Logs:A Real Wing
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| RL Date: 23 July, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A random stores run-in results in wing chatter. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 5, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| The open stores look freshly stocked and gleam with organization, both aspects that Farideh is presently assessing, standing in front of the shelving, jangling her stores keys at her hip. She's dressed simply, in a soft, white sweaters and russet wherhide pants, and her bright-eyed expression doesn't speak to the hours previous, of shadowing wings and weyrwoman meetings. It's a slow day, between the rain and the chill in the air, but the stores are mostly quiet. At least, until there's a crash, and a flustered, "Faranth," from a short ways down one of those aisles of shelves. It sounds like T'mic. Probably because it is. T'mic, who's managed to save one of the boxes that was caught on a loose nail of the other, and is balancing another between the shelf and his shoulder, though it's precarious, and who's frozen in that pose, eyes darting around to assess the situation. It's fine. Everything's fine. Farideh's eyes shift first, in the direction of that crash, and it takes at least a minute before her body follows, her footsteps tentative as she seeks out the source of the noise. She pauses when her gaze finally lands on Tomic, one hand arrested on the nearest shelving, as her eyebrows lift from relaxed to strained. "T'mic," she draws out, a question clearly in both voice and expression; her eyes even flick, briefly, to the box he's shouldering. "Oh," says T'mic. "Hey." The shoulder shifts backwards a little, but, again, precarious. "You want to grab that one?" The box in question is indicated, with eye movement. He's afraid to move much else just now. Though slowly, the first box is being shifted more onto the palm of his hand, supported awkwardly, but still better supported than it was. Fine. "Hello," is similarly spoken slowly, while Farideh tries to adjust to the scene she's witnessing. "I can, but why--" Frowning, she moves forward and reaches up to grab the box he specifies, pulling it towards her and away from the bluerider. "What were you trying to accomplish, exactly?" It's not wholly admonishing, but slightly bemused on the end. "That," says T'mic, who points to the spilled, and now broken, crate. (It had a loose nail already, this is not entirely his fault.) "It snagged. They were packed in tight. No harm done, though, right?" Except for odd bits of leather being strewn about the stores. He ducks out from under the box, and if this weren't T'mic, there'd be some simile about Atlas right now, right here. Oh well. The other box is much more easily squared back up on the shelf, now. After setting the second box on the ground, where it's out of harm's way, Farideh dusts off her hands and then settles them on her waist, as she watches T'mic. "No harm done-- I don't see you bleeding, but that box--" She purses her lips, her focus shifting to the broken crate and its contents strewn here-and-there. "What were you looking for? You should have asked one of the assistants," and speaking of, she turns, leaning, to look for one of the aforementioned minions; when she doesn't immediately spot one, she sighs, and turns back to the bluerider. "Nevermind. We can clean up, ourselves." "Just leather scraps," says T'mic. The box is given another glance. "I just was going to run down here quick. Had a bit of a break, but we've got a bunch more stuff to get set up for tomorrow. Well, you know how it is, huh? Sort of." And he steps over the fallen box, for the other one that Farideh's set down, and grabs that up. Never mind out of harm's way. It's going back on the shelf. "Sort of-- I suppose. I don't have the distinction of rounding up a bunch of smart-mouthed weyrlings every morning, and yet. How's that going? Being wingleader of Cirrus? I know you enjoyed it, before, but-- now?" Farideh watches, still standing with her hands on her waist, while the other weyrling sees about getting that box onto the shelf as well. "Is it any easier? Harder?" "But you're pretty busy," T'mic presumes. "I mean, I've been figuring you are. Weyrwomaning and stuff." Once the box is set back where it was, he's on to the broken one, squatting down and grabbing a piece of it. This is examined. And then dropped, while he squints at what might be a sliver. So yes, his words are a bit distracted. "It's different, I guess. I mean, we were doing flaming, when we led. Now it's more practice. But we get to do more, 'cause it's not new anymore?" And then, "I need a wingsecond though." "I've been pretty busy," Farideh confirms, and lapses into silence after, listening to T'mic. "It's more like a wing, now. We're not-- living with each other, getting one each other's nerves, not living and breathing weyrlinghood anymore. We're all going to go to our own wings soon and--" She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "You're right. It's not new." His last earns a contemplative glance, her head slightly tilting to the side. "Have you been thinking about anyone in particular? R'van is particular but hard working, Keysi is too, and Z'kiel--" "Exactly. We're like a wing just for preparing, but still a wing." And then, the laugh. "Those three, exactly. I keep going back and forth on R'van. He got so distant... but with me and Jorrth, maybe it wouldn't matter? And Z'kiel would definitely be good. Keysi, too. I can take as many as two. I'm not gonna ask you, 'cause of goldriding," is added. And on that note, T'mic stops pinching at his finger, and looks up. "We're not doing anything dumb yet, right? Other than the wingsecond thing, I mean." Finally, a smile emerges from the serious expression, and Farideh looks at T'mic almost affectionately. "You're not doing anything dumb. You're doing a proper job of it, more than I think anyone else would. You care a lot-- that's obvious, and Quinlys wouldn't have made you the wingleader if not for some qualities." She taps the end of her nose with a finger, scrunching up her face. "You'll figure it out. Follow your gut. Follow what-- do what you think is the best. It's only for a couple more months and then-- and then, we're done." "Except not done at all, really, are we?" asks T'mic with a bit of a sideways smile. "Then we're really starting." Now, he can start to gather up those bits again. Now, there's a task at ahnd, which prompts, "Think we could get another box? That's not falling apart?" |
Comments
Edyis (22:24, 23 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
I Loved This. <3
Alida (00:20, 24 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
Even for people like Farideh (and maybe even Alida), it's just difficult not to like T'mic and his easy-going manner. ^^
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