Logs:Obnoxiously Inefficient
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| RL Date: 9 August, 2015 |
| Who: Edric, Isabeau, Banth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Green weyrling, meet Steward. Let The Inquisition begin. |
| Where: Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny, with clouds. |
| Mentions: Erinta/Mentions |
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This end of the Bowl is grassy and serene, the sparkling blue beyond the
Lake Shore a draw for residents, riders, and dragons alike. An earthslide
has revealed a dramatic view of the mountain slopes beyond the circle of
the Weyr, past the lake, where a faint misty haze often shimmers above the
small Bowl Falls. The Feeding Grounds are fenced off to on the
northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling
barracks, the hot springs, and infirmary.
Warm and pleasant, puffy clouds that get chased by the winds into wispy
brushes against a bright blue sky, the summer weather is a little on the
warm side late in the day but all-around tolerable. It is a fine, fine day as summer days go. Late morning, just before the lunch rush in the living caverns. The bowl is appropriately busy with activity, not the least of which involves one nondescript green and her rider. The latter half of the dragonriding equation is busy with some baggage attached to the straps, while a tall gentleman stands nearby. Edric cleans his glasses patiently while he waits for the young, male rider to manhandle the bags to the ground. Only when that's done does the visiting Steward put his glasses on and look up to answer the unspoken question written plainly on the other man's face. "Four days. I'll send word." It isn't so much that Isabeau eavesdrops, It's Banth's usual chirpy energy that has her sidling up to the green to say hello in vaporous bubbles and whorls. She knows she should apologize, but at the same time there is the whole question of interrupting the current conversation. "Ah. I'm sorry, she's a handful." The green rider sheepishly admits as she makes her approach. The elder green - a middling, dusty hue of green with wide eyes and beakish muzzle - returns the bubbly, whorling greeting with a brush of feathered wings and twilight. Lwoseyth turns her attentions to her rider, L'land, who rolls a sholder in a most noncommital way. He looks to Edric and it's Edric who, in turn, cants a sidelong look to Isabeau and er lifemate. "You've done nothing to apologize for," is his flat response, along with a slight lift of his chin that sends light skittering across his lenses. "If it were a private conversation, we'd have been in private." Straightforward enough - and, like as not, a cue for the older greenriding pair to disappear into the background. Isabeau watches as the rider departs, studying the older gentleman with a thoughtful pause. "What happens in four days?" She wonders running a hand through her hair, shifting her weight a little nervously. "If you don't mind me asking that is?" His smile is thin, but polite. "It doesn't matter if I mind you asking," Edric replies. "You've just asked. The bigger question is if I mind answering it." He bends to collect the bags and shoulder them in a fluid, effortless motion. "In four days, I return to my Hold. Three days after that, I will return here." The motion he makes just carries that schedule out into perpetuity - and so it goes and goes. Isabeau tilts her head, "I can help with those." The young blonde states, evenly. Scuffing a foot against the dirt, "Seems like a pretty obnoxious thing to have to do every few days. Why not just stay on wherever it is you want to stay?" Tact is not something she was well educated in it would seem. The offer isn't accepted. Edric just shakes his head and adjusts the hang of the bags without a word. He's already in motion, a long-legged stride carrying him toward the northern bowl - and, ostensibly, the inner caverns some distance beyond. "I'm here on business," is his explanation. "And I have other business to attend to at the Hold - business that I can't manage while I'm here." One corner of his mouth distorts slightly into something akin to an amused half-smile. "It is obnoxious - but that's how it goes, sometimes." "Sounds horribly inefficient." She states falling in step alongside, the green weyrling trailing behind them like a predatory feline stalking prey. "What are you doing here in the weyr?" "It is as efficient as it can be until Erinta is suitably situated," is Edric's reply, coupled with a shallow roll of shoulders in relative ambivalence. She'll have to move quickly to keep up; inefficient as his living and work situation is, he's dangerously efficient when it comes to getting from place to place. "I'm assisting your Headwoman. There was a situation not long ago and there were repercussions." "Situation?" Isa echoes, Banth trailing not far behind. At least as far as keeping up goes, she doesn't do a half-bad job. "It's nice of you to assist then I suppose... I don't know If I'd call her my head woman, I barely know her." "I'm not here because I want to be," he clarifies crisply. "I'm here because I'm needed." Edric slants a look back and her way briefly. The situation, unfortunately, is left to remain a nebulous mystery. Instead: "Whether you know her or not, she is the Headwoman here - which makes her yours, regardless." It's a minor detail, pedantry at its weakest, but a point that he feels is important enough to make. "Well, we have that much in common at least." Is Isabeau's easy reply. "Why are you needed, I mean specifically what do you do?" It isn't intended as insulting but might be construed that way given the blunt nature of the question. There's a shrug for his point, utterly noncommittal. "I guess." But it is a watered down agreement the kind that teenagers give when they don't want to argue, but you know they aren't going to do whatever it is they were asked either. "I'm a Steward." Edric states this as bluntly as the question was. "I work with numbers, much like Erinta does. The difference," he continues with a faint wrinkle of his nose, "is that the story these numbers are telling is a story that she's having some trouble with. It is an unpleasant story and it will take some time to clean up." His pace slows subtly for the sake of conversation, but not by much. "I was hired to help her make sense of things - and to work out the issues that allowed for it to happen in the first place." Isabeau stretches with a yawn. "Sounds boring." It's numbers after all. She wrinkles her nose then, "Doesn't this weyr have folks who can do common math? Why do we need a holder to fix our numbers, doesn't make much sense. Not much sense at all." But she's yawning again, and Banth's warbled battle cry is catching her off guard as the green takes off in the opposite direction without warning. A single eyebrow lifts. Edric's reply is a bland, "Ask your Weyrlingmaster for extra lessons on how a Weyr is run. If you don't, I might. I'm astonished that they didn't cover that during your Candidacy period." Fortunately, the green's abrupt departure is a fine cue for him to take; he presses on at his earlier pace and, with any luck, will be long gone before either of them can catch up. |
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