LOG: A wretched place
Date: Day 11, Month 2, Turn 26
Location: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del meets Tantaran, a Harper Apprentice temporarily at the weyr.
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
Though the snowfall this afternoon is only light, it's piling up heavily on already-deep drifts: the caverns are full, not to mention noisy. Of course, the Inner Caverns area is always busy, with weyrfolk at work on various tasks - many of them chattering amiably on one topic or another. Amidst the throng, K'del is leaning up against a wall, cornered by two middle aged women who clearly have a lot to say about /something/. Dressed casually, with a dark stain on one shoulder, he shifts uncomfortably until the pair finally leave; he takes a deep breath, and glances back around the vicinity.
Tantaran has been taking a break from his work in the records room, working out the cramps in his hand and taking occasional sips from a mug of klah sitting just in front of him and slightly off to the side. Crackle, crackle, pop -- and a sigh of relief as the knuckles relax. He looks around the room for a moment and spies a tall figure lounging against the wall. From what he's been told, this is the Weyrleader, K'del, whom he hasn't yet met face-to-face. But now it's time to change that and he picks up his mug and casually saunters over.
Can K'del be forgiven for looking just the slightest bit wary when Tantaran approaches? After all, he's hardly dressed for business, and after that last conversation, he looks ever so slightly exhausted. The wariness fades, however, and the Weyrleader straightens, glancing down at the harper with raised eyebrows. "Afternoon," he says, the rural Tillekian drawl still obvious in his tone even after turns at the weyr; he digs both hands into his pockets, elbows dragging low.
It's a bit of a look up that Tantaran gives the Weyrleader -- not surprising given the difference in height -- and sketches a salute. Never hurts to be too polite, even if the person involved is "off-duty." "Good afternoon, Weyrleader," he replies, any accent erased during Harper training. "I've seen you about, sir, but I haven't had the chance to introduce myself. I'm Tantaran and have found myself here doing extra duty after Turnover." HIs extra duty might be hinted at by the sore fingers, which he continues to vlex, and the faint ink stains on his right hand.
"Tantaran," repeats K'del; it's followed, a moment later, by an expression that probably indicates enlightenment. "Part of the group of harpers, yes? Did get mentioned, we'd be having extras around for a bit." He nods, apparently satisfied with /something/ at least, and adds, "A belated welcome to the High Reaches, then. It's a pleasure to have you here. You're liking it all right?" A beat, followed by a glance at those fingers; "They're not working you too hard?"
Tantaran manages a wry smile. "Seems like everyone likes my penmanship," he replies. "This has me wondering if there are times that one can be /too/ good." More finger flexing. He looks down at his hands, balling them into fists then releasing them in relaxation. "I really need to practice more," he mumbles before looking up again -- a fellow could get neck strain from this. "Music practice," he explains, just in case his mumbling was overheard. "I play the flute."
Something in what Tantaran says makes K'del grin; something makes him slouch, too, though even that probably won't make too much of a difference to the need for looking up, up, up. "From experience, there are /definitely/ times when a person can be too good, sadly. I hope you're earning some pocket change from it all, at least?" Mention of the flute has him glancing back down at the apprentice's hands again, and he wonders, "Does it make it hard? Practicing, when your hands already hurt. Would've thought they'd keep that in mind."
Tantaran's smile broadens into a grin matching that of the Weyrleader. "Sometimes I just get on a roll and just keep rolling along on the rolls. And I am earning some extra marks for this," slightly stressing the "am." More finger flexing. "Playing is something of a relief from this," he confesses. "It's something different for my fingers to do and there's no cramping involved from holding on to a pen for hours on end."
"You harpers are all the same," laughs K'del, his head shaking. He explains the mark idly with a, "Got a brother who's a harper. Journeyman Ander. Writes novels, some, teaches, but he also plays-- he practiced /constantly/ when we were kids. Said it was fun." Not a kind of fun K'del seems to entirely grasp; it makes him shrug and shake his head again. "Glad that you're getting the marks, at least. And have /some/ time to practice. Guess it's a change of pace from classes all the time?"
Tantaran surpresses a giggle. "I'm not in class that much anymore," he explains. I should be working on my journeyman exams as soon as I get out of this wretched -- er, I mean /wonderful/ place." He pauses a moment and looks around -- High Reaches Weyr was anything but wreched, save for the weather. He looks up apologetically at the Weyrleader. "I didn't call this place wretched, did I?" he asks disingeniously, his expression turning bland for the moment.
K'del's silence lasts several beats, but his smile is fighting to be visible too hard for it to genuinely seem like he's upset (probably). "Pretty sure you didn't," he says, then, with definitive firmness. "Imagine if you're looking ahead to exams, your mind's on that; being here is bound to be-- well." He inclines his head forward. "Little bit of an inconvenience. Might look good to your examiners, though: time outside the Hall, doing something different and potentially important. Not," he admits, "that I know much about what they think. I'd be, uh, more careful, though, about using that phrase around, for example, the Weyrwoman."
"No exams just yet," Tantaran says, lips quirking upward a bit in response to the Weyrleader's barely suppressed smile. "I'm too wrapped up in records keeping right now. It's amaazing how much hidework these Exiles are generating." He pauses a moment, then continues. "I've chatted with some of them and they all have some very interesting stories to tell. I'm just trying to keep track of it all." Seems like exams are the furthest thing on his mind at the moment. "And I promise to be most circumspect in the Weyrwoman's presence."
One of K'del's hands withdraws from his pocket; he uses it to run through his short-cropped curls, nodding along with what Tantaran has to say. "Looking forward to reading it all, when it's been put together," he admits. "All those stories. It's one of those things I want to do, one day: write my own history of the area. Things like this... they're going to keep you Harpers busy for turns, I bet." Scratching at his ear, he adds, "It's /always/ better to be circumspect around Tiriana. About everything. Not that-- not that she's not a good Weyrwoman, or a good person, or anything."
"And knowing one's history is important. As the saying goes: those who don't know their history are condemned to repeat it. And I'd hazard a guess that exiling folk is one of those things best not repeated." A nod to the remarks about Tiriana. "Being touchy -- no, make that sensitive -- doesn't mean that a person is bad. Now, being touchy and having a fondness for taking it out physically on another is another matter entirely." His face turns impassive, blocking out any emotion he might be feeling.
K'del's reply is careful. "Exile has its place. Sometimes - well, it's not always the wrong thing. Not sure about this time," he allows, scrubbing at his face with that free hand. "Seems like there's definitely something wrong with exiling whole families. And the idea of kids growing up out there, punished for something their parents did. But." Of Tiriana, his expression twists uncomfortably, though he gives a little, hesitant nod that could be taken as agreement. Or discomfort. It's so hard to tell. "Right, right."
Tantaran takes that nod as a hint that the less said about 'Reaches' senior, the better. "You're right in that, sir," he nods. "They'd been there for some eighty turns -- that's far too long for anyone, let alone whole families. But individuals are another thing altogether. I can think of several back at the Hold who I would dearly like to condemn to exile." His tone is bitter, his expression darkening somewhat at the thought.
His hand slipping back into his pocket, K'del nods his agreement, though his gaze rests firmly - curiously - on Tantaran's expression as it darkens so. Lightly, he admits, "There's more than a few I've wished into exile, myself. It's a good thing they don't give individuals that power." Beat. "Usually, anyway. Who knows what happened with this lot; it all /ought/ to be in the records." And it isn't. "I, uh, hope the Hall has treated you better? It helps, sometimes. Leaving home."
"Helped and hurt," Tantaran says, one corner of his mouth quirking up in something that could be taken as a smile. "I was sent off to foster with my aunt and uncle at High Reaches Hold when I was twelve," he states almost reluctantly. "To put it short, so to speak, I became the butt of jokes and pranks and name-calling and...." That should be enough to let K'del know what was going on. "But's that how I became a Harper -- they, the bully boys, would never go into the records room or library or music room unless they absolutely had to. So that's where I would hide. And a lot of times I'd try something, pick up a book or a musical instrument or suchlike. And that's how I was 'discovered,' so to speak."
K'del's face draws in to a frown as Tantaran begins to explain, somber seriousness apparently genuine - as is the wince that follows as the harper trails off in his description of what went on. Sucking in a breath, he's otherwise quite still - and quite quiet - until the younger man finishes. "Kids are awful sometimes," he says, in a quiet voice. "And knowing that something good came out of it doesn't make the bad any easier; know that much. I was second-youngest of nine, knew my fair share of teasing, but not--" His expression is sympathetic. "You must be pretty good at what you do. Flute."
"True, quite true," Tantaran agrees, dropping the subject to be thrown out the weyr entrance and into the teeth of the next winter storm that comes around. "That's how a Harper journeyman, Kendara, discovered me." He is relieved at the Weyrleader's tactful change of subject. "I snuck into the music room when it was empty and picked up a fife -- a small sort of wooden flute -- and began playing around with it. And once I had it figured out, I started playing one of the simpler Teaching Ballads. That's when Kendara found me. A few months later, for my fourteenth turnday, I got my Harper's apprentice knot. And I am quite good on the flute -- not meaning to boast or anything...."
"It's not really boasting, if it's truthful," is K'del's opinion. "Not unless you go on and on and-- you know. All that. I did ask." He's nodded his way through the most of what Tantaran has to say, shoulders dropped loosely; he looks at times mildly awkward, as though he's fully aware that he's only a handful of turns older, and yet--. "Hope to hear you play, at some point. Perhaps at the clutching feast? Iovniath ought to be heading to the sands in the next couple of sevens. I was, uh, otherwise occupied at Turnover, unfortunately."
"It's quite truthful," Tantaran says. "That's why I was sent over here with the others to play." That says a lot about his ability -- the Harpers would send only the best to play at an event as important as the Weyr's Turnover celebrarion.
A young man in Weyr livery enters from the depths of the interior and scans the room intently, apparently looking for someone. He finds him and is quickly homing in on Tantaran, who is looking rather crestfallen at this particular turn of events. "I'd give you a concert," and his hand reaches to a small sheath on his left side and pulls out a shiny tin whistle, which is then slid back into place, "but duty calls."
"Tantaran, you're wanted back in the records room," and then the servant sees who the young man has been talking to and bows low. "Beg pardon, Weyrleader," and he directs Tantaran away and back into the depths of the Weyr.
K'del's expression twists, both sympathetic and disappointed, somehow. "Another time," he says, firmly. "It was nice to meet you, Tantaran. Have a good afternoon!" He watches the harper go, expression inscrutable; later, once the harpers are out of sight, he draws himself away from the wall and heads off in the other direction. No doubt his duties /also/ call.
Location: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del meets Tantaran, a Harper Apprentice temporarily at the weyr.
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
Though the snowfall this afternoon is only light, it's piling up heavily on already-deep drifts: the caverns are full, not to mention noisy. Of course, the Inner Caverns area is always busy, with weyrfolk at work on various tasks - many of them chattering amiably on one topic or another. Amidst the throng, K'del is leaning up against a wall, cornered by two middle aged women who clearly have a lot to say about /something/. Dressed casually, with a dark stain on one shoulder, he shifts uncomfortably until the pair finally leave; he takes a deep breath, and glances back around the vicinity.
Tantaran has been taking a break from his work in the records room, working out the cramps in his hand and taking occasional sips from a mug of klah sitting just in front of him and slightly off to the side. Crackle, crackle, pop -- and a sigh of relief as the knuckles relax. He looks around the room for a moment and spies a tall figure lounging against the wall. From what he's been told, this is the Weyrleader, K'del, whom he hasn't yet met face-to-face. But now it's time to change that and he picks up his mug and casually saunters over.
Can K'del be forgiven for looking just the slightest bit wary when Tantaran approaches? After all, he's hardly dressed for business, and after that last conversation, he looks ever so slightly exhausted. The wariness fades, however, and the Weyrleader straightens, glancing down at the harper with raised eyebrows. "Afternoon," he says, the rural Tillekian drawl still obvious in his tone even after turns at the weyr; he digs both hands into his pockets, elbows dragging low.
It's a bit of a look up that Tantaran gives the Weyrleader -- not surprising given the difference in height -- and sketches a salute. Never hurts to be too polite, even if the person involved is "off-duty." "Good afternoon, Weyrleader," he replies, any accent erased during Harper training. "I've seen you about, sir, but I haven't had the chance to introduce myself. I'm Tantaran and have found myself here doing extra duty after Turnover." HIs extra duty might be hinted at by the sore fingers, which he continues to vlex, and the faint ink stains on his right hand.
"Tantaran," repeats K'del; it's followed, a moment later, by an expression that probably indicates enlightenment. "Part of the group of harpers, yes? Did get mentioned, we'd be having extras around for a bit." He nods, apparently satisfied with /something/ at least, and adds, "A belated welcome to the High Reaches, then. It's a pleasure to have you here. You're liking it all right?" A beat, followed by a glance at those fingers; "They're not working you too hard?"
Tantaran manages a wry smile. "Seems like everyone likes my penmanship," he replies. "This has me wondering if there are times that one can be /too/ good." More finger flexing. He looks down at his hands, balling them into fists then releasing them in relaxation. "I really need to practice more," he mumbles before looking up again -- a fellow could get neck strain from this. "Music practice," he explains, just in case his mumbling was overheard. "I play the flute."
Something in what Tantaran says makes K'del grin; something makes him slouch, too, though even that probably won't make too much of a difference to the need for looking up, up, up. "From experience, there are /definitely/ times when a person can be too good, sadly. I hope you're earning some pocket change from it all, at least?" Mention of the flute has him glancing back down at the apprentice's hands again, and he wonders, "Does it make it hard? Practicing, when your hands already hurt. Would've thought they'd keep that in mind."
Tantaran's smile broadens into a grin matching that of the Weyrleader. "Sometimes I just get on a roll and just keep rolling along on the rolls. And I am earning some extra marks for this," slightly stressing the "am." More finger flexing. "Playing is something of a relief from this," he confesses. "It's something different for my fingers to do and there's no cramping involved from holding on to a pen for hours on end."
"You harpers are all the same," laughs K'del, his head shaking. He explains the mark idly with a, "Got a brother who's a harper. Journeyman Ander. Writes novels, some, teaches, but he also plays-- he practiced /constantly/ when we were kids. Said it was fun." Not a kind of fun K'del seems to entirely grasp; it makes him shrug and shake his head again. "Glad that you're getting the marks, at least. And have /some/ time to practice. Guess it's a change of pace from classes all the time?"
Tantaran surpresses a giggle. "I'm not in class that much anymore," he explains. I should be working on my journeyman exams as soon as I get out of this wretched -- er, I mean /wonderful/ place." He pauses a moment and looks around -- High Reaches Weyr was anything but wreched, save for the weather. He looks up apologetically at the Weyrleader. "I didn't call this place wretched, did I?" he asks disingeniously, his expression turning bland for the moment.
K'del's silence lasts several beats, but his smile is fighting to be visible too hard for it to genuinely seem like he's upset (probably). "Pretty sure you didn't," he says, then, with definitive firmness. "Imagine if you're looking ahead to exams, your mind's on that; being here is bound to be-- well." He inclines his head forward. "Little bit of an inconvenience. Might look good to your examiners, though: time outside the Hall, doing something different and potentially important. Not," he admits, "that I know much about what they think. I'd be, uh, more careful, though, about using that phrase around, for example, the Weyrwoman."
"No exams just yet," Tantaran says, lips quirking upward a bit in response to the Weyrleader's barely suppressed smile. "I'm too wrapped up in records keeping right now. It's amaazing how much hidework these Exiles are generating." He pauses a moment, then continues. "I've chatted with some of them and they all have some very interesting stories to tell. I'm just trying to keep track of it all." Seems like exams are the furthest thing on his mind at the moment. "And I promise to be most circumspect in the Weyrwoman's presence."
One of K'del's hands withdraws from his pocket; he uses it to run through his short-cropped curls, nodding along with what Tantaran has to say. "Looking forward to reading it all, when it's been put together," he admits. "All those stories. It's one of those things I want to do, one day: write my own history of the area. Things like this... they're going to keep you Harpers busy for turns, I bet." Scratching at his ear, he adds, "It's /always/ better to be circumspect around Tiriana. About everything. Not that-- not that she's not a good Weyrwoman, or a good person, or anything."
"And knowing one's history is important. As the saying goes: those who don't know their history are condemned to repeat it. And I'd hazard a guess that exiling folk is one of those things best not repeated." A nod to the remarks about Tiriana. "Being touchy -- no, make that sensitive -- doesn't mean that a person is bad. Now, being touchy and having a fondness for taking it out physically on another is another matter entirely." His face turns impassive, blocking out any emotion he might be feeling.
K'del's reply is careful. "Exile has its place. Sometimes - well, it's not always the wrong thing. Not sure about this time," he allows, scrubbing at his face with that free hand. "Seems like there's definitely something wrong with exiling whole families. And the idea of kids growing up out there, punished for something their parents did. But." Of Tiriana, his expression twists uncomfortably, though he gives a little, hesitant nod that could be taken as agreement. Or discomfort. It's so hard to tell. "Right, right."
Tantaran takes that nod as a hint that the less said about 'Reaches' senior, the better. "You're right in that, sir," he nods. "They'd been there for some eighty turns -- that's far too long for anyone, let alone whole families. But individuals are another thing altogether. I can think of several back at the Hold who I would dearly like to condemn to exile." His tone is bitter, his expression darkening somewhat at the thought.
His hand slipping back into his pocket, K'del nods his agreement, though his gaze rests firmly - curiously - on Tantaran's expression as it darkens so. Lightly, he admits, "There's more than a few I've wished into exile, myself. It's a good thing they don't give individuals that power." Beat. "Usually, anyway. Who knows what happened with this lot; it all /ought/ to be in the records." And it isn't. "I, uh, hope the Hall has treated you better? It helps, sometimes. Leaving home."
"Helped and hurt," Tantaran says, one corner of his mouth quirking up in something that could be taken as a smile. "I was sent off to foster with my aunt and uncle at High Reaches Hold when I was twelve," he states almost reluctantly. "To put it short, so to speak, I became the butt of jokes and pranks and name-calling and...." That should be enough to let K'del know what was going on. "But's that how I became a Harper -- they, the bully boys, would never go into the records room or library or music room unless they absolutely had to. So that's where I would hide. And a lot of times I'd try something, pick up a book or a musical instrument or suchlike. And that's how I was 'discovered,' so to speak."
K'del's face draws in to a frown as Tantaran begins to explain, somber seriousness apparently genuine - as is the wince that follows as the harper trails off in his description of what went on. Sucking in a breath, he's otherwise quite still - and quite quiet - until the younger man finishes. "Kids are awful sometimes," he says, in a quiet voice. "And knowing that something good came out of it doesn't make the bad any easier; know that much. I was second-youngest of nine, knew my fair share of teasing, but not--" His expression is sympathetic. "You must be pretty good at what you do. Flute."
"True, quite true," Tantaran agrees, dropping the subject to be thrown out the weyr entrance and into the teeth of the next winter storm that comes around. "That's how a Harper journeyman, Kendara, discovered me." He is relieved at the Weyrleader's tactful change of subject. "I snuck into the music room when it was empty and picked up a fife -- a small sort of wooden flute -- and began playing around with it. And once I had it figured out, I started playing one of the simpler Teaching Ballads. That's when Kendara found me. A few months later, for my fourteenth turnday, I got my Harper's apprentice knot. And I am quite good on the flute -- not meaning to boast or anything...."
"It's not really boasting, if it's truthful," is K'del's opinion. "Not unless you go on and on and-- you know. All that. I did ask." He's nodded his way through the most of what Tantaran has to say, shoulders dropped loosely; he looks at times mildly awkward, as though he's fully aware that he's only a handful of turns older, and yet--. "Hope to hear you play, at some point. Perhaps at the clutching feast? Iovniath ought to be heading to the sands in the next couple of sevens. I was, uh, otherwise occupied at Turnover, unfortunately."
"It's quite truthful," Tantaran says. "That's why I was sent over here with the others to play." That says a lot about his ability -- the Harpers would send only the best to play at an event as important as the Weyr's Turnover celebrarion.
A young man in Weyr livery enters from the depths of the interior and scans the room intently, apparently looking for someone. He finds him and is quickly homing in on Tantaran, who is looking rather crestfallen at this particular turn of events. "I'd give you a concert," and his hand reaches to a small sheath on his left side and pulls out a shiny tin whistle, which is then slid back into place, "but duty calls."
"Tantaran, you're wanted back in the records room," and then the servant sees who the young man has been talking to and bows low. "Beg pardon, Weyrleader," and he directs Tantaran away and back into the depths of the Weyr.
K'del's expression twists, both sympathetic and disappointed, somehow. "Another time," he says, firmly. "It was nice to meet you, Tantaran. Have a good afternoon!" He watches the harper go, expression inscrutable; later, once the harpers are out of sight, he draws himself away from the wall and heads off in the other direction. No doubt his duties /also/ call.