Difference between revisions of "Logs:Crafters At Lunch"

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 hte northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall.

Given the miserable weather, it's perhaps no wonder that a number of High Reaches' crafters have elected to congregate in the lounge for their midday meal, rather than trek across the bowl to the living caverns. There's stew and klah at the hearth, and some bread to go with it, and though it's far from in her job description, Madilla is in the middle of it all, stirring the stew and serving up to those who approach. "You can't just have bread for lunch," she's telling a weaver apprentice whose nose turns up at the stew. "That won't be enough to sustain you. Dip it in the gravy, at least. Please?"

It's easy to tell when the Smith apprentices come into a room. Mostly because the noise level jumps and space is made as the pack moves into the lounge. Then at some silent signal or simple circumstance, they break like balls on a pool table, scattering this way and that. Wakizian's trajectory and speed brings him quickly into line for the stew. Grown though he may seem in Pernese reckoning, the fidgeting and the jostling for a few steps closer to the food seem reminiscent of a younger man than he appears to be. "Are they letting you join the BakerCraft now, Journeywoman?" He asks when he's a head behind in the line.

"I decided to expand my repertoire," says Madilla, eyes bright with mirth and her tone warm and quietly fond; she's fond of most people. "Cross-crafting. Only I'm afraid if they actually let me cook anything, we'd all starve." Stirring, however, seems to be well within her abilities - and so is dishing up, this time to a Journeyman Starsmith who takes his bowl without comment. "You look hungry, Wakizian. Extra bread for you?"

"I can't imagine that the principles of boiling numbweed don't translate directly to tasty meals." Because boiling the shards out of something makes for good eating! At least for those without teeth. Waki's grin is brief, but decidedly impish. He takes a moment to recompose his expression to one more suitable for the begging of extra food. Though the offer of extra bread receives a smile, "I'll take extra anything you have. Slaving away at that forge works up an appetite." And a sweat. He looks unsurprisingly like anyone else doing manual labor in a sweatbox. "I'm just glad I'm seeing you here and not the infirmary. Are you eating, ma'am, or just serving?"

Madilla's low laugh seems to indicate that she's less sure of the links between boiling numbweed and making food, but there's no change to the warm smile settled across her round face. "I'm not surprised. I think there are some apples in the cupboard, there, if you're still hungry after you eat this. Have you washed your hands? Do I need to remind you to wash your hands?" There's something mothering in the way she asks that question, though that's far from surprising: she's always been this way. "I'll be eating soon. Someone needed to keep an eye on things."

Wakizian's hands reaching for stew bowl and bread are suddenly shy. They whip behind his back in a gesture that is decidedly too young for him. "Um." His hands come back out, trying to cover for his knee-jerk reaction, glancing down at the culprits. They're not the dirtiest they've ever been, but they don't really pass for clean either. "No. Must have forgotten. And yes, apparently." That doesn't keep him from resuming his reach for food. "You're welcome to sit with me when you do - if you don't need to work through lunch."

Madilla seems torn between holding the bread and stew hostage, and simply being nice and handing it over. "Go quickly," she prompts. "Wash your hands, and I'll hold on to these. By the time you're back," she gives the line behind him a glance, "I should be finished up here, and then I will be delighted to sit with you." But right now? That bowl and bread are being set back down along the bench, even as she's giving him a meaningful glance: go. '"Go.

Wakizian tries the canine-beggar face, a look he pulls off with uncanny mimicry, but he holds it only for a moment. Too many times of don't poke me with that! or don't stitch me up, pleeease! has taught him it's most likely a wasted effort. Healers always get their way. So he's hurrying off. In the tradition of most less-than-hygiene-conscious men, he's back in less than ten minutes. Though, to his credit, not only did he wash his hands, but he took a quick dunk in the bathing room, making him a much less fragrant dining companion. His hair is wet and hanging all around his shoulders, still dripping into the blue tunic and brown pants he's donned. "Now, do I get extras?" His motivation is not the least bit veiled. "I got extra clean." Winning smile!

As Wakizian hurries off, Madilla glances after him, approvingly. By the time he returns, the line of people wanting food has trailed off to nothing, and she's quite ready to join the Apprentice. "Now you get your food," she says, teasingly, as she smiles in his direction. "We'll see about the extras. Of course, if you'd cleaned yourself up before..." It's a very light admonishment, and since she's now presenting him with a bowl and plenty of bread, it's obvious she's not going to hold on to that particular misstep, such as it is. "You'll have to tell me what you were working on this morning. While we eat."

Wakizian receives the food readily, stuffing one of the pieces of bread into his mouth before taking the bowl from her. Washed, but still lacking in the occasional social grace. "Mrphnph." He manages through the bread. This seems to mean something along the lines of: Look! Seats over there! His head nods pointedly towards two comfortable looking chairs not too far away from the hearth. He swallows and asks, "Those chairs work for you?" He starts moving towards them. "Thinking of cross-crafting Smith now, too? I'm sure whatever you're working on is more interesting. Though my father once told me that Healers don't often have meal-friendly work. But at least they're there when the lunch comes up and it saves a trip to the infirmary." Elegant, Wakizian's father must be.

"Well, I already have weaver down," laughs Madilla, referring to the quilts she's been making almost as long as she's been at High Reaches. If she has an opinion on Wakizian's social graces, she keeps them - for the moment, at least - to herself, and instead follows quite calmly, her own food in hand. "He's right, I suppose. If I hadn't been working in the stillroom, over here, I probably wouldn't pause for lunch, not if there are patients who need my help. That's why we work night shifts, too. You have an advantage, there." She balances her bowl carefully on one skirt-covered knee, breaking bread up to add to the mix.

Wakizian drops into the seat unceremoniously, stew sloshing over the edge of his bowl and running down his hand. Thankfully, the time spent showering made the stew non-blister-worthy, though his face tightens slightly. The bowl is quickly deposited on the small side-table between the chairs, and he's licking up the sloshed stew. The trail goes too far down his arm though, so a piece of bread is used to catch the last little bit of liquid - good thing he bathed! "Oh, that reminds me. My mother wanted to find out if you take commissions. Her last letter said she got posted to Benden Hold and is looking for something to keep her warm." There's a pause as he nibbles on some of his bread before saying, "Night shifts don't seem so bad. Some nights when I can't sleep, I go do some detail work in one of the workrooms. It's a good way to pass the time."

Madilla looks a little dubious at that particular method of clean-up, but she evidently doesn't have a better option to suggest, and anyway, no doubt she's used to mess, with two young children of her own. "Of course - tell her to send me a list of any specifications, and I'm sure we can work something out. She's in luck; I just finished my latest project. Is she enjoying Benden Hold?" She's careful with her own stew, eating it with a certain amount of efficient caution. "Are there many nights you can't sleep?" It's obvious she's making a deliberate effort not to sound too healer-y when she asks that question, though she can't entirely hide it. "Sleep is important."

Children are children no matter whose they are, and Waki is someone's child and proves it with the manner in which he begins inhaling the stew. There's a grunt to acknowledge the Journeywoman's words about the quilt. "I'll let her know in my next letter." He says when there's a pause so he can mash up a bit of tuber with his spoon into the remaining stew juice. "She says it's cold, but no worse than when she was posted here. I think she got rid of most of her cold weather gear when she was spending a few turns in Ista. I think she's excited to be away from the family." Wakina was never the 'mothering' type, despite having seven children. "She likes to focus on her work." He adds. There's a bit of bread gone as he considers her other question, "More nights now than before. Journeyman Thraland's been talking about me starting to study up for the Jorneymen exams. Not for another turn or two, but-- still." He shrugs as though it's no big deal. "Were you nervous when you were studying up to try to walk tables?"

"Good," says Madilla, warmly. "Pass on my regards to her, will you? It-- it's something that I always wondered about, dealing with being moved around so much. I suppose I've been terribly lucky, staying here. It's unlikely they'll move me anytime soon, now." Now that she's Weyrhealer and all. "I can't imagine being excited to be away from my children, but... each to their own, of course. How old are your youngest siblings now?" She considers him around her spoon, expression turned thoughtful, before finally nodding. "I was very nervous," she remembers, quietly. "In a way. Although I was promoted early, and that gave me less time to be unsure about it. Going back to the Hall for examinations always... it was always difficult. Is it nervousness that keeps you up at night?"

"All older than thirteen. Most apprenticed anyway. Dad was the one that was the family-oriented one. I think Mom must have struck a deal with him - she'd give us life if he cared for us." The Smith grins at Madilla, "Though I suspect she's not like most mothers. Great, in her own way, of course, just not the same as most." He seems no worse for the ware at any rate. "I'll tell her you asked after her." He stops eating, picking for a moment at the bread, fingers nervous. "I think that's what concerns me. Walking is-- well, no big deal really. I mean, a big deal, but no big deal. Not compared with moving. I'm not sure they'd keep me at this posting, and I don't relish the idea of going anywhere else," says the boy whose been virtually nowhere else. "How old were you when you walked?" He cants his head to the side, curious brown eyes on her face.

"We all parent in our own way," allows Madilla, with a wry smile. She parents without a co-conspirator, with her daughter's father dead and her son's father... well, no one knows who he is. She hesitates, considering her bowl for a moment as her expression flushes with quiet understanding. Then, turning her green-eyed gaze back upon Wakizian, she nods. "I understand that-- all too well. I was nineteen, just barely. Absolutely terrified that they'd send me somewhere else, though they didn't. I'd hate to leave now; this is home for my family, the only home they've ever known. But we go where we're sent, don't we?"

"Some of us don't want to go where we're sent. But if the only other choice is to leave the Craft-- well, that's not a happy craft. I'm hopeful I have a few turns before they'd move me anywhere, but-- I've been here since I joined. Who knows if they might decide variety is more helpful to a growing apprentice than consistency. Seems the Crafts parent in their own ways too." Wakizian's sigh flutters out of his mouth while he stares at his bowl. Talking of nerves would rob many of their appetites. If anything, it seems to do the opposite to the Smith. He begins inhaling the repast once more. "Do you think they'll try to move you? Now that you're-- settled? I guess I've never understood that one piece of crafting. If your crafters are working well where they are, might as well leave them be, right?"

"I was lucky enough to stay here; maybe you will be too," says Madilla, aiming to sound encouraging though it's obvious that postings do still stress her out, even now when she's so obviously settled. She sets down her bowl, apparently finished, and drops her hands into her lap, instead. "No, I don't think so. Not for the moment, anyway. There was some talk of moving me back to the Hall, to teach, a few turns ago, but I don't think that will be on the cards again anytime soon. I'd rather be a practicing Healer than a teacher," she admits. "I don't think that I'm interested in seeking Mastery. Certainly not until Dee," her son, "is old enough to make his own decisions over staying or going."

"Maybe I'll luck out and Journeyman Thraland-" Who recruited him and is still a not nearly Master-aged yet, "-will walk the tables before me and get some say about where I go. I know he'd let me stay on here." Wakizian chews his lower lip a moment his nervousness peeking to the surface, and then it's back to chewing on more edible things. "Until then, it's some extra Smithing time when I can't sleep. Better than pacing. If I run out of things to do, I can always come cross-craft in the infirmary." He grins, again impish, at the Healer. "I make far fewer mistakes now than I once did." Back when he was a frequent flyer with the infirmary staff. "How old is Dee now?" He queries, though something in his tone makes the question sound the same as how many more turns do I have to plague you before you might vanish?

"And maybe he'll request that you stay on here, even if he's still just a Journeyman. If I were you, I'd make sure he knows that you want to stay." Madilla aims an encouraging smile in Wakizian's direction, clearly determined to ease his mind, if that's even possible. "You know you'd be welcome - a frequent visitor like you would... you know more than some of my Apprentices, no doubt." She's grinning, by then, and leaning back in her seat in a relaxed, almost lazy kind of way. "He's not even four, yet. Plenty of turns before I need to worry about that. I'm afraid you're quite stuck with me."

Wakizian's brows knit together as he places the empty bowl onto the side-table. "Journeymen can do that?" Apparently the mystic ways of the higher-ups are yet unknown to him. "I mean, I think he knows I want to stay." He considers this in silence a moment and then looks at the healer, "Maybe I should come to the infirmary. Do something different that would take my mind off of Smithing so much. Might start to sleep better at night." His mind chases down thoughts racing across his face and he questions, "I know it's rather too late for me to become a healer-healer, but do you think if I trained to become a dragonhealer I'd stand a better chance of staying here? Do you? Dragonheal, I mean. Or do you just do people? I can't remember." It's never mattered to him before. He pushes up out of his chair. "Apple?" He offers.

Madilla's smile is quietly content. "We can request. There are no guarantees, of course, but I do think it can help, sometimes." The topic of dragonhealing makes her smile all over again, as one hand lifts to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear, and the other splays idly upon her knee. "I don't, but I think it's an admirable ambition, if it really is something you're interested in. No, thank you," she adds, presumably for the apple. "If you're interested in dragonhealing, though, you should talk to Leova, or U'sot. I don't know that they'd want to take you on while you're still an Apprentice, but it couldn't hurt to talk to them about it, and get a better feel for whether you'd be interested."

"Is it very different to heal dragons than people?" Someone has a firm grasp on anatomy! Wakizian's question seems genuine. He asks it over his shoulder as he heads for where the apples are hiding, fishing out two, evidently for himself, before retracing his steps back to the chair. "I'd suppose trying to learn what's essentially two crafts at once wouldn't be ideal. But maybe if I make my desire to learn known, it might weigh in my favor when the time comes. And I could learn some stuff, I'm sure." Now he seems to be talking more to himself than to the healer. It's fairly transparent in this moment his interest is mostly about what the craft could do for his chances to stay at High Reaches than it is about actually being interested in healing dragons. "Four is a good age. Dee's lucky," he loops back to a previous topic, "It's the apple slices at snack time and naps phase of life. I miss that. Naps at lunchtime." This talk of napping after satisfying meals has him giving a big yawn of his own. One that he meets with an apple.

Madilla keeps her gaze tracking Wakizian as he heads over to the little kitchen area for the apples, letting it drift off of him only when he turns around to return towards her. She withholds answers to his questions until he's settled again, then saying, "I imagine it's quite different. Some of the medicines and methods we use simply aren't workable, with dragons - and some of them are even dangerous. It would be a lot to learn. And," she gives him a meaningful glance, "not something to do only for the benefits it could bring to you. Think about it." Talking about her son - as always - brings a deeply contented smile to her expression. "Sometimes, I think we could all do with a nap at lunchtime. Dee's at that age where he'd rather not, though. He sees his sister, and-- but he needs those naps, whatever he thinks."

Wakizian grins, "You never know what you've got until it's gone, right?" There's a longing sigh from the apprentice, accompanied by a fairly dramatic, "Naaaps. Even the word makes me happy. If you like, I'd be glad to tell Dee all about the glories of afternoon napping, if it means I get to have a few myself. You know, strictly as an example and role model." What was that she said about not doing things just for what it would get you? Maybe that concept is lost on him. He polishes off the apple, stem, seeds, and all, but the second gets deposited onto his lap. His hands move to the hair that's now mostly dry and hanging all around his face. Fingers fish in his pocket for the long strip of leather he wraps his dark hair in and he sets about the task, causing him to lean oddly to one side as he talks with the healer, "I can't see how learning to be a dragonhealer would only benefit me. Reasonably, wouldn't it also benefit whichever dragons I would end up healing, no matter how selfish the desire to learn might be?"

"If I said yes to that, your Journeyman would kill me, I'm quite sure of it," replies Madilla, but not without a smile. She keeps half an eye on him as he ties his hair back, and the rest scans the room idly, considering those others still enjoying their meals - or a brief spot of conversation before the afternoon resumes. "Mm, well, perhaps. Just - do check it out, and really decide whether this is something you want to dedicate your free time to, before actually signing up to it. It's not that I think you'd waste anyone's time, just-- think carefully. You're young. You may decide you want to spend your free time doing something more enjoyable, when the time comes, and who could blame you for that?" She reaches, then for her empty bowl, and adds, "I should go and check in on the Infirmary. Have a good afternoon, Waki. Don't let Thraland work you too hard."

Wakizian's fingers work deftly. Likely he's had turns of practice with this, but if it's any indication, he might have promise as a dragonhealer yet with those agile fingers. Apparently the hammers hits over the turns haven't done too much damage. Or maybe Madilla and her healers are just that good at protecting Waki from himself. "That's a shame. I'm sure I'd make an excellent role-model." Self-serving but at least hard-working? He grins, freeing a hand to wave a farewell to the healer, "I'm sure I'll see you soon enough, whether in good times or in bad-- well, that'll just have to be a surprise for both of us."