Suggestions

Winter - Month 12 of Turn 2715
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rec Cavern
This large cavern is painted a pleasant shade of pale blue-green, with purple highlights along borders. The weyr's badge is featured in a twin tapestries hanging on either side of the entry. Directly inside the doors and to the right is an area with bookshelves and a long computer desk for the public computer. Several chairs line the desk so that people waiting for the computer may pursue other studies. To the left of the entrance is a sitting area with a chess set built into a table.

Along the wall to the left is a bar, set up against the storage closet. Tall metal chairs with bright purple and blue-green cushions line the bar; beside the bar is a pair of gambling machines. Prior to recent renovations, the bar was set up on the other side of the room in front of a huge mirror inset into the wall. Now that mirror is behind a slightly elevated stage featuring a piano recently built by the Harper Hall and transported to the islands. Several music stands and musician's chairs are stacked against the wall, for use when Harpers or weyrfolk desire to perform.

Along the wall opposite the entrance are dart boards, each with a set of couches and chairs nearby for relaxation between turns. And all throughout the room are sitting areas with similarly constructed couches and chairs, all featuring blue-green or purple fabric. Short, darkly stained wooden tables are centered inside each sitting area, for games, food, drinks, and whatever else weyrfolk need. Near the center of the room is a large, long table useable both for crafty pursuits or table tennis, and interspersed throughout the room are card tables with wooden, cushioned chairs.


It starts with a sneeze. A loud, gut busting sneeze and is followed by a crash that seems, by comparrison, baby soft. The source of the sneeze is Yasha, complete with kerchief in hand and pressed over her nose and mouth. The victim(s) of the crash are an assortment of books and sundry from the bookshelf Yasha stands near. She looks an interesting combination of miserable and embarassed as she gives one last fierce dab at her nose with that kerchief before mumbling a somewhat audible "Sorry, 'scuse me," to the room at large.

The look that drops onto that sneezing, miserable-looking creature is equal parts sympathy and 'eww'. R'sner takes a half-step to the side, putting distance between them while attempting to look as though that is not at all what he is doing. One of his hands, poised over the shelf as if in preparation of selecting a bit of reading material, is slowly retracted without it's prize and tucked into a back pocket. For safety, maybe. The "Are you contagious?" that flows right out of him without hesitation will have to serve as a greeting, even though it might fall far short of being anything like one.

Yasha sniffles once more. It's dramatic on the heels of 'danger, Will Robinson, danger!' … there might just be another one in the works! "Just the dust" She shakes her head for good measure before jutting a chin in the direction of the book R'sner had been looking to secure for himself. "That's a good one." Said with all the air of someone who just /knows/. And, you know, that it might detract from her faux paus. Then she's stooping to begin collecting those unshelved books.

Dubious. That is the expression on the weyrlingmaster's face as 'dust' becomes the alleged perpetrator for gut-busting sneezes. "Mm." But whether he believes it or not, R'sner seems to risk contamination by remaining where he is and, after a moment's hesitation and lifted eyebrow for her offering comment on his reading choice, reaching once more for the book he'd been after. "That is the hope." That the book will be a good one. But his tone is flat, dry and without real inflection. Is he joking? Is he not? His voice gives no indication either direction. Book acquired, it's tucked beneath his arm and, for all intents and purposes, he appears to be preparing to depart. A moment of hesitation, a brief scowling, and then he's kneeling and assisting in the collection of casualties.

Oh, does Yasha's face grow redder! She's keen enough to pick up on the (not so) subtleties, and glances up to him and then /at/ him as he joins her on the ground to pick up those books. "I read it a while ago. It's kind of interesting. A way to pass time, at least." A beat, then, "I can do this. You probably have less free time than me, sir." An even quicker beat, "Not that I have free time anywaysshe's seen to that." Begrudging, before better sense takes hold and sees her clearing her throat, "I mean… thank you, but really. I can mana" A second sneeze sneaks up on her though is snuffed in the crook of her elbow as she turns away from R'sner. Fortunately it's not quite as gut-busting as it's predecessor.

Books are gathered and dark eyebrows are raised, dubious looks transformed into flat looks of non-expression as Yasha rambles and R'sner collects. Or, maybe they are both collecting, though clearly she's the only one doing the talking for the moment. One book, then two, stacked and stuck into the crook of his arm, reaching for a third when that second sneeze takes Yasha by surprise. "Hm." And while that flicker of expression is definitely not pleasant (bordering on the 'ew, really?') at last he doesn't leap away from her. "Dust again?" Dry. Doubtful. Both eyebrows now employed into lifting and expressing what could be skepticism. Third book collected, he pushes to his feet. A moment of hesitation, and then he's offering his free hand out to the poor, unfortunate Yasha.

Yasha's embarrassment continues. "Yes." Maintained, though absent the ire that might otherwise come to someone her equal (perceived or otherwise). She looks to that hand as it's offered and after a moment of hesitation for /his/ benefit, she gratefully accepts his help up. Her own pithy haul of two books are carefully set back upon an otherwise now dust-free shelf before she's looking back to him. It's subtle in it's own way, but she takes that brief interlude to size the other up, maybe even collect herself because composure is found and instilled within her bearing. "Thank you. For the help. Were you looking for another book or just the one?". She doesn't state the obvious: She definitely made a mess of this particular bookcase.

At least there is no rubbing of his palm against his jacket, as though attempting to dispel dirt or germs, once Yasha is up and his hand is free. Instead, it is employed in the returning of books to the shelf, though R'sner doesn't bother to try and put them in any sort of order. That shelf's a goner, and he's not about to save it. "Just the one. Though I am open to suggestions." The measure of his person is either ignored or missed entirely, gaze turned to the ruined bookshelf. A moment later, and a similar appraisal is made of the brunette, mouth pressed into a thin line before he asks, "who are you?" in that tone of voice so often adopted by teachers trying to be nice but sorta failing at it.

"Depends on your taste in literature…" That, however, appears to be a moot topic as Yasha draws in a steadying breath come his tone and query. "Yasha, sir." She doesn't ask his name in return, which might suggest any number of things. As does the way she waits with slight apprehension for /his/ response.

R'sner's taste in literature shall remain unknown for the moment, other than the tell-tale book already selected (something fictional, with intrigue and adventure). At least he doesn't look particularly annoyed, though what emotion may be lurking behind the rather bland and neutral exterior is anyone's guess. "Yasha." Repeated, as though testing the name for durability. Or perhaps just for memory's sake. "What is it you do, Yasha?" A glance for the shelves, and then back. "Are you a librarian?" It's an honest question, truly. No sarcasm to be found there.

"Yasha," She confirms before self consciously rubbing the back of her neck. "I do whatever I'm told to do. Varies by the day. I'm—" She struggles to find a good, proper, useful way to describe herself. And, ultimately, she fails. "I'm no one - a resident. You wouldn't have cause to know me, sir." Despite the self-effacement, she dances rather eloquently around how he /would/ have cause to know her. "Today I get to play cleaner, not even librarian. Like books a lot but — no. No. Not a librarian.". Awkwardness for the win.

"R'sner," is the response for that 'sir', though he doesn't follow it with any sort of command to not address him with the title. "And that is a lie. No one is no one." Confidently said, but he does not elaborate further on what is potentially a deep and philosophical topic. Instead, there is a quick lifting of his hand and a point of his finger to her shoulder, followed rather swiftly with a "You're absent your knot," that isn't as much criticism as pointed observation. And perhaps question. Why is she not wearing her knot.

"The Weyrlingmaster, R'sner—sir, yes, I know." Yasha confirms that she knows who he is even as she lifts a hand to her shoulder while pointedly not looking at his. "I'm just a resident, sir… R'sner." Flustered now, she drops her gaze while still trying to re-assert her anonymity. "I'm not… I don't have…" Failing again, Yasha bites her cheek to stave off the utter frustration welling within her. Anonymity was most certainly preferred above all else. "I didn't think it mattered." Whether she wore one or not. And yet it most certainly helped her stay anonymous.

"'Just' a resident." Repeated in that dry, flat tone of voice that may reveal nothing at all about his thoughts on the repeated downplay of her value. R'sner's attention diverts to the bookshelf briefly, as if to peruse the titles of books that remain in general disarray. A deep breath, inhaled slowly and exhaled just as carefully; the kind that tends to be used to settle nerves or tempers or simply to buy a little time. "Perhaps it doesn't," for her knot. "I've no authority over you. Breathe. You're not in trouble."

Red once more touches Yasha's cheeks. There's work to be done, yes. But it's not to be done now, not without first getting R'sner's leave. "I know, sir - R'sner." The lack of authority over her. And yet? It matters. She shifts uncomfortably before managing to draw her gaze back toward his. "Is there anything I can do?" It's an earnest attempt to make amends for contaminating him and potentially insulting him, too.

Now there is definitely an aversion of his gaze, an avoidance of red cheeks that seems to make him more uncomfortable than anything else. Books. So interesting, laying there on that shelf in disarray. R'sner seems about ready to release her from her misery and just take his own leave, body inclined in such a way as to suggest movement is imminent. But the question brings him pause, head tilting ever so slightly to the left as his gaze slides from books to Yasha and back again. "Sure," he decides, a snap decision as his weight settles evenly once again. "Suggest a book to me, Yasha the resident. Your favorite. Or, if your favorite does not reside on this shelf, one in your favorite genre will suffice."

The redness goes just a tad pale at his request. It's most clearly not what Yasha had expected, and it throws her enough that she's left vulnerable and staring for just as long as it takes her to decide against lying to the man. She swallows once, and then turns to approach a different shelf entirely only to stand on tip-toes to retrieve a book from one of the higher shelves. She returns with the book, one not of fiction and adventure but rather one of philosophy and the inner workings of the mind, and holds it out to him. "It's… well… yeah." Succinct.

R'sner is patient and, perhaps contrary to the situation he's apparently put her in, not out to trap Yasha in a lie. So he stands where he is, waiting for the selection of a book and the return of the young woman and her book. He shifts enough to bring out a hand to accept it, glancing curiously at the title. A brief moment of surprise, and then a curl to the corners of his mouth that may suggest amusement. There one second, gone the next. "Interesting," and his tone may suggest that he means that honestly. "You have good taste in books." A flick of his thumb lifts the cover, allowing him a brief peek inside before the book of philosophy joins the book of fiction beneath his other arm. "Thank you."

Yasha is still anxious, even after his response. Her own is equally earnest. "Thank you, sir— R'sner." She stays still, too. Waiting… waiting for him to go his way before even daring to release a sigh and return to restocking those shelves… not without a sneeze or two to follow, but hopefully R'sner's long gone by then!


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