View source for Logs:Four Ways the Weyr is not a Hold

{{ Log
| who = Wakizian, Nicky
| where = Craft Area, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Old friends cross paths at the forge; Nicky gives four reasons why the Weyr is different than a Hold and one of them is the women.
| when = Day 14, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.10
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = 
| mentions = Brieli
| ooc = 
| icons = k'zin.jpg, nicky_oohfun.jpg
| log = Early morning is no exception to the business of the forge. The firesare being stoked and bellowed by apprentices, while older Smiths and their affiliates busy themselves with their daily routines, whatever they may be. In the midst of the hive of activity is one tall, coltish lad, whose curls are sweat-dampened to his forehead as he hammers at what is shaping up to be a runnershoe.

Wakizian is casual. Too casual, in fact, as he slips inside the stone building that houses the forge, already lively with bodies and sounds of hammers. His shifty glance about the place to see if anyone's taken note of his late entrance is a dead give-a-way, of course. But that's always how it seems to go. Apprentices thinking they're cleverly pulling it off, slipping out of their winter wear and hanging it, hands moving casually to trouser pockets, and sauntering towards their latest project, then BAM! Found out! And so it is for Wakizian as his name is loudly shouted by Journeyman Thraland and the man strides forward to exchange a few words with the apprentice before pointing a stern finger towards the empty anvil near where the horseshoe-shaper is hard at work. The long-haired young man's shoulders hunch and he's moving towards the ferrier-in-training, scurrying now more than sauntering, eager to quickly look busy (and hopefully boring to eyes that turned to watch the exchange).

An approaching figure draws Nicky's gaze up, but only briefly; if he recognises Wakizian he doesn't show it, because his eyes drop right back down to his work until the shoe is ready to be lifted and dipped into the cooling vat of water with a hiss and cloud of steam. With the ring of the hammer now gone, Nicky squints across at the apprentice for a moment, before grinning lopsidedly. "Hey, you." The runnershoe is held up to be examined, one calloused finger run along its edge. "Did you just get in trouble?"

The apprentice's approach is too swift for him to take in his surroundings beyond the usual: it's a forge, there's people working on metal stuff. In the moments following his arrival to the work station, he's tossing on the heavy leather apron of one at work in this area, grabbing up his work gloves, and digging into a small chest placed to one side that's meant to house the in progress projects. What he pulls out is a trio of metal rods that look like they're well on their way to being new fire pokers as can be found around any of the many 'Reaches hearths. He sets them on the anvil just about the time that Nicky asks him the question. There's a groan without even looking up, "Don't I always?" And it's true that many a morning Waki is wandering in late to the learning day, and has gotten a few personal ''words of encouragement'' from the amiable but no-nonsense Journeyman Thraland. "Guess who gets to clean up the forge with the new arrivals tonight." This is said with a forced tone of pep and cheer. Then his eyes find the speaker and he squints. And squints. And squints.

... And gets squinted back at, too! Nicky wrinkles his nose, casting his newly minted runnershoe aside into a scrap pile - it didn't make the cut. "You could maybe wake up earlier," he suggests with an encouraging nod of his head, which is followed by the brushing back of sweat-sticky curls from his forehead. The muck on his hands leaves a black streak in the wake of his hand, smudged right up into his hairline. Nicky puffs out a soft breath, leaning back against his anvil and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's pretty different here to at the Hall... right?"

Left eye closes; squint. Right eye; same. The furrowed brow and look of concentration on Wakizian's face might be seen as a cause for alarm, as it looks as though his brain might blow at any second from the workload. But then he snaps the fingers of his right hand and points at the other young man in the same motion, "Nicky?" Then his head tilts, as though now just taking in all the changes that even a turn or two can bring for people their age. "So you did end up taller than me." Lower lip juts out momentarily in a little pout, but it's soon gone and replaced by a grin. "Very different. I always told you it was better here. Now I guess you get to see for yourself? Still not an apprentice?" Recruitment efforts were never lacking with Wakizian. He rounds his anvil and puts out a friendly hand to the ferrier.

"Um... yeah." It would seem the lack of recognition hadn't dawned on Nicky, and he looks a little surprised when it comes to light. "I guess I did end up taller, didn't I?" One shoulder is shrugged sheepishly, and he gives the Smith a crooked, tooth-flashing grin. "Still not an apprentice, nope." He shakes his head, shrugging again - this time with his hands held up and a 'what to do?' expression on his forge-flushed face, before he grasps Wakizian's hand in a strong grip. "It's alright here, isn't it? I'm getting used to it... slowly."

"You look different. Well, but different. Kinda. But also kinda the same." Talking in circles. Classic Waki. The Smith's grip is equally strong, hazard of the professions they've both chosen, and he releases to turn back to his anvil. "I was practically raise here, so I did most of my getting used to when I was eight. Other than the obvious, what's so different than the Hall?" The obvious probably being that there are dragons roaming about and an awful lot of those ''crazy riders'' the Craftbred so often are warned about. "You'd best like what you do. I suspect you're too old to recruit now." He grins.

Nicky cants his head slightly to one side, watching the apprentice with a furrowed brow. Not quite a frown - more contemplative. "I-it's about as far from my Hold as could be, and that's without going into the dragons and their riders." He snorts a soft breath, scooping up the discarded runnershoe to tinker with it a little more. It's slotted into tongs, then nudged into the forge to heat up. "This is better for me than being a Smith, or a Beastcrafter. I get runners and metalwork, without having to do the other stuff. W-wood's boring."

"Boring?!" The apprentice's tone is playfully affronted. Waki picks up the pokers that are his task of the day and turns to put them into the hot coals of the forge before turning back to the other metal-worker. "How can you say that? There's so much to be said for wood." He winks in a conspiratorial ''just go with it'' manner before he gives a furtive glance about. Trying to win back some points with the Smiths maybe? Seeing that no one is paying any attention to them, the act drops and he grins. "Yeah, wood's a little boring. Have you been to meet the runners they have here? Great lot of beasts." His smile is fond before he demands, "Name me five things that are different at a Weyr than a hold, ''besides'' the dragons and riders."

"Metal can be reshaped." And to demonstrate, Nicky pulls the glowing hot runnershoe from the forge, setting it down on his anvil to start shaping it with slow, sure strikes of his hammer. In between the ring of metal on metal, he continues the conversation. "F-first, the size. It's bigger here. Then there's..." Clang! "The people. They're... they're /nice/, b-but... but not Holderly. Not like the people at home..." The way he says it - and the extra-red blush on his cheeks that comes from more than exertion and the heat - suggests he's not got a hold of Weyrfolk yet. "The Weyrwomen are much nicer than the women in charge back in the Holds I've been in. That's... three? Right?"

"So can wood. You just have to reshape it smaller. And it takes more effort." Waki returns, not exactly helping his wood-championing cause. The Smith's movements mimic the ferriers, but with one of the fire pokers. He snags up the hammer from the base of the anvil and Nicky's clangs become a duet with an off-beat counter-clang, that manages to still allow some space for their brief exchanges. "Bigger is better." The Smith proclaims, to the first, "Once you get used to it. So much more to offer - more to do - more places to explore." Then to the comment about people, "I'm not sure what you mean by Holderly. What's the difference?" He's not Hold-bred. How should he know? "I haven't figured out if these Weyrwomen are the kind of nice you have to watch out for or not. They're crafty - that's all I can make out so far. Three, but I'm not sure the second one counts unless you can explain it better."

Clang, clang, clang. The shoe-shaping continues as Nicky gathers together the words to explain himself. "Holders are... quieter. Where I'm from, miss Brieli wouldn't have had her beau hanging off her in public, not as she did in the Snow-- Snowasis?" He can't remember the name properly. "There'd be /looks/. It w-wouldn't be proper, but here... n-no-one cares, do they? Or they don't show it, if they do."

"Weyrwoman Brieli's got a boyfriend?" Waki takes a step back, though whether it was to readjust his hammering stance or because the news is really that much of a blow to him, it's anyone's guess. His hammering has ceased for a moment, and his brows have jumped up. "And I thought we had something." Is mumbled under his breath. Had something. From that one time that she laughed at one of his jokes in the living cavern. A heavy sigh pops out of the apprentice's mouth and flutters. "It's a good thing I'm not allowed to have girlfriends anyway, or you'd've just broken my heart." The hammering resumes with renewed vigor. "So public displays of companionship are a no-no in a Hold? Booooring." The Smith rolls his eyes.

"H-he /looked/ like her boyfriend... maybe? He was all..." Nicky mimes hugging someone. "M-maybe not, though. Do you really fancy her?" Clang clang! The shoe is half flattened by now, knocked out of its intended shape. "They're not a no-no, but you wouldn't be... I dunno. Overly affectionate? You keep it polite. Holding hands, maybe. Not... /draping/ over each other."

Wakizian wrinkles his nose in disgust at the mimed action. "''Gross.''" He, in turn, mimes losing his breakfast. Thankfully, it's just miming. "I dunno. Does she have two legs? A pretty face? Is breathing? Two--" Another mimed movement shows just what else he's concerned with. "And does she ever laugh at my jokes? If the answer is yes to all, then I probably fancy her." See? He's not picky. Seventeen turns of celibacy makes the standards pretty low. "Shells, I might even fancy someone who doesn't have all those things. A guy has to dream when he can't actually have. You're lucky you're not an apprentice." This is said with a little bit of wistfulness to it. "I'll give you number two as more public displays of hanky-panky than in a Hold, but not that the people are ''not Holderly'' since that can't be the only criteria for being Holderly. So what are numbers four and five?"

Nicky blushes at the talk of girls and stuff, dropping his gaze to the anvil and walloping the runnershoe with his hammer. "I-I don't have time to think about... about /things/ like that." His voice is dropped to just loud enough for them to hear, without fear of his words travelling. "Though... there was a g-girl. In the Snow-place- the bar. She came with miss B-Brieli's maybe-m-man and I sh-showed her over to here... she's from F-Fort... she had..." One hand gestures flailingly at his chest. Boobs! The topic of conversation makes the farrier-to-be nervous, and he grasps at the chance to skip back a bit. "Number four is... food. There's always food and they like me in the kitchens."

"She did?!" Waki's tone of shock is very serious, and too loud, on the subject of feminine curves, then he breaks out into a teasing grin. "The ''worst'' is when you go to the bathes, and there's a lot--" Mime. "--around. But you can't do anything about it. Although I guess really the ''worst'' is when it's all the Aunties." He shudders. That's enough to get him off the topic of female attributes, "She sounds nice. You should talk to her again if you see her." He encourages softly, before he latches on to his ''favorite'' subject. FOOD. "Wait. There's always food at the Hold or always food here?"

"Always here. Always /nice/ food here. Back home you'll get fed at mealtimes and can maybe scrounge up something between, but it won't be good. Here... it's better." Much better, if Nicky's grin is anything to go by! A shrill whistle suddenly pierces through the sounds of industry in the Smithy, and the farrier trainee looks up and towards the source of the sound. He nods across at the whistler, then dips the battered down remains of what was his runnershoe into the water butt to cool it down. It's then tossed into the off-casts bucket. "My uncle's calling me; I've got to go help him shoe a runner. See you at lunch?" And off the gangly lad goes, following after his uncle.






}}