Weyrlingmaster's Office

The Weyrlingmaster's office sits to one side. There are smaller desks for the assistants, one or two often sharing, and a larger desk belonging to the Weyrlingmaster. Much like the classrooms, the walls are covered in charts and diagrams, and an unsettling amount of hidework is always taking up the desks.

The whole of Pern seems like it could be drawn into razor-sharp focus by the breathtaking cold of winter. The sky is clear, with not a cloud to be seen, and fortunately not a whiff of breeze to sting against the skin. The Weyr is of course always active; that much is a given, and so it may not come as a surprise when brisk footfalls approach the door to the Weyrlingmasters office, and a gloved fist knocks against it, muffled, in three sharp raps. Whoever it is, they're being polite and waiting!

A rare event, since usually whoever it just comes on in – whether or not they knock afterward. But it's not like Vosji and crew to actually refuse entry from anyone unless there's marathon napping happening inside. Since none of the chattier assistants are about, it's Vosji's voice that floats up, raised just enough with a, "Come in," without even looking up. When Vosji's mystery guest enters, they'll just see her at her desk reading something andmaking the occasional note; she has a small fire in a glass cup at her desk to create some warmth, and a knit headband both pushing her hair from her face and being wrapped around her ears for the additional coverage. Someone really does not like winter. Notably.

What comes in is, unsurprisingly, a dragonrider! Specifically it's Zetali, brown Odskovith's, still wearing her flight leathers, along with a slightly ragged grey scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Flying through twenty degree air is not really fun times to go by how bundled the ex-Harper is. She manages a salute in all of that, before unwinding the scarf so she can actually be understood. "Good morning, Weyrlingmaster. I hope I'm not interrupting. This shouldn't take long. I could have had Odsokvith pass on the message, but I wanted to come myself."

"Interrupting … reading notes? No, it can wait." That isn't to say that Vosji looks up for longer than about ten seconds, though; it's simply to register that Zetali is who Vosji thinks she is. Also notably, Zetali is someone Vosji knows who she is, and recalls her name, which can't be said for a good number of Igen's riders. She does actually finish the lines she's reading before actually looking at Zetali for longer than those few seconds, though, and she doesn't actually put the note away. So: it's only sort of interrupting. "Anything that requires coming in person is probably worth my hearing. What's up?" Vosji's expression is a little bit wary, since for all she knows she's about to be told something she doesn't want to hear. Though Zetali doesn't look like she's going to be telling her a weyrling did something terrible.

Thin brows furrow until the brownrider is wearing an expression of mild apprehension, sea-green eyes flicking between the notes, the candle-in-a-cup, and the Weyrlingmaster herself. The ex-Harper swallows and clears her throat. Awkwarrrrd. "Oh. Uh. Actually, I just wanted to volunteer my services, when the next clutch hatches. Maybe mentor a few of the new weyrlings. That's going to be… a… lot of weyrlings. I figured you could use the help, Ma'am." She reaches up to rub at the back of her neck, awkwardly. "If that's acceptable, anyway. I, uh, don't actually know what the protocol is on that." There is a fleeting recognition that maybe Oddy is not actually a good influence on fresh-minted weyrlings, but hey, can't win 'em all, right?

While the protocol isn't volunteering, it's evidently well-received, because Vosji's response is to stare at Zetali almost deadpan – she looks like she's in shock, more than anything – and blurt, "Oh my shards and shells, yes," with an uncharacteristic sound of relief to her voice. After maybe a second she also laughs awkwardly, and explains, "The usual protocol is that I irritate and berate and beg people until they agree to help, or I find recently retired riders and cajole them into doing it, or—" She waves a hand in the air, clearly not entirely sure how to handle this fortuitousness. "If you weren't so inexperienced I'd just throw an assistant's knot at you. But, of course, we'd love to have you helping." Iskanzivoth is sharing only amusement with Odskovith: this is a dragon who is trying very hard not to do the dragon equivalent of breaking down into tired laughter. Emphatically. "Your wing doesn't change, and your wing duties come first, but you'll be permitted access to the barracks and training area straight away. Helping with feeding and adjustment or whatnot. It's on your free time, but there is a stipend." Since weyrling mentors are basically sacrificing however much free time they had.

Zetali blinks. She blinks as though she were expecting something bad to happen in spite of the goodwill that she evidently came here with. You just never know when you're poking the bear; disturbing someone with some modicum of perceived authority while they're working. Her head tilts at the thread of relief in Vosji's tone and her expression takes on a slightly baffled look to it. "…Oh. Really? You mean people don't really… want to help? After going through all that themselves, and after you spent all that time helping us?" Maybe Zetali has a slightly broken world-view. Maybe she is, under her feline canniness and occasional feline sarcasm, just a bit of a naive optimist after all. She frowns. "Well… sure. I don't need a stipend, but…" But she won't say no. It'll buy more wine. Something tells her she may need it after all this. Odskovith, meanwhile, only shares the same bafflement; he may even vocalise a fleeting burble of confusion wherever he is, in the manner of someone not really sure what's expected of them to say. Social graces are not Odskovith's strong point, despite getting along with pretty much everyone. "Well, I'm glad to help. I could ask some friends and see if they'd be willing to volunteer, too, if the Weyrlingmaster Office is really that undermanned…" She lets her hand drop, slipping both into the pockets of her flight jacket. "Maybe some of my clutchmates. If that helps, anyway." She allows herself a tentative grin. "Happy to help, Weyrlingmaster. We've all been there, right? Weyrlings, I mean. And you helped me get through that, so I figure lending a hand is the least I can do." Especially with Eggmageddon looming on the not so distant horizon. That's going to be a lot of weyrlings. And a lot of chaos. So much chaos.

This is the PRECISE OPPOSITE of something bad happening, if you ask Vosji. This is a MIRACLE, or whatever Pernese people would use there. "No, most people do not. It's extra work," she points out, tone carefully neutral instead of sounding annoyed by the idea that some people don't like extra work. They do share the wine around, though! Staff drinking nights are sometimes a requirement in weyrling land, though at least one person has to be sober all the time … "We aren't as terribly understaffed as we have been in the past – this is my second double clutch as Weyrlingmaster, and trust me, the first one was worse – but we do always welcome more people. Plus, you're Harper trained and your dragon is nice." See, she really does remember who Zetali is! "So you at least are a very good fit; some of your clutchmates could be …" She just may not remember who they are, even if she could identify some of them by sight. "It's a very charitable view you have of weyrling training. Others would say we taught them to go out and get mangled by Thread and how much of a favor is that, really? But – I appreciate your viewpoint." That is met with a genuine smile.

The brownrider arches her brows again, and the connotation is easy to grasp. She's impressed that Vosji actually remembers her background, or the fact that Odskovith is basically a whole bunch of good-natured fluff and stuffing and hugs stuffed into a big dragon body. "Oh. Well… I guess that's true, too. I wasn't bargaining on Threadfighting when I decided to Stand; I figured I wasn't going to Impress at all, and then I'd have time to go back to beating my head against walking the tables. But it did open my eyes," she states, folding her arms and frowning thoughtfully, sea-green eyes flicking away to the perimeter of the room. "This is more important than anything I was going to do. Dragons don't just protect Pern's people. They enable them to survive. I don't know what happens if Thread gets away, and I hope I never find out, but I know the songs and the stories are there for a reason. The difference, Weyrlingmaster, is that you prepare them to go out and get mangled by Thread. Your training means the difference between going up there and accomplishing something, or going up there as inexperienced, doomed Thread-fodder. Xanthee and Liowyth went up some time ago and got scored, badly; I've had my share of close scrapes with Odskovith, too. But the difference is your training lets us keep our heads on our shoulders, wherever possible, and it teaches us how to fly, what to do; how to avoid it. And when we do get 'scored, it teaches us how not to lose it – if nothing else, for the sake of our dragons." Zetali shakes her head, taking her hands out of her pockets and letting her shoulders slump a little. "It prepares us for the mental, for the coping with the horrors of Threadfighting, as much as the physical of how to actually fight Thread."

And clearly Zetali isn't the only one, because when Vosji makes that weird 'huh' face at the idea that people accept a candidate's knot without thinking about Threadfighting, it also seems like she's done it thousands of times before. "Not enough ever do think about it," she mutters before going back to listening; while she may not be visibly moved, it's because she is rarely if ever visibly moved by much. She's clearly taking in what the brownrider has to say, even gifting her with a nod once or twice. "Thank you," she says, and her voice has the somber calm that might be giving some sign she is touched. "Is it something you aspire to do, someday? Weyrlingmastering?" Her eyebrow quirks up curiously, unable to resist the question.

"I thought about it," Zetali clarifies, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them carefully into her belt. "I just didn't think about it, if that makes any sense. You know. An idiot kid. 'Oh, that will never happen to me,' yeah?" She tilts her head in facsimile of a shrug. "But now that I have, and I do, I could never go back." Does she aspire to Weyrlingmastering? The brownrider's brows shrug as much as her shoulders do. "I hadn't necessarily thought about it that way, but I wouldn't say no. Somebody has to prepare them. For now I'm just happy to help, and to give a little back to my home Weyr." She falls silent for a moment, glancing over her shoulder back toward the door. "I wasn't raised here, and I was never around dragons much, when I was a child. But, if I'm being honest, Weyrlingmaster… I feel like I've always been here. Everyone has been so welcoming, and given to me so freely of their time and effort. I want to give something back to that. This is my home, now. Well, as long as I'm not reassigned somewhere else. I hope not, but I guess that's up to the discretion of the Weyrleader, really." Clearing her throat at that awkward aside, those vivid sea-green eyes snap back to Vosji, and the ex-Harper nods, once; with a certain finality. "If you'll have me as an assistant, someday, I'd be honoured. I understand I don't have much experience this Turn."

Vosji smiles, and it's that thin-but-pleased smile of hers that isn't quite a feline who's found the cream, but … maybe it's close. "Someday, yes, if you do well as a mentor, I very well might. Your views are certainly in line with what we would want to see, and you've got a head on your shoulders." Iskanzivoth offers a mental snort at that expression. He hates it. Every dragonrider has a head on their shoulders, or they aren't being counted as a rider anymore, are they? "But it is a high position and we do usually recruit from those who either have been around for a very long time and have shown their worth with weyrlings, or have held higher ranks than your current knot. That isn't to say you couldn't, of course. I came to Assistant Weyrlingmaster from Wingsecond myself. And – it should, you know, your wing should feel like your family. This is where you belong. Perhaps not in our office, but in this Weyr, in our wings. You're very correct." Someone has really, really strong opinions about the irrelevancy of life before Impression, and usually tries to not drown people in them, but … it was important here.

It's probably a little bit evil of her, but we are talking about Vosji – so she can't resist leaning forward over her desk and gently tapping the edge of Zetali's nose if the brownrider doesn't step back. "It seems you most definitely do," she confirms, "have a head right there. And a good one at that. I didn't think you were trying to get me to promote you a few levels, don't worry, but keep in mind that if you work at it I am not against doing so in time." There's at the very least an age requirement Odskovith is shy of, but an experienced mentor has stepped up before under Vosji's program back at Ista. "There will always be a place to be of use. You have practical skills. Likely so do some of your clutchmates, indeed. Many groups bond even as candidates, so I often expect there to be a few tight-knit coteries of friends in every clutch. Though part of your responsiblity now will be to try to encourage them to also operate outside the bonds created in candidacy. With a double clutch it can sometimes be more complicated; we may have two wings out of them, depending on the number of eggs, and they may try to split down biological lines of who hatched from whose egg … or they might not even be sure themselves. It's variable. I do look forward to having you along to learn what this group does, Zetali."

Not quite fast enough to step out of the way, Zetali's eyes cross to regard the finger at her nose. Boop. Zetali blinks somewhat owlishly, and then blinks a few more times, brows furrowed. "Uh… thanks, Weyrlingmaster." The praise was evidently not what the brownrider was expecting. "I think I can do that. It's for everyone's benefit, for the entire Weyr's benefit, that everyone can work together with everyone else. Faranth only knows what tomorrow's going to bring. Right?" There's another awkward pause, but Zetali manages a smile; one without a hint of sarcasm or skepticism or cynicism, but a simple genuine expression of pleasure. Even Odskovith echoes her hesitant pleasure; a flicker of bright colours and a brush of soft, plushy fur-like textile. "I look forward to it, too, Weyrlingmaster. Thank you."

"That is how we normally operate," Vosji agrees: no one ever knows what the next day might bring, especially with Fall sometimes happening unscheduled. Even Starcrafters aren't perfect, nor are the mating schedules of certain unpredictable gold dragons! (Every time the barracks are crowded, it is Rajakhelath's fault. Always. At least according to Vosji. Even if sometimes it isn't really.) "And how we should continue to. And you're welcome. Come have lunch with us tomorrow," she says, then naming a place and time that Zetali will be able to meet some of the others – mentors, assistants, dragonhealers, whoever. "If there isn't anything else you're dismissed, but if you've anything else to add, that's all right as well." Those notes clearly aren't going anywhere fast, and neither is the Weyrlingmaster.

"Yeah," Zetali sighs, in agreement. Although she had been unsure about transer to Igen Weyr at first, she wouldn't have it any other way, now. Lunch? She perks a little. "Thanks. I'll be there. Odskovith is coming off a grounding. He's going to be restricted to light duty for a little while, so I shouldn't have any conflicts with my duties to Arroyo." Rubbing her hands together, she listens to the polite dismissal, reaching for her gloves and tugging them back on. "Nothing that comes to mind right now, Weyrlingmaster, but I'll be sure to drop by again, if I do." 'Deferential and polite towards authority' seems to be a deep-rooted instinct. "I'll go see to Odskovith, then. Clear skies, Weyrlingmaster; to you and Iskanzivoth both." She manages a fleeting smile, snapping off a precise salute, before turning and heading on, leaving the Weyrlingmaster to her notes.