Who

Francis, Drex

What

Drex was not who Francis had wanted, but he was who she got.

When

It is evening of the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyrlingmaster's Office, Southern WEyr

OOC Date 12 Mar 2017 07:00

 

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"Though I'm sure I could get this changed if you'd…rather not."



Weyrlingmaster's Office

Tidy disorder reigns in this space: there is a main desk, heavily scarred, with two chairs undismayed by any sense of fashion but yet comfortable, with a library of hides and scrolls and books behind. A functional credenza often holds leather straps, to the side, and abuts a smaller desk for weyrling work or even one of the assistants. Past the cluttered domain of the staff, there is a small classroom in such matter that it could easily be converted to a conference room. There is always iced klah and juice and water to be found on the sideboard in the meeting room, and stables aplenty for sandwiches.


Francis' 'office' is basically a desk halfway-shoved into a broom closet in the back of the room with just enough space for her to squish in behind it. There's a glowlamp lighting the stack of hides spread across the surface which seems to indicate someone has been working there recently, but there's no sign of the assistant weyrlingmaster. There are some distinct shuffling and dragging noises coming from either under the desk or further inside the broom closet though.

Soft steps weave their way back toward the broom closet and stop just short of the door. The disarrange of the room is unnerving. Being summoned was unnerving. This whole room was unnerving. Drex stands in the doorway of the cramped space, and shoved into his pockets and face a stony frown. To the stars and suns and moons, this place needed to be fixed. Cleaned. Organized. The self control it was taking to not touch anything was wavering, those hides needed to be rearranged. And a broom! This room would do with a broom! And-Drat, focus Drex. The man closes his eyes to avoid looking at the chaos of the 'office' and finally calls out, "Someone needed me?" The 'someone' was not one he really wanted to see or deal with, but this someone had a knot that could kick him out. Or return him to the brig. Or whatever, so here he was. Eyes closed and tense.

Thud. "Ow." More shuffling and Francis emerges from the depths of the broom closet, backwards, because she's hauling on a large crate stuffed with…more hides! "Niklaas, you can read, right? I need you to go through these and sort them out by class roster and then there's several more crates in there that need to come out and-" And it takes this long for the greenrider to actually look at the candidate who is standing there by her desk and she locks eyes on the man, stunned silent for several long seconds. Then, after swallowing hard, she notes faintly, "You're not Niklaas."

The series of expletives going on in Drex's head are an imaginative bunch. "No. I am not." Drex's voice is perfectly flat, eyes remain closed, however his stance straightens to a tight salute before hands return quickly to his pockets. Drex can read, but he's not about to volunteer this if it meant staying here. "I can go get Niklaas for you if that was who you wanted." His voice remains flat, but the tone is bordering on a mild hostility he is fighting to contain. "I might know where he is."

Francis is crouched on the floor halfway in a spinner-webby broom closet and completely on the wrong foot, figuratively and possibly literally, but that's not going to stop her from offering a crisp, polite salute in response. "I…ah…let me just check the roster." Slowly she stands and leans over to rifle through a few documents on her desk, finally pulling out a list of names. "Well. I was looking at the wrong line. You're, uhm, in the right place." Her dark eyes drift from the crate to Drex and she adds uncertainly, "Though I'm sure I could get this changed if you'd…rather not." Since he definitely looks like he'd rather not.

He'd rather not. Finally, Drex opens his eyes, but they lock on Francis in an effort to not look at thier surroundings. "I can go get Niklaas if that is who you wanted." The words are repeated in the same, flat tone. His stance does not change, nor his expression. Making it Francis's choice if he stayed or went was the easiest solution for him. Staying might mean an opportunity to clean this broom closet of her's. Leaving meant avoiding being in the same room as a known pirate-hater. Hands ball into fists in pockets, but Drex does not move.

He could clean the whole office area if he wanted to, Francis won't stop him! "If you're here then Niklaas is on dish duty so you might as well keep to the roster. If you can read." There's no implication that he can't; with candidates coming in from all walks of life it's simply a question that gets asked whenever office tasks are on the docket. "I can just work over at A'idan's desk to keep out of your way."

Drex remains motionless, the mental stream of cussing continues. Finally, he dips his head lightly. "I can read." Still there is no motion to approach either the desk or the greenrider, instead, Drex steps to the side to allow her exit from the broom closet-office if she so chose to. His eyes risk another flicker around the room and he nearly winces. They expect him to work under these conditions? Paper work? In as broken a room as this? Eyes move to A'iden's desk … how do these people function?

"Excellent." 'Scramble' is too strong a word, but when Drex makes room for her to get out of the space she's sort of stuck in, Francis takes the opportunity to do so with alacrity. "So if you could just arrange those by class…the lists are on the top of each crate, and I'll-" The rider sits awkwardly in A'idan's chair for a moment, then gets to her feet again. "You know there are some things I should check on in the barracks…you can just find me if you have any questions, all right?"

No, no questions would be asked. Drex nods. Waiting til Francis was over there, then slips behind the desk, a task more difficult for his bigger frame. "Yes m'me." The words are clipped as eyes move over the lists then to the organization. Drat, it would make more sense to go by age or date. More reliant that way and easier to find. But. There is another nod. By Class is would be. If he's fast, he should have time to fix this room.

Francis pauses in the doorway as though to say something else, but doesn't. Instead, as promised, she shuffles around in the barracks for awhile, and then when no questions are forthcoming from her captive Candidate she disappears from the area entirely. And that's how Drex gets free range to 'fix' the ever-living daylights out of the office area if he so chooses.

Fixed it will be.

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