Who

Casla, Ghalvaren

What

After a violent hide assault, Ghalvaren helps Cas learn some of the archives' mysteries.

When

It is midmorning of the nineteenth day of the first month of the eighteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Archives, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 16 Sep 2019 04:00

 

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"I'm not real good with scrolls. They get away from me. Tried rolling that one up all neat and the whole thing ran away. Had nothing to do with me. Did it on its OWN."


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Archives

A remarkable legacy for those with the eyes to appreciate it, Igen's Archives are modest, in proportion to the weyr's similarly modest status; but though they be small, the room itself is mighty, with grandiose portent to the high, vaulted arches. These walls hold many treasures past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. The meticulous task of re-scribing old records is continually ongoing, with faded and disued hides replaced on a daily basis. The chairs and off-kilter tables seem to be heritage of a time long past, not in line with the rest of the vision of this room; but in all weyrs are budgets, and perhaps you've found one of Igen's budget cuts.


As ever, the archives are a place of peace, a place of learning, a place of respectable sile… "Aw, screw ME!" barks out, muffled, from deep within a shelved alcove, followed by the slither and bump of a scroll fleeing for its life. Ghalvaren pops up from behind a stack of scholarly effluvia, rubbing his skull irritably as he watches his research go rolling away for comically long seconds, frowning wider and wider, lips flattening more and more even as the roll comes to a full and complete stop.

Casla was one of those people trying to involve herself in the learning; now Casla is someone who has nearly dropped the hide she was holding in startlement. Initially she might have returned to what she was doing, averse as always to making waves, but — but that all landed right by her feet, and so she tries to valiantly pretend she knows what she's doing as she gets out of her chair, leans down and starts trying to roll it back up. Werywomen — and this time she is wearing her knot — are supposed to be good with this sort of thing, right? "Are you injured?" she asks, not actually looking at the scroll's victim.

"No, just a dumb aaahhh weyrwoman, ma'am, thank you." Ghal's skull-rubbing gets a little more vigorous in his slight discombobulation, and he tries to execute a polite bow. It's a 4/10 (the Telgar judges scored him low since he probably didn't have to go full 90 degrees). "I'm not real good with scrolls. They get away from me. Tried rolling that one up all neat and the whole thing ran away. Had nothing to do with me. Did it on its OWN."

"I think many people have that difficulty," says Cas as she brushes off any use of titles — despite the fact she holds weight in titles, right now she's trying to help roll up this scroll and someone might stop her if they were concerned with rank — and keeps rolling it back up. "They can be difficult to keep in order. Er," Speaking of. "I hope you had not left off somewhere I just lost for you?" Reading is still not her first instinct, and it's something she has to focus very hard on, which is why she was in the archives in the first place. But she may have messed up a crafter's work and that is exactly the opposite of what she's supposed to be doing.

Ghalvaren grimaces, hissing in through his teeth and rocking back on his heels. "Not as such, no. Thought I found something but the author stopped just when it was getting good. Trying to figure out a better way of putting the wood around here together as opposed to back home. It's all… ugh." BLEH goes his tongue to finish off his dramatically irritated expression. "Been like that all day. Sorry, though, I hope I didn't interrupt you, ma'am. If you need any help finding anything or gettin' something off a shelf, I have no problem being That Guy." Another bow, this one less flustered and more boyishly charming.

"Is it … different wood?" Casla asks curiously, now looking up at him and laughing a little when she's bowed to. "I believe most of Igen's is imported." Then there's that lip-chewing habit, breaking eye contact, because she really should know, shouldn't she, but so far she's not wholly certain. Does Igen itself have forest, or just coverage area forest? "But of course, I also do not know where you're from, or whetehr Igen imports its wood from there in particular, so it could be very different. You didn't," she adds. "Interrupt me, really. I was still grounding myself."

A brilliant smile flashes across Ghalvaren's face. "Well see you got a lot of real hard woods around here compared to Lemos - that's where I'm from. I do Woodcrafting, ma'am." His hands are long and graceful, and they ascribe a couple of shapes in the air, his brow furrowing and relaxing in time with their movements almost. "See you got this stuff here, ironwood, from the desert. The name's real apt. That stuff is CRAZY dense. And y'know how wood splits? I have to figure out how to work around that more differently than the softer conifers 'round Lemos and such. Anyway, this stuff also is just killing my tools. I'm supposed to suss out how it… works. It's kinda my homework. Sorry if I go on a bit, ma'am. Casla, right? The newest weyrwoman. Are you in here, like, trying to research how to do that? Because I'd imagine you have to know all sorts of stuff now."

The polite smile Casla had developed rises into a brightness in her eyes when he mentions Lemos, and she nods once, encouragingly. Then she sets back into her chair, watching him talk and continuing the nod until the conclusion is found. "That sounds like sensible homework. Sensible master," she concludes, and then tries to remember if Igen has any master woodsmiths, and corrects with, "Or journeyman. And — yes, that's me." It's still weird. People recognize her. People who she doesn't know, even though he seems familiar, she is pretty sure she doesn't know him … "I am, er, yes, essentially, I am trying to learn my way around the archives better so I find things faster. Both in the mix of things and on the specific items. If you know them well," she flashes bright-eyes his way again briefly, if shyly, "I would welcome tips."

"Well first of all, I'm pretty sure they're trapped over there," Ghalvaren leans in as an aside, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the pile he was piddling around in not long ago. "Otherwise they've got SOME numerical system to it. Like… 3 for woodcrafting and stuff. Then it's either by author name or year since a lot of stuff is unsigned. "My Master sent me here to work with a journeyman in the Bazaar a bit. Learn about how to," and here we drop the air quotes HARD, ""Sell myself". Plus with a whole different climate and everything, stuff grows all differently and so it's like starting over in some ways. It's not so bad so far. Oh, and you definitely want to make sure you're hydrated if you're in here awhile 'cause it can get a bit stuffy depending on if the air outside is actively on fire or not." Blink. "What's it you're trying to find, if you don't mind me prying? I can give you another pair of eyes to find stuff for sure."

"Does it get stuffy when it's very cold?" Casla isn't as bothered by the chill as many others, and keeps going outdoors in the wintry sun, but she isn't doing it for long and isn't reveling in it either so much as it's just a nice change from sandstorms and burning heat. "Because I will try to remember that, and have water or tea on hand if allowed." She glances over at the Harper in charge at the moment, who is unhelpfully not listening and can't give her a quick nod or headshake. "It — the selling — that sounds very stressful. It is probably important, but it sounds stressful. I am looking for …" A glance back to the original hide she came in with, some squinting, and then, "Gold flight records from the previous Pass."

Wrinkling his nose, Ghalvaren nods in firm agreement with the flaxen-haired weyrwoman. "It gets dry in here then, real dry, like nosebleed dry." A pause as he listens, then smiles again, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Oh that one's easy. I've seen the Senior in that section all the time. Don't rely on Brivande for help. Pretty sure he's getting his mastery in checking his eyelids for holes." His slightly too loud whisper follows him all the way to one of the fortunately neater sections. "Okay, like see, these are all divvied up by Pass - I asked once and it was apparently the easiest way. The family trees or whatever of the Weyrwomen start in that first folder, which shoulllld have some kinda, like, little guide to which subjects come after. They marked those with the yellow paint, then it goes by wing after all the history of, y'know. Y'all." He makes a little circle with his hand, grinning openly now. "But it's a pretty good system, at least over here. You guys have the fortune to be color coded and sh… stuff."

Congratulations, Ghalvaren, you caught yourself around someone who actually does care about swearing! It might not be common in Igen, but Casla is one of those people who thinks vulgar language should be saved for vulgar situations, of which this is definitely not one. It's an archive. If anything vulgar is happening in an archive, there is a problem. "Oh," she says, brightening a little more yet again. "Are you sure you are a woodsmith and not a Harper? It seems you know the place well. I hadn't ever thought about other types of crafters doing research …" But of course they would, and she trails off with her voice getting a little quieter, shaking her head once. "Do they actually — they record the families of the actual Weyrwomen, or just their dragons?" Puzzled, Casla blinks at the scrolls before her. "I can see reasoning behind both though." Now where are the parts she wants. Heeeere, 11th pass …

"Both kinda, I think. Haven't gone through that pile yet, just kinda noticed how it worked when I was trying to figure out the smithcraft area." Queued up by Ghalvaren's broad gesture, a few hides slide off of their precarious perch and puddle on the floor. "Makes sense though. Supposedly certain hold families push out just wings of goldriders, so you'd kinda wanna know where to look first on Search, yeah?" He shrugs. "Smiths though, we're not so organized with this kinda thing. Plus like, my journeyman would rather put his hand in a metal press than let ANYONE see his preeecious notes." Hey, Ghal's TRYING to not cuss. He's at that age, though, where a young, frustrated man must do his impression of a chicken that clucks out eff bombs.

"Oh. Yes, I hadn't thought of that," Casla reflects, now hoping very much that no one stops to ask her about her own family history. It's never come up, whether or not she's had to steer conversations away from it. "Not a thing I would be personally concerned with I think, but very valuable for the wings. I mean, I would be concerned with Search, but not that part of — yes." Awkward, bustling Casla, trying to remind herself she's supposed to be important now so sound like it. "That makes sense. Many artists are secretive about their methods. If my hobby were something else I might be as well, but it is not sensible to keep gardening methods a secret. Even when it was my job. When you sell your craft, though, only your apprentices should really know how you do things." She winks, just in case he needs more encouragement to look over those notes that he may or may not be permitted to see!

In charity with the goldrider, Ghalvaren slides into an easy comfort despite the rank. Even as he smiles and laughs, his expression just brushes against the idea of puzzlement, like a question you're not aware that needs asking. "Oh, you did gardening? Where'd you come from? Can't imagine the gardening was much of a thing here, but I completely agree with the idea that knowledge should be free to everyone." HACK THE PLANET. "Especially since the local dye flowers and wood choices and general everything is my enemy. So many new things. So awesome, but so much."

"Both," says Casla as she finally finds the tome of 11th pass and picks what might be the right one and gently removes it from the shelf. Point 1 in her favor: it doesn't unroll immediately. Making the assumption that Ghalvaren will follow her when she tiptoes back to her table, she holds the scroll close to her chest (NO ESCAPING) and keeps talking. "I am actually also from the Lemos area, but I gardened here as well. For food; in the kitchens and a bit of … side beautification." All those flowers that popped up in previously abandoned pots, though it may have been before Ghalvaren arrived at the Weyr that they were at their height. "Which I hope to get back to, though perhaps in a more official capacity!" It's not something she'd much thought about before, but maybe it's in the auspices of her role. Making it back to her table, she opens up that scroll, and lo and behold: it's at least part of the right one. Ghalvaren will be pulled into showing her around the system of how the dragon flights and hatchings are categorized, whether or not he actually knows how it works, because Casla has decided he must: and eventually they each return to their own work, until another scroll attempts assault.

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