Nasrin, Diem


Igen's goldriders hide from the headwoman. Like a Where's Waldo scene.

ICly backdated


It is afternoon of the 1st day of the tenth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.



OOC Date 27 Apr 2018 04:00


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“I don’t think I’d have time to be pregnant. It’s a shame men can’t give birth instead.”



The smiths’ area is certainly not the prime real-estate in the crafters’ 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.

Supremely out of place, but no one will dare speak it to them, are two goldriders with a small spread of paraphernalia over two of the benches while the women sit around a melange of hides, an abacus-like device, and at least one firelizard. Nasrin delivers a succinct state of address. “I can’t get Toisur Hold’s tithe dossier to match our receipts. Stables are reporting a plenty of fowl eggs,” then naming one of the laundresses, “Iyena is reportedly engaged and moving west in ten to twelve days, weather depending. And I got a new assistant.” She reaches for a pouch tucked by a hip, “nut? From a Lemos province. Quite good.”

Diem is sitting on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, while perusing hide after hide for specific information about Toisur’s tithes. “Hmn.” is her response about not getting the dossiers to match. “I think I see the problem.” But, she’s going to continue to investigate the matter as Nasrin lists a few highlights from various reports. Fowl eggs, moving west in ten to twelve days, a new assistant… That particular tidbit aaalmost slips by her until she side-eyes her junior from behind the currently lifted hide in hand. “Who?”

After gnoshing on a cashew-like tidbit, Nasrin introduces the aide. “Xanthee, Weyrbred, age seventeen. She was a candidate for us twice,” and once in Southern that ended on a low note. “She’s had a transgression in the past, but after review, I don’t believe it to have any bearing on her future.” The list of injured men and women from last month’s sum of Threadfalls goes limp in her hand, responding to a soft, sultry breeze. “At the very least she can help me until Cremla is… unpregnant.” There’s a better word, but Nasrin isn’t troubling herself with those semantics. The junior’s face then takes on a shadow of concern. “Should we be worrying about Cremla?” The woman who’s nearly fifty, with child, and having some health ailments.

“Uh huh.” Diem takes the pouch from Nasrin and sets down the hide on the bench. “Lemos is chock full of nuts.” Dry humor there. She begins to munch on the offered snack when Xanthee’s stats are listed one after the other. “Seventeen?” She’s not exactly balking at the idea of having a teenager attend council chamber meetings — there are mature seventeen year olds out there, right? Of course there are. That and she trusts Nasrin’s judgement for making a field promotion. “All right. You should introduce her to Onari when you get a chance.” Crunch go a few more nuts. “No need to worry about Cremla. I’ll have the Weyrhealer put her on bed rest if she can’t let go of a few duties.” The pouch is then handed back to Nasrin, side-eyeing continued. “Which is why I’m assuming you got yourself an assistant.”

Nasrin’s smirk comes synchronous with a robust crunch for the Lemos comment. “Seventeen,” the junior affirms with neutrality. “She’s been most recently serving in the Tea Room.” That the location is mentioned tugs another smirk’s vestige for the Tea Room is where Diem found her own future assistant. While reaching for a waterskin, “her performance will be known to us soon enough…” a fair judge of character, Nasrin, as a realist, does not kindle hopes. “Onari, Cremla, H’rik, I’ll be liberal with the introductions, though thankfully she should be familiar with some of the chain of command.” A comment is planted in the margin of a bill of lading spread out on her lap. “Knowing our headwoman, she’ll install wheels on her bed and follow us all.”

Thank Faranth Diem is sifting through the pouch when Nasrin makes that last comment because she laughs instead of chokes. “Right?” The thought of the bed’s squeaky wheels ringing throughout the corridors makes the Senior flat out smirk. She sobers a bit and clears her throat a little, casting her gaze downward as she shakes of few of Lemos’ finest nuts into her hand. “I suppose that’s why we’re… here.” The Smithy, to be precise. “Cremla can’t fit a bed up those stairs…” Can she?

Nasrin can recognize Diem’s vocal tones and cadence in the background as she narrows her eyes to read numbers not printed in any sort of neat hand. Her division of focus allows her to catch the final comment about the abilities of Cremla’s bed. “She couldn’t, no, unless she opts to have a litter carry her around the lower caverns, you know the ones, like the ones Lady Bayata and her daughters use.” The junior’s brow arches and she pauses to initiate a lean of topic to something else. “Kastorel must be excited about being a father again…” Making all assumptions he is the father of Cremla’s unborn.

“He might be excited, but I’m not entirely sure Cremla is thrilled about giving birth. Again.” At her age. That last part goes unsaid, though. Diem considers the thought and allows her gaze to drift over the courtyard in front of them. “I’m not sure if any woman is thrilled about giving birth. Do you want any kids?” Curious minds want to know. “I don’t think I’d have time to be pregnant. It’s a shame men can’t give birth instead.” Now that’s an amusing thought and one that merits a smirk as she shuffles the snack pouch.

As visions of numbers ill compute in her head, Nasrin, normally with a knack for them, wants to use her stylus to knock them from her conscious. Rajakhelath binds to the last few sums printed in her rider's mind, and will later recall them. She serves as an invaluable bookmarker— if Nasrin can get to her within a few minutes. "What?" The junior, still trying to clear integers from her mind, looks starkly at Diem. "I haven't explored that purpose fully, honestly. But… children have their uses." A fleeting smile. Only if they do what's asked of them. "Blood ties can be strong." As the last decimals clear her head, Nasrin cups her chin in hand. "You'd make a solid, reasonable mother. Would you foster somewhere? Kievol has a good set up in his Hold, though I almost hate to admit it."

Diem is amused at the fact that she caught Nasrin off guard and then shrugs away the tossed back statement. "I doubt it. Fostering isn't something that I want to do alone. Call me a newtimer, but I think I'd like a partner to share the task." The pouch is then handed back to the fellow goldrider before she snorts at her next thought. "But that requires, you know, having a partner. And dating. And getting out there. And… yeah, no. It's easier to stay single with firelizards." She'll just declare to be handfasted to her mountain of hidework on her desk — or maybe to the mountain of hides stacked next to Nasrin on the bench. "Now I wish I had a drink."

Nasrin watches a wee smith apprentice walk by, stare at the two women he's never seen here before, and wave like he should know them. Nasrin returns the wave with a bit more oomph. "Only if they're worthy partners," she'll incorporate, one who'd probably hold interviews for child-rearing. Knowing she's going out on a limb with this next question, she preps with a slow rub of some fingernails. "What about H'rik as a candidate?"

Diem waves at the boy, too, and then shakes her head at Nasrin in response to her inquiry. "No, not going there. We work together. No need to think about complicating things between us with something that could ruin the relationship we do have." As Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, that is. There's a fondness for M'tej that wells deep in her chest but the feeling is quickly ignored when the not-so-pleasant parts of their relationship bubble to the surface of her memory — that's one door that will remain closed. "Too bad G'tan doesn't have a twin brother." A dark colored brow is then quirked as she eyes Nasrin. "What about you? I haven't seen you out and about in… well. Ever." She might be teasing her just a liiittle bit.

Nasrin has never been in the dynamic of handling a Weyrleader and lover, so there's really not that much to add to that equation. "Maybe he has a brother then?" Not knowing much about G'tan's familial background. But she resists the discussion of every viable male Igen Weyr has to offer. « Profit margin of 3.67 percent, repeating. » Rajakhelath informs her rider because her short time memory is ticking. Nasrin nods and writes that number down, then invites a short laugh, steely-eyed. "I demand too much of men." Well, everyone actually. She exhales through her nose and flicks her gaze back to the Weyr. "Well, should we muster the courage to go back?"

No, no, nooo… Diem wilts when Nasrin suggests returning to the inner caverns of the Weyr with their hidework. "If we must. Hey, maybe we can go to the Oasis Inn next time." It'll depend on how Cremla is doing since there doesn't seem to be a limit to how far the Headwoman's watchful eye can stretch. In fact, she might even be watching them now! The very thought motivates the Senior to her feet so she can collect the hides with little more haste. "Come on. Let's go demand some rum to be poured into tumblers."

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