[Log] Uh, /Dragon/
Who: Geneve, I'neph
When: Day 15, Month 6, Turn 448
Where: Bathing Room, Benden Weyr
What: I'neph meets the new headwoman. It goes smashingly.
Bathing Room Early Summer. Rain. 69F / 21C.
The bathing room is warm and damp as one might expect. There are two large, sunken pools with room enough for twenty people if necessary; sand on the bottom keeps the rocks from being too slippery, and the pipes embedded near the bottom keep the water constantly circulating. Beyond the large baths, there are a few small chambers connected to this with raised tubs of porcelain or rock, also fed by pipes, for people who prefer more private baths.
A small, wood-screened alcove in the back leads to the steam room.
-- Players --
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; mid/late 20s. Cute but worthless.
-- Exits --
Steam Room...............[SR] Residential Hallway......[O]
Geneve
Not especially pretty, Geneve is noticeable, if at all, thanks to a focused passion made visible through her every move and expression. She's short and - well, /round/, with a riotous mess of dark curls ill-tamed by a tight ponytail, which lends her a certain severity lacking in her gentle features. Her small, round face, with button nose and plump cheeks, is dominated by doe-shaped grey eyes, very pale against skin that is naturally fair and faintly freckled. She is probably in her mid-20s.
Dressed for function more than fashion, Geneve hides her curves beneath loose, simple clothing, with one exception. Brilliantly red, her fine, warm shawl clearly suits her dark colouring, and seems at odds with her otherwise unadorned clothes. Her skirt is ankle-length and wide, made of undyed linen, which falls to her ankle to show leather boots beneath. Beneath the shawl, she has a loosely-cut dark shirt, buttoned to the neck and wrist and fastened about the waist with a length of woven cord. She wears the knot of Benden's Headwoman.
Geneve has been Headwoman for all of - oh, maybe two hours, three? And here she is, dragging one of the weyr's handymen in to the bathing room, at this hour of the evening. Which is to say, it's late. "There are cracks in the pipe," she tells him, with authority. "A waterfall is all very nice, but the ground is slick enough without that many puddles." The man, who looks like he was getting ready to go to bed, just peers at her.
I'neph is still in the bathing cavern, though, having retreated inside to its warmth to lounge in the water. His eyes are closed, head leaned back against the stoone; but at the sound of voices, his eyes crack open, looking at the figures entering. And when he ascertains what they're talking about, he opens his eyes more fully and raises his head, scooting upward to watch nosily.
Geneve's handyman assures Geneve that he'll get the pipe mended, and keep a closer eye on these things, but she doesn't seem much mollified - particularly when he requests permission to do these things, you know, in the /morning/. Movement, from I'neph, draws her attention, though it's probable she hasn't actually seen who it is, from this distance. "It's dangerous, isn't it?" she asks, calling out across the echoey room. "Water dripping everywhere like that."
"It's the bathing cavern?" says I'neph, brows arching. "It's... kind of supposed to be wet. Figure if people don't wanna break their necks, they watch where they're going, right?" He lifts his shoulders in a vague shrug, not very concerned.
Not the response Geneve was looking for. Her eyes narrow. Her handyman looks pleased, even gives I'neph a thankful glance. "Great. Enormous. Puddles." She accentuates, head shaking madly. "Someone will break their neck. As it stands, someone has to come in here and mop it all up every couple of hours. It's inefficient. And what if the pipe bursts?" She glances from rider to handyman, as if to say 'hah!'.
"Least it keeps the moppers busy?" I'neph says, shooting the handyman a smirky look--he sympathizes. That shrug becomes more pronounced. "Since when you get to go ordering people around like this, though? I mean, let the poor guy get some sleep, right?"
Geneve is undaunted, despite the lack of support she's getting. "The moppers," she intones, "Have plenty to do as it is - thanks to the messes you people make." As for the last statement, she straightens her shoulders, pulls herself as high on the balls of her feet as she can, and declares, "I'm the Headwoman. If I don't make sure these things get done, they won't. 'I'll do it later' is no way to run a Weyr."
"Us people?" I'neph grins at that, brows arching upward again. Then, blinking: "Wait. /Headwoman/?"
"Yes," says Geneve, gravely. And then, again, "Yes. Headwoman."
Geneve can't help but preen a little at that last, too. Oh, triumph.
"Since when?" replies I'neph, still a little skeptical. More than a little, really.
Geneve starts looking a little put out at this skepticism. "Since a couple of hours ago. Breide asked me. See - I have the knot." She gives her shoulder a flick of the head, and then gives I'neph a long, hard look, as if to say 'hah' and possibly 'so there'.
I'neph finally looks at knots, brows furrowing. "Huh," he says finally. "Aren't you kind of..." There are so many words he could put into that blank, none of them flattering to judge by his look. He settles on, "Young."
"That's what G'avon said, when I mentioned it last week," huffs Geneve, apparently disappointed at this train of thought. Her handyman takes this moment to sneak out; Geneve is far too distracted to actually notice. "But I don't see what age has to do with it. Breide's only a little older than I am, and she's Weyrwoman. Anyway, I've been running the caverns for ages, already. This just makes it official."
"'Cause she's got a big shiny dragon," I'neph points out the obvious. He does lift a hand in goodbye to her handyman, though he doesn't really look himself. "It's kind of different. Dragon rises, you get the knot, don't matter if you're actually, you know. Capable?"
"Which still doesn't explain how you got yours," retorts Geneve, clearly somewhat offended. "Luckily I /am/ capable. That's why Breide picked me. You... You're just a Wingleader because there's no one else who can be."
"Uh, /dragon/," I'neph singsongs as though it was obvious. Though, he has to look a little hurt at her latter words, too. "And you don't know anything about how we pick, so. I'd be wingleader even if there /were/ other people. I was a wingsecond at Fort, you know."
Geneve rolls her eyes, hands moving to her hips. "I've heard the way people talk about you. They treat you like a child, dragon or no, and I can't blame them." Snipe, snipe, snipe.
"You don't know what you're talking about," says I'neph, sulky as he slides a little lower in the water again. "People /like/ me. /I'm/ not a bitch."
"I may be a bitch, but at least people don't pick fights with me to make sure I don't end up Weyrleader," says Geneve, in a tone which might have been intended as sweet, but is actually quite malicious. "I? I get what I want. Now - if you'll excuse me? I have work to do." Maybe she has noticed that the handyman is gone. Maybe she's forgotten.
"Yeah, have fun with that," I'neph says, in the most lackluster tone he can manage. He mutters to himself, reassuringly, as he slips further down still, "Just 'cause they knew I'd win."
Geneve doesn't hear that last bit. Doesn't matter, regardless: she looks content. She won.