Logs:Hard to Get Good Help
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| RL Date: 22 September, 2013 |
| Who: Gallagher, Taikrin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Two people with history and interest to make some cross paths in the place history is kept. |
| Where: Record Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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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.
Taikrin is no stranger to the records room this past turn or two; she's often found in the evenings going over something or another, and tonight is no exception. There's a brief murmur of speech in the entrance as she dismisses at Glacier greenrider with something about 'keeping watch'. She then makes a line straight for the maps, muttering to herself all the while about Nabol and wagons and refugees. "C'mon, I know you're here somewhere," she adds, a bit louder. "Not looking for the log of the newest additions, are you?" Gallagher's baritone is smooth as he barely glances away from the book to the brownrider whose words must have been just loud enough for him to catch them. "Because it'll cost you," An indication of his fingers to the ledger spread open before him, before he straightens and lets his lips curl into a one-sided smirk with a raised brow of good-humored challenge to the older woman. Startled, Taikrin jerks back from the stacks. Her surprise is evident in her gape though it melts quickly into an easy, crooked smile. "Hey-- it's your lucky day. I ain't after the logs unless you got a map hidden away in there with 'em?" But she abandons the stack in favor of meandering over to lean a hip into Gallagher's desk. "What're you looking for in here so late?" Gallagher's smirk shifts into a brief satisfied smile at the look of surprise, apparently pleased to be able to get the figurative drop on Taikrin. "Aw, and here I thought it was my lucky day just 'cause you strutted by," He might start as 'smart-ass' but he knows better than to carry that on too long with the brownrider; one jerk per conversation and it always gets to be her. "Oh, you know, this and that. Lots to be learned in a place like this." The page is open to the newest of the new arrivals. Names and ages, just the details noted down. Some are the usual sorts joining the weyr like transfers or new residents, but most are listed with a symbol that must indicate they're refugees. "But I'm sorry, you're out of luck. No map here. I think I'm supposed to be lending a hand, earning my keep while I'm vacationing, so I could, I suppose, help you find it." He's so put upon. No, really! The hand that touches to his heart shows his long-suffering to be nothing but the honest-to-Faranth truth. The way he shifts suggests he's waiting for her elbow to arrive at his ribs. "What are we looking for?" "Well I didn't think that part needed to be said, mind. It's always your lucky day when I'm around." Taikrin casually rakes her gaze down the page, then lifts it back up to smirk at Gallagher. There's an elbow nearing, true enough, but it's just a feint: a threat of an act oft-repeated. "Just wanted to take another look at the overhead around Nabol. What with all these people on the roads lately, thought it might do to see if we're covering all the right places, if you catch me." Still, she doesn't seem to be in any big hurry to head back over to the stacks. "Vacationing, eh? How long are they letting you hang about, then, do you reckon?" An amused smile meets Taikrin's first words, Gallagher's single dimple making an appearance. He flinches at the feint. It's likely a flinch for show, though, since so many turns of being a guard breeds a certain resistance to friendly onslaughts. "That makes sense. I wouldn't mind riding along one or some of those times if you're inclined to have company. It'd be right interesting to see how that part of the world's changed since my last gander at it. At least, if you're going in the next seven and a half or so. That's about all I've got left. I've been here a few sevens now. Long vacation this time. 'Bout due for one." "Happy to oblige. Sweeps are long and boring, but I reckon we can take you up if you've got an urge to go or some business that needs dealing," Taikrin responds, ever so casually. "Perk to being the wingleader, nobody's gonna complain if I pop back to the Weyr every now and then. Well," she adds, with smirk, "Nobody's gonna be complaining to me about it. We ought to be going next seven-- that's actually the sweeps I've got to see about, with the chart." She pushes away from the desk and makes to head over towards the stacks, though with a pause long enough to let Gallagher join her if he chooses. "See if you can help me find 'em?" The Crom man strolls along behind the brownrider. "I've no business yet." Gallagher answers evenly. There's no inflection in his voice, and yet the implication is clearly there: not yet, but perhaps... "The sweeps, though, they can't be worse than a guard shift at One Rock Hold. Do you know what's there? One rock. Just one. They swore up and down someone'd planned to heist it. I don't know who got the pay day to get us to humor them, but--" Talk about boring, his expression is meaningful before he adopts a more studious one to begin the search for the charts in question. Taikrin snorts at the story even as she starts running a finger along one of the shelves. "Was it a pretty rock? You reckon it's worth our time? Me and Szad, we can take just about any old rock if you think we can get some real marks for it. We'll split the loot, 70-30." She's teasing. Mostly. Business-like, she adds, "They're usually here. It's sorted-- this shelf ought to have Nabol." A few hides are stacked, one atop the other. Taikrin flicks through the first few, frowning. "I could have sworn someone did a new one just a month or two ago, with the roadwork that got done over the summer." "Shells no. If it were pretty, that would make sense. When have you known things in Crom to do that if it can be avoided?" Gallagher points out, "Although," His hands slow on the shelf Taikrin directed him to as they start to pull a few of the hides, "I'm not sure I could make it worth your while on a guard's salary, but after a seven there and travel time to and from, I might be willing to try. It'd serve them right." His attention turns back to the hides. "New." He notes, putting back several hides that from outside appearance certainly aren't what she's looking for, the hides are too old. "Just checking, just checking. You know, so as we can supplement your poor, poor guard's salary so I'm not buying all the drinks one day." She pulls a face at the abundance of old hides, then glances down to the next shelf. Despite it clearly being labelled 'Tillek', there are several obviously new records sitting on top. A hunch in turning the top one over reveals... Nabol. "Lovely. Ain't it great that we're paying people too stupid to read to keep track of our records?" This, then, must be the map she's been seeking of Nabol and the surrounding terrain. "Well, if I have business down Nabol way in the coming sevens and you're able to give me and another passenger or two a lift, the least I can do is buy the drinks after," Gallagher offers, not that it makes her words any less true of all the other drinks she's bought him over the turns. He stops searching when it becomes apparent that the object of their search is found. "Well, you know how hard it is to find good help these days. I hear the diet of stew, for all that it's ended for now, makes people a little distracted. It'll be interesting to see what the winter brings." While he's cozy in Crom. "If you get hungry, you know you can count on me for at least a good sandwich." He grins, so at least that much of what he says is a real offer. "Dragonriders never go hungry, you know that," Taikrin shoots back pointedly. "I'm sure we'll be just fine when people start seeing sense. Or maybe I'll just have to make myself Weyrleader again." For all that she might have complained of the posting before, she doesn't have any trouble making light of it now. "I'm sure a lift can be arranged, either way. We'll make it work." Her tone of voice implies there might be more than a simple favor involved, but the way she moves on to laying the map out on the table implies she doesn't want to get into it. "See now, I'm trying to make sure we all got enough sandwiches to go around. Travelling's hungry work, especially if you don't strictly got to do it." "You know that," Taikrin as Weyrleader, "-is something I would have really loved to have seen for myself." There's a mixture of amusement and genuine interest, "It's one chapter in the life of Taikrin I'm sorry to have missed out on. Though I suppose it would follow that you'd be too busy as Weyrleader to let a poor Crom guard bend your ear." Gallagher allows, without any trace of a grudge, especially since he's heard about it since. "Once a Weyrleader always a Weyrleader?" He questions, "Or are your motives muddier?" The last is asked significantly softer, as he leans to look over the map, as she is, but with more of an air of casual interest. "It wasn't much fun for any of us-- I don't reckon you missed out. A whole lot of thankless gruntwork if you ask me, with the bonus of everyone trying to stab you in the back or puppet you on strings or Faranth knows what else." My, a little bitter perhaps. "But I did it, and I could do it again if I had to. Right now, I'm more'n happy just looking out for Glacier. And friends. Whatever else happens, we'll be here to pick up the pieces. Again. It's what we do, yeah?" Taikrin slides a look over at Gallagher, including him in her question. "Sounds... like a party in a brothel." Gallagher decides as the correct likeness, "Or at least, the brothels I've been around." Which can't be terribly quality establishments if their major past times are back-stabbing or puppeting; Faranth knows what else probably falls into good business practice in those sorts of places. "Mmhm, there is something about that 'picking up pieces' that sounds awfully familiar." In this way, their jobs aren't so different. "Let me know when I can fly with you. I'm around. Look for a knot of refugees doing some work or spending some leisure time and that's like enough to where you'll find me." He leans back from the map, the phrasing heralding his intent to depart. "A backwards-ass brothel where the sex comes first then you have the political your way around it, maybe," Taikrin snorts, amused nonetheless at the analogy. "Will do. And don't be afraid to stop by while you're here, yeah? We were in the ground weyr for a while, but now we're back up in our old place. If it's just a short trip you want, we don't have to wait for sweeps to come up. We can find a way to make it work. Just let me know." It's as much a farewell as dismissal, since she's sinking down into the chair to begin the work she originally intended upon tonight. He doesn't need to acknowledge the brownrider's offer, likely, for her to know he's apt to take her up on it. The nod addresses everything and nothing, "Clear skies, 'til then, yeah?" Gallagher offers before heading to the door and the wide Weyr beyond. |
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