Logs:Not One Hundred Percent Sure
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| RL Date: 17 May, 2015 |
| Who: G'vri, Isidro |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Bronzerider meets stork. |
| Where: Stores, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| It's been four days since Fort's solitary junior queen was caught by not-G'vri's bronze. In that time, he's acquired both a knot and a weyr, and it's the latter of those that has him here this afternoon. He's currently picking his way through one of the junk rooms and he's trying to be careful right up until there's a minor crash, a yelp and then he's cursing in pain at whatever managed to cause it. In other news, lunch today happened without a hitch, and dinner should be similarly smooth sailing, shouldn't it? At least, it will be if Isidro can find what he's been sent down for. At present, all he has is a hastily-written list--a list that gets folded up and tucked into a trouser pocket right after the cursing starts. Even if this is the entirely wrong part of storage, he seems to make it to the scene very quickly, to hover there like a particularly solicitous stork. "Is everything all right? Are you hurt? Would you like some help?" If storks smiled with teeth. If Pern even has storks, toothy or otherwise. The Southern, or formerly Southern, bronzerider looks up from the inspection of one thick hand and several red fingers, brows knit together in a way that makes him look both upset and very serious. "Nothing's broken or severed, so I'll probably live." He pauses to actually look at the other man, sizing him up and ultimately looking uncertain as he asks, "Do you think you could help me lift this stuff off of the desk under here?" This stuff is an overturned table that should probably have four legs but only has three and a half, and a bunch of random other things on top of it. "You're sure?" Isidro's approach does nothing to make him seem less birdlike--or maybe it's not so much bird as lizard? Quick, possibly a little skittish, bending to look at the hand without actually reaching to touch it. But if there are nerves at play, they're not so much as to drive him off. Straightening, he peers at the contents of the table. "Sure. Absolutely. No problem." Though, of course, his way of doing it involves moving the smallest things off one-by-one before progressing to anything heavier, perching them on whatever flat place they fit, whether or not they're any more stable than they were originally. "I'm fine," will be G'vri's final answer on that particular matter. With a sigh at the injury, he brushes his hand against the thigh of his pants like he could so easily brush off the pain, and shakes his head at Isidro. "I can do that. Just help me lift the table off and over there and then you can be on your way. What are you down here for?" The question is conversational as he gestures for the slighter man to take the other side of the table. The side that has fewer things on it. Nice guy G'vri. There's a long and withering look. Or at least withering; Isidro seems to have trouble with holding it. "Are you trying to crush toes, too? Fine, crush yours, but I'm not smashing mine. Someone has to have some good sense, here." Which is why he manages to move one more thing aside--and then basically just shoves the rest over towards G'vri and away from his own precious feet. "I'm supposed to be getting another bag of flour up to the kitchen. It's fine. Still haven't found the man with the keys. Or the woman. It could be a woman, couldn't it? I forgot to ask." G'vri manages a sound that hovers somewhere between amused and impatient. When the table is finally lifted up and set down where he wants it, away from the broken desk he's claiming, there's the sense that he probably could have managed the whole thing himself if not for the awkward size. "Thanks," he says as he makes his way back toward the prize. "I know the headwoman is, in fact, a woman. Not sure about any of the keepers of the keys. I was gonna look at some furniture, but I got distracted with all this, so I think I'll settle with linens and this for now." This, the desk, is patted with one hand before he starts trying to move it away from its neighbors. The bronzerider could have managed the whole thing alone? Isidro is struggling with even just the half. At one point it drops far enough that some of what was sitting on it slides a good bit in his direction before he's able to right it. Could be a cue for his own cursing, but nope. Breathless, sure, but smiles again once it's safely deposited. "There! There we go. Do you have a plan for moving it? Even with drawers out--" The slight young man gives it a worried look. "I don't know I can spare the time." Time, right, that's clearly what's lacking. "Well, I--" G'vri has to think about that, looking at the desk. "I'm sure there's someone around that can help me get it into the bowl." He won't even joke about recruiting Isidro, evidently. "Then it's just a matter of strapping it to Tovriath. And then getting it into the weyr. It'll be fine. We move furniture around all the time, right?" Or maybe that's exactly how most of the furniture in this particular room got here in the first place? He stares at the desk for a short while, then seems to remember himself all at once. "Fuck. Right. I'm G'vri. Thanks again for helping..." Space for name here. "Saved me a lot of time." "Isidro." The s is sibilant, a hiss rather than a buzz, carefully so, like he's done a lot of introductions in the past few days and is at some pains to make sure that name sits right in the mouths of strangers. "I'll see if I can find you a better helper on my way out. Lots of things I'm good at. That's not one of them." Big smile. Teeth. At which point he's turning and to make his way back out, pulling the piece of paper back out of his pocket as he goes. It's a try for confidence, that falters just slightly, a craning to look back: "Do you happen to know which way dry goods are from here? I've gotten turned around." "Isidro." G'vri repeats it, almost a question to see if he's gotten it right. "I appreciate it." His attention returns to the desk as soon as the slighter man starts to turn, but he looks back up at the question. "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think it's that way," there's a gesture. "You'll probably need a key, though, and anyone with one of those should know exactly where everything is. Except for sweaters that fit properly." There's a touch of dry humor in the last. "Good luck." He might need it. The smile there is smaller--but brighter? More genuine. "Imagine I'll find somebody. If not--well, if you never see me again, remember me fondly!" With that, once-more-unto-the-breach style, Isidro sets off for this adventure in pantry-supplying. |
Comments
Cass (16:16, 18 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Both of these guys come across so clearly from the writing.
Love all the details: Isidro's avian mannerisms and smiles, how differently they handle the table, that G'vri decided to take the desk before really thinking about what would have to go into it! <3
More, please.
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