Fort Weyr - Storage Room
This room is filled with shelves, crates and boxes of dried goods, material, and other necessities of weyr life. The shelves are kept neat and tidy at all times and the floor has been swept clean recently. Occasionally a candidate or fosterling can be found in here cleaning and tidying, or checking for signs of tunnel snake or other pest infestations.


It's amazing the places that one can find to get respite from the bustle of Weyr life. The large storage room off the kitchens is normally quite busy, but right now it provides a peaceful refuge for Idralia under the pretense of checking over the stores of light bulbs on hand. Instead of doing this work, the crafter has made a comfortable seat in an out of the way corner using a crate and some linens. Perched there, Idralia is reading, a small headlamp serving for illumination as most of the glow baskets in the room have been left closed.

Near the entrance, a hissed curse disturbs the relative quiet of the storage room, followed soon after by a stronger string of invectives before the illumination increases sharply in that part of the cavern. Having dislodged a glow basket to free the luminescence, Mharen unfolds her long frame, a hand extending to lean against the nearest wall while she regains her bearings. Nudging the glows back together with the toe of a boot, the guard carefully replaces the basket, leaving its lid pushed far aside as she carefully moves toward the shelves. Gait ginger, it's a pause near the end of a row that brings Idralia's cozy little haven into sight. Mouth pursing into a frown, an eyebrow lifts slightly as she stares at the technician's setup. A careful pivot turns her attention to the contents of the shelf, however, and she busies herself with pulling down one of the higher crates to rummage through.

Idralia looks up as the guard stumbles in, her headlamp casting enough glow along the path to her little corner to make that stretch, at least, a trip-free area. The guard's frown elicits a matching lifted brow from the crafter, who inquires politely, "Is there a problem?" without stirring from her perch. A pause, then she offers, "Want to borrow the light? It's a lot sharper than what the glows can give you, especially in a confined space like this."

"Most people tend to prefer reading by the hearth, I would think, " remarks Mharen coolly. Hands tightening around the chosen crate, she lowers it to the floor with little trouble, squatting next to it to peer cautiously inside. Without glancing up, she waves a dismissive hand for the offer of the light, too focused on her search to bother with an immediate, vocal response. After several minutes of items knocking uselessly against one another, the tall woman sits back on her heels to exhale in frustration. The crate receives a glare that would promise a good kick to the side, if such an action were sensible.

"If the aunties would leave one in peace there, I would," is Idralia's relaxed response. "As it is, this is a much more peaceful place to read, and I'm well out of anyone's way." Though the offer has been declined the techie watches Mharen's search, which means the light stays focused on the crate. When the guard sits back the crafter asks, "I take it what you are looking for isn't where it should be?"

Mharen nudges the rejected container aside—gently, to her credit, before getting to her feet to try for another. "No, I'm taking stock of this shelf's inventory for sheer pleasure, " comes the sarcastic retort as she pulls another crate down to the floor. More rummaging follows; the contents rattle loudly from side to side as her hand sweeps quickly through the pile. "Do little shelves get filed with knickknacks?" the guard asks at last, grudgingly reluctant.

"There's no need to snap at me. You could have found that what you were looking for was broken, or there were fewer than you hope," Idra points out, voice still calm. She continues to watch the guard, since it's rather difficult to read with someone making all that noise nearby. At the question she shrugs. "Not in my experience, but it may be that someone sorted those out of the general clutter recently and tries to organize them by putting them all together in one place." Since her last offer of help was turned down the crafter doesn't bother making another, simply sitting there and waiting to see what the guard does next.

"If by fewer you mean 'none, ' you're accurate, " Mharen settles for saying after a bit. Having given up on her search, the guard restores the crates to their original locations, arms crossing impatiently afterward. Gray-green eyes cast a narrow glance at Idralia's sitting and waiting, expression bland. "Well? Shall I try to sing or dance? Surely your reading material, " a look over at whatever the journeyman had been reading, "is more riveting than my clumsy antics."

Idralia's reading material turns out to be schematics for electrical wiring of lighting fixtures, dry reading for most people. "If you feel like singing and dancing, by all means. I might recommend against the dancing, however, given the limited space for movement. As for my reading, I came here to read in peace. At the moment, peace is rather lacking. If, however, you would like some assistance, I would be quite willing to set aside my reading, which I am making no progress on anyway, and help you search for… whatever it is you are looking for."

"I'm not looking for anything, actually, " rejoins Mharen with a swift shrug. "I'll leave you to make progress on your reading." Contrary to her brush-off, she moves several paces farther away to tug yet another crate down from a high shelf, shoveling through it before finally spotting a box of small, mountable shelves stacked two rows up from the floor. Awkwardly folding her legs as she sits, lanky arms pull that container to her; a short search seems to yields something of appropriate length that's suitable for being mounted above a small hearth, stained a dark red. At any rate, she holds it up before settling it onto the floor with a clatter, shuffling the other crates around rather loudly as she replaces them where they belong.

Idralia snorts softly at Mharen's reply, shaking her head when the guard brushes off her second offer of help. "And dragons don't eat meat," she murmurs to herself, turning back to the stack of papers. She doesn't do much reading, though, since Mharen's moving around is just noisy enough to break her concentration when she's trying to puzzle out the notations. Since it is impossible to glance covertly with a light fixed to her forehead, the craft instead attempts to completely ignore the guard and stares blankly at the papers.

After more than sufficient shuffling and scraping, Mharen's errand into the storage cavern must finally be complete. She's hefted the little shelf-like awning up under one arm and is striding away from the boxes and crates, clearly intent on getting out as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, she neglects to leave Idralia an apology; on her way out, she does, however, push the lid back onto the glowbasket that she dislodged after entering.


'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.