Who F'inn and Maizin
What Weyrsecond F'inn conscripts a nameless, wholly interchangeable worker to deal with a clear and present danger.
When Winter, 2725
Where Fort Weyr - Center Bowl, Northeast Bowl

 

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Fort Weyr - Center Bowl
The wide center of the bowl is often bustling with activity as riders come and go. Off westward can be seen the entrances for the candidate barracks and the guest weyr, while to the east is a large opening that leads into the dragon infirmary. The bowl stretches off both to the north and to the south, where the sheer stone walls rise steeply to the sky.


It is much too early. It's the middle of the breakfast rush in the Living Cavern, but that does not lessen the groggy squint on Maizin's face press-ganged tapped into service helping lend manpower to the routine clearing away of accumulated snowfall from the night before. He'd surely much rather be one of those fortunate souls nursing a cup of spiked klah, or better still one of the blessed still snuggled deep within cozy coverlets dreaming of things far better than frigid-but-warming early morning winter air. The crews must have been at it awhile, though, because already much of the necessary areas are clear and Izi's crew in particular seems to be dwindling in the number of places shovels can be useful. This probably justifies, in the bundled up young man's mind at least, the lean on his shovel and the scan of his eyes across the bowl, expression enlivened by the blush of cold but otherwise just so bored with everything he sees.

F'inn is neither fortunate, nor blessed, a fact made clear when he steps out of the living cavern with a steaming mug of klah in one hand and an unenviable stack of paperwork in the other. It is far to early. Indecently early. And the bronzerider is clearly not pleased at /any/ of it. Unfortunately, he is on autopilot- his brain not yet awake enough to register that one should be paying attention when walking on icey thoroughfares. Coupled with the fact that he is trying to read the top page in his off-hand? Well, it leads to disaster in the form of what looks like either a very complicated ballet, or an extremely intricate boot scoot as he slips on a slick patch and nearly ends up spilling klah all over himself. NEARLY OK? For the most part, the klah goes flying off in a random, yet-to-be-determined direction. "For fucksake," is bellowed as he manages to keep the paperwork in hand and, after a bit of creative twisting, remains on his feet.

Hey, woah. Hey, WOAH. Blue eyes latch onto the steaming mug of klah first and the slight narrowing is probably jealousy; when a man doesn't appreciate his good fortune, others take note. Fortunately for F'inn, Maizin's potential for the grievous crime of klah kidnapping is vastly outweighed by his intense apathy. The latter is demonstrated by the way that he observes the whole complicated ice-skating routine that leads to the loss of the one good thing F'inn plainly had and the complication of every unhappy accompaniment. It flickers only the slightest smirk onto Izi's face, there and gone and he just leans a little harder on his shovel to watch the klah land at his feet, splashing as far as across his boot. "Six out of ten," he awards with a yawn, adding, "sir," in a way that suggests the word means as little to him as virtually any other. "Points for keeping your feet and your papers, but a seaman could've done better with the epithet." It's possible that the whole reason the young man said anything at all to the Weyrsecond is that his work crew leader happened to look his way just then, and if Maizin is talking to F'inn, he's clearly busy and not just idling while others labor on.

It's the sass that has F'inn slanting a glance at Maizin, one blond brow twitching as his gaze trails down to the klah coated boot. "Eight out of ten, at least," he counters. "Given that's probably the cleanest your boots have been in turns, eh?" Flashing a lopsided smile, a mild chuckle hums in his throat at the mention of seamen, the papers folded neatly in half as his attention turns to the empty mug in his hand. It is around the time that look turns baleful and slides back toward the entrance to the living cavern that he snorts and folds his arms over his chest. "Course, the whole thing could have been avoided had the walkway been properly cleared." And yes, his gaze flicks back to Maizin, his brow spiking higher as pale eyes slant a pointed look shovel-wards. "Wouldn't happen to know who is supposed to be handling that, would you?" And really? In all fairness? F'inn feels for the guy. Once upon a time, he had to shovel the entire Admin complex and all those blasted stairs. It was not a happy day, that much is certain.

Izi's eyes flick from the man to the boots in question, pursing his lips. "I don't know, sir. Man with a knot like that probably gets a lot of people giving him the points he wants just because he says he deserves them." The younger man might be wearing only a resident's knot but the tone is a pot speaking to a kettle, though he's surely too young to have ever worn a knot quite so elaborate as F'inn's. Still, he has to consider the boots. "If that's so, and mind, that sound more like a bribe to the judge," which seems to make his lips twitch ever so slightly in amusement, "then you ought to have a word with your Headwoman about the state of your stores, but this morning surely hasn't helped." Indeed, Izi is no longer dressed the vagabond, but his things are probably the most hand-me-down items in the stores and everything is a little large and saggy on him. The boots— are muddy, scuzzy, and, if nothing else, less icy for the donation of klah. "But no, sir, I don't know. They don't really tell me anything. I just hold the shovel and do what I'm told." And if F'inn believes that, surely Maizin has a ski lodge in Igen to sell him; the intelligence in his eyes belies the claim of simple laborer status.

F'inn can't help laughing at the first. How could he? It's a fair point and pretty right on the nose. "Touche," he murmurs with an absent wave of the now empty mug. "Mind you, the fancy knot pretty much assures that the bribing of judges is not particularly necessary. But it is /always/ good to know which judges might be open to bribery." It's the rest that has him quirking a dubious brow, pale eyes slanting toward the men who are actually working before slipping back to the man who is most assuredly /not/ working. "Is that so. Well then…." Raising his arm, he makes a gesture at the man leading the work crew before calling. "I've a task for this one." Of course, the announcement is met with a scowl for Maizin and a nod for F'inn before F'inn's attention is sweeping back to Maizin. "Come with me," he instructs before taking a step toward the Northeast bowl. "And bring your shovel," is added without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

The younger man's look morphs back toward a boredom that manages to look put upon, not by the rider, particularly, but rather by everything in the world. It's probably exhausting to be Izi. "This sounds distinctly less enjoyable than a bribe," Maizin observes, not missing the ominous note of destiny pervading the exchange between F'inn and his for-the-moment boss. As previously noted, however, the size of the bronzerider's knot is effective here in brooking no actual protest from the chilled young man who hefts his shovel only enough to keep it from dragging and dutifully follows along. Okay, maybe it's more resignedly than dutifully, but even Maizin's resignation lacks in vibrancy because that would just be too much energy wasted on the inevitable.


Fort Weyr - Northeast Bowl
The northern end of the bowl can be an intimidating area, being that Fort is the largest weyr. The far north wall contains the gigantic opening to the hatching caverns, and to the west of that can be seen the sprawling ledges and carved stair cases that mark the way to the administration complex and the training grounds were candidates and weyrlings can often be found. The west cliff wall towers up, dotted here and there by darker openings that mark individual weyrs before it tapers to a point at Tooth Crag.


"It does," F'inn laughs. "Doesn't it?" Without glancing over his shoulder to make sure Maizin is following— he's absolutely sure that he is— he continues toward the Northeast bowl with a relaxed stride. "Look at this way," he offers. "It's bound to warm you up long before you are done." The comment is coupled with the klah mug raising up to gesture at the massive amount of ice-covered stairs stretching up to the Admin complex and training grounds. "All of that," he notes with a wide sweep of his arm. "Represents a clear and present danger to residents of the weyr. The stairs, all the stairs, need to be shoveled, the ice chipped off and sand thrown down. It would be," he adds as he finally turns to regard Maizin directly. "A shame for anyone to slip and fall wouldn't you say? But, you seem fit enough. I'm sure you will have it all knocked out before close of business today."

"'A clear and present danger,'" Maizin repeats markedly monotone. "Sounds like the province of dragonmen, if you ask me." Not that F'inn asked him for an opinion, just a service. The shovel finds earth and Izi leans. "Can't help but notice, sir," and this time the word 'sir' holds a deep, sardonic humor, "that I'm not exactly under your chain of command, as these things go. Is it typical for you to conscript residents to do your bidding?" The tone of the question is much too bland for all that the words themselves are challenging. It doesn't change that after a pair of beats of looking at the Weyrsecond, he hefts his shovel and makes move to get to work. It's only then that he adds, "I'm a volunteer," voluntold, "to this crew, sir. I have my regular duties this afternoon." But then, F'inn didn't ask before. "So you'll need to send someone to take over if you want it all finished."

F'inn tilts his head as he slants a glance toward Maizin. "True enough," he provides as he glances back toward the stairs. "But consider this? I have to go all the way back to speak to the steward and the headwoman, the sun will get higher and the ice will start to melt. Of course, given the temperature, it will promptly refreeze very soon thereafter. Not really likely to make it a more pleasant task. But," he adds in surprising pleasant tones. "If you are under the belief that they will not simply assign someone to cover your regular duties? I'm more then happy to walk back with you and discuss it in depth with them?" It's the last that has him folding his arms over his chest, his gaze sweeping back to the impressive amount of stairs. "If, however, you prefer not to bother with all that? I could likely see my way toward having the crew you had been 'working'" And he uses that term loosely. "With come and assist once they are finished the central bowl. Up to you."

The shovel pauses mid-motion and Maizin casts a glance over toward the Weyrsecond, lifting his shoulders in a rise and fall and one gloved hand coming off the shaft to make an 'as you like' gesture. "If you really think that's the best use of your time, sir. Seems to me yours ought to be more valuable than mine if only by reasoning of salary alone. Or maybe because apparently I'm thoroughly interchangeable in my capacity and there's only one of you." Now, Izi flashes a perfectly pleasant, perfectly charming, perfectly false smile up at the Weyrsecond. "But I don't mind trekking back and forth to the steward and headwoman. Unless, you meant to go without me, in which case… well, I can't say I mind that any more or less." Does he really mind anything at all? Surely, something, somewhere, he must care about. Hopefully F'inn won't make it his business to find out. The work resumes, but Maizin is apparently no less moved by F'inn's call of his bluff and will try for the reverse.

F'inn nods slowly as he listens to the counter-argument, pale eyes sweeping down to the empty mug in his hand. "Well, I do need more klah," he decides. "And it's getting close to the time I pick up the kids from the nannies. So. You," he affords as he switchs the mug to the other hand and attempts to clap Maizin on the shoulder. "Just keep right on shoveling, eh? I'll stop and talk to the crew leader you were working with and have a chat with the headwoman, as well." Really? He's just not that eager to get back to paperwork despite having gotten up early to do so. "Take heart, though," he adds as he steps back with the intent to head right back the way he had come. "I'll be sure to bring you a thermos of klah on the return trip." Cause he's just that kinda guy.

Of all people, Maizin is not one to throw shade for making a multi-purpose trip. That's a net of less energy spent on… well, everything. "Yes, sir," subtly smacks of false timidity, something not echoed in the least in his body language as he continues the work set him. At least he's not being overtly lazy about it, just… bare minimum to make the grade for 'this counts as work' (and possibly only because F'inn is still right there). "As it pleases you, sir." He doesn't look up again though, perhaps to drive home the point that nothing of what he says now will make any difference to the future course of events.

"Perfect," F'inn declares in tones that are just disgustingly chipper. "Keep at it then, I'll be back with a thermos for you." Eventually. Of course, there will chatting with the foreman, playing with his most adorable children, possibly getting snacks, talking to the headwoman, drifting over to the infirmary with the kids to visit his weyrmate.. THINGS… before he can make it back, but still. Eventually, he will be back. To add potential insult to injury he's avtually whistling as he makes his way back toward the Center bowl.


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