[Maitrey] Budding artists.
RL Date: 10/7/09
IC Date: 12/16/20
Nursery, Fort Weyr
The nursery is located opposite the residents' dorms and is tucked behind a wooden door, simultaneously keeping it accessible for parents who wish to visit their children and also keeping the resulting noise somewhat isolated. The interior has been smoothed, with irregular stone shelves staggered at various heights to make things easy to reach for both children and adults. There are two adjacent chambers, one containing cribs for the youngest children and another with beds for the children that are too old for cribs and not old enough to be moved out to the residents' dorms.
Throughout the main chamber are tapestries and rugs to keep the chill out -- and also to educate, with all of them depicting scenes from familiar Harpers' tales. Toys are kept on shelves and in baskets; everything from dolls to stuffed animals to wooden blocks can be found. It's generally quite busy in here, particularly in bad weather, when the children can't be taken out to play.
It's that fun kinda chaos in the room-- kids with paints (danger!), kids making macaroni pictures, kids with pots of paste (which the littler ones have been happy to sample), kids all over the damn place. Doing all right for all his profession to dislike loud busy-ness, Maitrey's leaning on his palm on the edge of a table where a blue-fingered little boy is busy explaining to him that clouds /are/ blue, in very serious tones. Luckily for the candidates assigned to this chaos, the nannies are also roaming around to keep things from erupting into a total catastrophe of screaming-painting-macaroni-paste children.
Into the cheery chaos strides ... the Weyrleader?? T'rev's got a cute-as-a-button little kid perched on his hip, dressed in very obviously trader garb: bright colors and patterns and all, with a shirt that's red and orange and gold and pants in multiple shades of blue and green and flexible brown hide booties lined with fleece. The girl's hair is a wild halo of dark-to-light, tawny curls and her eyes are the kind of blue you don't forget soon, perched in a round little face the color of klah with just a titch of cream in it. She's got an arm wound fondly around T'rev's neck and starts to wriggle the minute she spots paint. "Papa. Paint!" she says excitedly and points in that direction a little peremptorily. Clearly, this is the Weyrleader's trader daughter come to visit.
Kids with paints are less dangerous than kids with paste and macaroni's. Atreyan is sporting a full mustache of them, glued onto his face by a quartet of little girls-- the oldest must be, at the uppermost echelon of age, seven. They all squeal when he makes an 'angry face' with his macaroni mustache... but they all seem amused and not terribly destructive, at least. When they start giving him a beard, this time of the little round macaroni shells, his eyes come up, near-helpless, to try to find someone. Help? Oh. "Good morning, sir," Trey comments through the little hands, to T'rev. He'd salute, but he's crouched with children swarming him.
The Weyrleader?? Indeed. Glancing up, his fingers curling tidily around the chubby finger of the blue-cloud-kid who wants to "paint like for reals," Maitrey's question-- what are you doing in here?-- is written all over his face. Atreyan pulls off the greeting before he needs to, and the little girl that comes tandem with T'rev seems to clarify the unasked question and smooths out the one-harper's expression, though curiosity lingers. The sudden clamor of "look what I'm making, T'rev!!" from all the starry-eyed children old enough to recognize the Weyrleader for who he is and immediately seek praise drown out his sidelong remark to his fellow nanny-for-a-day. "It's a good look for you," with an indicative rub of his finger over his upper lip.
Vanissa steps into this happy pandemonium just a few moments behind the Weyrleader with two aunties in tow, one supported on either arm. She shoulders that door open, bracing it with a foot to keep it open for them as they move with her into the room. Eyes bright with delight, she's watching the back of the pair, lips parted to call a greeting, but first to a few empty rockers to get her charges settled. "I'll get you each a youngun to cuddle and a book to read to them, shall I? Hang on." The aunties chuckle and nod, eyes upon the activity, simply reveling in the energy and (to them) cherubic young faces swarming the place. Duty first, Nissa is on her way to the bookshelves, passing T'rev on her way there. "Heya T'rev. Is Serina here for a visit then?." A smile for the tot in his arms, "Cedri-sweet." For the moment, she hasn't caught sight of her fellow candidates, having trailed her brother down the corridor, her intent catching up with him.
Catching Maitrey's look, T'rev gives Cedri a little tilt of his head by way of explanation. "Heya, Atreyan. Lookin' good there," the Weyrleader compliments the macaroni 'stache and moves forward a pace or two to set Cedri down only to get dive-bombed by kids. "Whoa there, whoa there, turns, y'all, turns!" he claims laughingly and straightens once more, waiting until there's a little bit of calm to set his daughter down in. "This here's Cedri, she'll be stayin' here for a little while." Ignoring the rush of other kids, Cedri just marches right up to Maitrey + paints and points a chubby finger at the red. "Paint!" she declares and gives the harper a look that's going to be /killer/ in about fifteen turns. Over his shoulder. "Hey Niss, nope, just Cedri. She's old enough to come spend a seven or two every now and then." Then it's hunkering down to look over the kids' offerings and making appropriately enthusiastic noises about their handiwork.
"Yeah. Whatever," Atreyan states to Maitrey, though his tone is amused rather than offended. Perhaps once 'obvious' issues are beginning to die down. "Guess they saddled Nissa with the aunties again. Half-marks says your butt gets pinched before mine," also aside to Maitrey before Atreyan is stilling at a protest from one of the children currently macaroni-ing his face. He grins, perhaps belatedly, up to T'rev as he passes. "No, you can't do my eyebrows," he then staunchly defends himself against they who would put macaroni over his entire face.
Maitrey's been dealing with them long enough by now to be able to talk to kids without talking down to them, and he answers Cedri with a truthful, "Yes!" It is paint. "Have a seat, we'll make a picture," he suggests promptly, patting the top of an empty patch of bench big enough to accommodate one little girl, the follow-through gesture to clear away the nearest pots to the middle of the table (hopefully out of reach of grabby hands), then to excavate some clean, rough hide to serve as place-mat/canvas. "Come be a model for us," is cast back over his shoulder toward macaroni-face over there.
Aunts simply cannot compete with red paints, Vanissa knows this. It's with a chuckle she watches her niece head off without so much as a hello to her in favor of Maitrey and his paints to make her wishes known. Bookshelves are the candidate's target and she's fingering the titles, selecting two. Over her shoulder to T'rev, "No? But great that Cedri can visit now." Her grin for her brother's good fortune widens as she catches sight of Atreyan. Books in hand, she wavers them at a few tiny wanderers, "Story?" It's only a matter of time before books and babes are settled comfortably in the rockers with the aunties and she can wander back to appropriately enjoy the artwork on Trey's face. "Dare ya to wear that to dinner." A glance is spared towards the painting table and that pile of pots, "Need some help Maitrey?"
That little chin sets and Cedri looks up at Maitrey like she's wise to that particular 'quip' but then she's just scooting her bottom up onto the bench and holds up her hands for her sleeves to be rolled up, which T'rev does promptly. Someone's well-trained at least? "Want to draw Mommy," is Cedri's immediate decision as T'rev looks at another kid's drawing. "That sure is one very yellow sun!" the Weyrleader drawls out, then shoots his daughter a brief look that's not quite concerned. Cedri looks up as Vanissa returns and gives her a sunny smile. "Ni. I paint!" she announces happily, fingers dipping into one of the pots Maitrey's let her have and is daubing circles onto the paper's surface with her thumb, little pink held artfully and daintily upward.
Macaroni-Face is more than happy to move over to where he can model his greatness for The Painters. "Come on, beauties, they want to paint us." Because, of course, who wouldn't want to paint four little tow-headed girls? They move to the appropriate position for Maitrey and his crew to have-- something. "Ma'am, do not dare me. Watch-- I'll probably not be able to get it off," ruefully stated to Nissa. "This paste seems frightfully permanent to be given to such." His gaze flickers once to T'rev, but Trey seems content to keep his embarassment as enclosed to as few people as he can.
Maitrey's former friend tells Vanissa gravely, "I'm painting clouds." See? Cedri's just been given his red paint, and he blinks at her a couple of times in childish confusion, as if he can't quite comprehend the idea that this little girl has come and usurped his paint. The look that follows from Maitrey himself is a quick grin at the blond. "I certainly won't say no, seeing as you've done a tremendous job distracting your charges." With all seeming seriousness, while he gets some more colors set up for Cedri-- blue and green and red mommy?-- "I'm told it's quite tasty, too. The paste."
"So I see," Vanissa answers Cedri as seriously as she can with Trey's noodles quivering over there whenever the young man opens his mouth. She kneels down beside her niece, lips twitching with restrained amusement to admire the little girl's efforts. "Why's mommy so red?" Her interest in the reasoning of a child genuine as she leans over to watch, a look dutifully given to those blue clouds, "Those are... pretty. Are they blue because they are full of rain?" Yes, she's setting herself up for a disdainful explanation, but that's half the fun. Keep them talking and maybe they won't be tasting the paints? "Can always steam them off in the springs after dinner, Trey."
Those circles get bigger and bigger and Cedri eyes these other paint pots then dips her forefinger in the blue and presumably draws a 'body' for 'mommy'. "Red /pretty/," is the toddler's explanation to her aunt as she masterfully daubs paint onto canvas. Hey, at least the kid really knows what she wants? T'rev looks across at Trey, brows lifting a little and nods agreement with his sister. "Enough hot water oughta help. That's not the permanent paste, is it, Maitrey?"
Atreyan doesn't look like he's suffering too much, though. The girls are currently fleshing out his 'beard', and he's just sitting there, trying not to smile. He can't help it, at one point, and one of the little girls taps his smartly on a shoulder. "Hold /still/," stated with the prim formality that only a very precocious youngster can pull off. Trey assumes a somber expression, and doesn't say anything... though it's amusing how his gaze sort of bugs out when T'rev mentions 'permanent paste'. Beseeching gaze turns to Nissa. Say it isn't so!
Maitrey intones in an aside to Vanissa, "They're blue because clouds are--" He doesn't get to the end before the little boy explaines, "Clouds are blue." Rain or not. Trusting auntie to tend to niece, he moves around to the other side of the table to catch an upended pot of paint, leaving a nice streak on the table that one budding artist slams his paper in immediately, making a lovely brownish smear (yes, gross). Like this is innocent and not at all meant to incite Atreyan's concern, he answers T'rev with a glance to the bug-eyed candidate; "Possibly. The nannies got it out of the cupboard. What does the container say?" Hopefully something like 'WARNING PERMANENT AS DEATH DO NOT USE ON FACE.'
"And so it mommy." Vanissa answers Cedri easily without missing a beat. It's hard not to watch the 'bearding' of Atreyan (if that's not the title of an epic adventure story, it ought to be), and so amused glances continue to flicker his way. That gaze of his is read, snickered at and answered, "Well, permanent or not, macaroni will soften in hot water, so all you're in danger of being stuck with is the glue?" She so comfortingly and helpfully points out before beaming and offering innocently, "I'll help you get it off later in the hot springs if ya want?" Risking the young artist's ire, she cheerfully, contradicts the clouds-are-blue pronouncement, "Well, I've seen 'em turn orange and pink and red... and sometimes black." Color. Oh, it's a happy thing.
It's entirely possible that T'rev is laughing about the macaroni face, then again it could be Niss' offer to help Atreyan with the glue. Either way, the Weyrleader's chin is tucked down to his chest and his shoulders shake suspiciously as he lifts a small child onto his knee and twirls the flower the boy cut out of paper to and fro. Cedri pauses, looks up at Nissa and very definitely says: "Yes." And then she switches to her middle finger for green to put 'pants' on her figures. The red paint has pretty much dried on her thumbs and the first finger of her right hand is now damply blue. Colorful. A helpful nanny pauses by and pats T'rev's shoulder sympatheticlly eyes Trey's beleaguered look. "Of course it's not permanent. Can you imagine kids with permanent paste??" Big eyes and then she's off darting to prevent the inhalation of said paste by a kid who's gotten her hands on one of the pots of said.
Atreyan keeps that rather paranoid expression for a considerably hilarious amount of time-- until the oh-so-helpful nanny clears up the potential problem. His sigh of relief is-- comic just doesn't cover it. "Would you, Nissa? I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to get all of it myself," ruefully state to his fellow candidate. He'd smile at her, but then he'd get his butt handed to him by a five turn old wielding clamshell macaroni's. Would not be good. "I think you all should take up painting," he seriously states to his quartet. They... don't necessarily agree right away.
"Blue," the boy repeats in all seriousness, peering at the other colors while Vanissa lists them. He reaches toward orange a little tentatively, like he's not quite willing to commit to adding more colors to his picture. Oh, if only Picasso had a cheerful blond around during his blue period. "After you finish your current project, of course," Maitrey says seriously to the girls with the glue, giving Atreyan a quick, friendly beam. "You don't want to leave your sculpture half-finished, do you?"
"Cedri, are you painting your daddy too?" Keep her busy longer... Vanissa's... just agreeing with Atreyan and Maitrey as she chirps to the girls, "Some folks have beards that grow on the front of their throats. I think you need some there." Her finger points to poor Trey's adam's apple. She tilts her head, considering the progress. "Y'all could paint his beard all pretty and rainbow-like. Macaroni-color is so plain, yeah?" She's in a helpful mood today, so the bearded candidate is winked to, "Sure thing, and I'll bet if you manage it right, they'll be a crowd of gals to help me pick those off." In other words, let her find him a table of giggle girls to enjoy the artwork clinging to his face.
Maybe pointedly, maybe not: "No," says Cedri and daubs more blue on to the mat/hide that Maitrey provided. "Grampa," Cedri declares blithely and looks up and over at her father, smiles so very sweetly. And then it's back to alternating between green and blue as Rodric's 'portrait' develops alongside Serina. T'rev? Is laughing again, hand pressed to forehead, lap free of childish encumberments once more.
Good thing Maitrey can't read minds, because Atreyan's totally thinking a foul, foul word in his direction at this point. OH WAIT. Vanissa? Yeah, what Trey's thinking about Vanissa right now... certainly wouldn't be suited for current company. All those children, you know. "She was just jok--" Trey gets half the sentence out his mouth and then there are four little girls /attacking/ him with paste, macaroni, and one with bright, bright pink paint. Oy... vey.
Grampa, says Cedri, and Maitrey immediately reaches for a second pot of blue paint, the first one likely to be running low being shared between the little girl and the Painter of Clouds. "You're going to need more blue for that. I remember what your grampa looks like." Stepping back, arms folded while the painters are relatively complacent in their current works, he lands not far from T'rev, watching Atreyan get attacked with no small amount of humor. "And people ask me how I can make painting my life's work." Like this-right-here is gratifying enough for the rest of his days.
Vanissa's hazel eyes flicker towards T'rev at that 'no' from Cedri, a slight twitch up of an eyebrow asks a silent and surprisingly serious question of her brother. Wordless communication is something they've practiced... Her eyes crinkle with mirth as the work continues on the living sculpture over there. "And they grow it there, and there, too." She's pointing to Atreyan's cheeks up in front of his ears and then his temples. She's kindhearted, really! See, she hasn't said a word about adding pink hair to match the beard. Yet. A giggle escapes her, "You're gettin' this all down on paper, right Maitrey?" So they can blackmail Atreyan with the drawing for the rest of his life.
There's a little shake of T'rev's head towards Vanissa at that silent question and he pushes back on his heels, straightens. "It's got it's own rewards," the Weyrleader says with a quiet chuckle and folds his arms across his chest, watching his daughter add highly inaccurate yellow hair to his father's head. The 'attack' on Atreyan sees his lips pressing together to suppress further humor. "You're a good sport, Atreyan," is what he tells the Gar-man though.
Atreyan just closes his eyes and attempts to imagine that he's somewhere else. It doesn't work, but at least it makes him feel better. Ignoring the other two, his eyes open JUST in time to prevent inventive little fingers from sticking paste on his eyelid. "No, no, honeys, you can't put anything on my eyes." He /is/ firm about /this/. "Thank you, sir," then wryly stated upwards towards T'rev. If he happens to give Maitrey a dark look, well-- he didn't mean it, right?
Maitrey's forefinger taps his temple briefly; "It's all up here, Nissa, I assure you. And it will absolutely be immortalized at some point." In caricature, as likely. "Eye/brows/, though," he contributes to the girls helpfully, running that raised index finger over his own to indicate them with little, macaroni-shaped arcs. "Rewarding is exactly the word I would use, sir."
Oh, absolutely not, because glue in the eyes would mean Vanissa would have to FEED poor Atreyan his dinner, lead him to the hot springs and... well. She darts her brother a look of concern at that headshake of his, but says nothing, instead watching Cedri for a moment before murmuring, "Vani ought to come see her." Her mouth opens to say something smart to Maitrey, but her comment is interrupted by two tots with books in hand and she rises, leads them back to the shelves to choose replacements. They must then be helped back onto frail laps over there on the rockers.
"Oh, ow, no, no, leave the eyebrows alone," T'rev intervenes this time. "That'd hurt somethin' fierce comin' out," is his reasoning while Cedri continues to flesh out her oeuvre. A moment later, she sing-songs a bright: "Do-one. Mo-ore!" And her blue-eyed gaze turns to Maitrey and her father expectantly. Well? THe Weyrleader smiles at his daughter, steps over to run a fond hand through her hair. "Mama'll be right proud," he tells her, looking down at the highly abstract and colorful figures. "Um -- is this the fresh stuff right here?" he asks Maitrey with a look over his shoulder.
For anyone who wasn't aware, T'rev is now /officially/ Trey's savior. Oh yeah, there's some serious bro love from Trey for T'rev right now. See? He's grateful. The expression is almost pitiful, given the fact that his 'beard' is now bright pink, intersected by a blue 'goatee', while some paint has dribbled down his neck and onto his clothes, a deep hunter green hue. He's going to look like a rainbow by the time this is over with. The plus side of the paint is that the paste doesn't stick as well when little fingers are covered by it; "Are we done yet?" Plaintively asked by the human sculpture here.
Maitrey, to hurt-somethin'-fierce, "Only for a second. One quick yank, sir..." He pantomimes the gesture, a quick rip right off the forehead and then feigned interest in the invisible, hairy macaroni that he'd have in his hands at that point, lifting his eyes from there to Atreyan with a questioning blink. No? "Ah, remarkable," he praises for Cedri's work, his hands clapped together while he approaches to help liberate her of the present page. "We'll just put this away to dry. What will you paint now?" Next to her, with the blond moved off, the kid chimes, "I'm drawing her." Vanissa, that is. "You can, too!"
Vanissa remains over there by the rockers while the stories are read, likely for the best with all the 'help' she's been with the macaroni gluing work going on over there. She smirks over at Atreyan's question, her head shaking with feigned sympathy, "Last week, they completely covered one of the others." So, run while you still can? There's a restless stirring beside her, aunties mumbling something to Nissa, "Oh, sure, yeah I'll walk ya down there." The children are lifted down, sent with the books to return them to the shelves while she offers an arm to first one, then the other elderly lady in an assist to rise. They're off towards the door then, slowly navigating strewn toys and crawling bodies.
Maitrey gets a disbelieving look. "Yeah. Ow. Even for a second," is T'rev's take, hand resting lightly at Cedri's back. She sticks out her lower lip a little, considers her aunt, looks back up at Maitrey. "Papa," she says and turns her head to bump into T'rev's shoulder lightly. The Weyrleader bends, drops a kiss to the top of her head and lifts a hand as Nissa leaves. "Catch you later," he tells her mildly, but there's a little look to go with it.
"Okay, children mine," Atreyan announces. "You got me into this, you can come pull this stuff off." /THAT/ sounds like /terrible/ fun to the quartet of little blonde demons, who all scream and bounce up and down and scramble to put up macaroni, glue, and paint. Trey doesn't drip paint -- at least not anywhere but on his shirt (thank Faranth he had the good sense to wear his old scroungy clothes) -- as he waits. "Ready?" he asks them, before glancing upwards to smile, as much as his beard allows him to without pinching skin, at Maitrey and T'rev. Mostly at T'rev. Because Maitrey doesn't deserve a smile. "I suppose I shall see you two around. Maitrey," he states, briskly; "Sir," added to T'rev with a little duck of his head that may pass as a semi-salute.
Maitrey doesn't deserve a smile. It is pretty much true. But he flashes one to Atreyan anyway, a hand lifted to send the bearded candidate on his way; if it's not quite as honest a smile as the one that sent Vanissa out-- well, he's not quite as pretty, is he? "I'm sure you can paint your papa if you want," he says pragmatically down at Cedri afterward, reaching over the tops of a few industriously bent heads for a pot of orange paint. If Rodric is all blue, then T'rev is all orange?
"Good luck, Atreyan," T'rev offers over as the macaroni'd and painted one heads off. He does an admirable job of not laughing to his face too. Cedri looks up at Maitrey a little surprised as he hands her the orange, but then she's takeing the red and the orange and making an odd flower shape that's not quite person-like with the two combined. "Papa likes that," she says about her handiwork and T'rev well ... what parent /wouldn't/ get a touched look for that? "Yeah, Papa's favorite," he says and takes a breath, lets it out, steps back. "Need to talk to the head nanny, going to be dropping her off every day for the next little while," he explains to Maitrey.
Atreyan exits, with little girls in tow. The screaming one can hear from down the hall, in just a minute... probably him.
Grave; "That's because your papa's smart. They're good colors." And the little boy painting Vanissa, hearing this, decides she needs to be more red-and-orange instead of just yellow, too, though the pink dash that's supposed to be lips really rebel against the new colors. T'rev's comment about the head nanny has Maitrey looking around, like he might find the woman himself-- only, with Atreyan bailing out, he's kind of on his own to start cleaning up this disaster. "Well, lucky us," he answers cheerfully for Cedri's continued presence. "Now if only I wasn't looking forward to scrubbing socks and cleaning hearths for said 'little while...'" Light, yes, but pointed, let's not forget.
"Yes," Cedri agrees with a bobbing up and down of her head as she reaches for the brown and adds two blobs of it into the orange. Then she sits up a bit and huffs out a long breath. "Papa." She says decisively and beams widely. "Want help with all this?" T'rev offers, spotting that look. "Not on a time limit today," he explains. "Was just comin' down to get her settled in and all, meet folks. We're starting with this week then she's probably going to come for a seven at least every other month." He reaches over, claps Maitrey on the shoulder sympathetically. "It'll be over before you know it and then it's either movin' on to a new life or goin' back to how it was."
"It looks exactly like him." So convinced. Maitrey doesn't even give it away when he looks from brownish-reddish-orange blob to T'rev, nodding once more firmly. The offered help is waved aside with one hand, most of the kids either losing interest and filtering off toward other pursuits or being collected by nannies, parents, aunties, whoever it is that comes to collect kids in the lower caverns. "They're my elements, sir, and I'm quite all right among them," he assures, reaching for corks to put into paint-pots. "First time away from mother for her?"
You have a new message from Genefra in folder 'main'.
One of those nannies collects Cedri in fact with a quick look over towards T'rev. "Shall I help her get her hands clean, sir?" A nod conveys assent and Cedri looks up at the young woman for just a moment, back at her father then toddles off chattering about paint and aren't her fingers pretty like this? All in the choppy-sentence way of a not-quite-two-year-old. The Weyrleader just smiles and walks around collecting some of the further scattered pots, peers under that one piece of hide that smeared paint earlier and winces at the mess. "Yeah. She's visited before for really short times, but never long like this before. We've talked it over though and Serina'd like her to have an idea of Weyr life. My life. And I'd like to see Cedri more often, so, this is what we've come up with." Breath blown out, pause. "Dunno if it'll work like we hope, but we'll see."
Watching Cedri go in between the collection of pots, stowing them off in a /lockable/ cupboard along one edge of the room, Maitrey commits, "I used to visit my parents for a few weeks once or twice a Turn. It was always... an adventure, even once it had gotten to be routine." From the child to the parent, he sends what's meant to be a reassuring smile. "I don't seem to have suffered greatly for it too much, and she seems to be okay with the change of scenery without falling apart."
"Yeah, so far so good. I think she's actually more miffed about my father leaving the caravan than she is about this, to be honest," T'rev tells Maitrey as he juggles pots together, passes them over for putting away. "It's just kind of new, this whole thing. Passing her back and forth."
"At least she'll be introduced to Weyr life nice and young? Rather than..." Maitrey trails off, the indication of himself, the flick of his fingers to indicate the two candidates that left before him, the vague implication of the whole barracks full of silly kids rattling around unfamiliarly. Pot, shelf, pot, shelf, easy routine while he crouches down to tuck them onto the shelves.
"Yeah, that's part of the idea, so that she always knows both of the places she's from. Well okay, all of 'em, including the waystation too," T'rev adds on, then tracks back to the table to clean up some of the other paraphernalia there. One of the nursery staff is already dealing with the paint on the table though with a rag and a hot bucket of water and T'rev makes sure to thank her sincerely with a hand to her arm, before rejoining Maitrey.
"That," Maitrey begins, brows lifting to an impressed angle, "might be a little overwhelming, later in life. The caravan, the Weyr, and the waystation." And here he struggles with "harper hall." Tsking, closing up the paint cupboard with a knock of his knuckles on the latched doors to indicate the nannies can come lock it up, he leans a moment against the finished product to eye the gradually cleaned tables. "At least she's too young to pick up on much besides it being a new place."
"Yeah, visits to the station aren't often. You know, turnover, birthdays. Mostly it's just caravan and Weyr, and home's Serina's wagon," T'rev explains how it's supposedly going to work. "She's a smart, tough little kid," the proud papa goes on with.
The detritus of little artists still left here and there, most of them put aside to dry before they go home to grace mantel pieces, with Maitrey looking over them while he entertains a small, subdued smile. "I'm sure she is, sir," is said with no indication that he doubts it, but certainly some implication that he's heard those words before. At least one (thousand) times. "Interesting arrangement, though."
"I just hope it works out," T'rev says lowly and sincerely, a thread of his own doubt in his voice as he watches his newly scrubbed clean daughter come back out of the water room. She promptly toddles over to join some other toddlers to play with blocks, very engaged. "Long story there," T'rev says simply. "Serina's very much -- well she's very independent."
Watching the child in an absent way, Maitrey answers, "A desirable trait to pass along in a daughter. At least, one that will be raised in a Weyr. And a caravan. And a waystation." He keeps the humor out of his voice, to his credit. --And the credit of seven years' training. "I look forward to seeing her flourish, sir. At least as often as I draw child care. For the moment..." He's picked up a little paint himself, which really isn't so abnormal for him as to send him tearing off the way it did Atreyan. "I had better get cleaned up in time to get dinner before everyone else realizes they want it."
"Yeah. Strength of character n' all," T'rev agrees and smiles over at the artist. "Yeah. Need to head out myself. Just going to go make sure she's settled, find that head nanny and get things seen to. Have a good dinner, Maitrey."
"Thank you. And thank you for the help, sir." He gives the cupboard a last, solid thumb with the heel of his boot before pushing away from the cupboard, rolling up his sleeves to investigate just how high up today's paint goes. "Only to the elbows..." Maitrey comments, pleased with himself.
IC Date: 12/16/20
Nursery, Fort Weyr
The nursery is located opposite the residents' dorms and is tucked behind a wooden door, simultaneously keeping it accessible for parents who wish to visit their children and also keeping the resulting noise somewhat isolated. The interior has been smoothed, with irregular stone shelves staggered at various heights to make things easy to reach for both children and adults. There are two adjacent chambers, one containing cribs for the youngest children and another with beds for the children that are too old for cribs and not old enough to be moved out to the residents' dorms.
Throughout the main chamber are tapestries and rugs to keep the chill out -- and also to educate, with all of them depicting scenes from familiar Harpers' tales. Toys are kept on shelves and in baskets; everything from dolls to stuffed animals to wooden blocks can be found. It's generally quite busy in here, particularly in bad weather, when the children can't be taken out to play.
It's that fun kinda chaos in the room-- kids with paints (danger!), kids making macaroni pictures, kids with pots of paste (which the littler ones have been happy to sample), kids all over the damn place. Doing all right for all his profession to dislike loud busy-ness, Maitrey's leaning on his palm on the edge of a table where a blue-fingered little boy is busy explaining to him that clouds /are/ blue, in very serious tones. Luckily for the candidates assigned to this chaos, the nannies are also roaming around to keep things from erupting into a total catastrophe of screaming-painting-macaroni-paste children.
Into the cheery chaos strides ... the Weyrleader?? T'rev's got a cute-as-a-button little kid perched on his hip, dressed in very obviously trader garb: bright colors and patterns and all, with a shirt that's red and orange and gold and pants in multiple shades of blue and green and flexible brown hide booties lined with fleece. The girl's hair is a wild halo of dark-to-light, tawny curls and her eyes are the kind of blue you don't forget soon, perched in a round little face the color of klah with just a titch of cream in it. She's got an arm wound fondly around T'rev's neck and starts to wriggle the minute she spots paint. "Papa. Paint!" she says excitedly and points in that direction a little peremptorily. Clearly, this is the Weyrleader's trader daughter come to visit.
Kids with paints are less dangerous than kids with paste and macaroni's. Atreyan is sporting a full mustache of them, glued onto his face by a quartet of little girls-- the oldest must be, at the uppermost echelon of age, seven. They all squeal when he makes an 'angry face' with his macaroni mustache... but they all seem amused and not terribly destructive, at least. When they start giving him a beard, this time of the little round macaroni shells, his eyes come up, near-helpless, to try to find someone. Help? Oh. "Good morning, sir," Trey comments through the little hands, to T'rev. He'd salute, but he's crouched with children swarming him.
The Weyrleader?? Indeed. Glancing up, his fingers curling tidily around the chubby finger of the blue-cloud-kid who wants to "paint like for reals," Maitrey's question-- what are you doing in here?-- is written all over his face. Atreyan pulls off the greeting before he needs to, and the little girl that comes tandem with T'rev seems to clarify the unasked question and smooths out the one-harper's expression, though curiosity lingers. The sudden clamor of "look what I'm making, T'rev!!" from all the starry-eyed children old enough to recognize the Weyrleader for who he is and immediately seek praise drown out his sidelong remark to his fellow nanny-for-a-day. "It's a good look for you," with an indicative rub of his finger over his upper lip.
Vanissa steps into this happy pandemonium just a few moments behind the Weyrleader with two aunties in tow, one supported on either arm. She shoulders that door open, bracing it with a foot to keep it open for them as they move with her into the room. Eyes bright with delight, she's watching the back of the pair, lips parted to call a greeting, but first to a few empty rockers to get her charges settled. "I'll get you each a youngun to cuddle and a book to read to them, shall I? Hang on." The aunties chuckle and nod, eyes upon the activity, simply reveling in the energy and (to them) cherubic young faces swarming the place. Duty first, Nissa is on her way to the bookshelves, passing T'rev on her way there. "Heya T'rev. Is Serina here for a visit then?." A smile for the tot in his arms, "Cedri-sweet." For the moment, she hasn't caught sight of her fellow candidates, having trailed her brother down the corridor, her intent catching up with him.
Catching Maitrey's look, T'rev gives Cedri a little tilt of his head by way of explanation. "Heya, Atreyan. Lookin' good there," the Weyrleader compliments the macaroni 'stache and moves forward a pace or two to set Cedri down only to get dive-bombed by kids. "Whoa there, whoa there, turns, y'all, turns!" he claims laughingly and straightens once more, waiting until there's a little bit of calm to set his daughter down in. "This here's Cedri, she'll be stayin' here for a little while." Ignoring the rush of other kids, Cedri just marches right up to Maitrey + paints and points a chubby finger at the red. "Paint!" she declares and gives the harper a look that's going to be /killer/ in about fifteen turns. Over his shoulder. "Hey Niss, nope, just Cedri. She's old enough to come spend a seven or two every now and then." Then it's hunkering down to look over the kids' offerings and making appropriately enthusiastic noises about their handiwork.
"Yeah. Whatever," Atreyan states to Maitrey, though his tone is amused rather than offended. Perhaps once 'obvious' issues are beginning to die down. "Guess they saddled Nissa with the aunties again. Half-marks says your butt gets pinched before mine," also aside to Maitrey before Atreyan is stilling at a protest from one of the children currently macaroni-ing his face. He grins, perhaps belatedly, up to T'rev as he passes. "No, you can't do my eyebrows," he then staunchly defends himself against they who would put macaroni over his entire face.
Maitrey's been dealing with them long enough by now to be able to talk to kids without talking down to them, and he answers Cedri with a truthful, "Yes!" It is paint. "Have a seat, we'll make a picture," he suggests promptly, patting the top of an empty patch of bench big enough to accommodate one little girl, the follow-through gesture to clear away the nearest pots to the middle of the table (hopefully out of reach of grabby hands), then to excavate some clean, rough hide to serve as place-mat/canvas. "Come be a model for us," is cast back over his shoulder toward macaroni-face over there.
Aunts simply cannot compete with red paints, Vanissa knows this. It's with a chuckle she watches her niece head off without so much as a hello to her in favor of Maitrey and his paints to make her wishes known. Bookshelves are the candidate's target and she's fingering the titles, selecting two. Over her shoulder to T'rev, "No? But great that Cedri can visit now." Her grin for her brother's good fortune widens as she catches sight of Atreyan. Books in hand, she wavers them at a few tiny wanderers, "Story?" It's only a matter of time before books and babes are settled comfortably in the rockers with the aunties and she can wander back to appropriately enjoy the artwork on Trey's face. "Dare ya to wear that to dinner." A glance is spared towards the painting table and that pile of pots, "Need some help Maitrey?"
That little chin sets and Cedri looks up at Maitrey like she's wise to that particular 'quip' but then she's just scooting her bottom up onto the bench and holds up her hands for her sleeves to be rolled up, which T'rev does promptly. Someone's well-trained at least? "Want to draw Mommy," is Cedri's immediate decision as T'rev looks at another kid's drawing. "That sure is one very yellow sun!" the Weyrleader drawls out, then shoots his daughter a brief look that's not quite concerned. Cedri looks up as Vanissa returns and gives her a sunny smile. "Ni. I paint!" she announces happily, fingers dipping into one of the pots Maitrey's let her have and is daubing circles onto the paper's surface with her thumb, little pink held artfully and daintily upward.
Macaroni-Face is more than happy to move over to where he can model his greatness for The Painters. "Come on, beauties, they want to paint us." Because, of course, who wouldn't want to paint four little tow-headed girls? They move to the appropriate position for Maitrey and his crew to have-- something. "Ma'am, do not dare me. Watch-- I'll probably not be able to get it off," ruefully stated to Nissa. "This paste seems frightfully permanent to be given to such." His gaze flickers once to T'rev, but Trey seems content to keep his embarassment as enclosed to as few people as he can.
Maitrey's former friend tells Vanissa gravely, "I'm painting clouds." See? Cedri's just been given his red paint, and he blinks at her a couple of times in childish confusion, as if he can't quite comprehend the idea that this little girl has come and usurped his paint. The look that follows from Maitrey himself is a quick grin at the blond. "I certainly won't say no, seeing as you've done a tremendous job distracting your charges." With all seeming seriousness, while he gets some more colors set up for Cedri-- blue and green and red mommy?-- "I'm told it's quite tasty, too. The paste."
"So I see," Vanissa answers Cedri as seriously as she can with Trey's noodles quivering over there whenever the young man opens his mouth. She kneels down beside her niece, lips twitching with restrained amusement to admire the little girl's efforts. "Why's mommy so red?" Her interest in the reasoning of a child genuine as she leans over to watch, a look dutifully given to those blue clouds, "Those are... pretty. Are they blue because they are full of rain?" Yes, she's setting herself up for a disdainful explanation, but that's half the fun. Keep them talking and maybe they won't be tasting the paints? "Can always steam them off in the springs after dinner, Trey."
Those circles get bigger and bigger and Cedri eyes these other paint pots then dips her forefinger in the blue and presumably draws a 'body' for 'mommy'. "Red /pretty/," is the toddler's explanation to her aunt as she masterfully daubs paint onto canvas. Hey, at least the kid really knows what she wants? T'rev looks across at Trey, brows lifting a little and nods agreement with his sister. "Enough hot water oughta help. That's not the permanent paste, is it, Maitrey?"
Atreyan doesn't look like he's suffering too much, though. The girls are currently fleshing out his 'beard', and he's just sitting there, trying not to smile. He can't help it, at one point, and one of the little girls taps his smartly on a shoulder. "Hold /still/," stated with the prim formality that only a very precocious youngster can pull off. Trey assumes a somber expression, and doesn't say anything... though it's amusing how his gaze sort of bugs out when T'rev mentions 'permanent paste'. Beseeching gaze turns to Nissa. Say it isn't so!
Maitrey intones in an aside to Vanissa, "They're blue because clouds are--" He doesn't get to the end before the little boy explaines, "Clouds are blue." Rain or not. Trusting auntie to tend to niece, he moves around to the other side of the table to catch an upended pot of paint, leaving a nice streak on the table that one budding artist slams his paper in immediately, making a lovely brownish smear (yes, gross). Like this is innocent and not at all meant to incite Atreyan's concern, he answers T'rev with a glance to the bug-eyed candidate; "Possibly. The nannies got it out of the cupboard. What does the container say?" Hopefully something like 'WARNING PERMANENT AS DEATH DO NOT USE ON FACE.'
"And so it mommy." Vanissa answers Cedri easily without missing a beat. It's hard not to watch the 'bearding' of Atreyan (if that's not the title of an epic adventure story, it ought to be), and so amused glances continue to flicker his way. That gaze of his is read, snickered at and answered, "Well, permanent or not, macaroni will soften in hot water, so all you're in danger of being stuck with is the glue?" She so comfortingly and helpfully points out before beaming and offering innocently, "I'll help you get it off later in the hot springs if ya want?" Risking the young artist's ire, she cheerfully, contradicts the clouds-are-blue pronouncement, "Well, I've seen 'em turn orange and pink and red... and sometimes black." Color. Oh, it's a happy thing.
It's entirely possible that T'rev is laughing about the macaroni face, then again it could be Niss' offer to help Atreyan with the glue. Either way, the Weyrleader's chin is tucked down to his chest and his shoulders shake suspiciously as he lifts a small child onto his knee and twirls the flower the boy cut out of paper to and fro. Cedri pauses, looks up at Nissa and very definitely says: "Yes." And then she switches to her middle finger for green to put 'pants' on her figures. The red paint has pretty much dried on her thumbs and the first finger of her right hand is now damply blue. Colorful. A helpful nanny pauses by and pats T'rev's shoulder sympatheticlly eyes Trey's beleaguered look. "Of course it's not permanent. Can you imagine kids with permanent paste??" Big eyes and then she's off darting to prevent the inhalation of said paste by a kid who's gotten her hands on one of the pots of said.
Atreyan keeps that rather paranoid expression for a considerably hilarious amount of time-- until the oh-so-helpful nanny clears up the potential problem. His sigh of relief is-- comic just doesn't cover it. "Would you, Nissa? I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to get all of it myself," ruefully state to his fellow candidate. He'd smile at her, but then he'd get his butt handed to him by a five turn old wielding clamshell macaroni's. Would not be good. "I think you all should take up painting," he seriously states to his quartet. They... don't necessarily agree right away.
"Blue," the boy repeats in all seriousness, peering at the other colors while Vanissa lists them. He reaches toward orange a little tentatively, like he's not quite willing to commit to adding more colors to his picture. Oh, if only Picasso had a cheerful blond around during his blue period. "After you finish your current project, of course," Maitrey says seriously to the girls with the glue, giving Atreyan a quick, friendly beam. "You don't want to leave your sculpture half-finished, do you?"
"Cedri, are you painting your daddy too?" Keep her busy longer... Vanissa's... just agreeing with Atreyan and Maitrey as she chirps to the girls, "Some folks have beards that grow on the front of their throats. I think you need some there." Her finger points to poor Trey's adam's apple. She tilts her head, considering the progress. "Y'all could paint his beard all pretty and rainbow-like. Macaroni-color is so plain, yeah?" She's in a helpful mood today, so the bearded candidate is winked to, "Sure thing, and I'll bet if you manage it right, they'll be a crowd of gals to help me pick those off." In other words, let her find him a table of giggle girls to enjoy the artwork clinging to his face.
Maybe pointedly, maybe not: "No," says Cedri and daubs more blue on to the mat/hide that Maitrey provided. "Grampa," Cedri declares blithely and looks up and over at her father, smiles so very sweetly. And then it's back to alternating between green and blue as Rodric's 'portrait' develops alongside Serina. T'rev? Is laughing again, hand pressed to forehead, lap free of childish encumberments once more.
Good thing Maitrey can't read minds, because Atreyan's totally thinking a foul, foul word in his direction at this point. OH WAIT. Vanissa? Yeah, what Trey's thinking about Vanissa right now... certainly wouldn't be suited for current company. All those children, you know. "She was just jok--" Trey gets half the sentence out his mouth and then there are four little girls /attacking/ him with paste, macaroni, and one with bright, bright pink paint. Oy... vey.
Grampa, says Cedri, and Maitrey immediately reaches for a second pot of blue paint, the first one likely to be running low being shared between the little girl and the Painter of Clouds. "You're going to need more blue for that. I remember what your grampa looks like." Stepping back, arms folded while the painters are relatively complacent in their current works, he lands not far from T'rev, watching Atreyan get attacked with no small amount of humor. "And people ask me how I can make painting my life's work." Like this-right-here is gratifying enough for the rest of his days.
Vanissa's hazel eyes flicker towards T'rev at that 'no' from Cedri, a slight twitch up of an eyebrow asks a silent and surprisingly serious question of her brother. Wordless communication is something they've practiced... Her eyes crinkle with mirth as the work continues on the living sculpture over there. "And they grow it there, and there, too." She's pointing to Atreyan's cheeks up in front of his ears and then his temples. She's kindhearted, really! See, she hasn't said a word about adding pink hair to match the beard. Yet. A giggle escapes her, "You're gettin' this all down on paper, right Maitrey?" So they can blackmail Atreyan with the drawing for the rest of his life.
There's a little shake of T'rev's head towards Vanissa at that silent question and he pushes back on his heels, straightens. "It's got it's own rewards," the Weyrleader says with a quiet chuckle and folds his arms across his chest, watching his daughter add highly inaccurate yellow hair to his father's head. The 'attack' on Atreyan sees his lips pressing together to suppress further humor. "You're a good sport, Atreyan," is what he tells the Gar-man though.
Atreyan just closes his eyes and attempts to imagine that he's somewhere else. It doesn't work, but at least it makes him feel better. Ignoring the other two, his eyes open JUST in time to prevent inventive little fingers from sticking paste on his eyelid. "No, no, honeys, you can't put anything on my eyes." He /is/ firm about /this/. "Thank you, sir," then wryly stated upwards towards T'rev. If he happens to give Maitrey a dark look, well-- he didn't mean it, right?
Maitrey's forefinger taps his temple briefly; "It's all up here, Nissa, I assure you. And it will absolutely be immortalized at some point." In caricature, as likely. "Eye/brows/, though," he contributes to the girls helpfully, running that raised index finger over his own to indicate them with little, macaroni-shaped arcs. "Rewarding is exactly the word I would use, sir."
Oh, absolutely not, because glue in the eyes would mean Vanissa would have to FEED poor Atreyan his dinner, lead him to the hot springs and... well. She darts her brother a look of concern at that headshake of his, but says nothing, instead watching Cedri for a moment before murmuring, "Vani ought to come see her." Her mouth opens to say something smart to Maitrey, but her comment is interrupted by two tots with books in hand and she rises, leads them back to the shelves to choose replacements. They must then be helped back onto frail laps over there on the rockers.
"Oh, ow, no, no, leave the eyebrows alone," T'rev intervenes this time. "That'd hurt somethin' fierce comin' out," is his reasoning while Cedri continues to flesh out her oeuvre. A moment later, she sing-songs a bright: "Do-one. Mo-ore!" And her blue-eyed gaze turns to Maitrey and her father expectantly. Well? THe Weyrleader smiles at his daughter, steps over to run a fond hand through her hair. "Mama'll be right proud," he tells her, looking down at the highly abstract and colorful figures. "Um -- is this the fresh stuff right here?" he asks Maitrey with a look over his shoulder.
For anyone who wasn't aware, T'rev is now /officially/ Trey's savior. Oh yeah, there's some serious bro love from Trey for T'rev right now. See? He's grateful. The expression is almost pitiful, given the fact that his 'beard' is now bright pink, intersected by a blue 'goatee', while some paint has dribbled down his neck and onto his clothes, a deep hunter green hue. He's going to look like a rainbow by the time this is over with. The plus side of the paint is that the paste doesn't stick as well when little fingers are covered by it; "Are we done yet?" Plaintively asked by the human sculpture here.
Maitrey, to hurt-somethin'-fierce, "Only for a second. One quick yank, sir..." He pantomimes the gesture, a quick rip right off the forehead and then feigned interest in the invisible, hairy macaroni that he'd have in his hands at that point, lifting his eyes from there to Atreyan with a questioning blink. No? "Ah, remarkable," he praises for Cedri's work, his hands clapped together while he approaches to help liberate her of the present page. "We'll just put this away to dry. What will you paint now?" Next to her, with the blond moved off, the kid chimes, "I'm drawing her." Vanissa, that is. "You can, too!"
Vanissa remains over there by the rockers while the stories are read, likely for the best with all the 'help' she's been with the macaroni gluing work going on over there. She smirks over at Atreyan's question, her head shaking with feigned sympathy, "Last week, they completely covered one of the others." So, run while you still can? There's a restless stirring beside her, aunties mumbling something to Nissa, "Oh, sure, yeah I'll walk ya down there." The children are lifted down, sent with the books to return them to the shelves while she offers an arm to first one, then the other elderly lady in an assist to rise. They're off towards the door then, slowly navigating strewn toys and crawling bodies.
Maitrey gets a disbelieving look. "Yeah. Ow. Even for a second," is T'rev's take, hand resting lightly at Cedri's back. She sticks out her lower lip a little, considers her aunt, looks back up at Maitrey. "Papa," she says and turns her head to bump into T'rev's shoulder lightly. The Weyrleader bends, drops a kiss to the top of her head and lifts a hand as Nissa leaves. "Catch you later," he tells her mildly, but there's a little look to go with it.
"Okay, children mine," Atreyan announces. "You got me into this, you can come pull this stuff off." /THAT/ sounds like /terrible/ fun to the quartet of little blonde demons, who all scream and bounce up and down and scramble to put up macaroni, glue, and paint. Trey doesn't drip paint -- at least not anywhere but on his shirt (thank Faranth he had the good sense to wear his old scroungy clothes) -- as he waits. "Ready?" he asks them, before glancing upwards to smile, as much as his beard allows him to without pinching skin, at Maitrey and T'rev. Mostly at T'rev. Because Maitrey doesn't deserve a smile. "I suppose I shall see you two around. Maitrey," he states, briskly; "Sir," added to T'rev with a little duck of his head that may pass as a semi-salute.
Maitrey doesn't deserve a smile. It is pretty much true. But he flashes one to Atreyan anyway, a hand lifted to send the bearded candidate on his way; if it's not quite as honest a smile as the one that sent Vanissa out-- well, he's not quite as pretty, is he? "I'm sure you can paint your papa if you want," he says pragmatically down at Cedri afterward, reaching over the tops of a few industriously bent heads for a pot of orange paint. If Rodric is all blue, then T'rev is all orange?
"Good luck, Atreyan," T'rev offers over as the macaroni'd and painted one heads off. He does an admirable job of not laughing to his face too. Cedri looks up at Maitrey a little surprised as he hands her the orange, but then she's takeing the red and the orange and making an odd flower shape that's not quite person-like with the two combined. "Papa likes that," she says about her handiwork and T'rev well ... what parent /wouldn't/ get a touched look for that? "Yeah, Papa's favorite," he says and takes a breath, lets it out, steps back. "Need to talk to the head nanny, going to be dropping her off every day for the next little while," he explains to Maitrey.
Atreyan exits, with little girls in tow. The screaming one can hear from down the hall, in just a minute... probably him.
Grave; "That's because your papa's smart. They're good colors." And the little boy painting Vanissa, hearing this, decides she needs to be more red-and-orange instead of just yellow, too, though the pink dash that's supposed to be lips really rebel against the new colors. T'rev's comment about the head nanny has Maitrey looking around, like he might find the woman himself-- only, with Atreyan bailing out, he's kind of on his own to start cleaning up this disaster. "Well, lucky us," he answers cheerfully for Cedri's continued presence. "Now if only I wasn't looking forward to scrubbing socks and cleaning hearths for said 'little while...'" Light, yes, but pointed, let's not forget.
"Yes," Cedri agrees with a bobbing up and down of her head as she reaches for the brown and adds two blobs of it into the orange. Then she sits up a bit and huffs out a long breath. "Papa." She says decisively and beams widely. "Want help with all this?" T'rev offers, spotting that look. "Not on a time limit today," he explains. "Was just comin' down to get her settled in and all, meet folks. We're starting with this week then she's probably going to come for a seven at least every other month." He reaches over, claps Maitrey on the shoulder sympathetically. "It'll be over before you know it and then it's either movin' on to a new life or goin' back to how it was."
"It looks exactly like him." So convinced. Maitrey doesn't even give it away when he looks from brownish-reddish-orange blob to T'rev, nodding once more firmly. The offered help is waved aside with one hand, most of the kids either losing interest and filtering off toward other pursuits or being collected by nannies, parents, aunties, whoever it is that comes to collect kids in the lower caverns. "They're my elements, sir, and I'm quite all right among them," he assures, reaching for corks to put into paint-pots. "First time away from mother for her?"
You have a new message from Genefra in folder 'main'.
One of those nannies collects Cedri in fact with a quick look over towards T'rev. "Shall I help her get her hands clean, sir?" A nod conveys assent and Cedri looks up at the young woman for just a moment, back at her father then toddles off chattering about paint and aren't her fingers pretty like this? All in the choppy-sentence way of a not-quite-two-year-old. The Weyrleader just smiles and walks around collecting some of the further scattered pots, peers under that one piece of hide that smeared paint earlier and winces at the mess. "Yeah. She's visited before for really short times, but never long like this before. We've talked it over though and Serina'd like her to have an idea of Weyr life. My life. And I'd like to see Cedri more often, so, this is what we've come up with." Breath blown out, pause. "Dunno if it'll work like we hope, but we'll see."
Watching Cedri go in between the collection of pots, stowing them off in a /lockable/ cupboard along one edge of the room, Maitrey commits, "I used to visit my parents for a few weeks once or twice a Turn. It was always... an adventure, even once it had gotten to be routine." From the child to the parent, he sends what's meant to be a reassuring smile. "I don't seem to have suffered greatly for it too much, and she seems to be okay with the change of scenery without falling apart."
"Yeah, so far so good. I think she's actually more miffed about my father leaving the caravan than she is about this, to be honest," T'rev tells Maitrey as he juggles pots together, passes them over for putting away. "It's just kind of new, this whole thing. Passing her back and forth."
"At least she'll be introduced to Weyr life nice and young? Rather than..." Maitrey trails off, the indication of himself, the flick of his fingers to indicate the two candidates that left before him, the vague implication of the whole barracks full of silly kids rattling around unfamiliarly. Pot, shelf, pot, shelf, easy routine while he crouches down to tuck them onto the shelves.
"Yeah, that's part of the idea, so that she always knows both of the places she's from. Well okay, all of 'em, including the waystation too," T'rev adds on, then tracks back to the table to clean up some of the other paraphernalia there. One of the nursery staff is already dealing with the paint on the table though with a rag and a hot bucket of water and T'rev makes sure to thank her sincerely with a hand to her arm, before rejoining Maitrey.
"That," Maitrey begins, brows lifting to an impressed angle, "might be a little overwhelming, later in life. The caravan, the Weyr, and the waystation." And here he struggles with "harper hall." Tsking, closing up the paint cupboard with a knock of his knuckles on the latched doors to indicate the nannies can come lock it up, he leans a moment against the finished product to eye the gradually cleaned tables. "At least she's too young to pick up on much besides it being a new place."
"Yeah, visits to the station aren't often. You know, turnover, birthdays. Mostly it's just caravan and Weyr, and home's Serina's wagon," T'rev explains how it's supposedly going to work. "She's a smart, tough little kid," the proud papa goes on with.
The detritus of little artists still left here and there, most of them put aside to dry before they go home to grace mantel pieces, with Maitrey looking over them while he entertains a small, subdued smile. "I'm sure she is, sir," is said with no indication that he doubts it, but certainly some implication that he's heard those words before. At least one (thousand) times. "Interesting arrangement, though."
"I just hope it works out," T'rev says lowly and sincerely, a thread of his own doubt in his voice as he watches his newly scrubbed clean daughter come back out of the water room. She promptly toddles over to join some other toddlers to play with blocks, very engaged. "Long story there," T'rev says simply. "Serina's very much -- well she's very independent."
Watching the child in an absent way, Maitrey answers, "A desirable trait to pass along in a daughter. At least, one that will be raised in a Weyr. And a caravan. And a waystation." He keeps the humor out of his voice, to his credit. --And the credit of seven years' training. "I look forward to seeing her flourish, sir. At least as often as I draw child care. For the moment..." He's picked up a little paint himself, which really isn't so abnormal for him as to send him tearing off the way it did Atreyan. "I had better get cleaned up in time to get dinner before everyone else realizes they want it."
"Yeah. Strength of character n' all," T'rev agrees and smiles over at the artist. "Yeah. Need to head out myself. Just going to go make sure she's settled, find that head nanny and get things seen to. Have a good dinner, Maitrey."
"Thank you. And thank you for the help, sir." He gives the cupboard a last, solid thumb with the heel of his boot before pushing away from the cupboard, rolling up his sleeves to investigate just how high up today's paint goes. "Only to the elbows..." Maitrey comments, pleased with himself.