Logs:Of Jobs
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| RL Date: 8 April, 2006 |
| Who: C'len, Harley, L'sen, M'rek, Rathin, Shaylar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 26, Month 3, Turn 7 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 19:40 on day 26, month 3, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. You head towards the western side of the bowl. Rathin trots across the bowl with a cheery whistle, headed for the living caverns. You wander into the tunnel to the living cavern. Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#1000RJs) The impressive living cavern is seemingly as large as the bowl that cradles the hatching sands. Rivers of polished wood tables and benches arrow towards a raised platform crowned with a compact version of their sturdy design. Neatly crafted pegs, some fancifully carved, are tapped into holes in the wall and support clothing dangling like lazy sleepers. Woven baskets, both useful and decorative, hang along another wall. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. Banners worked with the designs of Holds and Halls beholden to the weyr cascade down the walls high above, interspersed with several brilliantly colored tapestries. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal. Contents: L'sen Harley M'rek Jemah Large Ale Cask Tray of Bubblies(#6808V$) Firelizard Perch(#5030Jae$) Obvious exits: Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns Harley's smile widens into a grin. "I haven't found a handsome bronze yet. The only bronze I've met directly, tripped me into a mud puddle about a turn ago." and she rolls her eyes. She takes a bite of the cake and "yums" as she chews. Swallowing, she takes a sip of klah and sighs happily. "Fresh strawberries in fresh strawberry cake. Perfect." Rathin's pace slows as he enters the living caverns, though his cheery whistle continues. The whistling's fairly loud, though probably not that loud compared with the background noise of the caverns. Unerringly, knowing exactly where he's headed, the scruffy-haired candidate heads towards the serving tables. M'rek sits at a table, somewhere near where Harley is. He's sitting before a plate that's obnoxiously piled up with a mixmash of foods from the serving table, and he picks at it a little bit without really paying attention to what he's eating between talking. "Brown. Sorry, meant brown. Someone's muddling around in my head and I'm trying to have two conversations at once. He's a nice brown. Who tripped you into a mud puddle?" As others enter the room he turns this way and that, nodding and smiling in greeting. L'sen, up from the living cavern, makes a trip by the serving table, though only for dessert tonight, before he turns and heads for a seat. On the plate are several pastries, quite an assortment even if it isn't quite his usual pile of food. The young bluerider heads across the cavern easily, veering as he sees a semi-familiar face in M'rek. "Hiya," he greets the bronzerider. "Anybody mind if I sit here? Hi." The latter greeting is for Harley, as he flops into the chair without waiting for an answer. Harley smiles up at L'sen. "Hello." she answers. Seeing Rathin and realizing that's where the whistling is coming from, she waves to him. Turning her attention back to M'rek she continues "Actually it was a bronze who tripped me. Literally just a couple minutes before I met the Weyrleader for the first time. I accused him of tripping me and he just rumbled." and she shrugs. Rathin is apparently of a mind to buck convention, starting from the dessert side of the table and working his way backwards. He gives an easy sort of grin to the few looks he receives, shrugging helplessly and indicating his candidate knot as if it's a proud badge of ignorance. He collects some strawberry cake first, then some of the fish, and the merest forkful of salad. Once he's grabbed a mug of juice, he casts about for a spare chair, when Harley's wave catches his attention. With a grin, he heads in that direction, the whistling finally ceasing as he approaches the group. M'rek waves his fork airly for L'sen in welcome and says in a friendly way, "Don't mind at all, good to see you again, how you been?" Words all kind of packed in together, perhaps he's wound up a notch or three tonight. The tapping of one of his boots against the leg of the chair next to his adds to the impression of escaping energy. The bald bronzerider asks Harley, "The dragon rumbled or S'rist rumbled? Could be either. Sometimes S'rist isn't in such a good mood, especially when you've been doing things." Things is spoken as if they are vague and potentially causing of frowns for weyrleaders. Rathin gets another nod, "Evening, how you doing? Nice to meet you." Again, words all lumped up. "I don't really know S'rist myself," L'sen answers. "Does he really rumble like that? All the time? What do you have to do to make him rumble, 'cause that sounds kind of fun? I'm good, though, real good. How 'bout you? I'm L'sen, by the way." Like M'rek, his words run together a bit, as he directs the question to all three of his companions and the introduction to the pair of candidates. L'sen starts eating, stuffing his mouth with a good half a pastry at once. So much for manners." Harley is taking another drink of klah when M'rek asks her about who rumbled and she snorts into the klah mug. Setting it down with a soft thump. Coughing to clear her pipes, she finally looks at M'rek. A giggle escapes and she shakes her head. "The bronze rumbled. I met the Weyrleader after I tracked the wonderful mud towards the water caverns. A few days later, when I was delivering a message, I saw the dragon in the bowl again and asked him if he tripped me. He just rumbled. I found out after that." and she shakes her head. "That the dragon was Dzurath. He got me in trouble on purpose." and she wrinkles her nose. Setting food down first, Rathin grins to Harley as he slides into the spare seat on her far side, commenting wryly, "Mind that klah. I once knew a kid who choked to death on that stuff." Attention belatedly shifts to the others at the table, first L'sen, then M'rek are given careful looks by the candidate, as if he's sizing them up in some fashion; once that's done he offers the obligatory, "Sir, and sir. Sirs, in fact." There's a subtle drawl to the 'sir' offered to L'sen, as if he finds the idea of the title offered to someone younger than him rather bemusing. M'rek's question receives a response that's probably a shade more detailed than required, "Did you know there's a specific -method- to rolling bandages? It has to be -extra- tight, or it doesn't quite do the job. At least, that's what the Journeyman kept telling me. Apparently I'm very poor at it." Belatedly: "Rathin." He taps his knot as if it weren't keenly obvious he was a candidate. "Aye, it's fun all right. If you ever want to hear him rumble just.." M'rek half turns in his chair and points to a cabinet on the far wall, "..jimmy that thing open. You don't have to actually drink any of the wine in there. In fact. I recommend you don't because none of it is as good as nice dark stout. But, jimmy it open and just kind of hang around. You'll hear some rumbling. Like a broody gold." Harley earns a laugh out of M'rek, "Did he now? O. I wouldn't track mud through here." Spoken as if he'd do just about anything else though. Then he leans forward to take a better look at Rathin, "I heard that too. Happens all the time. Klah kills." Then also to the male candidate, "Eh. As if you have time to notice when you're bleeding to death if it were rolled up right or not. I've never noticed. Mostly you just feel lucky to be someplace with a bandage. Nice to meet you, Rathin. I'm M'rek." "Dragons are weird like that," L'sen observes to Harley, wrinkling his nose. "Neiveth, he never gets me in trouble, but man, there's been close calls before. The worst is when he gets together with Deneth--the pair of them's awful sometimes. But not so much since we graduated, though, because, well. Not so many rules now." He grins, glances at the cabinet curiously. "What all's in there?" he wonders, just before: "I dunno why they even bother wrapping them. I mean, you're just gonna unwrap them again when something happens, so why not just throw it in a box somewhere or something and be done with it? I never did that well, either, by the way." Of course. Harley chuckles and shakes her head, looking a little confused. "Jimmy that open and I'll hear some rumbling? From who? The dragon or the rider? Or from some of the other people here like the Headwoman?" she grins and shakes her head. "Only if you inhale it" she answers, lifting her klah mug again and taking another drink. Her smile turns to L'sen "Rolling the bandages is kind of soothing. You don't have to think to do that." Introductions done, Rathin's attention focuses primarily on his food, testing out the dessert first, and finding it suitable, moving onto the fish. He's got a healthy appetite, but he's not exactly bolting down his food. The mention of a forbidden cabinet, however, earns the candidate's attention readily enough, speculative gleam in his eyes as he studies the object in question. "Wine, huh?" is his only comment on the subject. "That's nice to know, otherwise I'd probably feel pretty badly about my poorly rolled bandages." The tone of his voice is a shade facetious, though his expression is otherwise keenly focused back on his plate. L'sen is given a quick, amused look, then, "Maybe -you- can suggest that to the Journeyman?" Pause. "Sir. He certainly didn't listen to me." He gives Harley a bit of an odd look at the mention of it being soothing, "Trade you?" M'rek clarifies, "Rumbling from S'rist." Then thoughtfully, "Never head the Headwoman rumble." before he chews on a little more much off his plate. Then he tells L'sen, "The Weyrleader's private wine stock. You know. For meetings and things." And then he jumps to another topic, "I will say bandages are easier to get on rolled." Then he quiets, at least for the moment and eats while he listens to hear how well duty swapping will go between the candidates. L'sen eyes Harley, brows arching. "You'd be surprised what you don't have to think about," he remarks with a grin. Then, abruptly, he frowns, moving to stand as he gathers up his plate. "Neiveth's wanting me to come see what he's doing, so, yeah. I'll see y'all later. Night, everyone," he explains as he exits with a wave. Harley smiles up at L'sen when he stands up. Way up. "Have a good evening L'sen." before she returns her attention to M'rek. "His private wine stock? Really?" there is definitely some interest in her voice and face now. "Hmmmm." Returning her attention to the table again, "What duty did you pull today Rathin? I've been running errands for Sirana." Rathin darts a very brief look at M'rek, then the cabinet, then back to his food - quick enough to be missed. He's in the midst of a mouthful when L'sen excuses himself, so settles for a wiggle of fingers. Swallowing, he offers: "I'm not the patching type, myself. Patchee, occasionally." He works his way through the fish on his plate, the salad - small as it is - gone quickly, then gets down to the business of relishing the dessert. "You know, when Garain used to say Weyrs got all the best stuff, I always thought he was just griping 'cos he thought they never paid enough for things. I'll have to give him credit for being right on the food score, anyway. Or possibly the chef score, or both." He glances sidelong at Harley, before answering, "Helping out in the infirmary. I was bored witless. I didn't even get to do anything -cool- like see a broken leg, or stitch up a jagged bleeding cut. That would've at least made it worth it. Noo, just rolling bandages all day long. I'd much prefer errands, at least you're out and about." M'rek waves to L'sen, "See you later." Then he nods to Harley and leans back a little so he can draw an 'x' over his heart. "I swear. Good stuff in there if you like wine. Not as good as some people keep, but still good. I'd put it in the top five." As if he were a connoisseur of other people's liquor cabinets. Then he listens and leans forward to say, "I'd rather do errands too. Though. It's not so bad getting to know the infirmary crew. You never know when you'll need something and not want to go to a lot of trouble with reports." Harley finishes her klah and sits back with a content sigh. "That was good. We get good food yes. We also have some awesome cooks who can do just about anything with the dullest ingredients. I thought my mom was a fantastic cook. She's good, but nowhere near their league." and she points towards the kitchens. She doesn't answer M'rek but she's definitely noted that little fact. "Will they do that? I've copied a few turns worth of records and there's a lot of stuff in there from the healers." Then she grins. "Next time I get to muck stables, I'll trade you. Running errands too. You really do run." she adds to Rathin. "Oh, really?" Some might mistake Rathin's tone for casual, though there's an undertone that suggests his interest is anything but. "I can imagine that'd be handy, I mean, who can be bothered with reports for every little scrape and bruise? Maybe I'll give the Journeyman another go, I mean bandage rolling -is- useful after all." The scruffy-haired candidate cleans off his plate after a few more forkfuls, leaning back and absently rubbing at his stomach. With a brief snort of amusement, he nods his head in agreement to Harley's proposal. "Done. I don't mind the running, it's good exercise. Plus, it's good for the next time Maja gives me a look like the other night." M'rek agrees, "The cooks here are first rate. So much so that sometimes Holders try to tempt them away. We do get good tithes though, especially the seafood." Then he half grins and nods when he switches back to another topic, "Aye, exactly. There are already too many reports in this world." Then the bronzerider pauses and asks, "Maja's that broody looking lass in the candidate class?" As if that were enough of a description. Harley rubs her nose and shakes her head. "She's a guard. Or was? Anyway, I wouldn't call her broody exactly." She looks over at Rathin. "Well, yeah. I hope I don't ever earn that look from her." She looks back at M'rek. "I'll admit, I've never seen anyone as serious as Maja is though." She rises, taking her mug over to refill it from the pot, she adds a bunch of sweetener before she returns to the table. "When you say broody, I think of the gold watching over her clutch." she admits. "The freakishly tall one," Rathin confirms, his description of the candidate somewhat less charitable than M'rek's. "I think she's a bit sore about it. I don't see why, though, you'd think she'd be used to it by now." His grin is somewhat sheepish at Harley's comment. "I've a feeling it won't be the last time I get that look. -Serious- is one way to describe her." "A guard." As if that explains a lot to M'rek, and yet it's said rather flatly, as if guards aren't necessarily is favorite. "Can't help how tall you are. Not without beeing drastic anyway." Then he shrugs, "Aye, I meant serious kinda. Maybe like a gold. Guarding eggs like secrets. Guarding something. Guess it goes with being a guard. Sometimes a person has a job, like a guard, and it seems like it's always a part of them." C'len strolls in from the tunnel to the bowl. C'len has arrived. Harley shoots Rathin a very short 'look'. "She is not freakishly tall. And not sore. Just." her nose wrinkles again. "Too sensitive yes. I'll agree there." and she shrugs. "Could be. I get that feeling about her. That she is never really 'off duty'." she says to M'rek. Rathin looks briefly thoughtful at M'rek's words, but it doesn't last. "Faranth help me, I -really- hope being a trader isn't always a part of -me-." He chortles briefly at the thought, leaning forward to dip a finger in some of the remaining juices on his plate, tasting it and turning to eye the serving tables as if considering a second helping. His tone is mild, but he counters Harley readily: "She's tall. -Very- tall." M'rek sits at a table with Harley and Rathin, in front of the rider is a half full plate of food that he seems done with, so much so that someone comes along and cleans it away from his place and he doesn't even seem to notice. "Some people are just like that." Then he shrugs and smiles brightly, "Being a trader. I don't know if that would be something you'd want to lose. Doesn't everyone always want a good deal for themselves?" The younger rider who shuffles in from the bowl is not freakishly tall, nor female, so certainly they can't be talking about him. C'len does seem tired, though, but not so much that he can't still make it over to the serving table for a plate full of food that holds a little of everything. He begins to wind his way through the tables toward one where other members of his wing sit, finishing dinner, but gives up on making it that far and instead flops into a seat at the table just next to M'rek, Harley, and Rathin. Harley looks at C'len and smiles. "Hello." she offers. "Supper is delicious tonight." she offers and eyes the serving tables herself thinking about more sweets. "Hrm. Better behave tonight." she mutters to herself. She turns back to Rathin. "Yes, she is. There are still people here taller than she is. Or just as tall." Rathin gives a wry sort of half-smile, leaning back slightly and slinging one arm over the back of his chair as he answers M'rek, "Oh sure. It's not about the deals, though. I mean, it's not why I'm a trader - it's being able to travel. Getting good deals is just a nice side bonus." Grinning unrepentantly, he reaches for his mug, gulping down the rest of his juice. "Don't you get bored being in the one place all the time?" His hand flickers briefly in dismissal of Harley's claim. "Name one. A -female- one." His gaze drifts briefly past to C'len at Harley's greeting, but he doesn't follow it with his own. Shaylar walks in from the tunnel to the bowl. Shaylar has arrived. Shaylar comes into the cavern with a basket full of dim glows on her hip. She stops at the entrance and unwraps the scarf from around her face so she can see where she's going and disappears into the lower caverns momentarily before coming back out empty handed and without coat and scarf. She looks a bit tired but she has a smile on her face. M'rek nods to the arrival, "Evening, C'len. I'd been hoping to run into you. How're your wing duties working out for you?" He grins and then tips his chair back just a little bit as he gets comfortable. "Me? Bored in one place? All the sharding time. I was a messenger before." Then he shrugs, "It's just always been really hard for me to stay put. Ulfianth complains that we travel a little too much, but I think he enjoys getting out as well. It's something I really enjoy about being a rider. So. I can understand." C'len's just about to dive into his meal when he hears Harley and he acknowledges her with a grin and nod, but no words as he begins to eat. Indeed, he seems focused only on that--though he does look over to the trio, at M'rek's question. "M'rek," he nods in response, before giving a grin that makes suprising wrinkles show around the edges of his eyes. No one else sits at his table, otherwise they might notice that certain acidic scent about him. "They're going well enough, I guess. Tired though. I had to sack a lot of 'stone today. Not enough ready for some of the drills, even with the candidates." He glances briefly at Rathin, noting his knot, before he asks of Harley, "Done any more baking recently?" Harley perks up, straightening up in her seat. "Baking? Me? Not lately. I've been going between replacing glows, running errands and mucking the stables the past few days. Hi Shaylar." She adds as she props her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "How's your day been? And do you think Maja is freakishly tall?" "Hah, I thought so. You've a bit of the look of the wanderer about you." Rathin looks pleased by this observation as he tips his head at M'rek. "Hm. Messenger, eh? Maybe I'll try that for a bit after I get bored of being a trader." Food finished and nothing else to distract him, the scruffy-haired candidate tunes out of the conversation for a bit. Apparently this serves as motive for him to depart, as he collects his dishes, heading away from the table to deposit them before walking out towards the bowl without a parting word. You wander outside to the bowl. |
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