When there is a fire, there are things which must be CLEANED UP. Thus is is that Renalde's perfect schedules have been set on their ears as lower cavern folk are pulled from all over to help clear out the offices. The heaviest lifting has been done already, with a majority of the ruined stores disposed off. Now is the black marks and smoke smells that seem to have dug their way into every crack. Renalde isn't personally scrubbing, but he is overseeing and making sure every inch is covered. He stands to one side, lightly leaning upon the dark wooden cane capped with a metal bottom.

Where there is a fire and there is a Renalde, there is a Hannah, traipsing down the hallway at a brisk pace, followed by a few attendants, with her sights set on the Headman. "Renalde," her voice is soft, almost remorseful for the damage done to the stones and weyr. In fact, it is remorseful, for the Senior Weyrwoman's eyes hold shadows for what's occurred. "How's the clean up? Have we been able to salvage anything?" In this, Hannah trusts Renalde to coordinate and handle the work necessary to get this place back to tip-top shape, evidenced in the way she has never micro-managed the Headman.

A soft sigh escapes and Hannah shakes her head, slowly, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. Her gaze is tilted up to Renalde's to absorb the whole of what he's stating as her mind churns with all the possibilities afforded them. "I think we could get the smiths and woodcrafts to build us new shelves. Maybe we could go for stone shelving?" In case there ever is a fire in these offices again. At the faint humor presented, the Senior Weyrwoman slants the Headman a look, lips thinning slightly. "Perhaps, but I'm not sure we want to live in an ocean of pink." That is a return of humor, though seriousness lurks too close behind. "All we can do is move onward and forward. If they won't wash out, then we'll hang tapestries." Pause. "Big ones. We can commission one to tell the story of the opening of Southern Weyr and a few to tell story of some of the more popular Harper's tales."

Renalde taps a finger against the board in his hand, and the hides thereon. "I have already spoken to the smiths about getting shelves put back in as soon as we finish our cleaning. I would like to, at the very least, get the smell of smoke out of the rock so that meetings here are at least mildly bearable for those beyond the leadership who will not be use to the smell." Her suggestion of stone shelves causing him to pause, tap, tap, tap before he takes up his stylus to make a notation. "I will see about it. As for the tapestries, I believe we have some in the stores. Might I suggest a rather… less morbid topic than the opening of the Weyr however?" One that doesn't include dead bodies?

"Hopefully we can get the smoke smell out," Hannah mutters ruefully, rubbing her nose unconsciously. "Perhaps we can find some concoctions that purify the air?" If any such things exist on Pern. She casts a side-ways look at the Headman, considering him as she mulls over his words. "We don't have to have the dead and death it, Renalde. I like to think the way everyone came together to clean and organize and really put this place to rights is a thing that should be noted. We did well here, all things considered. We would do well to let others remember that overcoming impossible odds is still something to be celebrated, yes?" A beat, and then with some humor to sparkle her eyes, "Without the dead."

Renalde inclines his head just a touch, allowing that perhaps the Senior has a point. "The problem is that the smoke has gotten into the walls," and Renalde reaches out to brush a hand against the stone. "If it was possible to ventilate this place fully perhaps, but I fear that there will always be a bit of a burnt feeling here." The thought is said regretfully, for Renalde does not like to admit that he cannot fix everything. It's a hard topic for a perfectionist. He returns his pale gaze to Hannah, thoughtful. "Perhaps we can gather stories from those who were here, and see what the weavers come up with."

"It is regretful," Hannah comments, tone quiet. She folds her arms across her chest and leans closer to the walls to take a sniff. Memories of the fire spread through her thoughts as the roiling cloud of death causes a shiver to course down her spine. Giving a little shake of her head to shoo the memories away, she pulls back and turns once more to the Headman. "I like that thought. I think having a record of what people did to bring this weyr up is a good thing. It's a needed thing. Especially in the hard times." Of which, winter is going to be harder given that fellis is going to be such a commodity.

If Renalde was a touching man, he might reach out to shoo some of that darkness which had fallen upon Hannah from her. But no, he is not and he does not. Instead, "I will make sure that it is done. There is joy which can be shown upon the walls. Until they can be made, I do believe I have some tapestries in the stores which might do." Renalde is lost for a moment in THINKING.
"Thank you," Hannah's tone is quiet, contemplative; she has tendered deep thoughts for the destruction the fire's wrecked on these rooms. Regret lingers deep within the Senior's expression before she chases it away behind the reserve of a leader. "Anything is better than scarred walls. Even if it's nothing more spectacular than how to make bread." This is delivered with another sliver of humor to chase away the seriousness of the moment. "How have you been, Renalde?" What? Hannah slipping in a personal question? Whups!

"Hum?" Renalde draws himself back from where his mind had wandered. "Yes. It would be better if this destruction could be hidden, and in the future, perhaps prevented." But she has asked more thatn jsut a comment about the future decorations of this room. "I have been well enough, healed," a nod to his leg, "though feeling a bit of my age between the weyr and hold." It's not that he is OLD, just, getting OLDER. "How is your child?" Who if the player could remember the kid's name Renalde would totally name.

"Yes." That's for the hope of preventing such a disaster from happening again; so careful is Hannah's expression that she could be going over all of the weight of the weyr's resident needs in her mind in that moment. "Etheran," her thoughts are drawn from her reverie, "is doing well," she adds with a smile. "Don't stretch yourself too thin, Renalde. If need be, we can find an additional helper for you. The Ice Fields will have a Holder soon enough, I suspect. The other Blooded will seek to have a conclave once it's fully operational. I doubt they'll want to pass up getting their teeth into it." Cue the light smirk there.

"I am sure. We are well on our way, though the onset of winter has slowed things considerably. Supplies move much slower in the deep snow, though the watchrider has been more than accommodating with imperative necessities." His tone is even, as if it does not concern him in the least that the hold he has worked so carefully to build will be handed off to another. "You must come soon, to see the changes."

"I will. I know that you've mastered the hold with your very capable hands," Hannah comments quietly, touching the tip of her tongue to her upper lip in thought. "Thank you for the update, I'll let you continue here. I've got to meet Bailey and the crafters in a candlemark," she says by way of explanation. With a small smile, she turns and makes her way down the hallway, her attendants in tow. She leaves behind the scars of her own work, left in the capable hands of Renalde. The secret of what happened in those rooms will forever be held, although perhaps the walls will be eternally marked by the tears of a jilted bride. All in all, eventually, Renalde's magic at organization and restoration will be worked even on these rooms. For now? It's back to business as usual.