Log: Destitute
DESTITUTE
Act I, Scene VII
Evening still finds traffic in stores - like many other places in the Weyr, it's cooler at night, so some choose to make their trips then. However, people actually working in reception might be more unusual, but there's one tall, tanned girl sitting at one of the workstations, paging through documents with an interest beyond that anyone should ever have for inventory. Saiyah pauses, leans forward and combs stray chestnut locks from her eyes as she peers at something particularly tiny - or fascinating - then continues on. She's not hiding whatever she's doing, so no one's paying her much attention.
Technically, Halsten may or may not count as the sort of person who's actually allowed to be down here foraging. He at least walks like someone who's trying to walk like they belong here, but how believable is that? "Evening," he offers up as he meanders through, lingering for a moment, then leaning over to try to get a glance at whatever it is the young woman there happens to be working on. "Wondering if you could help me out, here. Or maybe you know someone who can."
As if expecting some sort of interruption at some point, Saiyah smoothly closes the folder she has all of that paper in as soon as she hears someone approach. One might, with good eyesight and some familiarity with the subject, be able to spot something that looks like delivery records. Maybe? Pushing the folder /away/, "I might be able to. /Technically/, I'm not on duty." Turning in her chair, she shrugs a little. "But I'm here anyway."
"You seem to be working," Halsten observes drolly. Like she hasn't maybe noticed that fact before. "Anyway. Nothing complicated. Just curiosity. I'm just not... *from* here. Exactly. And I wanted to know how all this works." He makes a grand gesture around, to take in the whole theoretical notion of 'stores'. "At a Weyr. Heard folks talking about it. So do people just walk in here and take what they like, or what?"
"I can work and not be on duty. I could /not/ answer questions." Saiyah feels she must point this out, if only to make sure that everyone involved knows she's being magnanimous over here. As Halsten goes on, she breaks into a slow grin; resting her arm on the back of her chair, a little amused, "Well... I've been a stores assistant for under a week, and I'm not from here either. So, given /that/, I can let you know what I know. Which is, you can take what you /need/. Like, say you were going to tell me you needed clothes. Then, I would laugh at you." A flick of fingers gestures to what he's wearing.
An indignant sniff. "Maybe," Halsten suggests, "I'm wearing the only clothes I own. I'm destitute aside from this. I just happen to be a--very well-dressed destitute." Smirk. "Or not. I'm not suggesting to take advantage of it at the moment. I just wanted to understand. So it's sort of a... subsisdence thing? Needs, not wants. Not luxuries. I'm just trying to square away how this whole system can possibly work. And there was someone else I thought of asking, but--got distracted."
"Right." Saiyah offers a smirk in return, amending as she stands, "Well-dressed, well-maintained destitute. That's a story I'd like to hear. If you could manage a reason for it, that'd be pretty damn impressive." She pushes in her chair and picks up her folder, nodding over at him as she does. "More or less. I mean, it's not like it's all just... awful things leftover. But yes, not so much with the luxuries. Of course, everything else gets stored here for the Weyr... it's just not the stuff you go taking."
While she goes on, Halsten is tapping his chin thoughtfully, and as soon as Saiyah's finished, he has an answer: "Fire." Didn't he just say 'or not' a moment ago? "It was a fire. Small one. Burned up all my belongings. They were in a wagon. With me. I escaped unscathed. It was a miracle. Everything but what I was wearing at the time is now ash and cinders." He lifts his sleeve and sniffs. "Can still smell the smoke."
Saiyah's not expecting an answer anymore; as she hipchecks the chair the last inch in to place, folder tucked carefully in one arm against her, there's a beat before she even figures out what Halsten's talking about. And then, perhaps a touch grudgingly, she does have to look somewhat impressed, with a little nod to him. "Fair enough," she allows. "Appropriately upset... you'd be kind of a jerk to say no." A pause. "I'd be kind of a jerk to say no." Whatever.
"Of course you would. But never mind that." Now that Halsten has proven himself capable of explaining it away, he seems entirely unconcerned with his right to get into the Weyr's castoffs. "Interesting system. Doesn't do much to encourage profit for those who show up here without high-end or specialty items, though, does it?" And here he finally tips his hand: "Trader, you see."
Not all that worried about her jerkiness or lack thereof, "Oh well." Saiyah flashes Halsten a bright smile - no hard feelings - and settles into a lean against the workstation. Tilting her head to one side, green eyes thoughtful, "Well, yes and no. I wouldn't say 'high-end'. It's not like most people who work here can afford super-nice luxuries, so high-end stuff might just price itself out of the market, especially given the people who have the most money around here can go and shop wherever they want. You could move a lot of cheaper stuff, I'd bet."
A faint frown crosses Halsten's face. "Ah. But if they want cheap, they have--" Another gesture for storage. "It's a conundrum, I suppose. Not so much a problem in the small Holds. Folks want, they buy. This whole tithing thing is not especially good for business." Just don't let the weyrfolk hear it put in those terms. "But, hey, thanks. Guess knowing's better than not. I'm Hal." An introduction, finally.
Saiyah points out helpfully, "Yes, but it's not like you can get... I don't know. Nice-smelling soap. Do you want what /might/ be someone else's brush? And so on. I mean, it's not going to make you rich, but there's not many things that will." At least she has something of an apologetic smile for the trader; she feels for him, she really does. Offering a hand, "There's not a lot in it that's good for business, no. And glad I could help for all it's sort of depressing. Saiyah."
"Soap," Halsten repeats. "There's a thought." He takes the hand, though with the sort of gentleness that men frequently reserve for women, like their hands might turn out to be made out of glass. "Nice to meet you, Saiyah. How'd you end up working down here? Seems like an out of the way sort of a place for a young lady. Don't you like sunshine?"
The offered hand isn't really the sort to be made of glass - calloused and scarred in a few places, Saiyah's likely spent more time climbing and falling out of things in the past than some young women her age. With an arch of dark brows for that care, "Nice to meet you, Hal. And never underestimate a woman's vanity, my father said once. When he thought I wasn't listening, and my mother wasn't around. Go figure." After a smirk, she explains, "Oh, I used to do a little of this sort of thing at home. And I'm fairly good with numbers, with organizing. It seemed to make the most sense."
"Smart man, your father." Halsten draws back, nods, smiles broadly at her. "I do believe that's usually how it works. Guess if it suits you, well. Something that suits everyone, I suppose. Wouldn't be my cup of tea, inside all day, I can tell you that." Then a sigh. "And speaking of all day--'nother one of those tomorrow and I'd better go do what I have to to get ready for it. Damn days always showing up one right after another."
Amused for some reason, "I'd say so." Saiyah gives a little shrug, noting, "It suits for now. It's more interesting than being at home, at least." And that's something, by her tone. As for being indoors, she lifts a tanned arm to examine it, figuring, "I get out enough. But it's not for everyone." Maybe she /is/ just so into her job she has to hang out and go through papers. And if so, isn't that a little sad? Flashing a sunny smile of her own, "And I've got to get up at a decent hour. So good timing... and glad I could help. Hope you have a good night."
The trader nods to her, grins. "Responsible. Very... responsible. Probably didn't do so many mornings when I was your age. Thanks--you, too." With that, Halsten turns, and makes his way back out of the caverns entirely, towards wherever it is that whatever he needs to do happens to be.
Act I, Scene VII
Evening still finds traffic in stores - like many other places in the Weyr, it's cooler at night, so some choose to make their trips then. However, people actually working in reception might be more unusual, but there's one tall, tanned girl sitting at one of the workstations, paging through documents with an interest beyond that anyone should ever have for inventory. Saiyah pauses, leans forward and combs stray chestnut locks from her eyes as she peers at something particularly tiny - or fascinating - then continues on. She's not hiding whatever she's doing, so no one's paying her much attention.
Technically, Halsten may or may not count as the sort of person who's actually allowed to be down here foraging. He at least walks like someone who's trying to walk like they belong here, but how believable is that? "Evening," he offers up as he meanders through, lingering for a moment, then leaning over to try to get a glance at whatever it is the young woman there happens to be working on. "Wondering if you could help me out, here. Or maybe you know someone who can."
As if expecting some sort of interruption at some point, Saiyah smoothly closes the folder she has all of that paper in as soon as she hears someone approach. One might, with good eyesight and some familiarity with the subject, be able to spot something that looks like delivery records. Maybe? Pushing the folder /away/, "I might be able to. /Technically/, I'm not on duty." Turning in her chair, she shrugs a little. "But I'm here anyway."
"You seem to be working," Halsten observes drolly. Like she hasn't maybe noticed that fact before. "Anyway. Nothing complicated. Just curiosity. I'm just not... *from* here. Exactly. And I wanted to know how all this works." He makes a grand gesture around, to take in the whole theoretical notion of 'stores'. "At a Weyr. Heard folks talking about it. So do people just walk in here and take what they like, or what?"
"I can work and not be on duty. I could /not/ answer questions." Saiyah feels she must point this out, if only to make sure that everyone involved knows she's being magnanimous over here. As Halsten goes on, she breaks into a slow grin; resting her arm on the back of her chair, a little amused, "Well... I've been a stores assistant for under a week, and I'm not from here either. So, given /that/, I can let you know what I know. Which is, you can take what you /need/. Like, say you were going to tell me you needed clothes. Then, I would laugh at you." A flick of fingers gestures to what he's wearing.
An indignant sniff. "Maybe," Halsten suggests, "I'm wearing the only clothes I own. I'm destitute aside from this. I just happen to be a--very well-dressed destitute." Smirk. "Or not. I'm not suggesting to take advantage of it at the moment. I just wanted to understand. So it's sort of a... subsisdence thing? Needs, not wants. Not luxuries. I'm just trying to square away how this whole system can possibly work. And there was someone else I thought of asking, but--got distracted."
"Right." Saiyah offers a smirk in return, amending as she stands, "Well-dressed, well-maintained destitute. That's a story I'd like to hear. If you could manage a reason for it, that'd be pretty damn impressive." She pushes in her chair and picks up her folder, nodding over at him as she does. "More or less. I mean, it's not like it's all just... awful things leftover. But yes, not so much with the luxuries. Of course, everything else gets stored here for the Weyr... it's just not the stuff you go taking."
While she goes on, Halsten is tapping his chin thoughtfully, and as soon as Saiyah's finished, he has an answer: "Fire." Didn't he just say 'or not' a moment ago? "It was a fire. Small one. Burned up all my belongings. They were in a wagon. With me. I escaped unscathed. It was a miracle. Everything but what I was wearing at the time is now ash and cinders." He lifts his sleeve and sniffs. "Can still smell the smoke."
Saiyah's not expecting an answer anymore; as she hipchecks the chair the last inch in to place, folder tucked carefully in one arm against her, there's a beat before she even figures out what Halsten's talking about. And then, perhaps a touch grudgingly, she does have to look somewhat impressed, with a little nod to him. "Fair enough," she allows. "Appropriately upset... you'd be kind of a jerk to say no." A pause. "I'd be kind of a jerk to say no." Whatever.
"Of course you would. But never mind that." Now that Halsten has proven himself capable of explaining it away, he seems entirely unconcerned with his right to get into the Weyr's castoffs. "Interesting system. Doesn't do much to encourage profit for those who show up here without high-end or specialty items, though, does it?" And here he finally tips his hand: "Trader, you see."
Not all that worried about her jerkiness or lack thereof, "Oh well." Saiyah flashes Halsten a bright smile - no hard feelings - and settles into a lean against the workstation. Tilting her head to one side, green eyes thoughtful, "Well, yes and no. I wouldn't say 'high-end'. It's not like most people who work here can afford super-nice luxuries, so high-end stuff might just price itself out of the market, especially given the people who have the most money around here can go and shop wherever they want. You could move a lot of cheaper stuff, I'd bet."
A faint frown crosses Halsten's face. "Ah. But if they want cheap, they have--" Another gesture for storage. "It's a conundrum, I suppose. Not so much a problem in the small Holds. Folks want, they buy. This whole tithing thing is not especially good for business." Just don't let the weyrfolk hear it put in those terms. "But, hey, thanks. Guess knowing's better than not. I'm Hal." An introduction, finally.
Saiyah points out helpfully, "Yes, but it's not like you can get... I don't know. Nice-smelling soap. Do you want what /might/ be someone else's brush? And so on. I mean, it's not going to make you rich, but there's not many things that will." At least she has something of an apologetic smile for the trader; she feels for him, she really does. Offering a hand, "There's not a lot in it that's good for business, no. And glad I could help for all it's sort of depressing. Saiyah."
"Soap," Halsten repeats. "There's a thought." He takes the hand, though with the sort of gentleness that men frequently reserve for women, like their hands might turn out to be made out of glass. "Nice to meet you, Saiyah. How'd you end up working down here? Seems like an out of the way sort of a place for a young lady. Don't you like sunshine?"
The offered hand isn't really the sort to be made of glass - calloused and scarred in a few places, Saiyah's likely spent more time climbing and falling out of things in the past than some young women her age. With an arch of dark brows for that care, "Nice to meet you, Hal. And never underestimate a woman's vanity, my father said once. When he thought I wasn't listening, and my mother wasn't around. Go figure." After a smirk, she explains, "Oh, I used to do a little of this sort of thing at home. And I'm fairly good with numbers, with organizing. It seemed to make the most sense."
"Smart man, your father." Halsten draws back, nods, smiles broadly at her. "I do believe that's usually how it works. Guess if it suits you, well. Something that suits everyone, I suppose. Wouldn't be my cup of tea, inside all day, I can tell you that." Then a sigh. "And speaking of all day--'nother one of those tomorrow and I'd better go do what I have to to get ready for it. Damn days always showing up one right after another."
Amused for some reason, "I'd say so." Saiyah gives a little shrug, noting, "It suits for now. It's more interesting than being at home, at least." And that's something, by her tone. As for being indoors, she lifts a tanned arm to examine it, figuring, "I get out enough. But it's not for everyone." Maybe she /is/ just so into her job she has to hang out and go through papers. And if so, isn't that a little sad? Flashing a sunny smile of her own, "And I've got to get up at a decent hour. So good timing... and glad I could help. Hope you have a good night."
The trader nods to her, grins. "Responsible. Very... responsible. Probably didn't do so many mornings when I was your age. Thanks--you, too." With that, Halsten turns, and makes his way back out of the caverns entirely, towards wherever it is that whatever he needs to do happens to be.