Where's Wilson?

Western Weyr - Living Caverns

Here is the center of Weyr life, the living caverns. These two main rooms were man-shaped from smaller caves, and are joined by a carved arch with depictions of dragons in flight and dolphins leaping in swirling waves. One room has many round stone and wooden tables and a stone fire-pit instead of a hearth. Over the round-walled, gas fired pit is a large conical hood made of polished bronze, with reliefs of dragons with their riders flying over ships guided by dolphins. This hood and chimney keeps the room smoke-free. Through the archway is an enormous hall, with long tables and benches, some carved from the rock floor, many crafted of wood. This room is a combination dining and meeting hall, and can seat over 300 comfortably. Above both rooms, angled shafts lined with polished metal bring in sunlight during the day. Electric lights also burn, day and night.

It's early at Western. Oh, so early. Zi'on is sitting at a table alone with a pile of paper in front of him. He's got a plate as well, with a breakfast sandwich on it and a couple of fresh pastries. And klah. He's got a whole pot of it to himself. He's looking especially grumpy this morning, though otherwise presentable, if still half asleep. He keeps poking at the breakfast sandwich, as if he does it enough time it will becoming appetizing enough to consume. Though it appears that the only things actually making it to his stomach is klah. Everyone once in a while the papers are shuffled a bit. It's hard to tell if he's working, or just pretending to work.

Another tray slowly slides across the table with a shaky hand, while the other lowers a heavy leather case onto the floor. S'rorn slides into his seat, a scowl resting comfortably upon his face to the point where surrounding folk turn their back in fear of getting some trader ire following them when they leave. Traders are scary folk. Make them angry, and you'll find tunnelsnakes in your stores and pests in your kitchen. The brownrider rubs his face, pushing the golden strands from his eyes before he takes up his fork and proceeds to stab at the slab of meat on his plate. He just stabs it with the fork over and over, a faint clink from the plate causing him to blink in unison. Rorn pauses, taking up his knife and he glances over to Zi'on. "Good morning, Weyrleader." He even manages a little smile at the very least, as he cuts up his food with an unknown level of joy.

Zi'on is too sleepy for pranks or anything at this point. Also too sleepy to shoo anyone away from him, even if they're brave enough to venture near him this morning. Zi'on winces at all the clinking, then peers at Rorn. "It's already dead, I promise." He mumbles. "Also, Zi'on is fine. You're not in trouble anymore, remember?" There's a sigh and he finally picks up his breakfast sandwich. A new leaf and all, Zi'on is trying to eat healthy! Sort of. Really he's just trying to fill his belly with something other than pastry in the morning. "I don't know how you can stomach so much meat in the morning. Maybe you're part dragon."

Now that the meat is suitably carved into thin strips, the brownrider scoops one up along with some veggies and proceeds to shovel his food into his mouth. On occassion, he'd glance up, bright yet tired eyes peering at the door way, down to the leather pack and back to the weyrleader. He covers his mouth with his hand as he leans back into his seat, "If I don't get this shipment history and records right, we'll be lucky if we even have that. There's a clear track of our stores, where we're getting them from, who's delivering them and who's receiving them. Problem is, they exchange more hands than necessary. I'm about to require an escort for the problem stock from the initial pick up all the way to weyr delivery." Nothing like nannies to ruin anyones party. Rorn stabs another piece of meat and begins nibbling on it, his sour look maintains it's presense.

Zi'on peers at Rorn while he rattles off this or that about his wing. "Eh? Did you come over here to talk about work?" He sighs then, abandoning his sandwich after only a couple of bites and picking up his mug. He blinks at Rorn. "Problem stock? Last I heard it was just a single crate that went missing. And the headwoman won't allow the transport riders to stock the stores. And the cotholders don't like the dragons near the farms on account of the livestock generally. But if you can shorten the path that would be great. But we don't have the manpower to babysit all the routes. So you'll have to boil it down to a few, I guess." Serious business. That is Rorn.

Looking for shiny things on the beach is also serious business and it's something the brownrider hasn't been able to do to unwind these past sevendays. Eating without having to hunt down your own food, cleaning it, quartering it, cooking it and getting rid of the remains before it attracts predators is another matter entirely. "The fruit crate is the only one unaccounted for. I couldn't imagine it lasting for more than another sevenday or two but still, it's missing and that can't happen again. I'll figure something out, if I can't have a body, I'll have to make fail-safe paperwork that requires an approval from every length of the journey we know who saw it last. It'll help narrow things down in the future." S'rorn takes up a small roll from his tray and begins to dip it onto his plate, soaking up the blood and broth from the meat before popping it into his mouth. He sighs, shaking his head while he glances slowly across the room from one side to the other. "Now if I can keep track of Wilson, then that'll solve two problems. He's never where I leave him and he always reappears so dirty. Never cooperative when you try to wash him." Tsk, tsk.

Was Rorn often on the prowl for his own food to kill and cook and eat? That's what livestock was for, and that's why even the weyr keeps so much of it. "Yeah… are you saying other stuff has gone missing as well? Shards and shells, I hope not. You may as well toss that one to the wind, at any rate. We've already more or less replaced it, so really the focus should be on prevention. Whatever you have to do. I don't much like the thought of more paperwork myself. In the case of the crate… personally I think it went missing -after- it was in the stores. At least that's what the headwoman seemed to convey." Zi'on risks a bite or two more of his sandwich before picking up a pastry. "Who's Wilson? Your feline?" Zi'on can only guess, from the lack of washing cooperation.

He wasn't always a rider, and hunting during the winter months in certain regions was never easy. Since coming to Western, he's slowly adapting to a more leisure way of life though some old habits die hard. "The packet I'm organizing will have less paperwork to it. It will collect the same information as the old, minus redundancy. It'll have an added spot where the different areas it passes through could put a location and date stamp so we can track it. If there's no stamp, someone's gonna pay for the shipment if it gets lost and that responsibility will be to whomever is the carrier. With dragons, it's not hard to close the gap." S'rorn scoops up another little bit of meat and juices before he continues. Apparently, Wilson isn't talkative these days. "Once it's in stores, someone should be taking inventory every sevenday, documenting what comes out and when. Also, we need to make sure the room can be secured tightly if we can't have a body to guard it. A good locking door makes a good difference… Wilson was a gift from Iris and Keelyra during candidacy. If I can find him, I'll introduce you to him."

Zi'on is a spoiled weyrbrat of the highest caliber. He spent his days when he was younger pulling pranks on the headwoman and the other weyrbrats, when he wasn't just out and out getting into trouble. Which is in part why he doesn't seem too concerned about the crate. He's thinking it was an elaborate weyrbrat prank. "Less paperwork? Well, that's good. I'll pass that along to Enka. I suppose it's about time someone looked over what we were writing down as a collective." Zi'on sips at his klah between bites of pastry. "It's the head woman's job to keep inventory. It's supposed to be checked twice a sevenday, though I'm sure she has someone do it for her. An assistant, like as not. Guards are posted at night, generally. Don't worry about what's already at the weyr, let me handle that. Focus on getting the transport in tip-top shape, then I'll let you solve the rest of the weyr's problems." He chuckles a bit. Then raises a brow at Rorn. "A gift? Not a feline then?"

S'rorn slowly nods his head. "When this is all settled out and things start going more smoothly, I'll be sure to gift that headwoman a whip. Put the fear in me and the other camp children well enough, it might work for her assistant." He leans back in his chair with his mug, the plate thoroughly cleaned off to the last drop of gravy and last sprig of cooked greens. After a sip is taken, Rorn grins. "No, no feline. I can't do felines. Sure, they're independant and they can hunt for their own food but they're too independant for someone what needs to work constantly. A canine requires too much attention but is willing to work for it. I don't trust Nyz with any animals, he'd likely accidently sweep them off the ledge if he's not careful with that tail of his. Wilson stays inside so he's usually safe. When I know where he is. Could be anywhere. Not good, he's too opinionated, more than likely causing an argument somewhere. Has a bad staring habit." Sip.

"She has a broom," Zi'on says about the headwoman. "It works well enough. She's old though. Easily out-runnable." Zi'on eyes Rorn, then. "Wouldn't that be a good thing? An independent pet if you're working all the time? Though I guess they might just… leave after a while. And not come back. Canines are okay I guess. But I don't have time for one. I don't think Suldith would like it, either. Suldith might mistake it for an easy meal or something." Zi'on raises a brow at the brownrider. "You're a weird guy. Fine then, keep your secrets. Just as like to find out he's some sort of… sex doll or something. And you keep him around for when your weyrmate is off working."

A soon as the choking coughing fit passes, the brownrider takes his handkerchief and cleans the edges of his mouth with it. He peers over to the bronzerider, his own brow raised in question. "Sex doll? They make those things? Why would anyone want one of those, I get along just fine without!" What kinda toys do you have in your closet, Zi'on! Perhaps, it's best for the country bumkin to not find out. Rorn picks up his mug, tilting it from side to side as he peers longingly at the meager amount that's left. With a shrug, he drains the last of the contents before adding the empty glass to his tray, and then pulls the leather bag into his lap. "Here's paperwork as I've managed to widdle down to without a little bit of irrelevant information." A stack a little larger than a dictionary. "I'm going to try to half it."

Zi'on blinks a bit at Rorn, then laughs. "Haven't you ever been in the back of that creepy trader's caravan? What sorts of things do you think he has back there?" Alas, Zi'on has not been able to afford much luxuries such as that until now. And now… he doesn't much have the time for them. "Lonely guys want them. Generally hermit holders, I would think. It's usually easy enough to find a willing lady at the weyr." Zi'on slides the pot of klah he's been hoarding over towards Rorn. There's a sigh as the wingleader mentions paperwork and reaches for his bag. "Ugh, at breakfast, S'rorn? I seriously hope you're not thinking of leaving that here. The transport papers other than personnel get reported to the weyrwoman. Besides, I've got meetings at Telgar right after this and then lunch planned with my mother. If you want me to take a look you can leave it in my office and I'll get to it this afternoon. Halving it is quite an ambitious goal."

"I don't intend on passing this onto you or the weyrwoman just yet. It's a disaster, unless you've got someone in mind you want to pun-Creepy trader caravan?" That got his attention. Competition is never good, only, his caravan won't dare bringing all they have to an island when there's so much turns of good business relationships to lose if they should. Still, why anyone would want things is an odd thing… Before curiosity gets the best of him, he pours himself another mug. "If I can half it, then there's more time to focus on the job and less wherry scratches for the sake of getting things done." The paperwork is shoved back into the bag, it can go into the hearth for all he cares but his own just got a thorough cleaning. He'll file it in the appropriate office container.

Zi'on looks relieved at Rorn's news that he's not going to be passing along the transport dictionary. "Whew. That's good. You do whatever you need to, then. As long as things are getting done and it's being tracked I don't care really one way or the other what the paperwork looks like." Zi'on wipes his beard clean and then starts on his next pastry. "Yeah. The one with the creepy old guy who smells like felines all the time." Zi'on leans back in his chair, nodding about the paperwork. "So did you ever end up doing that special thing for your weyrmate? Or did we put the end to that when we made you a wingleader?"

"It got a little sidetracked but perhaps it's for the better. I sent word back to my sisters for some supplies but uh, now they're turning it into this huge undertaking. I think I'm safer with the paperwork for now." S'rorn manages a nervous chuckle before going back to his mug. Yes, the mug, the only thing that wont betray him so long as there's something in it. "I'm thinking I'm going to just have to take her to meet them for a few days when this is caught up. That way she can see the caravan and my sisters will some sending their firelizards into my weyr. Nyzieroth thinks my dismay is hilarious so he encourages them."

Zi'on nods a bit. "She hasn't met your family yet? Though I guess I shouldn't talk, my ma never met Enka so long as we were together. Da already knew her. I'm surprised she doesn't have one in the oven, too, though. What with Iris being pregnant and all, you'd think she'd be chomping at the bit. Though I guess she might have other things going on that being pregnant would get in the way for." Like her craft or something maybe. Zi'on had probably enough klah for three people already. He'll be peeing every five minutes until it works its way out of his system. "Sounds good. Not the bit about the firelizards, though. Suldith mostly ignores them. Unless they try to nudge in on his kill out at the pens or whatever. The twins couldn't care less what I'm up to. They're 'at that age' ma says. So I don't have much trouble with privacy."

"I'm the youngest and the only boy out of thirteen, there's no escape for me." S'rorn pauses for a moment, before bringing his mug to his mouth. He isn't going to choke on this mug, it might be his last for the morning. The trader-rider glances over to Zi'on and opens his mouth to say something but he can't find the words. Poor brownrider might as well be a fish out of water. "I think we have plenty of time to worry about little ones. Right now, her passion is with runners and I don't want to take that from her. We're still young."

Zi'on laughs a bit. "That must be horrible. I'm the oldest out of my ma and da's brood. I have older and younger half siblings though. But my da did have a lot of girls. More so than boys for whatever reason." Zi'on grins then and laughs. "Maybe for now. We'll see how it lasts once Iris has her little one running about. Hopefully I don't have any more for a while yet. Ezio's going to be fostered within the next couple of sevendays, the poor little guy." It seems the weyrleader is also done with his mug. "Have you been to the lodge yet? It's out in the open market. You should come by later to have a drink or two. And tell us some good trader stories while you're at it."

"Haven't yet but at this rate, I'm going to need a good drink. As for stories, I got a fair share of those, too. From every hold and hall across Pern that I've seen. Some might even get me hanged." S'rorn chuckles a bit and begins to shoulder that leather pack of his, adjusting the tray so he can hold onto it long enough to be rid of the thing. He rises from his seat, knees popping a bit while he straightens up and he pushes the chair under the table with his hip. "Don't drain the place of the good stuff before I can get there. I know what meetings can do to a man and it's rarely good." Rorn chuckles and bows his head to the weyrleader before turning back to his lair more likely. Whereever it is Rorn's go with their odd Wilsons.

Zi'on nods to Rorn. "I'll bet you do. Tales about all the tail? Right? Right?" Yes, he's asking Rorn to tell them about all the ladies at the other holds and halls. Though he'll take the other stories, too. "I wouldn't worry about that. You better come with your game face, though. The lodge doesn't carry the fruity drinks like at the Tiki Lounge." There's a nod to Rorn as he heads off to do what it is that Rorn's do. Zi'on too, gets up, sending his plate off with one of the kitchen helpers before gathering up his papers. It's meeting time. Yay.

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