====December 23rd, 2013
====Trek and Tuli
====Trek and Tuli meet at the Smithy, and have a conversation about straps and situations. Old log Tuli forgot to post!

Who Trek and Tuli
What Trek and Tuli meet at the Smithy, and have a conversation about straps and situations. Old log Tuli forgot to post!
When There are 0 turns, 4 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where IGW - Smithy

trek10.jpg tuli-business.jpg


Igen Weyr - Smithy
The Smith's area is certainly not the prime real-estate in the crafter's section of the Weyr: but, true to Smith form, they've taken what they were given and made the best of it. At the tail end of a maze of winding streets, an iron gate is set within adobe brick walls, opening up into a narrow courtyard. Cracked cobblestones and paths overgrown with native grasses mar the place, though the influx of Oldtimers brings signs of improvement. A few gnarled trees provide shade over stone benches for people to sit and talk. In the back corner of the courtyard, where it can be shaded by the surrounding buildings, is a rather large copper still.

Off of this central area, there are several wooden doorways opening into the four sides of the small buildings flanking this narrow courtyard. To the left is the metalworking wing, its windows often kept open to keep air flowing and prevent the buildup of toxic fumes. On the opposite side of the courtyard, away from the metal's fires, is the woodcrafting wing. Straight ahead, opposite the entrance gate, are the living quarters - with apprentices on the bottom floor, and stone steps leading to the second floor offices and higher ranking sleeping quarters. Along the wall with the gate, there are various classrooms and working rooms with windows opening out to the streets beyond, so that their wares can be displayed for passersby to see - and hopefully purchase.


While the heat of a fading summer afternoon is bad, inside the smithy it's even worse. Trek is waiting in the growing shade just outside, now and then peeking through the open doorway. A section of riding straps is coiled around one arm, with the business end of one clearly lacking its customary buckle. She takes a long draw from a water bag clutched in the other hand, then makes a face. Such an unfortunate flavor.

A junior weyrwoman, a clipboard, a stylus: this is a combination that bodes ill. The heat of the day keeps Tuli's bustle to a dull roar, but there's still a distinct bustlesque flavor to the way the young woman enters the Smithy grounds, armed with the aforementioned clipboard. First she makes for the open door, before the blast of indoor heat gives her pause. Perhaps deciding to capture a Smith in a cooler clime upon first opportunity, the goldrider comes ambling towards the tree. Trek is noted, and dutifully saluted. "Evenin'."

Trek, momentarily lost in her thoughts, scrambles to return Tuli's salute. A nod of greeting follows as the bluerider shifts her straps to the other arm, letting the water bag slump to the floor. "Ma'am," says Trek politely, taking in the clipboard, then the entrance to the smithy. "I seriously have no idea how the Smiths can stand that heat. We've been here how long now? Summers here in the shade are bad enough."

"They must get used to it," Tuli posits, though there's a touch of bemusement to her own tone as well. "But then I've seen them gulp water like a whole team of thirsty herdbeasts. Maybe that's how." With a glance at the Smithy door, the goldrider wrinkles her nose, reaches up to secure her clipboard up amongst the lower branches, and takes up a comfortable lean against the treetrunk. "Rounding in on two turns, now. Hard to believe." There's a distinct note of melancholy in her voice. "I still sometimes wake up thinking I'm in my own bed at 'Reaches."

Trek makes a small "mmm" sound as she nods, thoughtfully peering into the smithy. "That would help explain the smell, too. Like a whole team of thirsty herdbeasts." She smile crookedly at the weyrwoman and shifts her feet. As Tuli moves on to the other topic, Trek's smile fades a few degrees. "It really is," she agrees, then grimaces a little before nodding again. She stares unseeing at the smithy for a few more seconds before glancing at the the other woman and asking, "You don't regret coming here?"

A snort of agreement meets Trek's assessment of the average Smith's delicate odor. But the other woman doesn't long linger on the funnier topic, her hint of a smile melting at Trek's question. There's a pause. Finally: "Sometimes." Tuli gives a single drawn out sigh. "I miss High Reaches. Our High Reaches. I miss mostly understanding the people I had to work with." She drums her fingers idly against the treetrunk, then glances sideways. "You?"

Such a tricky subject, and one that Trek mulls for several seconds before admitting, "Sometimes," in a low voice. She shifts her stance and moves her straps back to the other arm. Even just one section of them gets heavy after a while, after all. "I thought—," she begins, then cuts herself off with another grimace, more subtle this time. "She takes a quick, frustrated breath and turns back to Tuli. "I guess I don't know what I thought. That we'd make a difference, I guess. Prove… hell, I don't know." Her voice fades to quiet tones toward the end while she leans back again, picking briefly at her shirt. "It's not like I regret coming here or anything, it's just…" But as she struggles for the right word, she trails off to nothing and frowns at the ground.

"Yeah." Tuli sighs, again, and gustily. And then, with grim humor, she adds: "Also, Thread is fucking terrifying. I don't think I quite… realized, before." Tap tap tap go her fingers on the treetrunk. "If it had fallen in our own time, we would have had allies worth trusting. We've got… Southern. Only Southern."

Which just seems to make Trek sad for a moment. "The old Southern was so beautiful. I couldn't believe the devastation the first time I visited here. At the old site, I mean. I've seen the new, but… the old Southern was my home," she shares, frowning as her shoulders shift uncomfortably. "And… yeah, just…" She has to stop to take a deep breath, then shakes her head. "All the stories, and accounts, and records just didn't quite capture it, did they. And to think, there are actually riders who came forward to fight it again. Fu—- uh. Forget that," she amends quickly. "I think I might have taken my chances with the comet." She could be teasing about that, but her tone is a little ambiguous. "As for trust," she adds, stopping with a short, soft laugh. "That's almost harder than the Thread was, sometimes."

"I forgot you were from there too." Tuli is quiet for a long beat after this, before she abruptly switches topics. Well. Sort of. "How is it going with Arroyo? Speaking of trust issues. I know you took your hits during the Fall. But then," her mouth is a thin pressed line. "Practically everyone did."

"Practically," Trek echoes in a dull voice. She turns to the smithy as an apprentice appears in the doorway, wafting his aroma ahead of him. "Just a couple more minutes, ma'am," he announces, offering Trek a coal-smudged salute. Then he spots Tuli, eyes going wide, and dashes back inside. Trek scrubs at her nose a couple times, then glances at the weyrwoman. Then her clipboard. "Didn't blow your cover, did I? Had a jammed slip and buckle after that sharding sandstorm the other day." Again, she shifts arms, apparently unwilling to let the leather bake on the ground, though the sun's heat is already receding here in the shade. "Arroyo… has been a work in progress but is coming together. Our losses were hard to take, of course." She cuts herself off there. "Stating the obvious, sorry. How are things with Sadaiya?"

Tuli is accustomed to provoking panicked dashes; it barely seems to register with her. Goldriders are weird. "Hm? Oh, no, don't worry 'bout it. They'd've found out I was here soon enough. And five minutes isn't enough to make much difference one way or another, in checking where they're sitting for supplies." The young woman shimmies just a little against the treetrunk, presumably scratching an itchy back. "I'm sorry. That's not really adequate, but -" There's no good way to end that sentence, so she doesn't. "Sadaiya's fine. Easier to work under than Corelle was, by a long shot. I'm glad it's her, not me."

Trek laughs softly, giving Tuli one emphatic nod. "I hear you there. Glad to hear it's working out." She's on the verge of saying something more, but the smith apprentice appears again, carrying two newly shined and repaired metal bits, one buckle, one cinch. Trek thanks the boy, confirms she's square with the journeyman, then juggles the equipment slightly. Must still be hot to the touch. "I have to say this for our Smiths, they're quick."

"At least some Crafters around here are." It's hard to see, with it being in a tree, but there's a distinct scrawl of ANGRY WORDS on that there clipboard. Tuli leans over to peer at the metalwork. "Good solid Smithing, looks like. But we'll have to look through the records, see if the Igen of our day did anything special to deal with sandstorms." Tap-tap-tap on the tree. "Might send a word down to the Southern crafters. They kept most of the records, I think."

"Good question," Trek muses with another small frown, but she quickly shrugs it off. So not a smith-type, herself. The metal is already cooling, so she's able to also inspect them quickly before pocketing both. "No matter how much I oil this leather, the weather here is just hell on it. Kind of makes me wonder if any of the injuries were the result of weak straps. Been hounding some of my riders about it ever since. I don't know if there's a way to reinforce it better."

"Could very well be. And just think how many of us are probably still using bits of old straps - ones designed for 'Reaches weather, or Ista. I dunno about you, but my buckles are the same as ever." Though Tuli's buckles are perhaps slightly higher quality to begin with than your standard rider's - or maybe just fancier looking, but no more practical. The young woman ceases drumming her fingers on the treetrunk, but only because a Smith journeyman is emerging from the heat with his hair hastily slicked and his collar sticking up, and she is obviously about to have to get back to her job. But before she does… "Tell you what. I'll ask if they know anything while I'm doing the stores check, and if not, I'll send word down to Southern to make inquiries."

"And I'll ask the tanners," Trek replies, with one of her first easy smiles since Keroon. Forward progress! It is an amazing elixir. "I'd best get my gear put back together. Good luck," she adds with a subtle nod toward mister Slickback. "Clear skies, weyrwoman." Trek salutes, then nods in farewell to the journeyman before she collects her water bag and begins winding her way back through the bazaar.

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