Logs:Drowning in Baby Dragons
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| RL Date: 29 September, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Paperwork and conversation in the kitchen. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, Kasey/Mentions, Nikalas/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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| It's a little past lunch, and still too early for dinner preparation to be in more than a half-hearted state of planning, and that means the kitchens are almost quiet... at least as far as these things go, of course. It's quiet enough that it's evidently not so bad of a place for K'del to spread out some papers in one of the alcoves, working through something in between bites from the plate sitting at his elbow. Further into the kitchen, a couple of the girls are gossiping around one of the benches, half-heartedly chopping fingerroots as they talk. "... enough done for the morning, " Jocelyn can be heard saying over her shoulder as she weaves past someone passing her on their way to the living cavern. "See you after lunch." Ever-present clipboard and the beginnings of the day's reports in hand, the headwoman's assistant starts for the alcoves, pausing along the way to give the gossiping girls a look. There's an appraising scan for the table space available before she promptly settles upon a table within speaking distance of K'del's, spreading out her own stack with a rustle. Pulling a pen from behind her ear, she begins making notes, the scratch of her nib steady and quick. Those girls go immediately silent as they catch that look, their heads dropping rather rapidly back towards their work, knives working rather faster now. It's probably that change in background noise that draws K'del out of his work-fueled reverie, blue eyes lifting from the pages to scan the room and, ultimately, come to rest upon Jocelyn. She's working, but he's distracted. "Jocelyn," he says, by way of cheerful-enough greeting. "Productive morning?" A neat furrow works its way into Jocelyn's brow as she painstakingly finishes her sentence before equally pale eyes lift to regard K'del, pen lifted in a casual salute. "Sir, " is her even way of returning his cheerful greeting. "Productive enough to be satisfactory." There's another side-glance spared for the previously gossiping girls, lips pursing as she watches them work briefly before rejoining with, "You look as though you can say the same, " with a nod for his own paperwork. "Best kind of day, really. 'specially at this time of turn, when the weather is dreary, and it's not as if you'd rather be outside or whatever." K'del's Southern tan has long since faded, alas. "Cadejoth doesn't like to travel too far when he's eggs on the sands, which at least means that isn't a distraction, either. But there's a lot to catch up on, even after everything Mielline did." His pen flicks, idly, as the other hand reaches to pick up a piece of bread from his plate. "How're things in the caverns?" "It'd be harder to file reports in the wind and eventual snow, " Jocelyn allows in seemingly complete seriousness, glancing back down to draw a line through something written in a margin. "It's good that you have a lot to catch up on, rather than the alternative. Stability is important." However practical her tone, there's something to her demeanor which suggests she's glad that the Weyrleader did survive. "They're better, now that transitions are smoothing over here and there. I anticipate the usual loss of a few of the younger assistants to the candidate class - candidate classes, rather, but I'm sure we can fill in the gaps." K'del smiles, despite Jocelyn's seriousness, though that stiffens and fades as the assistant headwoman continues. "Even after so long as Acting, there's a--" he hesitates. "It's different, when leadership is confirmed. You're not just caretakers." But it's that last point that he really focuses on, gaze dropping towards the bread in his hand that he's made no move to eat. "We're going to need every candidate we can get. Fifteen, shells, and Roszadyth's still to come, and Tillek." Jocelyn makes what could be a small sound of agreement, or perhaps it's an absent reaction to the next line on that top sheet of her stack, which promptly gets a question mark appended to the side. "I imagine it must be," she says after a bit, subsequent shrug short. She, after all, wouldn't know. Jounine might. Returning to the topic of candidates, however, elicits a thoughtful grimace, pen tapping before her. "I can think of a few from stores, archives, childcare, the kitchens who are of eligible age and no doubt interested in the prospect of doing something different from their usual duties for a time, but it wouldn't surprise me if Jounine's already got a list going." "My eldest sons will," K'del reports, his expression so carefully neutral as to make it seem he's not (yet?) sure what to think of that; perhaps it's just the reality of having sons old enough to do so. He sets down that bread, fingertips rapping upon the wooden surface of the table, instead. "Jounine will, I'm sure. Rather imagine we'll be rounding up everyone of an appropriate age, by the end. More so than usual, anyway. Guess that's more Irianke's bailiwick than mine, though. I'll be sending out the wings, of course." "Will they? At least some won't be complete unknowns." That seems to please the assistant headwoman, who leaves off the pen-tapping in favor of flipping to a new sheet, taking the seconds required to re-straighten her stack before continuing. "At least leave us a little more than just a skeleton crew to keep this place running by the anticipated hatching days." It's a wry, half-joke, one that's nearly mirrored in the twitch of her lips. "It's not the worst problem to have, though, finding enough bodies to fill the ranks of future wingriders, " more question than knowledgable statement. "We'll have most of them continuing their day-to-day jobs as much as possible," K'del promises, faithfully. "And any we bring in from outside will be on hand to help where required. It'll work out. Wouldn't want the caverns to fall apart while we focus on dragons," is, by the end, jovial in answer to her half-joke. "Mmm. Difficulty is that we don't need as many wingriders, in an Interval. Niahvth shouldn't've clutched seventeen last time, and she definitely shouldn't've had fifteen this, not after that flight." His expression, now, is troubled. Jocelyn permits herself a snort at that, scratching another note into a column here, a row there. "Oh yes, that would go over well. Sorry, Lord So-and-So, there's no hatching feast this go-round, but don't worry! Every dragon found a rider." As his conversation waxes concerned, so too does she sober. "Between you, me and the table - do you think it's possible that they know something we don't?" Her tone is dry for the benefit of anyone who can hear the cadences of their voices, but her glance is sharp, curious. K'del's own snort echoes Jocelyn's, laughter buried beneath it, though he doesn't add to the scenario. Perhaps it's because he's thinking more deeply about her question, his mouth caught open in hesitation as-- it seems-- he chews over a reply. Finally, "Shells, I hope not." It comes on an exhale, a sigh released without relief. "Seems like it, though, doesn't it? That something kickstarted her into thinking this was a Pass. She wasn't even supposed to rise for another turn or more, not to mention Roszadyth... if we end up drowning in clutches and baby dragons, I will cry." It may be intended as levity, to break the mood, but K'del-- frankly-- isn't selling it. Silent throughout K'del's response, Jocelyn appears to have resumed a steady pace on her paperwork, but there's a watchfulness in her expression as she looks up from time to time that is otherwise at odds with the almost-bored slant to neck and posture where she hunches over her writing. "Take heart, Weyrleader. If you're drowning in clutches, you won't be alone. If I remember my childhood lessons correctly, it wouldn't be an isolated scenario. Everyone would have a surplus of baby dragons on hand." There's a brief grimace for the concept. "Managing a candidate class of that size... I'm not sure that I can imagine it." "You make a good point," agrees K'del, managing to smile as he says it. "And no one else is, so far. It'd be weird, that many candidates. That many weyrlings. Quinlys," and yes, he really grins as he references the mercurial weyrlingmaster, "would probably murder us all in our beds. Maybe Niahvth's just throwing her weight around, all senior queen-esque." His fingers, around that pen, flex. The others rap at the table a second time, as if intended to close out the topic, and allow them to move on to something less... concerning. Jocelyn's hum is a considering sort of noise. "Oh, no thank you. Candidates alone are enough to work with. I imagine the chaos at least doubles with infant dragons." Her brow creases a little at the mention of Niahvth's metaphorical weight-throwing, the beginnings of a frown lining about her mouth. "Anything's possible, of course. Sir." That last is more farewell than address as she begins gathering her materials and makes to get to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm due for a meeting with one of the other headwomen shortly. My best to you and Cadejoth, as usual." There's another glance for the previously-gossiping girls as she stands, tucking pen-and-clipboard beneath an arm. It'll stay on them until she's quite through the doorway to the inner caverns. |
Comments
Edyis (21:52, 29 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Does seem to be the question doesn't it? This was interesting to read.
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