Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr(#273RJs)
Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms.
Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them.
Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outsde each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves.
Lunchtime has left the afternoon bustle of the storerooms in a bit of a lull; there's always something happening in here, always some traffic, but a good part of the shift on duty is likely in the living cavern, waiting in line for food along with half the weyr. Some have a later break, some perhaps are skipping entirely - with Brieli, it might will be the latter. The goldrider seems like she might have enough work to spend the rest of the day in the thrilling pursuit of sweaters, it looks like - she has a clipboard, a stack of hides attached and a box of fuzzy wool at her feet. Winter is coming, and High Reaches will not be unprepared.
H'kon moves silently, no telling rumbling of stomach to suggest on his past or anticipated lunch hour, no sound from his boot heels. Maybe he means to be stalking. Probably, it's just easier to stay quiet when down a quiet aisle. It's with a stack of repeatedly-scraped hides that he's on his way, his mission accomplished, and only a passing fancy - or maybe that's just an exit strategy - to have him going past Brieli. But once he's there, well. You've got to break the silence with, "Weyrwoman," and the necessary pause for pleasantries. Which will surely be so pleasant.
Usually aware enough of her surroundings to pay attention to comings and goings, Brieli flickers a sidelong glance at the movement coming into her field of vision. She doesn't seem inclined to look up more than that, checking over her notes so whoever-it-is can pass by unimpeded, but then there's H'kon's greeting, unmistakable. How will the goldrider feel if, one day, people stop calling her 'Weyrwoman' like that? Kicking the box at her feet lightly, "Brownrider. How are you?" Pleasantries.
How is H'kon, ever? "Well enough." It's dealt out with a nod, with a flexing of his fingers around the hides he carries. "Yourself?" is with eyes daring to cast a glance down to that box of wool. If there's understanding of her task, he doesn't signal it with anything apart from another nod, one to precede a flat stare that finds its way to Brieli's face as he waits.
Tucking the clipboard under her arm, Brieli turns to regard H'kon more easily, not quite quirking a smile, but her dark eyes are bright. "As usual. I assume Arekoth is the same. I..." She follows his glance down to the box, then looks back up. "I am checking our inventory of wool and sweaters ahead of the weather. Take that as you will." This time, a faint smirk does touch her lips. Nodding to his hides, "You've found what you came for?"
"The same as he ever is," is formal enough to imply the 'ma'am', although H'kon does not go so far as to say it. Maybe that's reserved for when one of the golds actually flies. "Ah," has the energy of fresh acknowledgement, but H'kon doesn't look back to the box at the goldrider's feet. "A good time to do it." This time, when fingers curl against the hides, they stay curled. "I have. There has been little change of where they are kept." Blink. "For turns."
Looking back down at the wool, pursing her lips, "I'd rather be prepared ahead of time than not. And perhaps someone can use what we can't, if there's anything." The last is strangely reflective; Brieli has to shake herself out of it, but it's quick enough. Her attention back on the brownrider, "Winters are always the most worrying, I find. And I thought I'd check, I'd told someone to hide them." It's entirely straight-faced, but she has to be joking, right? Right? Tilting her head to the side, considering for a moment, she asks, "Do you know if people think one of them will rise before winter? Before a snowstorm?" Because that would be awesome, another flight like Rielsath's.
H'kon answers Brieli's deadpan with a well-practiced deadpan all his own, face flat, stare flat. There's no blinking here. Just a shift of that pile, before his fingers are finally willing to relax their grip, just a little. "I have noticed that a good deal of what people seem to think has little bearing on anything actual." The words carry stresses, but overall it's a rhythmless, emotionless sort of speech from that compact brownrider.
"This is true," Brieli can allow, if slowly. "But it's good to know what people are thinking. Or saying. Not that, as you say, it will have any bearing on the outcome." There's a girlish wrinkle of her nose - annoyance - before she looks away, shifting her clipboard. "I feel a sense of... impatience. I know there's nothing I can do, but I'd like to know."
"Of course there is impatience," is sharp. "The Weyr has no settled leaders." H'kon blows a bit of air through his nose, and now looks quickly off to nothing in particular beside him. "Have it mean what it will," is a mutter away from the goldrider. One he realises after the fact, one that has him pulling his heels together, standing straight, and giving her yet another nod. "Perhaps I should leave you to the task at hand." And he looks to that box of wool, lest there be any question.
Giving the brownrider an edged, dark, flat look, Brieli is equally clipped. "It's as settled as it's going to be, unless you have some instant, brilliant solution." Give me a fucking break here, GOD. Just to be a bitch and to prove a point, if H'kon's going to be all muttery and heels-pulled-together, she tells him as she flips out her clipboard, "Yes, you're dismissed." She can do that. Because she has important sweaters to count, and he is No Help At All.
And whatever instant, brilliant solution H'kon may've had is suppressed in a low, only faintly stuttered exhalation. By the time he gets to, "Weyrwoman," it's civil in tone. The turn, the march out, is purely military. And no help at all.
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