Eastern Weyr - Galleries
The Galleries consist of a multitude of rows, cut into the rock of this vast cavern. The heat here is stiffling any time of year, but the breeze coming in through the open roof high above makes it bareable. Sheltered from the coast's weather, this cavern looks out into it but rarely experiences any of it. Stairs lead down to the Commons Cavern, from one side, while at the back of the galleries there is a passage way leading out to the treetop dwellings. Far to the other side of the galleries are several stairs leading up to the multitude of ledges where the dragons and riders view the hatching. The cavern has lost the added illumination of daylight, so the only light comes from the multitude of papercovered electric lanterns that cast their cheerful warm colors on the galleries and the rest of the cavern. The cooler weather of winter has finally arrived on Eastern Weyr. Plants and animals resting and relaxing from their high production seasons and surviving through the late autumn early winter storms.
Through the open roof of the cavern, high above you can see glimpses of the weather outside, though are safe from it.
As has been her quirk on and off for the last couple of sevendays, Arolaeth is sprawled out on the empty hatching sands, fast asleep. This leaves Syra using the empty galleries as an impromptu office; she's taken over the bottom three tiers and covered them with both hides and papers both. She's bent over a notebook, making furious notations all over the page.
Fiona looks more than a little confused as she makes her way up the gallery stairs and over towards Syra. Her face is clean, so either she wasn't working, or she took a moment to clean up before seeking out the goldrider, "You sent for me, ma'am?" Her posture is nearly rigid it's so straight as she waits for Syra's attention. You don't rush a Weyrwoman kneedeep in papers. Ever.
"Hmmm? Oh!" Syra looks up from her papers at Fiona's arrival, brows furrowing a moment until recall dawns. "Yes, I did. If you've a moment, I hear you're the girl to solve all my problems." She flashes a professional smile, then leans over to dig onto the satchel resting against the tier. "Here." One of Pern's precious cellular phones is held out for inspection. "It's stopped turning on; I'm afraid it might have had too much sand."
Fiona's brows arch in clear surprise as the cell phone is revealed, "I haven't seen one of those outside of the classroom." She takes a moment to school her expression to something more professional before she nods, "I am qualified to work on them." She reaches for the delicate, expensive piece of equipment, "I know it sounds stupid, but I have to ask: You have been keeping it charged, yes?"
Syra sits back as Fiona takes the phone, folding her hands carefully in her lap. "Yes, well. I've had a pair for turns and turns, now. This one was maintained a few turns back in Landing, battery replaced and all. It was charged this morning, and the connection seemed alright." She lets out a low sigh, gesturing out towards Arolaeth on the sands. "I've been putting rather a lot more use on it, since she's been doing— what she's doing."
Fiona takes a moment to inspect the phone, turning it over from every angle, wiping some sand out of bits here and there, then carefully disengaging the battery to clean the contacts, "You seem to keep it in wonderful condition. But it's definitely possible the sand here got into something." She casts a soft breath along the battery casing to clear any last grit before returning it to it's place and trying to turn the phone on again, "Is that normal behavior for her? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"What's normal, when it comes to Arolaeth?" The weyrwoman's mouth quirks in gentle amusement. "She's being very cagey about this business; insists it's because of how warm the sands are, but…" Syra shakes her head, returning her attention to the phone in Fiona's hands. "They /are/ precious, you know. I try to take care of them as well as I can… it's still such a strange thing to me, sometimes, to think of what those can do. We parts of the electrical system installed when I was a girl you know."
Fiona shrugs slightly, "I'm only recently posted, really. I don't have a good head for dragon behavior." She runs a fingernail along all of the edges, checking for cracks or dirt, "Most of the folks who have these are Lord Holders or Craftmasters. Some of them take better care than others." She frowns at the still not-functioning cell phone and pulls the battery again, tapping her feet in what seems to be a careful count before returning the power source, "I sometimes forget it's so new. But one of the required classes at the Hall for first year apprentices."
"You've got what, twenty-three turns? Twenty-five? Not weyrbred, I take it?" The phone is forgotten as Syra turns to stare out over the sands at her lifemate. "You would've been a little girl the last time she went up; I don't suppose you know any better. None of them rise very often, anymore." With a shake, she banishes the maudlin recollections and picks the thread of the conversation back up. "The Eastern Weyrleaders were some of the first to get them, did you know? Since Landing is beholden to us. Most of the Weyrs maintain one, though it's not quite as necessary since, well, you know."
"Ah, twenty-one, ma'am. And craftbred, mostly. My parents got re-posted every few Turns. There were a couple of Turns here and there in Weyrs, but my parents tried to, as they put it, protect us from the Weyr's promiscuous ways." She fiddles with the battery, settling it securely into it's appropriate position and holds down the power button again, "Eastern often gets the first share of new technology. I just honestly didn't expect the cell phones to still be functional." There's a little bit as the contraption finally turns on, "Ah-ha! Yes, there was some sand on the contacts that managed to work its way in a bit. I think so long as you take the battery out ever night and clean it with a dry towel you should be okay." She offers it back to the Weyrwoman, "Most of the Weyrs maintain equally disused radios, as well."
"Ah, fantastic!" The smile that blooms on Syra's face is genuinely grateful. "I knew you were just the girl for the job; I really didn't want to have to head out to Landing for such a little thing." She takes the phone, turns it over twice in her hands, then deposits it back into her satchel. "I'll remember to do just that." On the sands, Arolaeth shifts and lets out a low rumble. The first of her eyelids flicker open, and she starts going through her waking stretch ritual. "Promiscuous ways, mm? And how do you find ours?" Is Syra teasing? Maybe.
Fiona grins, "It's my job, ma'am. I'm specialized in maintenance for a reason." Her attention turns immediately to Arolaeth as the gold shifts, blinking a few times before she turns back to Syra, "I find that it varies more from individual to individual than to be constant in the place as a whole. Not that I haven't had a few… unpleasant encounters, but for the most part things seem to have settled to a normal ebb and flow."
Arolaeth gives a final stretch, then lumbers towards the galleries with a loose-limbed grace. "It really does. It helps, not having a lot of active queens rising all the time; it was much worse during the pass, I think, when you had one going up every few months. They /are/ quite a bit louder than the greens." The weyrwoman begins compiling her papers into a couple small stacks, purposefully not looking over towards the inquiring gold. "There's no excuse for unpleasantness, though. If anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, please do tell me." Beat. "Or Azura, I suppose, but better me. I'll take /care/ of it."
Fiona nods slightly, "I was here for Svetlanath's last fight. It was… fascinating. Thankfully, I have private quarters. And I place me trust in some of the older riders who are past the heights of their passions." She nods once more, though it's clear she's a bit less comfortable with the track of conversation, "I, thankfully, have had no worse trouble than naked folks in the public baths, which I'm told is fairly normal. Just not something I'm quite used to. But I'll be certain to let you know if I run into any troubles." Azura isn't mentioned. Fiona is a practical, efficient person and Syra's not the only one that has noticed a lack of efficiency in the senior queen, "That being said. I Have rounds I need to finish, if I may, ma'am." She waits for approval before taking her leave, but it's a leave that must be taken.
"Oh, of course! Yes, please, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you're quite in demand." Syra lets out a short laugh, complete with shooing gestures. "Thanks again for the help, Fiona. We appreciate it. I'll let you know if I have any more problems with it." Papers gathered, she rises stiffly and moves to tend to her insistent dragon, who's large head is looming closer and closer into the galleries.
Fiona bows politely, "Call on me if ever I can be of service, ma'am." Her gaze flicks briefly to Arolaeth, then the journeywoman turn to take her leave, back to her regular tasks and meetings.