W'lin, Laeiva


Laeiva gives W'lin the rundown.


It is midmorning of the seventh day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Living Cavern, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 11 Mar 2018 06:00


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"Well, did you hear about the storm?"

Living Cavern

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophobia. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.

Breakfast is over; the clearing up is not. Laeiva's back at work now, the Headwoman's knot safely returned to her own shoulder. She doesn't look phenomenally happy about it; she's scowling as she piles serving dishes on the long sideboard and lays the serving spoons in the top one. This isn't normally one of her tasks, but there don't seem to be as many helpers around as usual, and she's had a busy morning already, serving food and directing her staff.

Ever seen a forlorn-looking Telgari bronzerider standing in the middle of Southern's living cavern? Today's the day. Many things about the southern Weyr are still unknown and befuddling to the newly transferred bronzerider, and this morning the name of the game seems to be 'where do I put my dirty dishes'. "Excuse me," W'lin politely murmurs to a serving girl who whisks past him without a single look in his direction. "Can I.." he turns, trying to grab the attention of someone else, who also brushes him off in their bid to carry a tray of stacked cups towards the kitchen. "Shards."

Laeiva looks up from the crockery she's stacking. "What's the mat-?" But recognising a newcomer, she's quick to perceive his difficulty. "Your plates? Just leave them on the table there - over there, with the others." She points to the right place. "Someone will take them away." She gives him a moment or three to see where he needs to go. "How are you settling in? Is everything all right with your weyr?"

Relief sweeps the man's face at the headwoman's direction, his stance relaxing as he unloads his burden on the table she indicated. "Thank you," W'lin says. "Telgar's a little—" He stops himself, embarrassed, and turns to address Laeiva with a chagrined smile. "I should be able to say how easy it is, but truth be told I'm still figuring it all out. I relied too much on my familiarity at Telgar." One hand rakes through his hair in an anxious gesture. "It's great. It really is," sounds not quite as convincing as his widening smile would want to indicate.

Laeiva smiles and nods. "The river cliff weyrs are always popular." She sounds confident of that. "And don't worry; a new place is always going to take some getting used to: that's only natural. New people, new ways of doing things." The smile fades; the eyes harden. "And you probably didn't plan on arriving to find so many unusual things going on, either."

"I've convinced myself a few times that we were landing on someone else's ledge." W'lin's tone is wry, but his smile remains. "I'm used to knowing what I'm doing.. always." He pauses. "Time. All I need is time," he agrees, quietly. It's a moment wherein the dragonman is being honest with himself, and her too, and it's too short lived. "Uh.. I don't.. I'm not.." His forehead creases with worry, his blue eyes concerned as he regards Laeiva. "I don't know what you mean. What.. what's unusual?" Should he run? He looks at the door.

"Well, did you hear about the storm?" Laeiva's enquiry is light-toned and sounds genuine, but there's more annoyance as she continues, "We're still doing repairs from that. They still haven't moved the rocks from outside the Hatching Cavern. And we have a group of poor homeless people from Black Rock living with us at the moment." That would be the boatload of gatecrashers who are supposed to be in the candidate barracks. "And then, of course, there's all the sickness going round. I expect your new Wing is short of a few riders at the moment because of that. The kitchens are certainly short-staffed, to say nothing of healers poking their noses in everywhere."

"I did," W'lin says, but thereafter falls silent as he listens to the older woman's litany of 'unusual' going-ons at his new Weyr. He gradually looks less concerned for his own safety. "There's always a number of things that can go wrong during the Pass when everyone's already spread thin." That would be an attempt at trying to be consoling, since the woman clearly seems frazzled in his own eyes. "What can I do to help? Should I speak to the weyrleaders about hastening on spearheading a cleanup crew? Do you need extra hands in the kitchens?" is his offering, quite optimistic given all, and sincere.

"Oh, bless you!" Laeiva sounds quite grandmotherly. "Don't you worry about that; you'll have enough to do if your wing's understrength - extra sweeps, and so on." She presses her lips together. "Though, they stopped looking for the people missing from Black Rock. I suppose it's too long now to hope to find anyone. But that poor seahold needs help more than we do here." She rests her rear on the edge of the table and says confidentially, "People think they're all thieves and pirates, you know, but a lot of them are just ordinary people trying to make a living - like my poor girl and her husband."

Understrength is a word that gets his attention, his posture changing to something a little more alert, his arms crossing snuggly over his chest. "I see," W'lin murmurs. "Has anyone.. passed because of this sickness?" He sounds eager to know. He's frowning throughout all it. "Is everyone accounted for? What of the warder and his family? It would be harder to search if we're low on our numbers as is," he mutters, as an afterthought. If he has an opinion on pirates and thieves, the bronzerider is smart not to show it, though he shows some concern for Laeiva's mention of her family. "Were they at Black Rock during the storm?"

"Not that I know of." Laeiva tackles the first question first, then pauses to reflect, "Unless - but no, he was just old, his time had come. But there were people never found after the storm at Black Rock. My grandson among them. The Weyr was taking people out of the threatened areas - the flood tides and storm were due. But I lost sight of Linetta and the children, and they pulled out before everyone was safe-" She's clearly distressed as she relates this sad tale, and she'll leave W'lin to work out who 'they' were. She raises her hands slightly, fingers spreading. "The Warder and his family were fine, of course. They had a safe place to be."

"Not that you know of," comes tight, followed by a more natural, "Nothing like that could possibly happen from a mere storm." W'lin has some disbelief, it seems, where it comes to the potency of the sickness raging through the Hold and Weyr. His expression eases into another smile, and then falls as quickly, at mention of her lost grandson. "I.. that's terrible," with furrowed brow. "I'm sorry for your loss, Laeiva," which might not be the most couth thing to say, but on the strength of her own words, perhaps it's from the length of time he makes such an assumption. "What has the warder done to remedy the situation? Has there been any talk of precautions?" Would she know? He looks expectant.

"The sickness?" It takes Laeiva a moment to get herself together enough to construe what he's talking about; when she does, she gives a small, ladylike shrug. "Unless the storm brought something in that caused it - the normal variety of firehead is caused by something that washes up on the beaches, after all. And it's not at Black Rock, only here." She gives a tight little smile. "Perhaps it's something going round. I hope so, because I'm getting rather sick of people implying that my kitchens aren't handling food right." She pushes herself upright and turns to pick up her pile of crockery. "Anyway, I must be getting on. Welcome again to Southern, W'lin." With a nod and another tight smile, she carries the dishes towards the kitchens.

What a whirlwind! W'lin looks more than a little exhausted, if thoughtful, as he waves the headwoman off to her duties. His blue-eyed gaze follows her all the way into the kitchens, and then he's backing his way out to the bowl.

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