Miner Wing

Once abandoned, once haunted, twice marred by tragedy; now, this quarter of the crafter's corridor has been given over to function than to uncertainty. Support beams have been placed every so often for additional support to the roof far overhead, making this an open, and roomy space. Finally utilized, it has been sectioned out neatly into subordinant rooms: meeting rooms large and small surround a classroom unique to the miner-craft. To one side, a full third of the main area has been converted to an excellent lounge in front of a huge hearth, filled with scattered chairs and sofas. It makes for an ideal and cozy way to get away from the ferocity of Southern Barrier's cold, to come and enjoy the warmth of Southern.

With the temperatures hovering just above freezing outside, Ryott was goind stir crazy in her office going over hide after hide of endless list of the Weyr's supplies. When her eyes started to ache, she decided enough was enough and she needed to get out of those four walls desperately. Her feet eventually bring her to the Miner's wing of the Craft Complex, where she makes some curt inquiries until she is directed towards a certain journeyman. Their short conversation is kept low and private, with Ryott maintaining her steely expression throughout which causes the journeyman to fidgit under the weight of it.

Is that poor journeyman assigned to complaint-handling duty today? Because he might have another customer, if so. R'zel is clad in flying gear; he's even still wearing his helmet, though the chin strap is unfastened and dangling. There's a faint odour of firestone about his person, which may have something to do with the half-full and obviously fairly heavy sack that he's carrying - or not, as it's also typical of those who've been around flaming dragons. Anyway, he's just arriving, and looking around for a crafter to talk to.

It's not long before it looks like some agreement has been reached, and marks exchange hands. Ryott, turning to leave, spots Ocelot's Wingleader and gives him a cursory once over. His attire as well as that sack he's carrying piques her curiosity, and since she's looking for any reason not to go back to her piles of hides, she wanders in R'zel's direction. "Wingleader," she says curtly, not a big fan of titles herself but she knows how to show proper deferance at least. She doesn't salute though, her hands clasped behind her back as her eyes roam obviously to the burden he's carrying, getting a whif of firestone stench as she approaches. "Drills was it?" she guesses with mild interest.

R'zel nods to Ryott. "Weyrwoman," he returns in kind. Saluting would be awkward with both hands full of sack. "Yes, we had rope drills today - manoeuvres are all very well, but we have to be able to do them while Thread's falling." With a reproachful glance at his burden, he adds, "And preferably flame the stuff reliably at the same time. Unfortunately, we had some issues when it came to that part."

It feels really weird some times to be accorded such respect at barely seventeen turns, just because Wrayth chose her, and a flicker of a frown shows Ryott's discomfort for the barest second before she returns to full neutral mode. "I remember rope drills…" she says, whether fondly or not isn't readily apparent, "We don't do them so much in Puma…but maybe we should…" Of course that would mean talking to Treista, and the diminuitive weyrwoman has been avoiding the Senior like a plague. "Hmmm…issues? I'm guessing with the firestone…" she deduces with a nod towards the sack. She's obviously no expert on the stuff, not dealing with it at all, well except that one time Wrayth got herself some and made herself sick, but she doesn't like talking about that.

R'zel nods again to confirm Ryott's supposition. "Yes. I had seven or eight riders after drill telling me that their dragons' flame was too weak. The dragons said the same thing to Verokanth, and they all reckoned the stone wasn't giving them enough to flame with. Ours was fine, but I had him chew some left-over from someone else's sack, and he wasn't too happy with it either. It doesn't look particularly bad, but if they can't get the length of flame they need…" He gives a shrug, the movement somewhat constrained by the weight he's carrying. "Anyway, I brought some across to ask a miner to take a look."

With her head cocked to one side, chin lifted and hands behind her back, Ryott's bearing is inscrutable as she ponders his revelations. "Huh…good thing you found out during drills and not a Fall though," Ryott replies, uncharacteristically looking on the bright side, but a proper firestone supply is a necessity to any Weyr. A thoughtful hum accompanies a tip down of her gaze to the ground, "I guess weak firestone is better than no firestone though." she says, obliquely referring to Igen Weyr and their woes. She does like to keep tabs on things back there when she can.

"Oh, absolutely," R'zel agrees, though he still appears concerned. "And at least we have some warning - as you say, better to find out now than in Fall. Firestone isn't all the same quality, anyway - that's why we all learn to sort the stuff. But a dragon not getting the length of flame he needs, or expects: that can be dangerous, or it might lead to dragons having to skip rather than flame." And therefore more work for those below, or Thread reaching ground level.

"Oh right, grading…" Ryott moans at the memory of one of the most tedious tasks they had as weyrlings, one that even she was made to do, she'd probably blocked it from her memory. "So the lower quality stuff flames less then?" she asks with curiosity, although she was probably told this in weyrlinghood at one point but it didn't register because it wasn't going to be relvant to them. "Yeah, more thread getting through the upper ranks is not a good thing," she replies. "Maybe they gave you lower grade stuff because of the drills though…" Ryott ponders with a look around for a helpful Miner that could solve the mystery for them, because she will be way too distracted by this to work if she doesn't know. Although she is rather easily distracted when it comes to work.

"That's possible, but normally the whole batch is the same. They usually let us know if we're not getting top grade stone, though; and anyway, this was performing worse than it looked." R'zel grins at the thought of all that weyrling firestone-sorting. "You had the joy of firestone grading too? Lovely job, isn't it - but useful. And actually, the weyrlings usually get the weakest stuff to flame with, especially at first, because, really, you don't want them having powerful flames until they've learned how to send it where they want it."
"Yeah, something about it being part of the PT for everyone, I don't really remember," Ryott replies with a dimissive flick of her fingers, "Makes sense about the weyrlings, maybe some bags got mixed up." Then, on a whim, she points at the bag he's carrying with a questioning look. "May I?" she asks, wanting to have a look at the firestone in question, see if her grading skills have held up in the months since her graduation.

"Of course!" R'zel deposits the sack on the nearest table - fortunately, the tabletop is not highly polished - and stands back to let Ryott have access to it. The open bag is perhaps a little more than half-full of stone that, whilst not perhaps the highest quality, doesn't at first glance look as if it should be causing difficulties. "I wondered if maybe some sacks had been combined, or something. Or maybe somthing happened in storage."

Moving towards the table with R'zel, Ryott picks up a fist size lump and scrutinizes it thoroughly, interspersed with thoughtful hums, "Yeah, I see what you mean. It's odd. huh…" A frown forms between her brows as she continues to turn the hunk of rock around in her fingers. "It's possible, or maybe the weyrlings are slacking on their bagging?" she asks, giving another possibility.

"Not sorted properly, you mean?" R'zel pulls out a few more chunks and lines them up on the table, eyeing them critically. Then he adds a few more. "This is easier with a table to work on." Rather than in the Bowl in the rain, that would be. "Well, I'm not seeing anything. Unless…" He picks up a piece and frowns at it suspiciously. "I think I'm going to see what the experts think."

"Yeah, that," Ryott confirms as she carefully places the firestone back with its mates on the table. "Probably a good idea, because I'm definitely not an expert. Although, for my own curiosity's sake, let me know if you get an answer?" she asks, waiting just long enough for an answer before nodding a curt farewell, "Clear skies, Wingleader." And then she turns on her heel to quietly saunter off, maybe to return to work, maybe not.