence of records seem to have already been in Casseny's register. As she's regarded, it's turned back around. Carefully. She's regarded for regarding, Casseny taking a measure of that pause. Her finger stops picking at the nail with a last definitive tic. "Cohesion." Her mouth opened as if with another letter-- a harder shape-- but forms this one naturally, it all escaping with a little follow-up sigh of a breath. What more might've been behind that singular word is held onto, tip of the tongue that pushes against the inside of her lower teeth. As Casseny's head lightly turns to the side, shifting her slick runner's tail, she accurately interprets a sudden peripheral movement to be heading towards her. Hands move up her legs, clenching harder into that hide in anticipation of picking it up. There you are and references to the girl's chore of the day. Casseny slips off the seat, stopping parallel to the desk to turn on a heel to face Celestra. "Excuse me, Celestra. Another time--?" Right at the end, she remembers to make it a question the harper has any wiggle room in. |
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