Logs:Work
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 25 August, 2014 |
| Who: N'muir, Ulyana |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ulyana returns to Fort after a visit to the 'Reaches and resumes work. N'muir enters. Brief conversation is had. |
| Where: Records Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 8, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Work never rests - nor does one former-Candidate, it would seem. It's well into the afternoon and verging onto evening proper that finds one girl in particular hard at work, rather than tending to dinner or getting a bath. Ulyana occupies herself as she so often does - namely, by filing away books and scrolls that have been returned. The girl strains and struggles to reach some of the shelves, but she doesn't complain about it. She's a master of step stools and chairs alike to manage the task. Nearby is a heap of work to be put away - mostly titles covering herbalism, with a few scattered tomes and scrolls full of related records - and she's in the midst of trundling to the shelves with a fresh armload of someone else's former study aids. N'muir comes down the twisting stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex, a searching expression subtly widening his dark eyes and somewhat smoothing the wrinkles at their corners. He combs the back of the room first, walking along without leaving an inch of the room unknown. He ducks and checks under tables and beneath chairs, and even goes so far so to check the few small empty nooks on the shelves. As Ulyana's path crosses his, N'muir hesitates at the sight of her, his quest momentarily set aside in exchange for a quizzical look at the girl. "You really shouldn't carry so many. You're going to hurt yourself. Or the records," to which he then adds, whether in jest or in earnest, "And if you hurt the records, well, you might be better off hurting yourself." Ulyana doesn't precisely slow when she's addressed - she's on a mission, see, and that's important. But, she is able to respond while on the move in her usual, flat way. "I know how many I can safely carry." No chair needed for this lot; she places them on the empty shelf and starts to properly place them with methodical ease. "And I am well aware of the punishment that I would suffer if I were to damage them." That bit is with a canted glance over her shoulder at N'muir. An attempt at a joke, maybe; or, more likely, an honest admission. There's a beat, two, then: "Is there something I can assist you with?" As if he doesn't quite trust that assurance, N'muir trails slowly after Ulyana. "I'm actually rather surprised you're-" His hand rolls in the air, searching for a word while his gaze wanders along the edge of the shelves doing their own search of sorts. "You know, in here. Doing this." His lips form a soft frown at their edges and he stuffs his hands into his pockets and then seems to immediately think better of that action and remove them to hang awkwardly at his sides. "Is there congratulations in order? Is this your duty officially?" She finishes her task with mechanical efficiency, even going so far as to make sure everything is just the right distance from the edge - as she perceives it, anyway. Ulyana finally turns to properly face N'muir, head cocked at a strange, stiff angle of inquisition. "They needed extra hands to assist," she explains. "They trust me well enough to put things away. Why does that surprise you?" His fidgeting is worth a mental note, though, to her credit, there is no shift in her expression; her attention remains firmly fixed on his face. She doesn't answer right away, nor does she move away to gather more things to put away. Eventually, she intones, "I do not think so. They put me to whatever task they need of me still. I am still not sure if the Headwoman knows what to do with most of us." One shoulder rises and falls in a lopsided shrug. "I can understand if she does not want to commit some of us to permanent tasks." Ulyana looks at N'muir and he looks back, staring up at her from under his salt-and-pepper brows with uncertainty tainted with suspicion. "Because," he explains, "if you make a mistake it will annoy the Weyrwoman to no end that the records are out of order, which is all the reason I need to be concerned." He straightens suddenly and offers the slightest of smiles that flickers briefly to life before disappearing again. "Nothing personal, I swear." His hands flex once and inevitably find their way into the pockets of his leathers out of habitually necessity, and he rocks back on his heels. "If you could choose your duties, what would you do here at the Weyr? This?" "I do not make mistakes." Such is the certainty of this youth, anyway. "Not where records are concerned." Ulyana remains as she is, standing ram-rod straight and with her arms hanging slack at her sides. No fidgeting for her; she's stock-still, or nearly so. "It should not concern you, in any case. If she is displeased with my work, it would not be you that is punished." No matter, in the end; as the topic shifts, she shifts with it - even if it takes a few moments for her to properly switch gears, as it were. The question is thusly answered with a singular up-down-center nod. "If not working in records, then working with the ledgers. I enjoy copying. I enjoy taking inventories. They make sense." Then goes the strange tilting of her head with curiosity. "What did you do before you Impressed?" The Weyrleader's laughter is a dark, quiet rumble, his smile drawing lines around his mouth and down from his twinkling brown eyes. "She wouldn't punish me on purpose, of course, and you might be entirely right but I don't want to risk finding out in case you are wrong." He casts a long, wandering look around at the shelves as if they hold strange mysteries that are beyond his reach. There's another sound of amusement that is little more than an exhale. "There is plenty for you to do then. Why not have the Headwoman permanently assign you to either the Stores as an assistant to the storeskeeper or something of the like? You've been here long enough; you ought to find something you enjoy, no?" As for her question, N'muir's wandering attention flicks back to Ulyana. "I Impressed Bijedth when I was a teenager. If I had any skills before him, I don't remember them." Suddenly, his expression whitens and he turns and stalks away from her, searching under the tables in the alcoves as he hurries through the room towards the far exit to the Bowl. "Shit! /Nehmet/." No goodbye. He's simply gone, out the door in a matter of seconds. Perhaps this is to be a theme for them. "Because I am still a Candidate and I will be going home after the next hatching." It's a simple enough answer, really. Ulyana leaves it at that while she finally sets herself into motion to start collecting more books and a few scrolls. There's a sidelong look to N'muir at his answer, a momentary pursing of her lips in thought - and by the time she thinks to ask after him, he's already gone. And she, of course, has work to do. |
Leave A Comment