Who

Sabina, T'ral

What

T'ral and Sabina discuss literature, contentment and injuries. You know, regular stuff for a third-day.

When

It is evening of the thirteenth day of the seventh month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Archive Library

Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.

It is the seventy-third day of Winter and 37 degrees. Throughout the night, the cold winter rain continues to fall steadily.


The library is by far one of Sabina's favorite places to haunt when she visits the Weyr. On the occasions she is sent down for some errand or other she is often to be found spending what free time she is allowed here. Today she is curled up in an overstuffed armchair with a variety of books stacked on the small table in the middle of the chair circle. Such a wide variety of topics in that little stack. And yet the book open on her lap is a collection of short stories.

When he needs more space to sprawl the tomes and hides and various materials of his work, T'ral heads to the archives. Tonight is one such night. Weyrlings handed off to another master, the bluerider is a dragonhealing trainee tonight. THUD. A stack of tomes thunked onto a table nearby. "Sabina! Good evening," T'ral inclines his head in a bow and folds himself into a chair at one of the long tables near Sabina's reading nook. The titles are long and dry-sounding if the Holder makes any attempt to read them. "What brings you up here? Thawing out?" Crowsfeet and creases accompany the crooked smile.

A slim finger is settled onto a line of text halfway down a page of the book in Sabina's lap. Raising her eyes at T'ral's greeting she smiles shyly. "T'ral, sir. It's lovely to see you again." Proper politeness is etched into her even in her curled state of relaxation. Her eyes do flick over the titles the bluerider has thumped down upon the table. "While I have a chance too," she chuckles and confirms his theory on her being here to 'thaw out'. In ways he can't possibly imagine. "I was sent after more children's stores and a recipe for the Cook." She waves a hand at the small stack of books on the coffee table before her. "As I'm here for tonight I thought to get a little enjoyment out of my evening." Hence the book she is currently reading.

T'ral cranes his neck to peer at the titles, "Oh, good choices. That," he points at one a thick book with beautifully illustrated plates of dragons and riders and related tales. "We had a different edition of that back at Benden, it was my favorite." His face shadows briefly before he's craning again to peer at the book in Sabina's lap, "What're you reading?" Hands smoothe hides on the table where he's settling in. Gonna be a long night. A little visiting at the top of it is just the thing.

One of the childrens nurses asked for it," Sabina admits after leaning forward to check the title of the book first. "I suppose they must keep the kids entertained some way." She wouldn't really know to be honest. Aside from delivering the occasional snack she generally avoids the area. "Oh me?" Because he might be asking the empty chair beside her. "Just a silly short story I found that was actually about a drudge woman." An apt story for her to be interested in. She waves her free hand at the impossible stack he brought with him. "I take it you aren't here for the fun of it."

"It certainly entertained me," T'ral's eyes are wistful. He laughs at a distant thought, slowly coming to light. Almost to himself, "That book reminds me of a cabinet we used to have." His eyes widen and he laughs again leaning on the long table, dark eyes vague. Oh that cabinet had been magical. He shakes his head, "Sorry." He blinks rapidly, reeling his thoughts back across the turns. "How is the flower?" he winces, "That was a terrible gift. 'HERE, take care of this living thing that doesn't belong where you're going.'" His nose wrinkles as he fiddles with the edge of one of the weighty tomes. "This? Oh. I'm studying some cases." Stack of folio files gestured at, "The books are in case I need to look something up." It's a sort of fun. Research.

Sabina pulls a length of ribbon out of her pocket to mark her place in the book before closing it softly. Smiling as T'ral recalls his childhood. "I do hope the Hold's little ones enjoy that one as much." She likes the kids in a bitter sweet sort of way. "The flower seems to be thriving actually," she looks up at T'ral and grins. "A friend of mine is keeping it here for me." She points toward the garden around the huge tree. "It's planted right over there actually. If you look to the right of that round bush, there it is." It hadn't seemed right to take to the Hold to die. "I have a flower from it dried and pressed in my journal." She eyes the stacks of books again dubiously. "Just looks like an awful lot to do."

"It's…" The bluerider blinks, half-standing to look over at the bush and the brilliant orange flower next to it. "Oh, good. That's a better. Good thinking." Sticking to inanimate gifts from now on. Nevermind that the kitten he'd given Renalde worked out. That was different. "Oh," he looks pleased at Sabina's mention of the flower, "I'm glad. How are things at the hold?" He flips open one of the folios, idly, "Mmm," he brow furrows at the stack of files, "Nice to have a bit of hidework. Straightforward." He looks off, wistful again, "Quiet."

Sabina allows herself a girlish giggle when T'ral spots the flower. "I still get to see it when I visit the Weyr." Which is by far better than the alternative in store for it had she taken it with her. "Things at the hold are," she pauses and shifts the book in her lap. "Good." She chooses a safe word. "Steady work and the place is feeling more like an actual home by the seven." Whose home is anyone's guess. "I like to see everything coming together." She lifts the book upward slightly, "I could be quiet and let you work if you need. I don't want to interfere."

T'ral can't help but smile at that giggle. "I was up there not too long ago," a strange visit, that. Cards with Renalde. Who'd have dreamt it? Not T'ral, "Been a lot of progress. You liking it?" He folds his hands over the smoothed hides, mischievous, "Well, I'm rather the one interfering, aren't I?" He looks off and over at the drink cart, "While I'm at it, care for anything to drink?" he looks at the sidetable and her mismatched stack of books, any beverages needing topped off?

Sabina much enjoys her friendship with T'ral tentative though it is. "Oh you were?" Surprise is easily written in her features. Though understanding of the why soon dawns and she seems to sink into her chair. Oh right. His father. "I like it alright," she shrugs a shoulder. "It's good and decent work." Something she is proud of. "You aren't interrupting anything important," she promises with a little smile. "A mug of juice would be much appreciated. Though I'd be happy to serve you." She uncurls her legs and sets her book on the table as she offers.

"I hadn't seen my father in a while. We," T'ral looks puzzled, "We talked." Beyond puzzled… mystified. That sinking is noted, "You don't sound to certain of that," that lopsided grin returns, "You sure you don't miss it up here? The rains. The humidity. The rains." He's already on his feet, "Nope, I got this one. Juice?" already headed to the cart, "Any particular kind?" Bustling there for a moment, he returns looking up at the glazed skylights, dark and quietly roaring with steady rain. "Here you are," the mug is delivered to Sabina's hands before he folds back into his chair, mug curled in the lee of a callused palm, an ancient warmth-seeking gesture. Southern Weyr's Winter is positively balmy compared to the Hold and T'ral is glad of the klah's heat. "So what is our lady," a twitch of his brow and eye with an intent look at Sabina, "drudge up to?" His eyes drop to the book, now be-ribboned, in Sabina's lap.

Sabina works up a kind smile for T'ral, "I do hope you had a lovely visit." An affirmative nod is given. "I don't mind shoveling snow on occasion. Though it does make the paths to the docks a bit hazardous." His refusal to allow her to serve once again leaves her out of sorts as usual. Sliding back into her chair to cross her legs she waits. "Anything will be lovely." So long as it's juice she isn't picky. "Thank you," is uttered with a warm smile as she accepts the mug from him. "Oh the winter here is most certainly warmer than at the Hold." Amusement is clear in her chuckle when he asks after what she has been up to of late. "The usual actually. Cleaning, scrubbing and hauling laundry to and fro. Oh but I did get the chance teach a pair of fellow drudges the proper way to carry the trays when serving in the kitchens. Saves folks winding up wearing their stew from a misstep."

"We did." Miracle of miracles. "I don't mind the snow," he even missed it a bit sometimes, "It's the eyeball-freezing cold." It's COLD down at the Barrier Hold. Sensing Sabina's discomfort, "Did I serve that from the wrong side?" He's not sure. His etiquette training didn't have too much on proper forms for service. And now he's wondering if he botched it. "Well, you're not wearing your juice." He decides this is satisfactory. UNLIKE the Weyrleader's dinner. T'ral's jaw muscles bunch briefly, "We could have used your services a seven or so ago." There's a bit of a hard glint, there and gone, it could have been shadows as he settles. "I did mean the book, though. Stories about the lady drudge?"

Sabina is happy for T'ral. It must be lovely to have a pleasant visit with one's parent. "The cold is at least combatable. You can always layer more clothes or escape within the Hold. When it's utterly melt your bones hot there is only so much you can properly take off." She looks down at her juice totally confused. "No you didn't serve it wrong at all." Mentally she determines to make an effort not to show further discomfort. "You could have? Then why wasn't I sent for?" Poor Bina takes him seriously as to her service and looks up with a raised brow. Though quickly a blush creeps up her neck and infuses her cheeks. "Oh the drudge in the story." She looks at the book on the table and sips her juice. "Well it's about a woman who was raised a drudge only to later discover that she has high born parents. That is as far as I've gotten thus far."

T'ral shakes his head, a sharp negatory, "I've gotten used to the heat." And folks go around in rather less than is proper, which despite the initial affront, he's come to like if he's totally honest with himself. Weyr Mores: They sneak up on you. "For some reason I find the cold harder to deal with." No body fat to speak of. When the cold gets in, it gets IN. "And I rather like the rain," he cocks his head to listen to the drumming on the skylights. Also, T'ral's body is a furnace. Which… you'd think he'd hate the heat, but really, he's naturally acclimated. Smaller apparent temperature difference. Or something. "Oh," T'ral squints, cottoning to their earlier 'debate,' "How do you find the depictions of drudges in it?" Eyebrows up, eyes intent, interested.

"And I coming from Bitra happen to be used to cooler climes," Sabina says with a sweet smile. Which for all its gambling and degradation is rather strict about the dress code. Go figure. "So the heat for me has been what takes the most getting used to. But I do enjoy it when I'm able to escape the endless freeze of the Hold on occasion." It's the best of both worlds climate wise. She's a good deal smaller than T'ral and yet she tends to take longer to cool off in the heat than to warm up in the cold. Depictions of drudges? She looks at the book and back at T'ral with a grin. "To be honest the treatment meant to be written as cruelty is rather apt to today's norm for some folks. But I fail to see the purpose behind the story really. Why dream of a quote "better life" when one is not to be had? Better to accept one's place and find peace there."

T'ral listens to Sabina's own assessment of their at-odds weather tolerances while he sips on his toasty mug of klah. "I wonder who the author is. Was?" Is it an old book? "That sounds rather like resignation, Sabina." T'ral clears his throat, brows knitted in concern, as he lowers the klah mug, "Don't you like your work? Is there something you'd rather do?" He gestures at the book, "It seems a weak device at best, but I'm no storyteller. Maybe it gets better?"

Sabina uncrosses her legs and leans forward to retrieve the book from the table. Looking inside the first page for the author. "It's written by.. scribble." At least the rest of the pages are legible right? Rising from her seat she crosses the few steps to hold it out for T'ral. "Perhaps you will recognize it." She waits for him to look at the book before settling on the arm of an overstuffed chair. "Resignation is a harsh word." And not entirely apt for how she feels at times. "I do like my work. It's all I've ever really known and I'm good at it. Keeping everything clean, neat, and tidy about the Hold. Organizing the other drudges and being there to help when necessary." Because let's face it some folk who live the drudge life choose to remain ignorant. Not all, but some. "I wouldn't know where to begin to do different. And so I find comfort and peace in the life I was born to."

The bluerider straightens to accept the book and peers, eyes narrowing at the author's name and the blodge that's been made of it over the turns. "Nmuh-hnmunahah. OH! Of course! Nmuh-hnmunhanah, the Nabolese author. Surely you've heard of him. Last interval. VERY famous." T'ral's eyes dance as he hands the book back. "Hmm? Harsh?" He clears his throat, throwing out a hand, "No, no. You seemed well-content last we spoke." He shrugs, an easy shift of shoulders, light. Keen eyes narrow, "Been paying close attention of late to the words people say and don't say." He takes a deep breath, sitting back, easing off, "'Accept' is a…" he purses his lips, "Letting go word?" his voice rises in pitch… he's searching for the right sense of how to say what he's saying. There's a proud grin that sits askew in the brace of his neatly groomed beard, "This is Southern," a nod and a gesture southwards, "Hold included. If there's something you want to do, you can do it. If that's laundry," his teeth flash, "You can rest assured we ALL thank you for it. If it's…" he gestures around the Archive, "Curating the Archives," picked out of the air, but Sabina has seemed rather fond of and properly reverent towards written lore, "It can happen." He sits forward, weight settling on his elbows, head slung between his shoulders, fixing Sabina with an intent look. He laughs, looking down at the floor between them and then up, "I do need a reliable wher for Holder Connal every other third-day."

"Uh huh," Sabina can't help it she laughs at T'ral's botched pronunciation of the author. "Can't say that I have heard of them. You're right." She accepts the book and props it against her legs with her arms wrapped about it. She tilts her head and watches the bluerider explain, a soft smile playing about her lips. "So you're in the business of studying people now?" Even though she teases her eyes are entirely serious as she weighs his words. "There isn't a lot that I know properly how to do. And it would seem that I'm not cut out for much more than helping the Cook keep track of her ledgers and the rest of the staff." If she were, surely the Headman wouldn't have tossed her aside like a used tissue. As for 'curating archives' she looks lost even at the thought. When he mentions the need of a wher she hides part of her face behind her hand, and laughs while shaking her head. "Oh you would remind me of that! I was beside myself." Dropping her hand she grins at T'ral. "I had been working all morning long and looked a mess. And there you went putting me on the spot with all those children staring at me. It's a funny memory now, but I could happily have brained you with that gitar at the time."

"Half," he sighs, eyes rolling skyward, "More than half of my job nowadays is reading people. AND their dragons." He shrugs, "Not claiming to be good at it." Though the Harper training did help and certainly a psychic dragon helps with a good bit of that, too. Man, if T'ral had any idea about Renalde and Sabina he could tell her how miraculous that thaw - however brief - was. And thank her for it. "That's up to you. I've seen how you look out of that head of yours." He taps his temple, "There's more going on up there than you're giving yourself credit for." At her look of lostness, he shrugs, looking around the Archives, "Not too different from making sure the stores are stocked. Simpler in some ways, nothing is perishable. Well. Fragile, maybe, but not rotting." His grin is mischievous, "And yet you were excellent. Well played and," his ears color a bit as he drops his head and looks up at Sabina, "Sorry about that. I realize I never apologized."

Sabina rises and moves to slip into the chair nearest T’ral. The book winding up balanced on the arm rest where she’d been seated a moment before. “I would guess you aren’t bad at it either. Given your rank, Sir.” She contemplates his opinion and shrugs a shoulder. It wouldn’t be right to speak of the Headman aloud. Much less to his son. And thusly she is focused on his words. “I appreciate that you recognize that I’m not entirely daft.” Some people seriously don’t. It’s the knot. She understands that. “I’m afraid there is nothing available at the Hold that I could accomplish than what I already do.” They have an archivist and she’s heard tell the woman has a lethal tongue. “I quite enjoy the Hold most of the time. And I’ve made a few friends there.” It’s a world she understands and seems to fit in. When he apologizes a soft giggle slips from her lips. “Oh I forgave you some time ago. Though I reserve the right to tease on occasion.”

"Hah, well, yes. I rather think the Weyrlingmaster wouldn't have knotted me if he thought I'd bungle it." He shrugs, giving the woman an abashed smile. The knot grants T'ral all sorts of auhtority, but it doesn't make it fit. He'd grow into that. Or not. "'Not entirely daft.'" T'ral repeats Sabina's words carefully, pondering them. "Easy there, Sabina. Folk might think you're getting a bit of an ego." His smile is impish, eyes cut sideways. Traces of that smile linger as he tilts his head, an inclination of his head, acknowledging reaching the depth of what she can do at the Hold and her contentment there. He laughs outright at her admission of forgiveness, "Ah, good. Well. Thank you." Brows tick up and down, that impish glint returning, "Likewise." His lips purse, "Just, uh, not in front of the weyrlings." T'ral grips his lapels and draws up haughtily. He is, for a moment, Renalde's very image, except for his eyes. The deep blue eyes regarding Sabina are scintillant with humor, "I do have a rather august reputation to preserve." He doesn't. T'ral is the instructor closest to the weyrlings, in age, in experience. More an experienced peer than a reverend veteran.

“Oh never that,” Sabina murmurs with a shake of her head. “It wouldn’t be proper for folk like me to have an ego.” She smiles at his obvious humor and settles more comfortably into the chair. “I would never tease where anyone might overhear.” For that matter she’s lucky to find her voice at all in groups that are composed of more than three or four. A spark of laughter dances in the liquid pools of her eyes, “Besides I’d never want to embarrass you in front of others. That truly would not be fitting.” She watches him draw up those lapels and wonders a moment that she’d not recognized the similarity between T’ral and Renalde at very first. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she is cognizant of it. “Given your wonderful personality I would imagine that you’re quite a hit with the weyrlings. I can’t begin to fathom the complexities of their lives now.”

Wouldn't tease in front of anyone? Well. Isn't that refreshing. Not that T'ral's been all that scrupulous about his jabs. He probably could rein it in a bit. "Well, thanks for that. 'Wonderful personality.'" He snorts, "Flatterer." It's accusatory, though light in tone. Sabina may recall that he'd bit it hard in the Living Caverns in full view of his weyrlings and how they'd hooted. Not exactly a hit with the weyrlings. At that moment a thought strikes, "Your wrist! Is it okay?" He'd cracked his head good -no concussion- and dimly recalled Sabina heading off to the infirmary.

"Comes with the knot," Sabina wiggles the string with an unapologetic grin when he accuses her of flattery. "You learn quickly that it is vastly better and more likely to make life easier." She was the first causality that day when the bag of nuts ripped open to coat the floor. So he wasn't the only one pointed and laughed at. "It's pretty good. Stiff a little still, but I took the wrap off a while ago." Notice there is no mention of a Healer anywhere in that. "How's your head? You were saying some really odd things before the pain got to me."

T'ral's eyes narrow a moment at flattery as a defense mechanism. He nods. He'd certainly seen it in effect. At the Hall. Here. She was right. As much as it galled him. He settles back when she pronounces her wrist better. "They give you stretches and things?" the healers? T'ral didn't have a lot of training with humans, but there were always stretches. ALWAYS. He rubs the now-vanished knot at the back of his head, wincing, "I, uh, I can't use the letters 'm' 'h' or 'e' any -or-, but ot—r t-an t-at, -v-ryt-ing's fin-."

"I stretch it plenty in my day to day," Sabina assures with a blithe shrug. "And any hope of 'taking it easy'," she actually finger quotes in the air, "is a dim hope for someone like me." Simply isn't going to happen EVER. For her there is rarely a moment to slow down or not use her hands and arms. When he switches to some odd sounding intonation she laughs aloud. "I'm glad that you're ok," she has the audacity to roll her eyes. "I really had worried about you."

"Good," he flares his fingers, studying his hands turned over and peered at, "Hands are pretty important." Um, really? Maybe his head got hit harder than he thinks… "Worried? Oh, I'm fine. Sweet of you, but nothing to worry about." He scratches at his jaw, a wry twist to smiling lips, "I've certainly had worse." Like month-of-coma-and-significant-memory-loss worse. "When are you headed back? Did you need a ride?"

Sabina nods her head, "That they are. Thankfully sprains heal fairly well." It isn't her first one by a long shot. Her response to his assurance that he's fine is to chuckle and tilt her head in acceptance. It's only natural to wonder after a friend. "I think the main bulk of clean up around here is through." So much seems to call her back to the Weyr. And it's always interesting to say the least. "I'll probably go home tomorrow. I need to be there when L'cak arrives. And from his message that should be in the next few days."

"When they're taken proper care of, they do." T'ral leans forward, brow ticked up expectantly. Excuse him, he's become a bit of a mother hen. Blame K'ane. Actually… blame T'ral. He will fret, given the chance. Like over weyrlings fixing to learn ::Betweening::, which starts Very Soon. Too soon. The young weyrlingmaster nods, eyes shadowing. Tomorrow he and K'ane were going to do yet another dry run of the lessons. T'ral had drilled and drilled and has, today, escaped to the Archives to distract himself from the pit in his stomach. "Ah, heh," he wrinkles his nose, "I was gonna offer to take you back, but if you're leaving tomorrow," he shrugs, "Staff meeting." An assistant weyrlingmaster's work is never done. Maybe Sabina's passingly familiar with that novel notion…

Sabina is less worried about proper care of herself than that of her work. "I'm positive it will be fine. It feels nearly healed. Just tender after the long day." At least she can't get lost ::between:: over a sore wrist. Right? Very little to worry over and thus she doesn't. "I could go back tonight if you're sure. I would want to press the matter. I just rather take the ferry in the day when I can. And they stop not long after dark anyhow." She chuckles and nods her head, "Meetings are something I can fair understand. Seems staff meetings can be never ending. The instruction on what needs done next."

The bluerider squints at Sabina, speculating on how well she's following Healer's Orders. He's also not gonna press the issue. "Oh," T'ral looks genuinely surprised. "You'd rather take the ferry?" Not wanting to fly is an entirely foreign notion to T'ral. He'd rather fly than do just about anything. Rather like Esanth himself in that regard. There's just something about the … not a good time for a reverie on the wonders of dragonflight. He blinks, "Well, let me know, hey? I'll be here…" he looks at the ponderous books stacked at his table and blows out a gust of breath that puffs his cheeks, "All evening." He smiles and levers up, "Need a warmup?" Klah.

Sabina's head tilts back slightly as she laughs. "It is not a matter of not wanting to fly T'ral." Once more she wiggles her knot at him. "Drudges can't exactly get a lift home unless it's urgent." Thus the ferry for the folk less fortunate than the 'riders. "At least my fear of water has been turned to manageable caution." She repositions the book. "I meant that I was staying overnight here as opposed to going home tonight because I don't like taking the ferry after dusk."

"Oh!" Well that makes MUCH more sense, says T'ral's tone. Also. Sabina's not crazy. "'Rather' made me think it was a preference. But you meant DAY not FERRY." He ticks a finger in the air, "Gotcha." He's still upright, on the verge of freshening his klah, "I'm happy to ferry you up there." See what he did? "I've a mess of reading to get through, but it's flexible. We'll leave when you're ready." T'ral's eye go vague as he tots up things in his head, "I'll need to stop by my father's office, but that shouldn't take but moments." If she offers up her mug for klah, he'll take it, otherwise the bluerider heads to the klah cart to refill his mug in preparation for SLOGGING. Oh, Mind-numbing Tomes of Tiny Script and Ill-notated Diagrams… YOU WILL BE DEFEATED.

Sabina shakes her head at the offer of klah. "No thank you." Though she does rise when he does and gather her stack of books. Carrying to load on a hip to the cart while he gets his own refill. "Thank you for taking me home." Later that is. "I can wait for you in the living caverns while you visit your father later." Because a trip into Renalde's domain again? She's had enough heartbreak thanks. "I'll let you get back to your work for now. And I'll pack these," she wiggles the books, "into my pack. I have a few other things I need to do." Stepping back and half turning in preparation of leaving she pauses, "I'll see you after while T'ral. Send a 'lizard when you're free or I'll send Aurum to check in with you." With a grin she finishes the turn and saunters off to get on with her day.

T'ral nods, "Of course, M'lady Drudge." He's totally calling her that now. It's not a tease so much as a joke for the two of them. Klah mug securely deposited he bows, an inclination of his head to Sabina accompanied by a warm smile. "I'll wait for… Aurum is it?" Brows tick up, "Aurum." A decisive nod and the weyrlingmaster seats himself, determined to bore the heebie-jeebies of teaching weyrlings how to ::between:: to death with mind-numbingly dull plant and anatomy studies. Nothing quite like rote memorization to blear the mind. Er… clear the mind. And a flight later. Actually, THAT will be most welcome. A little blessing, Sabina. And nevermind that there's ::betweening:: involved. A book selected more or less at random, T'ral pauses before he cracks the spine, "Enjoy the rest of your day." And he's off… the new klah goes cold too.

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