A New Title


Indira.jpg Warin.jpg

Date: 10 Jan 2011
Location: Eastern Weyr: Headwoman's Office
Synopsis: Candidate Warin asks Headwoman Indira for a job.
Rating: PG
Logger: Warin

With a woven rug beneath it, the huge desk situated slap bang in the middle of this room is pretty hard to ignore. Although aged, the deep mahogany wood has been well cared for and polished to a high shine. The high backed chair placed behind it has been upholstered to match the deep jewel tones that grace the Headwoman's domain. On the opposite side of the desk, and of lesser design, is a chair that offers not nearly the same kind of comfort as that of the 'throne'. This possibly chosen with deliberate intent in mind.

To the right of the doorway stand several crates, upended on their sides and neatly stacked one upon the other, serving as makeshift shelving. To the left, a door that leads into the Headwoman's private quarters which remains firmly locked.

Kaseth's clutch hatched a few days ago, and the candidates left standing were offered the opportunity to stay at the Weyr. V'tol's impression to Wreth had forevermore dashed his plans to become Crom's Lord Holder, but Warin seemed remarkably unfazed, and most expected him to return to Crom and resume assistant steward duties there. Instead, Warin is standing outside of the Headwoman's office just after breakfast. He steels himself, then knocks on the door.

With the Weyr still under lockdown, and despite the hatching having gone off without further hitch, tempers are still a little short and suspicion high. As such, Doran, Indira's personal guard that had been stationed outside of her office door since the eggs were smashed and that dead body turned up, is at his usual post. When Warin knocks at the door that's standing slightly ajar, the big bear of a man does little to stop him other than to turn a blank stare onto the former candidate. As to Indira herself? She's firmly ensconced behind that big imposing desk of hers, slowing working her way through a pile of requisition forms that she's currently having to turn down due to supplies being in short supply with the tithe trains unable to get in.

A more nervous person might give up under that blank stare, but Warin is, if nothing else, committed to the decision now that he's made it. Since the door is ajar he doesn't knock again, instead saying in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice, "Pardon, ma'am?"

It's quite likely she'd heard the knock, however Indira's head stays bowed over her work until Warin's voice comes through loud and clear. Slowly her head lifts along with one dark blonde brow, "Yes?" Stylus halted and held hovering over the sheet of paper she'd been making notes on.

His tone apologetic, Warin says, "I know you're busy, but I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to talk?" He doesn't yet enter the office, since he hasn't been invited.

The stylus bearing hand lifts out of that hover and waves at the chair placed on the opposite side of her desk, beckoning Warin in to take up seating and then lifts in a halting gesture should he decide to speak further, not wanting to lose her train of thought. Whether he enters or not, Indira adds a last few words to the sheet, sets the stylus down and then leaning back in her seating, passes an assessing look over the young man. "If you're needing a new cot frame, linen or clothing, I'm afraid you're going to have to get in line." Assuming that to possibly be why he's there.

Warin enters and sits down, as bidden. At her words he smiles faintly and shakes his head, saying "No, ma'am. I have just been thinking about the Weyr's offer to stay here as a candidate for future clutches. Since going home is, at the moment, not possible anyway, I was wondering if you might want an assistant." The last is said fairly quickly, as if he wanted to get it out before he chickened out. Afterward he takes a deep breath.

That brow stays arched as Warin puts voice to his request, with just the one corner of Indira's mouth twitching as if amused. She allows silence to draw out, sloe eyes putting the young man under further scrutiny. "You want to be an assistant steward of mine?" The twitch momentarily deepens into the suspicious line of a smile and then shallows again, leaving her face free of any further telling expression. "Perhaps if you began with your name?" Aaaand the amusement's back again.

Warin nods, though not without a wince. This whole answering to a woman thing is a hit on his pride, but then again as a candidate he answers to women as well. "I'm Warin, ma'am," he says, once he's over the momentary flash of said pride.

"Well met, Warin," this coming with an acknowledging dip of head, even although the chances are good that having the eyes and ears about the Weyr that she does, she'd already known his name. Why then had she asked for it? Only Indira knows. "Well then, Warin. The next most obvious question has got to be…do you have any experience in the field of being assistant steward?" Dark eyes setting a keen look onto the young man as she awaits his answer.

Warin says, "Well met, ma'am." The next he says in an even, perhaps even well-rehearsed, voice. "My father is Steward at Crom Hold. I have been training under him since my twelfth turnday." He pauses, then adds, "I know Weyrs are run differently than Holds, but I believe I can adapt."

Impressed a brow arches up in indication thereof, "Your father is Steward of Crom Hold?" Pleased the smile that then breaks free and Indira leans forward out of her seating, hands clasping on the desk before her. "Not too differently from a Hold, Warin. Eastern, however, is still very new as you no doubt have experienced in your efforts with your fellow candidates to dig the lake. We're short on staff, short on supplies and most people are short on temper these days." Understandable under the circumstances. "I need someone efficient, well spoken," translated to polite, "and able to think on their feet and use their own initiative where applicable." The almost clipped tone as she ticks off the list of requirements comes to halt and the immaculately groomed head tips to one side, "Are you such a person, Warin of Crom?"

Warin nods, even if the question about his father is rhetorical. He also nods as if marking each of the requirements before saying, "Yes ma'am, I believe I am." After a pause, he volunteers, "I have already trained in etiquette and in stores." His smile may be self-deprecating or impish when he adds, "When I was searched we had just started on which wines to offer which guests."

Amusement breaks through yet again in the glimmer of another smile for his latter remark, "Now you're talking my language, Warin." The next asked with almost idle interest, as if she were just making conversation, "Do you still have much contact with Crom Hold?" The vaguely cunning light that briefly lights her eyes, may tell otherwise if Warin's astute enough to pick up on it.

It's Warin's turn to be amused, if only mildly. "At the moment, ma'am, no. I imagine once the lockdown is lifted I will be able to communicate with my parents. Although my father really wanted me to stay in the family business, he and my mother were supportive when I decided to accept search."

"Obviously," Indira gives with a slightly sardonic lilt to her tone on Warin not currently being contact with family back at Crom Hold. She does however file that snippet of information away. Leaning back in her chair a faint smirk traces across her lips, "Tell me Warin, what wine would you serve me, if I were a guest up at Crom Hold, hmm?" Trick question? Maybe.

Warin says, with a hint of apology, "One of the cheaper wines, since we're, or rather, Crom, isn't beholden to Eastern."

While Warin might well have given the correct answer in terms of Hold-Weyr policy and relations, Indira's eyes narrow dangerously at the perceived insult, her expression cooling as her chin lifts in small haughty gesture. "You're certainly a bold one," she finally gives, "I can't fault you there." She'll at least give him that much. Silent through the long look she fixes onto him the Headwoman finally breaks it with a decisive intake of breath, "You however have poor understanding of how to please a woman. But no matter," a hand lifts and fingers flicker in dismissive gesture, "We'll work on that." Still somewhat with feathers ruffled, the woman once again goes silent as she sets stylus to a separate form. That done, her words are spoken as her head lifts and dark eyes settle back onto the former candidate, "Meetings are held every morning in my office just after dawn. Don't be late. It wouldn't look terribly professional in front of your peers." And just like that. Warin's got the job.

Warin nods ruefully at the comment about not knowing how to please women, then says, "I imagine that would have been covered after I learned everything I needed to know about wine." He becomes serious again and says, "I hope to convince you that I can be reliable, even if it is potentially painful." He seem to be braced for rejection during the pause, and visibly relaxes when she effectively tells him he's hired. In a very polite voice he says, "Thank you, ma'am. Are there any duties you would like me to start on?"

Despite his having inadvertently insulted her, Indira can't help but turn out the shadow of a wry smile in response to his reply, muttering under her breath, "Silver sharding tongue too." Which isn't always a bad thing really. A short nod is given in acknowledgement of his thanks, "You can start by moving your things from the candidate barracks and back into the dorms. I like to have my staff close at hand."

Warin says, "Will do." Then, mischievously, "What kind of wine should I offer you here? Vintner vintage, a good Benden, or some type local to the other Holds?"

Warin's response is to say the least, unexpected. As such it's a moment or two before a throaty chuckle lifts up from the Headwoman, "Vintner vintage, says classically aged. Which I may, or may not, take as a backhanded compliment. A good Benden? It shows you have taste, or…are just good at recovering from a lapse in judgement." Sly the smile that accompanies those words though it is washed through with approval.

Warin nods at that, and then says, "Benden it is." He stands, and says, "Please excuse me, ma'am — I should go get my things from the barracks."

Amusement lingers a moment or two longer and then her eyes follow Warin as he stands and gives apology in needing to make his departure. "I'll see you in the morning, assistant steward." Using the formal title he can claim as his own. Not lingering her attention, she turns back to the pile of documents still in need of her attention.

This log is dated back to a few days after Kaseth's clutch hatched.

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