[M'try] Chilled to the fingerless bone.
RL Date: 6/18/10
IC Date: 13/22/22 --Jacked this log from Vanissa. :)
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
Spacious but not as large as the living cavern, the commons serves as a communal gathering space for the Weyr's residents. Tables and chairs are arranged around the cavern, with some tall stools tucked up under a counter carved into the eastern wall. A motley collection of braided rugs in Fort colors overlap each other to cover the floor, while several large hangings blunt the chill of the stone walls. Niches carved up near the cavern's ceiling hold regularly spaced glows that are kept fresh weekly. The fire, perpetually lit in the hearth regardless of season, provides both warmth and additional light from behind the protective bulk of a large leather sofa and a pair of matching armchairs. Many residents settle here to work, study or socialize, at different times of the day, though it tends to be most active in the early evening.
The commons also serves as a hub to reach other parts of the Weyr: the nursery is located across from entrance to the resident's quarters and the corridor to the workrooms, with the lavatory situated between the two. The candidates' barracks and the classroom bracket the archway leading back out to the inner caverns.
A late breakfast accompanies M'try into the caverns, which are-- at this time of day-- largely abandoned aside from a couple of people trying to avoid the cold outside. Hunkered down in one of the deep armchairs, drawn close to the fire, the brownrider is scraping at a bowl of sticky-looking oatmeal with a piece of toast, trying to scrape a raisin out of the bottom of the bowl. His gear, warm-weather stuff, is all piled on the arm of the chair, and his omni-present portfolio leans against the leg of it near his ankles. It's not ambitious, but; hey, it's M'try. Ambition is for bigger guys.
Apparently R'lis is trying to look good for the new Weyrleader by having called early morning drills, which have just ended by the look of things as Obsidian straggles into the cavern, easy laughter echoes at some quip while others merely grumble at the unexpected schedule change. While some head for what is left of breakfast, others to warm up in the bathing caverns, a few stop right here and commandeer the klah, Nissa among them. Once she's got her gloves off and stuffed under one arm, fingers wrapped around a hot mug, she drops into chair opposite M'try to watch him eat that breakfast of champions. Her question, "They all out of spoons?" comes right before she sips.
M'try taps his breast pocket with his index finger, successfully leaving behind a little dot of toast-crumbs on his his light-jacket, evidently oblivious to it from there. "They gave me one," he answers promptly; indeed, the glimmer of silverware is just visible inside that pocket, and it has the lumpy shape of a spoon if really looked at closely. "I find, however, that I'm often up in my weyr of an evening, wishing desperately that I had a spoon, so I've decided to keep this one. You look rather chilled," he adds helpfully, failing to offer any relief for her, poor girl.
"Suppose usin' your fingers to stir tea ain't such a great idea," is Nissa's facetious response to that, giving a smirk to that glint of metal. The comment comes while she places her mug on the corner of a nearby table so she can shrug out of her jacket, peel her helmet off and dump them on the floor beside her chair. She's more than chilled, she's almost a Nissicle if her red-cheeked face is any indication, one finger reaches up to tap her nose and her bright observation is, "Yep, still can't feel it. Shardin' R'lis. Having us out there before dawn."
"Only if you need to use them afterward," M'try answers helpfully, looking down at his fingers for a second, at his toast, then across at Vanissa with a brief shrug. "I find I need mine, while I have a feeling the kitchen isn't likely to miss a single spoon." There's a pause, head canted while he finishes the oatmeal + toast, and he adds as an afterthought, "Although, knowing my luck, this single missing piece of flatware will start a manhunt." Oh well, says his sigh. "Trying to impress the new boss, your Wingleader?" A fact that he seems to find funny, in a darkly humorous way.
"Might be a challenge to draw fingerless, yeah," Nissa agrees to his need of them, her fingers meanwhile, busy fluffing tawny hair where it's been flattened to her head by her helmet. With a twinkle, "Could maybe make some interesting sort of art with stub-hands, I guess." But oh, you don't want to get her started on R'lis! Grimacing, she answers, "Apparently." And then reaches for her mug to scowl at the liquid within, which does her little good at warming up.
M'try, putting his bowl aside, curls his fingers tightly against his palms, making hard fists out of his hands for a time while he muses, "Truly, that is not an image I'm especially enjoying, Nissa." Stub hands. So he shakes his fingers, loosening them up, and allows himself the luxury of looking amused at her glower afterward. "I'm not sure your klah necessarily deserves to bear the burden of your over-zealous Wingleader, greenrider. Perhaps you should take up the matter with the man himself?" Not that he's advocating she go question her Wingleader but... yeah, kinda he is.
Hazel eyes lift from mug to M'try's hands and Nissa's expression changes from grimace to grin in nothing flat. Squelching her snickering, "Well, I guess you could make... clay sculptures or something. Finger-painting would be out, sadly." See how helpful she can be? Her klah, innocent after all, is forgiven and sipped but the suggestion from M'try has her mouthful swallowed like it has solidified and formed corners. It goes down hard. Dryly, "I'll pass."
With his brows lifted to a baiting, questioning height, M'try offers, "And render my particular brand of art in the three dimensions, you're suggesting?" Seeing as she did seem to take umbrage, he's understandably a touch surprised by the notion, though he doesn't linger over it for too long. "And I know this is a brave card for me to play, but where's the courage, Nissa? If you dislike your Wingleader's methods, perhaps you ought to speak out against them." There's way too much mirth in his eyes and tone for that to be a serious expression. But she's all talking about him losing his hands, so she deserves to be prodded back!
Perish the thought! Nissa refuses to be baited, merely snorting softly as she attempts that klah again. Her eyes are still dancing, so she's unruffled by the question. The second, however brings a faint look of disgust to her features, though it's directed mentally R'lis-ward wherever he's warming himself up. Her mug is balanced on her knee, freeing her to tick off on her fingers (another plus to having them), "It's been tried, have get him to take it seriously, and must actually get him to think about /drills/." She reclaims her mug - safer that way adding, "I think it's a lost cause."
After her snort, M'try says lightly, "That's rather what I thought you might say." And he's happy to leave that subject alone now, instead tapping his knee with a bit of nervous energy, fingers occasionally reaching down toward the portfolio at his feet, though he seems loathe to whip it out (for lack of a better term) at the moment. "You could always just stop going. What's the old phrase? 'Vote with your feet.' Although, I suppose that would really reflect poorly on you, in the end. Might I suggest going some place warm afterward to unwind, instead?"
Vanissa does the grown-up thing and sticks her tongue out at M'try in response to that. But then no one's ever accused her of being mature, so she isn't going to lose any sleep over it. Her mouth opens to negate skipping drills, but M'try figures it out all by himself - he is one smart cookie! His suggestion however draws a lift of brows, "And where might that be?" Besides the obvious, says her expression.
Waggling his finger warningly, M'try teases back at her mature response, "Do not stick that thing out unless you intend to use it, young missy." The smart cookie beams briefly after that, feeling himself very clever, though it's exchanged for something of a bland look promptly afterward. "Is the girl from Nerat truly questioning the boy from Harper about where someplace warm might be? Truly, Nissa, you're filling me full of disappointed little holes this morning."
Cue eye-rolling from Nissa at that well-used come-back, sliding down in her seat to ease her back and cradle the mug closer. M'try is awarded a look askance, the corners of her mouth twitching with the attempt at suppressing amusement as she perhaps deliberately misconstrues with a mild, "Harper Hall's a long way to go to warm up." Apparently it's target practice today or something.
"It's not so far. Close enough, for example, that they have essentially the same weather as Fort," M'try points out helpfully, the type of person so used to being abused in one way or another that he rolls with it quite amiably. "I would recommend going someplace actually warm. For example, some place nice and sunny with beaches and tropical jungles. Say, for example, /Nerat/."
Vanissa appears to give this serious consideration, "It's a thought. Some harpers actually play music, which might be entertaining while warming up." She almost looks disappointed when he mentions Nerat or Boll. Nothing more novel than that? Sweetly, "Might go to Ista instead. You'd be welcome to come along." Her needling ends with the sad admission, "Problem is I have to come back to-" shudder "-this." The weather! Really, not the conversation.
Like this is surprising news to him, M'try leans forward just faintly, his head cocked, his mouth hung open just a little bit. "Harpers... who play music...? Are you sure about this?" He even scoots forward a little on his chair, like he's so totally into this little tidbit. Her mention of Ista has him laugh abruptly, almost sharply, and he sinks back into his chair resolutely. "My dear girl, I am persona non grata at Ista."
Like Nissa's telling him something of grave importance, "Uh huh." A rather serious nod save for the merriment in her eyes follows as she informs him, "Some of them actually sing, too." Voices from across the room draw her eyes briefly, her gaze swinging back at that sharp laugh of his. "Oh?"
Clapping his hand to his forehead, M'try can just be heard to mutter, "Will wonders never cease," where information about Harpers and singing surfaces. Swiping that hand on down his face, he drops it to the arm of the chair afterward and answers her 'oh?' with a one-shouldered shrug. "Oh, indeed. It's a rather long story, and not especially interesting unless you care to hear me rant. At length. And most don't. I'd rather go back to discussing you and sunbathing, if you please."
Apparently they do not. They multiply in the dark while others are sleeping, those sneaky wonders. Nissa's eyes narrow slightly, unsure whether to take M'try seriously about Ista or not and thus he is spared a, perhaps thoughtless, jest about his artwork. Instead, in the process of bending down and scooping up her flight gear, she tells him, "I would welcome the change from ignorant to informed, but it'll have to wait. I'm on elevator duty and it's time for my shift." She rises with a casual salute and departs with a cheerful grin, which will freeze right off her face the minute she steps outside, poor her. She's gonna need that trip to Ista.
IC Date: 13/22/22 --Jacked this log from Vanissa. :)
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
Spacious but not as large as the living cavern, the commons serves as a communal gathering space for the Weyr's residents. Tables and chairs are arranged around the cavern, with some tall stools tucked up under a counter carved into the eastern wall. A motley collection of braided rugs in Fort colors overlap each other to cover the floor, while several large hangings blunt the chill of the stone walls. Niches carved up near the cavern's ceiling hold regularly spaced glows that are kept fresh weekly. The fire, perpetually lit in the hearth regardless of season, provides both warmth and additional light from behind the protective bulk of a large leather sofa and a pair of matching armchairs. Many residents settle here to work, study or socialize, at different times of the day, though it tends to be most active in the early evening.
The commons also serves as a hub to reach other parts of the Weyr: the nursery is located across from entrance to the resident's quarters and the corridor to the workrooms, with the lavatory situated between the two. The candidates' barracks and the classroom bracket the archway leading back out to the inner caverns.
A late breakfast accompanies M'try into the caverns, which are-- at this time of day-- largely abandoned aside from a couple of people trying to avoid the cold outside. Hunkered down in one of the deep armchairs, drawn close to the fire, the brownrider is scraping at a bowl of sticky-looking oatmeal with a piece of toast, trying to scrape a raisin out of the bottom of the bowl. His gear, warm-weather stuff, is all piled on the arm of the chair, and his omni-present portfolio leans against the leg of it near his ankles. It's not ambitious, but; hey, it's M'try. Ambition is for bigger guys.
Apparently R'lis is trying to look good for the new Weyrleader by having called early morning drills, which have just ended by the look of things as Obsidian straggles into the cavern, easy laughter echoes at some quip while others merely grumble at the unexpected schedule change. While some head for what is left of breakfast, others to warm up in the bathing caverns, a few stop right here and commandeer the klah, Nissa among them. Once she's got her gloves off and stuffed under one arm, fingers wrapped around a hot mug, she drops into chair opposite M'try to watch him eat that breakfast of champions. Her question, "They all out of spoons?" comes right before she sips.
M'try taps his breast pocket with his index finger, successfully leaving behind a little dot of toast-crumbs on his his light-jacket, evidently oblivious to it from there. "They gave me one," he answers promptly; indeed, the glimmer of silverware is just visible inside that pocket, and it has the lumpy shape of a spoon if really looked at closely. "I find, however, that I'm often up in my weyr of an evening, wishing desperately that I had a spoon, so I've decided to keep this one. You look rather chilled," he adds helpfully, failing to offer any relief for her, poor girl.
"Suppose usin' your fingers to stir tea ain't such a great idea," is Nissa's facetious response to that, giving a smirk to that glint of metal. The comment comes while she places her mug on the corner of a nearby table so she can shrug out of her jacket, peel her helmet off and dump them on the floor beside her chair. She's more than chilled, she's almost a Nissicle if her red-cheeked face is any indication, one finger reaches up to tap her nose and her bright observation is, "Yep, still can't feel it. Shardin' R'lis. Having us out there before dawn."
"Only if you need to use them afterward," M'try answers helpfully, looking down at his fingers for a second, at his toast, then across at Vanissa with a brief shrug. "I find I need mine, while I have a feeling the kitchen isn't likely to miss a single spoon." There's a pause, head canted while he finishes the oatmeal + toast, and he adds as an afterthought, "Although, knowing my luck, this single missing piece of flatware will start a manhunt." Oh well, says his sigh. "Trying to impress the new boss, your Wingleader?" A fact that he seems to find funny, in a darkly humorous way.
"Might be a challenge to draw fingerless, yeah," Nissa agrees to his need of them, her fingers meanwhile, busy fluffing tawny hair where it's been flattened to her head by her helmet. With a twinkle, "Could maybe make some interesting sort of art with stub-hands, I guess." But oh, you don't want to get her started on R'lis! Grimacing, she answers, "Apparently." And then reaches for her mug to scowl at the liquid within, which does her little good at warming up.
M'try, putting his bowl aside, curls his fingers tightly against his palms, making hard fists out of his hands for a time while he muses, "Truly, that is not an image I'm especially enjoying, Nissa." Stub hands. So he shakes his fingers, loosening them up, and allows himself the luxury of looking amused at her glower afterward. "I'm not sure your klah necessarily deserves to bear the burden of your over-zealous Wingleader, greenrider. Perhaps you should take up the matter with the man himself?" Not that he's advocating she go question her Wingleader but... yeah, kinda he is.
Hazel eyes lift from mug to M'try's hands and Nissa's expression changes from grimace to grin in nothing flat. Squelching her snickering, "Well, I guess you could make... clay sculptures or something. Finger-painting would be out, sadly." See how helpful she can be? Her klah, innocent after all, is forgiven and sipped but the suggestion from M'try has her mouthful swallowed like it has solidified and formed corners. It goes down hard. Dryly, "I'll pass."
With his brows lifted to a baiting, questioning height, M'try offers, "And render my particular brand of art in the three dimensions, you're suggesting?" Seeing as she did seem to take umbrage, he's understandably a touch surprised by the notion, though he doesn't linger over it for too long. "And I know this is a brave card for me to play, but where's the courage, Nissa? If you dislike your Wingleader's methods, perhaps you ought to speak out against them." There's way too much mirth in his eyes and tone for that to be a serious expression. But she's all talking about him losing his hands, so she deserves to be prodded back!
Perish the thought! Nissa refuses to be baited, merely snorting softly as she attempts that klah again. Her eyes are still dancing, so she's unruffled by the question. The second, however brings a faint look of disgust to her features, though it's directed mentally R'lis-ward wherever he's warming himself up. Her mug is balanced on her knee, freeing her to tick off on her fingers (another plus to having them), "It's been tried, have get him to take it seriously, and must actually get him to think about /drills/." She reclaims her mug - safer that way adding, "I think it's a lost cause."
After her snort, M'try says lightly, "That's rather what I thought you might say." And he's happy to leave that subject alone now, instead tapping his knee with a bit of nervous energy, fingers occasionally reaching down toward the portfolio at his feet, though he seems loathe to whip it out (for lack of a better term) at the moment. "You could always just stop going. What's the old phrase? 'Vote with your feet.' Although, I suppose that would really reflect poorly on you, in the end. Might I suggest going some place warm afterward to unwind, instead?"
Vanissa does the grown-up thing and sticks her tongue out at M'try in response to that. But then no one's ever accused her of being mature, so she isn't going to lose any sleep over it. Her mouth opens to negate skipping drills, but M'try figures it out all by himself - he is one smart cookie! His suggestion however draws a lift of brows, "And where might that be?" Besides the obvious, says her expression.
Waggling his finger warningly, M'try teases back at her mature response, "Do not stick that thing out unless you intend to use it, young missy." The smart cookie beams briefly after that, feeling himself very clever, though it's exchanged for something of a bland look promptly afterward. "Is the girl from Nerat truly questioning the boy from Harper about where someplace warm might be? Truly, Nissa, you're filling me full of disappointed little holes this morning."
Cue eye-rolling from Nissa at that well-used come-back, sliding down in her seat to ease her back and cradle the mug closer. M'try is awarded a look askance, the corners of her mouth twitching with the attempt at suppressing amusement as she perhaps deliberately misconstrues with a mild, "Harper Hall's a long way to go to warm up." Apparently it's target practice today or something.
"It's not so far. Close enough, for example, that they have essentially the same weather as Fort," M'try points out helpfully, the type of person so used to being abused in one way or another that he rolls with it quite amiably. "I would recommend going someplace actually warm. For example, some place nice and sunny with beaches and tropical jungles. Say, for example, /Nerat/."
Vanissa appears to give this serious consideration, "It's a thought. Some harpers actually play music, which might be entertaining while warming up." She almost looks disappointed when he mentions Nerat or Boll. Nothing more novel than that? Sweetly, "Might go to Ista instead. You'd be welcome to come along." Her needling ends with the sad admission, "Problem is I have to come back to-" shudder "-this." The weather! Really, not the conversation.
Like this is surprising news to him, M'try leans forward just faintly, his head cocked, his mouth hung open just a little bit. "Harpers... who play music...? Are you sure about this?" He even scoots forward a little on his chair, like he's so totally into this little tidbit. Her mention of Ista has him laugh abruptly, almost sharply, and he sinks back into his chair resolutely. "My dear girl, I am persona non grata at Ista."
Like Nissa's telling him something of grave importance, "Uh huh." A rather serious nod save for the merriment in her eyes follows as she informs him, "Some of them actually sing, too." Voices from across the room draw her eyes briefly, her gaze swinging back at that sharp laugh of his. "Oh?"
Clapping his hand to his forehead, M'try can just be heard to mutter, "Will wonders never cease," where information about Harpers and singing surfaces. Swiping that hand on down his face, he drops it to the arm of the chair afterward and answers her 'oh?' with a one-shouldered shrug. "Oh, indeed. It's a rather long story, and not especially interesting unless you care to hear me rant. At length. And most don't. I'd rather go back to discussing you and sunbathing, if you please."
Apparently they do not. They multiply in the dark while others are sleeping, those sneaky wonders. Nissa's eyes narrow slightly, unsure whether to take M'try seriously about Ista or not and thus he is spared a, perhaps thoughtless, jest about his artwork. Instead, in the process of bending down and scooping up her flight gear, she tells him, "I would welcome the change from ignorant to informed, but it'll have to wait. I'm on elevator duty and it's time for my shift." She rises with a casual salute and departs with a cheerful grin, which will freeze right off her face the minute she steps outside, poor her. She's gonna need that trip to Ista.