Who: Hattie, Esten and Norov
When: 13:41 of day 18, month 12, turn 27 of Interval 10.
Where: Workrooms
What: Hattie hears about the rider and dragon that Norov and Esten looked after the other day.
There's the usual bustle in the crafters' workrooms this afternoon, one of the quieter corners of a cavern presently occupied by a tall man with a knot that identifies him as a Journeyman Woodcrafter, and the Weyrwoman, who sits opposite him at a bench that is covered with a collection of hides bearing sketches of what look like, from a distance, various sorts of boxes. Their talk is hardly quiet, suggesting that, whatever they're planning there, it's not a great secret, but at least they're not having to shout at each other over the rest of the workrooms' noise.
Esten doesn't quite have an entirely clear idea as to what needs to be done, only that it has to involve the jacket slung over one shoulder that bears the slightest signs of a stretch and preemptive tear. Spotting the Journeyman and Weyrwoman, the trainee dragonhealer's steps slow with something of a nod towards one or both. Just to observe out of curiosities than interrupting. Something that's clearly displayed on his features.
Hattie is midway through sentence when she spots Esten and acknowledges his present with a similar sort of nod. She looks back at the sketches then, seemingly about to carry right on talking, but looks back up again at the dragonhealer, as if remembering something. Something paired with a smile gets murmured to the Journeyman, who likewise smiles, stands, and departs for now, leaving the Weyrwoman to peruse the hides. Or not. "Esten, sit down, please," she invites.
Following the Journeyman's progress with a slight turn of his head while the other man passes, Esten looks back to Hattie with a few steps to close the distance between himself and the chair recently vacated. Setting the jacket beside him into an empty spot, he offers a smile with the slightest of bows as he sits opposite of the Weyrwoman before offering a greeting and question in one breath. "Good day. What can I do for you?"
"I thought I'd ask your opinion of the Candidates that you've seen so far, working in the Infirmary or otherwise," Hattie replies, tugging one of the sketches a little closer to her. Upon closer inspection, it's clear just what those various boxes are: designs for cradles, the one the goldrider favours composed of smooth, flowing edges. "Given that such work could involve the closest they've ever been to a dragon. It would be interesting to note their reactions," she goes on a little absently, attention shared between design and Esten.
Cradles may be the least likely thing that Esten can provide input on but the second? Ah, that he can assist with as he gives a shrug while leaning back into his chair. "Some are alright with the knowledge side of the situation. It's different when it comes to being face to face with a dragon. There's hope for the squeamish, but I haven't seen anyone over confident. There's that lad from the sea hold that seems to be a little too confident, but... I'm not too concerned."
Over in one corner of the caverns, Hattie and Esten sit opposite each other at a workbench that was recently abandoned by a Journeyman Woodcrafter. Hides are scattered across the tabletop; boxes of various designs and sizes sketched out, some looking more like cradles than others. "Too confident? As in 'going to steal someone's dragon' confident?" the Weyrwoman deadpans, unable to swallow down the smirk that surfaces on the heels of her words. "More seriously - as in he'll make contact with riders' dragons without permission?"
From one of the other interconnected caverns emerges a curly-haired young man with a candidate's knot, papers and a stylus in one hand. Though his initial look around is quick, taking in as much as he can, when back in motion his route is slower, not quite aimless, much as are his succeeding glances.
"Too confident in that he knows all of what I was asking him to do. He might be a bit of a know it all, but with the other chores ahead of them? I suppose that he'll work out - Impression or not," Esten admits with a firm shake of his head to the latter. "Surely, you've seen the sort in older healers. The pompous sort," he adds with a hint of amusement. He's not worried. Glancing towards the recent arrival, he notes Norov with a dip of his chin before looking back to Hattie. "I've met that former trader lass too. She's alright, from what I've seen. Nothing appears to be wrong on that score. Nor him," he adds, with a tip of his head towards the recently entered.
"I've seen that lot in young or old, Healers or not," Hattie states matter-of-factly, as she now starts to sort the remaining hides into two piles. "There's bound to be more than /one/," she drawls. "And anyway--" She glances up again when Esten gestures towards Norov, gaze following to find the Candidate, but there's not much on the recognition front going on there. "I'm sure 'him' has a name..." is rather dry, before she lifts her voice to call, "Candidate?" Probably about as polite as she can be without 'hey, you!'.
Surely it's the trainee's nod that catches Norov's eye, but it's the recognition that sends the tall candidate heading towards them with an eye for the table's contents... and then the man's companion. His pace slows, but Hattie hails, and he doesn't balk. "Esten," he greets upon reaching them. Those gray eyes pause, though, on, "Ma'am." Yes, his accent's unabashedly Boll. Yes, his chin is a fraction up, though no more.
"Norov. This is Weyrwoman Hattie. Not," Esten remarks with wry amusement as he uses his hand to indicate weyrwoman and candidate alike as he appears as comfortable in the conversation. The Boll accent isn't lost on him this time, given time to listen to the lad's voice this time around. "That I think she needs introduction. It's one of the things you learn first arriving at the Weyr regardless if candidate or resident."
If Hattie takes note of Norov's accent, all there is to let on that she's noticed is a few more moments of study that is usually considered polite. "Norov, then, is it?" she seeks to confirm, without just taking Esten's word for it. "Whereabouts in the region are you from?" No need to state /which/ region. She halts in the sorting of hides, one still in her right hand, held by its edges.
At the initial introduction, Norov slips a wry glance Esten's way: of course she is. But then the majority of his attention's back on the Weyrwoman, and his nod and his quiet voice carry due deference; "Indeed, ma'am. Easterly." He's straightened, with a careful ease to his tall frame that goes right down to the curl of his fingers about his own papers.
"Norov had asked me to meet with Saluth and her rider a few days ago," Esten explains, easing himself out of the lean against the chair to settle both arms against the edge instead. "He was sitting with them apparently for a time. I was relieved by one of the senior healers because, well, it was clear that she wasn't scored but the pair are a bit older than most. At least the sixth or seventh decade. He must have seen a lot."
Hattie straightens a little, shoulders easing back as she gives Norov another onceover, dissatisfied that she finds nothing new, yet that air of dissatisfaction is not that specific. "And are you finding the other Candidates to be... friendly?" she questions, head tilting slightly. "Esten here seems to think you're acceptable so far as interaction with dragons goes." Tact? What tact? As per usual, there's a pen lodged in the curls of her pinned up air, which is now retrieved and touched to the sketch she's chosen, 'this one' scrawled in its top right corner. "Are you saying he thought she /was/ scored?" That's for Esten.
Norov's nod is slight, a touch rueful, you-know-how-it-is: "As much as one unfamiliar with such things might expect," which is to say: mixed. He adds a brief smile Esten's way before tacking on an explanation for Hattie. "It was part of my chore rotation, elder care, and this particular elder had matters on his mind," as opposed to the candidate's running off with a rider of his own accord. And though he's not Esten, "His green /looked/ long-scarred, though I couldn't say whether it was Threadscore," that last added punctiliously, with an eye to the ones who could.
"He -said- that she was threadscored and that the stitches had come out," Esten replies in explanation to Hattie with a fair bit of seriousness as the topic comes up. "I had a thought of asking you and Elaruth to check in on the two of them. I knew it didn't make sense, but we went along with it. Worse case that I saw that some parts of her hide were unoiled, but those are the parts more difficult to get to. It likely won't hurt to have someone assist him in the task. Maybe one of the candidates when they're here or one of the younger sort." To Norov, he nods in agreement to the other's duty rotation. "You did a good job, from what I saw." May as well state the obvious since there's no secret about this conversation.
"I... think we're going to have his current care reviewed by a Healer," Hattie thinks aloud, lodging the pen back in her hair. "And hers. Even if he's imagining that she's in distress, /his/ distress will affect her and... Well." It could end badly goes unspoken. "I'll have that looked into. If he's having difficulty caring for her, I imagine that he's been assigned assistance already. It won't hurt to have Elaruth check in with her every so often." The two piles of hides are left as they are, her selected design then balanced atop them and pinned down by a rough-cut corner of wood. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, however inadvertently," the Weyrwoman tells both Candidate and trainee as she rises. "I'll go speak with the Healers now."
Again there's that brief, appreciative smile Esten's way, and then Norov listens to Hattie in her turn, more closely than duty would require. As she stands, a step back takes him further out of her way, with a quick glance for anything left on the table that might have gone forgotten and a last, equally-polite, "Ma'am."
"Would it be best for me to accompany the senior dragonhealer when it comes to Saluth?" For all of the seriousness in the report, Esten does betray some concern on the green's care being revisited as he moves to stand on Hattie's preparing to leave. With a gesture to the papers, he asks, "Did you need us to keep an eye on those until you return or have them delivered?"
"No, the Journeyman will be back for them," Hattie assures of her weighed-down and left-behind hidework. "I'll let you know when I've spoken to the Healers and T'zhar, Esten," she promises, picking her satchel up from the floor. Is she being the tiniest bit mocking with her mimicry of Norov's tone when she dips her head and says only his name to him in return? Well, she doesn't stick around for anyone to call her on it.
When: 13:41 of day 18, month 12, turn 27 of Interval 10.
Where: Workrooms
What: Hattie hears about the rider and dragon that Norov and Esten looked after the other day.
There's the usual bustle in the crafters' workrooms this afternoon, one of the quieter corners of a cavern presently occupied by a tall man with a knot that identifies him as a Journeyman Woodcrafter, and the Weyrwoman, who sits opposite him at a bench that is covered with a collection of hides bearing sketches of what look like, from a distance, various sorts of boxes. Their talk is hardly quiet, suggesting that, whatever they're planning there, it's not a great secret, but at least they're not having to shout at each other over the rest of the workrooms' noise.
Esten doesn't quite have an entirely clear idea as to what needs to be done, only that it has to involve the jacket slung over one shoulder that bears the slightest signs of a stretch and preemptive tear. Spotting the Journeyman and Weyrwoman, the trainee dragonhealer's steps slow with something of a nod towards one or both. Just to observe out of curiosities than interrupting. Something that's clearly displayed on his features.
Hattie is midway through sentence when she spots Esten and acknowledges his present with a similar sort of nod. She looks back at the sketches then, seemingly about to carry right on talking, but looks back up again at the dragonhealer, as if remembering something. Something paired with a smile gets murmured to the Journeyman, who likewise smiles, stands, and departs for now, leaving the Weyrwoman to peruse the hides. Or not. "Esten, sit down, please," she invites.
Following the Journeyman's progress with a slight turn of his head while the other man passes, Esten looks back to Hattie with a few steps to close the distance between himself and the chair recently vacated. Setting the jacket beside him into an empty spot, he offers a smile with the slightest of bows as he sits opposite of the Weyrwoman before offering a greeting and question in one breath. "Good day. What can I do for you?"
"I thought I'd ask your opinion of the Candidates that you've seen so far, working in the Infirmary or otherwise," Hattie replies, tugging one of the sketches a little closer to her. Upon closer inspection, it's clear just what those various boxes are: designs for cradles, the one the goldrider favours composed of smooth, flowing edges. "Given that such work could involve the closest they've ever been to a dragon. It would be interesting to note their reactions," she goes on a little absently, attention shared between design and Esten.
Cradles may be the least likely thing that Esten can provide input on but the second? Ah, that he can assist with as he gives a shrug while leaning back into his chair. "Some are alright with the knowledge side of the situation. It's different when it comes to being face to face with a dragon. There's hope for the squeamish, but I haven't seen anyone over confident. There's that lad from the sea hold that seems to be a little too confident, but... I'm not too concerned."
Over in one corner of the caverns, Hattie and Esten sit opposite each other at a workbench that was recently abandoned by a Journeyman Woodcrafter. Hides are scattered across the tabletop; boxes of various designs and sizes sketched out, some looking more like cradles than others. "Too confident? As in 'going to steal someone's dragon' confident?" the Weyrwoman deadpans, unable to swallow down the smirk that surfaces on the heels of her words. "More seriously - as in he'll make contact with riders' dragons without permission?"
From one of the other interconnected caverns emerges a curly-haired young man with a candidate's knot, papers and a stylus in one hand. Though his initial look around is quick, taking in as much as he can, when back in motion his route is slower, not quite aimless, much as are his succeeding glances.
"Too confident in that he knows all of what I was asking him to do. He might be a bit of a know it all, but with the other chores ahead of them? I suppose that he'll work out - Impression or not," Esten admits with a firm shake of his head to the latter. "Surely, you've seen the sort in older healers. The pompous sort," he adds with a hint of amusement. He's not worried. Glancing towards the recent arrival, he notes Norov with a dip of his chin before looking back to Hattie. "I've met that former trader lass too. She's alright, from what I've seen. Nothing appears to be wrong on that score. Nor him," he adds, with a tip of his head towards the recently entered.
"I've seen that lot in young or old, Healers or not," Hattie states matter-of-factly, as she now starts to sort the remaining hides into two piles. "There's bound to be more than /one/," she drawls. "And anyway--" She glances up again when Esten gestures towards Norov, gaze following to find the Candidate, but there's not much on the recognition front going on there. "I'm sure 'him' has a name..." is rather dry, before she lifts her voice to call, "Candidate?" Probably about as polite as she can be without 'hey, you!'.
Surely it's the trainee's nod that catches Norov's eye, but it's the recognition that sends the tall candidate heading towards them with an eye for the table's contents... and then the man's companion. His pace slows, but Hattie hails, and he doesn't balk. "Esten," he greets upon reaching them. Those gray eyes pause, though, on, "Ma'am." Yes, his accent's unabashedly Boll. Yes, his chin is a fraction up, though no more.
"Norov. This is Weyrwoman Hattie. Not," Esten remarks with wry amusement as he uses his hand to indicate weyrwoman and candidate alike as he appears as comfortable in the conversation. The Boll accent isn't lost on him this time, given time to listen to the lad's voice this time around. "That I think she needs introduction. It's one of the things you learn first arriving at the Weyr regardless if candidate or resident."
If Hattie takes note of Norov's accent, all there is to let on that she's noticed is a few more moments of study that is usually considered polite. "Norov, then, is it?" she seeks to confirm, without just taking Esten's word for it. "Whereabouts in the region are you from?" No need to state /which/ region. She halts in the sorting of hides, one still in her right hand, held by its edges.
At the initial introduction, Norov slips a wry glance Esten's way: of course she is. But then the majority of his attention's back on the Weyrwoman, and his nod and his quiet voice carry due deference; "Indeed, ma'am. Easterly." He's straightened, with a careful ease to his tall frame that goes right down to the curl of his fingers about his own papers.
"Norov had asked me to meet with Saluth and her rider a few days ago," Esten explains, easing himself out of the lean against the chair to settle both arms against the edge instead. "He was sitting with them apparently for a time. I was relieved by one of the senior healers because, well, it was clear that she wasn't scored but the pair are a bit older than most. At least the sixth or seventh decade. He must have seen a lot."
Hattie straightens a little, shoulders easing back as she gives Norov another onceover, dissatisfied that she finds nothing new, yet that air of dissatisfaction is not that specific. "And are you finding the other Candidates to be... friendly?" she questions, head tilting slightly. "Esten here seems to think you're acceptable so far as interaction with dragons goes." Tact? What tact? As per usual, there's a pen lodged in the curls of her pinned up air, which is now retrieved and touched to the sketch she's chosen, 'this one' scrawled in its top right corner. "Are you saying he thought she /was/ scored?" That's for Esten.
Norov's nod is slight, a touch rueful, you-know-how-it-is: "As much as one unfamiliar with such things might expect," which is to say: mixed. He adds a brief smile Esten's way before tacking on an explanation for Hattie. "It was part of my chore rotation, elder care, and this particular elder had matters on his mind," as opposed to the candidate's running off with a rider of his own accord. And though he's not Esten, "His green /looked/ long-scarred, though I couldn't say whether it was Threadscore," that last added punctiliously, with an eye to the ones who could.
"He -said- that she was threadscored and that the stitches had come out," Esten replies in explanation to Hattie with a fair bit of seriousness as the topic comes up. "I had a thought of asking you and Elaruth to check in on the two of them. I knew it didn't make sense, but we went along with it. Worse case that I saw that some parts of her hide were unoiled, but those are the parts more difficult to get to. It likely won't hurt to have someone assist him in the task. Maybe one of the candidates when they're here or one of the younger sort." To Norov, he nods in agreement to the other's duty rotation. "You did a good job, from what I saw." May as well state the obvious since there's no secret about this conversation.
"I... think we're going to have his current care reviewed by a Healer," Hattie thinks aloud, lodging the pen back in her hair. "And hers. Even if he's imagining that she's in distress, /his/ distress will affect her and... Well." It could end badly goes unspoken. "I'll have that looked into. If he's having difficulty caring for her, I imagine that he's been assigned assistance already. It won't hurt to have Elaruth check in with her every so often." The two piles of hides are left as they are, her selected design then balanced atop them and pinned down by a rough-cut corner of wood. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, however inadvertently," the Weyrwoman tells both Candidate and trainee as she rises. "I'll go speak with the Healers now."
Again there's that brief, appreciative smile Esten's way, and then Norov listens to Hattie in her turn, more closely than duty would require. As she stands, a step back takes him further out of her way, with a quick glance for anything left on the table that might have gone forgotten and a last, equally-polite, "Ma'am."
"Would it be best for me to accompany the senior dragonhealer when it comes to Saluth?" For all of the seriousness in the report, Esten does betray some concern on the green's care being revisited as he moves to stand on Hattie's preparing to leave. With a gesture to the papers, he asks, "Did you need us to keep an eye on those until you return or have them delivered?"
"No, the Journeyman will be back for them," Hattie assures of her weighed-down and left-behind hidework. "I'll let you know when I've spoken to the Healers and T'zhar, Esten," she promises, picking her satchel up from the floor. Is she being the tiniest bit mocking with her mimicry of Norov's tone when she dips her head and says only his name to him in return? Well, she doesn't stick around for anyone to call her on it.
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