Logs:Weevils and Work
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| RL Date: 1 April, 2012 |
| Who: Xansa, Giorda |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The Headwoman's staff catch up. Alas, most of them are late. |
| Where: Headwoman's Office, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 5, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| It's mid-morning, and the day of the seven when Giorda generally has her assistants in for a catch-up meeting. Spring has been, thus far, largely cool and damp, and today is no exception -- Giorda still has a fire burning at the hearth, just high enough to keep the chill from the air. The other assistants seem to be late, today, because the Headwoman is presently alone, lost in her thoughts, her careful fingers on the abacus - and the tea-trolley, with cookies and tea for all, at the ready. In the interests of being punctual, Xansa's still jabbing pins into her dark hair as she makes her way to the Headwoman's office, escaping strands making her attempts at an up-do more casual than perhaps intended. One pin still sits tucked in the corner of her mouth when she pokes her head through the door, gem-dotted end sparkling as it bobs up and down through her cheerful, "Good morning! Ooh, am I actually the first one here for a change?" Morning delays as she passes her mother off to one of her other carers not being uncommon. The corners of Giorda's mouth turn up as Xansa makes her way in, and she waves an idle hand towards the available seating: first in, best dressed. "Someone dropped a pot of porridge in the kitchens, there are weevils in some flour, and Alieva's little girl is sick," she explains, blandly, rocking backwards to rest her back against the rest of her chair. "We could be waiting a while. 'Morning. Your mother is well today, I hope?" "Weevils?" Xansa echoes with dismay, hand stilling halfway on its journey to finding someplace useful to stick that last pin. "Ugh. I hope we've managed to catch that early; I don't want to even think about the headache it'll be otherwise. Is that the extent of the morning's disasters, or just what's been reported so far?" Stab goes the hairpin, and then she flops inelegantly into one of the chairs. "She is. She's feeling pretty feisty this morning, actually. Barely held my arm at all when we went to breakfast." A fleeting, pride-filled smile tugs at her lips. Distaste fills Giorda's tone as she confirms it: "Weevils. I think it's just localised - Shiana swears it - but we won't be taking any chances. The last thing I want to do is have to report to the Weyrwoman," formidable, mercurial, prone-to-violence Tiriana, "that there won't be any bread until the tithes come in. In six months. That's all I've heard this morning, at any rate; it's plenty." With feeling. The Headwoman reaches for the tea pot, gesturing towards it with one hand, questioningly, as she adds, "I'm glad to hear it. I've always liked your mother. Her eyesight-- it's such a shame." Xansa winces, nodding in sympathetic agreement for the desire to not have to carry that particular bit of news. Optimistically, "I'm sure it won't come to that. Even if it is worse than Shiana's discovered, there must be other avenues we can explore. Trade, maybe." She taps one finger against pursed lips while she frowns thoughtfully, before shaking her head at Giorda's gesture. "Oh, no, thank you. I drank so much klah at breakfast I'm surprised I'm not sloshing!" A soft chuckle follows, then she inclines her head with a soft smile. "Yes. But it's not like Momma to let 'a little thing' like blindness stop her. You know she's re-learning how to weave? Entirely by touch. She says runners won't care if their blankets are pretty or not." Giorda's "I hope you're right," is fervent, but not without a note of gloomy inevitability to it, as though she expects, without question, that nothing will be as easy as it could be - and that things will most likely turn out badly. It's not an unusual attitude for the Headwoman. Xansa's refusal has her withdrawing from the tea-pot, and instead, resting her hands upon the desk's surface. "I had heard something about that. I'm glad to hear it, certainly. She's lucky, surrounded by people who care about her." Encouragement brightens Xansa's smile, "Well, regardless, when the others get here maybe we can all put our heads together and come up with some plans to address any eventuality? After all, being prepared for something is the best way to ensure it never happens. And the Weyrwoman would undoubtedly appreciate your forethought." She puts the very slightest of emphasis on 'your,' subtly relinquishing any claim on the idea. Another nod is given in reply to the further observance of Aslaina, polite and happy acknowledgement. But her mind is turning more towards business, as she casts a brief glance toward the door as if half-expecting one of her absent associates to have magically appeared. "I think I've mostly gotten the schedules sorted to accommodate those requests for time off for extended family visits," she says, referring to various among the lower caverns staff with relatives out-Weyr, as she returns her attention to the Headwoman. That first suggestion brightens Giorda's expression considerably, and has her straightening her shoulders and looking almost smug, somehow. "That's an excellent thought," she agrees. "I know we can come up with an appropriate game-plan. After all, I have an excellent team, don't I?" A moment's pause, and then, proudly: "The best." Not that this will stop her from taking most of the credit. Xansa's slide on to more work-focused chatter has Giorda looking serious all over again, and leaning forward to listen intently. "Oh-- excellent. Good. You'll leave them with me to look over, before we finalise them? Not," hastily, "that I doubt your work, Xansa. You know that, of course." Her own attention slides vaguely towards the door, but it doesn't budge. "There's been a complaint that the cleaning crews are skimping on the craft complex. Could you look into it for me?" There's a flicker of amusement that passes through Xansa's eyes, but her voice is devoid of any sarcasm as she agrees, "You do. A team is only as good as its leader, after all." Her exploitation of Giorda's weakness for flattery could just be an attempt to bolster the elder woman's mood in light of the day's bad news. "Of course," she inclines her head, simultaneously lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair that's fallen loose from her haphazard 'do behind her ear. "I'll have my proposal on your desk as soon as I have some possible solutions to suggest for the few remaining that require a little more creative juggling than the rest have. By the end of the day, or tomorrow morning at the latest." Her brows lift, lips thinning together into a disapproving line shortly before she clicks her tongue in a soft 'tsk.' "Absolutely. Is it a particular section of the complex," as in, are a certain group of crafters being targeted, "or in general?" It does seem to have helped Giorda's mood; the smile she aims back at Xansa is a genuine one, complete with faintly flushed cheeks. "Tomorrow morning will be fine," she confirms, aiming to sound more authoritative than she actually ends up managing. "I'm sure you'll manage just fine, with the rest of them." Reaching for her cup of tea, and nursing it between both hands, she shakes her head. "Some of the crafters are agitating, it seems. They claim the staff are too lazy," she sounds disgusted, "to walk all the way over there, when the weather is less clement. The implication was that they needed their own staff, but that seems excessive, to me." Xansa's eyebrows twitch a little bit higher for the clarification, after which she lets out a slow sigh and shakes her head. "Mmhmm," dry. "Well, a gentle reminder that they'd be losing space to :house: a dedicated cleaning crew should take care of that little bit of nonsense, I would think. But I'll go pet their egos and find out if there's any actual basis for disciplinary action before you have to deal with them again. I can sympathize if a little bit of rain is being used as an excuse, but if they're complaining because they didn't get their floors scrubbed in the middle of a serious storm or blizzard...." she rolls her eyes. "Since I'll be poking around there anyway, is there anything else you want me to look at?" "You would think so," confirms Giorda, with a roll of her own eyes as she sets down her teacup. "Thank you, Xansa. I'm sure it won't take much, but I'm afraid I'm just a little too snowed under," and busy with less mundane, potentially frustrating, activities, "to get to it myself, at this time. If you need the fancy knot to talk some sense into them, send them in my direction again, of course, but otherwise--" Free reign. "Keep your ears open. Someone seems to have mentioned the prospect of a dedicated selling space for traders, or something? I don't know where that came from. There's agitation over that, too. It can't hurt to know what's going on. Otherwise--" The door swings open, at last, and one by one the rest of the (expected) group step in. "Ah!" says Giorda. "Excellent." Xansa nods along amiably, glancing upward with lips moving soundlessly and fingers tapping against her thumb, a typical occurrence when she's making, or adding to, a mental to-do list. Mention of the dedicated selling space brings her dark gaze snapping back to Giorda with surprise. And query she had formulated to ask once the Headwoman had finished speaking is abandoned as the door opens, and she turns in her chair to smile and wave at her compatriots. "Good morning, ladies!" At last, the meeting can begin in earnest. |
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