Logs:Senior Head Master Weyrcrafters
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| RL Date: 16 February, 2013 |
| Who: Madilla, Xhaeon |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Madilla and Xhaeon discuss the leadership situation, and how it might impact the weyr's crafters. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions |
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| Records Room, High Reaches Weyr Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets. To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs. It's mid-afternoon on Turnover Eve, and most of the Weyr has probably already clocked off to enjoy themselves. Down in the Records Room, however, Madilla is still - it would seem - hard at work, with a stack of books on a table, and another stack in her arms, being returned to the shelves one by one. For now, she's largely alone, aside from the records attendant on duty, and a small group of pre-teens making the most of the relative quiet - and the holiday - to giggle over some anatomy diagrams. Madilla must be aware of what they're doing, because she keeps casting glances in their direction, but her expression is more inclined towards the affectionate than not. "You aren't going to go reprimand them for being so offensively jovial?" The low burr of a Telgar accent in a middle-baritone, dipping towards lower registers here and there; Xhaeon, having materialized with some stealth next to the Healer, helps himself to the book on the top of Madilla's stack - only to remove it a distance from his face to peer at it in a faintly farsighted manner. Designator acknowledged, he moves to reintroduce the book to wherever it should be berthed. Without pausing, he moves for the next book on the stack. The smith doesn't really look like the average Smith, it should probably be noted: a soft sweater (is that angora from Igen?), clean garb, a long message-tube slung over one shoulder. Only the heavy callouses on his fingers and the faint, silvered scars on the back of his hands speak confirmation of his knot's chords. The turn of Madilla's head is abrupt, but she's not so surprised that she loses hold of her armful - even if her arms do tighten about it momentarily in the aftermath. Her laugh is soft, a merry sound that escapes without her even needing to consider it. "How could they be so cheerful at Turnover," she says, in a low voice that holds on teasing disapproval. "I'm just glad that if they're going to stare at naked bodies, they stare at realistic ones." The books she's shelving are infirmary records, which is unsurprising given the knot on her shoulder; most of them date back to the previous Interval. "You're-- the new smith, aren't you? I'm sorry I haven't come and introduced myself yet. I usually try to, but things have been... busy." "I'm not sure," Xhaeon confirms, his voice grave and steady, taking the straight line; however, the cast of his 'judgmental' gaze towards the group is hindered by the line of his mouth twitching in effort to restrain merriment. "Oh, you're not a fan of that Fort artist, the one who depicts all women a--" Xhae seems to belatedly realize who exactly he's talking to (a woman), and eats the remainder of that sentence smoothly. "Looking at a fair history of your patients, are you?" is his interjecting question. Ahem. "Oh, yes. Xhaeon, Smithhall." He'd offer his hands to shake, but, y'know. Shelving. "Madilla, isn't it?" There can't be that many individuals running around who match her general profile. "I would have ventured forth, myself, but I find that most trips I make to the infirmary end with scoldings or bad-tasting teas." His quick smile and jocular tone hopefully make up something for the jest of the words themselves. Madilla, however, only laughs: evidently, she's not offended by the possibility of that Fortian artist, even though her cheeks do turn faintly pink as a result. "I've no problem with that kind of art," she says, "But I don't think it's suitable for children." She glances down at one of the books, finger tracing through the dust on it, as she works together an answer for the Smith. "I'm trying to see what kind of management practices were used by some of my predecessors. I'm sure you're not interested in hearing about that, Xhaeon of the Smithhall. Yes, I'm Madilla." She turns her gaze side-on towards him, smiling, then puts the book back onto the shelf. "I'll try and avoid the scoldings. I usually keep those saved up; it wouldn't do to waste them. You're settling in well, I hope?" "When do we cease being children and start being adults?" The question is rather more rhetorical than those posed before: a bit philosophic, perhaps, inward-directed. The Smith shakes his head, carefully shelves the last book of record that his hands have procured. "Though I certainly agree that they probably fall just a tad short of adulthood." His smile returns with her commentary on management practices: "I may surprise you," hints of wry humor. "Master Dechellis continues threatening to put me in charge of the apprentices. Maybe management practices would come in useful." He forgets about the next book in lieu of peering at a binding quizzically, sounding out the title silently. "As well as to be imagined. The weyr is - very different from what I'm used to, but I suppose that would be true regardless of which weyr it is that I found myself?" Half-question, that. It may be rhetorical, that question, but Madilla's expression shifts abruptly, leaving her quite still and thoughtful for several long seconds. That Xhaeon keeps talking likely keeps her from from getting lost in those thoughts, for with a quirked, slightly embarrassed smile, she focuses back on him more directly. "Oh, good luck," she says. "Apprentices are - well, I've always enjoyed working with them, but it can certainly be a trying experience." She may be smiling, but there's something serious and long-suffering in her expression, if only briefly: she blinks it away, and adds, "This is the only Weyr I have particular experience with, but I believe so. It is an adjustment. And - well, matters are more complicated than usual, at the moment. Even the crafters are paying attention, this time." Xhaeon pauses long enough to catch that thoughtful lean of Madilla's thoughts; it seems to provoke him to have one of those 'mental note to self' faces, but who really knows what goes on behind grey eyes? "I'm not too far removed from being an apprentice that I can't help but feel for them, but sometimes you just want to shake some common sense into them. Working a forge with no apron? Do you want to die a horrible, gruesome death?" Tangent. He seems to catch himself mid-rant and subsides, flashing a brief smile, rueful. "Things do seem to be... complicated." He seems to like that word, nodding agreement. "Reminds me of once, when I was younger, the Holders caucusing at Telgar. It was a minor issue, but everyone seemed so--" He gestures expansively with the book he's currently holding, catches himself doing that, and returns to trying to find the proper spot for it. "Stressed. As if it's likely to change anything?" More than a half-question, that, a glance askance to catch her expression as the question ventures forth. Madilla's wince is genuine, and her headshake shows genuine disbelief. "We were never that stupid, were we?" It's light, or, at least, is supposed to be light, but she's not quite selling it. "I had to send an Apprentice back to the Hall, only last seven," she adds, then. "She was-- engaging in a relationship with one of my Journeymen." And the whole matter just seems to make her sad, enough so that, as she puts the last book onto the shelf, she lets her hand linger upon it, her gaze drifting off into space. "People are afraid of change. Afraid of the possibility. Or, alternatively, they yearn for it, most desperately. Whatever you do, someone ends up disappointed, uncomfortable, and upset. But as long as our basic requirements are met - food, shelter, supplies, all of that - should it matter? I don't know." "I wasn't," Xhaeon admits baldly, on the question of stupidity. Then again, he doesn't have any obvious disfigurements that many older Smiths unfortunately sport: facial scars, lost knuckles or fingers, gouges out of arms. Yet. He's still pretty young, right? He has something of a wince for the apprentice sent back to Hall, a sympathetic look. "Doesn't help when the Hall wants to know all the sordid details." By the shortness of tone he's not unfamiliar with that entire situation, though his voice isn't as disgruntled as one would expect one intimately familiar with such a situation to be. "Hmm." Change. "You can never make everyone happy," is his stated agreement, though it's a shade neutral. "Being at the main hall, you don't really think about how hold - or weyr - politics could change your whole situation," is what he says instead. "Though Healers, well, I'd think that you are in demand regardless of leadership or politics. Everyone bleeds." "Yes, exactly," says Madilla, with a sigh. "If he hadn't been her superior, I could have turned a blind eye, but in the end... they had to know, and it will follow her career around, no doubt. It's such a shame." Her discomfort suggests it's not a situation she found easy to deal with; moreover, she seems to genuinely feel for both participants, despite her decision. She draws her hand away from the book and turns, stepping towards the table, which is only a few steps away. Her hands come to rest upon the back of one of the chairs and she says, "Everyone bleeds. Yes - certainly. But... the craft complex? That was built because of a decision of the Weyrleaders. The facilities get upgraded because they choose to do so. What if they decide not to maintain it? What if they decide to repurpose the space? Besides," she turns, smiling at Xhaeon, "High Reaches is my home. It has been since I was fifteen. My loyalty is to my craft, of course, but how can one not get involved in their home?" Xhaeon has a semblance of a shrug, for that. "Maybe less-so, if she plays it right. An impressionable young girl, seduced by an older man? If she's the smarts to play it that way. He'll probably get a few slaps on the back for being so..." He pauses to pick a word. "...Virile." That's Healer-y enough, right? "It's all in what you make of it." He follows her to the table, even unslings his message-container to allow the length of tubing to lie on the tabletop. His expression is more troubled than it was before. "When it becomes home, it becomes complicated," he comments aloud, though it almost sounds more like he's talking to himself than to the healer in that particular moment. "I guess the situation does bear watching." That particular take on the situation seems to surprise Madilla, who tilts her head to one side in order to listen, and watch. "I suppose," she says, finally. "I hadn't thought of it in that way. I hope she thinks to play it that way. Or perhaps she'll walk the tables and they'll promptly get married, and everyone will know that it was true love." Her mouth quirks for that, too: she doesn't really seem to believe that that particular, more romantic, eventuality is likely. Her fingers reach out to play with the edge of one of the books she's still got on the table, and she adds, "It doesn't hurt to keep abreast of the situation, at least. Just in case. It's hard, for me. I know both of the Weyrwomen, and I like both of them. I know both of the brownriders, too. But we crafters... we have no real voice in the Weyr, not really. Not unless they grant it to us. We're temporary, no matter how long we end up staying." Xhaeon has a laugh for her suggestion - not exactly derisive, but a chuff of that half-disbelief that young men who never have had a thought about falling in love may indulge in from time to time. "I guess that could solve it neatly, too. Children seem to fix most issues like that, don't they?" If anyone needed a giant glowing "hold-born" icon, that statement is as close as Xhaeon's going to get. His lips thin into a line at her latter words, however. "I imagine that you've been here longer than both the weyrwomen's tenures combined." Not that Madilla looks THAT old, really; Xhaeon continues on, oblivious to any implied slight he may have extended. "I don't quite understand why that has to be that way. It's not as if the weyr could function without the Healers here, could it?" Well, it probably could, just with a much higher percentage of death and illness, but that's beside the point - at least to Xhaeon, in the moment. Madilla, the monster-maker. Something twists in Madilla's expression for that reference to children, though it doesn't seem as if she disapproves. "That's true," she agrees. "They often do. Of course - this is a Weyr, but even so." She makes no mention of her own children, both born without even the loose bonds of a weyrmating, one of them even going through life without an acknowledged father. How the hold-bred fall. Evidently, she's not offended by that potential slight, because she laughs, instead, saying, "I've been here longer than any of them, yes. I've been here since Brieli and Azaylia were mere children." She considers his last carefully, finally allowing, "That's true. I do-- sometimes, I wish we had more of a voice. Of course they don't turn us away, but there's nothing formalised. The lower caverns have the Headwoman; who do we have?" Xhaeon continues along, happily oblivious to how much boot he should be, at rights, be chewing at the moment. Ignorance is bliss. At least he leaves the topic of children alone for the time being, other than a nod-and-shrug for the moral depravity of the Weyr being such that even children can't fix it. He's far too focused on this latter discussion, chewing over ideas with an inward-directed expression. He tries to force a hint of levity into his voice, though, as he arises to the conclusion that this may be the wrong forum for putting out disbelief of the weyr's lack of consideration: "Maybe with all this change, you'll find yourself a weyr appointment. Senior Head Master Weyrcrafter Madilla. It has a ring to it, doesn't it?" The latter conversation doesn't seem to be all that more comfortable for Madilla, who seems reluctant to go any further with her remarks, whatever she really feels. She sucks in a deep breath, as though she's about to say something, but Xhaeon beats her to it, and leaves her no choice but to laugh. "I shall have to go and demand it of them. Whichever one grants my wishes will earn my support," she says, though it's patently obvious from both tone and expression that she's not even remotely serious. "I know they do the best they can. I don't doubt that they will listen, if we need anything, and can you imagine the politics between the crafters, of who would sit in such a position? I might bias everything towards the Healers. We need another workroom! Let us take the one the smiths have...they have a forge already, after all." Xhaeon can't help but laugh, for real, at this: "Well, of course there should be /two/ Senior Head Master Weyrcrafters, one for each weyrwoman. I'd say we should put a Harper in for the other, but you know how they plot and scheme." Say, Xhaeon, isn't your grandfather a Harper? "Maybe a beastcrafter." He can't help but laugh again at the end; "Or maybe a Smith! If only to prevent our workroom from becoming annexed to mass-produce bad-tasting tisane. Then again, I suppose we could just visit that workroom for all the injuries caused by the woodcrafters and metalworkers working in close vicinity to one another... fistfights, you know, not splinters or burns. Never the 'twain shall meet between those two." See? Factions within factions. Humanity never ceases to display the in-group/out-group process brilliantly. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by an apologetic-faced apprentice: there is something going on at the forge after all, and if journeyman Xhaeon would be so indisposed to assist? Master Dechellis said that he would be the person to speak to. Something about apprentices. The tall man gestures silently to this as if to explain his entire stance on life, and offers a quick, apologetic smile: "It was very nice to meet you, Madilla. Hopefully I'll run into you again - without injuries." Madilla begins to smile as Xhaeon commences his reply, and by the time that Apprentice arrives, she's laughing outright: merrily, and without restraint. It takes her a moment to regain her composure, and to return her expression to something more appropriate for a crafter in her position. Even so, the corners of her mouth twitch again at that silent gesture, and she's smiling warmly when she says, "I hope so, too. I prefer not to have to continue acquaintances over broken bones, burns, or any number of standard illnesses. Good luck with the forge-- and happy turnover!" Xhaeon is currently being dragged out (against his will - though thankfully he remembers his blueprints before he goes!), but he has enough gumption left to wave a farewell, ignoring the glare of the records-keeper as he exits. "Happy Turnover to you, as well, madam!" And then he really does disappear around the corner, drug away to fix apprentices and post rules about forge etiquette... and maybe write a formal recommendation of Madilla to Senior Head Master Weyrcrafter.
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