[PRP] Firestone and Candidacy (Ameliah and Jalarus)

[Waiver]

Every time she made a delivery here, Ameliah was set on edge. It was always such a conflicted feeling to walk the halls and tunnels of High Reaches Weyr after a transaction. Sure she'd been paid handsomely for the shipment of firestone... but there were so many memories of the past that she inevitably wandered the Weyr incognito for a bit.

All around were riders dressed in their leathers, their rank knots proudly displayed on their shoulders.. and the Weyrfolk bustling about or gossiping in corners. It was... not what Amelia wanted for herself, to be wrapped in that world of intrigue and politics. Sharath had made that even more difficult, and even now the grouchy gold was perched among the spires of High Reaches, opposite the Senior Queen's weyr, observing the movements below.

Dusted in dirt and grime, a pair of gloves and a small hammer-sized pick at her side... Ameliah looked every bit the miner she was. And she was hungry. She made her way in to the mess hall and found a seat in a quiet corner - the shifts of the riders hadn't released for lunch yet so it wasn't terribly packed thankfully.

When it was, sometimes people would recognize her. She preferred when they didn't.

Munching of a warm loaf and sipping a large mug of klah, Ameliah closed her eyes and listened to Weyr, imagined the rock all around her... the weight and strength of the mountain that sheltered the dragonmen. Her smile was a quiet, private one as she leaned back in her chair and let he head rest against the stone wall.

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

Waiver

Wasn't sure how to get them talking so...

Jalarus had been released from his duties before lunch. He'd been up since well before dawn, having first helped in the kitchens to make the days bread and stoke the fires, but then later had helped unload a few shipments that had come through. The first had been some supplies from a local caravan, which meant re-organizing and re-ordering the lower caverns; older supplies were brought to the front, and newer ones placed behind. This helped reduce spoilage and also let the Headwoman and her assistants take inventory. For Jalarus, it meant a lot of running around. Then, once that had been unloaded, a trader came in with some firestone, so he'd been moved to help assist unloading it. Given he was one of the stronger men of the Weyr, he found his days usually revolved around the more physically demanding tasks of the Weyr. Thankfully, his day was his to call his own, and there was time enough for him to spare a few minutes for an early lunch.

It was just as well, really. He didn't care for crowds, and certainly didn't care for them after a hard day's work.

Settled off in a far corner, he glanced up when an unfamiliar woman sat down at a table nearby. She looked familiar, and it took him a moment before he realized she had been the trader to bring the fire-stone. He had just been a grunt doing grunt work, but now he could at least place her. A gold rider. Huh. He did't say anything, mostly focused on finishing his meal, but once done he did steal another glance. The woman had her head rested against the wall, eyes closed; was she just tired or was she ill?

"...You all right there?" He finally asked, not really sure if he should bother her or not. If she wasn't well, he could get her to the Healer's station if necessary. If she was just resting... well, then he was a tool for bothering her, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.
 

[Waiver]

Someone's voice broke through her moment of meditation and her eyes popped open, taking a moment to focus on Jalarus. She blinked, a sheepish grin settling onto her face, “Ah... yeah. Mostly. Just weary from a long day.” She set up properly and held her mug in a momentary salute, “Thanks. Weren't you one of the hands helping with the Firestone load today? They finally let you out hey?” She grinned, “Hopefully they're not working you too hard... are a Candidate?”

It was hard to tell sometimes and the Weyr used an awful lot of youthful labour when their Candidate barracks were full. He didn't seem confused to startstruck by his surroundings to maybe he was Weyrbrat? “How are things going here? Seems like the ranks have tightened up since Threadfall returned... have tithes been regular?”

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

Waiver

Jalarus felt his ears flush a bit when the woman's eyes flew open, and he almost ducked his head down in sheepishness for his misunderstanding, if she hadn't smiled. He was relieved she didn't seem overly irritated by his query, and not ready to cuff his ears, or chew him out. He was only the help, after all, and if High Reaches taught him anything, it was that gold riders meant business. It didn't matter if she was unaffiliated with the Weyr... What surprised him was when she recognized him, and even spoke with him.

He wasn't an anybody, really, but he supposed she wasn't native to High Reaches, either.

"Yeah," he grunted when she asked about being released. "The nice thing 'bout the early shift, I suppose. They don't work you all day." The early mornings were unpleasant, especially if he'd been drinking, but at least it meant he had the rest of the day to himself.

Her next question did cause him to reach up and rub the back of his neck. That's what they always liked to think. "Er...nah. Just the hired help." He didn't want to confess he'd aged out, as if that was some slight against his character. It had been foolish for him to agree, to have gotten his hopes up... But it had given him purpose, when he'd had none. After Kharin's death, he had floundered, continued to flounder. Candidacy had been good for a while, but now... he didn't even have that. "Tithes have come in regularly enough, far as I know. Any arguments or objections don't last too long.
Everything runs nice and orderly like." He shrugged. He wasn't really privy to all of the workings of the Weyr, but as far as he could tell High Reaches didn't take crap from the Holders. The fights and arguments he'd seen over tithes, and the rumors spread about the Weyr, usually ended with the Holders grudgingly giving in. But he didn't ask, or see, details. He just unloaded the shipments when they made their way to the Weyr.

"How's life outside the Weyr? I reckon your business is good." Firestone used to be a mostly dead industry, outside of High Reaches. Sure, it was used by many for general use, but now, with Thread, all the Weyrs were clamoring for it. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask, but... well. He was just making conversation, and that was rare enough. He just felt rude falling quiet, especially speaking to a gold rider and all.  

[Waiver]

She nodded when he spoke to the benefit of early mornings, laughing a bit, “Yeah, I had a love-hate relationship with walking these halls before sun up. Most of the day free, but those winter mornings have an awful bite sometimes right?” Ameliah's grinned easily and winked.

“Nothing wrong with being the hired help, different sort of politicking but generally less frustrating, I think.” Ameliah sometimes missed the simpler version of life... she could tell he was a little nervous and it was likely because he knew her to be a goldrider. That, among many other reasons, was why she had left – having a basic conversation without someone freaking out about the kind of dragon she was bonded to had become rarer, made visits to High Reaches a little more awkward. At least the Weyrwomen hadn't hunted her down for a conversation yet, she always felt like a scolded child when she was summoned to those offices.

“Life's somewhere between wonderful and horrendous, to be honest.” Ameliah's light mood darkened a bit as she thought over their recent travels, “People have let greenery over run their land, or built with wood and the Thread has devastated many places. They're such ugly wounds in the land and the survivors aren't in the best of positions to deal with it. They all want firestone, yes, but it's not a pleasant sight. We're lucky we have shelter in the Weyr if we need it, others aren't so fortunate.” She pressed her lips together a moment.

“Still, I don't regret striking out on my own. Sharath and I don't fit in too well here.” Ameliah's grin returned, a sort of rebellious secret implied in the way she spoke. If she was honest with herself, she was proud of the infamy she carried in High Reaches – the goldrider and gold who could be made to conform. It was old news now and the drama of the Weyr had long since moved on to other, juicier commentary but it was still something she held her head high about.

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

SkieBorne

Jalarus listened to the other in his usual quiet fashion. He had never been a particularly outspoken or well-versed man; he had grown up knowing that his entire duty was to fight, and make marks however way he could. He'd bettered adjusted in his almost ten Turns at High Reaches, but casual chit-chat or long-winded conversations would never be something he could do easily. As far as he was concerned, nobody really cared what he had to say, and that was probably for the best. Who was he? Just hired help. A nobody.

When the woman grinned and winked at him, he gave a little grunt of agreement, and glanced back down at his plate. He wasn't necessarily a shy man, but besides Roknhin, he just felt rusty and a bit strange.

"Nothing wrong with it, no," he agreed in his usual apathetic manner. Still, there was that twinge in his heart, and that twist of his gut as the words escaped him. No, nothing wrong with being a walking jar opener; nothing wrong with having no purpose but being a pack mule. Still, the man had come to the realization that not everyone's life would be glorious or glamorous. Sometimes, all a person was meant to be was an accessory or side note. "Less obvious drama, and an easier life, sure," he agreed out of politeness. "We all gotta' support one another, I guess," he added. A rider didn't often have time to cook or clean when they were busy caring for their dragon, or training to defend the planet from Threadfall. A Weyr wasn't just dragonriders -- most of the population came from those who supported the riders, cared for their children, and kept the entire system from sinking. Jalarus was just one part of a far larger machine, and he could not really begrudge his role, could he? If he wasn't doing this, then he'd be out in some mercenary troupe, and quite frankly, he wasn't sure he could handle that again.

When the woman mentioned the horrors outside the Weyr, he gave another grunt, and glanced down at his plate. "Guess that sounds about right. Everyone's still scramblin' to return back to the old days, but I dunno how far back it'll all go." He shrugged his broad shoulders again, and heaved a large sigh. Times had changed since Thread had last returned; the planet still needed some places to be green and ripe with life -- how else would crops grow to feed the people and animals of Pern? Not everything could be built with or under stone. "Guess we can only do our best with what we've got, eh?" There were hard answers and trying times; a person could only do what they could to try to make a difference in the world, and to ensure the population lived another day.

Thread would only get worse and worse. If the Weyr's didn't get prepared now, then the planet could well be doomed.

"Well, if'n yer happy in your lot than I guess that's all that matters, yeah?" Not everyone liked High Reaches style, but Jalarus had little opinion. It was a place, just like any place; it fed him, clothed him, housed him, cared for him. It was a far cushier life than he'd grown up experiencing, and the hierarchy and order didn't bother him. Rank had always been a way of life in his troupe, so it was no different here. "Not all riders are meant for this, I guess." Different strokes for different folks.