Xanadu Weyr - Craft Complex
This large area has been painted a soft cream with dark orange trim used as an accent. It's separated into a variety of smaller sitting areas, couches and chairs organized into rings and squares, tables set where they can be used easily. Recessed electric lights in the ceiling provide a warm glow, and a row of angled skylights on the eastern wall above the entrance give some natural light when bleary crafters first emerge. There's often a cart with klah parked off to one side to help with waking up or finishing that important project - or simply to be enjoyed with comfortable seating and good company.
Along the southern edge, an open archway leads to a library of books and records. There's something for every craft, it seems, from tomes of caprine diseases, to Pernese history and law, to gemstone identification, to sheet music, to sea charts and herbal manuals. There's even a few works of fiction, though none of it seems very well organized. Whatever is sought, it's probably here… somewhere. A few desks for studying are tucked in amongst the shelves, each with a lamp to illuminate the reading material. Near that archway, a long table holds a row of computers. They're connected to databases all over Pern, and are available for general use except when the computercraft requires them.
To the north, a pair of double doors open onto a grand hall, the vaulted ceiling designed with acoustics in mind. This space is used for lectures and concerts, rows of benches set up to face the front. Along one wall, instruments hang free or on shelves for anyone with the appropriate skills to use. There are often harpers here, practicing their craft.
A pair of hallways lead back from the western wall, one going to the apprentice dorms and the the private quarters for the ranking crafters posted at the weyr. The other provides access to the various workshops.
Disclaimer: nude art discussed.
One doesn't need the Xanadu Clock Tower to tell the time if one knows what to watch for. In the Craft Complex, this includes the subtle shift in energy, the dip and distraction as lunchtime draws near and foot traffic slowly begins to pick up in the thoroughfare that leads from the various indoor craft rooms out to the clearing or through the caverns on a rainy autumn day like today. Cutting through these familiar caverns is the less direct route, but one way to stay drier for some portion of the journey that must eventually take F'yr outdoors. But passing through is not the bronzerider's only goal today. In fact, he's pulled himself off into one of the larger comfortable sitting areas, face to face with one of the teaching harpers, having a conversation… with only their hands. The gestures fly faster from harper but the responses from the Quasar bronzerider are not much slower. After some moments there's an exchange of smiles and a pat to F'yr's shoulder from the older man before he's vanishing into the trickle of people heading the roundabout way to lunch while F'yr moves to the nearest table to pull off his messenger bag from one shoulder and pull the flap open in order to poke through the contents. It may be that he's quite oblivious to his surroundings, but then, his eyes have distinct rings that indicate an extended exhaustion, and with his bronze playing PROTECTOR VALIANT, can there be any real wonder why that might be?
Wide-brimmed (cowboy) hats aren't just for the sun. They're also pretty handy at keeping one (relatively, maybe, at least the face) dry in the rain. Coming from the stables, it is inevitable that Shiloh would be wet, though he's polite enough to pause on the threshold and try not to track mud through the place. It's somewhat successful. A lift and a little shake of his head also attempts to knock most of the water from it, so that he's not, likewise, dripping his way through the space. A squint around the space has his gaze landing on F'yr and the unnamed Harper, the flying of hands and fingers prompting a curious sort of frown before the beastcrafter politely averts his gaze. Another sweep of the room does not seem to give him the results he'd hoped and so, curiosity gets the better of him and he sidles on over to F'yr despite the dark shadows of doom beneath his eyes to say, "Good day, F'yr." Because he's polite like that.
Averil didn't mean to be late! Unfortunately, while Avi rarely means to be late? He tends to be late at least eighty percent of the time. In this instance, it ends with him running full tilt into the room— after searching the face of the people leaving to make sure Shiloh wasn't one of them, of course— and nearly skidding to a halt when it becomes clear that he hasn't missed the beastcrafter. "Oh thank Faranth," he breaths as he takes a moment to push blond hair behind his ears and adjust the little bow (It's actually kind of larger) holding the majority of his locks at the nape of his neck. And, while he opens his mouth to call out to Shiloh? The fact that the beastcrafter is talking to someone has him abruptly closing it, his head tilting to the side as he slips over to lightly brush his fingers down the length of Shiloh's arm as he slips in closer. To his credit, he does not interrupt, offering a polite smile to Shy before sending another on the unexpectedly long journey up to F'yr's face.
"Afternoon, Shiloh," F'yr greets in kind as blue eyes pull away from the books starting to be pulled out of his bag (in the way, apparently, of getting to what he's looking for) in there. For a large man whose build speaks much more to brute strength than cultivated intellect, the books look fairly impressive, except for the pocket-sized one with the leather cover stained with… well, that's probably not old blood (yes, it is), and slightly singed. 'Good day' was a greeting from the cowboy, but the former farmer turns it back as a question, "Good day so far? Good rain." Of course, he would appreciate the rain, between the hatching sands heat and, well, farmer. Blue eyes skip across to Averil when… Averil appears, and there's the probably not unfamiliar moment where the mind is making automatic judgments that slot a person into the apparent pronouns and… well, there's the brief stumble. And yet, this is F'yr, and what that means in practical terms is that his lips tilt into a small welcoming smile anyway and he offers the greeting across, "Harper," respectfully to the younger Journeyman all the same.
The ever-growing stack of books coming out of F'yr's bag definitely gets another of those curious looks — and if Shiloh is trying to read the titles (he is) he's at least trying to be discrete about it. As discrete as one can be about such things, at least. "So far," he agrees readily enough, tossing a look over his shoulder toward the outside door. "Do dragons care about rain?" he wonders, the question plucked out of seemingly nowhere and asked without real expectation for answer. Particularly when, a moment later, Averil is bursting into the room in a haze of blond hair and breathy exclamations. The entrance nets a quirk of the beastcrafter's lips, a hint of amusement that is turned upon the artist at his approach. "You're not that late," he assures. "This time." Teasing. Definitely teasing. And then a tip of his head toward F'yr with a following, "Averil, this is F'yr. He rides Glorioth." And maybe the Artist already knows all about Shiloh's experience with that particular bronze. And then to said bronzerider, "This is Averil. Harper journeyman and artist."
Averil isn't entirely sure he is comfortable with the stranger, even if the majority of that comes from sheer size, alone. And while he does his level best not to make that obvious? The fact that there is an unconcious shift of weight that has him taking not so subtle shelter behind Shiloh is kind of a good indication. "Sir," is murmured in polite, if not faint tones. Shiloh's teasing, though, is met with a crinkling of his eyes and a quietly breathy laugh. "This time." He knows his faults after all, tardiness has always been one of them. It is the introduction, though, that has pale eyes sweeping back to F'yr and the artist emerging from behind the beastcrafter. "Very nice to meet you, F'yr." And to his credit, he actually means that despite the words remaining in a near whisper. "I've heard a lot about Glorioth." Well, enough, at least. Definitely enough to have him studying the dragonrider more closely. It is only belatedly that he adds, "And you." Cause it feels impolite not to add that.
"Please," the word, much like the large man's demeanor is, if not gentle, at least understated compared to the space he must, by necessity, take up in the world, "Just F'yr. Xanadu isn't big on formalities. If I call my bosses Risa and R'hyn, you can certainly call me F'yr." F'ihr, F'ier, not exactly Fear even if the ear might like to play with the sound a little. He lets the smile renew as he looks over to Averil. "I'm much less—" WHAT, F'YR. GO AHEAD, DARE COMPARE YOURSELF TO THE DRAGON IN YOUR HEAD~~ He stops, clears his throat a little and with a small abashed look given to both Shiloh and his friend, he finishes, "Well, less, than Glori." And the world is grateful. "He only makes good impressions from a distance." Unless one happens to be bound to the dragon in question. "He doesn't mind the rain," although this is not quite what Shiloh asked. "But they're as different as people, one to another. Some of them share family blood and there's traits that seem to come through. That's why Inasyth is loud like Glori. Same parents." Which means SPECIAL EGGS, y'all! "Ilyscaeth and Xermiltoth don't have a lot of volume control either. But Inasyth is very friendly, as are Ily and Xermi." He talks about the dragons like they're sort of friends of his in their own right, because at least some of them are. He seems to realize he's rambled a bit on a tangent, but he feels compelled to add, "Some dragons here are still like the dragons other places and prefer to speak only to their rider." Now he'll give both a properly apologetic look and get back on track. "I'm pleased to meet you, Averil. I've learned a lot from some of your colleagues," like that one he was not-speaking-but-conversing with when Shiloh arrived. "I don't think I've met one of your specialty before." That's back on track, right? He looks from one face to another, perhaps searching for signs that he hasn't, you know, terrified anyone with his tired ramble.
Shiloh has the grace to look just a little awkward at the idea of Averil having heard a lot about both Glorioth and F'yr. To be fair… it is difficult to talk about one without talking about the other; at least on the subject of unfortunate chance meetings which Shiloh is trying (but kind failing) to block from his memory. Ahem. Moving on. For all the sheltering that Averil might be doing, Shiloh at least is relaxed in his stance, arms at his side and fingers shoved into pockets. Comfortable. Even if the topic of discussion might have that furrow deepening. Really. Noisy dragons. Hearing about it is nothing compared to the experience, but at least Shiloh is not giving F'yr crazy-eyes by the end? "Makes sense," he allows. "Though I suppose you can't influence the breeding of dragons the same way you might runners or herdbeasts." Yeah… Just try and tell the golds whom they should pick for mates. At least Shiloh is smart enough to know that would be futile. But distinct personalities and genetic-traits certainly make sense to the man who spends the majority of his life working with animals. Even if his preferred animals might look like a tasty snack to those dragons. It's the mention of Averil's profession that brings another bit of a grin; just a little curl at the corners of his mouth and a tip of his head to cast dark eyes toward the would-be-hiding harper. "He's very good," he agrees.
Suffice to say that all the names mentioned are scrambled into a massive -th pile in Averil's head. He is trying to keep up, but there were a lot of names and in a very short amount of time. It's a lot. "There is nothing wrong being loud," he decides on the spur of the moment. "Of course, I have no idea what it has to be like to have someone be loud in your head, but…" Still. How different can it possibly be. Don't tell him! He's skittish enough as it is. It's the mention of his colleagues and his own specialty that has his expression softening, strands of blond hair spilling into his face as he nods quickly. "Most of them are far more visible," he admits. Of course, if there are any ROMANCE novels in F'yr's stack of books there is a good chance Averil drew the covers! "I chose a considerably quieter niche to fill." It's Shiloh's compliment that has his smile softening and his head ducking in a fashion designed to hide his flush. "I'm alright," he allows. "Figure drawing and portraits are my main focus. Although," he adds as he looks up and flashes a much more relaxed smile. "I've been having fun drawing the runners." And the Runner Trainer— but he's not going to mention that outloud. >.>
F'yr's mouth starts to open, then close and then he looks to the Beastcrafter and has the sense to say, "Maybe we'll leave influencing mating flights for another time. Like, a time with drinks." Because they WILL NEED BOOZE FOR THAT, Shiloh. But apparently F'yr seems to think it's more complicated than just a 'haha' answer, so… He'll leave that there and resume his casual search of his bag for what proves to be a small book and writing implement which he sets aside before putting the books back. There is not currently a romance book among the lot, but what looks like two leather covers that hold loose papers along with a ledger, and something more note-book like in addition to the book that has seen better days and has no label at all. The for-pleasure book of the moment seems to be a book about breeding, in fact, for all that F'yr's current profession has nothing to do with the topic. "I'd love to see some of your work some time, if you're of a mind to share, Averil." There may even be an eventual commission there, really. "Runners sound like good subjects. Have you tried dragons yet?"
Poor Shiloh. His education about dragons is about as rudimentary as it gets. They fly. They go Between. They talk to people (this one he at least knows first hand now). But his curiosity is piqued enough that he won't outright refuse that offer of educating him about influencing mating flights. (The poor, poor man. No idea what he's getting into). "The portrait you did of Red was quite good," he agrees, for Averil's work on runners. Though something about the mention of dragon dragons has the beastcrafter shifting in his spot, squinting away at nothing at all (because there's nothing to really squint at, given they're inside and all) and lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Yeeeeeah, about that.
Averil flicks a glance at Shiloh at the question regarding drawing dragons, before shaking his head. "I haven't had the chance to yet," he admits. "I intend to, but I am not really clear on the protocol regarding asking the subject's permission." Pausing a beat, he frowns faintly before attempting to explain. "Dragons are like people, as you've said. They have their own thoughts and feelings and it would be rude to just draw them without asking first." On the topic of seeing his work, he actually swings his ever present satchel around and immediately extends a leather bound sketchbook to F'yr. Of course, there is a MOMENT when it is taken that he has a mild panic attack— an attack that passes the moment he realizes it is the right journal and not the one with far more risque renderings. Of course, there are a few nudes in there (TASTEFUL NUDES) and one, or more *cough*definatelymore*cough* might resemble the hat-bedecked beastcrafter in all his *glory*. They are lifelike renderings though with a great deal of focus on musculature. He does, however, notice Shiloh's discomfort regarding the dragon drawing, his expression gentling as he reaches up to rest a reassuring hand on the beastcrafter's arm. "The portrait of Red," and Shiloh. "Is a piece I'm very proud of. Shiloh has it," he provides to F'yr. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind showing you."
Forgive F'yr that he has to glance Averil's way at the mention of protocol for getting a subject's permission and then off into the middle distance himself. His lips press ever so slightly together. Enough time spent around the bronzerider will reveal this to be a frequent occurrence designed to hold back words that haven't been filtered through his brain. He's probably imagining the variety of responses the artist might get from dragon subjects. "Yeah." He manages after a moment which doesn't really seem to be an answer to anything in particular, before he brings his blue gaze back to the pair. "Dragons are like people, and they aren't like people. They don't necessarily think about things the way people do. I'm not sure what kind of answer you'd get from some of them. Asking through the rider is good way to go, unless the dragon is already speaking to you, but you may have to do a fair amount of explaining. Dragons have short memories and that… well, it makes a difference to what they retain. You might be safe to draw the ones coming and going from the clearing, for the general form practice." Not that these are likely to stay very long. The bronzerider shuffles the items in hand, incidentally putting that book on breeding vaguely nearer to Shiloh as F'yr frees his hands to accept the sketchbook with a warm smile for Averil. He was, of course, supposed to free up space on the table so they can all look at the sketches here together, right? Where's the fun if it's just F'yr looking privately. He falls silent as he turns the pages with due care and reverential respect for the artist's work. His expression is telling, impressed anew with each new image. "You're very talented and practiced," he compliments just as the page turns to one of those tasteful nudes that gets a second blink and then a smile he can't quite repress as he slides his eyes over toward Shiloh. Yeeeeeeeeep. It's clear he's thinking very hard about commenting, but manages to pull his eyes back to the page and reach to turn it. "A very good likeness," he murmurs, not looking at either man, but also not laughing (aloud).
Shiloh is absolutely peeking at book titles, if just because curiosity would have definitely killed this cat long ago if he wasn't six-feet-tall and muscle-y. That curiously is clearly piqued for the breeding book, but now does not seem the time to ask about it. Particularly when Averil complies with that request by offering up a sketchbook and… let's just say the artist is not the only one having a small panic attack at the thought of which book it might be! He might even be shooting not-very-covert looks at Averil that telepathically plead with him to be sure of what he's handing over. Not that it helps because apparently, he is doomed no matter what book makes it onto the table. And while he will follow along dutifully for most of it (TO BE FAIR he has probably seen a lot of the sketches already), then they take on a certain likeness well… There might be a fair bit of throat clearing and some very red cheeks that are definitely sunburn-related and not embarrassment-related! And no, sneaky smiles and sliding eyes do not help though Shiloh is very careful to keep his own gaze on other innocuous things like that shelf over there, while perhaps wondering if wishing for an earthquake is too much to ask. (Please, dear Faranth, just let the floor swallow him whole!).
"Muscle studies are so important," Averil agrees as he watches the pages being turned. And clearly, he's studied (VISUALLY) Shiloh's muscles as the opportunities arise. "I have entire books devoted to studies of entire muscle groups." Pausing a beat, he slants a glance at Shiloh, noting his red cheeks and stepping in to steal his hand (unless Shiloh doesn't want his hand stolen which is OK, to). Fortunately, all of the nudes are three quarter views, or back views, nothing UNTOWARD is on display. He does, however, note quickly to F'yr. "I wouldn't try to talk to them myself. I would ask their rider, but.. I just.. I.." Trailing off, it is his turn to look embarrassed before he sighs and half tucks himself behind the beastcrafter. "I'm not very good with people. Real people." Paper people? He's GREAT with. "I have been," he adds. "Doing some quick sketches watching them move through the clearing. It's frustrating cause I can't get close enough to really see the muscle groups." And he /could/ look at dragonhealing books, but that comes with it's own frustrations. Granted those frustrations are usually centered around a lack of skill in the renderings, but still.
"I see that." The muscle studies. "You never did art for playing cards, did you?" That this is asked in conjunction with tasteful nudes probably doesn't mean anything. Clearly these aren't the first nudes he's ever seen. He even shifts enough, and so casually, to nudge Shiloh's arm with an elbow, the look fleetingly going to the embarrassed subject one of comradely support, not something poking fun at either the color of his face or the reason for it. The look then turned on Averil is a little unusual, too, in that it is very plainly a look of equally friendly support that manages not to touch the weird line that would be flirtation when he encourages simply, "You're doing great with me, Averil." Then again, F'yr is really easy to do well with. There are a few ground rules, which apparently do not include not showing him tastefully nude drawings of other people standing in the room. That seems fine. "Inasyth might indulge you. But she also might try to hug you." This isn't quite a problem, but it does make F'yr think about that again. "She's… very friendly." He doesn't apologize, but the tone is rueful anyway. He doesn't recommend his own dragon, for reasons. "Firelizards might indulge you more readily. Similar build and all." He doesn't offer any of his own for that either. For REASONS. He glances to Shiloh again, expression briefly thoughtful but he's back to looking at the next pages. Shiloh can thank him later that he doesn't see fit to linger on those that bear a likeness over any other before he gets to the end and is closing the book to offer back to the artist. "Thank you. That was… great." Words are not always his thing, it seems, but at least the ones he says seem quite genuine. A treat, really, to see that much art in that much time.
Shiloh is clearly not accustomed to seeing himself rendered in such a way, tasteful as it might be. And definitely not accustomed to having other people seeing himself rendered in such a way, period. But he'll weather it in painfully awkward silence (at least on the part of the beastcrafter) and maybe a longsuffering sigh, regardless of comraderic (it's a word now) nudges and hand-stealings (which he will definitely allow). Perhaps it is less so the renderings but rather the subject (namely: him) that has him red and shifting and squinting at things that are not sketchbooks. "Inasyth…" because somehow dragons have become the safer subject. Weird how that works. "She's the queen on the sands?" The one that was nice to him, and did not try and squish him. "She wasn't so bad." Now, given that his only other dragon experience was GLORIOTH, can that really be considered a compliment? Glori? Stunning. A++ on the looks. F- to the N-th degree on hospitality, however. But anyways. "Suppose they're like any other living creature," and he'll go with runners because that is what they know. "They all have their quirks." Firelizards… another somewhat-mystery, though undoubtedly there were those in Shiloh's vicinity that had them as pets, even if the beastcrafter himself has not been so lucky yet. When the book is handed back, there might be a little sigh of relief, even if he'll try to keep it subtle. SAFE! "You do fine with me, too," he adds, for the whole 'Averil is not as bad at people-ing as he thinks he is' argument.
Averil tilts his head at the question, his brows furrowing mildly. "I haven't, but that's not a bad idea. I could definitely do custom card decks." That it is something that he is definitely keen on is clear in the immediate spark to his gaze. It's the rest that has him drawing in a slow breath, the tip of his tongue brushing over his lips. "Thank you, F'yr," is murmured in response to the reassurance. Granted, he absolutely and acutely aware of the fact that he is doing well /because/ Shiloh is right there and he knows he'd step in to shield him if necessary. As it stands, he hugs the book to his chest when it is handed back, one hand smoothing over the cover. As for the drawing of dragons? While it is something he wants to do? It is also A LOT. A LOT from the sheer size of the creatures and the fact that they have likes and opinions of their own that he's certain not to comprehend. It's Shiloh's observation that brings his gaze sweeping up, pale eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's easy to be fine with you, you know how to handle skittish mares." And really? Avi is well aware of the fact that he's dancing precariously close to that catagory. Slipping the book back in his satchel, he remains clinging to Shiloh's hand for as long as he can, his gaze flicking between the two considerably larger men. "Do they not… Don't people usually come to the stands to look at the dragons and thier eggs?" He's still a little confused as to why that was a 'subject of concern' for Glorioth. "I thought that was a thing that happens?"
"Yes, that's the gold on the sands." F'yr clarifies for Shiloh. "Rhodelia is her lifemate. She's nice." Reassuring, no? Okay, he probably could have done better, but at least his expression softens a little when he mentions her. "They actually live in old barn not too far from the feeding grounds and all. But don't suggest within Ina's hearing that they should have a runner, alright?" For Rhody's sanity. He starts packing his books back into his bag as he speaks, now that his hands are free to do so. His lips press in amusement as Averil speaks to Shiloh of skittish mares and won't mention that skittish animals are in F'yr's skillset, too, lest that take away from Avi's sense of doing well enough with the former farmer. "They do come the stands," F'yr acknowledges. "This is Glorioth's first time as a sire, and he's… well. Shiloh has told you. A little too protective for everyone's good. We've been working at it though. The candidates have it the worst, but Ina can sit on him. Mentally. If she has to. And I can do my part." He chews on his lower lip. "I should be getting back." He pauses long enough to scribble something into the book that he'd pulled out for the purpose before putting it and the writing implement back in. "I'll see you both around, alright?" It's not really a question as he flips a friendly smile and steps away to head toward the exit to the clearing, responding to some rising inner dragonly need that he doesn't acknowledge aloud so as not to alarm the skittish animals new crafters.
"My lips are sealed," promises Shiloh. Because as amusing as that might be, he doesn't want to get on the wrong side of a goldrider (or more likely, he doesn't want to sacrifice a poor, innocent runner to the experiment). There's a potentially sheepish look for the idea of telling Averil about Glorioth and, while Shiloh won't correct him, what was shared may not have been as polite as over protective would have been. But for 'skittish mares' there's a crooked grin for the artist, and a lofted eyebrow that says… nothing, really. Except that perhaps Shiloh found something amusing about the comparison. And back to F'yr for his friendly good-byes, a chin-jut and a "fair skies," because that's what you say to dragonriders, right?? Even if the skies aren't really so fair at the moment, what with the rain and all. A half-beat later and he's giving a "Oh, wait," to the tune of 'forgot something', giving Averil's hand a squeeze before abandoning him to stand alone at the table and jogging after F'yr with the intention of asking him questions that are kept pointedly hushed and shooting looks out the door like he might see through the gloom to the looming bronze on the sands.
"It was very nice meeting you, F'yr." And that Averil is smiling and actually means that? It says a lot. As far he is concerned, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Glori being a protective father. If anything it speaks highly of the bronze. Course, he's already contemplating asking F'yr to sit for him at some point, and his mind is whirling with the thought of doing an all male pin-up deck of cards. When Shiloh steps away to talk to F'yr, Averil takes the time to fuss with his hair, double checking that he has everything he needs in his satchel— He did leave in a hurry, after all. Whatever the whispered conversation is about, he doesn't seem put off, hopping up to perch on the table while he waits for Shiloh to finish. Course, when he does, he waves to F'yr before turning a bright smile on the beastcrafter. "Good thing I left the other book in room, right?"