Logs:Hey Mr. Director
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| RL Date: 6 April, 2013 |
| Who: E'sren, Mave |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A fortuitous meeting of minds takes place in a place of learning. It's almost as if someone planned it that way. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 6, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
| Mentions: Sabella/Mentions |
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| Records Room, High Reaches Weyr Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets. To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs. The further they get into summer, the sweatier the weyrlings. Exercises outside have gone from pleasant in springtime to kind of hard now, with the sun beating down, and E'sren is one of those who can't stay sweaty for long. Not when a bath is within his scope. So he sits with damp... scalp, or fuzz, since his hair is growing back with a quickness, and an apple, and a book. Perhaps seeking some quiet time, or maybe this is just where the books are and he didn't want to wander away with one. He's alone, so it might lean toward the former, and the crunch of his next bite is loud indeed in the still room. A couple of benches off from the weyrling's haven of book-reading, Mave's bent over her own, whittling away at its words of wisdom with a diligence unlike to her-- and, perhaps, not as thorough as first glances suggest, considering her heavy eyebrows-- until that crunch. It seems to echo, magnified, and rattle about in her head between tuffs of brown hair loosened from a tail. With a thump of her shoulders, she's abruptly lifted from the book, hitting her back against the wall with the expulsion of a deep, discontent groan. Maybe not as alone as he thought? Somehow he must have missed Mave, because her groan makes him jump, startled, and do that quick look people who have been startled do to find the source of the noise that startled them. Finding her, E'sren closes his eyes and continues to chew his mouthful, swallowing perhaps a few chews premature. "Have you been here this whole time?" he wonders, eyeing her from his bench. Hand having drifted forlornly to her stomach, Mave startles, in turn, to be addressed. With a too-hurried flip of pages, she slams the tome's heavy cover closed on her fingers, which causes her to shudder in a secondary jump. But she's nearly too absorbed in thinking over the question to oblige a small sting; her hand shakes out after escaping with a jerk from inside the chapters, as she blinks, "What whole time?" As though she's missed the parade going by. "What whole time... um, nevermind. I'll take that as a yes." Not that it makes Mave any less of a strange occurrence right now, since she's groaning and slamming her hand in books and stuff. "I slammed my hand in a book once. I was sure I broke my fingers. Are yours okay?" E'sren leans on the table, his elbow crooked, and takes another bite, crunch. His book is a smaller variety, something either simple or a smaller part of a larger series. Turning fingers in, she squints in an avid examination, but with the lack of pain registering on her face, it's an easy leap to: "Yah," before she slides her hand, with only a small grimace back onto the table, "Weren't hard." Mave's study, however, has been summarily interrupted. Instead of return, she latches onto her own arm and stretches, doubly answering the question of time as she works out the kinks. Opening an eye finds him, his apple, with a tic of her mouth. "I'd just forgotten how hungry I was, till you did that." "Oh good." Even if it wasn't really all that dangerous or even a little likely that any serious damage was done. His own fingers drum out a quick rhythm on the still open pages of his book and he looks down at his apple, nearly gone, a little bit guilty. "Did you not have any lunch?" E'sren is only assuming it's past lunchtime, since he's been in here for a while. "I brought some food in here, I snuck around earlier to steal some so I could come in here instead of wait in line. I have..." He looks down at the bench next to him, at some unknown thing that she can't see from her angle, and he rummages. "Another apple. A roll?" Those items, the former naked save its peel and the latter wrapped in a napkin, appear on the table. Between E'sren's words, she'd risen, hefting her book-bag up along her shoulder, where it sags, attempting to drag her piteously to the floor. Now a few steps from his table, she spies on the food, feet sliding to a slower, more hesitant stop than she'd planned. The bag drops off her shoulder, catching with a jolt on her elbow. Pursuing her mouth, Mave looks up to his face, "You don't have to share your food just 'cause I wasn't thinking," straight-faced said, while her fingers roam straight up the table and snare the corners of that napkin, beginning to drag the food-bit towards her side with unabashed steady pacing. "What'cha reading on, then?" She purses her lips, he pouts his out a little, eyebrows lifted while he nudges the napkin'd roll towards her tugging fingers to urge it along. "Well I have it, you're hungry, easiest math problem ever. Math? Something. I am reading a book about the history of Bitra Hold, right now I'm on one of their Lords from like a hundred years ago or something, Mikus. He had issues. You can sit if you want." E'sren has since straightened up from his lean to sit up, now he gestures at the seat across from his own in case she'd like to, looks up at her with his head tilted. Ya know, if she feels like it. Logic; Mave enjoys logic, and now it's telling her to scoop up the roll she'd been sneaking along to unwrap it generously in front of her. Guided, she sits. The book-bag thumps into the bench and is allowed, with a straightening of her elbow, to crumble to the floor. "Well, he was a Lord," she determines cleverly from his description, "I'm sure he had issues. And other people's issues. And the Hold's issues..." If she were to go on, it's no more; a plucked selection from the roll stuffs her mouth and she chooses to chew on it to soothe that grumbly noise coming from not out of her lips. Angling himself when she sits to face her staight on instead of kind of sideways, and then folding his arms atop the table, E'sren leans forward and consents with a lifted eyebrow. "That's true. I think if you're in a position of power it changes you either for the better, for the worse, or you just go crazy. But the more I learn here about that stuff... I'm not so sure. Seems a lot of people have some tragic combination of all three." Suddenly he narrows his eyes at her, a suspicious squint. "How old are you," he questions her flatly. "Odd's fish, blunt!" There's almost a laugh to it, excusing malice from scoffing as she shrugs, "Fifteen and some. Oh, and I'm Mave, by the way. Thanks for asking that first." Again, a scolding that's gone with the breeze, as thin as it was to begin with, it's easily carried away. Her hand reaches up, stuffs the rest of the roll into her mouth to hold, then reaches forward to tip the book somewhat more to her angle, crooking her lips around her snack. Removing the roll with another hand, she swallows and mentions, "If you ask me-- " but, he didn't. Maybe that's why she trails off introspectively instead. His reply to her scolding is to look very seriously scolded. He puts the knot there between his eyebrows, tightens his lips. "What was I thinking. Mave. E'sren. You didn't ask me either before eating all my food." Pointed look for the bread she's whittling away to nothing, but it's all in fun, over the top faces and besides, they both know he told her she could have it. "I guess I was asking because I didn't wanna start talking about the trials and tribulations of the local leadership with, like, a twelve year old. But if you're fifteen, any scarring for life has already been done. So says my little sister." "It's not all your food until you let me have that apple," mentions Mave gamely, innocently factual as she gnaws on her lip instead of the last bit of bread she's pulling apart between her fingers. "Scarring for life, huh," a little writhe of her shoulders brings her leaning ever closer in; she nearly climbs up onto her knees to spy on his reading before thumping back down to sit on her foot, freeing his space. "I've some life still yet to live, I'd like to think. Life that will, welcomingly, be in the position of powering absolutely nothing except, perhaps, power-washing the floor." Oh yeah, she was gonna say something. He hadn't given much thought to her curiosity about the book before, but when she leans in like that he kind of can't ignore it. Hardly uncomfortable, but maybe a little unsure of what's going on, he leans away very slightly and reaches over for that apple to pull it in for a distraction if need be. Need doesn't be, but E'sren gives it over anyway. "Here. And here." And his book, which he rotates around with a twist of his fingertips on the pages. "Oh come on, life has more in store for you than that. What were you gonna say, before?" More in store? "Eww, why." Now that he's turned the book her way, Mave obliges by glancing over at it, but her focus' moved on. Apple's balanced on the table, one finger at its indented top as she rolls it idly in blocky circles. "Nothing," she proclaims, "Well, something." Not sullen about admitting it, since it's a clear fact. "But something I took back." Her eyebrows raise, tongue wandering through her cheek and puffing out her freckles at him till she adds, a hint deeper than her casual lilting, "It's not a washer's place to say. Why are you reading this?" Because asking questions is a magical way to make things you don't want go away. Maybe there's something about having a little sister about Mave's age that lends E'sren a certain understanding of, if not her words and their meaning, than her. Or at the very least the patience and desire to understand. Though he does his eyebrows at her again and his squint is a little lost, he does make the effort. "Not a washer's place to say what? And who am I to say what you can and can't say. There's nobody else here." Just the two of them, although he didn't know she was here moments ago so who knows who else might be here too. Her question results in a shrug. "Because I didn't know this stuff before. And I'm interested in things I don't already know." Mave squirms lightly on the bench as though he'd dropped an insect down the back of her shirt. Her hand drops off the apple, planting her elbow for her to lean, grasping fingers into her hair with a small sign of agitation. "Too..." she weighs, drawing out the word, "Talk about leadership, as if I had any idea what truly went into it." More to it, kept close to her chest. Rocking on her seat, she reaches for her own book, sticking out of the sagging bag, and hauls it up to the table. It's clearly a volume amongst other volumes of great size and, therefore, likely dryness. With but her red swelling finger as marker, she must've lost her place, because she throws it open and starts flipping pages generously. "Well I don't know what goes into it either, but I wanna learn about it. And we don't have to talk a ton of shit about the people who run this place to talk about them. I think a lot of people around here don't really get that." But that's neither here nor there. Which is right around when Mave's book makes its appearance, an ominous, heavy cameo. "What were you reading?" E'sren asks, after about the fifth of those flips. "Theater stuff," it jumps out of her mouth without her really thinking, distracted by flipping pages-- and with the furrow her eyebrows have become at his words. Mave's lips mull together progressively harder till her, "How to do the design-y parts," is outright dismissive, and she hurries into, "You are marvelously refreshing, E'sren. Everyone in the caverns just wants to gossip, gossip, gossip. Pick sides, and gossip some more. Honestly, at this point, I don't know that it wouldn't be better to have brand new leadership altogether." A kind of alarm flits to her eyes as she hears herself but, rolling them, she lets that go, flipping another page, now slower. Design-y parts of theater stuff. "You'd think a book about that would be like... purple or sparkly. I'm just saying, at least some gold leafing on the pages." Not just big and big and brown and big, like that one. He grins, she said he's refreshing, which squints his eyes. "I wish I could say I'm doing it on purpose but I genuinely hate gossip and rumors. Where I'm from, we don't really do that. I mean we talk about who's having a baby and who's running what, to keep in the know, but like... I dunno, man. It's different here. I'm kind of a black hole for that stuff." Maybe he senses her own inner alarm going off for her own words and that's why he suddenly asks, "So why theater stuff?" A flash of gratitude crosses her face at his redirect-- questions to the rescue again. "So I can keep narrowing down who to ask for help on one." While saying, Mave tips up the tome, turning it about, back and forth, to examine each of its angles for any of the decoration he proclaims its missing: he's right. Letting it resettle, she shrugs, "I've hit a bit of a dent, and this is supposed to be a book on, like... structure and putting things on, but it mostly seems to be one guy just tooting his own horn for a thousand pages." Sighing heavily, she splays her hands over the useless book's cover, willing it to become a new, marvelous piece of perfect instructions instead. When she spreads her fingers and it's still there, her mouth mopes, "If I can't figure out someone to direct it, besides the assistants that turned me down, nothing's ever going to happen." E'sren proves to be a good listener while she laments the usefulness or lack thereof of her book, but she hits on something when she mentions direction. "Direct 'it' meaning a show? Is that what you're trying to do?" His eyes lower to the pages, as if looking at them upside down would help. "What kind of show is it?" "It isss..." Occupied with whatever her hands are doing for several seconds, Mave waits till she's wrassled her full attention back to him before answering, the elongated 's' marking time. "A comedy of errors, or so the other book told me. And I have a few caverns people who are willing to spare time to construct some set parts, but only if they know it's actually going to happen." The word of a fifteen-turn-old not amounting to much, not that she seems to level any blame on them. "And one of the headwoman's assistants asked where my funding is coming from, and I very poorly evaded answering by asking her quite abruptly how her children were doing." The down curl of her mouth brings to wondering if any of the assistants actually have children. "Oh okay." E'sren accepts this answer with ease, it's a language he seems to know. "It sounds like you need a real team. Not just a bunch of people who might do it, maybe, we'll see. Do you wanna just put it on for the fun of it? Political commentary?" Remembering his apple, he recollects it and takes another bite, close to the last there is to take, despite its browning fruit-meat. "What kind of funding are we talking about here?" he asks around that mouthful. "Any of the shows we ever put on we did with stuff we already had. Makes it easier when you look around and use stuff that's in the room, instead of stressing out about getting the stuff you don't have." "Started out simpler," mused with a lower of Mave's eyebrows, till they're a straight line above her eyes, tagging in her nose to keep the wrinkle going. "I was just going to find some hands to help out the harpers, so what they'd put it on. But it's kind of grown since. Once I walked away and thought about it, I figured she meant for the kinds of supplies it might take to make scenery or some... Wood, and paint, and all. But, before, I was counting on the harpers to back me once I proved people were in." Fingers tap along the spine then on the table. What's left of the roll has been left lying, broken into a sad pile of its once delicious self, on the napkin nearby. She picks at this, too. "Just supposed to be something for people to do, y'know. Putting energy into something can help take your mind off stuff." E'sren flattens his mouth, leans back in his seat and pockets his hands. "I think it's a great idea, I didn't mean for the questions to be a deterrent. Things like that sometimes do kind of grow into their own thing." And because it's kind of a theme of their talk that people need to be in, or else this idea of hers won't work, he shrugs his shoulders and says, "I'm in, if you need some help. Now that exams are over I have more free time than I did." "What, really-- ? Wait. Exams?" Mave's face screws into a look of frustrated disappointment that breezes away with a sigh, leaving no dents. "You're a weyrling. You guys have somewhat higher priorities?" She falters there, like a truth that's been whittled away at. Her pick of the roll turns into one at the napkin, shredding its corner till little white flecks dot the table like the sparkles missing from the theater show tome. "I know your rules have loosened some, come new months, but it seems to figure that you'd have other stuff to focus on. Not that-- " her hand raises, showing him her palm, "I'm saying I'm not grateful." E'sren grins easily in general, it's a thing. "We have evenings free pretty much. I mean yeah there's a lot of stuff to do and I'm really busy right now but it sounds like you need some help and I actually know a little bit about how to do this stuff. And it isn't like I have anything else to do when I'm not hanging out with Sabs or Ahruth. Sabella could help too actually, I'll just recruit her. We'll just tell her later." No need to bother her with it now. "Sound good?" An infectious thing, too, E'sren's grin, creeping into Mave till her cheeks bubble up and she's grinning despite her practical wonder, "Oh, you... you know some of-- this?" An indicating finger accuses the useless book. Flicking eyes between him and the written word, it takes no guesses to figure out which she prefers to learn from. Hesitation curls at her feet, and she bounces a knee nervously, but a grim suck in of her lower lip as she looks over her shoulder to consider the prospect of scanning further shelves for a better source has her turning to him with a fierce nod. "Alright. I'm going with your word on the matter here, E'sren. No trouble. And you'll be my consulting director. And what does Sabella do?" "Yeah, me and my family put shows on all the time. Sometimes they're skits, sometimes they're just music. Sometimes I do some tricks. Those were some good times. I might even be able to get them to come perform if we're short on actors. Or performers. Whatever." What does Sabella do? E'sren pauses to search around inside the gumshoe file cabinets in his brain. "Hair and makeup?" he lands on, somehow, looking a little bemused himself by that knowledge. "And wardrobe? Especially if we're talking costume changes." Any caution left in her is outshone by the slight glow in Mave's cheeks at hearing the fabled Sabella's talents. "That's fantastic." With her hair lazily whipped up and no make-up on, it could sound like mystical powers to the adolescent. Clapping her hands together in a rush of excess excitement, she forces her nod to be more level, even-headed. The seriousness of it elicits a sobering thought, as she gnaws on her lip before sincerely admitting, "There's nothing I can necessarily promise your family for compensation. Or Sabella, who we haven't asked, or even you." Despite volunteering-- and despite words, there's a gumption to her, stating the obvious not as a pity maneuver or in defeat, but stating the problem to find a solution. Cue another grin, and if his are infectious, so is her giddy clapping. "See? We can so do this. And don't worry about pay. I've only ever asked for sheer, unbiased fame and adoration, my family would probably be willing because it'd be a business opportunity. And we can figure out what Sabella wants when we tell her. Which is not now, it's later. Much later." Like after he's had a chance to maybe butter her up a little. "It'll all work itself out." This must be that laid-back part people talk about sometimes when describing him. He starts gathering his things, sudden but unhurried, and adds, "I have to go, Ahruth, but do you wanna meet later tonight to talk about it more? Like after dinner?" "Much later," Mave repeats to demonstrate her superior listening skills, his respect owed for his new consulting position. Watching him begin to pack up has her shifting, pulling a leg up onto the bench then sliding it back down indecisively seconds later. "My best to Ahruth." Then, because it seems the proper thing to do, she unfolds off the bench and offers him her hand in a very official shake to seal the deal, firmly and with a grip unseemly for a teenage girl with cute freckles. "After dinner it is. Unless, or until, something of greater importance comes up." She actually stands before he does, which is a little surprising but he's hardly taken aback. He catches up quickly, tucking his book under an arm and also awkwardly holding his mostly-eaten apple in that same hand so he can accept that surprising grip of hers. He keeps his light for her little hand, but he adds on a stern, businesslike expression. "Indeed. I doubt it will, but if it does I'll let you know. And he might be around with us later, if that's okay. So you can give them to him yourself." Grinning again, he salutes her and exits, whistling a jumpy jig along the way. |
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Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 07 Apr 2013 10:14:09 GMT.
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Awhaw! E'sren volunteering himself (and others, sheesh!) for Mave's project. This thing is growing into a big, hairy beast of an idea... >:3 I'm curious to see where it all ends up.
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