Logs:Welcoming Wilyim
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| RL Date: 15 June, 2012 |
| Who: Wilyim, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: High Reaches Weyr gains another new face, though Azaylia makes for an awfully bashful welcome wagon. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 13, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions |
| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outsde each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. Morning has come to the Weyr, the bitter chill of the 'Reaches winter permeating throughout the caverns and passageways with tendrils of wind drafting past the havens throughout the caverns of a roaring fire. Few people are present in the storerooms at this time of day, their movements brisk and businesslike to quickly return to whatever task that day has set before them. One of these people, however, stand out from the rest. Walking slowly, Wilyim is looking in every direction, looking more than a little bit lost and confused. He stops to glance down a line of labels, but soon moves on with a small shake of his head. A passerby is flagged with a quiet, "Excuse...", but only a glare is offered before the person whips out of side around the door. With the blizzard's vicious chill doing it's best to chase Azaylia into the weyr, she has no choice but to wear the coat. As infamous as it is unflattering, the shaggy brown thing manages to reach the tall young woman's knees and looks to be three times her age. Bare hands grip a mug of something steamy for dear life, pausing to give a yawn that ends in something of a faint squeak. Azaylia blinks blurred eyes as she walks into the now familiar storerooms, passing by Wilyim with a murmured, "Morning." Friendly, if barely audible. Wilyim seems to have prepared for the cold with leather gloves and a jacket, though one can't know how often these are worn. The quiet greeting is enough to turn the young man's head, a strained smile on his face offered with the reply, "Uh, hello." He glances around the room with a hopeful look, as if trying to spot something, but soon drops his gaze back in the general direction of the newcomer. "I know that there are labels," he starts with an excuse, "but these here caverns are nearly as big as my families entire cothold and I can't seem to find what I'm looking for." A self deprecatory grin is given, hands raised in apparent helplessness. Azaylia will maintain enough of a smile for the stranger until he's returned the greeting. Then she's turning and ducking her head to keep out of his way, rounding a shelf with purposeful if drowsy steps. When Wilyim speaks once more, curiosity has her easing back around that corner, though not completely. "Mm?" Something of a squeak, throat cleared after. "O-Oh." It's enough to coax all of her back out, both hands returning to her mug and holding it tightly in front of her. "Are you new? I'm not an expert," A small smile, but she manages to maintain while speaking. "But I'll try to help." Head turns, peering at the rows and rows of things he could possibly need. "I guess you could say I'm new," Wilyim concedes as though it were something to be ashamed of. He averts his eyes to also peer along the long rows of labels, "I've been assisting the Weyr's smiths, and so far they've only had me run errands and fetch things, just busywork really. It's not like I couldn't have been assisting at the forge or in crafting from the start, but apparently not going to the crafthall means there's just no way I could know it well enough..." Wilyim slowly trails off, looking abashed, quickly adding, "Not that you need to hear my rambling. I just need a leather apron and better leather gloves so as to not melt my skin off, or whatever the forge would do to it. Apparently not something that is left in the piles of normal day-to-day clothing." Azaylia's smile grows just slightly, "Ah. Welcome to the Weyr, then." The weyrling falls quiet, patiently listening with a hint of genuine interest. She offers gently, "The Crafthalls do teach a lot." Spoken from experience, but not attempting to argue. The mug is brought to her lips for a quiet cooling before she braves a sip of the bronze liquid. "It's alright." The young woman is already turning, "It's funny, I'm... looking for gloves of my own. Maybe the heavy duty kind will be nearby?" A step or two forward, turn to see if he's following before she minds her manners even more so. "Oh, I'm Azaylia." Looking to lead him further into the stores. Wilyim offers a half-smile, though it could just as easily be taken as being wry, "Thanks. That was the first welcome offered here." He gives a small shrug in regrds to the crafthall comment and offers his own greeting as he begins to follow the young woman, "Wilyim. And hopefully you have more luck finding things in this warren than I did." After a pause and a few more steps, he adds politely, "So what do you do around here?" There's a glance for him over her shoulder, obviously surprised at being the first to welcome him. "W-well," It's pleasant at least. "If you need help, you know, getting around..." Azaylia trails off just as she watches where she's going, seeming somewhat familiar with this particular path. "Here are the knitted gloves... Or maybe it's under l for leather." Words are even softer than before, pausing in her steps to rummage around with one hand. Her answer is distracted and comes out with little hesitation because of it. "Uhm, take care of Hraedhyth, mostly. I'm a weyrling here." "I've been pretty lucky so far finding my way around, but then again I usually wander aimlessly rather than ask." Wilyim admits the last part with a light chuckle. He turns his gaze to the gloves around where the weyrling is pointing, not immediately seeing what he is looking for, but breaking into a real smile anyhow, "Oh this looks like it'll be around here. I much prefer looking around a small area for them rather than an area the size of an entire cotholds main hall." With the answer to his final question, he takes a step back from the wall of items and looks over at the young woman, "Oh, um, sorry. I didn't mean to take you away from you duties. I never know who's what around this place." "Or maybe... S for smiths?" Azaylia slowly pulls herself from the container she's buried an arm into, the other doing it's best to keep steady. Don't want to spill her tea. Wilyim's apology has her blinking at rapidly, a soft giggle escaping her before she can stop it. "No, no. You're not... she's asleep." The weyrling explains, leaving the row of items and heading further in. "I think the Smiths might have their own area." To explain her sudden change of direction. "Uhm, I wouldn't be down here if she wasn't. Sleeping, I mean." Steps halt now and again, subconciously checking to see if he's following between sips from her mug. "S-so, you're from the Hold?" Wilyim still looks a little uncomfortable with the situation, but still puts on a grin for the situation through some level of force of will. He falls into step behind her, having given up on finding the items on his own, the young woman seeming to want to find them anyway. "I'm from A hold. If you could even call it that. I don't really know how I'm supposed to act with people around here, so please forgive me if I do or say something foolish." If Azaylia catches on to his discomfort she doesn't comment on it. Instead she squints at a label and turns, "I think we're close." Another murmur that's not quite meant for Wilyim. Her steps slow as the weyrling begins to take her time in peeking into boxes and dusting off a label with a free digit. "Which hold?" She asks, though a moment later she's turning around and looking at the lad with a sympathetic smile. "I remember how that feels. All I can say is, maybe... just act normal? F-for you. I don't mean for the weyr, there isn't really..." Eyes slide to the side, successfully distracting Azaylia from continuing her awkward train of thought. "Oh! Are these..?" She'll reach up, hooking a finger into a leather loop that hangs out of a box of similar, heavy material. "It doesn't even have a name, though it wasn't too far a walk from Tillek." Wilyim pauses a beat. "Well, a few days, but at least it's something. Staying there wouldv'e just meant helping build another small wing off the cothold, marrying a cousin and doing little more." He looks relieved at the change of fortune, then quickly adds, "Not that I'm expecting to come here and marry and be a big success, just something more, you know?" He gives a small smile back at the offered sympathetic one, "Ok, I'll try. Thanks for the advice." At the exclamation his eyes move over to the box she pointed out, "Oh, that looks promising!" Azaylia finds an empty place to set her mug as she reaches up and takes a firm hold of the box. "Sounds like where I'm from." There's only a trace of strain in her voice despite the combined weight of the leather garments. "Only in Keroon." A glance his way, smile growing ever so slightly. "And trust me, I know." It's gone in an instant, ducking her head and letting her hair fall to hide her face as she untangles a smith apron from the many others. "Oh good." Carried on an exhale of relief, "The gloves shouldn't be too far, right?" Even as she says this, she'll drop the leather back into the box and give him enough room to pick his own. "Does it?" Wilyim asks, incredulity coloring his tone. "I guess I never really think about it that there's nothing really different about those in the Weyr and out. I'm half disappointed and half relieved with how it's turned out here." He moves over to start digging through the box, a nod offered alongside a murmured 'thanks'. After a moments pause, he talks towards the box, "Sorry about my rambling, I tend to be a little forward, even when I probably shouldn't be." Moments pass and he pulls out an appropriate apron and lifts the box back to put it in its recently vacated hole. Azaylia's reassurance is as soft as ever, "Uh hm." She drifts away, leaving him to sort through as she tries to find those elusive leather gloves. "One of my friends, another weyrling... she's from Crom, even." The young woman is reminded of her mug as she turns and finds it eye-level, slipping her fingers into the handle and warming her palm. The weyrling glances down at him, head tilting ever so slightly, "Forward is good." She tries, sounding unsure of it herself. "I-I mean, you haven't offended me. And I wouldn't call it rambling, really." A hand lifts as Wilyim replaces the box, letting it drop when it's obvious he doesn't need help. Careful steps have her walking along the aisle, reading each label carefully. Hm. "Ha." Wilyim barks a short laugh. "You don't sound too sure about that, and I am pretty certain most people would prefer if I just shut up." He starts to follow the weyrling, trusting her judgement on finding the gloves, the apron thrown over his arm haphazardly. "Either way, I hope the smiths here decide to actually trust my experience, even if I learned it from my Father and not the crafthall. They'll have to put up with the talking either way." "Ah..." Azaylia doesn't argue with him, quiet yet thoughtful as they continue their quest. The mug is lifted to her lips, surprised to find only drops remaining. It leaves her nothing to be used as an excuse for hushing rather than making anything worse. "You can't know that..?" A quick glance towards Wilyim, "And I'm sure they'll give you a chance when they think you're ready. Right?" Empty mug is placed aside once again as a heavy box is yanked forward, peeked inside, and pushed back into place. Nope. "Oh!" The lighter container is pulled completely off the shelf, lifted lid revealing jumbled pairs of gloves inside. "I'm doing it again." Wilyim states flatly. "Now I'm rambling about rambling. I swear it that I'm usually much more pleasant to be around." Apparently the weyrling is much more competant than himself as the box pulled from above is the correct one. Wilyim leans over and fishes out a few pairs of gloves and smiling as the second pair fits well enough. He turns back to look at Azaylia with a grin, "Either way you've been a great help and put up with me rather well, so I have to thank you for that. I should probably be going back to the smiths or they'll start rejoicing that I ran away." Whether it's Wilyim's notion, or the flat way in which he explains it, Azaylia has to stifle a soft laugh. There's no witty smoothing of his self-perceived demeanor, only offering a quiet, "You're fine." His grin coaxes her polite smile just a touch wider. "Welcome." Stooping down to lid and gather the box up in her fur-sleeved arms, the weyrling gives a start. "Ohmy. Hraedhyth's up." She sounds a touch panicked about that, all but shoving things in place before long legs have her dashing out. "Oh- bye!" She won't stop to bid her farewell, letting the cavern walls bounce and carry it back to the lad. |
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