Log: A Meeting In The Library
Who: Murron, P'draig
When:
Where: Library, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy meets Murron who might be able to help him with his little bookkeeping problem if he can afford her fees.
Library, Ista Weyr(#264RJ)
This is a cavern, chosen for its drier atmosphere, houses rows and rows of shelving containing bound hide volumes on all manner of study. Everything from Weyr records to sheet music to dress patterns to novels can be found here. Tidy labeled recesses against one wall serve as storage for stacks of neatly rolls hides. Small circular tables are off to the left side of the room, prim and functional chairs surrounding each, providing a place for quiet work either along or in groups. There are a few occasional chairs are well, upholstered with stripes of Ista's black and orange, a comfortable place for a person to curl up and do some reading.
Near the entryway is a cart with a water pitcher and a few carved wooden cups, and a few light blankets are hung on pegs for those more accustomed to the warmer Istan clime so prevalent on the surface. A mild breeze blows through the room from the lower caverns and to the west stands the wide door of the meeting room.
Evening is falling over Ista Weyr and many have left for dinner, but one brownrider lingers in the library standing in front of a row of shelves. Depending on how well one knows P'draig, the cooking and food tomes on those shelves might be considered predictable. Be that as it may, he's just reaching for a volume, pulling it down to flip through its pages.
Not the only one left - there's another, though Murron has spent the better part of the hour buried in the stacks amidst dusty musty scrolls and hides that few venture out to find. It's one of these documents that she's lost in, lips pursed thoughtfully as she finally emerges from her hiding place and - through distraction and pure dumb luck, turns the corner and comes but a hairsbreadth away from fully knocking into the brownrider. A breathed "Oh!" is her reaction, as she puts a hand out to the shelf to steady herself. "My apologies."
Up come gray-blue eyes at the sound of Murron's voice and the brownrider's expression betrays surprise. "Oh ... hey there." He holds out a steadying hand toward the woman with a little nod. "And it's okay, I'm still standing and nothing's falling," the rider adds with a little chuckle and briefly eyes what she was reading, curiously.
In return to rider's pleasant response, Murron gives a smile, warmth in her dark eyes. "I believe I was the only one in danger of falling," she says, with a little shake of her head. "And it serves me right for not looking where I'm walking." She catches that glance he gives to her reading material, and responds appropriately, raising so the hide can be seen more clearly. Old, beginning to fall apart, and ink faded. "Old records." Such is her explanation. "The one I was working off of was unreadable in places, and I'm hoping I can fill in the gaps," she offers, and her own eyes drift up to see what books have captured his interest. "I always intended to learn to cook." It's an offhand comment, half directed just to herself.
"Seems like that has a habit of happening in libraries. It's easy to get caught up in ... well whatever a person likes to read best, I guess," P'draig says and hefts the cooking book in his hand. "Shells, that's really old then, isn't it?" About her record. "My brother'd probably be really interested in that kind of work. Piecing together old things." He smiles at that claim about cookery. "Well you might be in luck, I'm thinking about offering lessons." Beat. "For a modest fee."
Murron tilts her head to gaze down at the bit of hide in her hands, with a slow, almost reverent nod. "Very old. Near impossible to read, though some of that is due to the handwriting... you would think they would have practiced penmanship before putting ink down." She looks back up, and with what almost seems to be a sudden touch of embarrassment, she deftly rolls the hide back up and clasps it between her hands. "It's satisfying work, anyway. I imagine yours is too," she adds, interpreting from the mention of lessons that his work must be culinary. "Perhaps I will seek you out, then, for that purpose." A smile comes at the addendum, just a subtle thing. "Of course. I wouldn't dream otherwise. I'm sure your time is valuable. Are you affiliated with the restaurant, sir?"
"It'd be kind of ironic, if someone with great handwriting didn't have any records survive and someone with bad handwriting, had scrolls and scrolls of it," P'draig says with a little grin. "And it is. I love to cook. It's been good getting back to it, even if /business/ isn't necessarily something I'm great at," he admits, then shifts the book over so he can offer a handclasp. "I am. P'draig, brown Jekzith's. Owner and chef of the Beach House."
A slender hand is offered in return, taking his delicately - such decorum. "Of course. I've heard your name and I've heard lovely things about your establishment. It is a great pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Murron. A scribe." She pauses, considering for a moment as though the question she is about to pose may be too indelicate... but after moment she speaks it anyway, though in a softened tone. "Are you having any... difficulty? With the business aspect, I mean?" Of course, once the words out there's a hint of rose in her cheeks, and she hastens to add: "I ask only because I would be happy, if it would be of any help, to organize records or set up a filing or bookkeeping system. It is something I have a knack for." Pause. "For a modest fee, of course."
Decorum is met by a firm grip, though Paddy's careful enough not to over-squeeze Murron's hand. "Murron, well met," the brownrider says with a little polite nod. That question, turns the expression on his face wry though he hastens to reassure that blush. "I'm not the best at numbers, no," Paddy claims and his hand withdraws, gaze dropping back down to thee book. "I do have some help and I think we've about got things sorted out, though part of the problem is that I can't really afford to pay someone to really take over the bookkeeping like I should," he admits. "Part of why I'm looking for some ideas tonight is because I'm expecting to be able to expand some of the business and that could change things."
"That sounds exciting. Perhaps in the future, if you need additional help," Murron says, and leaves the offer unfinished but for a smile. She gives a glance towards the door, as the minutes marching on finally being to pull at her, and she makes a little gesture with the hide she still holds. "I had best get back to my work. Again, it was very good to meet you, sir. If you do decide to offer lessons, I will certainly be there," she adds - though it may be difficult to imagine her, as pristine and groomed as she is, with the natural dishevelment that comes of cooking, though her tone is perfectly genuine.
"Or we can work out a deal sometime," P'draig offers an alternative and straightens, nods. "And I should go track down my kids. nice to meet you too, Murron. I'll keep an eye out to keep you posted about lessons," the brownrider adds, gives a little salute and turns to pause at one of the tables that allows for copying, copies out a recipe from the book, then puts it on the re-shelving rack and heads out.
When:
Where: Library, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy meets Murron who might be able to help him with his little bookkeeping problem if he can afford her fees.
Library, Ista Weyr(#264RJ)
This is a cavern, chosen for its drier atmosphere, houses rows and rows of shelving containing bound hide volumes on all manner of study. Everything from Weyr records to sheet music to dress patterns to novels can be found here. Tidy labeled recesses against one wall serve as storage for stacks of neatly rolls hides. Small circular tables are off to the left side of the room, prim and functional chairs surrounding each, providing a place for quiet work either along or in groups. There are a few occasional chairs are well, upholstered with stripes of Ista's black and orange, a comfortable place for a person to curl up and do some reading.
Near the entryway is a cart with a water pitcher and a few carved wooden cups, and a few light blankets are hung on pegs for those more accustomed to the warmer Istan clime so prevalent on the surface. A mild breeze blows through the room from the lower caverns and to the west stands the wide door of the meeting room.
Evening is falling over Ista Weyr and many have left for dinner, but one brownrider lingers in the library standing in front of a row of shelves. Depending on how well one knows P'draig, the cooking and food tomes on those shelves might be considered predictable. Be that as it may, he's just reaching for a volume, pulling it down to flip through its pages.
Not the only one left - there's another, though Murron has spent the better part of the hour buried in the stacks amidst dusty musty scrolls and hides that few venture out to find. It's one of these documents that she's lost in, lips pursed thoughtfully as she finally emerges from her hiding place and - through distraction and pure dumb luck, turns the corner and comes but a hairsbreadth away from fully knocking into the brownrider. A breathed "Oh!" is her reaction, as she puts a hand out to the shelf to steady herself. "My apologies."
Up come gray-blue eyes at the sound of Murron's voice and the brownrider's expression betrays surprise. "Oh ... hey there." He holds out a steadying hand toward the woman with a little nod. "And it's okay, I'm still standing and nothing's falling," the rider adds with a little chuckle and briefly eyes what she was reading, curiously.
In return to rider's pleasant response, Murron gives a smile, warmth in her dark eyes. "I believe I was the only one in danger of falling," she says, with a little shake of her head. "And it serves me right for not looking where I'm walking." She catches that glance he gives to her reading material, and responds appropriately, raising so the hide can be seen more clearly. Old, beginning to fall apart, and ink faded. "Old records." Such is her explanation. "The one I was working off of was unreadable in places, and I'm hoping I can fill in the gaps," she offers, and her own eyes drift up to see what books have captured his interest. "I always intended to learn to cook." It's an offhand comment, half directed just to herself.
"Seems like that has a habit of happening in libraries. It's easy to get caught up in ... well whatever a person likes to read best, I guess," P'draig says and hefts the cooking book in his hand. "Shells, that's really old then, isn't it?" About her record. "My brother'd probably be really interested in that kind of work. Piecing together old things." He smiles at that claim about cookery. "Well you might be in luck, I'm thinking about offering lessons." Beat. "For a modest fee."
Murron tilts her head to gaze down at the bit of hide in her hands, with a slow, almost reverent nod. "Very old. Near impossible to read, though some of that is due to the handwriting... you would think they would have practiced penmanship before putting ink down." She looks back up, and with what almost seems to be a sudden touch of embarrassment, she deftly rolls the hide back up and clasps it between her hands. "It's satisfying work, anyway. I imagine yours is too," she adds, interpreting from the mention of lessons that his work must be culinary. "Perhaps I will seek you out, then, for that purpose." A smile comes at the addendum, just a subtle thing. "Of course. I wouldn't dream otherwise. I'm sure your time is valuable. Are you affiliated with the restaurant, sir?"
"It'd be kind of ironic, if someone with great handwriting didn't have any records survive and someone with bad handwriting, had scrolls and scrolls of it," P'draig says with a little grin. "And it is. I love to cook. It's been good getting back to it, even if /business/ isn't necessarily something I'm great at," he admits, then shifts the book over so he can offer a handclasp. "I am. P'draig, brown Jekzith's. Owner and chef of the Beach House."
A slender hand is offered in return, taking his delicately - such decorum. "Of course. I've heard your name and I've heard lovely things about your establishment. It is a great pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Murron. A scribe." She pauses, considering for a moment as though the question she is about to pose may be too indelicate... but after moment she speaks it anyway, though in a softened tone. "Are you having any... difficulty? With the business aspect, I mean?" Of course, once the words out there's a hint of rose in her cheeks, and she hastens to add: "I ask only because I would be happy, if it would be of any help, to organize records or set up a filing or bookkeeping system. It is something I have a knack for." Pause. "For a modest fee, of course."
Decorum is met by a firm grip, though Paddy's careful enough not to over-squeeze Murron's hand. "Murron, well met," the brownrider says with a little polite nod. That question, turns the expression on his face wry though he hastens to reassure that blush. "I'm not the best at numbers, no," Paddy claims and his hand withdraws, gaze dropping back down to thee book. "I do have some help and I think we've about got things sorted out, though part of the problem is that I can't really afford to pay someone to really take over the bookkeeping like I should," he admits. "Part of why I'm looking for some ideas tonight is because I'm expecting to be able to expand some of the business and that could change things."
"That sounds exciting. Perhaps in the future, if you need additional help," Murron says, and leaves the offer unfinished but for a smile. She gives a glance towards the door, as the minutes marching on finally being to pull at her, and she makes a little gesture with the hide she still holds. "I had best get back to my work. Again, it was very good to meet you, sir. If you do decide to offer lessons, I will certainly be there," she adds - though it may be difficult to imagine her, as pristine and groomed as she is, with the natural dishevelment that comes of cooking, though her tone is perfectly genuine.
"Or we can work out a deal sometime," P'draig offers an alternative and straightens, nods. "And I should go track down my kids. nice to meet you too, Murron. I'll keep an eye out to keep you posted about lessons," the brownrider adds, gives a little salute and turns to pause at one of the tables that allows for copying, copies out a recipe from the book, then puts it on the re-shelving rack and heads out.