Logs:Interrupted
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| RL Date: 2 January, 2016 |
| Who: Blume, Dahlia, Mirinda, Taeliyth, Zaisavyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Morning meeting is interrupted by a surprise: imminent flight. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Kyouri/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
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| Mirinda enjoys keeping a structure to her days; she likes predictability, where possible, and having the same meeting at the same time each seven is, for the weyrwoman, a comfortingly solid thing. This morning, the meeting is with Blume and Dahlia, and the subject one of ongoing concern: ways to stretch supplies to ensure everyone stays warm, fed, and comfortable throughout the forthcoming winter. Mirinda frowns, straightening in her chair. "This is going to sound naive, I expect," she says, "Because I've never experienced a Fortian winter. But... do we have to heat all the rooms in the Weyr? If things get tight? I don't imagine pastries will make the cut if our grain tithe is short, for example." Blume is the sort of advisor who is very good at letting the weyrwomen work out what seems to suit them unless and until her expertise and experience is needed. This is one such moment, and after thoughtful consideration offers, "We have to heat those which are used, but some that are mightn't need to be, at least not all the time." Dahlia's furrowed brow often means the mental wheels are turning. "When there weren't enough hands to do all the jobs, Erinta shifted things into rotating schedules to make sure what absolutely needed to be done was, is that right?" A simple nod from the headwoman has her going on, the lines on her forehead deepening. "Could we perhaps work up some kind of rotation for winter where in the work days are longer on those days when the rooms are heated but the workers are compensated by time off on others so we could leave some rooms unheated three days out of the seven?" She looks to Mirinda, uncertainty in her expression. "A rotation," repeats Mirinda, thoughtfully flexing the fingers of her left hand. "Yes, I think there's some merit to that. We'd need to... to work out the logistics, and the details. Ideally, we want as many people as possible working in the same rooms, so that body heat does some of the work. And any rooms that aren't vital... I don't know if it will get that bad. It all depends on the tithe. Regardless, it may be worth our while closing up the solarium and the sanctuary." As the jut of her chin suggests: being prepared won't hurt anything. "Blume? Is there anything we're failing to take into account with this?" The headwoman's eyes move between the women as they talk. "It'll all come down to logistics and diplomacy," she decides as she leans back in her seat. "It's been a hard couple turns and that'll work in our favor. It'd be best if we can do kindnesses to our people where we can to ease the change that some won't take easy. Some won't take it easy no matter what we do, but we don't want to risk another strike. I can get some of my assistants tracking which groups they think would be most compatible and which caverns would be good for their use." There's a pause before she purses her lips, "You girls," always girls to a woman old enough to be their grandmother, "could do to earn some goodwill among the cavern folk before we move on this. Have you thought of asking some of the caverns girls to do a rotation as a personal assistant? Might be we could put some of those likely to make trouble to the task, as an honor, and they'd speak well of you and the changes when the time comes. Make them a part of it." Dahlia's silent, brow furrowing more, a hand lifting to rub the back of her neck, as though there might be a hair tickling there insistently. "There was talk some time ago about possibly pursuing a contract with the Woodcraft to cut back some of the forests by the roads, and widening the roads themselves that aid might be rendered by dragon if there was a need. We might still be able to make a deal with them, if we lent hands to help do the cutting. I'm sure the Blood would have a say, too, but might be willing, this turn of all turns." The rub turns to a scratch, her expression flinching a little, distracted now. Evidently the matter of goodwill and personal assistants is lost to that distraction. Mirinda chews at her lip, regarding Blume with some obvious hesitation; she has, thus far, been resistant to all suggestions for personal assistants-- or any assistance, in truth, but especially the kind that is a little more personal. Before she can answer, however, Dahlia's scratching has caught her attention, seen out of the corner of her eye. "Dee?" Querulous, quiet. And, "I suppose it's not so terrible an idea. We do need the goodwill. The woodcraft, too. It's a good time to start building those kinds of relationships." Blume's eyes have gone to Dahlia, too, with Mirinda's inquiry. "I'll see to it that you get names and mark which are most important. Shouldn't be too obvious about it if it can be helped." Her eyes linger on the younger woman, with good reason. "Sorry," Dahlia offers both women distractedly. "I have the strangest itch." She arches her back a little as she tries to find the spot to cure it. Of course, that's about the time that Taeliyth wakes within her wallow, within her weyr, stretching her limbs luxuriously. It was the best sleep. Surely, no one will notice the way her wheaten hide is glowing brilliantly as she steps out into the sun on the ledges. Dahlia goes quiet, expression perplexed, at least the itching seems to have stopped, or at least her fingers have, leaving her in the awkward mid-scratch position. "Turnday itch," says Mirinda, in a rare moment of levity, corners of her mouth turning up into a bright smile. "We'll have to cut this short so that you can have--" A nice afternoon off? That might be nice, except that Zaisavyth's senses are keenly attuned to emotional changes in her Weyr, and a glowing, wheaten-gold hide is difficult to miss from her present vantage point. "Fuck," says Mirinda, abruptly ineloquent as she rises from her chair. Dahlia's distracted, but it doesn't keep her from saying, "Faranth, if my nineteenth has to be special somehow, I hope it's something better than a strange itch." She probably doesn't even notice that she's talked right along with Mirinda's more business like words, only to have her attention brought back front and center to blink wide and naively at the Weyrwoman. "What?" Zaisavyth has kept her flights to a minimum (they're more special that way), but Mirinda's been in this seat before, several times: Evielth's flights, Torith's, and now... "Taeliyth." Business-like, Mirinda steps away from the table. "We need to leave. Luckily, Zai's not threatened, but... we need to go. Dee, you'll be fine. Good luck. Blume--" The other woman gets a brief glance. "You know what to do." Dahlia looks baffled. It takes a moment for those words to sink in for Dee. Not for Blume, however, who's live at a Weyr too long not to put that quickly together. "Go," the headwoman encourages Mirinda, "the Weyr'll still be standing when you get back." That has some humor. Only then Dee gets it with an emphatic, "Oh shit!" as Taeliyth takes wing to head for the feeding ground as if she hadn't a care in the world. Is the world watching her for a change? Good. They should be. It's Blume's guiding arm that will see Dahlia safe to her weyr before the suitors have a chance to congregate, even grabbing one of the people she meets along the way to assist in picking up anything Dee might need taken care of before her personal space is invaded. Happy turnday, Dee! |
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