[Log] Somebody Has Work to Do
Who: Ironeph, Sh'van, Vester
When: Day 7, Month 13, Turn 441
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: Sh'van has a project for Ironeph.
Living Cavern
Huge, still mostly the natural shape of the bubble cavern that formed it though embellished with intricate columns, the living cavern is large enough to seat over two thousand people at any given time. But it has fallen into a state of disuse, for the most part. There are long gaps in the room where tables must have been at one time: Now, there are only twenty tables - each with space for twenty-five people - left in the room, where once there must have been closer to eighty tables. They are all gathered near the northeastern wall where the largest of the room's four hearths are. The rest of the space seems bare. There are a few smaller tables to seat five or six people scattered randomly throughout. Though there is easily room for twice as many, and still many bare swathes of wall that should boast tapestries, there are only three hangings in the living cavern, and all of them are small given the grand scale of the cavern: Two are Fortian brown with the black "Fort" symbol on them, and the third is a light brown field with a brownish-bronzish wing breaking out of the shell of a single white egg. Up a set of handsomely carved stone steps is the Weyr's large kitchen, wrapping around balcony-style with a view into the cavern.
Dinner is being served and the cavern is at its busiest. It's evening in the winter. The fire is kept stoked and warm and a klah pot is usually kept near it for warmth.
Players:
Ironeph........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Sh'van.........6', lean. Pale blue eyes & scarred. Impeccably groomed.
Exits:
Bowl..........................[W] Inner Caverns.................[S]
Kitchen.......................[E]
Sh'van
A brush of murky dishwater-blond hair never looks mussed; Sh'van's chin is always smooth. His grooming, always impeccable, may be an effort to erase a first impression, or at least lessen it. Nevertheless, 'striking' is his most tactful descriptor. Sh'van is close to six feet tall, perhaps half an inch under, lean and predatory with sharp features. A high forehead shades deep-set, icy blue eyes that are barely darker than the whites around them. Long ago something carved up the right side of his face, two scars pulling that eyebrow up in perpetual cynicism, barely missing the socket, and then curving over to clip off one earlobe. The muscles on that side were injured, limiting facial mobility and expressions. His nose is too long and the beak barely keeps his eyes apart, while lush lips would look less bizarre on a woman. Van tends to sunburn in the summer and get chilblains in the winter.
His thick sweater has been knitted from several pastel colors, all muted and twisted together, so that while it may have been made up of the odds and ends of skeins, it looks more like a sunset than an accident in the dyeing vats. The collar folds under his chin, while the sleeves end just at his wrists. His pants are heavy brown felted wool. Black boots complete the look; wax hardened wherhide make them waterproof. On his shoulder is the complicated knot of the Fort Weyrsecond twined with a strand of bronze.
Ironeph
About six feet tall and built along athletic lines, Ironeph is blessed with the dark, olive-tinted skin and dark brown hair more characteristic of a tropical climate. He keeps his hair close cropped, swept back off his forehead and to the right. Ironeph has brown eyes and thick dark brows above a straight nose and firm mouth, a slightly squared jawline framing his features. He seems to be in his early 20s.
Ironeph's clothes are in good condition, either relatively new or well-cared for, a pair of heavy dark brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a dusty green. His winter jacket is a little large on him, the sleeves and shoulder seams longer; based on its more worn condition, it's probably a hand-me-down.
Vester comes up from the lower caverns.
Vester has arrived.
Vester
A young man in his mid teens, Vester stands a little above average, maybe five foot eight or nine, and carries the muscle of somebody accustomed to hard physical labor. A mop of sandy hair stands above angular features, neither homely nor handsome, but with eyes that are a sharp, startling blue beneath bushy brows. Not yet able to grow a beard, he has the faintest hint of stubble on his somewhat sharp chin. His hair is trimmed short, but still looks like it has never seen a comb.
His garb is that of a laborer, simple, dark brown breeches and a lighter brown tunic secured with a plain rope belt. The sleeves are long, when not rolled up. His boots are black leather, and have seen rather better days, not yet worn out, but approaching that point steadily.
Busy though the cavern be, it's still far from crowded. The majority of people are clustered close to the hearths, and there's quite a buzz of conversation. The Weyrsecond is one of the handful who -isn't- sitting and eating; he's instead standing at one of the farthest tables from the fires with one of the other handymen, the pair of them looking at and gesturing to something laid flat on the table.
Up from the inner caverns shuffles Ironeph, ambling across the room toward the serving tables in no particular hurry. The young man pauses to study the offerings a moment, then finally gathers his own dinner and turns, heading for a seat. Most of the ones nearest the hearths are taken, so he ventures further afield before finally settling down.
Vester, is not eating...although there's an empty plate next to him he hasn't bothered to get rid of yet. In fact...he's occupied in an odd pursuit. Specifically, he's sewing, stitching through a fragment of fairly heavy cloth. It's not somebody's clothes being mended, either. Maybe he's just practicing?
The man beside the Weyrsecond shakes his head, taps the whatever-it-is on the table. "You want..." He looks up as Ironeph passes, snorts, and drops his voice. Sh'van looks up curiously, following Ironeph's passage with his eyes, then nods, claps the other man on the shoulder, and ambles the younger man's way so that they meet just as Ironeph's contemplating seating arrangements. "You're Ironeph," he half-announces, half-asks. "Are you free?"
Ironeph's eyes cut sharply toward Sh'van, his posture stiffening at the man's voice. "Uh... Yeah, sure, sir," he answers after the barest pause, nodding. He slides his plate onto the nearest table to free up his hands, shooting a quick glance around, a nod at Vester nearby, before glancing warily back at the Weyrsecond.
Vester returns the nod, but most of his attention is on his needlework. Stitch. Stitch. It's heavy cloth, too. Some of it, though, is spared for Ironeph, he studies the young man for a moment, but that's all he allows himself, as if what he is doing is of vital importance.
"Thank you. Bring your meal," Sh'van adds politely, nodding to the table he abandoned. "I have something I'd like you to look at, and Valic," who has take the opportunity to go get his own meal, thanks, "says that you're the person to talk to."
"Valic? Oh, how... nice, of him," notes Ironeph, without much enthusiasm. He glances around the cavern quickly for the man who gave him away, then shrugs. "Sure, sir--be happy to." Reaching for his plate again, he prepares to follow after Sh'van.
Vester frowns a bit, holding up a set of stitches that wander rather far from the rent they're presumably holding closed against the light to study them, and grumbles, "This is harder than it looks," to himself.
Sh'van glances incuriously toward Vester, then nods to Ironeph and leads the way back to his original table. There lies a mirror with the wooden frame cracked. "I managed to keep the glass from cracking, but the frame got under my foot and it's half torn off, see? Valic says you can fix it."
Ironeph, pausing by the table, eyes the mirror a moment, then sets his plate down again to peer closer at the damaged wood. "Hmm," he murmurs thoughtfully, inspecting it closely. Then, straightening. "Yeah, I can fix that," he decides. "Or make a better one if you want, but this one looks like it'd be pretty easy to fix, so..." A shrug, then, and another glance at the cracked frame.
Vester finally just sets the cloth aside, apparently giving up for now. He glances over curiously at Sh'van and the unfortunate mirror. "Huh," he murmurs. "Looks like somebody has some work to do." That might be a little louder, although whether it could carry to the two is questionable.
Sh'van waves Ironeph's perusal on, taking a step back to let the dark-haired man have his way. "It doesn't need to be fancy, just functional. If you can repair this, that would be fine," he says idly, eyes returning to Vester. An eyebrow quirks, and then he says quite clearly, "Yes, someone -does- have work to do."
Ironeph runs a hand across the crack idly, nodding again as he gives it a second once-over. "Mm. Yeah, I'll get right on it, sir." Pause. "Do you need it by a certain day or...?" There's a slight emphasis on the 'or.'
Vester nods a bit. "Sorry," he says, turning back to his own work, he doesn't restart, but he does study the cloth again, as if to try and work out where he went wrong.
Sh'van watches Vester a heartbeat longer, then turns back to Ironeph. "I'm sorry? --Oh, as soon as possible, please. I have another, but it's hardly this size." Unsurprising, since this one is close to two feet long. "Will that be a problem?"
"Oh. No," answers Ironeph blandly, glancing away. "I'll get right on it. Sir."
Sh'van says "Thank you." He nudges the mirror, sliding it fractionally toward Ironeph. "When will it be done?"
"Uh..." Ironeph falters, rubbing at the back of his neck. He reaches his other hand over to inch the mirror toward him as well only when Sh'van pushes it first. "Gimme a couple of days?" he finally offers. "I mean, it won't take that long to /do/, but I have other things to work on, that sort of stuff. Duties." He offers a wry half-smile.
Vester ahas quietly, although he's paying no attention to Sh'van's requests now. Then he picks up the cloth and starts sewing again, changing his angle of entry just a little.
Sh'van nods; he understands duties -very- well, if gossip is to be believed. "Get it back to me by this time tomorrow and I'll have a half-mark for you." With a faint smile he adds, "If it's not done three days from now you'll owe me the half-mark." His expression is just this side of bland, and his tone is no help in deciphering his words either.
"A half-mark," repeats Ironeph with a nod. "I'll have it soon as I can, in that case." His smile brightens slightly, now he's got some incentive.
Sh'van allows that it's, "Appreciated. I'll leave it in your hands, then, and let you get back to your supper."
Ironeph nods once more, reaching to tuck the mirror under one arm, plate in the other hand. "Sure, sir. I'll come find you when I've got it done."
"That sounds fine," Sh'van agrees. "Or tell Onsana that it's finished if you can't find me." He drops Ironeph a nod, then turns for the inner caverns.
Ironeph frowns after Sh'van a moment, then sighs, glancing down at the mirror he holds. Shaking his head once, he turns and saunters back to his earlier choice of seat, near Vester, thumping the damaged mirror down on the table next to him before tugging out a chair and seating himself.
Sh'van heads to the inner caverns.
Sh'van has left.
Vester glances over at Ironeph. "Wonder how the mirror got dropped...probably didn't check how well it was hung often enough. Stuff sometimes gets neglected around here."
Ironeph glances sideways at the mirror, shaking his head. "Nah, it's not one of the hanging ones," he answers after a moment, running a hand across the back of the mirror; it lacks a wire to hang it up. "Maybe had it setting somewhere and knocked it off, I dunno. I don't ask questions, I just fix the stuff." A shrug, then. Pause. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out a while back, say, twenty turns or so?" Smirk.
Vester laughs a bit. "Yeah. Blame the apparent disappearance of Thread. Not that I believe it...I'm sure it'll be back, it was just, ya know...not on schedule for some reason." The kid sets aside the sewing again, apparently not quite able to focus on it and the conversation.
Ironeph's brows arch, but he doesn't comment either way concerning Thread. Instead, he asks, "What you working on?"
"Suture practice," he says calmly. "Quinley's teaching me some real healer stuff." He's not wearing an apprentice knot, mind. "And obviously, can't practice this on patients."
"Just give 'em some fellis, a little numbweed..." Ironeph knows nothing about healing; it shows. "You're one of her helpers? Interesting."
Vester nods. "Yeah, I am." He doesn't go into any further detail. "And it takes a lot of practice. I mean, I'm sure you made some pretty awful furniture when you were first learning, right?"
Ironeph's arches his brows. "Nah, I don't usually make it, just fix what other people do to it," he notes. "And you can't blame me for anything that goes wrong with it after that--not when you've already messed up the structural integrity." Big words, to just go tossing around. Ironeph continues eating slowly, picking through his half-finished meal.
Vester laughs a bit. "Fair enough. Point is that doing anything well takes practice." He glances at the darkened bowl entrance, for some reason. "And if you aren't going to do it well, shouldn't do it at all."
"Uh-huh. Sure, kid," agrees Ironeph, noncommittally. He pokes at his food, takes a few more bites before finally giving it up as finished, and stands. "Well, I guess I should get to work, if I'm gonna have this thing ready in three days. See you." Tucking the mirror under one arm, he saunters toward the inner caverns.