Logs:You Can't
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| RL Date: 16 June, 2011 |
| Who: Tiriana, Rhaelyn |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tiriana, dream-crusher. |
| Where: Records Room |
| When: Day 19, Month 13, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions |
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| In the afternoon, Tiriana has holed herself into the records room, bundled up in a blanket to help keep the chill off. She has a pile of all sorts of records in front of her, and is presently flipping through them idly; but that's about it. A brisk wind stirs through the room as it blows the thin Rhaelyn in from the elements. She blinks around her while pulling the thick hood of her jacket away from her face, "Oh, I don't think this is...." The location she missed fades from her tongue as she gapes around at lovely glass that traps the glows. "whoa." The opening of the door earns Tiriana's sharp look upward, and she shuts her book forcefully and pushes it back, giving Rhaelyn a scowl. "Shut the door; it's cold enough in here without your help," she snaps out as she reaches for a fresh set of papers. A gloved hand reaches for the handle of the door and slowly pulls it closed while the girl continues to gape around as though she'd not even heard the order snapped at her. "This is amazing." Door closed, she steps deeper into the room, breathing in a deep lungful of the 'book' smell. Stuff and wood-pulp and dust and age. "Wow, what is this place?" Onward she strolls, right towards Tiriana. "The records room," is Tiriana's answer, short though it is. She makes a show of glancing at her work again, but the younger girl earns a longer look a beat later. "You're expected to keep your voice down in here," she notes, nevermind she was the first to raise hers. Weyrwoman's prerogative. "People are trying to work." The girl gives Tiriana's demand a curious look and then smiles rather impishly, "Mmmhhh...." She'll likely just follow in the footsteps of the other woman. In fact: "What are you doing?" She's close enough now to peer, though if she's near enough to actually grasp what's on the page is another question. "What do people work on in here? Maybe I can help." Tiriana, unimpressed, asks, "And just what is it some half-starved, uneducated /exile/ could help /me/ with?" "Why couldn't I?" Rhaelyn asks, unflustered by the harshness delt out to her, "I am very skilled. Perhaps if you just try me, you would surprise yourself. Unless having a fat-ass is some requirement for you." Tiriana, charitably, ignores such insults, for now. "Oh, really?" she answers. "Perhaps you can enlighten me on your skills, then." Rhaelyn dodges her skillsets with a little toss of her head, "Please. How difficult could the job be here? I can read and write as any educated youth." By island standards at least. "YOu have met our harper, do you think she would have taught us incorrectly?" Tiriana, bluntly, "I don't think that child could teach you the color of the sky." She eyes Rhaelyn then, brows lifting. "Do you know who I am, girl?" There's a wicked sort of pleasure at having the other woman dish on her fellow exile but Rhaelyn's words seem otherwise, "That is not charitable of you." Then a look over Tiriana, "You're someone important. Nice clothes. Comfortable job. You speak your mind like our elders, but I don't know what the mainland has in place for that." "I'm the damn Weyrwoman," is Tiriana's simple answer to that. "This is /my/ Weyr." Rhaelyn hms, "Well, it's a very fine place, Your weyr." It's a compliment as intended, but if Tiriana expected bowing and scraping, it doesn't follow. "I would like to assist you." In what? Or how? Eh, everyone needs a minion, even a skinny one. "I have two juniors, a headwoman, countless assistants, and sometimes even Weyrleader who isn't completely useless," Tiriana notes, turning back to her work. "Why should I need another?" Still trying to find herself a way 'in' she answers, "A woman of your rank and station must certainly need someone." She motions a hand to the reading that the woman is doing, "Your time could be spent on other activities than your current work." A look around the room as though expecting to see these other helpers at the ready and back to the Weyrwoman with obvious disapointment, "You need -better- help." Someone at the ready. Like her. See. "Did you miss the part where I just named a couple dozen people I already have?" Tiriana's tone is rapidly growing impatient. "You don't even know what a fucking Weyrwoman is, and you expect me to just /hand/ you a job any number of people here are better qualified for?" Rhaelyn rolls her eyes and turns away, admiring another part of the room. Just as she's about to change her path, she does think of something else and turns back to the Weyrwoman, "Tell me, how can I go about becoming qualified?" "You?" Tiriana does at least look up at that, his mouth curving into a smirk. "You can't." Somebody is not being very charitable now. "Surely I can." Rhaelyn's gosh-shucks tone suggests that it's well within Tiriana's power as Weyr-owner to grant anything her little heart desires. "Why, you gave that boy a job right away without even knowing if he wouldn't get his fool fingers sawed off." Perhaps she feels the boy will like as not attempt such a swift move. "I gave that boy an apprenticeship," Tiriana dismisses as much casually. "Where someone else gets to deal with him, and only the healers care if he takes off his whole hand in the process. --Besides, I liked him. He didn't try to kiss my ass or get any favors." "You liked him." The girl sounds as though she's trying to get her head around that from the little she overheard. Well, just as well anyway. "Fine. Whatever." As Rhae still doesn't have a job, it's just as well she didn't get saddled into anything vile the woman might have wanted her to do, like a personal toilet-seat-lifter. She walks to one of the walls and eyes the scrolls all carefully in their places, scowling at them with her back to the woman. Left in peace at last, Tiriana can turn back to her work, shuffling through the various piles she's got laid out on the table. Back to work it is. "I guess I should just take him up on his offer..." Rhaelyn says as she draws out one of the scrolls and peers at it distractedly. There's a little huffs of disgust at whatever the offer might be. Then the soft crinkling of hide as she gets a bit of this scroll opened up. Tiriana makes a noncommittal noise to that; she's plainly not listening. In fact, she reaches to gather up a fair chunk of her workings, tucking it under her arm. "You can put the rest up," she tells the attendant on duty. "I'm going home for now." And then she's gone, heading deeper into the caverns toward her cozy weyr. |
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