Difference between revisions of "Logs:Crafters After Midnight"

Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr

A passageway hewn into the rock and heavily patched with cement leads a short distance in to the bowl wall, with a door on either side. Lit by regularly spaced glows, the white-washed walls have been covered over by colorful tapestries, wall hangings and pieces of art made from metal and wood. To the left of the entranceway, just a single step inside, a spiral staircase opens out of the wall, leading upwards through the stone. Further down, a doorway opens to either side of the corridor, while at the far end, there is a hewn-stone staircase leading up to the residential quarters, wreathed by two final doors to private quarters and the bathing room.

The door leading to the east opens into an expansive room that seems to provide both general working space - with long, bare benches and chairs - and a cozy lounge complete with over-stuffed sofas and a few fuzzy armchairs. Three tall windows are carved into the stone, and offer air and light when the heavy wooden shutters are left open, though the lounge area has to make do mostly with glows. A hearth at the back of the room provides both heat and basic cooking facilities. The white-washed walls are bedecked with decoration - from quilts, to tapestries, to wooden carvings and metal sculptures.

The western door leads into another passage, off of which the main workrooms have been built. The loading dock is at the northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall.

It's late enough at night that a hushed vibe has begun to settle across the Weyr as folk begin to drift out of the more common areas and head to their weyrs, their rooms, or to the dorms. Of course there's always folk around regardless of the time of night, and Israfi is one such: the tall, lean man taking long strides, balancing the weight of his rucksack on his shoulder as he slows to examine the craft complex. "My good man; you don't happen to know..." he's turning, like he's picking up a conversation half finished, and yet there's no one behind him, to his obvious chagrin. With a shrug of shoulders, he stoops to examine one of the tapestries instead.

One of the doors down at the far end of the complex opens, expelling Madilla, whose attire suggests she's already been in bed, and is now up again: her shawl draped over clothes that have a slightly crumpled look about them, her shoes replaced with slippers. Her destination is probably the lounge, but she gets halfway there before catching sight of Israfi, and he evidently gives her pause. "Good evening," she offers, with a smile, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

"Closer to morning, actually," Israfi corrects, but it's done with a genial sort of smile as he straightens and examines Madilla. His gaze flicks across her attire, taking it in with barely a flicker of expression. "I'd intended to be here earlier, but C'fren got caught up in a game of... well, nevermind," a grimace crosses his features. "But... my manners. I'm Israfi, of Harper." He executes a bow that is well-practiced, and only slightly put off by the sack pulling down one shoulder.

Madilla's nose wrinkles at the concept of morning being as close as all that, though she seems largely resigned to the idea after that. "Madilla," she says in answer to his introduction. "Of Healer, if we're going to put it like that. I'm the Weyrhealer, here, and you must be our newly posted Harper. Not," she'll allow, "that I knew we were getting a new one, but it's the obvious assumption. If you'd been here earlier, the Headwoman or her staff would have been able to show you around, but - no matter."

"Guilty as charged," Israfi confirms her guess as he straightens, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. "I consider myself duty chastised for my tardiness, Madilla," he says, though there's too much humor in the harper's expression and the twitch of his lips to be anything but light-hearted. "Really; point me to a corner somewhere I'm unlikely to be kicked awake first thing in the morning, and I'll consider it a generous favor owed you."

Flushing, "That wasn't intended to be chastisement. You did say it wasn't your fault." Madilla's quick to say that, and equally quick to smile again afterwards; she hasn't missed the light-heartedness, despite her answer. "There's a lounge in here - I'll show you. You should be comfortable enough in there. If they know you're coming, there's probably a room organised, but I've no idea which it would be. Probably upstairs, unless you've a wife and children trailing after you somewhere." She takes a few steps forward, pushing open the door to the lounge and indicating that Israfi should follow.

"Yes; I did say that, didn't I?" Like perhaps he'd forgotten somehow. Still, Israfi's quick enough to drop into step with her, adjusting his stride to match her own, glancing sidelong at her. "Not tonight at least," is the easy answer to the subject of wife and children, but his thoughts are clearly elsewhere: "Weyrhealer, hm? You must've been here for a while, then. Know all the local figures of interest, so to speak?"

Madilla leads the way into the lounge, which is dark and quiet given the hour, the windows shuttered against the night. "Since I was fifteen," she agrees, which certainly places her tenure here at 'more than ten turns', and perhaps rather more than that; her age is somewhat indeterminate. "I was, of course, just an Apprentice, then. I suppose I do. I've been here through-- several Weyrwomen, and Weyrleaders. And we Healers?" She turns to smile at Israfi. "We know almost as many people as you Harpers."

Israfi slows as they enter the dark lounge, gaze flickering over the room but soon returning to Madilla. "Several," he echoes, "I've heard. I'd love to hear more some time; perhaps we can have dinner, if you'll take pity on me; you are after all, the only person I know at the Weyr." He's good at giving the poor, pitiful glance, at least: something undoubtedly learned at the Hall. That last makes the harper laugh, a deep, delighted sort of sound that perhaps echoes in the room. "Well, I'm not about to dispute that -- at least not when I might end up on your table, or your couch one day, figuratively speaking of course."

"And if that's still true by this time tomorrow--" but Madilla's teasing when she says that; it's audible in her tone and in her expression, too. "I'd be happy to. Though lunch might be more convenient for me - I tend to have to worry about my children, at night. Let's hope you don't ever end up on my table or my couch, though I assure you you'd be in good hands if you did. I'd rather I didn't know most of the Weyr in a professional capacity. Are you coming to us from the Hall?"

Putting a hand against his chest, Israfi says, "Oh, my dear healer. I could be a gentle, shy soul who can only talk to people in the dark of the night. You might be the only person I know by then, too." But that seems rather unlikely, and his expression breaks into a genial grin. "Lunch then," he's quick to agree. And: "Does a single night in the Hall count? I suppose it does; but before that by way of Honshu and the presence of your lovely ex-goldrider Lujayn -- who is seems to be settling into her role quite well, I might add."

Madilla gives Israfi a look to tell him that she's not fooled for a moment, but then she's glancing away, and heading instead towards the cupboards near the hearth, from which she pulls a loaf of bread, which is evidently what she is up and about looking for. "Lujayn. I'm glad of that. It's about time she-- that is, it's not that I thought she was ambitious like that? But she missed out three times, here, and I always liked her. I'm glad she's happy. Were you at Honshu long?"

When she moves forward, Israfi does too, as if he's pulled along a couple of steps in her wake, before he slows, swinging the sack off his shoulder and setting it down on the nearest couch. "A couple of Turns and some change. Long enough to learn to admire Weyrwoman Xia. Or retired Weyrwoman Xia, as she insists on being called now. More the retired part than the Weyrwoman." While he speaks, he's watching still -- taking note of where she gains the food from, and what it is. He's too skilled for there to be a visible question in his gaze though, if she happens to look at him. He shifts the sack, pushing it up to one end like the intention is to use it as a makeshift pillow. "At least I'm coming here in summer; I'm actually surprised the Masterharper didn't wait until winter to send me. It'd be just like him." It's a mix of fondness, amusement and respect with which he refers to Vesik, tone light. "But I imagine it'd be harder to visit the smaller places hereabouts, and I'd just loll around at the Weyr." He doesn't look like someone who lolls, but then one can never tell.

Having found herself a knife, Madilla begins cutting herself a piece of the bread, listening to Israfi as she does so. "I can imagine she's very pleased to be retired, your-- Honshu's former Weyrwoman. Our summers here are nice." She shifts from topic to topic easily, and without glancing back at the Harper. "Though certainly, it gets cold in winter. I don't know much about your Craftmaster, except that people seem to respect him. You're going to be travelling, then?" Now she turns around, piece of bread in hand. "Visiting the locals?"

"He's a hard man not to respect," is Israfi's view of his Craftmaster, and it seems complimentary, but then again -- he's a harper, so who can tell. "Here and there, yes," he allows, shucking his jacket and laying it over the back of the couch. "Primarily based here, but I'll be doing some riding a few sevens at a time, here and there. It's been a while since I've ridden, so I expect to be asking you for some remedies for saddle soreness," the harper says, with a chuckle. "I don't mind, actually -- I quite like roughing it. It doesn't do to get too comfortable, I feel." He's not looking at her when he says that; instead, he's distractedly scratching at half-grown facial hair, "Though I do miss some amenties more than others."

"Hot springs," suggests Madilla - they're clearly an amenity that she would miss. "I found them startling when I first moved here, really. When I was a child, we just bathed in water semi-heated on the stove." She folds her bread tidily in half, but doesn't - yet - bite into it. "I imagine the travel will be interesting. I never did do a riding post at all, I admit, but I'm not sure I would have minded. Though," she smiles, abruptly more broad, "I'm not much of a rider, really, so perhaps not. I'll have the remedies ready for you."

"Ahh, yes," Israfi practically perks up at that. "I'll certainly be making good use of them. One of the perks of Weyrlife." His hands slide into the pockets of his trousers, barely marring the smooth lines of the material. "Clearly it was fortuitous that I met you, then, on many levels. I can see you're looking forward to a meal," a rueful nod to the bread, "But one more question, if I might: how do you find crafters are treated here? It always varies from place to place, and I've not had the opportunity to speak to others posted here recently."

Madilla gives her food a glance, and then lifts her gaze back towards Israfi, smiling. "I can take the food away with me. I don't mind answering questions-- and just tell me if you'd like to just sleep; I can certainly take it away, then. As of this turn, we have an elected representative; someone who meets regularly with the Weyrleaders to raise any issues we have. That, plus the facilities we have here? I think that sums it up well, don't you?"

With a look down at his makeshift bed, Israfi rolls his shoulder in a half completed shrug as to the matter of sleep, smiling back towards her, "When there's such interesting company to hand? I'd have to hand in my harper's knot if I chose sleep over a fascinating conversation." Whether he's merely being facetious or not, he does seem genuinely interested, gaze darting around the mostly dark room. "And do they listen, the Weyrleaders?"

"You really are a Harper," teases Madilla, with a laugh. "I did some extra tuition with the Harpers when I first arrived at the Healer Hall, and it was... enlightening." She gives her bread a glance, but still hasn't actually gone so far as to take a bite. "They... so far, I think. I don't think anyone has raised anything too problematic, but... it's nice to know that we can raise things? As they come up."

There's definitely nothing apologetic in the grin Israfi bestows on Madilla at her accusation of his craft. "And I with the Healers," he counters, "And it was similarly enlightening." He takes his hands out of his pockets as he slouches onto the arm of the couch, one hand draping over the back, keeping his body turned so that he can watch the healer. "Mm. I'd be interested to see how that works. The representative is Haezan of the Tanners?" So he has been doing some research, it seems. "A good man, I would guess, to get the vote of a majority." Perhaps something wryly self directed, there, at the lack of cohesion of the disparate crafts? Hard to say.

Finally, Madilla takes a bite, chewing it as Israfi speaks. Luckily, nothing he says is liable to provoke a dramatic response from her, though her eyebrows do raise slightly when he's so easily able to name their representative. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, though: Harper. "It was-- not an easy process, determining the representative. He won largely through a coalition approach. Politics at their finest. But yes, he's a good man. He's been a relatively even-handed representative."

Israfi's smile deepens, not at her surprise at his knowledge so much as that she finally eats. "I'll be very keen to see how the process goes next time." Assuming, of course, that he's here, let alone Harper's representative, but Israfi seems fairly confident of at least hearing such. "I know some don't much like politics, but I find it fascinating to watch. The proverbial VTOL-on-the-wall, that's my idea of a fun night." He's probably exaggerating -- just a little, anyway, lips curved upwards.

"Just before turnover," says Madilla, easily, forestalling further bites out of her bread so that she can answer that (even if it wasn't asked), and then laugh. "Again, you betray yourself as exactly what I would expect. I wonder - are Harpers born that way, or is it something they train into you? I suppose my daughter - who dreams of being a Harper - isn't, but she's young, yet. It is interesting, but it's... frustrating, too. I wanted to knock a lot of heads together, this time, when people were dithering over how we would decide a representative at all."

"My timing is impeccable then. Or the Masterharper's is," Israfi concedes with a sudden, knowing sort of laugh. "Just enough time to get to know all the players." He straightens, and sharpens when she mentions her daughter, keen interest displayed. "I'd love to meet her," he says, with an unapologetic smile and spread of hands, "For most of us, it was meant to be. I can't imagine not being a Harper, though that's not to say I didn't dabble a bit along the way in my youth." It's her description of the previous gathering that earns a deep, delighted laugh: "Sounds pretty typical, actually. Get any dozen people into a room and attempting to get any sort of decision is an exercise in futility. Though I hear the exiles had some sort of Council?"

Madilla's reply, after she swallows, is dry. "I'm sure she'll love to meet you, too. Especially if you've interesting tales to tell, real or imagined. I don't know where she gets it from. Her father was a Smith before he Impressed - no Harper blood anywhere. She's quite determined, though, except on days when she's decided she'd rather be a Greenrider like her father was." It's obvious she enjoys talking about her daughter; equally obvious that she's proud of her, wherever she gets those Harper tendencies from. "They did." The exiles. Pause. "Or so I understand. I believe they even still do, to some degree, even if they're increasingly scattered. You really have done your research on this area."

Israfi smoothly pushes up onto his feet, spreading his hands as far apart as he can manage. "Oh, tales I have plenty of. Swaggering sea pirates, deadly Southern felines, tales of woe and tales of delight -- whatever her fancy is." With a grin, his arms drop, and he taps his nose, smiling, "I'd be remiss if I didn't do my research. Besides, the exiles were practically all we talked about at the Hall at the time; the whole thing is so fascinating." At least for a Harper, it seems. "I'm quite looking forward to meeting them; I hear there's still some at the Weyr, although I'll see about a visit or two to my fellow Harpers at High Reaches Hold, of course." An unrepentant grin, there.

"In that case, I hope you don't mind the adoring interest of nine-turn-old girls." Madilla seems pleased, whether or not Israfi will be once Lilabet gets wind of the new Harper. "I suppose it was big news. It's hard for me to remember that these things spread beyond our borders; at the time, it was just... something that was happening, for us. We lost so many of them, when they first arrived." That's a more sober recollection, her Healer side so obvious for the moment she takes before, "Yes, there are a few still here. A number Impressed, of course, and others took jobs here. The bulk seem to have moved on to High Reaches Hold, unsurprisingly, of course. No doubt your compatriots at the Hold will be pleased to introduce you around. They're good people. The exiles, I mean. Most of them."

"Girls do make better students," Israfi says, without any indication he's putting it on; "I'd be happy to take one on, if you're comfortable. There's plenty I can teach her, even if she does end up a rider like her father. Only thing I ask in return is that she teaches me the lay of the land; children always know the best little hiding spots in any place." He's chuckling, but he does seem oddly genuine about that last. The humor fades, though only marginally, to be replaced by keen interest, tipping his head. "You sound as if you're friendly with them. It shouldn't surprise me, I guess -- you barely batted an eyelid at me, loitering in the middle of the night," an amused, self-deprecating snort, "But yes, it wouldn't surprise me if they're like any of us: some good, some bad. I look forward to meeting them."

Madilla's laugh is warm, and quietly amused. "She'd be delighted to do that, I'm sure. I'll introduce you." Sooner or later. "I-- when you've been here as long as I have, you get to know a lot of people. And, well." A pause. "It won't take you long to find this out, so I may as well tell you: my son is Lord Devaki's son also. I've known him - as a friend, mind - for quite some turns, now. You'll find there's not a great deal that makes me bat an eyelid, by now. I've seen it all."

Is the harper surprised? Well, Israfi certainly acts as if it's news to him. "Indeed," with a tip of his head and a thoughtful purse of lips. "You are a surprise, Madilla of Healer. Perhaps you'd introduce me to him, too," though perhaps that's only half seriously; he has an easy sort of smile. "Trust me, you're far too young to find the world so old hat, my dear healer. I'll bet there are things that can still surprise you, and I'll bet most of them come from that daughter of yours -- or your son."

"Devaki, or my son?" Madilla is making no promise on either count, it seems, though she's still smiling whatever she thinks. "I've got a few turns on you, I suspect-- but you're probably right. Children are like that, especially now that they're getting older. I must sound terribly old and jaded." If she is, she's not bothered by it - certainly, it hasn't diminished her ability to smile. "Where did you come from before Honshu, Israfi of Harper? Aside, of course, from the Hall. Where did you grow up?"

"Either; both sound just as interesting," Israfi answers, a low chuckle given as he no doubt notes the lack of promise on both scores. "Mm, I was going to say 'wise' and 'knowledgeable', but I tend to err on the side of caution -- especially when I never know if I'll need your craft." Humor crinkles his eyes a bit, before he chuckles. "I'm actually from down south -- a holding a few hours ride north east of Ierne. Probably why roughing it doesn't much bother me, since it was a part of my childhood. And yourself, Madilla of Pern? Craftbred?" he guesses.

"South. And here you are, barely able to get further north." For a given definition of 'barely', but Madilla doesn't seem too concerned by the semantics of it. She's made her way through most of the piece of bread, now, eating quickly and tidily. "Flatterer. Though you're right: it never hurts to have a Healer thinking well of you. I'm from a tiny little hold south of Peyton, actually. I came to the healers at thirteen, about as green and overwhelmed as you can imagine."

"I've spent some time at Telgar, too -- does that count?" Israfi wonders, with a grin. "And I wasn't much less green than you when I apprenticed. Perhaps moreso, given I'd spent months on a boat coming north. I swear the Apprentice Master spent the first Turn beating the poor dialect out of me." His tone does seem distinctly... non-region-specific, almost pointedly so, but then that's not unusual for a well-trained Harper.

The twist of Madilla's mouth suggests that Telgar does count, at least to some degree. "Oh dear," she says, with a laugh. "I can imagine. Mine had to teach me how to read-- once they figured out that the only way I was getting through classes was my good memory." There's something borderline wistful to her tone when she says that, as though in reminiscing she's come up with all kinds of emotions, good and bad. "Clearly, yours did a good job with you. As did mine. And now - I really should get back to bed. Morning comes early when you have children, even if you don't have an early shift. You'll be all right on the couch in here?"

There's something bright in Israfi's gaze, amused and pleased both at Madilla's recall, though he doesn't intrude. Instead, he murmurs after, "Good memory. I'll remember that -- and be careful around you, Madilla of Healer." He's chuckling, though, as he says it, reaching down to pat his rucksack-come-pillow. "Looks pretty comfortable to me; moreso than the ground. I've had a lot worse. Thank you," and there's a weight to it that suggests the gratitude is not merely for the question. "Do sleep well, and rest assured I'll track you down for that promised lunch, and more questions, no doubt." A rueful kind of apologetic look; but he's a harper -- he can't help himself.

"Always," is Madilla's reply, which is probably for the being careful around her, but could easily be for something else that Israfi has said (or not said). She puts away the things she'd taken out of the cupboards, and then heads for the door, hesitating there for a moment as she says, "Sleep well, Israfi of Harper. And welcome. I'm sure we'll talk again soon. And if not us, well... Lilabet will no doubt seek you out. Good night." Though really, it's rather close to morning, isn't it.

As she's putting away her things, Israfi's stretching himself out on the couch, not even bothering to pull off his boots, which hang over the edge of the far arm of the couch. It's possible he mutters something polite like 'look forward to it' -- but then, it's possible that's just a snore, given his eyes are already closed.