Records hunt; So much for a quiet night
Who: Miniyal, Rafekin, Valandys, Magaly
When: Current turn
Where: Records Room, HRW
What: No longer required to be actively social, Miniyal retreats to get some work done. Unfortunately it is not to be as people continue to appear.
11/14/2005
After most of the weyr has eaten and the rest are either avoiding or participating in the flight things are pretty quiet down here. It's very quiet here in the records room, the sort of quiet found either when no one is around or the sole person around is very quiet. That person would be Miniyal. She's seated at a table, busy copying something. Pausing in her work she yawns and rubs at her eyes before standing up to fetch more glows.
Rafekin hums an idle child's tune as he enters, the kind to stick in a man's head without his realizing it. He barely pauses at the door, eyes falling on Miniyal as he enters. He nods in deference to her position and smiles faintly, as if distracted. He walks with a purpose between the chairs to one particular shelf but stops before it, looking up, head back, hands on hips. He reaches up to touch one of the tags and frowns at it. He looks down the length of the shelf and back at the scrolls before him, but makes no move to take one down.
"What are you looking for?" Miniyal asks with a hint of sharpness to her tone. She appears less than pleased with someone walking in as if they own the place. When that is clearly her job. Carrying her glows back to the table she sets it down and then folds her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry. I mean, is there something I can do for you?" Tried again in a vaguely more friendly tone that still falls short of actually being polite.
Rafekin looks at her with an expression of distaste; he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he says. "I don't mean to intrude for such a little thing." He steps out from the shelves and stands, one hand resting on a scroll's case. The look of distaste becomes one of embarrassment. "Do you have any records on tunnelsnakes?"
Miniyal takes a deep breath and then shakes her head. Here is where she makes that effort again. Or something. "Tunnelsnakes?" she inquires. "What sort of information are you looking for? I can't just find...tunnelsnakes. I need something more to go on or I will most likely not find what you are seeking." She looks at whatever it was she was working on and then gives another shake of her head. "And, you don't have to call me ma'am or anything. I'm just Miniyal. I don't have rank or anything."
Rafekin says, "Miniyal," Rafekin repeats. "And I'm Rafekin. I've seen you but I'm afraid I never introduced myself. Er, tunnelsnakes." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "My friend and I," he began, then stopped. "I guess a history of, of tunnelsnakes. And what they eat. And where they came from." He sighs, tapping his foot against a shelf. "What have you got about tunnelsnakes?""
"What for?" Miniyal asks suspiciously. "You're not trying to encourage them are you?" Shaking her head she considers a moment and then heads for a set of shelves. "Why do you want it?" she asks again, standing near the shelves without leaning against them, something she most likely wouldn't do anyway.
Rafekin ers. "Just curiosity, I guess." He shrugs and doesn't seem to know where to put his hands, nor, for that matter, his eyes. They wander the room, avoiding contact with Miniyal. "I chased them when I was little, of course, but I don't really /know/ about them, you know? /Know/ know." He shrugs and tries to smile winningly. "Just curious."
Miniyal doesn't look to be buying anything that is being said. Nope, her marks are stuffed safely away. Still, she's not going to deny a request for information so she just lets out a loud, put upon sigh and then begins to search the shelf she's at. "Just so you know, Rafekin. I don't work here really. I'm assistant to weyrwoman Diya. That means if I hear of any weirdness regarding tunnelsnakes I will go right to her with the name of the person who came to me for information."
Rafekin purses his lips in an attempt to hide a triumphant smile and hurries to cover his own marks. "No, no, nothing like that. Just information, like I said. I've always been interested in old records and things. Just haven't had a chance to get down here and see them..." his words are conversation but hurried. He sounds anxious to fill the silence left by the invocation of the weyrwoman. "No weirdness," he smiles that attempt at a winning smile once again. "I promise." He follows her to her chosen shelf and waits expectantly, hovering impatiently.
Miniyal is not falling for the charm at all. But she doesn't really seem the sort who would. "Yes, of course I believe you," she says with a wry grin and a roll of her eyes. "I am not joking. Ask around, I don't even have a sense of humor according to most people." Then she selects a couple of tubes and carries them to the table. "You can look at these here," she says firmly. "And you cannot copy them."
Rafekin follows her to the table, somewhat cowed. His smile disappears as he sits. "Thank you," he says, eyes on the prize before him. He opens one tube and unrolls the first scroll, turning to the work. He reads slowly, mouth forming the words, but does so without another glance at Miniyal. As he concentrates, he starts to hum. He is off-key but the tune is definitely a common Harper teaching song for a very young child.
The hides in question don't give much information. Personal accounts of locals who have dealt with infestations. It's probably 90% how to kill them and 10% how to trap them and then kill them. Miniyal keeps a sharp eye as he looks at the hides, probably afraid he'll get fingerprints or something on them or smudge something. She doesn't even return to her work, for now her work is keeping an eye on the suspicious acting person.
Rafekin is engrossed, his soft humming the same few notes incessantly repeated. The hides do not seem to his liking. He begins to skim after the first few lines, his fingers tracing the lines with greater speed. With a sigh, he finishes the first scroll and turns to the other, sliding the first carelessly across the table and leaving it unrolled as he opens the second.
Watching the 'work' Rafekin is busy doing, Miniyal winces. "Be careful," she says with a shake of her head. Walking to the table he is at she takes up what he is done with and begins to carefully roll it up to return it to its case. It's normally such a quiet place, the records room this time of night. Alas, since she has to help someone most likely get up to trouble her own work is left untouched on the table by the baskets of glows.
The weather is foul outside, as can be witnessed in the damage done Valandys' person. She has a jacket draped over one arm, a heavy leather one that drips with mingled rainwater and melting snow. The fur lining its hood and cuffs has gone dark with the moisture. Less dark are the scarves that are wrapped bright around her, the largest of these swept across the lower half of her face and pinned behind her ear. It too is damp though, and soon falls as she reaches up to pull it free. Smiles then, all smiles and pleasant murmured greetings for those she passes on the way to a free stretch of table, an empty chair. The jacket finds a home on the back of that chair, followed by the drape of the scarf.
Rafekin pays no attention to the newcomer. "No," he protests, half-rising from his seat and reaching to help Miniyal with the scroll. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" He doesn't seem to know what to say, his face betraying him. "I was going to take care of it when I was finished," he explains lamely. One hand flat on the second scroll, he looks hopefully up at her. "Uh, are you sure this is all of it?"
More trouble. So much for a quiet night in the records room. For a moment, Miniyal is distracted away from the potential troublemaker to settle her focus on the person who is dripping. Dripping. Clearing her throat she heads over, telling Rafekin over her shoulder, "That is it. Give me a few days I might find more if I've time." Then her attention is wholly focused on Valandys for a moment. "Excuse me," she says with a hint of sharpness in her tone. "If you're going to come in here after being outside the least you could do is be sure you're not potentially dripping the weather everywhere. Because if you ruin anything there will be trouble."
To be fair, Valandys is not dripping. Her jacket, however, is. Small puddles form under the chair it hands on. "I beg your pardon," she says, inclining her head to Miniyal. The words are genuine in feeling. She truly is begging the other woman's pardon, although what she says next may do more harm than good. She points out, in an attempt to be reasonable, "I am not dripping the weather everywhere. The jacket is dripping there and will be dry soon." Her bracelets click softly as she gestures to indicate the patch of water-darkened stone. "I have no intention of ruining anything. Are you a clerk here?"
Rafekin's shoulders slump as he takes her word as gospel, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by amusement at Miniyal's tone, not to mention the newcomer's reasonable reply. He looks over his shoulder at the two ladies and, unable to contain a smirk, shakes his head. A lifetime in the Weyr has taught him when it's time to depart. With careful hands he gathers the two scrolls and slides them back into their tubes. Leaning back in his chair, his forehead creases as he thinks, eyes searching the shelves. No answers here? He seems to come to a decision and shrugs, pushing back in his chair to stand and gather the scrolls. He sets off for the place where he thinks Miniyal got them from. Across the room, of course, from their rightful shelf.
Fairness is hardly a word that settles into Miniyal's vocabulary when it comes to the records room. "Dripping," she repeats firmly. "And, no. I am not a clerk here. I assist here in the evenings when I am not working for weyrwoman Diya." She says this a lot from the sounds of it, but it doesn't have the tone of name dropping. She's merely stating a fact much like any other. Which is why she almost misses wandering of Rafekin. From the corner of her eye she catches sight and says, firmly but not loudly, "No, not there. Just leave them on the table and I will take care of it." Rolling her eyes she then looks at Valandys again. "And what do you want?" she then asks.
"A few moment's peace." The words are brushed with mild amusement, her black eyes bright with a smile that doesn't quite dare show itself on her lips. "Perhaps some fresh juice as well, but it was an early lesson, to make do without. Not that I would dream," she murmurs, setting a hand over the place her heart occupies, "Of bringing a glass of juice into a place such as this." And that is meant, in Valandys' odd way, to be reassuring. Imagine. She looks past Miniyal, gaze touching upon Rafekin- he earns himself the smile she'd been attempting to hide- before she refocuses on the woman. "I am looking for records containing different methods of book-keeping over the course of the past hundred turns. Old forms, and new innovations. It is for studies in economics, mm?"
Rafekin frowns and stops at her tone, but peers closer at his intended shelf. Realizing his mistake, he gives up. Placing the two tubes as neatly on the closest table as he can, he retreats to the main portion of the room, threading his way between tables towards them. He catches Valandys' smile and can't help a faint grimace. Definitely embarrassment, for a slight blush tinges his cheeks. He pauses at their table with one hand tentatively on the back of a chair, lurking. He doesn't want to interrupt, especially not something so impressive-sounding as Valandys' request. He can't keep the awe from his face.
Rubbing at her eyes, Miniyal keeps an eye on Rafekin a bit longer to be sure he's not going to misplace the cases. Once he sets them on the table she nods her head and then looks at Valandys. "I see," she says quietly. "There are records on record keeping, yes," she answers. Looking around at the room as if she doesn't know exactly where everything is, a fake gesture if ever there was one. "There is not a whole lot, of course. For a truly indepth study of that you would want to go, perhaps, to the Harper Hall. We've a few things." Not that she moves to get them.
Valandys keeps her smile as she regards Miniyal, perhaps deciding that it's more likely to ease her way with this prickly assistant. Or, perhaps, she just finds it impossible now to mask her amusement, soft as it is. "Yes, Assistant. A "whole lot" is unnecessary. You see, I was here yesterday morning and found them. With your permission, I'll find them again and so will avoid being a bother to you." She cocks her head to the right, expression shading towards the thoughtful. "Harper Hall... it seems counterproductive, to travel that far for a single class' worth of information. When what is here suffices."
Rafekin's face gives away his interest in the conversation. He looks at Valandys with respect in his eyes, and he does not move from his place at the table. His shoulder knot ranks him as a resident and he looks between them, saying nothing, fading into the background as best he can. Perhaps they'll forget he's there and let him stay for a little while? His eager interest shows in his face.
"I swear if it is not one thing it is another," Miniyal says with a heavy sigh. Turning on her heel she says, "Do not let anything touch that wet coat of yours or there will be trouble." Whether she has the authority or not it's evident in her tone. Her gaze slides over Rafekin, she's not liable to forget anyone in her perceived domain. "I will be watching you," she says directed to one or more likely both of them. Then she quietly stomps to her table to take up her work again.
Valandys lifts a hand, setting her fingers briefly over her lips to hide the strength of her smile. "I do apologize for the jacket," she offers, quiet and as pleasant as can be. Then she's off, drifting towards the appropriate shelves. Like Miniyal, she appears to be aiming her next remark at both of them. "It is incredible how much is stored here. In Igen, our records room was so much smaller. I spent six months there, assisting. This one is finer. I wonder, has it always been this grand or was it added to once it was decided that the Caucus would be held here?"
Rafekin opens his mouth as if to say something loudly, then bites it off and shakes his head slightly. "Good evening, ladies," he murmurs, ducking his head at them both. No courage. He steps around Valandys' chair and walks quietly to the exit.
One down and one to go. Not that Miniyal is saying that, but there's just something about her look that implies she's annoyed at the interruption. Abandoning her work she rises to pick up the hides left by Rafekin so she can replace them. As she passes by Valandys she gives the other woman a carefully considering look. As if trying to remember her in case something winds up being remiss after she leaves.
Valandys proves to be familair with the Weyr's system of organization, as she'd said. There's no hesitation in her as she crosses to the appropriate shelf and begins to transfer scroll-tubes from their stack to the crook of her arm. She carries them as if they were infants, or a sheaf of orchids, rather than dry rolls of leather and hide. Returning to her chosen seat- near enough that she can smile easily at Miniyal, or share a comment should she feel moved to- she settles her to arrange these before herself. "I am Valandys, of Igen Hold." She felt moved, it appears. "You are...mm. Miniyal? I believe I was told of you." Told or warned?
Miniyal carefully puts up whatever it was that the boy had been looking at. Once she's carefully stowed them away she returns to her seat. Pulling up her stool she sits down and studies her work. At the sound of speaking she stifles a sigh. It's hard, but she tries. "That's me," she says with faux cheer. "It's nice to meet you," she then adds because it is what people do when they meet someone new. "Is this your first year at the caucus?" she asks after that, forcing herself to make polite conversation.
"Yes." The effort at conversation is met with another of her smiles. Approving? No, that would be patronizing. But pleased, oh yes. Valandys, whose hands continue working as she engages the other woman in idle chitchat, seems most pleased to be social with someone who isn't either a rider or connected in some way to her work with the Caucus. "I am to be here for at least three turns, they told me. Perhaps five. More likely five, and I count it a blessing." Without appearing to realize it, she pauses in her sorting to softly rap the knuckles of one hand against the wood of the table. "You say you work with the weyrwoman Diya. That is an impressive posting, for one as young as you."
"Are you going to whine about the weather?" is asked in an exasperated tone. "They always whine about the weather. I'm so very sick of it." Shaking her head, Miniyal ignores her so very non-political comment there. She is not meeting friends and influencing people easily, this one. "I rather like the weather. But, that is a long time to be here I think. If you're not from here." A bit of pride there, as if it's something to be from here and not somewhere else. She looks down at her work and then cocks her head over to the right. "What? Oh, yes. I'm her assistant. It's not so terrible impressive, really. I just run her errands and keep her schedule running smoothly. I've been doing it a little bit now. We seem to work well anyway."
Once the tubes have all been arranged according to whatever system Valandys prefers, she takes the first and gently eases the age-thinned scroll out of it. "I never learned to whine," she promises. That smile is back in full force, bright with amusement. "The weather is different from Igen. Opposite? Yes... a land of extremes, as my home is. I think I can come to love it for that, at the very least. Better that I do, because as you say, it is a very long time to be here. But certainly worth the time spent." The hide is unrolled, smoothed out flat over the table. She squints down at the faded columns. "I was my mother's assistant. She was only Headwoman, but most people who have never done the work don't realize how vital it is, keeping time running smoothly for those above us."
Brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes, Miniyal scowls at her work for a moment for some reason. She brushes it with her fingertips. "I like the weather here," she says quietly. "I guess cause I am used to it, but I wouldn't like living anywhere else. Thankfully that's not so much an issue for me as others." Like someone else sitting here getting sent off and about or what have you. "Oh? That must have been, umm, interesting? My father works in here, but I never worked for him. It was just where I wound up because no one else thought I suited and I was good in here so I got to stay. Then I had to go to be the weyrwoman's assistant. Not that I mind. It's fine important work and all."
Valandys glances up, dark brows arching in a look of curiosity. "You have an odd way of expressing things." It's a strange remark, spoken simply, with sincerity. Observation rather than insult. "You wound up here because no one else thought you suited... my mother would say you were here because this is where you belong, and I think she would be right. You seem..." The Igenite hesitates, gaze casting about to take in the immediate details of the room around her. "Protective." Her smile is warm, perhaps faintly apologetic; even she has to recognize that there might be offense taken as a result of these remarks. "Which would you rather be, do you think? Assistant or recordkeeper?"
Miniyal looks around as well, taking in the shelves and the hides and the tables and everything. "I guess," she answers with a shrug of her shoulders. "I like it in here because people are usually quiet and don't talk much, you know?" This is said without a thought, is it vaguely insulting? Well, yes, but there's no realisation of it from the assistant. "I don't know. My mother really wants me to be weyrwoman Diya's assistant. She thinks it is better for me than hiding out in here."
"I am usually quiet and don't talk much," Valandys says in a softer tone, one meant more for a confession than a conversation. "You will have to forgive me. Having someone to speak with who is not so strange as the riders are, and is not judging me the way those with rank or Caucus pins are..." She completes the apology by pressing a finger over her lips, casting her eyes back down to the work spread out before her. The silence only lasts a few seconds, though. "Perhaps your mother sees something you don't," she picks up the thread of conversation again, musing. And why not? Her mother is all-wise, so all mothers must be so. "And from everything I've heard, the weyrwoman is someone to be proud of serving."
There is a wistful quality to the look Miniyal casts to her work. Work that she abandons with an every so soft sigh before she turns to look at Val. "My mother is...a wonderful woman, but I wish sometimes she didn't see quite so much. Or whatever." A shrug again as she offers a faint smile. "I don't much like the caucus. I mean, it's loud and there's so many people. And I don't even see much point in upsetting our lives. I guess I just wish it were taking place somewhere else is all, you know?" Peering around after this statement she looks vaguely guilty again for speaking her mind. "Diya is a wonderful person. I do enjoy working for her, don't get me wrong, but I am sure I will be replaced eventually. I mean, that is what happens."
No bolt falls from the heavens, and Valandys certainly doesn't behave as if Miniyal has spoken blasphemy. She just tips her head in what could be acknowledgement, or perhaps agreement. Her finger is tracing a line beside one of the faded ink columns, eyes narrowing again in a squint as she tries to make out the figures. "Were it in Igen, I am certain I would feel similarly unsettled. At first. As glad as I am to be here, I am equally glad it was not my home that was invaded by loud, messy strangers intent only on disrupting my work."
"The problem is," Miniyal starts quietly, looking around once more into the abandoned room. "Is just that people can be so rude." Shaking her head she looks at her work, unable to not look at it even if she's being...social and not working on it. The horror. "I mean, like because they are -our- guests they can do whatever they want. It's not so bad as it was, but they get so...demanding. Like I should just let them do whatever they want in here and muss things up? Or like I can stand around and listen to them whine after I've delivered a message for the weyrwoman." Basically, she appears to be saying in general she dislikes people. No real surprise there.
Valandys, like Miniyal, is seated at a table with a number of hides spread out before her. The hides comprise work that both women appear to be pretending to do, while they are in fact engaged in a conversation that has nothing to do with said work. "That is not a problem limited to foreign invaders, I'm afraid." As she speaks, the Igenite sets the current hide to the side- being careful to keep it flat and smooth- and reaches for another of the scrolltubes. "I imagine the problem is simply emphasized through lack of familiarity. I was quick to believe everyone I met here to be rude, upon first arriving. I had only rumour to draw from, and then misunderstandings between what was said, and what was meant..."
There's a soft set of footsteps which quietly herald the entrance of another person into the records room. As she comes into the light, Magaly's plain but recognizable features are illuminated. She's dressed against the weather outside, sweater and jacket layered over her casual clothing. The goldrider's eyes are on the prize--the rows upon rows of tubed hides lining the back of the cavern. She has to navigate through those tables and chairs first, which bring Valandys and Miniyal's presence to her attention. "Oh, hello," the greeting is genial enough, if distracted. "I had thought the rooms might be empty at this hour." Does it matter? Her tone implies it may.
Scratching at the back of her neck, Miniyal frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know. I keep getting told I should be trying harder to..." To something, but whatever she was going to say she stops when someone else appears. A cock of the head to the right and she looks up at Magaly. "What are you looking for?" she asks in a weary and sharp tone. Really, people cannot be here in -her- records room like this. Touching her things? For shame. The warmer tones that had crept into her voice when speaking to Valandys vanish as she watches the new arrival warily.
Less peevish is Valandys' greeting. Her smile shines out, teeth white in the dark of her face. "Hello! It is early yet for this place to be empty and the records well guarded at almost any hour, I think." Could she be poking fun at Miniyal? No... the glance she sweeps towards the other woman seated nearby is full of warmth, fellow companionship. She leaves the matter of assistance in the hands of the one assigned to assist, but the nearby tables- empty, clear of hide or even dust- are indicated with a tip of her head. "Room enough for all of us though, mm?"
Magaly's gaze thins as it focuses on Miniyal; ah yes, /that/ girl. Lips perse briefly with a flash of annoyance, but Magaly is tactful if not exactly warm. A gentle wave of her hand dismisses Valandys' nod to the empty room politely, her smile grateful but tight. "I'm... interested in the Reach's orginizational system, in general." The answer is given with a slight hesitation, a little reluctance. She sweeps past the tables, but remains communicative as fingers begin to flip over random tags. "Chronolgoical, entirely? Categorical, firstly? Fort's are an absolute maze."
"Our records are never a mess," Miniyal says a touch peevishly. She almost seems to welcome the interruption, sparing her from potentially making a friend or something. That would never do. "What do you want with those records?" she asks Magaly with a touch of suspicion in her eyes. Anyone seeking anything in her domain is going to be viewed this way so most likely it is not over the subject matter. A blink of her eyes and then she gives Valandys a quick, almost missed, smile. "Excuse me a moment?" she asks.
"Of course, of course." The Igenite does not begrudge any records room intruder time under Miniyal's watchful eyes. It is, after all, a gauntlet she herself had to run and survive in order to enjoy that minnow-quick smile. Bone bracelets clatter softly as she gestures, waving the woman on to her work before favoring Magaly with a smile that may well be sympathetic. Or just understanding. "I should be reading, yes, lest my instructors send me home a disgrace," she adds, bending over the fresh hide with a sigh of her own.
Is a Caucus student who is still a goldrider of some tenure entitled to the usual level of respect from the weyrfolk? It's food for thought that Magaly seems to be chewing on as a longsuffering gaze turns and rests on Miniyal. "I'm merely curious, dear," her tone remains level, clipped by her Fortian accent. "I, too, am here to study," a hand gestures to the example Valandys sets, "...albeit on an... extra-curricular topic, rather than an assigned lesson. I find nothing wrong with your records room." Here, the goldrider tries a fuller smile to perhaps smooth Miniyal's ruffled feathers. "Simply comparing different styles."
Oh, respect is surely called for. The problem is, Miniyal sometimes forgets that when she's frothing with concern over her precious room. She's likely to be called on it should she be reported. Diya by now is most likely used to it. It's a good thing she is possibly good at her work. "Well, there is nothing wrong with it," she says as she straightens up some. "And, if you're looking for organizational structure we've a few records on it. Up to date, of course. Going back for some time."
"I have some here, weyrwoman," Valandys puts in helpfully. The topmost of the pile of scrolls remaining to her right is lifted, wagged back and forth once to draw their eyes. "Focusing more on accounting records organization, for the economics course, but it would be pertinent?" The offer scroll is set aside before she begins to gather up the others, tucking them neat and safe as cradled babies in the angle of her arm. They're born back to the appropriate shelves. "I am sure Harper Hall would have more. I have it on the very best authority."
Magaly approaches the table at Valandys' offer. Fingertips trace beneath the lines of words written on the hide, a moment of silence that no doubt allows her to keep composure. "Thank you," she murmurs, "It is partially what I'm looking for." Miniyal, for the time being, is safely ignored. Magaly is known for a diplomatic level of patience, but that's when dealing with members of rank to secure formalities and treaties. In such a casual atmosphere, patience is in danger of being worn thin. "I've often wondered if keeping a log of the entire contents of a records room would be hinderance or help," she seems to muse to herself, but aloud.
Could that be? Yes, it is a blush that covers Miniyal's cheeks for a moment or three. She clears her throat and looks down at her feet. Whatever caused it, it could be so many things, does not make her comment on it. She disappears for a bit to gather up a few things from the shelves, carrying them carefully with both hands like the way a child would to be sure nothing is dropped. The reason for this comes in the way she tends to stumble into things, shins banging several tables on the way. Carefully setting them down she comments, "If you have people who know where everything is a log is not required. Although one for people to sign in and out on for what they've touched is always a good idea."
Valandys, returning from the job of putting those scroll-tubes away, remarks, "I imagine it would be a great deal of work, to build the initial log. Less work once it was compiled, provided you had capable people to attend to its updating." The last hide, the one so old its edges look almost translucent, shiny with the turns, is ever so carefully returned to its originally rolled form and placed in its tube for safekeeping. "Having people serve as your memory is limiting. They may move on, or forget. People are flawed. Ink on hide... less so, if your scribes are accurate."
Magaly concedes to Miniyal's idea with a thoughtful nod, even a small smile plays at the edges of her lips. "Now wouldn't that be a fine idea, especially as a way for those suspicious of how the records are being handled to keep track of such hands." A bit of play sparks in her deep brown eyes, she's testing the extent of Miniyal's humor. It seems there's little of it, in general. "Scribes or keepers, the records are doomed to human error either way. Still, something is better than nothing." Magaly finally takes a seat at the table with both women, the lone accounting record satisfies her curiosity and she continues to gaze at the contents as she speaks. "Every year, Fort loses a percentage to age and neglect. It's a shame, there's no telling just what we're losing at some point. I think of the plagues, for instance, and wonder if turns from now Pern will suffer again with little help from history."
"Well, how come you don't have people copying them?" Miniyal asks, sounding puzzled. "I've been copying records in here since I was old enough to do it well." From the womb most likely. She's just like an old librarian, should Pern have had them, that would be her. "I think a log is a fine idea to be sure people know whom is looking at what and when and so they can be asked should those things disappear you might track them down." A nod of her head at this and she carefully sets down the tubes she was carrying. Setting them down she gestures. "What you wanted. And, the problem with a log of everything is...well, it's troublesome. We've a system here, you see? Everyone keeps track of one area and they are constantly checked to be sure they are up to date on what we have. And they share that with others. It's not the best, but it works."
Valandys turns a thoughtful gaze on Magaly, the look lingering perhaps a few seconds overlong. "I think," she says slowly, quietly, "That High Reaches is perhaps fortunate in the systems it has in place to prevent the loss that the weyrwoman speaks of. Not all are so lucky, Miniyal." Again her knuckles find the wood of the table's surface, to rap softly against it. "It is possible she is looking for a way to protect her records room as you have protected yours. You share a common interest then, mm?" Her teeth flash again, her smile almost merry at having managed to draw a line between the two women. "Everything that happens, you see, it happens for a reason."
It is a boon to have Valandys's mild nature referee here, a fact that Magaly makes subtly known with a small smile in the girl's direction. That smile is hard-pressed to stay put as Miniyal's inquisition is addressed with the undercurrent of a sigh. "As I said, the records are still doomed to human error and neglect--ink and hide last only so many turns before decay sets in, and copying more than few of the sentances are impossible." A shrug and curt wave of her hand dismiss the line of questioning further. "High Reaches is very fortunate to have set in place those that truly care for this kind of work, rather than employing whatever hands may be available at the time."
Perhaps realising she's only going to put her foot someplace even worse than she already has, Miniyal clears her throat. "I need to be going," she says quietly, taking a backwards step that puts her directly into a table behind her. Another blush stains her cheeks as she turns to check on the table. "I need to be up early to attend to my duties. Please be careful." The last is said almost pleadingly. Like she doesn't expect them to be able to no matter what. "I have go to." Gathering up whatever she was working on carefully she smiles faintly, overcome now with shyness and an urge to not leave on such a hideous note. She's doing so well after all. "Good evening."
"Of course, Miniyal. It was a pleasure." This from Valandys, who sends the parting words hurrying over to the woman before she can whisk herself away. "I should see myself off as well," she adds, picking up the remaining scroll and tucking it under her arm as she gathers up scarf and jacket from the back of her chair. "Weyrwoman, I wish you luck in your search for proper organization." She actually curtseys to Magaly, smooth and respectful, then strides off towards the upper caverns.
Magaly is instantly pleased to see them go, her smile for their departure more relief than polite farewell. "A good evening to you both, then." She calls out to Miniyal's fading form, "I shall take care..." and more quietly to herself, with a bit more heat allowed now that Magaly is alone "...as should you, girl."
When: Current turn
Where: Records Room, HRW
What: No longer required to be actively social, Miniyal retreats to get some work done. Unfortunately it is not to be as people continue to appear.
11/14/2005
After most of the weyr has eaten and the rest are either avoiding or participating in the flight things are pretty quiet down here. It's very quiet here in the records room, the sort of quiet found either when no one is around or the sole person around is very quiet. That person would be Miniyal. She's seated at a table, busy copying something. Pausing in her work she yawns and rubs at her eyes before standing up to fetch more glows.
Rafekin hums an idle child's tune as he enters, the kind to stick in a man's head without his realizing it. He barely pauses at the door, eyes falling on Miniyal as he enters. He nods in deference to her position and smiles faintly, as if distracted. He walks with a purpose between the chairs to one particular shelf but stops before it, looking up, head back, hands on hips. He reaches up to touch one of the tags and frowns at it. He looks down the length of the shelf and back at the scrolls before him, but makes no move to take one down.
"What are you looking for?" Miniyal asks with a hint of sharpness to her tone. She appears less than pleased with someone walking in as if they own the place. When that is clearly her job. Carrying her glows back to the table she sets it down and then folds her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry. I mean, is there something I can do for you?" Tried again in a vaguely more friendly tone that still falls short of actually being polite.
Rafekin looks at her with an expression of distaste; he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he says. "I don't mean to intrude for such a little thing." He steps out from the shelves and stands, one hand resting on a scroll's case. The look of distaste becomes one of embarrassment. "Do you have any records on tunnelsnakes?"
Miniyal takes a deep breath and then shakes her head. Here is where she makes that effort again. Or something. "Tunnelsnakes?" she inquires. "What sort of information are you looking for? I can't just find...tunnelsnakes. I need something more to go on or I will most likely not find what you are seeking." She looks at whatever it was she was working on and then gives another shake of her head. "And, you don't have to call me ma'am or anything. I'm just Miniyal. I don't have rank or anything."
Rafekin says, "Miniyal," Rafekin repeats. "And I'm Rafekin. I've seen you but I'm afraid I never introduced myself. Er, tunnelsnakes." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "My friend and I," he began, then stopped. "I guess a history of, of tunnelsnakes. And what they eat. And where they came from." He sighs, tapping his foot against a shelf. "What have you got about tunnelsnakes?""
"What for?" Miniyal asks suspiciously. "You're not trying to encourage them are you?" Shaking her head she considers a moment and then heads for a set of shelves. "Why do you want it?" she asks again, standing near the shelves without leaning against them, something she most likely wouldn't do anyway.
Rafekin ers. "Just curiosity, I guess." He shrugs and doesn't seem to know where to put his hands, nor, for that matter, his eyes. They wander the room, avoiding contact with Miniyal. "I chased them when I was little, of course, but I don't really /know/ about them, you know? /Know/ know." He shrugs and tries to smile winningly. "Just curious."
Miniyal doesn't look to be buying anything that is being said. Nope, her marks are stuffed safely away. Still, she's not going to deny a request for information so she just lets out a loud, put upon sigh and then begins to search the shelf she's at. "Just so you know, Rafekin. I don't work here really. I'm assistant to weyrwoman Diya. That means if I hear of any weirdness regarding tunnelsnakes I will go right to her with the name of the person who came to me for information."
Rafekin purses his lips in an attempt to hide a triumphant smile and hurries to cover his own marks. "No, no, nothing like that. Just information, like I said. I've always been interested in old records and things. Just haven't had a chance to get down here and see them..." his words are conversation but hurried. He sounds anxious to fill the silence left by the invocation of the weyrwoman. "No weirdness," he smiles that attempt at a winning smile once again. "I promise." He follows her to her chosen shelf and waits expectantly, hovering impatiently.
Miniyal is not falling for the charm at all. But she doesn't really seem the sort who would. "Yes, of course I believe you," she says with a wry grin and a roll of her eyes. "I am not joking. Ask around, I don't even have a sense of humor according to most people." Then she selects a couple of tubes and carries them to the table. "You can look at these here," she says firmly. "And you cannot copy them."
Rafekin follows her to the table, somewhat cowed. His smile disappears as he sits. "Thank you," he says, eyes on the prize before him. He opens one tube and unrolls the first scroll, turning to the work. He reads slowly, mouth forming the words, but does so without another glance at Miniyal. As he concentrates, he starts to hum. He is off-key but the tune is definitely a common Harper teaching song for a very young child.
The hides in question don't give much information. Personal accounts of locals who have dealt with infestations. It's probably 90% how to kill them and 10% how to trap them and then kill them. Miniyal keeps a sharp eye as he looks at the hides, probably afraid he'll get fingerprints or something on them or smudge something. She doesn't even return to her work, for now her work is keeping an eye on the suspicious acting person.
Rafekin is engrossed, his soft humming the same few notes incessantly repeated. The hides do not seem to his liking. He begins to skim after the first few lines, his fingers tracing the lines with greater speed. With a sigh, he finishes the first scroll and turns to the other, sliding the first carelessly across the table and leaving it unrolled as he opens the second.
Watching the 'work' Rafekin is busy doing, Miniyal winces. "Be careful," she says with a shake of her head. Walking to the table he is at she takes up what he is done with and begins to carefully roll it up to return it to its case. It's normally such a quiet place, the records room this time of night. Alas, since she has to help someone most likely get up to trouble her own work is left untouched on the table by the baskets of glows.
The weather is foul outside, as can be witnessed in the damage done Valandys' person. She has a jacket draped over one arm, a heavy leather one that drips with mingled rainwater and melting snow. The fur lining its hood and cuffs has gone dark with the moisture. Less dark are the scarves that are wrapped bright around her, the largest of these swept across the lower half of her face and pinned behind her ear. It too is damp though, and soon falls as she reaches up to pull it free. Smiles then, all smiles and pleasant murmured greetings for those she passes on the way to a free stretch of table, an empty chair. The jacket finds a home on the back of that chair, followed by the drape of the scarf.
Rafekin pays no attention to the newcomer. "No," he protests, half-rising from his seat and reaching to help Miniyal with the scroll. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" He doesn't seem to know what to say, his face betraying him. "I was going to take care of it when I was finished," he explains lamely. One hand flat on the second scroll, he looks hopefully up at her. "Uh, are you sure this is all of it?"
More trouble. So much for a quiet night in the records room. For a moment, Miniyal is distracted away from the potential troublemaker to settle her focus on the person who is dripping. Dripping. Clearing her throat she heads over, telling Rafekin over her shoulder, "That is it. Give me a few days I might find more if I've time." Then her attention is wholly focused on Valandys for a moment. "Excuse me," she says with a hint of sharpness in her tone. "If you're going to come in here after being outside the least you could do is be sure you're not potentially dripping the weather everywhere. Because if you ruin anything there will be trouble."
To be fair, Valandys is not dripping. Her jacket, however, is. Small puddles form under the chair it hands on. "I beg your pardon," she says, inclining her head to Miniyal. The words are genuine in feeling. She truly is begging the other woman's pardon, although what she says next may do more harm than good. She points out, in an attempt to be reasonable, "I am not dripping the weather everywhere. The jacket is dripping there and will be dry soon." Her bracelets click softly as she gestures to indicate the patch of water-darkened stone. "I have no intention of ruining anything. Are you a clerk here?"
Rafekin's shoulders slump as he takes her word as gospel, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by amusement at Miniyal's tone, not to mention the newcomer's reasonable reply. He looks over his shoulder at the two ladies and, unable to contain a smirk, shakes his head. A lifetime in the Weyr has taught him when it's time to depart. With careful hands he gathers the two scrolls and slides them back into their tubes. Leaning back in his chair, his forehead creases as he thinks, eyes searching the shelves. No answers here? He seems to come to a decision and shrugs, pushing back in his chair to stand and gather the scrolls. He sets off for the place where he thinks Miniyal got them from. Across the room, of course, from their rightful shelf.
Fairness is hardly a word that settles into Miniyal's vocabulary when it comes to the records room. "Dripping," she repeats firmly. "And, no. I am not a clerk here. I assist here in the evenings when I am not working for weyrwoman Diya." She says this a lot from the sounds of it, but it doesn't have the tone of name dropping. She's merely stating a fact much like any other. Which is why she almost misses wandering of Rafekin. From the corner of her eye she catches sight and says, firmly but not loudly, "No, not there. Just leave them on the table and I will take care of it." Rolling her eyes she then looks at Valandys again. "And what do you want?" she then asks.
"A few moment's peace." The words are brushed with mild amusement, her black eyes bright with a smile that doesn't quite dare show itself on her lips. "Perhaps some fresh juice as well, but it was an early lesson, to make do without. Not that I would dream," she murmurs, setting a hand over the place her heart occupies, "Of bringing a glass of juice into a place such as this." And that is meant, in Valandys' odd way, to be reassuring. Imagine. She looks past Miniyal, gaze touching upon Rafekin- he earns himself the smile she'd been attempting to hide- before she refocuses on the woman. "I am looking for records containing different methods of book-keeping over the course of the past hundred turns. Old forms, and new innovations. It is for studies in economics, mm?"
Rafekin frowns and stops at her tone, but peers closer at his intended shelf. Realizing his mistake, he gives up. Placing the two tubes as neatly on the closest table as he can, he retreats to the main portion of the room, threading his way between tables towards them. He catches Valandys' smile and can't help a faint grimace. Definitely embarrassment, for a slight blush tinges his cheeks. He pauses at their table with one hand tentatively on the back of a chair, lurking. He doesn't want to interrupt, especially not something so impressive-sounding as Valandys' request. He can't keep the awe from his face.
Rubbing at her eyes, Miniyal keeps an eye on Rafekin a bit longer to be sure he's not going to misplace the cases. Once he sets them on the table she nods her head and then looks at Valandys. "I see," she says quietly. "There are records on record keeping, yes," she answers. Looking around at the room as if she doesn't know exactly where everything is, a fake gesture if ever there was one. "There is not a whole lot, of course. For a truly indepth study of that you would want to go, perhaps, to the Harper Hall. We've a few things." Not that she moves to get them.
Valandys keeps her smile as she regards Miniyal, perhaps deciding that it's more likely to ease her way with this prickly assistant. Or, perhaps, she just finds it impossible now to mask her amusement, soft as it is. "Yes, Assistant. A "whole lot" is unnecessary. You see, I was here yesterday morning and found them. With your permission, I'll find them again and so will avoid being a bother to you." She cocks her head to the right, expression shading towards the thoughtful. "Harper Hall... it seems counterproductive, to travel that far for a single class' worth of information. When what is here suffices."
Rafekin's face gives away his interest in the conversation. He looks at Valandys with respect in his eyes, and he does not move from his place at the table. His shoulder knot ranks him as a resident and he looks between them, saying nothing, fading into the background as best he can. Perhaps they'll forget he's there and let him stay for a little while? His eager interest shows in his face.
"I swear if it is not one thing it is another," Miniyal says with a heavy sigh. Turning on her heel she says, "Do not let anything touch that wet coat of yours or there will be trouble." Whether she has the authority or not it's evident in her tone. Her gaze slides over Rafekin, she's not liable to forget anyone in her perceived domain. "I will be watching you," she says directed to one or more likely both of them. Then she quietly stomps to her table to take up her work again.
Valandys lifts a hand, setting her fingers briefly over her lips to hide the strength of her smile. "I do apologize for the jacket," she offers, quiet and as pleasant as can be. Then she's off, drifting towards the appropriate shelves. Like Miniyal, she appears to be aiming her next remark at both of them. "It is incredible how much is stored here. In Igen, our records room was so much smaller. I spent six months there, assisting. This one is finer. I wonder, has it always been this grand or was it added to once it was decided that the Caucus would be held here?"
Rafekin opens his mouth as if to say something loudly, then bites it off and shakes his head slightly. "Good evening, ladies," he murmurs, ducking his head at them both. No courage. He steps around Valandys' chair and walks quietly to the exit.
One down and one to go. Not that Miniyal is saying that, but there's just something about her look that implies she's annoyed at the interruption. Abandoning her work she rises to pick up the hides left by Rafekin so she can replace them. As she passes by Valandys she gives the other woman a carefully considering look. As if trying to remember her in case something winds up being remiss after she leaves.
Valandys proves to be familair with the Weyr's system of organization, as she'd said. There's no hesitation in her as she crosses to the appropriate shelf and begins to transfer scroll-tubes from their stack to the crook of her arm. She carries them as if they were infants, or a sheaf of orchids, rather than dry rolls of leather and hide. Returning to her chosen seat- near enough that she can smile easily at Miniyal, or share a comment should she feel moved to- she settles her to arrange these before herself. "I am Valandys, of Igen Hold." She felt moved, it appears. "You are...mm. Miniyal? I believe I was told of you." Told or warned?
Miniyal carefully puts up whatever it was that the boy had been looking at. Once she's carefully stowed them away she returns to her seat. Pulling up her stool she sits down and studies her work. At the sound of speaking she stifles a sigh. It's hard, but she tries. "That's me," she says with faux cheer. "It's nice to meet you," she then adds because it is what people do when they meet someone new. "Is this your first year at the caucus?" she asks after that, forcing herself to make polite conversation.
"Yes." The effort at conversation is met with another of her smiles. Approving? No, that would be patronizing. But pleased, oh yes. Valandys, whose hands continue working as she engages the other woman in idle chitchat, seems most pleased to be social with someone who isn't either a rider or connected in some way to her work with the Caucus. "I am to be here for at least three turns, they told me. Perhaps five. More likely five, and I count it a blessing." Without appearing to realize it, she pauses in her sorting to softly rap the knuckles of one hand against the wood of the table. "You say you work with the weyrwoman Diya. That is an impressive posting, for one as young as you."
"Are you going to whine about the weather?" is asked in an exasperated tone. "They always whine about the weather. I'm so very sick of it." Shaking her head, Miniyal ignores her so very non-political comment there. She is not meeting friends and influencing people easily, this one. "I rather like the weather. But, that is a long time to be here I think. If you're not from here." A bit of pride there, as if it's something to be from here and not somewhere else. She looks down at her work and then cocks her head over to the right. "What? Oh, yes. I'm her assistant. It's not so terrible impressive, really. I just run her errands and keep her schedule running smoothly. I've been doing it a little bit now. We seem to work well anyway."
Once the tubes have all been arranged according to whatever system Valandys prefers, she takes the first and gently eases the age-thinned scroll out of it. "I never learned to whine," she promises. That smile is back in full force, bright with amusement. "The weather is different from Igen. Opposite? Yes... a land of extremes, as my home is. I think I can come to love it for that, at the very least. Better that I do, because as you say, it is a very long time to be here. But certainly worth the time spent." The hide is unrolled, smoothed out flat over the table. She squints down at the faded columns. "I was my mother's assistant. She was only Headwoman, but most people who have never done the work don't realize how vital it is, keeping time running smoothly for those above us."
Brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes, Miniyal scowls at her work for a moment for some reason. She brushes it with her fingertips. "I like the weather here," she says quietly. "I guess cause I am used to it, but I wouldn't like living anywhere else. Thankfully that's not so much an issue for me as others." Like someone else sitting here getting sent off and about or what have you. "Oh? That must have been, umm, interesting? My father works in here, but I never worked for him. It was just where I wound up because no one else thought I suited and I was good in here so I got to stay. Then I had to go to be the weyrwoman's assistant. Not that I mind. It's fine important work and all."
Valandys glances up, dark brows arching in a look of curiosity. "You have an odd way of expressing things." It's a strange remark, spoken simply, with sincerity. Observation rather than insult. "You wound up here because no one else thought you suited... my mother would say you were here because this is where you belong, and I think she would be right. You seem..." The Igenite hesitates, gaze casting about to take in the immediate details of the room around her. "Protective." Her smile is warm, perhaps faintly apologetic; even she has to recognize that there might be offense taken as a result of these remarks. "Which would you rather be, do you think? Assistant or recordkeeper?"
Miniyal looks around as well, taking in the shelves and the hides and the tables and everything. "I guess," she answers with a shrug of her shoulders. "I like it in here because people are usually quiet and don't talk much, you know?" This is said without a thought, is it vaguely insulting? Well, yes, but there's no realisation of it from the assistant. "I don't know. My mother really wants me to be weyrwoman Diya's assistant. She thinks it is better for me than hiding out in here."
"I am usually quiet and don't talk much," Valandys says in a softer tone, one meant more for a confession than a conversation. "You will have to forgive me. Having someone to speak with who is not so strange as the riders are, and is not judging me the way those with rank or Caucus pins are..." She completes the apology by pressing a finger over her lips, casting her eyes back down to the work spread out before her. The silence only lasts a few seconds, though. "Perhaps your mother sees something you don't," she picks up the thread of conversation again, musing. And why not? Her mother is all-wise, so all mothers must be so. "And from everything I've heard, the weyrwoman is someone to be proud of serving."
There is a wistful quality to the look Miniyal casts to her work. Work that she abandons with an every so soft sigh before she turns to look at Val. "My mother is...a wonderful woman, but I wish sometimes she didn't see quite so much. Or whatever." A shrug again as she offers a faint smile. "I don't much like the caucus. I mean, it's loud and there's so many people. And I don't even see much point in upsetting our lives. I guess I just wish it were taking place somewhere else is all, you know?" Peering around after this statement she looks vaguely guilty again for speaking her mind. "Diya is a wonderful person. I do enjoy working for her, don't get me wrong, but I am sure I will be replaced eventually. I mean, that is what happens."
No bolt falls from the heavens, and Valandys certainly doesn't behave as if Miniyal has spoken blasphemy. She just tips her head in what could be acknowledgement, or perhaps agreement. Her finger is tracing a line beside one of the faded ink columns, eyes narrowing again in a squint as she tries to make out the figures. "Were it in Igen, I am certain I would feel similarly unsettled. At first. As glad as I am to be here, I am equally glad it was not my home that was invaded by loud, messy strangers intent only on disrupting my work."
"The problem is," Miniyal starts quietly, looking around once more into the abandoned room. "Is just that people can be so rude." Shaking her head she looks at her work, unable to not look at it even if she's being...social and not working on it. The horror. "I mean, like because they are -our- guests they can do whatever they want. It's not so bad as it was, but they get so...demanding. Like I should just let them do whatever they want in here and muss things up? Or like I can stand around and listen to them whine after I've delivered a message for the weyrwoman." Basically, she appears to be saying in general she dislikes people. No real surprise there.
Valandys, like Miniyal, is seated at a table with a number of hides spread out before her. The hides comprise work that both women appear to be pretending to do, while they are in fact engaged in a conversation that has nothing to do with said work. "That is not a problem limited to foreign invaders, I'm afraid." As she speaks, the Igenite sets the current hide to the side- being careful to keep it flat and smooth- and reaches for another of the scrolltubes. "I imagine the problem is simply emphasized through lack of familiarity. I was quick to believe everyone I met here to be rude, upon first arriving. I had only rumour to draw from, and then misunderstandings between what was said, and what was meant..."
There's a soft set of footsteps which quietly herald the entrance of another person into the records room. As she comes into the light, Magaly's plain but recognizable features are illuminated. She's dressed against the weather outside, sweater and jacket layered over her casual clothing. The goldrider's eyes are on the prize--the rows upon rows of tubed hides lining the back of the cavern. She has to navigate through those tables and chairs first, which bring Valandys and Miniyal's presence to her attention. "Oh, hello," the greeting is genial enough, if distracted. "I had thought the rooms might be empty at this hour." Does it matter? Her tone implies it may.
Scratching at the back of her neck, Miniyal frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know. I keep getting told I should be trying harder to..." To something, but whatever she was going to say she stops when someone else appears. A cock of the head to the right and she looks up at Magaly. "What are you looking for?" she asks in a weary and sharp tone. Really, people cannot be here in -her- records room like this. Touching her things? For shame. The warmer tones that had crept into her voice when speaking to Valandys vanish as she watches the new arrival warily.
Less peevish is Valandys' greeting. Her smile shines out, teeth white in the dark of her face. "Hello! It is early yet for this place to be empty and the records well guarded at almost any hour, I think." Could she be poking fun at Miniyal? No... the glance she sweeps towards the other woman seated nearby is full of warmth, fellow companionship. She leaves the matter of assistance in the hands of the one assigned to assist, but the nearby tables- empty, clear of hide or even dust- are indicated with a tip of her head. "Room enough for all of us though, mm?"
Magaly's gaze thins as it focuses on Miniyal; ah yes, /that/ girl. Lips perse briefly with a flash of annoyance, but Magaly is tactful if not exactly warm. A gentle wave of her hand dismisses Valandys' nod to the empty room politely, her smile grateful but tight. "I'm... interested in the Reach's orginizational system, in general." The answer is given with a slight hesitation, a little reluctance. She sweeps past the tables, but remains communicative as fingers begin to flip over random tags. "Chronolgoical, entirely? Categorical, firstly? Fort's are an absolute maze."
"Our records are never a mess," Miniyal says a touch peevishly. She almost seems to welcome the interruption, sparing her from potentially making a friend or something. That would never do. "What do you want with those records?" she asks Magaly with a touch of suspicion in her eyes. Anyone seeking anything in her domain is going to be viewed this way so most likely it is not over the subject matter. A blink of her eyes and then she gives Valandys a quick, almost missed, smile. "Excuse me a moment?" she asks.
"Of course, of course." The Igenite does not begrudge any records room intruder time under Miniyal's watchful eyes. It is, after all, a gauntlet she herself had to run and survive in order to enjoy that minnow-quick smile. Bone bracelets clatter softly as she gestures, waving the woman on to her work before favoring Magaly with a smile that may well be sympathetic. Or just understanding. "I should be reading, yes, lest my instructors send me home a disgrace," she adds, bending over the fresh hide with a sigh of her own.
Is a Caucus student who is still a goldrider of some tenure entitled to the usual level of respect from the weyrfolk? It's food for thought that Magaly seems to be chewing on as a longsuffering gaze turns and rests on Miniyal. "I'm merely curious, dear," her tone remains level, clipped by her Fortian accent. "I, too, am here to study," a hand gestures to the example Valandys sets, "...albeit on an... extra-curricular topic, rather than an assigned lesson. I find nothing wrong with your records room." Here, the goldrider tries a fuller smile to perhaps smooth Miniyal's ruffled feathers. "Simply comparing different styles."
Oh, respect is surely called for. The problem is, Miniyal sometimes forgets that when she's frothing with concern over her precious room. She's likely to be called on it should she be reported. Diya by now is most likely used to it. It's a good thing she is possibly good at her work. "Well, there is nothing wrong with it," she says as she straightens up some. "And, if you're looking for organizational structure we've a few records on it. Up to date, of course. Going back for some time."
"I have some here, weyrwoman," Valandys puts in helpfully. The topmost of the pile of scrolls remaining to her right is lifted, wagged back and forth once to draw their eyes. "Focusing more on accounting records organization, for the economics course, but it would be pertinent?" The offer scroll is set aside before she begins to gather up the others, tucking them neat and safe as cradled babies in the angle of her arm. They're born back to the appropriate shelves. "I am sure Harper Hall would have more. I have it on the very best authority."
Magaly approaches the table at Valandys' offer. Fingertips trace beneath the lines of words written on the hide, a moment of silence that no doubt allows her to keep composure. "Thank you," she murmurs, "It is partially what I'm looking for." Miniyal, for the time being, is safely ignored. Magaly is known for a diplomatic level of patience, but that's when dealing with members of rank to secure formalities and treaties. In such a casual atmosphere, patience is in danger of being worn thin. "I've often wondered if keeping a log of the entire contents of a records room would be hinderance or help," she seems to muse to herself, but aloud.
Could that be? Yes, it is a blush that covers Miniyal's cheeks for a moment or three. She clears her throat and looks down at her feet. Whatever caused it, it could be so many things, does not make her comment on it. She disappears for a bit to gather up a few things from the shelves, carrying them carefully with both hands like the way a child would to be sure nothing is dropped. The reason for this comes in the way she tends to stumble into things, shins banging several tables on the way. Carefully setting them down she comments, "If you have people who know where everything is a log is not required. Although one for people to sign in and out on for what they've touched is always a good idea."
Valandys, returning from the job of putting those scroll-tubes away, remarks, "I imagine it would be a great deal of work, to build the initial log. Less work once it was compiled, provided you had capable people to attend to its updating." The last hide, the one so old its edges look almost translucent, shiny with the turns, is ever so carefully returned to its originally rolled form and placed in its tube for safekeeping. "Having people serve as your memory is limiting. They may move on, or forget. People are flawed. Ink on hide... less so, if your scribes are accurate."
Magaly concedes to Miniyal's idea with a thoughtful nod, even a small smile plays at the edges of her lips. "Now wouldn't that be a fine idea, especially as a way for those suspicious of how the records are being handled to keep track of such hands." A bit of play sparks in her deep brown eyes, she's testing the extent of Miniyal's humor. It seems there's little of it, in general. "Scribes or keepers, the records are doomed to human error either way. Still, something is better than nothing." Magaly finally takes a seat at the table with both women, the lone accounting record satisfies her curiosity and she continues to gaze at the contents as she speaks. "Every year, Fort loses a percentage to age and neglect. It's a shame, there's no telling just what we're losing at some point. I think of the plagues, for instance, and wonder if turns from now Pern will suffer again with little help from history."
"Well, how come you don't have people copying them?" Miniyal asks, sounding puzzled. "I've been copying records in here since I was old enough to do it well." From the womb most likely. She's just like an old librarian, should Pern have had them, that would be her. "I think a log is a fine idea to be sure people know whom is looking at what and when and so they can be asked should those things disappear you might track them down." A nod of her head at this and she carefully sets down the tubes she was carrying. Setting them down she gestures. "What you wanted. And, the problem with a log of everything is...well, it's troublesome. We've a system here, you see? Everyone keeps track of one area and they are constantly checked to be sure they are up to date on what we have. And they share that with others. It's not the best, but it works."
Valandys turns a thoughtful gaze on Magaly, the look lingering perhaps a few seconds overlong. "I think," she says slowly, quietly, "That High Reaches is perhaps fortunate in the systems it has in place to prevent the loss that the weyrwoman speaks of. Not all are so lucky, Miniyal." Again her knuckles find the wood of the table's surface, to rap softly against it. "It is possible she is looking for a way to protect her records room as you have protected yours. You share a common interest then, mm?" Her teeth flash again, her smile almost merry at having managed to draw a line between the two women. "Everything that happens, you see, it happens for a reason."
It is a boon to have Valandys's mild nature referee here, a fact that Magaly makes subtly known with a small smile in the girl's direction. That smile is hard-pressed to stay put as Miniyal's inquisition is addressed with the undercurrent of a sigh. "As I said, the records are still doomed to human error and neglect--ink and hide last only so many turns before decay sets in, and copying more than few of the sentances are impossible." A shrug and curt wave of her hand dismiss the line of questioning further. "High Reaches is very fortunate to have set in place those that truly care for this kind of work, rather than employing whatever hands may be available at the time."
Perhaps realising she's only going to put her foot someplace even worse than she already has, Miniyal clears her throat. "I need to be going," she says quietly, taking a backwards step that puts her directly into a table behind her. Another blush stains her cheeks as she turns to check on the table. "I need to be up early to attend to my duties. Please be careful." The last is said almost pleadingly. Like she doesn't expect them to be able to no matter what. "I have go to." Gathering up whatever she was working on carefully she smiles faintly, overcome now with shyness and an urge to not leave on such a hideous note. She's doing so well after all. "Good evening."
"Of course, Miniyal. It was a pleasure." This from Valandys, who sends the parting words hurrying over to the woman before she can whisk herself away. "I should see myself off as well," she adds, picking up the remaining scroll and tucking it under her arm as she gathers up scarf and jacket from the back of her chair. "Weyrwoman, I wish you luck in your search for proper organization." She actually curtseys to Magaly, smooth and respectful, then strides off towards the upper caverns.
Magaly is instantly pleased to see them go, her smile for their departure more relief than polite farewell. "A good evening to you both, then." She calls out to Miniyal's fading form, "I shall take care..." and more quietly to herself, with a bit more heat allowed now that Magaly is alone "...as should you, girl."