Lost and Found [C'vir]

C'vir did not normally frequent the craft hall. It was far removed from his normal path of travel, he was no craftsman himself, and, particular as he was about the upkeep of his clothing and other possessions, he rarely needed the assistance of the weyr's crafters. As was so often the case in the brownrider's life, it was his dragon that drove him to what he personally considered an unlikely (and somewhat unnecessary, circumstances considered) destination. Besulth, of late, had amassed growing list of complaints about his riding straps despite the utter lack of concrete evidence to suggest that any of the alleged problems actually existed. The easiest way to appease the dragon and buy another few months of silence on the topic was to find a competent craftsperson to pronounce the straps sound. If he could find someone qualified and willing to certify the straps, he'd arrange a time to have them inspected under Besulth's watchful eye -- the dragon wouldn't argue with an expert.

With his goal in mind, C'vir entered the craft hall, scanning the stations occupied by people working singly or chatting softly in small groups. He wasn't sure where to start: he'd need a tanner, to test the leather, and a smith to examine the metal fastenings. His best stab at a search strategy was to roam the open floors, peeking surreptitiously at projects and shoulder knots. Whether it was due to the day, the hour, or what appeared to be the low level of demand for craft services, the hall was less populated than he'd hoped; he quietly made almost a full round of the floor with little success. Hardly inclined to continue investigating the unfamiliar setting, he considered returning later in the sevenday in hopes of better luck, but was driven on by the distaste that accompanied the thought of leaving his task unfinished. He'd get the double the grief from Besulth if he returned without an appointment to have the straps checked -- double the grief and a renewed push for an entirely new set. He refused to waste Faranth-knew-how-many marks on something that didn't need replacing, so he pushed on, drawn to one of the further areas by the sounds of muffled activity. He fully expected the crafters he needed to be hidden away in some dark corner; nothing came easily when Besulth's invented needs were involved.

C'vir neared the noises, moving quietly and without great haste. He expected to encounter -- if he was lucky -- a tanner slice strips of hide, or a smith appraising the quality of a collection of metalwork. He found S'kef instead. There was no mistaking the Weyrleader, or the fact that he was in the process of bagging something. The brownrider would have thought little of it -- people came and went with various wares from the crafthall all the time -- were it not for the squawk of alarm that escaped the green flit hovering watchfully over her master. The rider rocked instinctively back onto his heels when the Weyrleader turned, caught off guard by suddenly finding himself face-to-face with a somewhat startled S'kef.

"C'vir," the rider supplied, before deciding to add his dragon's name for good measure. The Weyrleader knew of him, if only vaguely; he'd assisted at T'shiro's execution at the leadership's request. "Of brown Besulth." His gaze flickered back to the bag in the man's hand; whatever the Weyrleader was removing from the hall, he clearly hadn't anticipated being interrupted while doing it. The longer the brownrider thought about the circumstances, the more curious he became. Any crafter with half a brain would personally wrap and deliver any commission of the Weyrleader's upon completion. What then would the man go out of his way to retrieve and carry off himself, shoved into a bag?

"Apologies -- I didn't mean to startle you. There's not a single sharding tanner to be found in the place today." From what the brownrider could see of the item in S'kef had been busy bagging, the Weyrleader was in possession of some kind of box. C'vir had been more inclined to guess he'd see a pile of papers; the weyr gossips often speculated about all the various documents that got shuttled off and stashed around the crafthall, and the Weyrleader probably had no shortage of routine paperwork to keep up with. He took a step forward, curiosity doing battle with prudence without a flicker of either registering on his face.  "Picking up anything worthwhile?" His query was accompanied by a furtive peak at the items in question. He was neither terrified of S'kef nor rushing to stand in his support; he knew little of the man and thus considered himself ill-equipped to pass any judgment. Ultimately, for all his power, the Weyrleader was a man much like any other -- a man that C'vir had suddenly found a brief opportunity to try to figure out.