Fort Weyr

Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.
Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.

Morning is the busiest time and doubly so for a Weyr, with weyrfolk of all types trudging in to start their day. Riders are among them too, some already well awake from pre-dawn duties and others only just starting. Usually it means there’s a buzz of conversation and today is only marked differently by the hushed and tense edge to it. Why? Well, it seems the masterminds behind the latest “trick” have struck again! The decor has changed and the Living Caverns are bedecked with strands of gauzy material (cheese cloth, perhaps?) and woven strings bearing pieces of reflective bits of this and that; glass, no doubt, but with the edges carefully smoothed — probably remnants of some other project. NEVER MIND THE DETAILS! Th’ero isn’t exactly marvelling at the craftsmanship and thought here. No, the Weyrleader is glowering at the ceiling as though personally offended by this new development — and thus the source why everyone’s kind of tip toeing their way AROUND him and resuming their normal conversations over there.

The decor is gorgeous or so Zurii seems to think. She's been here for a time, initially conscripted to assist with the preparation and serving of breakfast. Her duties done, she's been tucked in a corner of the living cavern, perched on a bench, sketchbook in her lap, and pencil working at the particulars of the swagged fabric and glittery bits of glass - and are those mirrors, too? The sketches are evocative more than exact - but they are rather well rendered, all in all. She's pleasantly oblivious to the arrival of a less-than-pleased Weyrleader. Heck, she's forgotten about her breakfast; it's cold and congealed, abandoned in her fit of artistic inspiration. She's so focused that the tip of her tongue is sticking out and her brow is furrowed. Drawing is serious business.

Oh, it’s beautiful! And it definitely livens up the usual same ‘ol, same ‘ol walls! It’s not like the caverns haven’t been decorated before, oh no. The issue is that someone isn’t following RULES and that’s what’s put the Weyrleader in a mood (it might also be the ever present stick up his arse, but…). THIS doesn’t follow protocol or rhyme or reason! Th’ero doesn’t get it and maybe he could be talked around to accepting it, if it wasn’t for stresses gnawing at him. In other words? Regular day in Fort. Poor Zurii, too. Minding her own business until she falls prey victim to Th’ero’s searching look for the Headwoman or her staff (they’re all “busy”). Noticing the sketches, the Weyrleader turns sharply and approaches. Not right up to the girl, but close enough that when he speaks, his voice can be heard. “You, there,” he drawls, voice level and stoic. His features, unreadable. “Come here.” No please, no ‘if you would’. Just clipped, cold, order.

Looming masculine presences tend to register in the subconscious long before the conscious is aware. The fine hairs at the back of Zurii's neck rise and she, irritated, reaches back to brush them down - only to stop at the sound of that voice. Wide-eyed, she looks up abruptly, pencil falling still and tightly held. "Sir? Of course, Weyrleader-sir." She's quick in her dispensing of art things, pencil used to bookmark where she was in the book and the book itself being promptly folded to her chest once she's on her feet. Is she supposed to salute? Probably not, but she does it anyway.

Saluting does save her any further briskness, though Th’ero doesn’t relent entirely on her. While he’s not the tallest man in Fort at only six feet in height, his presence is enough to make up for it. He cuts an intimidating figure to some, even in his fifties; maybe it’s the severe way he ties back half of his grey-streaked shoulder length hair, or the full (but well groomed) beard. Definitely the lack of much warmth in those dark eyes or the grim, tight line of his mouth as he peers down at the young girl. SUSPICION! There’s plenty of that, even if it’s devoid from his voice it’s there in the way his eyes narrow and brows frown. “What is your name, girl?” he asks first.

She's not exactly of any kind of height, frankly; six feet? That's plenty tall, sir. Zurii blinks up at him, book hugged to her chest. For all that she's nearly sixteen turns, her hair and general softness just make her look that much smaller and younger. Also, the ginormous eyes don't hurt. She's not terrified, though. That's good! "Zurii, sir," is promptly chirped. "Did- did I do something wrong? I'm done in the kitchens for the day." Did she pick the wrong table to sit at? Did she get the wrong plate?!

Yes, that’s very good that she isn’t terrified. It’s also not good, because Th’ero is taking it as though she is trouble instead. What scale of trouble? Is what he’s trying to suss out. She’s young enough to be among the jokers, after all! “That would depend.” he replies cryptically, giving her another shrewd look over before pointing sharply upwards with his hand and a lone finger. “Do you have any involvement with this, Zurii?” His tone brokers no room for lying or funny games; he’s dead serious and wants answers.

Her fingers drum out a dull, tuneless sound on her sketchbook's cover. She catches herself abruptly and curls her fingers instead. Zurii is silent, gaze transfixed on the Weyrleader and his severity. Confusion builds and builds, hiking her brows into a worried configuration until, eventually, it breaks. "With- what? Sir?" But then she's tracking his gesture, eyes going wide again. "Oh! With that? No sir! How would I even get up there to do that?" Genuine befuddlement. "Flora's too tiny to carry a pencil, besides." Firelizard accomplice companion: implied. "It really looks nice, though!" Her brow knits. "You don't like it, sir?"

“There are ways.” Th’ero isn’t convinced that a group of teenagers couldn’t figure out how to covertly decorate an entire living caverns. Who said he figured she was working solo? There’s a brief moment of puzzlement for the name ‘Flora’ until he comes to the natural conclusion it’s her firelizard. THAT doesn’t help! He levels her next with an icy, flat look. Does he LOOK like he’s enjoying it? REALLY, Zurii? With a long suffering sigh, he gestures next to — oh no, her sketchbook. “Give that here.” he asks, with only a hint of politeness to take some of the sharpness off his next command request.

She might speculate under normal circumstances, but Zurii's mostly good about keeping her mouth shut to keep herself out of trouble (even when she did nothing wrong!) And especially when she's getting the Weyrleader equivalent of her mom's stare. "I-" she starts to protest, but catches herself; dutiful weyrfolk that she is, she grudgingly offers over the notebook. If opened and flipped through (particularly the most recent entries), one will surely find sketches and doodles of all of the assorted artistic tricks strokes of genius that have struck Fort Weyr in recent days. For her part, the teen is silent, chewing on her inner cheek a little while she looks at him and waits, pensive and just a little fidgety.

Th’ero does, in fact, flip open the book the moment its relinquished into his hands. He levels her with one more hard look that warns her not to do anything —stupid— suspicious. Then he’ll leave her to fidget and worry, while he pursues those pages at his leisure. It’s a given that he pauses longest over her sketches of the caverns current decor but perhaps he finds no concrete evidence in those completely innocent sketches. He sighs again, close to a disappointed sound following the hard - SNAP! - of the book being closed. It’s immediately returned to Zurii, probably pressed right back into her hands or into her if she’s not careful or quick about it. “You may return to your meal.” he remarks dryly, barely giving her a glance now that she’s out of his ‘hot list’ for suspects. No apology, no room for small talk. By now, she’s probably gained looks from others seated around (it’s probably a lot of sympathy and pity). She’ll be spared for now and everyone else as FINALLY one of the Steward’s attendants makes an appearance and Th’ero descends upon THEIR heads before they can escape him.

And the longer it takes, the more anxious she gets - though she tries really hard to fight the fidgets when she's aware of them. And then? Just like that? It's over. Zurii's sketchbook is returned a bit more forcefully than expected - but it is returned and she manages a quick, "Thank you, Weyrleader-sir." She enfolds her arms around the book and offers a quick bob of the head before she turns on a heel, red-faced and flustered - not even for being called out, but for all the muterings and looks from others. She might not be a suspect in this mad mess (or is she?!) but it's embarrassing. The would-be-artist retreats to her seat to quickly shovel food and, from there? To find a much safer place to draw!