Logs:Unofficially
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 30 August, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some off the books work for Hematite is discussed. |
| Where: Kitchen, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'muir/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions |
  |
| Summer's verging into autumn, and for some it's hard to be indoors. N'rov's lounging against one of those fine granite counters, keeping an eye on the staff (or rather, a particular member of the staff who's making up a basket), at first glance as though he could do it all day; it's the second glance that might show in subtle ways, the way he's still poised and the way he watches the older woman's hands, that he's waiting. Today is no exception from Hattie's (stubborn) refusal to surrender her new daughter to the care of the nursery for more than short stretches of time, and though the sight of her with the baby is a common one, she still doesn't make it very far into the kitchen before one of the younger cook's assistants seeks her turn to fuss over Harriet, who lies snugly against her mother, secured by a soft weave of fabric. The goldrider is as patient with the kitchen hand as she is with the baby, though she eventually extracts herself from the conversation and drifts closer to N'rov's counter, accepting a silently proffered ledger as she goes. Certainly she's even more interesting than the prospect of takeaway, once the fuss catches the bronzerider's ear and then his eye; N'rov glances over, and then looks her over, her and her ledger too. Even Harriet. A sleeping Harriet is not a terribly interesting Harriet, but she is at least a quiet Harriet. As for the ledger, it can't be terribly interesting either, or particularly confidential, since, once Hattie has found her own bit of counter to lean against, she even obligingly tips the document N'rov's way, so that he might see the list of units of foodstuffs consumed so far this seven. "Going on adventures?" she asks lightly, lowering the ledger to rest against her hip. N'rov tips her a half-smile back, reciting the first several entries in an undertone as though she were a harper: see, he can read. More conversationally, "Yeah, headed out for some hunting. Add some more meat to that list." He glances over to the worker, checking on her before, "Quiet afternoon?" "Bring Elaruth back a wherry, hmm?" With the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of her mouth, it's a little difficult to tell whether she's teasing or is actually making a request. Though she's mindful of nearby listening ears, she admits, "Quiet in the literal sense, but not so in any other," with a sigh. "Actually..." Hattie glances up to the kitchen worker, then tries to meet N'rov's gaze and nod him towards a quieter corner of the room. "Only one?" with a lift of his brows, as though Vhaeryth might be eager to bring back five. N'rov gives the worker another, wistful look but he's amenable to being directed in this, if with a touch of even more quiet surprise. "Are you going, or is Hematite going?" Hattie quietly enquires, once they're those few steps away (whether they do any good or not). "Hunting, I mean." She peers down at Harriet, as if her quiet might jinx her daughter's. After a moment's distant focus, she thinks to add, "And where?" "A few of us. Scares the wherries less," the bronzerider adds with habitual humor to go along with the truth. Though given the tone of her inquiry, "That's the plan so far." He eyes Harriet's fuzzy head before naming a few of the valleys in the Weyr's region, southerly but deep enough in the mountain range to find them wild; while he names those, he's looking to her reaction. "And it is just Hematite?" For a woman who's never seemed terribly enamoured of the wing, Hattie sounds awfully focused on it now. She's staring idly at a particular point at N'rov's left shoulder as he names those places, eyes narrowing the slightest bit only a time or two. "...You'll likely want to stay out of Lady Jenilynn's sight, if you can. I'd rather not have much more to discuss when I visit her next." Or would rather not be in the Hold at all. "Do you want it to be otherwise?" N'rov asks even before he laughs, low and deep and somehow free. "'The Lady in the backwoods.' No, I don't see it likely. This should be well out from any habitation." "...If I were her, I'd be twitchy any time a dragon flew over the territory," Hattie mutters lowly, her focus gone inward and to some dark other place that leaves her voice hollow. She lingers there for a moment longer, then blinks to clear her vision and looks up at N'rov. "No," she says, of the other matter. "I'll speak to E'dre--" the Weyrwoman starts to explain before any of the rest of it. "Would you do this on a monthly basis? Outside any... official expectations. Anything further would stand to hunt places to nothingness..." And one last thing: "And take N'muir with you." N'rov's brows hook upward. "Drag him away from harvesting? It'll be my pleasure." While he's at it, though he keeps his voice low, "We're careful how we hunt. Any special instructions for how they're... delivered?" Being unofficial, and all. "Sometimes, I think he goes a bit peculiar if he's out with the holders all day long." Whether that's Hattie's honest reasoning or not, she finds some dose of humour in it, and manages another tiny, affectionate smile. "...I'd like to avoid most of whatever you bring in coming directly here." To the kitchens. "I'll talk to our butchers - and the rest. Quietly. If you've no objections, I'd rather have what you kill see us through the worst of winter instead of gracing the tables immediately." Humor touches N'rov's expression momentarily, all over again: the two of them, onetime holders, talking about holders. But, "No objection at all," he assures immediately. "We'll go for the older beasts, since it's not just for the dragons, cull the herd for its betterment. If not the kitchens, where? If a butcher's feeling particularly brave... he can even come." The irony can't be lost on her either, not in the way her smile softens before it fades. "I imagine a butcher isn't afraid of blood, so if I can find one lacking in phobias of dragons and heights..." Hattie could almost be teasing again, as low as she keeps her voice. "If it could come in through storage, it might not need to move much beyond there until..." She shakes her head. "I'll need a couple of days for logistics, personnel and to talk to E'dre. It's probably not the best idea to throw it together now and hope." A smirk now, wry. "Bring in what you catch today in good faith. Next time..." Presumably less of it will appear in good faith. "One who wants to Stand, perhaps," is N'rov's suggestion without pressure; hunting is his business and the intricacies of the lower caverns (and keeping everyone's mouth shut), hers. "It would be trivial to divide the catch. In the meantime, good faith it is," he adds a quick grin before a step back, "...and a bonus for Elaruth, or two." "One who doesn't want blackmailing by their craft..." slips out before Hattie can consider making a more 'acceptably neutral' comment. She gives a twitch of her lips, only half regretful, then steps back as N'rov does and glances down at the ledger to remind herself why she's here. "Please don't leave gifts on the ledge," she requests with warm humour. "Bijedth wouldn't be pleased to walk out into a puddle of blood." A nod, then she's off through to the Stores, with Harriet still blessedly quiet. That hooks N'rov's attention, reflected in a single brow. For the last, for her leaving (and, soon, his), "We'll even keep it mostly alive." |
Leave A Comment