Logs:Efficiency
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| RL Date: 23 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Jocelyn status in the stores. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions |
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| This afternoon finds several stores assistants busily cataloging the shelf of unfiled items, with one or another occasionally sticking their head into the public stores to cross-reference just how much of a type of pillow or stuffed toy might be readily available. Surely they're supervised, but no one else is immediately in view near either entrance. There's an exchange of voices that indistinctly echoes into the corridor by turns, followed eventually by an exasperated, "No, that won't do. Shift the ladder before you hurt yourself." Scrape, scrape goes something briefly over stone, then: "That's better. No, don't lean that way." Promising, very promising. Fancy shoes go clack-clack against the floor, in time with the metallic jangle of keys, both of which are the usual herald of a certain goldrider. Farideh's been busy this morning, running between the stores and the kitchen, but mainly assisting in the head cook's latest debacle, since the assistants seem to have the stores in hand. Now, she shows her face, wearing a distracted expression and carrying a worn clipboard, her hair pulled back and her clothing simple. "Afternoon," is her breezy greeting, as she comes to a stopping point back from the shelves, lifting her hazel eyes from her checklists long enough to scrutinize the work the assistants are busily attending to. "Afternoon, ma'am, " one of the younger assistants answers, glancing up just in time to stare at one of her dust-covered cohorts emerging from the public stores. He gives a violent sneeze, followed by an uncomfortably congested snuffle. "Dat shelf was dud-tee, " he gets out before another sneeze overtakes him, eyes watering. "Oh for Faranth's sake, " Jocelyn says as she stalks after him, folded mid-length ladder in tow. "Why didn't you tell me that dust made you sneeze that much? Go get some fresh air." She makes a shooing motion at the pudgy lad, motioning him outside. There's a sharp look for the gaping girl, who promptly turns around and resumes working with reddening ears. "Afternoon, " is returned to Farideh, "or at least, I think that's what time it must be. We've been in here most of the morning." The shelf, at least, is almost clear again. For now. Surprise registers on the weyrwoman's face, slim eyebrows lifted, but she doesn't say a word as she watches the exchange between gaping girl, dusty cohort, and the assistant headwoman. "It's afternoon," Farideh says, her voice filled with sympathy, however neutral her expression actually is. "Has it been a mess? The kitchen is a mess. I'll never understand how can make everything so-- so--" Her brow furrows sharply, her lips pursing. "Do you need anything? A break? A snack? New assistants," she offers, quite dryly. Jocelyn shifts to lean the folded ladder against the nearest wall, sleeves pushed up to just past her elbows. "Grab lunch and finish out your rotation for the day after, " she tells the teens working at the to-be-filed shelf. "Leave me your checklists." Her eyebrows, in turn, lift for the weyrwoman as the girls take their leave with polite farewells. "The thought has crossed my mind." All three, perhaps? One wrist comes up to wipe irritably at her forehead. "I don't envy anyone the task of sorting through that - " a head-jerk toward the kitchen entrance. "But the stores aren't at their worst. They'll make it another day." In Joce-speak, that's a glowing review. Less sympathy is spared the teenagers who get summarily dismissed, but Farideh's attention does not linger on them. "Perhaps they are better suited to other tasks," she suggests in a non-interested way. "I always think we have too many cooks in the kitchen, until it comes time for the meals, and then we have too few. It's too big of a headache." She glances down at her checklist, and then back up, at Jocelyn, firming looking at her. "And how are you, Jocelyn? Is everything well? There have been a lot of-- changes-- the least of which was me." Jocelyn's, "Perhaps, " is equally noncommittal. "They might be better off spending a seven in the kitchens." Her brow furrows briefly as Farideh elaborates on the ongoing state of the cooks' domain, and there's a wry twitch to her mouth. Feast or famine; there's no happy, middle-ground for the cooks in that kitchen or the metaphorical one of lower caverns management. "One does what one must, " she answers with a sniff, lips pursing as she moves to gather up the checklists assigned to the stores for the day. For anyone else, that would be that, end of discussion. But this is someone for whom she isn't entirely unsympathetic, so the headwoman's assistant takes a moment while rolling up the hides to formulate more of a reply. "There have been a lot of changes, " is acknowledged after a pause, pale gaze flicking back to the goldrider. "And you? How are things in your sphere? It must be a relief to not have to be in a crowded room anymore, much less with, " and she names one or two of their old roommates with whom presumably neither of them really got along. "That might do them well, and the kitchen too, but we'd have to--" Farideh's focus wavers, her eyes shifting to the bustle beyond the hallway leading into the kitchen. "We must," is an agreement, paired with the faint trace of a smile. "I don't think it's much better, not when your weyr is also a meeting space, and everyone finds themselves surprisingly on your doorstep. They find you, on your big, shiny ledge." Her lips definitely twitch that time. "And I miss it, a bit, on nights when it's cold, and believe it or not, sometimes I get lonely too." But then she smiles, and diverts, "Is there anything specifically I can do to make our working together better? More efficient? I would like to say I know it all, but then-- it's still new, and you've been doing this for so long." An amused snort escapes as Jocelyn finishes gathering up hides and pencils and turns to again survey the ladder. Can she carry a stack under one arm and that not-super-tall ladder with another? A considering grimace later, she settles for making sure that it's nudged out of the way of the main corridor. "A pity you can't blockade the doorway and put out a sign that says 'by appointment only.'" As for the admission of sometimes loneliness, her mouth slants slightly, expression softening just a hair before she's again all efficiency at the request. "When I first started this job, " she says carefully, "I was told it would behoove me to learn as much as I could about how each group, each department affects one another. I feel like I'm still learning, sometimes." More nonchalantly, "You and the weyrwoman have a good handle on how things might best work. I'm no headwoman, " wry, "but the only suggestion I feel I could offer right now is to just - keep on as you are. You're competent." Generous and breezy. Sympathy she might have for others, but Farideh doesn't appear to acknowledge the sympathy for her own set of circumstances. "That sounds like good advice-- and it worked," she presumes, tipping her clipboard up so it rests against her chest. "Thank you, Jocelyn, for being honest." Her gaze rests on the other woman for a short space, her face reflecting contemplation; it ends with a half-smile and a curt nod. "If you have nothing else for me?" It's a politically polite opening to an ending, because they both have work to attend to. "I hope your day gets better and your help--" with a sideways slant of her eyes towards the way the teenagers left, "more attentive." "It works, " Jocelyn corrects, dipping her head briefly in a return for the other's nod. "I hope yours improves, also. There will always be something." That fine line between pessimism and realism? She's sometimes more successful at toeing it than not. "Maybe we'll eventually even get a chance to trade tales of incompetency outside of bustling hallways." Maybe that was her dry way of suggesting that they take the time to catch up at a more appropriate hour and venue - or just offhandedly delivered sympathy for what and whom they must work with. Whichever the case, she raises a hand in farewell and heads deeper into the caverns, gait short and quick. A wry twist of her lips precedes the wave that Farideh gives Jocelyn in return, and it stays as the assistant headwoman walks away, back to her tasks. She waits, watching, until she can't see the redhead anymore, and then with a loud, overdramatic sigh, starts back down the hallway, intent on her original task; her shoes going clack-clack the whole time. |
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