Difference between revisions of "Logs:Recruiting Crafters"

Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr

Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.

Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.

It's Turnover Eve, and most of the Weyr has already packed in their duties for the day in order to enjoy the celebrations: even the children, too young to stay up until midnight, are getting a day of merriment. The common room is full to overflowing with parents dressing their children up for the children's version of tonight's masquerade; the noise is deafening. Quinlys stands aside from all of this, talking in low tones with a woman in her forties, a woman who doesn't seem to be terribly interested in what the young Weyrlingmaster has to say. "It's his choice," insists the bluerider-- but the woman turns on her heels and stalks away, shaking her head violently. Quin bites her lip, and closes her eyes - and sighs.

Kaeden steps into the common area from the corridor, quickly passing through to the dorms. A moment later, he's back, and in a fresh, clean shirt which he starts buttoning while his steps slow. Can't go buttoning your shirt wrong on a night like this after all. He moves to the side near the wall to finish with those small, pesky buttons, then looks around while smoothing and settling his shirt. Dark eyes land on Quinlys and company for a moment, frowns, and sidles just a little closer. His intent seems to be intercepting the older woman, but she's soon gone, leaving Kaeden to smile awkwardly at Quin. "Everything all right?" he asks, bright but polite, ready to be passing on through by his body language.

"I want to punch her in the face," is Quinlys' answer, cheerful and probably not entirely serious, though she's making a fist with her hand - so it could be. She turns her head, studying Kaeden with a lazy thoughtfulness, and making no bones about it, either: she's unapologetic. "Her kid got searched, and she got upset, so I offered to come and talk to her about it, and -" She waves a hand after the woman. "As you can see, that went down beautifully. Next time, remind me not to get involved; I'm no good at this crap. Anyway, not like she can do anything about it - just make her kid unhappy, I guess."

"It happens," Kaeden replies, finishing that last button as he gives the retreating woman's back a last glance. He then slips into an over shirt, settling the sleeves, shoulders and collar just so. "If she didn't want to run the risk, why live at the Weyr? Tons of cot holds around, right?" And... there. One last tug at the bottom of that shirt, and he's ready to go. "Of course, there are parents out there who thrive on drama over their kids, too. Might have been a winless situation."

Quinlys' own gaze follows after the retreating woman; she makes a face, though thankfully stops short of actually sticking her tongue out of her. That would be terribly mature for someone with a knot as complicated as the bluerider's is. "She moved her family here when her eldest son Impressed," she explains, with a sigh. "He died. A betweening accident, I think it was. So I get that she's wary about losing another kid, but... it's his choice, isn't it? His life?" She pauses, then turns her gaze back on Kaeden, rueful. "Sorry. Kind of a bug bear, I guess." She and Kaeden are standing at the edge of the common room, while parents and children prepare for the youth version of tonight's masquerade. It's loud and crowded, but the two seem to be managing a conversation.

Kaeden sticks his hands in his trouser pockets and leans sideways against the wall as he watches the comings and goings. "If the kid's old enough to make his own decisions, then yeah. The more candidates the better, right?" He lifts his chin to nod at a couple others his age as they make their way toward the corridor outside the common area. "What would you guys do if she ends up making a huge stink about it?"

"Special delivery!" The baritone call cuts through some of the ambient giggles and chatter, causing some eyes to turn as the broad-shouldered Smith apprentice weaves through wee ones and their keepers to approach a young woman and the six or so turn old boy with her. Words are exchanged and the special delivery passes into the hands of the recipient, the boy who delightedly places a metal boy-sized guard's helm onto his head with a shriek of glee. The conversation is brief as there are more preparations to be made all around and Wakizian is soon enough weaving back through the crowd. A trio of nannies and some tots move between Waki and the exit, pushing him into Quinlys. Not hard, just enough to be rude without an apology, and there it is: "Sorry!"

"Right. And - well, it's a big clutch this time, you know? When you combine the two. We haven't had to collect that many candidates in a long time. We'll have to Search outside the Weyr. If he wants to Stand, he should Stand." Quinlys tosses her hair over her shoulder in a gesture of frustration, though she's smiling brightly enough. "Send her to the Weyrwomen, probably. They'll--" Wakizian's accidental shove doesn't send her flying, but it does have her swinging around on her toes to stare: "Shells, watch it!"

Kaeden stands away from the wall again when the Smith apprentice bumps into Kaeden's current conversation companion. "Bit crowded in here," he comments amiably enough, waiting a moment longer (perhaps for the aforementioned fist to come into play). "How's that been going? With the two golds and the two Weyrwomen and... all that?" he asks, attention, and therefore possibly the question, split between both Quinlys and the newly arrived Wakizian. "I mean, down here, I haven't heard too much about it, really."

Wakizian's brown gaze bounces from the face of the rider to the knot and back, "Sorry, ma'am, I just thought-- well, you're less likely to break underfoot." A hand gestures towards the kids following after the nannies that caused this jam up. He grins - the grin says he thought nothing of the kind, but it sure sounds like a good excuse, right? He's quick enough to grab at an opportunity to change the subject and latches on to Kaeden's question, posing one of his own, "Have you gotten to see the eggs yet? Are they letting anyone in?" Before commenting, "Those Weyrwomen have my head spinning. Do having mothering dragons make goldriders cra--er, wei- er... um, I mean- behave unusually?" This is clearly directed more to the Weyrlingmaster than the other young man.

It's obvious from Quinlys' expression that she doesn't believe Wakizian's excuse for a moment, but she also doesn't call him on it - she laughs. That mirth doesn't last for long, however, as she turns her attention back towards Kaeden to answer, "It's a mess, pretty much. All kinds of politicking. They were best friends in weyrlinghood, the two Weyrwomen, but now... well, it's not surprising, is it? Most of us are not good at sharing power... which is not an indication that I'm about to overthrow my co-Weyrlingmaster, mind." Teacherly speech-giving mode is evidently activated in her as she immediately turns her attention back to Wakizian to answer, "Not yet. Perhaps after tonight they will. It's not unreasonable, to let the queens have some time and space, like any new mothers. It's--" She hesitates. "A stressful situation for them. Especially having both on the sands at once. I'd leave 'em alone, if I were you."

Kaeden rubs the back of his neck for a moment while listening to Wakizian and Quinlys both, but in the end he can only give them both a lopsided grin. "Complications are... not my speciality. Unless it's a complicated dance, anyway, and this cute little button from laundry promised to teach me some sort of complex dance, so... should probably go find her." He tugs at his over shirt one last time to make sure it fits just so, then nods to both the weyrlingmaster and the apprentice. "Here's to a good party and less stress." He might have just spotted that mentioned "button" as he soon hurrying out into the tunnels.

Wakizian's eyebrows draw down thoughtfully, "They were best friends? That seems kind of-- I mean, it doesn't seem like they'd--" Evidently the apprentice is having trouble finding the right words to finish his sentences today and he makes a hand gesture that seems to indicate go together or be friends. "Do you think they'll be able to take a break to celebrate a little? Or do golds usually like their riders close by?" As with some non-riders, even those raised in the Weyr, the concept that each dragon is a unique personality seems to be a little lost on the Smith. The suggestion of leaving them alone doesn't seem to have sunk in either. The Weyrwomen are, after all, pretty women, and he is a teenage boy. Just what his mild interest in the goldriders is focused around as he watches Kaeden leave, "Cute button... dancing?" Pause. "Does she have a friend?" Is called after the other young man. There's nothing desperate about asking a total stranger for a dance connection, is there? Seeming to suddenly remember the presence of the Weyrlingmaster, blood rushes into his cheeks and an awkward moment (at least on his part) follows.

"They're pretty different," agrees Quinlys, opting for relative neutrality in that reply. She's forestalled from further answer by Kaeden's departure, and Wakizian's subsequent reaction; it makes her mouth twitch, laughter barely held back. "Teenage boys," she teases, sounding rather more like the more casual young woman she is when not working (generally) than the weyrlingmaster. "Always the same. There'll be plenty of people to dance with, I promise. Given we're celebrating the clutchings, too, the Weyrwomen'll definitely show. Iesaryth and Hraedhyth... well. They'll manage. You can't run a weyr from the hatching sands, believe me, so it's not like they're unused to their riders doing other things. You're pretty interested in all of this, for a Smith. And one who's been here a while."

Wakizian's flush brightens at the teasing, "Well, sometimes the good partners get taken if you don't stack the deck in your favor," His lips purse slightly in a little pout. The red begins to return to a more normal shade and a grin replaces the pout, "Well, this is the first clutch where I've actually spoken with the riders of the dragons involved. The golds anyway. And both of the riders laughed at my jokes. That alone makes them and this clutch more interesting than all the ones that have ever happened here before." A self-centered way to look at it, but at least he's taking an interest in current affairs. "Is it going to be a challenge to have so many young dragons at once?"

The flush, and Wakizian's explanation, only seem to amuse Quinlys more, but she mostly seems to content herself with giving him a semi-fond, older-sister kind of glance: boys! "They laughed at your jokes. Well - fair enough," she says, eyes gleaming, mouth unapologetically pulled into a smile. "I guess that's as good a reason as any. It - well, I don't know if Meara would have had me promoted to Co-Weyrlingmaster if it weren't for the two clutches. We haven't had a group this big in-- as long as I can remember. Iovniath laid twenty, once, but twenty-four is bigger still. I don't know where we're going to get all the candidates."

"You're going to steal them. Obviously." Wakizian replies with an impish smile, arms folding over his chest. "From the Crafts and the Holds. Near as I can figure, ridering takes all types. Skinny ones, smart ones, dumb ones, pretty ones, crazy ones-- well, not the mind healing kind of crazy, but you know what I mean." His eyes, which had been wandering across the crowd, perhaps to find inspiration for all his types find their way back to her face to see if she does. "Who knows why dragons choose the way they do? That's why there are Impressions sometimes made to a watcher in the galleries. Except this time, you'll be bringing the galleries onto the sand, sort of. The Weyr's always got interesting candidates, but I'd wager this is going to be the most interesting bunch in a while. Nicky was explaining to me just the other day about the differences between Hold and Craft and Weyr since the latter two blur together for me. There'll be lots that have that will have to adjust just to be candidates." His expression is thoughtful, "Do you know if they've searched any cute girls around my age yet?"

Quinlys' imagination is clearly caught by this idea: her smile broadens and intensifies, and her eyes light. "Glorious madness," she says, delightedly. "What a mess." But a wonderful mess, or so her expression seems to suggest. "From what I hear? The Weyrl-- that is, K'del, has been out visiting some of the holds, determining which are most likely to support him, and searching from them deliberately. Given his reputation, I bet there's plenty of girls... though maybe they'd be older than you, because he's old enough that girls your age would be skeezy." She hooks her thumbs over the belt-loops on her trousers, grinning. "Bet there are though - girls your age, I mean. Cute ones."

"I don't know about K'del, but I hear that some bronzeriders don't see girls my age as anything off-limits. Which is really unfair to guys like me looking to make an honest woman out of someone. You know, in a couple of turns when I walk tables and am actually allowed to look at girls as girls instead of a sweetroll you know you shouldn't have because it's not worth the trouble." Then there's a pause, and he eyes the Weyrlingmaster. "You know that I meant to ask permission and politely thank the Crafts and Holds for the donations of their young folk. Maybe you could get some more Crafters on your side by offering to put up some Journeymen from the crafts and let the candidates take a couple classes in addition to their other duties? Would candidates have time for that? You know, I've been here a long time, but I've never really bothered to find out what candidates actually do other than stand on those hot sands when the dragons hum."

Quinlys seems to follow along with what Wakizian has to say, though her expression begins to turn quizzical towards the end of it, and by the time he finishes, she's quite hesitant indeed. "Yeah, well," she says, covering up for that with an easy roll of her shoulders, "some bronzeriders are like that. Personally? I don't think I could stand going for a teenager, not anymore - no offense or anything. It's just the way it is." She rolls back on the balls of her feet, hesitating only momentarily before adding, "What, like classes that could be of interest? First aid, or basic sewing, or whatever? Huh. What do you mean, though, ask permission? Ask permission for what?"

"Yeah, well, you're pretty and all, but Anquin- I mean, N'qui, wouldn't stand for it anyway. You should've heard the way he made fun of me for having a crush on you when I was little. I'm sure he's learned more names he could call me if he caught me crushing on you now. So you're out of luck anyway." Wakizian's expression is playful and the tone in his baritone voice has a childish so there quality to it. "Well, I guess I don't really mean permission. I mean more like asking for their support to take their eligible people for Search. I guess calling it permission is bad political form since they can't really say no. And I meant more like classes in their Craft. Then the candidates that don't Impress wouldn't be too far behind when they go back to their Craft. Maybe that's silly." His expression is doubtful, not that she's making him think through his brashly proposed idea.

Quinlys' glee at that reminder of a long-ago crush makes her expression all the more delighted, not to mention the way her eyes dance. "I'd forgotten," she says. "You were adorable. But annoying. Yeah, he'd never let you live it down, now, no way." She bites at her lip before answering the rest, though her nod marks a hasty confirmation. "Well, I mean, we usually let Apprentices keep working on their crafts, rather than doing generic chores, even as it is. Part of the time, anyway. Seems like a waste to, right? But yeah - getting more cooperation between them all seems like a good idea. I know some of the crafts don't mind riders continuing, too. We could do more with that. It's not like being a dragonrider is a full time occupation, these days, not most of the time."

Wakizian's hands fly up in a hold on! gesture. "Were adorable? I'll have you know, I'm still adorable. Also, still annoying." He grins at Quinlys, "When I put my mind to it." His thumbs hook into his pockets, "So you're saying that if I ever stood for a clutch, I'd pretty much be doing the same thing I'm doing now just with that whole getting thrown out onto hot sands when the dragons start humming?" And then there's a nod, "I mean, I know riders have a lot to do, but having more that know more craft stuff would be good, right? It'd help with-- I dunno, making sure that the Weyr could take care of itself if it ever had to. Without help and support."

Smirking, Quinlys doesn't answer that first remark, but it's pretty obvious from her expression that she's going for 'yeah right, dream on, kid'. It's a subtle thing, but it's there. "That's pretty much it, yeah," she confirms. "As long as your superiors were okay with it, anyway. Some seem to be of the opinion that accepting Search is pretty much the end of your career, whether or not you Impress." She studies Wakizian, brows half raised, mouth just slightly open. "That seems reasonable enough. Useful. Especially during Interval. Do you have ambitions, then? Childish dreams you haven't yet put away?"

Wakizian seems prepared to dream along. After all, isn't dreaming on one of the things teenagers excel at? At any rate, he drops the topic. His lips purse slightly and brows furrow. Her question has spurred a thought deep enough that he's silent for a long moment. "Well, I never really dreamt about being a rider. That I can remember. I dreamt about my pet rocks. And becoming a MineCrafter like I was supposed to, like my parents and brothers. And then I chose Smith instead because I liked it better." A calloused hand rises and scratches his head, "I suppose though that if I were a rider, SmithCraft couldn't move me away from High Reaches. And that definitely interests me. I wonder if Smith lets riders carry on their crafting. I bet Journeyman Thraland would still teach me." None of this seems to provide a clear answer to her question. "Does your brother like it? Love it? Having a lifemate and being a rider and all that?"

'Pet rocks'. That makes Quin snicker, though she covers it behind one hand oh-so-casually lifted in front of her mouth at the right moment. She doesn't have an immediate remark on his musings, but his question? That's easy. "Of course he does. He's loving it. Guess he was really dreaming about a bronze or a brown, originally, but Trevisath suits him just fine. And me-- I can't imagine another life, not even a little." She glances Wakizian up and down, then says, lightly, "Well, if you decide you want to, and your Journeyman doesn't object, you just come and ask, okay? Or - shells, I'd give you permission. You could make your mind up, and just go straight to the Headwoman, tell her I said yes." Beat. "If you wanted."

Smiths have to know their numbers and be able to crunch them. Weights, measurements, everything that goes into a well-forged piece of equipment. Mathematics is thusly one of Waki's strong suits and the expression he wears for a long moment is one that is cool and calculating. "Yeah. You know what? You're brilliant, Quinlys-- I mean, Weyrlingmaster." The correction to formality is with the swagger of one who's been aware of another for at least long enough to have had a silly childhood crush on them long before anyone got titles or real jobs. "If I stand and Impress, I stay here. I'm in. I'll do it." His shoulders square. Beat. "If you're serious..." He suddenly looks suspicious, as if this might be some kind of prank.

"Quinlys," she corrects, with a grin, letting both hands drop towards her sides again. "Shells, I'm not on duty or anything, not at the moment." His acceptance seems to please her, though for a moment it looks like she's tempted to tease him-- but no. This is semi-serious business. "I'm serious. Sure, why wouldn't I be? Seems to me we can use riders like that, who can keep relations with the crafts strong, and build our numbers as far as useful people go." Beat. "As long as your Journeyman says yes, anyway. Talk to him first." Evidently, she doesn't seem to think that will be much of an issue, because she adds, "Congratulations, Candidate."

Wakizian's grin breaks in earnest then - now that he's sure it's not just a cruel joke. "If I Impress, I'd kiss you, if it weren't creepy because I'm a teenager and I weren't an apprentice-weyrling-thing. Only because you will have solved my problem of being sent away to Journey and gain worldly experiences. But since it would be creepy and you'd be my weyrlingmaster, I won't. If I don't Impress though, you might be on the hook for helping me figure out a way to stay here without giving up my craft and having to become a-- um-- I dunno, handyman or something." He winks. One hand rises to touch his apprentice knot, "I guess I'll need to see the Headwoman after I speak with Journeyman Thraland." Pause. "I guess that means I've got a lot of talking to do before the party." A glance around the cavern says party-time is rapidly approaching. "So, I'll see you, Quinlys?" The smile he offers is probably the most genuine she's seen from him tonight. One that isn't marred by secretly carried stress. He's staying for sure - at least until the eggs harden and hatch.

That smile? That alone seems to pleased Quinlys enormously... and that's after she's already laughed outright for Wakizian's earlier remarks. "If you Impress, I'd bap you on the head for kissing me regardless of anything else. No upsetting baby dragons!" Sympathy marks her expression, as she acknowledges, and perhaps grasps properly for the first time, some of his reasons. "If it comes to that, Waki, I'll help in any way I can, promise. Get on with you-- and good luck, with all of it. No doubt I'll be seeing more of you."

"Maybe you'll save me a dance tonight? You know, for old time's sake. And a good dance is the least I can repay you with if this all works out. And it probably won't get me bapped. Probably." Waki grins. "Think about it." But with that he's navigating his way out of the cavern - better to escape with the dream than deal with the possibility of a no!

"It'd be my pleasure," Quin promises, watching him go. Maybe she even skips, when she too turns to wander off. Maybe.