Log: Of Wood, Delegation and Knives
Who: Daggery, P'draig, Saiyah
When: Day 24, month 5, turn 22, Interval 10, West Cavern Workrooms.
Where: Work Cavern, Ista Weyr
What: A little downtime for reading and carving turns to a search for Daggery's lost knives.
It's evening, but that doesn't make things particularly quiet in the workroom with people still passing through, people still working at the tables, though more slowly perhaps, people still lounging on the couches. Not lucky enough to get herself a whole couch, Saiyah's managed to claim at least a chair and a sidetable for her mug. In her hand is a book that she appears to be reading, though every once in awhile she'll both make a note with a pencil she's holding and glance around the cavern to see if there's anything amiss. Nothing so far.
The Beach House is closed tonight, leaving P'draig free to pursue other passtimes. One of these brings him to the Weyr's workrooms in search of a good space to use. Upon arrival though, the space he wants isn't available and the brownrider detours after a brief word with the people working at the tables to go find himself a spot to sit in. This brings him past Saiyah's seat and he grins as he nods to the next chair over. "Hey there. Mind if I sit here while I wait for a table to free up?" He's got a tool belt slung over one shoulder and a sack in one hand that lets out the betraying thunking sounds of wood.
Looking up over her book, pencil poised, Saiyah looks up at P'draig with an easy grin and a little shrug; "It's a free workroom, so far as I know." Crossing long legs to get them out of the way, she also straightens out of her slouch, but only long enough to let him pass. "Don't mind," she says, eyeing the sack and the toolbelt as she lets the book fall closed for the moment, tapping the pencil against it. Pale green eyes curious, "Another project."
P'draig passes as those legs are drawn out of the way, though the brownrider's gaze does linger for a half-second longer than it should on those limbs, before skipping away. Flopping down in that chair, Paddy stretches the belt across his knees and puts the sack down with more tell-tale thunking. "Yep. I'm going to make some decorations for the Beach House. Wood carvings to put around the railings and along the counter, you know little details."
Sitting in a couple of chairs off to the side in a busy evening workroom is one tall, tanned girl with a book and pencil in hand, and one brownrider with a sack and a toolbelt. Saiyah is settling back into a slouch, long legs crossed as she taps the pencil against her book idly, dark brows arched. "Aren't you concerned, carving wood, given your hands are sort of what you're making your living with at this point? And how'd you find the time to learn to do that and cook?" She doesn't sound incredulous so much as interested; just filling in the blanks.
"I use big sharp knives nightly," P'draig points out with a grin. "I'm more likely to chop off a finger in the kitchen than working with wood, to be honest," he points out. "And I whittled a bunch when I was a weyrling, when I couldn't cook. I'm not ever going to be crafter-level good at woodworking, but I know enough to not totally embarrass myself and make the odd little thing now and then for family and friends."
A man like Daggery probably doesn't garner much attention. There's little about him worth noting, maybe nothing, and under other circumstances he could probably walk by without anyone glancing twice at him. But tonight (today?) walking past doesn't seem to be his goal. Instead, he stops any each table, vacant or occupied, peeking under near, pulling out a chair to check the seat, asking a quiet question of anyone who might be sitting there. He's just within earshot of Saiyah and P'draig, and that's all he needs to hear one particular word. He turns toward, bites a lip and approaches. "Hey, sorry," he puts out first, an apology for bothering them. "Did you say you found some knives?" He dares, dares to look hopeful.
"Yeah, that's why I said you were making a living with your hands. Food isn't wood; you're more used to one than the other. It's like --" Saiyah's all set to make an analogy and then she just kind of... leaves it alone, waving her pencil-hand easily. With as easy a grin, though pale eyes are sharp on P'draig's bag, the tools, "You must pick things up quickly then." Normally, she might not notice Daggery, but she's quick enough to pick up on weirdness - the stops-and-starts are eyed, and as he comes up to them, she looks more than a little bemused. "Um, guy. People don't /find/ knives unless... People don't find knives."
Daggery:
Not a tall man, well-used muscle saves him from having a physique too lean to suit someone of his years. If only the baby face was made distinguished its traces of wear. Instead, youth and strain fight one another, giving him a roughened and prematurely aged look. A mop of dark, shaggy hair is stubbornly unkempt and his skin shows lines of stress and weather, weary around eyes that would be better served by brown than their pale blue. But the expert lift of an eyebrow turns dark expressions to devilish ones and his smile is, in juxtaposition to it all, more charming than would be expected.
His attire is simple: sturdy boots that have seen better days, a pair of trousers that could use a good washing and a little time under the seamstress's needle and a light button-down shirt in orange and brown plaid that seems in decent repair. He wears on one wrist a leather cuff with illegible words burned all the way around.
"Different movements," P'draig agrees. "But even though I'm cooking a lot, I still make my living being a rider," the restaurant-man claims. "Some things. Like I said, I'm not about to win any prize for carving," Paddy insists with a chuckle and tilts a look over at the tables: still full and blinks up at Daggery. "Sorry, no. I was talking about the ones I work with in my kitchen."
Ah, hope is dashed. "Shit," Daggery hisses, to himself. He doesn't even look at either P'draig or Saiyah when it comes out; he's glancing sideways, dipping his chin down. But he does supply for the girl. "People find them when someone else loses them. I was sitting here... here somewhere." Now he's taking a step back to turn toward the rest of the tables, clearly trying to remember which table was his. "And this girl came and..." Well, the rest is history. "So... you haven't seen a set of knives? They're in a leather wrap thing." Very descriptive. But he does know what they were for. "Kitchen knives," gets added in, with a look to P'draig like he'll understand maybe, just maybe, how much trouble he might be in to have lost them.
If the brownrider's going to downplay his skills, Saiyah's not about to go arguing with him. "Well, I'd still be careful. Just because I know how to do something doesn't mean I should, you know? There's some things you've got to delegate and some things you've got to contract out. That? I'd contract out." She points her pencil towards P'draig's bulky sack of wood. Once Daggery's enlightened her, however, she tries not to smirk too much about the bit about the girl - but she will start to unfold from her chair with a minimum of sighing. "I haven't seen them, but I'll look." Presumably, she means around the chair only - book still firmly in hand. Weird girl.
"Sorry man," P'draig says sympathetically. "Haven't seen them. But I haven't been here for long. Just waiting for a turn at the tables," and he nods that way, gives his tool belt a pat. "Maybe they got picked up and turned in to the kitchen or the headwoman?" He grins over at Saiyah though and shrugs. "If I want something high-end, I will. In the meantime, I like doing this."
P'draig's briliant idea has Daggery's eyes getting wider, first with relief, then with fear. "Fuck, they're going to kick my ass if someone brought them in. They'll know I lost them." And so he heads around the table to pull out another chair, look down at it's empty seat. "Don't mind me," he tells the pair of them. "Delegating, contracting out, carry on." Having made a terrible interruption of himself, he attempts to get them back on track with the few words he caught. meanwhile, he moves on to another chair and mutters to himself.
With an arch of dark brows for the brownrider's lack of reaction, Saiyah glances over P'draig's way to ask mildly, "Do you think someone'd be good enough to do that? Turn them in?" The girl seems skeptical, shaking her head a little, shaggy hair in disarray. Dragging her chair back out of the way, she peers behind it in case the knives somehow managed to crawl back there; no dice. Kicking it back into place, now bending to look underneath, she eyes Daggery before noting, "You don't seem to be so concerned that you're looking hard or anything. And it's not much of a conversation - just me telling him that he's risking his restaurant screwing around with wood." Flashing an easy grin, she looks under the chair, just to be sure.
"Hopefully not too hard," P'draig says sympathetically and pushes up out of his chair because the table he's been waiting on just freed up. "No problem," the brownrider offers over and gives Saiyah a friendly nod. "My risk to take. Hope to see you back down at the Beach House soon. Going to get to work on these." A little wave follows and the brownrider takes himself off to get to work.
When: Day 24, month 5, turn 22, Interval 10, West Cavern Workrooms.
Where: Work Cavern, Ista Weyr
What: A little downtime for reading and carving turns to a search for Daggery's lost knives.
It's evening, but that doesn't make things particularly quiet in the workroom with people still passing through, people still working at the tables, though more slowly perhaps, people still lounging on the couches. Not lucky enough to get herself a whole couch, Saiyah's managed to claim at least a chair and a sidetable for her mug. In her hand is a book that she appears to be reading, though every once in awhile she'll both make a note with a pencil she's holding and glance around the cavern to see if there's anything amiss. Nothing so far.
The Beach House is closed tonight, leaving P'draig free to pursue other passtimes. One of these brings him to the Weyr's workrooms in search of a good space to use. Upon arrival though, the space he wants isn't available and the brownrider detours after a brief word with the people working at the tables to go find himself a spot to sit in. This brings him past Saiyah's seat and he grins as he nods to the next chair over. "Hey there. Mind if I sit here while I wait for a table to free up?" He's got a tool belt slung over one shoulder and a sack in one hand that lets out the betraying thunking sounds of wood.
Looking up over her book, pencil poised, Saiyah looks up at P'draig with an easy grin and a little shrug; "It's a free workroom, so far as I know." Crossing long legs to get them out of the way, she also straightens out of her slouch, but only long enough to let him pass. "Don't mind," she says, eyeing the sack and the toolbelt as she lets the book fall closed for the moment, tapping the pencil against it. Pale green eyes curious, "Another project."
P'draig passes as those legs are drawn out of the way, though the brownrider's gaze does linger for a half-second longer than it should on those limbs, before skipping away. Flopping down in that chair, Paddy stretches the belt across his knees and puts the sack down with more tell-tale thunking. "Yep. I'm going to make some decorations for the Beach House. Wood carvings to put around the railings and along the counter, you know little details."
Sitting in a couple of chairs off to the side in a busy evening workroom is one tall, tanned girl with a book and pencil in hand, and one brownrider with a sack and a toolbelt. Saiyah is settling back into a slouch, long legs crossed as she taps the pencil against her book idly, dark brows arched. "Aren't you concerned, carving wood, given your hands are sort of what you're making your living with at this point? And how'd you find the time to learn to do that and cook?" She doesn't sound incredulous so much as interested; just filling in the blanks.
"I use big sharp knives nightly," P'draig points out with a grin. "I'm more likely to chop off a finger in the kitchen than working with wood, to be honest," he points out. "And I whittled a bunch when I was a weyrling, when I couldn't cook. I'm not ever going to be crafter-level good at woodworking, but I know enough to not totally embarrass myself and make the odd little thing now and then for family and friends."
A man like Daggery probably doesn't garner much attention. There's little about him worth noting, maybe nothing, and under other circumstances he could probably walk by without anyone glancing twice at him. But tonight (today?) walking past doesn't seem to be his goal. Instead, he stops any each table, vacant or occupied, peeking under near, pulling out a chair to check the seat, asking a quiet question of anyone who might be sitting there. He's just within earshot of Saiyah and P'draig, and that's all he needs to hear one particular word. He turns toward, bites a lip and approaches. "Hey, sorry," he puts out first, an apology for bothering them. "Did you say you found some knives?" He dares, dares to look hopeful.
"Yeah, that's why I said you were making a living with your hands. Food isn't wood; you're more used to one than the other. It's like --" Saiyah's all set to make an analogy and then she just kind of... leaves it alone, waving her pencil-hand easily. With as easy a grin, though pale eyes are sharp on P'draig's bag, the tools, "You must pick things up quickly then." Normally, she might not notice Daggery, but she's quick enough to pick up on weirdness - the stops-and-starts are eyed, and as he comes up to them, she looks more than a little bemused. "Um, guy. People don't /find/ knives unless... People don't find knives."
Daggery:
Not a tall man, well-used muscle saves him from having a physique too lean to suit someone of his years. If only the baby face was made distinguished its traces of wear. Instead, youth and strain fight one another, giving him a roughened and prematurely aged look. A mop of dark, shaggy hair is stubbornly unkempt and his skin shows lines of stress and weather, weary around eyes that would be better served by brown than their pale blue. But the expert lift of an eyebrow turns dark expressions to devilish ones and his smile is, in juxtaposition to it all, more charming than would be expected.
His attire is simple: sturdy boots that have seen better days, a pair of trousers that could use a good washing and a little time under the seamstress's needle and a light button-down shirt in orange and brown plaid that seems in decent repair. He wears on one wrist a leather cuff with illegible words burned all the way around.
"Different movements," P'draig agrees. "But even though I'm cooking a lot, I still make my living being a rider," the restaurant-man claims. "Some things. Like I said, I'm not about to win any prize for carving," Paddy insists with a chuckle and tilts a look over at the tables: still full and blinks up at Daggery. "Sorry, no. I was talking about the ones I work with in my kitchen."
Ah, hope is dashed. "Shit," Daggery hisses, to himself. He doesn't even look at either P'draig or Saiyah when it comes out; he's glancing sideways, dipping his chin down. But he does supply for the girl. "People find them when someone else loses them. I was sitting here... here somewhere." Now he's taking a step back to turn toward the rest of the tables, clearly trying to remember which table was his. "And this girl came and..." Well, the rest is history. "So... you haven't seen a set of knives? They're in a leather wrap thing." Very descriptive. But he does know what they were for. "Kitchen knives," gets added in, with a look to P'draig like he'll understand maybe, just maybe, how much trouble he might be in to have lost them.
If the brownrider's going to downplay his skills, Saiyah's not about to go arguing with him. "Well, I'd still be careful. Just because I know how to do something doesn't mean I should, you know? There's some things you've got to delegate and some things you've got to contract out. That? I'd contract out." She points her pencil towards P'draig's bulky sack of wood. Once Daggery's enlightened her, however, she tries not to smirk too much about the bit about the girl - but she will start to unfold from her chair with a minimum of sighing. "I haven't seen them, but I'll look." Presumably, she means around the chair only - book still firmly in hand. Weird girl.
"Sorry man," P'draig says sympathetically. "Haven't seen them. But I haven't been here for long. Just waiting for a turn at the tables," and he nods that way, gives his tool belt a pat. "Maybe they got picked up and turned in to the kitchen or the headwoman?" He grins over at Saiyah though and shrugs. "If I want something high-end, I will. In the meantime, I like doing this."
P'draig's briliant idea has Daggery's eyes getting wider, first with relief, then with fear. "Fuck, they're going to kick my ass if someone brought them in. They'll know I lost them." And so he heads around the table to pull out another chair, look down at it's empty seat. "Don't mind me," he tells the pair of them. "Delegating, contracting out, carry on." Having made a terrible interruption of himself, he attempts to get them back on track with the few words he caught. meanwhile, he moves on to another chair and mutters to himself.
With an arch of dark brows for the brownrider's lack of reaction, Saiyah glances over P'draig's way to ask mildly, "Do you think someone'd be good enough to do that? Turn them in?" The girl seems skeptical, shaking her head a little, shaggy hair in disarray. Dragging her chair back out of the way, she peers behind it in case the knives somehow managed to crawl back there; no dice. Kicking it back into place, now bending to look underneath, she eyes Daggery before noting, "You don't seem to be so concerned that you're looking hard or anything. And it's not much of a conversation - just me telling him that he's risking his restaurant screwing around with wood." Flashing an easy grin, she looks under the chair, just to be sure.
"Hopefully not too hard," P'draig says sympathetically and pushes up out of his chair because the table he's been waiting on just freed up. "No problem," the brownrider offers over and gives Saiyah a friendly nod. "My risk to take. Hope to see you back down at the Beach House soon. Going to get to work on these." A little wave follows and the brownrider takes himself off to get to work.