Kestian.jpg Atsya.jpg Rocio.jpg

Date: July 1, 2010
Location: Living Cavern, Eastern Weyr
Synopsis: Kestian surfaces from work for a short break and falls into conversation with Atsya about his abilities as a harper and a bit about expectations in different places.
Rating: G
Logger: Kestian

//The main Living Cavern at Eastern Weyr is a near replica of the "Lower Bowl" in shape. It is circular, with ceilings sloping up into a gentle cone shape. There are a few stalactites hanging from the ceiling, from which the Weyr's few firelizards may perch. Between these, there are a few inverted "hills", showing exactly how quickly the workmen finished this job. It lends an eerie quietness to the place, as the features cut the sound more effectively. The glowbaskets on the walls highlight the tables of all shapes and sizes around the room. The Head Table appears to be more traditional in place and kind, but the rest of the tables are variable. The east side of the room boasts larger rectangle tables suitable for whole groups of riders, while the middle holds smaller circular tables more appropriate for a family with children. The west side of the room has small square tables which often double as gaming tables on lazy days and most evenings.

Near the Head table, off to the East side, the double doors of the kitchen swing open. Near those doors, two long rectanglular tables are set up for food and drink service. On the eastern and western sides of the room, the stairs lead up to parallel hallways which connect to the rest of the Weyr. A third, smaller set of stairs at the southernmost end of the cavern leads to the Weyr Entrance. //

Kestian emerges from the stairs that lead down into the Weyr's inner caverns, the hair at the back of his head sticking up a little and damp as if from a recent washing. The harper carries a pile of mixed hides and papers, some of which look like computer printouts under one arm. His path takes him toward Atsya's table, though his goal is probably the serving tables near the kitchen doors. He seems about to just move right past when he pauses, casts a look over at the bluerider and clears his throat. "Beg pardon, you were on the snake-hunting trip the other day, weren't you?"

Atsya's brown eyes tilt up from the hoop as she continues pulling the thread through. "Yes," she answers in a whispery voice, soft and breathy. "I was… and remembered that we needed to beware gas pockets," she adds with a soft smile, happy of her contribution to safety and not exploding the Weyr.

"That's right, you did," Kestian says with a slight hint of color in his cheeks. "I guess that wasn't one of my most brilliant ideas," he adds about the whole flaming snakes thing. "But at least the Weyr is still standing." His gaze tilts up to the ceiling, checking out the structural integrity maybe and he gets distracted for a moment by the formation of stalactites.

Atsya laughs, a low chuckle, politely covering her mouth with her cloth. "I don't think you were the only one to suggest fire. Our weyrwoman seemed to consider the same idea. Along with every other, including sharp sticks."

"Sharp sticks … you know, I don't think that most of the manual methods would be all that efficient for dealing with the problem of so many snakes," Kestian says thoughtfully and then nods towards her handiwork. "What are you making?"

Atsya turns around the hoop, showing a bit of embroidery in progress. So far the outline of a dragon can be seen, only a portion able to fit into the stretched section of hoop. Just inside the black embroidery she is filling in a second, lighter color of blue in among some darker sections. All in all it looks vaguely professional. "Just some decoration for the weyr, the blank stone grows dull after a while."

"Those are nice colors," Kestian compliments, "and the stitching is very neat. I think a little brightening will go a long way," he agrees as well and looks around the living cavern. "How long have you been at Eastern?"

Atsya gives another soft laugh. "I admit that we are probably both fond of the color blue." She smiles as she recrosses her legs, smoothing her dress back over her lap. "I arrived with the other Southerners, so a matter of days still. It's lovely here, but I miss the sea breeze we had."

"It's a good color," Kestian agrees, givin his own harper-blue shaded vest a little tug. "I don't think anyone has been here terribly long," the harper says thoughtfully. "I'm still … getting organized myself."

Atsya looks off through the rock into the distance, ostensibly in the direction of her rooms. "I had little to move so it was no great difficulty save for quite a bit of sweeping," she says with a quick frown. "Zhiyth still complains that the stone is not worn correctly." Her gaze shifts back to the older man. "I would imagine you had far more to move."

"Oh, no, not really," Kestian claims with a shake of his head. "At least, not much in the way of personal effects and the instruments I brought fit into a single crate. Dealing with the papers …" he gestures down at that armoload. "That's what needs organizing so things can be found properly."

Atsya nods her head as she somewhat absently slides the needle back through the cloth. "I guess you would probably have to memorize most everything…" she speculates in her quiet way. "I don't think I've ever considered what a harper would travel with."

"There's a lot of things I have memorized, but it's useful to have things written down for teaching or to help with remembering and tracking and so on," Kestian informs waxing enthusiastic about the topic. Clearly, the man likes his papers. "That really depends on the harper, though I think most of us have at least one instrument, more likely two, sheets of music and various supplies for instrument repair."

Atsya listens politely, nodding her head when appropriate. "I suppose it would be difficult to find ways to repair something so delicate surrounded by jungle and plains. I hope it's some time before it is a concern though, something so difficult to make I would not wish harm upon."

"Easy enough with a good table around," Kestian gestures to these. "Though replacement parts could be a problem and might have to be ordered from elsewhere." He shifts the armload of papers a little and offers his hand to the rider. "I've been remiss however. I'm Kestian. Well met."

Atsya stabs the needle into the cloth before reaching out her own hand. Her fingertips are well callused, but her grip doesn't attempt to be overly strong and is far closer to dainty. "Atsya, pleased to meet you, though my sire would think otherwise," she adds with a bit of laughter in her eyes.

Kestian's grip is firm, also bearing traces of callus as befits a musician. "Atsya," he echoes, inclines his head politely and his brows lift. "Your father would think otherwise about it being good to meet me?"

Atsya gives a somewhat shy giggle as she takes her hand back, her eyes dropping back to her hoop, along with her hand. It takes its motions back up before she replies. "There is not a craftmaster's daughter who is not warned to steer well clear of harper blue."

Kestian's hand drops to his side and his brows slowly lift at that claim. "I've … never heard any such thing," he says, bemused and shakes his head. "I'd hope that most of Pern would be able to trust in a craft whose goals and mission are the education of the young and safeguarding of history."

"Hmmm… yes…" comes Atsya's soft, yet droll reply as she continues to work the needle through the white cloth, "I rather think it was the education of their young they were worried about… Though I admit," she says, pausing and looking off into the distance, "that we as girls talked more about the rumors of Weyr life, for the rumors we always heard were quite scandalous."

The harper's lips purse faintly and he looks away for a moment, then clears his throat. "I suppose there are still some, who for strange reasons, fear literacy," is Kestian's take on things. She mentions Weyr life though and his shoulders shift a little. "People can behave scandalously almost anywhere. Though, yes, dragons and their … needs, do make things interesting." Beat. "In Weyrs."

Atsya glances up at the harper for a moment, not sure if he's teasing her about education or not, but then she is back to her needlework. "Little do they know, I suppose. The romance of filling firestone sacks, flying drills, tending gear and dragon, and now… chasing tunnelsnakes. It does sweep one's heart away, does it not?"

It would appear that Kestian is actually, quite serious. "It's hard work, especially with Thread overhead," he says with a brief gesture upwards and a grimming of his expression. "My father is a rider and I barely know him because of it, when you get down it." A slight lift of shoulders and a moment later, Kestian sets his papers down and sits.

Atsya watches him sit, her needle pausing for a quick moment before it resumes. "Serious thoughts for a harper," she replies softly. "I would have guessed you were trained in joviality and frivolity in your halls."

One hand lifts to push back too-long bangs and Kestian fixes a brief look on Atsya in return. "There's a time and place for both the serious and the jovial. A harper needs to know how to strike the balance between both, when the right mood is called for." He smiles a little then, looks down at his pile of papers. "And I'm an archivist. Some might say that it's a specialty that lends itself more readily to seriousness?"

Atsya seems to consider this for several moments before she speaks again. "That strikes me as unusual. I would think there is little to archive at a weyr. At least not enough to send a specialist. Or do you also spend time at Landing?"

"I expect to spend some time there," Kestian says with a nod. "But Eastern will also need to get set up for keeping good records. And I'm not /just/ an archivist," he says with a little smile curling up the corner of his mouth. "No journeyman is really just his … or her specialty," Kestian continues and reaches down to smooth out a folded corner on one of those papers.

Atsya's smiles are just as soft as her voice. "I hope that is true for all our sakes. Spirits tired from the construction shall undoubtably wish to be lightened. Not to mention that other little problem that we shall have soon." Her smiles fades at her own words before she gives a small sigh. "I'm afraid I must sound all gloom myself."

"I do play and sing," Kestian offers over. "No harper worth his salt can walk the tables without getting the basics at least." He looks around the room again, blows out a breath then focuses on Atsya. "Which problem is that?"

Atsya looks upward, gesturing with her needle. "That problem for which we exist," she says a little darkly before looking over at the harper.

"Ah. Thread," Kestian says with a more glum and serious look that's also laced with sympathy. "You … haven't been a rider for long, have you?" his gaze searches the bluerider's face, perhaps trying to gauge her age.

Atsya looks… young. Mature; but there's no way to hide that she's a good 10 years his junior. "I have not," she replies with a hard set of her mouth as the needle stabs back into the cloth. Her frown deepens as she looks at the hoop, pulling the thread free of the needle and beginning to work the blue back out the front.

There's a silence as Kestian absorbs that reaction then asks quietly. "What's made you angry?" And there's a thread of something in his voice that might inspire confidence. His manner is mild and his expression open.

Atsya undoes a few stitches before rethreading the needle, quickly wetting the tip with her mouth before working it back through the eye. "My apologies, I did not mean to seem angry." She seems to search for the word she wants. "Frustrated? Anxious perhaps. There is a certain bravado I'm afraid I just haven't mastered yet."

"About fighting?" Kestian questions further, fingertips pressing down on that cornered paper again and he looks up at the young bluerider through his bangs, expression still mostly neutral.

"That too," the girl replies as she concentrates on her hoop, carefully redoing the missewn section. She is silent for several moments before she decides to continue. "There are a variety of fashions in which one is raised. There are expectations one grows up with, whether they like them or not. One can hope, or plan, and yet in the blink of an eye the world shifts. This…" she says with a pause, looking over at him, "is not the problem in and of itself."

Atsya and Kestian sit at a small table, the former working on some needlepoint held in a small wooden hoop, the later guarding a stack of hides and papers.

Her appearance may be scarce, but that Rocio has been around, alot, is evidenced by the presence of fresh glows almost everywhere in the lived-in areas of the slowly evolving Weyr. Now she arrives, and pauses for a moment to automatically check all of the current glows, and their locations. Eyes quirk from the light source to the light thrown. She notes a table with hides, papers, and will stroll in that direction, speaking quietly as she comes nearer, "Light adequate, ma'am?"

Sitting at a chair at the same table as Atsya is Kestian, with a small pile of papers beneath one hand. The two seem to be having a quiet conversation and the cavern is not busy at this time. Atsya is working on embroidery. "Ahhh, yes. Expectations," Kestian echoes quietly and looks down at the papers for a moment, though it doesn't eem he's really registering the contents and he nods after a moment. "Different expectations can be difficult to manage." It's a mild comment and then his hand lifts and he shuffles the papers together. "I should get my klah and see to the rest of what I need to for today," the harper says lightly. "I hope though that things will go well for you here."

Atsya shakes her head, appearing a little frustrated that she's not explaningit hings quite correctly. "Not expectations, but-" She turns at the sound of the question, catching site of the new arrival. "Hmm? Oh, quite, thank you," she replies, suddenly caught between two conversations. And then the harper is up and leaving. "Yes, I understand. I wish you a good day."
Alara has left.

Briefly, Kestian nods in polite fashion toward Rocio, again to Atsya with a small smile. "Good day to you, Atsya," he says and tucks his papers back under his arm and proceeds to the serving tables where he secures klah, then heads off with his work in tow.

A hurried glance at the Harper, and Atsya, and Rocio will take a deliberate step to her left, a pace away from the table, to return her study — to all intensive purposes, to the setting of the glow within its lantern.

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