Log: Ghosts Stories in Stores
Who: P'draig, Suvain
When: Evening
Where: Stores Caverns, Fort Weyr
What: P'draig spooks Suvain by accident while looking for towels in Stores. She helps him find the linens and they talk about ghost stories.
Central Stores Cavern
The cavern is large with age worn shelves on the left and right walls reaching from floor to ceiling. The contents of the shelves are carefully organized by type, ranging from cloth items (clothes, towels, rugs, etc.) on the far left to dried and preserved foods towards the center and right. From there, after inventory, they are moved to their prospective caverns through the rough hewn arches in the back. Each arch has a door that is usually locked. The glows are placed throughout the cavern and the scent of the air is dry and fresh from the cleaning in preparations for the coming tithe trains. The floor is scrubbed regularly not giving any stain a chance to linger for long.
The recently repaired crack from the previous tremor has split and splintered in the latest one, sending tiny fissures above and below it. Shelving nearest the crack has fallen, leaving that area of the cavern unusable.
Down in the stores, walking down an aisle, the Weyrlingmaster's running his finger along a shelf. "Towels ... towels ... towels," he mutters to himself frowning a little in the dim light of the glow he carries.
A brighter light dances deeper in the caverns, near the far end, and casts the shadows of the tall shelves and their contents long against the wall. The lantern owner's movements are also thrown into a magnified grotesque silhouette, that turns monster-like in its movements searching the lower shelves of where it is. In the end, it's the voice that designates the shadow as she, the girlish teenager's words muttered similar to how the weyrlingmaster searches, "Ink... ink, ink, it's gotta be somewhere here. /Shells/," the expletive echoing in the back area, as Suvain straightens, "Can't find a thing in here even all organized like this."
P'draig looks up at Suvain's approach captivated briefly by the dancing of her light and the monstrous shadows it throws. He chuckles after a moment, voice wry. "You'd think, wouldn't you?"
For all she's repeated the Weyrlingmaster's own version of searching, Suvain startles with a tiny shriek as if P'draig were the one casting monster shadows and not her. The shriek is accompanied by a belated, her body reacting slower than her voice, backwards hop. "Oh /shards/, oh /Faranth/." The glow lantern is held out as a shield, to throw its bright light out into the darkness and thus reveals wide blue-green eyes looking suspicious to the brownrider. "Oh, oh, it's you." Relieved as she recognizes the rider, Suvain smiles tentatively, though it does little to quiet her fears. "It's only you. I mean, not that you being you is bad, just, you're not, you know. You're not something else."
P'draig laughs again and props his hands on his hips. "Yeah, last I checked I was still one relatively innocuous brownrider. No luck on ink for you and no luck on towels for me. Maybe combined powers of investigation will help?" His brows arch a little underscoring the question.
Suvain's skittishness quiets, the uneven fear of her breathing soothed by P'draig's laugh and then by his brow-arced question. Slowly, even the lantern lowers, acting as it should as a source of light rather than the blinding glow of a would-be shield. "And not a ghost. Or a monster," the tentative smile strengthens, bordering on dazzling as the blonde regains her footing, literally and figuratively. After a head tilt of consideration, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought, she offers, "Towels. You're too far down along the way for towels. They're closer to the entrance. Get used more. 'Sides," the teenager glances at P'draig's light source and then hers, "You need something brighter to find anything here. C'mon."
P'draig pokes at his side with one finger. "Nope. Quite solid. Though if you ask the Weyrlings when we have them, they'll probably groan and say I'm a monster taskmaster." He grins again, easy going in spite of the light she was just flashing in his face. "Yeah I kinda grabbed the wrong glowbasket for this." He eyes his own dim article and drops it lower down along his thigh, turning to follow Suvain. "Serves me right for being in too much of a hurry."
"Make haste, make waste," parrots Suvain, then pauses with a sheepish grin, "I have no idea how that's apt here but it sounded like it should be. If you had waited a few more minutes to get the right glow basket, you would probably have found the towels easily and... now you've wasted more time. Or something like that." Maybe she's making her own ascertainment of whether he's really real or not in the clasp of her hand that attempts to pat his arm. Amiably, she continues prattling in conversation, "Ran out? Are there none set out in the baths? Oh, I'm Suvain by the by."
"Or maybe I've wound up with a fortuitous break from whatever it is that's been occupying me this evening," P'draig counters with an easy smile. He doesn't flinch away as her hand drops to his arm, though he does quirk another amused grin at her. "See? Solid." His head bobs once. "I know, I remember. You were in the living cavern the other day when we were talking about glows." Holding out his hand as they walk, he introduces himself fully. "P'draig, or Paddy if you'd rather, brown Jekzith's, Weyrlingmaster, etc. etc. And I have my own bathing room which is where I ran out."
Suvain pats again to make sure of P'draig's solidness, chagrinned and grinning goofily when her motivations are figured out so easily. "That transparent am I? Can't help it really. A friend of mine told this story that's left this creepy crawly feeling down my back about how old Fort is, and all its secrets. Guess I'm still five, to be so worried over stories like that. Cause they're just stories, right?" The hand at his arm slips to shake the one he holds out awkwardly firm, for they're still walking towards the front. "I remember. I just wasn't sure you would and I don't think I got a name then either. P'draig. Paddy."
"Sure, first Weyr and all that. There's some good ones floating about. Can't be too careful in the Stores of an evening eh?" P'draig's clearly teasing, eyes twinkling a bit in the much more robust light from Suvain's glow. "And I swear to you they are just stories. Been in and out of these storage caverns since I was thirteen and Standing the first time and the scariest thing I've ever encountered was tunnelsnakes and empty boxes that should've been full." He nods politely as she echoes his name. "Well met Suvain then. So. What're you looking for ink for?"
Suvain shudders involuntarily, casting a quick and dubious look back at the more poorly lit areas of the storage caverns. An instinctive sidle, just a couple minute steps, brings her into the safety of P'draig's shadow. "He told me the one about how a Fort Weyrleader turns and turns ago walled someone up alive into the stores and if you listen hard enough, you can hear his screams late at night. Funny, huh?" For all she says that, the girl looks visibly uncomfortable until given a change in subject. "Lowest ranked in the records rooms. Th' others sent me to refill the ink pots. for tomorrow.
"Ooh that's a good one. Y'know though that it's just a funny crack in the cavern wall right? When the wind gets up high enough it comes in through some shaft or something in the rock and it does sound like someone moaning. But that's all it is. A crack in the rock." Paddy's smile curls up warmly as he explains the prosaic origin of that particlar legend. "Ohhh, is that what you do around here? I guess I haven't been spending enough time in Records lately to notice who's new and who's not. Lowest or not, liking it well enough?"
"I know. I know. But knowing and well, when you're alone in here late at night, it's hard not to think about it. I pretend I'm not bothered, but secretly. Secretly, I'm waiting for a rotting hand to reach out and drag me into that walled up area. Crazy, huh?" Suvain sidesteps his question with a sunny grin, pointing out the stacks of towels. "Here we go. Do you prefer any colors? Though," she appraises the storeroom's stash. "Looks like they have white, white, and greys, and more whites. I hope you like white."
"Huh. Well then, I'll keep that in mind when I'm digging around here late myself." P'draig flashes her a sunny smile in return. "Wouldn't do to scare the newest records assistant to death, would it?" He stops when she stops, and eyes the shelves. "Now how did I walk past all this? Shells." Bending he collects two different sizes of towels, smaller and the big bath sheet kind, stacking two of each in his arms. "White's just fine. Fluffy and clean."
"Easy to." Suvain dismisses his chagrin with a wave of her lantern. "When you're not sure where to look and with that tiny basket of yours." Sure, all her merits belong in picking a bigger, brighter lantern. "And you'd think I'd know exactly where the ink is. I swear, this is some kind of hazing ritual and the ink's kept somewhere else." She doesn't really believe what she says, flashing a lovely smile at the weyrlingmaster; a smile that crinkles up her eyes. "You're not from around here then? You said thirteen?"
Loaded up with towels, Paddy nods an aisle over. "I thought I saw something like ink bottles one over if you want to try?" He only grins again at the commentary about his lantern and wiggles it a little from underneath the pile of towels. "Yeah, next time I'll make sure to get one like yours. An hmm ... could be, some of those scribes ... nasty pieces of work." Deadpan he winks over at her then shakes his head. "Nope. From the Reaches originally. My folks are riders up there, got a bunch of siblings and half-siblings and foster-siblings, mostly still there, one over at Telgar. Got Searched then, when I was thirteen. Didn't Impress, went off and apprenticed with the Bakers, posted back here, Stood again and whaddaya know. Jekzith boom."
"Jekzith. Boom." Suvain echoes him, halting a little when her gaze turns slightly bewildered. "Was it really boom?" A shrug. "Well, no matter. I didn't mean to pry really, curious mostly. I've never been to High Reaches, though I've heard, like most all of Pern, of it's acclaimed winters." The blonde head turns, following his nod down to the next aisle and she nods in response, another flicker of a winsome smile for P'draig. "I think if I ever apprenticed, I'd join the weaver craft, but there's something about missing business with pleasure and I'm worried I'll lose my enjoyment of clothing. So I keep records instead."
"Kinda ... it's hard to describe unless you've gone through it and even then it's different for everyone. He ... well he's got a big personality. And it was like ... yeah, like he leaped into my head and had always been there all at the same time. Overwhelming." P'draig's expression is still open and friendly. "Pry? Shells no. You wanna hear all about my family I can tell you about
"Kinda ... it's hard to describe unless you've gone through it and even then it's different for everyone. He ... well he's got a big personality. And it was like ... yeah, like he leaped into my head and had always been there all at the same time. Overwhelming." P'draig's expression is still open and friendly. "Pry? Shells no. You wanna hear all about my family I can tell you about 'em all. And about the Reaches. Mostly that it's Sharding cold. Colder'n here." His eyes skirt over to the girl and her outfit. "That is a nice .. um ... top ... skirt, combination thing. And hey - my mother she was cross-training at the Weaver Hall before all this crazy Interval Thread crap started."
Speaking of overwhelmed, P'draig's promise of telling all about his family brings back that note of distinct discomfort to Suvain's face--one she tries to quiet with a different subject. "I like it. My clothes I mean. Not everyone does, but it's fun mixing and matching pieces and when you don't have a lot of marks, you have to figure out how to make things last and how to make them look new even they might not be." Suvain finally succeeds in making that lovely smile genuine again. "I think I got it from here. Finding the ink I mean. You were looking for towels cause you were about to take a bath?" she surmises, bright eyes twinkling with questions. "I wouldn't want to keep you from that."
Though he's not the most perceptive, Paddy catches onto the discomfort and just pads along quietly while she moves on to other chatters. "I dunno much about clothes myself. I mostly just wear whatever my mother sends me." When her smile resurfaces, the Weyrlingmaster returns it with a bright one of his own. "Nope, not me. Illya. Azath's rider. She's expecting. Baby's mine. So, stocking up for her." He hefts his armload and nods. "If you're okay by yourself with the clutching hand of the walled in Weyrleader, I'll be off then. Safe back, Suvain."
"Ah!" Suvain exclaims, the lantern she holds jostled with her unrestrained delight. "Congratulations then and good luck on the stocking up and... stuff. I'll be fine. Wouldn't want to keep the proud daddy away from his growing family." The young woman turns to survey the dark caverns and mumbles, softer to herself only, "Sure, I'll be fine. Now 'bout that ink."
"Thanks! I'm ... looking forward to it. Fatherhood." P'draig's answering smile is equally delighted, putting the truth to his words. "All right then. I'm off. Just don't go wandering too deep eh?" He teases her one more time before heading back out of Stores and across the chilly Bowl to his weyr and one very pregnant, waiting greenrider.
When: Evening
Where: Stores Caverns, Fort Weyr
What: P'draig spooks Suvain by accident while looking for towels in Stores. She helps him find the linens and they talk about ghost stories.
Central Stores Cavern
The cavern is large with age worn shelves on the left and right walls reaching from floor to ceiling. The contents of the shelves are carefully organized by type, ranging from cloth items (clothes, towels, rugs, etc.) on the far left to dried and preserved foods towards the center and right. From there, after inventory, they are moved to their prospective caverns through the rough hewn arches in the back. Each arch has a door that is usually locked. The glows are placed throughout the cavern and the scent of the air is dry and fresh from the cleaning in preparations for the coming tithe trains. The floor is scrubbed regularly not giving any stain a chance to linger for long.
The recently repaired crack from the previous tremor has split and splintered in the latest one, sending tiny fissures above and below it. Shelving nearest the crack has fallen, leaving that area of the cavern unusable.
Down in the stores, walking down an aisle, the Weyrlingmaster's running his finger along a shelf. "Towels ... towels ... towels," he mutters to himself frowning a little in the dim light of the glow he carries.
A brighter light dances deeper in the caverns, near the far end, and casts the shadows of the tall shelves and their contents long against the wall. The lantern owner's movements are also thrown into a magnified grotesque silhouette, that turns monster-like in its movements searching the lower shelves of where it is. In the end, it's the voice that designates the shadow as she, the girlish teenager's words muttered similar to how the weyrlingmaster searches, "Ink... ink, ink, it's gotta be somewhere here. /Shells/," the expletive echoing in the back area, as Suvain straightens, "Can't find a thing in here even all organized like this."
P'draig looks up at Suvain's approach captivated briefly by the dancing of her light and the monstrous shadows it throws. He chuckles after a moment, voice wry. "You'd think, wouldn't you?"
For all she's repeated the Weyrlingmaster's own version of searching, Suvain startles with a tiny shriek as if P'draig were the one casting monster shadows and not her. The shriek is accompanied by a belated, her body reacting slower than her voice, backwards hop. "Oh /shards/, oh /Faranth/." The glow lantern is held out as a shield, to throw its bright light out into the darkness and thus reveals wide blue-green eyes looking suspicious to the brownrider. "Oh, oh, it's you." Relieved as she recognizes the rider, Suvain smiles tentatively, though it does little to quiet her fears. "It's only you. I mean, not that you being you is bad, just, you're not, you know. You're not something else."
P'draig laughs again and props his hands on his hips. "Yeah, last I checked I was still one relatively innocuous brownrider. No luck on ink for you and no luck on towels for me. Maybe combined powers of investigation will help?" His brows arch a little underscoring the question.
Suvain's skittishness quiets, the uneven fear of her breathing soothed by P'draig's laugh and then by his brow-arced question. Slowly, even the lantern lowers, acting as it should as a source of light rather than the blinding glow of a would-be shield. "And not a ghost. Or a monster," the tentative smile strengthens, bordering on dazzling as the blonde regains her footing, literally and figuratively. After a head tilt of consideration, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought, she offers, "Towels. You're too far down along the way for towels. They're closer to the entrance. Get used more. 'Sides," the teenager glances at P'draig's light source and then hers, "You need something brighter to find anything here. C'mon."
P'draig pokes at his side with one finger. "Nope. Quite solid. Though if you ask the Weyrlings when we have them, they'll probably groan and say I'm a monster taskmaster." He grins again, easy going in spite of the light she was just flashing in his face. "Yeah I kinda grabbed the wrong glowbasket for this." He eyes his own dim article and drops it lower down along his thigh, turning to follow Suvain. "Serves me right for being in too much of a hurry."
"Make haste, make waste," parrots Suvain, then pauses with a sheepish grin, "I have no idea how that's apt here but it sounded like it should be. If you had waited a few more minutes to get the right glow basket, you would probably have found the towels easily and... now you've wasted more time. Or something like that." Maybe she's making her own ascertainment of whether he's really real or not in the clasp of her hand that attempts to pat his arm. Amiably, she continues prattling in conversation, "Ran out? Are there none set out in the baths? Oh, I'm Suvain by the by."
"Or maybe I've wound up with a fortuitous break from whatever it is that's been occupying me this evening," P'draig counters with an easy smile. He doesn't flinch away as her hand drops to his arm, though he does quirk another amused grin at her. "See? Solid." His head bobs once. "I know, I remember. You were in the living cavern the other day when we were talking about glows." Holding out his hand as they walk, he introduces himself fully. "P'draig, or Paddy if you'd rather, brown Jekzith's, Weyrlingmaster, etc. etc. And I have my own bathing room which is where I ran out."
Suvain pats again to make sure of P'draig's solidness, chagrinned and grinning goofily when her motivations are figured out so easily. "That transparent am I? Can't help it really. A friend of mine told this story that's left this creepy crawly feeling down my back about how old Fort is, and all its secrets. Guess I'm still five, to be so worried over stories like that. Cause they're just stories, right?" The hand at his arm slips to shake the one he holds out awkwardly firm, for they're still walking towards the front. "I remember. I just wasn't sure you would and I don't think I got a name then either. P'draig. Paddy."
"Sure, first Weyr and all that. There's some good ones floating about. Can't be too careful in the Stores of an evening eh?" P'draig's clearly teasing, eyes twinkling a bit in the much more robust light from Suvain's glow. "And I swear to you they are just stories. Been in and out of these storage caverns since I was thirteen and Standing the first time and the scariest thing I've ever encountered was tunnelsnakes and empty boxes that should've been full." He nods politely as she echoes his name. "Well met Suvain then. So. What're you looking for ink for?"
Suvain shudders involuntarily, casting a quick and dubious look back at the more poorly lit areas of the storage caverns. An instinctive sidle, just a couple minute steps, brings her into the safety of P'draig's shadow. "He told me the one about how a Fort Weyrleader turns and turns ago walled someone up alive into the stores and if you listen hard enough, you can hear his screams late at night. Funny, huh?" For all she says that, the girl looks visibly uncomfortable until given a change in subject. "Lowest ranked in the records rooms. Th' others sent me to refill the ink pots. for tomorrow.
"Ooh that's a good one. Y'know though that it's just a funny crack in the cavern wall right? When the wind gets up high enough it comes in through some shaft or something in the rock and it does sound like someone moaning. But that's all it is. A crack in the rock." Paddy's smile curls up warmly as he explains the prosaic origin of that particlar legend. "Ohhh, is that what you do around here? I guess I haven't been spending enough time in Records lately to notice who's new and who's not. Lowest or not, liking it well enough?"
"I know. I know. But knowing and well, when you're alone in here late at night, it's hard not to think about it. I pretend I'm not bothered, but secretly. Secretly, I'm waiting for a rotting hand to reach out and drag me into that walled up area. Crazy, huh?" Suvain sidesteps his question with a sunny grin, pointing out the stacks of towels. "Here we go. Do you prefer any colors? Though," she appraises the storeroom's stash. "Looks like they have white, white, and greys, and more whites. I hope you like white."
"Huh. Well then, I'll keep that in mind when I'm digging around here late myself." P'draig flashes her a sunny smile in return. "Wouldn't do to scare the newest records assistant to death, would it?" He stops when she stops, and eyes the shelves. "Now how did I walk past all this? Shells." Bending he collects two different sizes of towels, smaller and the big bath sheet kind, stacking two of each in his arms. "White's just fine. Fluffy and clean."
"Easy to." Suvain dismisses his chagrin with a wave of her lantern. "When you're not sure where to look and with that tiny basket of yours." Sure, all her merits belong in picking a bigger, brighter lantern. "And you'd think I'd know exactly where the ink is. I swear, this is some kind of hazing ritual and the ink's kept somewhere else." She doesn't really believe what she says, flashing a lovely smile at the weyrlingmaster; a smile that crinkles up her eyes. "You're not from around here then? You said thirteen?"
Loaded up with towels, Paddy nods an aisle over. "I thought I saw something like ink bottles one over if you want to try?" He only grins again at the commentary about his lantern and wiggles it a little from underneath the pile of towels. "Yeah, next time I'll make sure to get one like yours. An hmm ... could be, some of those scribes ... nasty pieces of work." Deadpan he winks over at her then shakes his head. "Nope. From the Reaches originally. My folks are riders up there, got a bunch of siblings and half-siblings and foster-siblings, mostly still there, one over at Telgar. Got Searched then, when I was thirteen. Didn't Impress, went off and apprenticed with the Bakers, posted back here, Stood again and whaddaya know. Jekzith boom."
"Jekzith. Boom." Suvain echoes him, halting a little when her gaze turns slightly bewildered. "Was it really boom?" A shrug. "Well, no matter. I didn't mean to pry really, curious mostly. I've never been to High Reaches, though I've heard, like most all of Pern, of it's acclaimed winters." The blonde head turns, following his nod down to the next aisle and she nods in response, another flicker of a winsome smile for P'draig. "I think if I ever apprenticed, I'd join the weaver craft, but there's something about missing business with pleasure and I'm worried I'll lose my enjoyment of clothing. So I keep records instead."
"Kinda ... it's hard to describe unless you've gone through it and even then it's different for everyone. He ... well he's got a big personality. And it was like ... yeah, like he leaped into my head and had always been there all at the same time. Overwhelming." P'draig's expression is still open and friendly. "Pry? Shells no. You wanna hear all about my family I can tell you about
"Kinda ... it's hard to describe unless you've gone through it and even then it's different for everyone. He ... well he's got a big personality. And it was like ... yeah, like he leaped into my head and had always been there all at the same time. Overwhelming." P'draig's expression is still open and friendly. "Pry? Shells no. You wanna hear all about my family I can tell you about 'em all. And about the Reaches. Mostly that it's Sharding cold. Colder'n here." His eyes skirt over to the girl and her outfit. "That is a nice .. um ... top ... skirt, combination thing. And hey - my mother she was cross-training at the Weaver Hall before all this crazy Interval Thread crap started."
Speaking of overwhelmed, P'draig's promise of telling all about his family brings back that note of distinct discomfort to Suvain's face--one she tries to quiet with a different subject. "I like it. My clothes I mean. Not everyone does, but it's fun mixing and matching pieces and when you don't have a lot of marks, you have to figure out how to make things last and how to make them look new even they might not be." Suvain finally succeeds in making that lovely smile genuine again. "I think I got it from here. Finding the ink I mean. You were looking for towels cause you were about to take a bath?" she surmises, bright eyes twinkling with questions. "I wouldn't want to keep you from that."
Though he's not the most perceptive, Paddy catches onto the discomfort and just pads along quietly while she moves on to other chatters. "I dunno much about clothes myself. I mostly just wear whatever my mother sends me." When her smile resurfaces, the Weyrlingmaster returns it with a bright one of his own. "Nope, not me. Illya. Azath's rider. She's expecting. Baby's mine. So, stocking up for her." He hefts his armload and nods. "If you're okay by yourself with the clutching hand of the walled in Weyrleader, I'll be off then. Safe back, Suvain."
"Ah!" Suvain exclaims, the lantern she holds jostled with her unrestrained delight. "Congratulations then and good luck on the stocking up and... stuff. I'll be fine. Wouldn't want to keep the proud daddy away from his growing family." The young woman turns to survey the dark caverns and mumbles, softer to herself only, "Sure, I'll be fine. Now 'bout that ink."
"Thanks! I'm ... looking forward to it. Fatherhood." P'draig's answering smile is equally delighted, putting the truth to his words. "All right then. I'm off. Just don't go wandering too deep eh?" He teases her one more time before heading back out of Stores and across the chilly Bowl to his weyr and one very pregnant, waiting greenrider.