[Log] People of No Importance
Who: Ironeph, Quinley, Soriane, Vester
When: Day 5, Month 5, Turn 442
Where: Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr
What: Ironeph encounters Soriane and others in the inner caverns.
Inner Caverns
A warren of caverns and tunnels run through the interior of Fort Weyr. Many of them are abandoned and disused, but some are still in good repair. Those that are no longer serviceable are blocked off by wooden rails. The others are usually lit - albeit sparsely at times as the glows are not refreshed as often as they should be. Regardless of the time of day or season, these caverns are perpetually gloomy and a bit chilly.
The main tunnel here leads up to the living cavern. Branches off of this go in various directions: A narrow tunnel winds up in the nighthearth; a long, open corridor passes several rooms and offices before terminating at the dormitory; and so on.
Players:
Soriane........Blk. hair, blue-gray eyes. Fit bld. 5'2"
Ironeph........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Exits:
Infirmary.....................[S] Library.......................[LI]
Living Cavern.................[N] Nighthearth...................[NE]
Residential Hallway...........[E]
Soriane
Twisted into any number of braids, the dark black hair upon Soriane's crown draws backward away from her forehead. Braided only mid-way down each individual, slender strand, the rest of her hair is left free to fall to just below her shoulders in a gentle ring of loose curls. Thick in mass, the remainder of her hair remains unbraided and unbound, often spilling over her slender shoulders. Long bangs fall across her forehead, gently brushing the sides of her face and cheeks when not tucked behind her ears. Her brows are most always hidden by the fall of bangs, though are lightly arched and in a clean line, drawing a pleasant expression to her blue-gray eyes. A round nose that might seem too large to some rests above shapely lips and a softly pointed chin.
Not quite out of her teens, Soriane still has some growing left to do. Reaching a height of 5'2", her build is slightly muscular which might just explain her true lack of a volumptuous figure.
She wears the clothes of a traveler, starting with the heavy cloak drawn around her neck and pinned with a simple wooden knot. Beneath this is a heavy gray vest overlaying a long-sleeved white shirt, both belted at her waist with a maroon sash. Long pants are worn, the cuffs falling over the insteps of her boots.
Soriane, ladden with a heavy looking pack held over one shoulder, steps cautiously into the inner caverns. A small cloth packet is clutched in one hand, a smudge of dirt covers her cheek. All in all she looks wary though curious as she sends an inquisitive look around the room. Within moments the nighthearth is spotted, a relieved expression filters slowly over her features before she heads in that general direction. With pointed practice, she skirts anyone who might be lingering or passing about, sticking mainly to the sides of the room as she walks.
Bent over his work even at this hour, a most unusual occurrance, Ironeph has a small table before him, a box of tools at one side. He reaches to wobble the table, and seems satisfied when it doesn't move. "Finally," he remarks, leaning back against it--good thing it is sturdy now--and glancing around the room. Soriane, the closest passer-by, receives a curious look.
Vester comes in from the living cavern.
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.
Leave it to Soriane to assume the remark is intended for her. Stopping short, her blue-gray eyes settle upon Ironeph, all but picking him apart with a visible study before she lifts her chin in a subtly snooty manner. "I'm sorry -- do I know you? Have I kept you waiting?" Her speech is crisp and light, the words distinguished with a faint lilt to them.
Ironeph knits brows, studying Soriane a moment. "Waiting? Unless you're here to pick this up--and I really doubt it--no," he tells her, with a gesture to the small table he leans against. He straightens and bends down to gather up the tools scattered around his makeshift workspace, glancing sideways at Soriane again while he does so. "You looking for someone?" he asks.
Vester comes out of the infirmary, accompanied yb the smells that are so associated with it...redwort and numbweed and underlying hints of worse. The healer bouquet, as it were. The boy yawns, and then glances around, his eyes resting on Ironeph and his work area after a moment.
"You addressed me." Soriane informs Ironeph with a faint frown, "Unless you were talking to yourself. I've heard you people are prone to doing that." Drawing off with the veiled insult, she looks for a knot upon his shoulder just before looking over her shoulder toward Vester. Her nose wrinkles slightly at the smells carried in with the other but before long her attention is back on Ironeph. "No. No one in particular. I'm new here, just trying to find my way to where I can settle in. I haven't had a chance to talk with anyone yet. What are you, exactly?" Title before name, as is only proper.
"Ironeph, handyman," he reverses that proper order of things. "And I was talking to the table, actually." A shrug. "So... you're just moving in here. Another one." He doesn't sound particularly enthusiastic. "The dorms are that way, actually. That's to the nighthearth, though if you're hungry..." He trails off with a shrug.
Vester comes over, yawning a little bit. "Another new person? A lot of women moving here lately." He doesn't sound like he thinks that's a bad thing. "Need any help?" And, to be polite. "Vester, infirmary aide." Not an actual healer, then.
"I see." Soriane declares with all the confidence of someone who /doesn't/ see. She studies the table briefly, almost trying to decide if indeed the table needed to be talked to before frowning. Soriane frowns faintly. "I'm sure my reasons for coming here are different from the 'other' girls you're speaking of. I'm... well it's not important. Though thank you for the directions. Ironeph, Vester." Each is rewarded with a small nod from the girl who shifts her weight from one foot to the other, "I don't suppose there's anyone more... anyone more..." Failing to find the word, she trails off into silence.
A twitch, perhaps the beginning of a grin that never quite materializes, runs along one corner of Ironeph's mouth. "Yeah," is his simple agreement with Vester. Then, to Sorianne, a prompt: "Anyone more what?"
Vester lets Ironeph do that prompting, considering Soriane for a moment. "You mean, you're not here in hope of a fighting dragon." He shrugs a little bit. "We've had a few. But we've also had some women who are hoping that our fighting girls will prove that women can do other things, too.
Quinley comes out of the infirmary.
Quinley has arrived.
Quinley
There are kinder ways to describe this girl's outline, but 'short' and 'scrawny' cover it most succinctly.
Light blonde hair is pulled back and braided up into a low, simple bun that rests at the nape of this young woman's neck. A few feathery wisps have worked their way free to halo a tanned, heart-shaped face with a chin that comes to a subtle point. Wide, round eyes are set beneath thin golden brows, their color a clear and vibrant green. Rather than coming across as pretty, their size and the fact that pale lashes seem not-there at certain angles leave her with an unintentionally intense gaze that can seem more jarring than inviting. Her nose is small and pert, lips thin and rosy.
A burgundey red tunic clothes this young woman's form from throat to hips, the heavy cloth fitting well enough to lightly outline the subtle curves of her slender frame. Shirt sleeves have been pushed up to her elbows revealing tanned arms with the thin ropey muscles that women's manual work can build. Hands are small, and long fingers end with blunt nails. A charcoal grey skirt begins a little before the tunic stops and falls down skinny legs to end just past her ankles. Simple boots, a light shade of brown, peep out from under the hem.
On her right shoulder is the white and purple knot that marks her as a journeyman healer.
The top of the girl's head ends where the average woman's chin begins. She looks to be likely in her late teens.
Looking hard put to properly word her meaning, Soriane makes a rolling motion with the hand holding a cloth packet. "Anyone more. Than you and, well, him." A look toward Vester draws him into the conversation once more, Soriane obliging properly and politely by half turning so her shoulder isn't to him. "You're suppose to speak to a Headwoman at the very least about moving in, aren't you?" Studying both for an answer, she's cut short by Vester's reply. "Women on, oh I heard about that. I didn't think... are you serious? They're /really/ on dragons?" A keen expression lights her eyes. "How interesting!"
"No headwoman," answers Ironeph with a shrug of his shoulders. "Raine's been handling some of the stuff, I think--I don't know. Nobody else to do it, really. And yes, it's serious." A flicker of irritation crosses his dark face, but he glances away, rapping knuckles idly on the table he leans against.
Vester nods a little bit. "One brown, one blue, one green, and all three of them proving every bit as competent as the boys in the clutch, much to everyone's surprise." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Seems to be working out.
As observant as she is, Soriane catches the irritation flickering across Ironeph's features. Her lips pull into a light line of partial amusement. "I wouldn't think most men would be pleased by it. A step down, you'd say?" Lightly turning her attention upon Vester, she studies him in the same calculating manner she'd given Ironeph earlier. "Well this is interesting. I'd thought them just rumors and nothing more." A quick beat, "Has there been any other new arrivals? Anyone else of importance or rumor?"
Ironeph gives Vester a glance, brows knitting. "I wouldn't go that far," he points out dryly. But, shrugging, he glances between the two younger people idly. "Anyway. Lots of new arrivals, nobody that matters. Why d'you ask?"
Vester shrugs. "Hey, what else are we going to do with them? We can't afford to lose those dragons, so all we can do is train the girls and hope they can keep up. And nobody of *importance*."
Soriane frowns slightly at that, the expression surfaces before she can contain it. In response to the question, she simply shakes her head. "No reason. You just said there were lots of new arrivals. I can be curious, can't I?" Flashing a quick smile to both, the young girl glances toward the nighthearth with growing interest.
Out from the Infirmary comes the healer, a basket of linens in need of washing tucked under one arm. She pauses, her feet slowing as she notes the gathering of people parked in the hallway. "Hello," is offered pleasantly enough as well as a head nod to each.
"I ain't," declares Ironeph firmly, "debating politics with a kid who doesn't know what's going on." He pauses, seems about to continue, when Quinley approaches. "Hey, Quinley," he greets her instead, a nod thrown in as well. To Soriane: "Sure, sure. Be curious all you want."
Habitually and sharply, Soriane corrects Ironeph, "You aren't." In the pause that follows, she looks mildly surprised and abashed. Looking up to him from a partially humble and downturned look, she apologizes. "Force of habit, sorry, Ironeph." There she pauses again, now to recieve Quinley's entrance with another moment of study but the nighthearth's promise of warmth and comfort finally wins out. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get a bite to eat before I settle in for the night -- good evening, Ironeph and Vester... Quinley." Borrowing the name from Ironeph at his greeting, Soriane withdraws from the small group and heads for the nighthearth.
Soriane has disconnected.
Quinley's brows lift a little as the gilr greets and departs. "Who was that?" she asks, basket hefting to the other side before her fingers become cramped.
Vester hrms. "Another new woman. And I know what I see, and what I see is that they're doing okay." Which is all that matters to him, apparently. "I don't *care* about politics."
Ironeph, somewhat taken aback, Ironeph regards Soriane with arched brows at her correction. "Sure," he answers mildly as she leaves. Turning then to Quinley, he lifts his shoulders in a vague shrug. "She never got around to saying," he answers the healer. "Some girl, thinks she can just move in here like the rest of 'em." Vester is ignored, the older handyman not deigning a reply.
Quinley mms softly. "Well, it's little wonder, isn't it?" she muses in part to the others and in part to herself. "I wonder what will happen, though, if there's no gold egg? Will girls still be searched?" The basket, instead of getting shifted again, is put down at the healer's feet. "And have dragons always thought girls to be likely candidates and just not said anything for the sake of their riders?"
Ironeph rubs idly at the back of his neck. "Dunno," he answers Quinley shortly. "Guess we'll wait and see, at least so far as the gold egg business goes. 'Scuse me--I got to do something with this for the night." And, awkwardly lifting the small table, he heads through the cavern to stow it in the meantime.
Vester shrugs. "Who knows? I still think it had something to do with less choice than usual, so they started looking at the girls. But people think that's an insult to them." A shrug.