Projects
Who: Hattie, Palia | Elaruth
When: 17:06 of day 4, month 6, turn 35 of Interval 10.
Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr
What: Hattie and Palia chat about dragons and possible journeyman projects.
Though most of the fire pits have been dug out and the sand replaced with fresh, there are still smudges of smoky-grey sand here and there along the edge of the lake, like shadows without owners. It’s beside one of these darker patches of sand that Hattie has chosen to sit, making it look as if she has two shadows, as the day winds towards evening and people begin to look to the caverns. Her gaze is on the slowly paddling form of Elaruth out in the lake, the queen engaging in a lazy game of tag with a green and a couple of blues, though there are hides and a pen in Hattie’s lap that have been forgotten in favour of watching her queen.
Carrying her usual satchel, though it’s far emptier than usual and thumps against her hip as she walks, Palia it seems, is off-duty. No children trail about in her wake, harper lessons concluded for the day. Dressed down, the apprentice’s steps steer her toward the lake, a towel slung over one shoulder might speak of an intent to swim. Elaruth’s form is unmistakeable and Palia’s steps slow, gray eyes scanning the shoreline until they find Hattie and she steers a course toward the Weyrwoman. “Good day,” she greets as she nears, on the quiet side, perhaps not wishing to startle the Weyrwoman, “to you and Elaruth.”
Hattie tips her focus up to Palia just as Elaurth stretches out, right from nose to tail, to tag the green she’s gaining on just at the edge of one of her wingtips. “Palia,” the Weyrwoman murmurs, the motion of her twisting slightly enough to dislodge hides and pen and send them sliding down onto the sand. It doesn’t take her long to have a guess at Palia’s intent, given that people don’t usually wander around with towels. “We’ll be going home soon, if you’re worried about them,” a nod towards the dragons, “disturbing the water too much. Though I don’t think Elaruth’s drowned anyone yet, that said.”
Palia’s satchel bumps to the ground and she leans down, starting to reach for Hattie’s dislodged hides. “Sorry - didn’t mean to disturb,” she apologies briefly and casts the Weyrwoman a small smile at mention of Elaruth in the water. “I’m not worried. I’m used to sharing the water with dragons and dealing with much larger waves. Jekzith likes to play water games still, with any children who’d like to play. He made a good lifeguard at Ista.”
It might be quicker for Hattie to retrieve the hides herself, yet rather than snatch them up or bat the apprentice’s hands away, she lets Palia reach for them, so there can’t be anything particularly classified written there. They look rather boring, really, comprised mostly of columns of numbers. “You didn’t,” she replies, giving a twitch of her shoulders. “…Elaruth used to enjoy playing with him, even if there was nothing more than friendship between them,” the goldrider says quietly. “She’s never really played with other bronzes or browns.”
Gathering the documents together neatly, Palia passes them back to Hattie with another small smile: her gaze doesn’t linger on the contents. “I think … he’s probably easy to get along with,” the apprentice suggests of her father’s brown. “At least, that’s what I understand from Papa and the way Jekzith always treated me.” Her head tips to the side, a hint of curiosity in her expression. “Never?”
Hattie accepts the hides with a murmur of thanks, then sets the pen on top of them and cradles the whole lot against her with one arm. “Not since she was little,” she answers, gaze distant as she considers her reply in greater depth. “I mean, Bijedth and Mecaith, it’s different. Bijedth is her mate and Mecaith /was/, but I’m not sure even then I’d call what they do ‘playing’. She doesn’t pay any male but Bijedth much mind, really.” But following along down that path has the potential to unearth other, more awkward or painful things, and so out of nowhere she asks, “Have they said anything about considering a project for your Joyrneyman knot yet?”
Thoughtful: “No … play isn’t how it usually /looks/ between mated dragons.” A little shift of shoulders. “Just … from the outside looking in.” Palia’s mouth opens, then shuts, maybe there was another thought following on about Bijedth or Jekzith, but she leaves it lie. Straightening up, Palia reaches for her satchel and sets it down again nearby and then spreads her towel out and sits on it, works on unclasping one sandal. “No.” Pause. “Not yet.”
Hattie keeps hugging those hides to her chest as she watches Palia set her satchel down and get her towel sorted, and after a few moments of thought, she questions, “Why?” It’s not an accusatory thing, nor does the enquiry sound like it’s asking for a definite answer from the mouths of Masters, but for why the apprentice herself believes it is. “I’m not saying it should have happened; the extent of my knowledge of the intimacies of Crafts extends only to looking after my posted Crafters.”
Palia is still for a moment, looking out at Elaruth in the water then looks back over at Hattie. Blunt: “I don’t know.” The younger woman’s shoulders hunch inward a little and her knees draw up toward her chest, arms folding atop them. “There haven’t been any complaints about my performance that I know of. I’ve been careful to mind my manners and do what I’m supposed to. But the journeyman hasn’t mentioned anything.” Another pause. “I’ve … been doing a little of work on my own though. Nothing official, just projects that have always interested me. When I have some time.”
“Have you shown them those projects?” Hattie looks out across the lake when it catches up to her that her words sound a little too close to a demand or too direct a question. “It’s my understanding that most Journeymen have a speciality within the craft. I employ teaching Harpers and law Harpers, and those who focus on performance. They all have the same knot, but they don’t do the same work. Some of them have told me they couldn’t - at least one who Impressed suggested he couldn’t.” She’s plainly working up to something, which turns out to be: “So, what’s yours?”
Palia side-eyes toward the Weyrwoman, but simply: “No.” No elaboration offered. Hattie’s next question though earns a ready enough answer: “Musically, composition. Otherwise I’m a teaching harper with a focus on Pern’s history.” Beat. “My uncle is very proud I’m largely following in his footsteps, though he’s a far better musicion than I am.” Candid. “And this rider … suggested he couldn’t do all the same work?” A little furrowing of brows.
“Maybe you should,” the Weyrwoman states. Hattie gives a shrug, then adds, “If they’ve even the slightest suspicion that you’re doing your own work, they may well be /waiting/ for you to present them with something. That might be half the test.” Leaning forward, she loops her arms around her knees and lets the hides slide back into her lap. “It suits you,” she says quietly, though she doesn’t linger long on that. “It was suggested that they weren’t suited to fulfil the tasks I needed them to, as their skills lay elsewhere. Which was true enough. Not that I let that be an excuse.”
“Maybe,” Palia is highly non-commital on the subject of her personal projects. “It’s not -” she frowns a little more deeply. “It’s not something I’m ready to share.” Breah out and she cocks another look over Hattie’s way. “Parts of it suit me. I’ll never be a big performer, but I /like/ teaching children. I’d be happy if I could stick to that part and occasionally publish new songs.” She considers Hattie’s last though, still with a faint air of puzzlement. “I … suppose. Most harpers have to be postable. It’s … part of the job.”
“That’s… what I meant,” Hattie says slowly; carefully. “The teaching. Texts and learning. Not that I imagine that you can’t fulfil more musically inclined roles, but then… I’ve never heard you play.” She tips her head back to look up at the sky and the fading sunshine, then closes her eyes as she exhales. “I suppose if you can knock out a Gather or celebration crowd with a sweet ballad, you don’t have to worry much about slight blips here and there. Then, perhaps that goes for excessive talent in any measurable skill.”
“Would you like to?” Pause. “Sometime. I could play just for you.” Palia looks away again, watching the little waves slap the shoreline. “Violin. It’s the one instrument I really … get.” Shoulders lift, drop again. “At a Gather, as part of a group. Not for solos. And I can sing well enough to teach, but again, I’m not going to be in demand all across Pern to bring the masses to tears through the loveliness of my voice.”
Hattie inclines her head a little and murmurs, “I’d like that,” as she dares a quick look across at Palia. Soon enough, she glances back down at her knees, then up to where Elaruth pushes free of the water and extracts herself from the lake as delicately as a creature of her size can, which is not very, but she tries not to splash so mush. “You’ve always been bright, Palia. I think, if you really put your mind to it, you could have them talking about your being a Journeyman sooner than you know.” Said quietly, not so much louder than that murmur, as she gathers up her things and gets to her feet. She hesitates, then leans down to set a gentle hand on Palia’s shoulder and touch a kiss to the top of her head. “And think, you can be safe in the knowledge that you can sing better than at least one Weyrwoman.” That said, she turns and her progress towards the bowl proper is quick.
“Then we should plan on that,” Palia answers, of playing as Elaruth exits the water. If she had anything to say about her possible promotion it’s lost instead to the slight lean into Hattie’s hand on her shoulder and a smile offered upward in the wake of that kiss. Hattie’s parting words bring honest laughter that follows the Weyrwoman away across the Bowl.
When: 17:06 of day 4, month 6, turn 35 of Interval 10.
Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr
What: Hattie and Palia chat about dragons and possible journeyman projects.
Though most of the fire pits have been dug out and the sand replaced with fresh, there are still smudges of smoky-grey sand here and there along the edge of the lake, like shadows without owners. It’s beside one of these darker patches of sand that Hattie has chosen to sit, making it look as if she has two shadows, as the day winds towards evening and people begin to look to the caverns. Her gaze is on the slowly paddling form of Elaruth out in the lake, the queen engaging in a lazy game of tag with a green and a couple of blues, though there are hides and a pen in Hattie’s lap that have been forgotten in favour of watching her queen.
Carrying her usual satchel, though it’s far emptier than usual and thumps against her hip as she walks, Palia it seems, is off-duty. No children trail about in her wake, harper lessons concluded for the day. Dressed down, the apprentice’s steps steer her toward the lake, a towel slung over one shoulder might speak of an intent to swim. Elaruth’s form is unmistakeable and Palia’s steps slow, gray eyes scanning the shoreline until they find Hattie and she steers a course toward the Weyrwoman. “Good day,” she greets as she nears, on the quiet side, perhaps not wishing to startle the Weyrwoman, “to you and Elaruth.”
Hattie tips her focus up to Palia just as Elaurth stretches out, right from nose to tail, to tag the green she’s gaining on just at the edge of one of her wingtips. “Palia,” the Weyrwoman murmurs, the motion of her twisting slightly enough to dislodge hides and pen and send them sliding down onto the sand. It doesn’t take her long to have a guess at Palia’s intent, given that people don’t usually wander around with towels. “We’ll be going home soon, if you’re worried about them,” a nod towards the dragons, “disturbing the water too much. Though I don’t think Elaruth’s drowned anyone yet, that said.”
Palia’s satchel bumps to the ground and she leans down, starting to reach for Hattie’s dislodged hides. “Sorry - didn’t mean to disturb,” she apologies briefly and casts the Weyrwoman a small smile at mention of Elaruth in the water. “I’m not worried. I’m used to sharing the water with dragons and dealing with much larger waves. Jekzith likes to play water games still, with any children who’d like to play. He made a good lifeguard at Ista.”
It might be quicker for Hattie to retrieve the hides herself, yet rather than snatch them up or bat the apprentice’s hands away, she lets Palia reach for them, so there can’t be anything particularly classified written there. They look rather boring, really, comprised mostly of columns of numbers. “You didn’t,” she replies, giving a twitch of her shoulders. “…Elaruth used to enjoy playing with him, even if there was nothing more than friendship between them,” the goldrider says quietly. “She’s never really played with other bronzes or browns.”
Gathering the documents together neatly, Palia passes them back to Hattie with another small smile: her gaze doesn’t linger on the contents. “I think … he’s probably easy to get along with,” the apprentice suggests of her father’s brown. “At least, that’s what I understand from Papa and the way Jekzith always treated me.” Her head tips to the side, a hint of curiosity in her expression. “Never?”
Hattie accepts the hides with a murmur of thanks, then sets the pen on top of them and cradles the whole lot against her with one arm. “Not since she was little,” she answers, gaze distant as she considers her reply in greater depth. “I mean, Bijedth and Mecaith, it’s different. Bijedth is her mate and Mecaith /was/, but I’m not sure even then I’d call what they do ‘playing’. She doesn’t pay any male but Bijedth much mind, really.” But following along down that path has the potential to unearth other, more awkward or painful things, and so out of nowhere she asks, “Have they said anything about considering a project for your Joyrneyman knot yet?”
Thoughtful: “No … play isn’t how it usually /looks/ between mated dragons.” A little shift of shoulders. “Just … from the outside looking in.” Palia’s mouth opens, then shuts, maybe there was another thought following on about Bijedth or Jekzith, but she leaves it lie. Straightening up, Palia reaches for her satchel and sets it down again nearby and then spreads her towel out and sits on it, works on unclasping one sandal. “No.” Pause. “Not yet.”
Hattie keeps hugging those hides to her chest as she watches Palia set her satchel down and get her towel sorted, and after a few moments of thought, she questions, “Why?” It’s not an accusatory thing, nor does the enquiry sound like it’s asking for a definite answer from the mouths of Masters, but for why the apprentice herself believes it is. “I’m not saying it should have happened; the extent of my knowledge of the intimacies of Crafts extends only to looking after my posted Crafters.”
Palia is still for a moment, looking out at Elaruth in the water then looks back over at Hattie. Blunt: “I don’t know.” The younger woman’s shoulders hunch inward a little and her knees draw up toward her chest, arms folding atop them. “There haven’t been any complaints about my performance that I know of. I’ve been careful to mind my manners and do what I’m supposed to. But the journeyman hasn’t mentioned anything.” Another pause. “I’ve … been doing a little of work on my own though. Nothing official, just projects that have always interested me. When I have some time.”
“Have you shown them those projects?” Hattie looks out across the lake when it catches up to her that her words sound a little too close to a demand or too direct a question. “It’s my understanding that most Journeymen have a speciality within the craft. I employ teaching Harpers and law Harpers, and those who focus on performance. They all have the same knot, but they don’t do the same work. Some of them have told me they couldn’t - at least one who Impressed suggested he couldn’t.” She’s plainly working up to something, which turns out to be: “So, what’s yours?”
Palia side-eyes toward the Weyrwoman, but simply: “No.” No elaboration offered. Hattie’s next question though earns a ready enough answer: “Musically, composition. Otherwise I’m a teaching harper with a focus on Pern’s history.” Beat. “My uncle is very proud I’m largely following in his footsteps, though he’s a far better musicion than I am.” Candid. “And this rider … suggested he couldn’t do all the same work?” A little furrowing of brows.
“Maybe you should,” the Weyrwoman states. Hattie gives a shrug, then adds, “If they’ve even the slightest suspicion that you’re doing your own work, they may well be /waiting/ for you to present them with something. That might be half the test.” Leaning forward, she loops her arms around her knees and lets the hides slide back into her lap. “It suits you,” she says quietly, though she doesn’t linger long on that. “It was suggested that they weren’t suited to fulfil the tasks I needed them to, as their skills lay elsewhere. Which was true enough. Not that I let that be an excuse.”
“Maybe,” Palia is highly non-commital on the subject of her personal projects. “It’s not -” she frowns a little more deeply. “It’s not something I’m ready to share.” Breah out and she cocks another look over Hattie’s way. “Parts of it suit me. I’ll never be a big performer, but I /like/ teaching children. I’d be happy if I could stick to that part and occasionally publish new songs.” She considers Hattie’s last though, still with a faint air of puzzlement. “I … suppose. Most harpers have to be postable. It’s … part of the job.”
“That’s… what I meant,” Hattie says slowly; carefully. “The teaching. Texts and learning. Not that I imagine that you can’t fulfil more musically inclined roles, but then… I’ve never heard you play.” She tips her head back to look up at the sky and the fading sunshine, then closes her eyes as she exhales. “I suppose if you can knock out a Gather or celebration crowd with a sweet ballad, you don’t have to worry much about slight blips here and there. Then, perhaps that goes for excessive talent in any measurable skill.”
“Would you like to?” Pause. “Sometime. I could play just for you.” Palia looks away again, watching the little waves slap the shoreline. “Violin. It’s the one instrument I really … get.” Shoulders lift, drop again. “At a Gather, as part of a group. Not for solos. And I can sing well enough to teach, but again, I’m not going to be in demand all across Pern to bring the masses to tears through the loveliness of my voice.”
Hattie inclines her head a little and murmurs, “I’d like that,” as she dares a quick look across at Palia. Soon enough, she glances back down at her knees, then up to where Elaruth pushes free of the water and extracts herself from the lake as delicately as a creature of her size can, which is not very, but she tries not to splash so mush. “You’ve always been bright, Palia. I think, if you really put your mind to it, you could have them talking about your being a Journeyman sooner than you know.” Said quietly, not so much louder than that murmur, as she gathers up her things and gets to her feet. She hesitates, then leans down to set a gentle hand on Palia’s shoulder and touch a kiss to the top of her head. “And think, you can be safe in the knowledge that you can sing better than at least one Weyrwoman.” That said, she turns and her progress towards the bowl proper is quick.
“Then we should plan on that,” Palia answers, of playing as Elaruth exits the water. If she had anything to say about her possible promotion it’s lost instead to the slight lean into Hattie’s hand on her shoulder and a smile offered upward in the wake of that kiss. Hattie’s parting words bring honest laughter that follows the Weyrwoman away across the Bowl.