Contraptions? Any of 'em... work?

Xanadu Weyr - Craft Complex - Common Room

The large area has been separated into a variety of smaller sitting areas, couches and chairs organized into rings and squares, tables set where they can be used easily. A few desks for studying are pushed against one wall, while another has a variety of doors spaced along side it, opening into private quarters for the ranking crafters posted at the weyr. A set of double doors opens to the general apprentice dorms, and a long hallway stretches outwards, providing access to the various workshops.

Afternoon on a day off maybe, finds the Weyrleader in a possibly unexpected place, tongue sticking out of one corner of his mouth as he slowly constructs something that looks mechanical. A notebook lies open beside him on the table, a complex schematic sketched there. D'son refers to this off and on as he works, seemingly somewhat knowledgeable about the tools he uses and building things with metal.

And the Weyrleader isn't the only person here; for the form of a woman slouched downwards in a chair at one of the tables is easy to spot; the faint sound of tapping keys as Iawen blinks owlishly up from her attention at a small laptop to glance about her for a moment. And then there's a funny beeping sound, and the sound of a muttered curse, and once more flying fingers work quickly over the keyboard — but soon all that can be heard is "Shard it. Ought to toss this in the scrap heap."

Up comes D'son's head as a little tiny bearing goes flying when he startles at that mutter. "Shoot," he exclaims and puts down the tool he was using to put that bearing in place. The Weyrleader slips off his stool and goes looking for the missing piece, patting his hand along the floor on hands and knees. "Big problems over there?" he queries Iawen's way.

"Sorry," Iawen hollers out before she's peering over the top of the laptop again, a rather high-pitched whine emitting from it. "Gack!" the woman yelps, slapping the top cover of the case down, and clutching it against her body to muffle the screech. "Shardin' thing must be broken, someone here brought it to me with a complaint 'bout the hard drive." Well, that at least establishes that said laptop definitely /isn't/ hers. "Might have to take the whole thing apart." Except, it's still hooting and whining, and Iawn pries the cover open again, pressing her fingers down on the keyboard to force it to shut down. "Hope I wasn't botherin' ya." her eyes narrow a bit. "Weyrleader, 'aintcha?"

Still looking for that bearing, D'son squints under the table for a moment then winces at the noises from the laptop. "Man, sounds like that one isn't recovering either. The hard drive huh? I'm still learning about the guts of the things. They're completely fascinating," Dels says with a grin. "And um, yeah. D'son. You can call me D'son. I'm just — putting something together that's not a computer over here. Or trying. I do that. You know, make up … contraptions."

With a last screech, the laptop finally shuts down, the screen going black and the noises fading. "And stay off!" Iawen glares at the machine for a moment. "Don't know what possessed anyone to get something this small," she gripes to the bronzerider. "It's like an accident just waitin' to happen. Laptops gotta be stronger and better built. This isn't anything but fit for the scrap heap." Of course, 'Wen is biased — she has her own preferred model of laptop, and this itty bitty netbook-type just isn't up to her standards. "Right then," comes her brisk nod. "D'son. And I'm Iawen, though y'can call me Wen. Just got here few days ago, from Ierne WeyrHold." there's a glimmer of interest in her gaze. "Contraptions? Any of 'em actually … work?"

"Aha!" The bearing is found and D'son holds it up triumphantly, beams, then pushes to his feet, comes over to shake hands even though his have a little bit of grease on them. "I dunno, I like my handheld," the Weyrleader says, giving the thing at his belt a fond pat. "Keeps me organized." His shake is firm, confident. "Wen. Well met."

Iawen gives the merest of nods in acknowledgement of the bronzerider's success, casting one final glare in the direction of the small laptop, and settling back into her chair. "Well, you don't use it for anything more than that, do you?" Wen arches a brow, crossing her arms and giving the handheld on the man's belt a very significant stare. "I mean, you don't try to make it do the work of a full-sized laptop do you?" Because there's computers and there's /computers/ and only some of them won't hold up to the system requirements. "Well met indeed, D'son." Iawen gives a wry grin, clasing hands with the man, and certainly not caring about the grease. "so those contraptions of yours, do they work?"

"Uh - no," D'son says about his handheld. "You know, notes, calendar, and um, putting stuff into the database from wherever I am," the Weyrleader explains. "I use the laptop if I need to do um — laptop stuff." That bearing is held up and he grins. "Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't."

"So there ya go," Iawen's grin grows wider as she feels she's proven her point. "You use the handheld for the little things. And the laptop for the big work. It's when people try and use the littlest laptop they can." And once more, that itty bitty netbook-type gets a glare, "they find the hardware isn't up to what they need. I'd say at least a thirteen-inch or larger laptop is better." the brownrider chuckles softly. "Well, that's contraptions for ya. Sometimes you never know what really makes them tick, but it can be fun to tinker with them."

"Makes sense," D'son says with a nod. "You don't use a little engine to power a big generator for the whole of Xanadu," he adds on. The Weyrleader looks back over his shoulder at the gears and things over there. "Well I know what makes them tick. It's just that my new ideas don't always work.'

Iawen's nod is brief. "Exactly," the woman is quick to agree — although she'd not hesitate to disagree if she had to. "That's a very apt analogy indeed. No small engine is gonna be able to power the whole Weyr all by itself. For that, you need bigger hardware." she chuckles then, and a faint grin as she regards the man who is at least a decade her junior. "That's why you keep tinkering with them, keep trying until they do work. It's like puttin' a computer together. Sometimes you have to keep messin' round until everything powers up correctly."

"It'll keel over and die first. Messily likely," D'son says about engines. "And yeah. I love doing it. Wish I'd actually apprenticed. Because when I get stuck … there's things I just never learned and then I have to stop and look them up and …. well I don't have time like I did when I was a new rider even."

"Oh," Iawen's hand waves back and forth, somewhat absently. "I suppose it might even explode. I'm not really into large scale machines, computers are more my line of work after all. But i do know that if an engine is too small for the workload, it overheats. You see it happening with computer harddrives all the time. Usually commence exploding." the woman grins. "Me, I started with my craft 'fore I became a rider. Bein' Eastern born and bred, we were close enough to Landing for me to really pick up on the technology." she pauses. "You been a rider long?"

"Yeah, could do at that," D'son says about explosions and blows out a breath. "Yeah. Know a bit about exploding. I um. I mix things. Make fireworks too." He grins and lifts his shoulders. "I — started to learn. Was going to apprentice and then I did something stupid and got sent home. I was going to go back when I was searched and then I impressed and just —- yeah." Another shrug. "I'm from Ista originally. And just about five turns. I'm — I'm twenty, just shy of twenty-one. Impressed when I was just sixteen, been Weyrleader for almost two turns."

Iawen's grin is entirely too innocent as she regards the Weyrleader with a look. "Like blowing things up, huh?" She quirks a brow, leaning back against the table, with her hand on the laptop beside her. "I was lucky, i suppose. I was accepted into the computer craft before I was searched and taken to High Reaches. took me seven turns to get back into it though, and that was only after we transfered back to Eastern. Made Journeyman after that." she pauses, nods briefly. "Ah."

"Uhh yeah, or at least just giving a good light show," D'son says with a laugh and sticks his hand with the bearing into his pocket. "Yeah. I sort of wish it had worked out more like that. But at least here there's things like computers and generators to study. You know, spare equipment."

Iawen gives a laugh, her mouth creasing into a wide grin, and nods fervently at the young man's words. "Well, we can't always have life workin' out perfectly." she comments with some cheer in her tone of voice. "But we make do with life the best we can. Never know what'll happen after all." she pauses, and then leans closer. "If you're ever on the look out for spare parts if you need 'em, I just finished settlin' down in our weyrbarn. There's boxes of stuff I didn't even know I had."

"Yeah, guess not. Just hope maybe someday I'll manage to close up some of those gaps," D'son says sincerely. "Computers are interesting too. Like them. It's been fun learning how to use one here." He perks up visibly at mention of spare parts. "Yeah, definitely, I'll come by. Should you know, bring a weyr-warming too," he says with a smile.

"Sure," Iawen nods just a bit. "It's understandable if you haven't got the time now, there's not much you can do about it." She tilts her head rather thoughtfully. "Suppose that's the nice thing about ridin' brown," she remarks cheerily. "And havin' one that don't like to chase much. Gives me plenty of time to further my career without havin to worry about my duty to the Weyr." a pause. "That much." She shrugs then. "Well, there's plenty of time in your life. You won't always be Weyrleader, will you? Maybe when you're not, you'll be able to fill those gaps." The younger man's enthusiasm for spare parts isn't hard to miss, and Wen nods her head once more. "We're in the clearing. Can't miss it. Big red barn with the slate roof. Cully's got the ground space all to himself, and I've got a loft."

"Don't get me wrong, I actually like my job. I like Xanadu too, though it was rough at first, a lot of changes. But there's a lot of challenges and things to think about being Weyrleader. But yeah, someday I probably won't be anymore and I think it'll be good to you know, do that Smithing then." D'son laughs, nods. "Yeah. That's another good thing about being Weyrleader. Inimeth used to chase a lot. Now he does a lot less and he won't chase other golds than Kilaueth, though he does chase greens when she's not egg-heavy or they have a clutch on the sands." His head bobs about the clearing. "Yeah, we're just off the meadown. But no barn, those are nice big spaces," the Weyrleader says with a smile and tilts his head back towards his nuts and bolts. "I should see about getting that done and out of the way before supper. But uh — if you're heading that way in a little bit, want to eat with me?"

Iawen gives a brief laugh. "Oh, well nothin' wrong with likin' your job. Faranth knows I like mine. Wouldn't be a Computer crafter otherwise." the woman gives a toothy grin. "But it does mean less of a demand on my time thanks to Culmairoth. Wouldn't know how I'd handle life if he were gold." Likely, she'd be tearing her hair out. "Cully don't chase much," Wen is quick to add. "Not unless the green's just risin' and not bloodin' since he'd rather eat than drink blood, and he's too small to chase golds. Don't think he really misses out though," she muses this thoughtfully before she moves away from the table. "Sure," the offer is easily accepted. "I've got to run this laptop back to its owner, but a bite to eat in a lil bit would be awful nice."

"Yeah, better to like it than not, I think," D'son says with a nod and his head bobs. "Inimeth's just … really social," the Weyrleader says with a laugh. "Anyway, great, I'll see you in the caverns then, save you a seat." And with a little lift of his hand, D'son turns back to his tinkering. Whether his contraption works or not.

"Never said Cully wasn't social," Iawen's reply is a follow by a brisk laugh, the stout little brownrider, scooping the laptop off the table and tucking it under her arm. "He's incredibly social and cheerful and will cosy up to anyone he thinks'll give him somethin' to eat. He just don't care for … matin' that often. He'll chat up a green any day, or schmooze up to a gold. He just won't oblige 'em that way. He doesn't seem to have taken no harm by it." She starts for the doorway. "Good luck figurin' it out." she tosses off a jaunty little sort of a salute. "See ya soon. Don't eat all the bubblies 'fore I get there." There's a wink, and the woman is out the doorway.

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