Log: Changes and Broken Toys
Who: Mikandros, Milani
Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
When: Summer morning, 8:09 of day 3, month 8, turn 19 of Interval 10.
What: Still not quite herself, Milani's taking a quiet breakfast at the nighthearth when Mikandros comes along with a bunch of toys to fix and some conversation.
Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.
Though breakfast is being served in the living cavern and most of the Weyr's residents and riders are taking their first meal of the day in there, the headwoman has opted for the quieter but not private option of the nighthearth. Milani sits in one of the comfier chairs near the hearth itself with a plate in her lap. Looks like the kitchen staff made her her very own special breakfast because rather than the oatmeal, toast and breakfast rolls everyone else has, Millie's got eggs over easy nestled between slices of whole wheat toast and a fry of potoates, onions, tomato and mushrooms. She eats slowly, seemingly enjoying the treat of eggs, fingers licked free of a clinging bit of yolk from dipping her toast into one of the three white-and-yellow circles on her plate.
It's not with breakfast in hand that Mikandros comes seeking the quiet of the nighthearth, but with work. A small woven basket dangles loosely from the fingers of one hand, looking a trifle odd filled with at first glance with an odd jumble of wood, leather and cloth. The headwoman isn't hard to spot, as his eyes rove around the area, trying to decide where to sit. Boyish smile curving his lips, he sends a soft-toned greeting her way. "G'mornin', miss Milani. Looks like a mighty fine breakfast y'got there."
Milani startles a little and bites off too much eggy toast, looking up at Mikandros with wide blue-green eyes. She holds up one finger in a 'wait-a-sec' gesture, until she can chew, swallow and dab at her lips. "Isn't it nice? They spoil me in the kitchens," Millie says with fondness for the cooking staff in her voice. "How are you doing, Mikandros? Settling in well?" Curious eyes alight on the basket in his hand then lift to his face.
"Sorry," Mikandros offers into the pause while Milani works her way through that too-large bite. A nod given in reply to her question about the niceness of her breakfast. "And m'sure yer a lady well worth the spoilin'. Mind if I join ye here? Jus' got some whittlin' t'do...." At this, the basket is lifted slightly, before he allows his hand to fall back to his side again. "Oh aye, settlin' in fine. Been gettin' th'fiddly jobs, since I told 'em I'm good with the small stuff. Th'nannies dumped a load of broken toys from th'nursery on me." This spoken with obvious pleasure - he hadn't really just been saying, when he mentioned he liked fixing things. "How've ye been keepin', miss Milani?"
The compliment brings a smile to Milani's lips, even if her expression is faintly amused. "Not at all, make yourself comfortable," the headwoman invites and shifts her plate a little so she can turn in her seat and be more conversationally oriented. "Ohh that's sweet, for the kids? Nice," she says with a warming of her gaze towards him. "Sick for a few days, but they let me out yesterday and I'm right back to work, pretty much right as rain." She dips her fork into her eggs, piles up little slices of white and yolk mixed together with the tubers atop some more toast.
Mikandros might be put off by the amusement if there were anything other than friendly intent behind his words. But as it is, he's just happy for a friendly face, and his smile appears again as he settles himself into a chair. "Yeah. Fixed a doll for some little lass I happened across down in the caverns, and I guess she went and told, because it wasn't too long after that I got asked to salvage what I could from this big box they've got. Most of it's pretty easy - runner toys with missing legs, dolls that need a new face, or foot." He settles the basket on the floor between his feet, draws out a rolled up strip of canvas to lay across his lap. A leather case that's unrolled to reveal his various carving tools comes next, rested on left knee. "Oof, now summer ills, they're th'worst kind. Nothing quite so rotten as feelin' poorly when th'weather's bright 'n lovely and ye can't be goin' out in't. Glad t'hear yer feelin' alright now, though. Don't work yerself too hard straight off, though, eh? Don't want twork yerself into a relapse."
"And there's no higher recommendation than the word of a child, right?" Milani says with another friendly smile for the trader/woodworker. "You seem pretty happy with that sort of work, so I won't worry about you getting bored," Millie says and takes a big bite out of her laden toast, chews for a little then leans over to capture her klah mug. "Mmm, that would be why I'm kind of hiding out in here. Just taking it easy, you know?" Her voice remains light throughout that statement. "Summer's going by fast though, just another month and we'll be looking at the start of tithes."
Mikandros shakes his head with a chuckle, "Not in my book, miss Milani. Turnin' tears into a smile, best sort payment y'can get, y'know?" He rummages around in the basket, picks out a small pouch with the front half of a small dragon-and-rider toy sticking out of it. Removing the toy from the pouch, brown fabric wings folding close to its side and only half a tail. The tail is one of those made out of multiple segments held together with pegs, so that it'll curl back and forth. "Well now, hidin' out and takin' it easy don't necessarily have t'go together. Surely ye got enough assistants t'keep y'from gettin' too bogged down? Or are ye not th'type as likes delegatin'?" Brown eyes flicker upwards to meet hers briefly, eyebrows quirking in curiousity, before he goes back to examining the tail. "Goes by fast, 'specially up here. Y'expectin' a good load of stuff t'come in?"
"No?" Milani looks a little confused briefly. "Didn't we just say the same thing?" she asks laughingly and munches on more breakfast while observing the toy in question. "Oh, that's really cute. I remember making those 'fly' when I was little," she says with some of her food tucked into her cheek to allow for speech. "Plenty of assistants," Milani says with a little shake of her head. "But it's loud in there and often people have a lot of questions which means interrupted meals," she explains her own gaze meeting his steadily. Her shoulders lift a little and she smiles. "Likely, though probably some oddities like last turn."
Head tilting, Mikandros considers briefly and rubs at his jaw, amusement in every line of his face. "Aye, I guess we did. M'apologies, miss Milani. M'hearing sarcasm where there ain't any meant." He lifts the toy up, fingers gently coaxing the wings to unfurl slightly. "Still sound, save for th'tail. He'll 'fly' again. His 'rider might need a new head, though. Unless this line's just a mar in th'paint." Setting the toy on the canvas across his lap, he leans down to pluck out a couple different wooden rods of varying thicknesses from the basket, finally settling on one he likes the look of. He clears his throat a bit when she mentions interrupted meals, looking like he's about to apologize. "Ah. 'N then I come along an' do jus' that, interrupt." Yep, there it is. But hard the heels of that, a curious, "Oddities?"
Smiling gently, Milani shakes her head. "No, that was sincere," she says simply and leans a little to look. "Oh dear. Headless rider. That's kind of frightening hm?" Her head shakes though as he starts to get on towards apologizing for interrupting. "One person is fine. It's the litany of five, ten ... and so on that can be a little wearing," she confesses. "At least for today. By the end of the seven, I'm sure I'll be fine." She laughs though for his last. "Yes. Pink fleece. Thousands of beads ..."
Mikandros nods his head, up and down, up and down. "Oh, headless 'rider ain't no trouble t'fix. A little careful work can cut this fella off and I c'n carve a new likeness of him." He slides out one of his knives from the leather case - more like a tiny saw than a knife, really - eyeballs the wooden rod and then proceeds to cut off a chunk from the end. "Oh aye, I c'n understand that. Somethin' like th'tinker's wagon when we set up at th'smaller cotholds, only every single day, aye? Everybody wantin' somethin' doin'." And then, eyebrows jumping upwards towards his hairline. "Pink fleece? Y'serious?"
"Yes, but can you imagine one coming after you, in the dark?" Milani teases just a little, winks and fills her mouth up, her plate slowly emptying of its contents as she eats with reasonably good appetite. "Exactly," she waves a finger at his description and reaches for mug to clear her mouth out with klah. "Mmmhm. Pink fleece. Purple sheets. Three thousand wooden beads."
A grin, as Mikandros looks up at the teasing. "I'd really rather not, miss Milani. Some 'riders are plenty scary enough with their heads still attached!" He laughs, dropping the rod back into the basket and exchanging the tiny saw for a proper knife. If you can call a knife with a blade only an inch long 'proper.' Holding the chunk of wood low over his lap so that the resultant slivers will fall onto the canvas there and not on the floor to make a mess, he starts to carefully shape it. "Purple... three -thousand?-" Incredulous blink at that number. "What's they think ye was gonna do with 'em all, make curtains?"
Milani giggles a little, almost girlishly and ducks her head. "Mm. True. A lot of the older ones are cranky!" the headwoman says with big eyes made, then she leans back in her chair to finish off her food. A few more bites and it's all gone but that last triangle of toast to swipe across her yolky plate. "We used some of them for trade," Milani says with a chuckle. "But ... it seems to sort of be a ... thing with the Interval. They're meeting all their quotas, the holds, but sometimes with some strange stuff."
Mikandros's expression is rather delighted at the sound of that giggle. Seems littles aren't the only ones he likes to make laugh. Scrape scrape, goes his little knife against the little piece of wood. Pause coming when he rubs a testing thumb along the curve he's creating. "Seems t'be a case of that each Interval, if y'read any of th'histories. Like suddenly everyone thinks it ain't comin' back, ever, so th'Weyrs don't gotta be taken care of proper no more."
"Yeah, I know," Milani says quietly. "It's just ... interesting how it's turned up at the Reaches. Other than you know, Lord Crom and all that," the headwoman continues and sighs, snuggles back into the chair, legs pulling up beneath her now that she's set her plate aside, empty. Her klah mug is drawn close, tipped up for a drink. "It's part of the struggle of Interval I guess. Figuring it all out and making sure that needs are still met."
"You'd think they'd learn," Mikandros opines. He holds the little piece up against the broken tail, shakes his head and goes back to whittling. "'Specially after...." he trails off, shrugs. "Least y'can still trade, if th'goods y'get are even remotely useful. And well, it don't really matter what colour yer sheets are, so long's they're clean, right? It's a silly person gets all twisted up 'bout this's gotta be that, and that's gotta be this, if it still does th'job it's intended for, aye?"
"Mmm. Actually we traded that stuff down to the south," Milani says, "the fleece and the sheets. They needed the fabric more than we did. And yes, being able to trade is /very/ good. Even if what we get sent isn't quite right we can always trade for what we do need," the headwoman says with a definite bob of her head.
Mikandros's gaze travels upwards, staring off at some fascinating shadow on the wall before the reference finds the appropriate file within his memory. "Ah right, all th'trouble with the crop failure down Fort way." Satisfied now, his gaze drops back to his work, though pauses briefly on Milani's face on the way down. Shaped end of the piece of wood is once more held to the dragon-toy's tail, this time met with an approving 'hnh' in the back of his throat. Exchanging rounded end for flat, he begins working on the other side. "Requires a good political climate though, don't it." Statement. "I really don't envy them's got th'job of keepin' relations smooth betwixt folk as may not get along so well with others."
Quiet on Milani's side of things while she sips at her klah and nods about Fort. "Yes," simply and then she's just listening, meeting his gaze when his settles on her. "It ... does. And it's been a little complicated here." Understatement of the turn.
"Th'Weyrwoman?" Mikandros asks, glancing upward from under puckered brows. "Met her. She's--" a bitch. "Well, not gonna say nothin' rude 'bout a lady. But I think ye might got yer work cut out for y'self." He reaches up with his non-knife-weilding hand, scratches the length of one eyebrow with his thumb.
"Tiriana is manageable," Milani says with a little quirk in the corner of her mouth. "I suppose that you ... never met Satiet?" she asks, voice very softly, eyes taking in his face. She doesn't actually remark about her work, just lifts her mug up and takes a long drink and maybe for a moment, looks tired all over again.
Mikandros's frown indicates that he has his doubts about Tiriana's manageability, but he won't go so far as to voice them. Instead, a nod. If Milani's confident, who is he, a relative newcomer-type and still figuring out which way the wind blows within the Weyr, to argue? "Never had 'cause to," he responds to her question. "Ma didn't ever like any of the 'leadership, even b'fore she got 'scored. She's one as thinks everyone above a certain status is useless, dunno why. She's never said." He stops his whittling, sitting up slightly at looking at Milani with some concern behind his eyes. "M'sorry, miss Milani. Didn't mean t'bring things 'round t'a difficult subject."
"She was ... formidable, though not necessarily the most likable of people," Milani says softly, fingers turning her mug around and around. "It's all right, it's just ... been a time of a lot of changes," the headwoman says slowly, carefully.
"There's formidable, and then there's jus' plain difficult," Mikandros notes, merely stating his opinion, not being argumentative. He leans forward slightly, reaching out a hand automatically, aborts the gesture and lets the appendage fall back to his knee. "Too much change at one, set th'head in a right tizzy. I'll take yer pardon and be sorry anyway, miss Milani. Nice lass like you, shouldn't ever have cause t'look so worn down 'n lost."
"I'd say that Tiriana is difficult ... Satiet managed the Weyr very well and handled the politics reasonably well too, no matter whether you agreed wit how they went or not," Milani answers, cradling her mug in her lap. The gesture forward is not flinched from, but neither does Milani encourage or seek it out. "Thank you, Mik. I'll just say that it's more complicated than just the changes of leadership or the Weyr's situation and leave it at that. But thank you for your sympathy."
Well, this just leaves Mikandros at something of a loss. If Milani were a sister, he'd just gather her up in a hug whether she invited it or not. If she were a lover, he'd gather her up and carry her off somewhere private. But seeing as she's neither, well, hmm. A couple more half-hearted scrapes against the small piece of wood, before he just folds everything up in that canvas lap cover and plop it in the top of the basket before picking the whole lot up. "Well, miss Milani, I truly hope that when things change again, they change for th'better and bring a smile t'yer face." Rising to his feet, he executes a deep bow. "If you'll excuse me? I shouldn't be keepin' ye from yer work." When in doubt, beat a hasty retreat. Or a not-so-hasty retreat, since he'll wait until she dismisses him before actually leaving.
Milani watches the movements of his knife as he works, looks back up at him when he starts to clear up. "Thank you," she says again andsmiles at him warmly, head inclining to agree with his self-dismissal. "I'll see you later, Mikandros. Have a good rest of the day," is her sincere wish as he departs. As for herself, she stays put for a little while, eyes closing, head resting back against the chair. She drinks the rest of her klah then gets up slowly to bring her dishes back to the kitchen and go about her day.
Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
When: Summer morning, 8:09 of day 3, month 8, turn 19 of Interval 10.
What: Still not quite herself, Milani's taking a quiet breakfast at the nighthearth when Mikandros comes along with a bunch of toys to fix and some conversation.
Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.
Though breakfast is being served in the living cavern and most of the Weyr's residents and riders are taking their first meal of the day in there, the headwoman has opted for the quieter but not private option of the nighthearth. Milani sits in one of the comfier chairs near the hearth itself with a plate in her lap. Looks like the kitchen staff made her her very own special breakfast because rather than the oatmeal, toast and breakfast rolls everyone else has, Millie's got eggs over easy nestled between slices of whole wheat toast and a fry of potoates, onions, tomato and mushrooms. She eats slowly, seemingly enjoying the treat of eggs, fingers licked free of a clinging bit of yolk from dipping her toast into one of the three white-and-yellow circles on her plate.
It's not with breakfast in hand that Mikandros comes seeking the quiet of the nighthearth, but with work. A small woven basket dangles loosely from the fingers of one hand, looking a trifle odd filled with at first glance with an odd jumble of wood, leather and cloth. The headwoman isn't hard to spot, as his eyes rove around the area, trying to decide where to sit. Boyish smile curving his lips, he sends a soft-toned greeting her way. "G'mornin', miss Milani. Looks like a mighty fine breakfast y'got there."
Milani startles a little and bites off too much eggy toast, looking up at Mikandros with wide blue-green eyes. She holds up one finger in a 'wait-a-sec' gesture, until she can chew, swallow and dab at her lips. "Isn't it nice? They spoil me in the kitchens," Millie says with fondness for the cooking staff in her voice. "How are you doing, Mikandros? Settling in well?" Curious eyes alight on the basket in his hand then lift to his face.
"Sorry," Mikandros offers into the pause while Milani works her way through that too-large bite. A nod given in reply to her question about the niceness of her breakfast. "And m'sure yer a lady well worth the spoilin'. Mind if I join ye here? Jus' got some whittlin' t'do...." At this, the basket is lifted slightly, before he allows his hand to fall back to his side again. "Oh aye, settlin' in fine. Been gettin' th'fiddly jobs, since I told 'em I'm good with the small stuff. Th'nannies dumped a load of broken toys from th'nursery on me." This spoken with obvious pleasure - he hadn't really just been saying, when he mentioned he liked fixing things. "How've ye been keepin', miss Milani?"
The compliment brings a smile to Milani's lips, even if her expression is faintly amused. "Not at all, make yourself comfortable," the headwoman invites and shifts her plate a little so she can turn in her seat and be more conversationally oriented. "Ohh that's sweet, for the kids? Nice," she says with a warming of her gaze towards him. "Sick for a few days, but they let me out yesterday and I'm right back to work, pretty much right as rain." She dips her fork into her eggs, piles up little slices of white and yolk mixed together with the tubers atop some more toast.
Mikandros might be put off by the amusement if there were anything other than friendly intent behind his words. But as it is, he's just happy for a friendly face, and his smile appears again as he settles himself into a chair. "Yeah. Fixed a doll for some little lass I happened across down in the caverns, and I guess she went and told, because it wasn't too long after that I got asked to salvage what I could from this big box they've got. Most of it's pretty easy - runner toys with missing legs, dolls that need a new face, or foot." He settles the basket on the floor between his feet, draws out a rolled up strip of canvas to lay across his lap. A leather case that's unrolled to reveal his various carving tools comes next, rested on left knee. "Oof, now summer ills, they're th'worst kind. Nothing quite so rotten as feelin' poorly when th'weather's bright 'n lovely and ye can't be goin' out in't. Glad t'hear yer feelin' alright now, though. Don't work yerself too hard straight off, though, eh? Don't want twork yerself into a relapse."
"And there's no higher recommendation than the word of a child, right?" Milani says with another friendly smile for the trader/woodworker. "You seem pretty happy with that sort of work, so I won't worry about you getting bored," Millie says and takes a big bite out of her laden toast, chews for a little then leans over to capture her klah mug. "Mmm, that would be why I'm kind of hiding out in here. Just taking it easy, you know?" Her voice remains light throughout that statement. "Summer's going by fast though, just another month and we'll be looking at the start of tithes."
Mikandros shakes his head with a chuckle, "Not in my book, miss Milani. Turnin' tears into a smile, best sort payment y'can get, y'know?" He rummages around in the basket, picks out a small pouch with the front half of a small dragon-and-rider toy sticking out of it. Removing the toy from the pouch, brown fabric wings folding close to its side and only half a tail. The tail is one of those made out of multiple segments held together with pegs, so that it'll curl back and forth. "Well now, hidin' out and takin' it easy don't necessarily have t'go together. Surely ye got enough assistants t'keep y'from gettin' too bogged down? Or are ye not th'type as likes delegatin'?" Brown eyes flicker upwards to meet hers briefly, eyebrows quirking in curiousity, before he goes back to examining the tail. "Goes by fast, 'specially up here. Y'expectin' a good load of stuff t'come in?"
"No?" Milani looks a little confused briefly. "Didn't we just say the same thing?" she asks laughingly and munches on more breakfast while observing the toy in question. "Oh, that's really cute. I remember making those 'fly' when I was little," she says with some of her food tucked into her cheek to allow for speech. "Plenty of assistants," Milani says with a little shake of her head. "But it's loud in there and often people have a lot of questions which means interrupted meals," she explains her own gaze meeting his steadily. Her shoulders lift a little and she smiles. "Likely, though probably some oddities like last turn."
Head tilting, Mikandros considers briefly and rubs at his jaw, amusement in every line of his face. "Aye, I guess we did. M'apologies, miss Milani. M'hearing sarcasm where there ain't any meant." He lifts the toy up, fingers gently coaxing the wings to unfurl slightly. "Still sound, save for th'tail. He'll 'fly' again. His 'rider might need a new head, though. Unless this line's just a mar in th'paint." Setting the toy on the canvas across his lap, he leans down to pluck out a couple different wooden rods of varying thicknesses from the basket, finally settling on one he likes the look of. He clears his throat a bit when she mentions interrupted meals, looking like he's about to apologize. "Ah. 'N then I come along an' do jus' that, interrupt." Yep, there it is. But hard the heels of that, a curious, "Oddities?"
Smiling gently, Milani shakes her head. "No, that was sincere," she says simply and leans a little to look. "Oh dear. Headless rider. That's kind of frightening hm?" Her head shakes though as he starts to get on towards apologizing for interrupting. "One person is fine. It's the litany of five, ten ... and so on that can be a little wearing," she confesses. "At least for today. By the end of the seven, I'm sure I'll be fine." She laughs though for his last. "Yes. Pink fleece. Thousands of beads ..."
Mikandros nods his head, up and down, up and down. "Oh, headless 'rider ain't no trouble t'fix. A little careful work can cut this fella off and I c'n carve a new likeness of him." He slides out one of his knives from the leather case - more like a tiny saw than a knife, really - eyeballs the wooden rod and then proceeds to cut off a chunk from the end. "Oh aye, I c'n understand that. Somethin' like th'tinker's wagon when we set up at th'smaller cotholds, only every single day, aye? Everybody wantin' somethin' doin'." And then, eyebrows jumping upwards towards his hairline. "Pink fleece? Y'serious?"
"Yes, but can you imagine one coming after you, in the dark?" Milani teases just a little, winks and fills her mouth up, her plate slowly emptying of its contents as she eats with reasonably good appetite. "Exactly," she waves a finger at his description and reaches for mug to clear her mouth out with klah. "Mmmhm. Pink fleece. Purple sheets. Three thousand wooden beads."
A grin, as Mikandros looks up at the teasing. "I'd really rather not, miss Milani. Some 'riders are plenty scary enough with their heads still attached!" He laughs, dropping the rod back into the basket and exchanging the tiny saw for a proper knife. If you can call a knife with a blade only an inch long 'proper.' Holding the chunk of wood low over his lap so that the resultant slivers will fall onto the canvas there and not on the floor to make a mess, he starts to carefully shape it. "Purple... three -thousand?-" Incredulous blink at that number. "What's they think ye was gonna do with 'em all, make curtains?"
Milani giggles a little, almost girlishly and ducks her head. "Mm. True. A lot of the older ones are cranky!" the headwoman says with big eyes made, then she leans back in her chair to finish off her food. A few more bites and it's all gone but that last triangle of toast to swipe across her yolky plate. "We used some of them for trade," Milani says with a chuckle. "But ... it seems to sort of be a ... thing with the Interval. They're meeting all their quotas, the holds, but sometimes with some strange stuff."
Mikandros's expression is rather delighted at the sound of that giggle. Seems littles aren't the only ones he likes to make laugh. Scrape scrape, goes his little knife against the little piece of wood. Pause coming when he rubs a testing thumb along the curve he's creating. "Seems t'be a case of that each Interval, if y'read any of th'histories. Like suddenly everyone thinks it ain't comin' back, ever, so th'Weyrs don't gotta be taken care of proper no more."
"Yeah, I know," Milani says quietly. "It's just ... interesting how it's turned up at the Reaches. Other than you know, Lord Crom and all that," the headwoman continues and sighs, snuggles back into the chair, legs pulling up beneath her now that she's set her plate aside, empty. Her klah mug is drawn close, tipped up for a drink. "It's part of the struggle of Interval I guess. Figuring it all out and making sure that needs are still met."
"You'd think they'd learn," Mikandros opines. He holds the little piece up against the broken tail, shakes his head and goes back to whittling. "'Specially after...." he trails off, shrugs. "Least y'can still trade, if th'goods y'get are even remotely useful. And well, it don't really matter what colour yer sheets are, so long's they're clean, right? It's a silly person gets all twisted up 'bout this's gotta be that, and that's gotta be this, if it still does th'job it's intended for, aye?"
"Mmm. Actually we traded that stuff down to the south," Milani says, "the fleece and the sheets. They needed the fabric more than we did. And yes, being able to trade is /very/ good. Even if what we get sent isn't quite right we can always trade for what we do need," the headwoman says with a definite bob of her head.
Mikandros's gaze travels upwards, staring off at some fascinating shadow on the wall before the reference finds the appropriate file within his memory. "Ah right, all th'trouble with the crop failure down Fort way." Satisfied now, his gaze drops back to his work, though pauses briefly on Milani's face on the way down. Shaped end of the piece of wood is once more held to the dragon-toy's tail, this time met with an approving 'hnh' in the back of his throat. Exchanging rounded end for flat, he begins working on the other side. "Requires a good political climate though, don't it." Statement. "I really don't envy them's got th'job of keepin' relations smooth betwixt folk as may not get along so well with others."
Quiet on Milani's side of things while she sips at her klah and nods about Fort. "Yes," simply and then she's just listening, meeting his gaze when his settles on her. "It ... does. And it's been a little complicated here." Understatement of the turn.
"Th'Weyrwoman?" Mikandros asks, glancing upward from under puckered brows. "Met her. She's--" a bitch. "Well, not gonna say nothin' rude 'bout a lady. But I think ye might got yer work cut out for y'self." He reaches up with his non-knife-weilding hand, scratches the length of one eyebrow with his thumb.
"Tiriana is manageable," Milani says with a little quirk in the corner of her mouth. "I suppose that you ... never met Satiet?" she asks, voice very softly, eyes taking in his face. She doesn't actually remark about her work, just lifts her mug up and takes a long drink and maybe for a moment, looks tired all over again.
Mikandros's frown indicates that he has his doubts about Tiriana's manageability, but he won't go so far as to voice them. Instead, a nod. If Milani's confident, who is he, a relative newcomer-type and still figuring out which way the wind blows within the Weyr, to argue? "Never had 'cause to," he responds to her question. "Ma didn't ever like any of the 'leadership, even b'fore she got 'scored. She's one as thinks everyone above a certain status is useless, dunno why. She's never said." He stops his whittling, sitting up slightly at looking at Milani with some concern behind his eyes. "M'sorry, miss Milani. Didn't mean t'bring things 'round t'a difficult subject."
"She was ... formidable, though not necessarily the most likable of people," Milani says softly, fingers turning her mug around and around. "It's all right, it's just ... been a time of a lot of changes," the headwoman says slowly, carefully.
"There's formidable, and then there's jus' plain difficult," Mikandros notes, merely stating his opinion, not being argumentative. He leans forward slightly, reaching out a hand automatically, aborts the gesture and lets the appendage fall back to his knee. "Too much change at one, set th'head in a right tizzy. I'll take yer pardon and be sorry anyway, miss Milani. Nice lass like you, shouldn't ever have cause t'look so worn down 'n lost."
"I'd say that Tiriana is difficult ... Satiet managed the Weyr very well and handled the politics reasonably well too, no matter whether you agreed wit how they went or not," Milani answers, cradling her mug in her lap. The gesture forward is not flinched from, but neither does Milani encourage or seek it out. "Thank you, Mik. I'll just say that it's more complicated than just the changes of leadership or the Weyr's situation and leave it at that. But thank you for your sympathy."
Well, this just leaves Mikandros at something of a loss. If Milani were a sister, he'd just gather her up in a hug whether she invited it or not. If she were a lover, he'd gather her up and carry her off somewhere private. But seeing as she's neither, well, hmm. A couple more half-hearted scrapes against the small piece of wood, before he just folds everything up in that canvas lap cover and plop it in the top of the basket before picking the whole lot up. "Well, miss Milani, I truly hope that when things change again, they change for th'better and bring a smile t'yer face." Rising to his feet, he executes a deep bow. "If you'll excuse me? I shouldn't be keepin' ye from yer work." When in doubt, beat a hasty retreat. Or a not-so-hasty retreat, since he'll wait until she dismisses him before actually leaving.
Milani watches the movements of his knife as he works, looks back up at him when he starts to clear up. "Thank you," she says again andsmiles at him warmly, head inclining to agree with his self-dismissal. "I'll see you later, Mikandros. Have a good rest of the day," is her sincere wish as he departs. As for herself, she stays put for a little while, eyes closing, head resting back against the chair. She drinks the rest of her klah then gets up slowly to bring her dishes back to the kitchen and go about her day.