Logs:Greenhouse
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| RL Date: 1 June, 2010 |
| Who: Frandel, Kessian, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Crafters get a tour of the new complex. Kessian has an Idea. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 11, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
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| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. Towards the south-eastern end of the bowl, a large area has been cordoned off with heavy ropes. The bowl wall has mostly been covered by enormous lengths of oiled cloth, hiding damage left in the wake of the meteor and eye rock, which fell here. It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder. News has spread, mostly by word-of-mouth, that a couple of tours have been arranged to allow crafters to begin sizing up their future quarters - both work and personal - and ask questions of some of the people involved. The first tour happened a few days ago, and those who participated are reportedly very pleased; today, a chilly, clear winter's morning, it's time for the second. Journeyman Frandel, the Smith doing most of the coordination on the project, waits just outside the cordoned off area at the appointed time, with a handful of crafters already waiting beside him. Madilla's among them, bundled up in a heavy coat and looking distinctly excited, her eyes trained on the Smith. Kessian's characteristic knit toque is tugged down lower today, maybe in an effort to ward off the cold. Or maybe it's because he's not feeling too sociable; either way, he's /here/, at least, which is saying something. Word-of-mouth brings him at a time where he's not on duty, of course, but he's still got breakfast in one hand and crumbs on his scarf as proof. And there's Madilla too, so it only makes sense that he sidles very casually through the raggedly assembled group. He doesn't say anything either, just kind of... lingers. A bit creepy, actually, if one were to see things in such a way. It's entirely possible that one of the older women in the group - a weaver - really /does/ see Kessian's lingering as creepy. She casts him a long glance, gaze narrowed, then turns her attention well away, shuffling closer to the man standing next to her. Madilla, though, glancing around thoughtfully, positively grins as she sees him, though if she intended to say anything, that all gets cut off: Frandel's beckoning them on, saying, "Not going to wait for any more, I think. We've got the convicts working elsewhere for the moment, but we'd rather keep that short. If you'll follow me?" He pulls open the cordon, ushering the group through into the construction site: a cleared space in the middle, with a boulder-shaped doorway leading inside in the pock-marked stone of the bowl wall. One inadequately convincing smile later, Kessian's shoulders droop just barely. Scuffing his boots at the ground, the journeyman takes a consoling bite into his cheese bread. He polishes off what was left of his meal just in time to meet Madilla's brilliant smile with a perking of his brows, a tentative wiggle of his fingers. Squeezing close enough to Madilla to whisper just audibly, "They don't trust the convicts around us? Or is it the other way around?" A paper-thin chuckle. Kessian follows willingly, craning his neck as they pass under the threshold, keeping pace with Madilla -- his fellow companion, now, whether she likes it or not. Madilla's laugh, made in response to that remark of Kessian's, is more polite than genuine; then again, she's well known for her firm belief that the convicts are, on the whole, misunderstood - figures of tragedy, victims of circumstance. Her remark, though, is easy enough; "Probably both!" Closing the area off behind him, Frandel pitches his voice higher to begin talking, noting, "This outside area will be used for things like the new Smithy, and anything that might be better done out-of-doors, if with a covered roof. A general workspace, as well as specific setups, depending on what people's requests are, presumably." Kessian's attention is fixed quite obviously on the architecture springing up around them, so he fails entirely to note that /tone/ of Madilla's laugh, only so much that he elicited a response. In return: a dim but earnest sidelong smile. Frandel's words mark close consideration, a brush of knuckles along Kessian's chin in his thought. A Tanner from the rear of the small crowd groans, loud enough for their Smithy guide to hear, "not the numbweed boilin' too? Can't stand the smell o' it." This sparks a frown from Kessian, who questions moreso to Madilla than the offending Tanner, "and what'll we use when he slices a finger off trimming hide?" "I'm sure tanners don't need /ten/ fingers," is Madilla's low-pitched response, perhaps more mirthful than serious. She raises her voice for a second comment after that, suggesting, "Better outside where it can dissipate than /inside/, where it'll linger, I think? Besides... I think some of your chemicals smell pretty awful, too!" Her smile is warm, at least, her words presumably intended to be conciliatory rather than inflammatory. Frandel clears his throat, noting, hurriedly, "I'm sure there'll be plenty of room for everyone to manage just fine. Better than what we have now, right?" RIGHT? "Shall we... head indoors? There's more to see there." Sneaking a look down at his own ten fingers, Kessian crams fists into pockets. They're safer in there. Adding, too, for Madilla's ears only: "and /honestly/. Braintan. Numbweed simply does not compare." The words are tinged with humour -- dry humour, but it's there nonetheless. The Tanner softens for Madilla's smile and he raises a meaty hand to wave Frandel onward: he'll recieve no challenge here, though the man might have more to say about it come spring. Kessian's voice lifts with a slight cough to precede, words carefully measured: "it hasn't been fully erected? The structure. Should a further annex be required, would it be possible?" Madilla gives a short, sharp nod, her nose wrinkling to confirm her own aversion to that particular smell. "And numbweed's usually just once a turn, but--" Her shoulders shrug; she even smiles. It is what it is. She seems surprised by Kessian's question, turning a brow-raised glance at him; Frandel considers for a moment, agreeing, finally, "I suppose-- got something particular in mind?" Others, already taking steps towards the indoors, turn back and pause, resigned to, alas, staying out in the cold for at least a /little/ while longer. "There's some flexibility, at least. Not infinite, though." Kessian falters a step as the others slow; might slink lower in his jacket at that tangible reaction. Madilla's expression garners a slight and inscrutable dip of Kess' chin as the man wordlessly encourages Frandel to continue on inside. Speaking and walking simultaneously is not a skill lost on Kessian, and while his voice has dropped in pitch, it has not lost its surety. "A greenhouse. I cannot imagine a more worthwhile investment," biased as he is, "although the materials required might be difficult to find, and construction might need some... creative arrangement." His jaw stiffens, perhaps in anticipation of some unfavourable response. So the group does continue on inside - a few people walking faster than the others, eager to be out of the chill wind. Madilla's expression brightens at Kessian's idea; Frandel looks thoughtful. Intrigued, perhaps? Or-- "/Greenhouse/," he repeats, matching his stride to Kessian's, which allows the rest of the group to continue ahead. Clearly, this is a man who likes a challenge. "It'd cost, sure, but-- could do something really creative with it." They're just about inside by this point, but the Smith pauses, first, to point upwards at a ledge that's not /so/ very high off the ground. "Half that weyr caved in, one of our little-- accidents. Ledge is solid, though. Lots of light, could put in a staircase to get up to it. Rainwater tanks, for irrigation. Get more space up there than down here, anyways. Safer, too, probably. Less through traffic." He admits, then, after a moment, "Don't know much about greenhouses, as such, but... Think that'd work?" A breath exhaled, likely one Kessian didn't even know he was holding, as the healer's expression eases. "Depends on the size of the weyr," his reply, astute eyes fixed on the indicated ledge, "but if it is so large as it seems..." Words clip off into thought for half a moment, with only the faintest of note, aside, quieter: "If the wall is solid." His eyes are bright, flicking now to Frandel, now to Madilla. "If you're certain it's secure. South-facing," Kessian says, as though to himself, orienting toward the sun. "Yes. It could work. Heat source? Could it be done? The winter is too cold to rely on sunlight alone. And -- yes, moisture control. Some sort of shutter system." Staccato-quick in his excitement. "What do you think?" He twists on Madilla. Frandel seems distinctly more excited about this - a challenge! - than the actual tour, drawing in a musing breath as he considers Kessian; he gives several long bobs of the head. "Don't see why not," he says, after a few moments more. "There's natural hot pools in here-- could maybe do something with that, with a bit of engineering. Or just a hearth up there, channelling in. Have to get up there and take a proper look," he says, indicating the ledge again. "Evaluate the possibility. See if the weyr's willing to pay, too. What we can't barter for, giving glasssmiths some extra space or some such." Madilla takes in every word, biting at her lip in thoughtfulness, so intent that it takes her until after Frandel has finished to actually come up with an answer: "If it could work... /if/ we could manage that, that would make /such/ a difference. Fresh materials!" That's a thumbs up, then. Kessian returns that deliberate look with a keen and eager lift of his brows; a tug at the corner of his mouth and jabs one finger up at the collapsed weyr. "/That/," punctuated with a circled fingertip, "would be perfect." Evalutating possibilties be dammed; if Kessian could scale the wall and get a look at that hot pool right now, right this instant, he'd probably be halfway up already. "Would need /control/, though, that's the key," he says earnestly, unable to resist his own excited puff of breath. "Able to cool and heat, humidify at will. A watering system, if you could swing it." Blue eyes kindle at the thought, but he'll accede with a nod at Madilla, "or we could do it by hand. Wouldn't it just? And no more mucking around with weak, aged, nasty stuff." Bearing back around to Frandel: "So? You think you're the man for the job?" Frandel? The man for the job? Is there anyone else? Could there ever be? His shoulders straighten, powerful arms crossing in front of him as he answers the question with the sharpest of nods. "I'll get it done for you," he says, with audible determination. "If anyone can. Best greenhouse on Pern-- end up with every weyr and half the holds wanting one, or a new one. Leave it with me, eh? I'll do up some plans, see what we've got to work with. Frankly," and he lowers his voice just slightly for this, "It'll make a pleasant change to all of this." /That/ makes Madilla smile, almost knowingly, though her remark is even enough: "Even if we had to do things by hand... it would be worth it. I can't wait to see what you come up with." Evidently, Kessian is impressed with Frandel's conviction. A hand juts out, firmly, aiming to shake with purpose: Kessian says, mildly enough but with a blaze of intent in his eyes, "I believe you're telling the truth, sir." Respect, there, for the craftsman, with a smooth smile gracing his lips before quirking higher into amusement, perhaps satisfaction. "And I'm glad of it." For Frandel's sake. So, with matters in hands more competent than his (in terms of greenhouse construction) Kessian takes the slightest of steps backward and ducks his head. "I wouldn't take any more of your ]time. I imagine the others will be getting impatient. But we could discuss this further? Afterward?" A whisk of his hand includes Madilla, with one lifted brow in her direction: if she's so inclined. "And I would be at your disposal if you needed any outside consulting." With a grip as firm as you'd expect from a smith, Frandel shakes on the deal-- he even does the same for Madilla, who looks a little bemused with the whole thing, but, well, she's /pleased/, anyway. Both of them cast a glance in the direction the rest of the group moved off in, though, the healer with a laugh, the smith more rueful. "I'd almost forgotten," he admits, laughing. "Aye. Straight after-- I'd be happy to. If we can work out exactly what you need, that'll make the whole thing easier to plan." His head bobs, too, for the offer of consulting, and though he doesn't say as much in words, it's evident that he thinks that will be most useful. "All right, then, on with the tour--" He leads the way, in through the crooked passage, into the broader room within, and the (impatiently waiting) group of crafters. |
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