Vignette: A Basket of Personals
Who: Milani, Alieva (NPC Asst. HW), Other NPC cleaning staff
When: A suitable number of days after I'daur's passing.
Where: I'daur's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: The headwoman and her crew clean up the deceased Weyrlingmaster's Weyr.
Dust. There was dust on the mantel. Well, okay, not just the mantel. Milani decided that I'daur had been allergic to dusters, because every outcropping of rock and nook and cranny in his place had at least some dust.
At one point in the afternoon, she'd despaired that they'd ever get the job done because there was just so much random stuff tucked away here and there.
How many bottles were they up to now? Alieva sighed as another empty article surfaced from some dark corner and it went into the box with a clink. Most of them were empty. A few still had swirls of liquor in the bottom. Usually dark. Usually strong. I'daur didn't go halfway with his drink.
No. I'daur /hadn't/ gone halfway with his drink.
It was the socks under the bed that had the girls uttering squeals of dismay as a bunch of stray, unmatched socks made an appearance, some of them matted with dust, some of them in bad need of a wash. Milani made them put them in the basket to go down to the laundry. They could always be unraveled to be made into new things.
Once they were clean.
There were other things that were easier to deal with. The bedding, for instance. Strip and toss into the hamper to bring down, clean, fold up to put away in the general pool of extras. Even the Reaches was feeling a little bit of the pinch from the fabric shortages down south, though not as badly perhaps as the immediate Fort area. Milani wasn't about to let a couple of good woolen blankets and two sets of sheets go to waste.
The press with the clothes in it was a little harder. The headwoman wondered if there was anyone in the world who would want any of I'daur's things. They were just the usual items: shirts, pants, more socks (matched). No underwear though and Alieva shot Milani the strangest look when the headwoman started snickering as she realized that I'daur must've gone commando most of the time. The shirts and pants she re-folded carefully and stacked in the basket to go down to Stores, fingers smoothing out plackets and collars, finding the rough, worn hem on one pair of trousers. Those she put to the side to go to the seamstresses: they could either bind the rough edges up, or cut the trousers down for someone with shorter legs.
At the bottom of the press, amidst the pocket lint and fuzz, there was an old, forgotten pin. Maybe someone had given that to the Weyrlingmaster once upon a time, certainly it seemed like the piece had been there for a long while, nothing she'd seen him ever wear. It might not even have been his. The headwoman laid the circular shape on her palm for a moment, looking down at its slightly rusted edges thoughtfully. She wondered if some day, some future headwoman or some other person would be doing this for her room. What would the things she left behind say about her? What did the things I'daur left behind, say about him?
Alieva was clucking again, holding out a pair of old boots, soles caked with mud, laces frayed, leather cracked. "Not much to be salvaged there," Milani told her with a quiet sigh and nodded towards the trash bin. Off they went. Here and there were a few things worth saving: a cup that seemed like it might have been a gift, a chess set, though one of the runners was missing the colorful chip of glass that made up one eye, a spare bag of marks with some small pieces in it, a handful of stones that maybe came from a beach somewhere. That pin from the press was added almost as an afterthought and a few other items that came to light from along the mantel or hiding here and there around the weyr. These things the headwoman carefully put into the basket she'd brought for the personal effects. It was a big basket. The small collection of items in the bottom seemed rather lonely down there.
An hour later, only one more thing had been put in that basket a single bead, bright blue, found rolling around under the bed once all the socks had been dealt with and the floor swept. More sweeping and dusting later and the one piece of good furniture polished up and they were done. The place was clean and smelled faintly of lemon and polish. The ramshackle stuff had all been cleared away, pushed out onto the ledge for the rider who was helping them out to cart down to the Bowl. Most of it was probably just going to get broken down for firewood, though Lessom might be able to use some of it for repair scrap.
The others had gone down with their loads of stuff and Milani sat, waiting for her turn to be picked up, for the next and last load of things to be packed up a-dragonback and removed. Inside the weyr, the bed's frame was bare. The mattress stood up against the outside wall in the sun. It had taken the imprint of its former owner's body so well that no amount of beating was going to get it out. Milani sat there, out on the ledge, looking at the shade of I'daur in that impression and shivered a little. Whatever had made him choose the long and endless jump Between, she hoped that he'd found some peace in his decision.
The rush of wings announced the return of the blue and the headwoman pushed to her feet to help load up the dragon. "That everything?" his rider asked, squinting around with a shuttered expression. He'd probably been trained by the old man. Milani wondered what it felt like to lose your Weyrlingmaster like that. Like this.
She looked over her shoulder at the hammock that still swung in place. It looked new, the beading in the ropes fresh and barely touched by the wear and tear of glaring sunlight. She'd leave that for whomever decided to take this weyr, though she seriously doubted it would get occupied any time soon. It would probably take a cycle or two and a new weyrling who didn't know I'daur, who hadn't grown up here, before someone else would call this place home.
Milani climbed aboard the dragon with the basket of the Weyrlingmaster's personals tucked against her hip and left the newly empty and clean place behind. She looked back once as the blue leaped into the air. This time, she saw no shade of I'daur, only the bare rock and the afternoon sun casting shadows into the weyr's mouth.
Back in her office, she took care of the paperwork, marked the weyr as available and put the list of weyrs away again, while the basket of his stuff sat on the table, waiting for someone to claim the contents.
When: A suitable number of days after I'daur's passing.
Where: I'daur's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: The headwoman and her crew clean up the deceased Weyrlingmaster's Weyr.
Dust. There was dust on the mantel. Well, okay, not just the mantel. Milani decided that I'daur had been allergic to dusters, because every outcropping of rock and nook and cranny in his place had at least some dust.
At one point in the afternoon, she'd despaired that they'd ever get the job done because there was just so much random stuff tucked away here and there.
How many bottles were they up to now? Alieva sighed as another empty article surfaced from some dark corner and it went into the box with a clink. Most of them were empty. A few still had swirls of liquor in the bottom. Usually dark. Usually strong. I'daur didn't go halfway with his drink.
No. I'daur /hadn't/ gone halfway with his drink.
It was the socks under the bed that had the girls uttering squeals of dismay as a bunch of stray, unmatched socks made an appearance, some of them matted with dust, some of them in bad need of a wash. Milani made them put them in the basket to go down to the laundry. They could always be unraveled to be made into new things.
Once they were clean.
There were other things that were easier to deal with. The bedding, for instance. Strip and toss into the hamper to bring down, clean, fold up to put away in the general pool of extras. Even the Reaches was feeling a little bit of the pinch from the fabric shortages down south, though not as badly perhaps as the immediate Fort area. Milani wasn't about to let a couple of good woolen blankets and two sets of sheets go to waste.
The press with the clothes in it was a little harder. The headwoman wondered if there was anyone in the world who would want any of I'daur's things. They were just the usual items: shirts, pants, more socks (matched). No underwear though and Alieva shot Milani the strangest look when the headwoman started snickering as she realized that I'daur must've gone commando most of the time. The shirts and pants she re-folded carefully and stacked in the basket to go down to Stores, fingers smoothing out plackets and collars, finding the rough, worn hem on one pair of trousers. Those she put to the side to go to the seamstresses: they could either bind the rough edges up, or cut the trousers down for someone with shorter legs.
At the bottom of the press, amidst the pocket lint and fuzz, there was an old, forgotten pin. Maybe someone had given that to the Weyrlingmaster once upon a time, certainly it seemed like the piece had been there for a long while, nothing she'd seen him ever wear. It might not even have been his. The headwoman laid the circular shape on her palm for a moment, looking down at its slightly rusted edges thoughtfully. She wondered if some day, some future headwoman or some other person would be doing this for her room. What would the things she left behind say about her? What did the things I'daur left behind, say about him?
Alieva was clucking again, holding out a pair of old boots, soles caked with mud, laces frayed, leather cracked. "Not much to be salvaged there," Milani told her with a quiet sigh and nodded towards the trash bin. Off they went. Here and there were a few things worth saving: a cup that seemed like it might have been a gift, a chess set, though one of the runners was missing the colorful chip of glass that made up one eye, a spare bag of marks with some small pieces in it, a handful of stones that maybe came from a beach somewhere. That pin from the press was added almost as an afterthought and a few other items that came to light from along the mantel or hiding here and there around the weyr. These things the headwoman carefully put into the basket she'd brought for the personal effects. It was a big basket. The small collection of items in the bottom seemed rather lonely down there.
An hour later, only one more thing had been put in that basket a single bead, bright blue, found rolling around under the bed once all the socks had been dealt with and the floor swept. More sweeping and dusting later and the one piece of good furniture polished up and they were done. The place was clean and smelled faintly of lemon and polish. The ramshackle stuff had all been cleared away, pushed out onto the ledge for the rider who was helping them out to cart down to the Bowl. Most of it was probably just going to get broken down for firewood, though Lessom might be able to use some of it for repair scrap.
The others had gone down with their loads of stuff and Milani sat, waiting for her turn to be picked up, for the next and last load of things to be packed up a-dragonback and removed. Inside the weyr, the bed's frame was bare. The mattress stood up against the outside wall in the sun. It had taken the imprint of its former owner's body so well that no amount of beating was going to get it out. Milani sat there, out on the ledge, looking at the shade of I'daur in that impression and shivered a little. Whatever had made him choose the long and endless jump Between, she hoped that he'd found some peace in his decision.
The rush of wings announced the return of the blue and the headwoman pushed to her feet to help load up the dragon. "That everything?" his rider asked, squinting around with a shuttered expression. He'd probably been trained by the old man. Milani wondered what it felt like to lose your Weyrlingmaster like that. Like this.
She looked over her shoulder at the hammock that still swung in place. It looked new, the beading in the ropes fresh and barely touched by the wear and tear of glaring sunlight. She'd leave that for whomever decided to take this weyr, though she seriously doubted it would get occupied any time soon. It would probably take a cycle or two and a new weyrling who didn't know I'daur, who hadn't grown up here, before someone else would call this place home.
Milani climbed aboard the dragon with the basket of the Weyrlingmaster's personals tucked against her hip and left the newly empty and clean place behind. She looked back once as the blue leaped into the air. This time, she saw no shade of I'daur, only the bare rock and the afternoon sun casting shadows into the weyr's mouth.
Back in her office, she took care of the paperwork, marked the weyr as available and put the list of weyrs away again, while the basket of his stuff sat on the table, waiting for someone to claim the contents.