Logs:Chim Chim Cher-ee
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| RL Date: 17 October, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two (candidate) sweeps talk circumstances while working in the nighthearth. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions |
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| It is cold and snowing outside, a fluttery hangover from yesterday, and plenty of people probably seek the warmth and solace of the nighthearth. Tough luck it's out of commission just now: the stew pot isn't hanging, there isn't a fire going, and all the chairs have been moved against the opposite wall for safety. Even the pastries aren't inviting enough to brave the banging coming from the fireplace. Faryn's covered in soot, the thighs of her olive pants smeared with dark handprints, ash in her hair and what skin she has exposed. She shovels with a practiced ease--good form, if you'd call it that--but she is not a machine. Metal scrapes the stone one last time before she straightens, puffs a breath, and leans against the handle, her cheek against her curled knuckles. No wonder there's grime on her face. "Who does this when there aren't candidates?" "People tasked with cleaning the lower caverns, " Jocelyn replies absently from where she's standing atop a stepstool, broom in hand to evict a few spinner's webs from a corner of the other side of the room. She's hardly a sight for sore eyes, herself, with her hair not quite tamed into a ponytail, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and dust coating the knees of her trousers. There's a grimness to her expression as she sweeps the cobwebs away, one hand braced against the wall for leverage. "Would you rather be bottle-feeding infants?" "Kids like me," Faryn grunts, not immediately moving back to her task. She acts like she might, gripping the shovel and nudging at a pile without taking it up. "They loved me when I worked in the stables. Ask around." There isn't a real challenge there; she might be the only person who remembers it that way, and at any rate, "But no." Eventually she does commit to taking up the shovel again, and there's another scraping sound so she can lift and deposit more soot into her bucket. "I thought they would let you stay assistant headwoman while you were a candidate." "I'm not so sure that they find me likeable, " and Jocelyn grimaces, carefully hopping down to shift her stool to another section of the room. "I'm sure there's a good reason why no one ever asked me to be a full-time nanny." Sweep, sweep, goes her broom up against the wall; it's a few moments before she responds to Faryn's last with a short, "They would. I refused." And a few minutes more before she elaborates: "It would have caused too many problems for all involved if I were managing the candidates as a candidate. It would have been - unfair." Bitchy perfectionist though she may be, she at least does have a reputation for a strong sense of fairness. "They let you stay on as Farideh's assistant, I noticed." It's a matter-of-fact observation according to her tone, even if the words could ring of criticism. Faryn smiles, watching Jocelyn move her stool. "Children have notoriously bad judgement. My--T'mic was a nanny. I bet they liked me because they loved him, the little followers." Scrape scrape goes the shovel. "Makes sense. Though if anyone could manage it..." She moves further into the fireplace, and her voice echoes back out. "It's like babysitting either way, isn't it? The girl who took the bunk above me must be thirteen, on the outside." There's some clattering that echoes hollowly--does fireplace cleaning include the chimney? "Easier to keep your job when all you're managing is missives and packages. Same when I was with the craft. This time, Quinlys just said I couldn't have perks, so I said okay." A beat, complete silence from the fireplace, then, "Not her assistant anymore though. Maybe not ever again." Jocelyn doesn't miss the slip of the possessive pronoun, says the lifted eyebrows she has for Faryn. "Big fellow, bluerider, " she says with another glance, but leaves that topic in favor of beginning to sweep the section of floor nearest her, aiming to progress clockwise about the room. "It's more than babysitting, " she sniffs. "It's preparing them to potentially enter weyrlinghood, which isn't at all a Gather stroll, as we both know by now. It's a choice, this path, and far from an easy one." Her broom pauses in its movements post-clatter, then resumes once there's no cry of injury that follows. "So you won't go back, if what you're looking for doesn't find you when those clutches hatch, " is almost more statement than question, yet still she has an expectant look for the fireplace for an answer. "That one," agrees the ex-crafter lightly, and also does not carry on that topic except to say, "Nice guy." The clattering can only end in disaster, eventually, but right now there is a tenuous truce in the universe and nothing seems likely to fall and hurt Faryn. "I don't envy Quinlys her job," the slim woman notes, emerging from the fireplace to deposit another pile of soot. She props the shovel against the wall to replace it with the only other tool she brought: a brush with several long pieces of wood. Chimneys it is. "Probably not," she concedes as she assembles the first two pieces, crouched down. "Not much to stay for." "That, " Jocelyn notes of not envying the weyrlingmaster her duties, "makes two of us." She's almost to the fireplace, nudging a few of the chairs along the wall forward just enough to be able to sweep behind them before putting them back in their out-of-the-way positions. Her studious looks are certainly not subtle in the wake of the other's admittance, lips pursing while she continues her work. "And you'd go - where, exactly? Back to your craft? Somewhere else entirely?" "Craft wouldn't take me back if I got on my knees and begged," Faryn notes drily, without malcontent. It's quick work, putting the brush together, and she cuts Jocelyn her own examination before ducking back into the fireplace, where (notably softer) banging ensues. "I promised Farideh I wouldn't think about it until the deed is done. I'm here now, and she told me being grim about it won't help. She's probably right." Soot skitters free in the fireplace, motes of ash floating out, and after a short round of huffing coughs she adds, "She had a good idea about Keroon, though. But the pat answer is anywhere. I could go anywhere, for anything. Find somewhere suiting." Jocelyn makes a little noise of almost-approval, slowing her sweeping once she's in front of the fireplace so that she can catch what remnants of soot may trickle out onto the floor with her broom. "Sensible of you to not let yourself worry about it just yet." A dreamier soul would likely take the opportunity to inquire about where Faryn's ideal locale would be; Joce is no such thing, however, so she continues with a brisk, "I'm sweeping against the far wall, and then I'll be finished here." For all that it sounds like a declaration of farewell, she lingers once she's done with her task, perhaps to satisfy herself that her fellow candidate hasn't been injured while working on the nighthearth's flue. "I'm worried," admits Faryn, "but fat lot of good it will do. Never really thought Farideh would be the sensible one giving me decent advice." The brush shhing is the only sound for a few long moments. It's a testament to the routine workings of the caverns that nothing treacherous falls on her. "I'm almost done," Faryn says, perhaps taking Jocelyn's announcement as an invitation. Someone else, preferably with wings, will have to give the rest of the chimney a sweep; she's just about done what she can, and there's a little more haste as she scoops the last of the fallen soot into her bucket. "Want to...?" Faryn's gesture finishes the question: the pot needs to be lifted again, another fire stoked, the furniture moved back. "I can help you wherever you go next," seems a fair tradeoff. Up turn the corners of Jocelyn's mouth, however just; "Farideh, " says the weyrwoman's former roommate evenly, "is capable of being sensible, despite - first impressions." Leaning her broom against the wall just outside of the entrance, the redhead gives a curt nod in reply to that gesture and begins pushing straight-backed chairs toward their usual places. Anything heavier with major upholstery will probably require two sets of upper arm strength. "Unnecessary, " is her rejoinder for the offer, a hand waving dismissively, "but that's a fair consideration." And that's how she says thank-you. "And second, and--" grunt, as Faryn hauls up the pot and hangs it, "--and third, and sometimes fourth..." She trails off though, briefly pensive, but whatever thoughts catch her remain unexpressed. Putting the room to rights is quick with two people. Even the fire doesn't give Faryn much trouble, and is soon illuminating the area with soft light. "Maybe I'll find another fireplace on the way," says Faryn as she puts away the sweep and takes up her shovel. Which is to say, you're welcome. |
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