Logs:Storerooms Sneakery
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| RL Date: 22 September, 2013 |
| Who: Lansha, Rhey |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lansha finds Rhey sneaking around in the storerooms. He puts on a good act. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr
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 outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves.
Lansha trudges into the storeroom, looking miserable, dirty, sweaty and scratched. He's wearing thick hide gloves and carries a sack with thorns sticking out everywhere. There are needlethorns sticking all over his clothes as well. As he hears a noise, he pauses at the front of the storerooms. "Hello? Someone there?" The rustling stops the moment Lansha's voice rings out; it's replaced by absolute silence. Nope. No one here, really! Lansha unlids one of the glows to illuminate the room a bit more, then walks toward the barrels in the back of the room. "I'm not really in the mood for this. I'm filthy, sweaty and bleeding from who knows how many thorn scratches. So you'd better come out now unless you want a face full of needles." He's trying to sound tough, but a slight waver in his voice belies the fear underneath. One of the barrels is open, the lid ajar, but there's something visibly amiss aside from that: the contents still seem to be in place. Then, around a corner and between some shelves, there's the sound of a squeaking foot on the stone floor. Lansha glances in the open barrel quickly, then moves around the corner towards where he heard a squeak. He holds the sackfull of needlethorns out in front of him threateningly. "I mean it--ow!" He's pricked once again by a thorn. "Come out now and you won't get hurt." There's no one - visibly - down that corridor of shelves, either, though the large sacks and boxes that line the wooden shelves could make an easy hiding place were someone that way inclined. Now, however, there's a voice, muffled enough that it's difficult to place where, precisely, it's coming from. "You won't hurt me." Lansha swallows nervously and creeps down the corridor, checking the shelves as he goes. "I don't want to, I will if I have to." The voice seems strangely familiar to him, but he can't place it. "Just come out and let's talk about this, huh?" "What's there to talk about?" counters the voice which certainly is familiar, though the muffled sound of it makes it much more difficult to actively place. "Go away." Lansha says, "Well, for starters, who are you and what are you doing back here, let's start with that." He opens a sack and a box, looking through them quickly as he searches. "I won't report you, I promise." The voice sounds... extra muffled, now. Is this unknown person crying? Then: "How do I know that?" It might be that the voice is coming from higher up the shelves, perhaps even at the very top, above easy reach. Lansha looks up toward where he thinks the voice might be coming from. "Well, I didn't see anything missing from the stores, so I know you didn't take anything. Nothing to report, really. Look, I'll put this down." He sets the sack of thorns on the floor. "Come down and talk to me. I want to help you." "Why?" The voice sounds very, very small. "Why not just leave me, if I haven't done anything wrong?" Lansha tsks, as if the answer is obvious. "Well, you were about to do something wrong before I came in. I just want to know why you were doing it. Maybe I can help you. I don't want to see you get hurt, or thrown out." Abruptly, there's movement from atop the shelves, a small face appearing between two bundles. Exactly how Rhey - for it certainly is that particular boy - got up that high without it being audible is a good question; regardless, there he is now. He looks scared. "Don't let them send me away. Please." Lansha smiles as he sees the other boy. "Rhey, I thought that was you. I promise I won't let them send you away. Come down and we'll talk." "I was just looking," says Rhey, sounding... sheepish. "People keep saying there's not going to be enough food to feed us all over the winter. Because of people like me." Nabolese refugees. "I wanted to see. That's all." Lansha says, "Well, not like *you*. Weyrs have always depended on tithes from the holds. We don't grow our own food, we can't really. We defended the holds from Thread in return for tithes. And now with Thread gone, I guess they don't want to tithe anymore. I was talking to one of the weyrwomen earlier and she agreed that our stocks were low. I thought the levels were good when I did inventory, but maybe they're not enough. At least, not until we get the rest of the tithes. We need them." For an outsider, Rhey seems to know an awful lot about these things. He points out, "You didn't get full tithes last turn, and you probably won't get them from Nabol, this turn. Not with burnt fields and sometimes no one to bring them in." Slowly, he begins to creep free from between the bundles on the shelf, his skinny limbs ever so quiet in the process. "I don't want us to be a burden." Lansha's eyebrows arch, impressed with Rhey's knowledge. "You could've just asked me instead of sneaking in. Like I said, I just did inventory. I don't know how we'll get by, but we will. We might need to get help from other Weyrs, unless their stocks are as low as ours. Something for the leaders to decide, I suppose. I have faith that they'll make the right decision." Rhey's expression turns guilty, and he ducks his eyes. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't think anyone would notice. And I didn't want... I should go. They're going to lock up in here soon, aren't they?" He climbs, silently, back to the ground. Lansha nods. "I'll lock up when I leave. Wait for me, I don't want anyone to thin you were in here alone." He picks up his sack full of needlethorns and empties it into a jar where the rest are kept. It takes him a few minutes to pull all the thorns from the sack and off his clothes. "I hope I never have to do that again. I feel like a pincushion." Rhey does wait, his gaze lowered to the ground, his steps trailing uneasily after Lansha's. "Looks messy," he agrees, regarding the needlethorns. "Glad I'm not having to do that, I guess." He doesn't have much else to say, and seems somehow relieved when it's time to head out and lock up. Soon after, he simply... vanishes. There one step, gone the next. Lansha finishes emptying the bag, seals the jar and turns around, about to say something to Rhey, but he's nowhere to be seen. "Hey, where'd you go? Shells, I hope he doesn't get caught again." He locks the doors to the storerooms and heads back out to the caverns. |
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