9/25/2002
12:01
AM
Logfile
from Taire.
Living
Cavern
Flawlessly
carved archways highlight the uniform walls that extend upwards into the
cavern's near total darkness above. The
night hearth abides beside the largest egress, while along the northern span a
handcarved staircase ascends into the kitchens. To the east a dais supports the long Weyrleaders' table; smaller
table-boards align the walls nearby.
The heart of the room is distinguished by gray flagstone flooring, whose
skillfully interlocking slabs have been worn level by the passage of countless
bootheels through the ages.
You see
Aieee here.
Sylvan
is here.
Obvious
exits:
Bowl Lower Caverns Tunnel Kitchen Game Room
Taire
slips into the caverns with all the panache of... of... of nobody in
particular. Face it, she just walks in as per normal. Boring, eh? Ah well.
Anyway, in she walks, stripping off her riding jacket and just draping it on
any old chair. See, it has her name on the 'tag' in the back of it, so she can
easily find it later. So, jacketless, the greenrider patters over to the
serving area. Fooood. Fooood.
Sylvan
would normally be sitting and drinking under the circumstances, book sprawled
out and writing notes aplenty, but instead, the young woman is.... asleep. That
book makes a perfect pillow, arms wrapped around it in order to keep it from
prying eyes. Then again... she probably just shifted that way. It's only a
quick rest, as a nearby lizard chrrs, winging her way over to the sleepy one
and tugging on an ear. ".... I was asleep, you know." She just looks
over her arms at Lotus, gaze narrowed, but the lizard has done her job, and
flutters off. "Hmmmph. Okay... now where was I...." Picking up a slim
piece of charcoal, the book is open, paged flipped, before she tops at a
particular passage. One that is ignored, perhaps, when Taire enters.
"Evening," is finally given, after a wide yawn.
Taire
and entourage (Yes, that entourage would be the current compliment of various
culinary items upon her plate) make their way to a table. Naturally, this would
be the table that Sylvan was snoozing at -well, maybe she is awake now, but
Taire is fairly sure she heard snoring in this general direction. "Hey...
Uh... Uh.... Candidate?" That'll work in place of a name. Book is eyed,
foreign object that it is. "What's that?"
Sylvan
hmms, glancing up from whatever she was reading; soon enough, she's glancing
back down at the book herself. "Oh.... this? Nothing spectacular."
Not at all. Hmmhmm. Completely and utterly innocuous. At least, that's what
she'll try to tell anyone who asks, Taire included. "Uhm, I'm Sylvan,
ma'am." At least she's polite? Apparently. Maybe it's to make up for the
snoring. ... Maybe.
Taire
makes herself a home in a seat near to Sylvan, setting down that plate piled
with heaps and heaps of... What the fardles is all that stuff? Anyway, down she
sits, eyeing Sylvan, or more particularly her book, "No? Then why are you
reading it? Is it one of those romantic adventures I hear some people
have?" She sounds a touch interested in that prospect. "Yeah. Sylvan.
I remember now." And she actually does. "Want some?" Plate and
all of its variety of food is gestured to. If you have a hankering for
something, it more than likely is on there.
N'cion
breezes in. "Hi, hiya, how you
doin'? Nice to see you. How's the canine? That's too bad." he
fairly beams as he circulates through the caverns, leaving a trail of
nonplussed riders. Menace? Cheerful and amicable? There's something wrong with this state of
affairs; something dreadfully wrong.
"Taire! Is that food
healthy?" is the first question out of his mouth as he snoopily inspects
the food on the plate.
Katrine
comes up from the lower caverns.
G'aela
strides into the caverns, sweeping sweaty hair beneath a cloth, much like
handkerchiefs are worn now on Earth. She wipes a smudge of dirt from her
forehead with the sleeve of her tunic as she strides toward her friends.
"Are you sharing with everyone, wingsecond?" she asks Taire as she
eyes some of the plate's food, before an eyebrow raises at Menace's words.
"Has Amnerith led you to inspect your friends' foods? Honestly, N'cion,
there are some things you can give peace about..." Words trail off as her
attention falls upon Sylvan. "Have we met yet? If not, I am G'aela,
Calevath's, assistant weyrlingmaster. How are you finding Fort?" All these
candidates, so hard to remember...
Sylvan
eyes the plate in the same fashion that book is being eyed. With suspicion...
but is that a hint of nausea? Maybe. Is a bubbly really supposed to be mashed
into meat that way? Obscene. Actually, it's more like gross. But well, there's
nothing said at first, instead, her gaze flicking down to the book.
"Nono... it's nothing like that. It's more like... erm. More like something
I use to remember things." To put it mildly. But there are more people
entering, cutting off her comments about the food, though she really has to
wonder with N'cion. "Uhm.... I think I'm okay. Maybe once I'm done waking
up, I'll get something." From the table, in it's natural state. She
doesn't get long to comment on it, though, as G'aela enters. Brows hitch, a
smile flickering across her features quickly as the book is shut. "I don't
think we have. I'm Sylvan, formerly from Xanadu. And things have been going
well here... I haven't had a single problem, so far." Except the weeds.
All the weeds.
Taire's
shoulders seem to hitch as soon as she hears that voice. You know, /that/
voice. Hands are immediately batting away at Menace's as she pokes about her
food. "You just get! Get! Get, now! That's /my/ food." That
greenrider will end up getting bit if he gets any closer. Although, he might
just begin to like that. *cough* Ugh! And now Gabby is eyeing her food. Her's!
Sure, she offered some to Gabby, but the wherry-vultures are circling. She
blinks at Sylvan, "No? Are you sure?" Good. More for her.
Qualerik
comes up from the lower caverns.
"Uh,
no, not really." Menace responds
to Gaby. "Call it...uh...fatherly
concern." Which it is, of a sort. "I'm very concerned with seeing Taire
eating healthy as she can." he responds cheerfully. "Ah, Taire, did...someone sit on your
plate or something? Did you put that
over the trash bin?" he stares at
the food in concern. "Err, hi
there...Sylvan, was it? I'm Menace. N'cion.
The name has nothing to do with my personality. Really." Baring of teeth.
"They working you hard as a Candidate?" he inquires with a bit
of obvious nostalgia, tugging idly at his beard. "I'm not trying to take any of your food! I'm just trying to figure out if it's really
edible or not."
"Xanadu.
Pleasant area," G'aela's docile near-whisper replies. "I doubt you
will find Fort, however, as filled with unpleasant weather... unless you prefer
that sort of climate." She winks good-naturedly before pulling out a
chair. "May I sit?" Waiting for a response, she then does so before
turning back to the candidate. "If you ever have questions, you may ask
me, since I want people to be... happy to be here when I deal with them upon
the Sands come That Day." At TAire's exclamations, the bluerider goes
wide-eyed and scoots her seat away, with a murmured, "Have you been
sleeping well, Taire?... Fatherly concern? It isn't often you're concerned with
more than yourself, Menace," she chides. "Perhaps that is a good
thing."
Naven
comes up from the lower caverns.
Qualerik
enters with a surprising lack of flare, rather doing his best /not/ to walk
between the various people conversing around the caverns, and carrying hints of
red on his cheeks. The blush, of course, most likely due to his current
head-dress- a pink-ish towel, that is, wrapped about his mullet-in-training,
testament to the fact that Lerik's just had a bath. The growling stomach, of
course, would imply that he's hungry as well- thus, his reason for being in the
caverns. Quick raisings of his eyebrows go to those he knows (he'd nod, but the
towel would fall off, and what a mess /that/ would be) as he heads for the
meatrolls. Bwahahahah.
"I
admit, I do miss the snow up here, occasionally." That's something that
really doesn't happen down South, and she knows it. Still, she is at least
saved in helping Taire with her 'meal', thanks to everyone else's concern over
it. Sylvan can keep from looking at it, and losing her own lunch, in talking with
the the others. ... Ick. "It's nice to meet you, erm, N'cion." Safer
to say than Menace. As if giving the world would make a mess of things.
"And I've never picked so many weeds in my life." Even if the latest
entry would rather them left be. Whether it's laziness or a true welfare for
flora... who can say. "Actually, I did have a question, ma'am," is
given to G'aela. "The eggs..... will we go down to touch them, soon?"
It's an inquisitive comment, given mildly. Still, it has her interest piqued.
As does the latest entrant. "'lo, Qualerik."
Taire
blinks owlishly up at Menace for a moment, "Oh yeah... That's right.
Fatherly." She rolls her eyes, and then comes the glimmer. Oh yes. Evil is
in the works, or mischievousness. "I can't help it if I'm so hungry for
all this. I hear that's what happens when a girl gets pregnant." She lets
that statement settle as she reaches forward to pluck a meatroll from beside
the greens pile, picking at the innards. "He is sleeping very well, Gabby.
In my bed. Although last night, I swear he was gonna swallow a VTOL with all
the snoring going on." That, naturally, just sort of quipped without much
attention whatsoever. *nibble-nibble-nibble*
"Hey. I'm concerned with more than myself a lot of
times. I'm not that selfish." Menace responds in a knee-jerk
reaction. "Um. I worry about my dragon. And if people are being stupid," he
volunteers. "I worry about a lot
of things that aren't myself."
Eyes are automatically drawn towards...a pink object bobbing above the
crowd. "Odd headdress." he comments, pointing vaguely toward
Qualerik. "Cold fluff in large
quantities was always more preferable to me than too much rain. Besides, when you get cold, you can always
put on more clothing. If you get too
hot...you're stuck." He idly takes
a sip of juice...and ends up spraying it halfway across the room as Taire
speaks up. "Taire!" he
exlaims in outrage. "It was not
like that!"
Amusement
glitters G'aela's expression as she raises her finger to wave at the be-toweled
Qualerik. Strange, strange fellow. "Greetings.." she calls toward him
before chuckling toward Sylvan. "Oh, you have not lived till you've seen
dragon snow wars in the central bowl. You will have numb toes for
sevendays..." She nods quickly at the candidate's question. "Surely
you will, when Teyrth and Peyth allow! I will question Sanna on that as soon as
possible and return with word." Eyes go wide toward TAire. Poor woman.
"Er... well... congratulations to you both. I'm sure it's very... warm. In
your bed." She moves quickly to a different subject. "Qualerik, how
are the meatrolls? I think I will have to get some..." And she strides
thataway.
Qualerik
bats his eyes downright prettily towards N'cion in response to the comment, and
simply eyes Sylvan. "'Lo," is finally returned with a sniff, while a
plate is carefully loaded up with the desired quantity (an awful lot) of food.
"Hey," is given as a belated response to G'aela, a balancing act
beginning as he attempts to make his way a bit closer to her, if only to avoid
shouting. "They're... I dunno. So far they're kinda heavy, but maybe
that's just a 'weight in numbers' sort of deal. I'm not sure. Something of a
lynch mob of meatrolls, go figure. Bet they could force almost /anyone/ to do
something if they tried hard enough. Maybe if they were left out for a sevenday
or so, got stale, and then could be thrown towards someone?" Nevermind the
quiet mood- it's G'aela, he almost knows her.
Naven's
entrance comes sans pink towel, a surreptitious glance given to the crowded
room. He was hoping he'd pass by
unnoticed as he meanders his way into the crowds in the direction of the
kitchen, but stops short as he's sprayed by ... something. "Uh..." is muttered, as he notices
it's not just water and attempts to find the source of said spray. A hand goes up to his face and, "It's
in my hair! Getitoff getitoff
getitoff!" He stops short as he realizes
the spectacle, straightening himself and smoothing down his wonderfully
fashionable candidate's robe.
"Ahem," is all Naven says then, making his way towards the pot
of klah. Now that his attempt at being
sneaky is blown, he'll just.. mingle.
Passing
by? Unnoticed? Here? ... Cough. If Sylvan can't remain unnoticed, no one can.
Of course, that taletell book is settled in her lap, Out of sight, out of mind,
though the sight of Qualerik, and that towel, brings out, ".... Whups. I
guess a little more of the water is tainted." He'll understand what she
means by that, considering what they were talking about before. However, any
other comments are stifled by, ".... Snowball fights with dragons?"
Did she hear that correctly? Maybe, even as she pauses at Naven's, erm,
dramatic entrance. "...... though maybe touching should definitely wait
until it's time." Something's not quite right here... and well, at least
she waggles fingers in Naven's direction. Yes, everyone knows he's here now.
Taire
squeezes the meatroll, causing the meaty innards to puff and threaten to spill
out the end. Mmmmmm. Oh look, its that hair-obsessed candidate. "Hey
there, Qualerik. If you want any of those beads, I'd still be happy to loan you
some. Then we really can have that slumber party in the dorms." What fun.
Menace and his spitting is eyed rather warily, offering him a napkin. Ohhhh,
she isn't done with the evils in store for the guy. Not at all. It is just
beginning. "Its not like /he/ is the father or anything. Of course it is
Gabby." Duh. Ohhh, and there is Naven too. "Naven-pet? When you are
done messing with your hair, get me a mug of cider." The glimmer of a
sweetstick pokes from a pocket.
N'cion
growls at Gaby. "It's not like
that! There's nothing permanent about
anything! No promises made!" He glances down the ballistic trajectory of
his inadvertant spill to spy any victims.
"Sorry! I didn't mean
to! It's all her fault." he points
at Taire. "More like snow/man/
fights, with the size of the balls involved." he chimes in Sylvan-wards.
"You learn to hide behind your dragon and hope for the best. While taking potshots at other riders."
he elaborates. "Err.
Right. Gaby is...the
father?" he stares, rather
nonplussed, at Taire. "But...I
thought...you said...she's...uh..."
You broke his literal-minded brain!
"Are
there any /left/?" G'aela nearly squeaks, eyeing Qualerik's plate. But she
manages to find a few for herself, still chuckling with amusement upon the
laden surface in the man's hand. "Why would we need to do that? Though it
does sound interesting... perhaps douse them in sauce first." Eyes widen
toward Naven, and she coughs. "Welcome to the fold, Naven. Hope you are
doing well..." She turns around to nod quickly toward Sylvan, smiling.
"Oh, yes. You have to tell them, often, to soften the blow, but Calevath
quite enjoys the adventure." Wide eyes then turn upon Taire. "I am? Well...
Hush. Hush. No, hush." She taps on her temple. "Calevath wonders if
that means he can be the father, as well, Taire..." comes her soft comment
to the greenrider. "Or at least the nanny." She blinks toward N'cion
as she returns to the table, setting down her plate. "What? What am I? Go
ahead and say your words, greenrider. Do you want to say I am not fit to be a
father?!" Aww, he gone and done it.
Qualerik
gives an involuntary shudder for Sylvan's words, causing a meatroll to tumble
to that marvelous floor, which in the end force an accusing look from his face
and in the other candidate's directioon.
Then Naven's entrance has 'Rik feeling far more pleased with himself, if
only that he's at least incognito in comparison to that. Though, as helpfully
as he can, the corner of the pink towel turban-ing about his head is held out
in Naven's direction, "Wiping aid?" offered as explanation. And then
G'aela is awed at- ah yes, see the hero worship. "Sauce! You'd /have/ to
make a decent daddy, with ideas like that one!" Beam.
Naven
casually strolls to the table and pours himself a mug of klah, clearly hearing
Taire's remark and ready to throw a quick retort as he sets the mug down. After all, no-one talks to him like that. "Who do you think you- Ah," sweetsticks
spied, so demeanor changes. One would
wonder how long he'd let something like this last. "Of course, Taire.
You'll have to give me extra 'cause of, well, this." He gestures at the juice still dripping down
his face, after all, N'cion pointed fingers in her direction. Qualerik's offer of a towel tip is
gratefully accepted for a few wipes before he turns confusedly at source of
argument between N'cion and G'aela. She's
a dad? Naven knows better to to try to
understand, and instead goes to fetch a mug of cider as well.
Sylvan
merely shrugs for the look she's given from her fellow candidate, still not
intent in getting anything to eat for herself, yet. Maybe she's watching her
figure. Or maybe she's listening to the fights that tend to happen upon Fort's
winters. "Well, as long as said dragon doesn't move. I'd bet more than a
few riders have been pelted, thanks to their lifemate's 'sense of humor'."
Hmmhmm. She bets it's happened, though soon enough she's squirming comfortably
in her seat.Or was, until G'aela comments that she's the father. Just... don't
tell the girl she looks a little off-kilter, okay? Right down to the slight
lean in her chair, as if she'd been pushed askew. "...... Flight."
Must be the answer, because, well, she's heard enough things to know better and
get in the middle of this and properly disseminate it.
Taire
frowns for a moment at the meatroll, eyes her plate, shrugs her shoulders, and
dips said 'roll in what could very well be bubbly pie innards. Maybe. Hard to
tell with that hodgepodge on that plate. "Gabby would be a wonderful
father. As would Cale. I mean, just imagine all the bonding that could happen.
She could teach him," Yes, him, "all kinds of wonderful things.
Like... Like... Like..." Help her, she is at a loss, far too busy staring
at Qual's hair in awe. It takes a grand force of will to tear her attention
away. "Hrm? Where was I?" Off on another tangent, "Oh, Naven.
Yeah, make sure it is nice and warm too. And I didn't spit all over you. Menace
is very messy, as I well know. It just happens."
N'cion
stutters.
"I...you...uh...YES!"
He fairly explodes. "You
aren't fit! You can't! I know!" He's checked.
"Sheesh, at this rate, people will start thinking you're like
Karnie..." he mutters. "Oh,
you bet." he replies to
Sylvan. "Amnerith has the
misfortune to think she's funny." he says sourly. "And that it's the height of hilarity
to 'accidentally' drop a big snowball at me, or watch me get blindsided by
one." He shoots a quick glare at
Taire. "I'm quite fastidious when
people aren't presuming to mislead others through carefully manipulated
information." he says archly.
G'aela
watches the rolling meatroll before mouthing "I pity you" to
Qualerik, adding to that with a spoken, "Now the cooks will make you scrub
the floor." She's seen it all too often. A beam crosses her face, though,
as she nods quickly. "You are right!" She looks toward Sylvan,
chuckling. "Oh, dangers do happen, but, like N'cion commented, you hide
and hope you are not the one the snowballs find." The bluerider turns
quickly toward Taire with an excited, "Like sailing! And reading and
scribing and fishing... and... " Reading and sailing and reading. It's
pretty much all she knows. Eyes storm toward the male greenrider, this being, surprisingly,
the first time in their six turns of friendship that she's raised her voice to
him this loudly. "You do not need anatomy to be a father! You can have...
other stuff! Just because you have... certain things... does not mean that you
would be /great/ for the job!" She stops to pout. "I know I'm a
girl."
Qualerik
did hear Taire's comment about slumber parties, really. He was just...
daydreaming. Or swooning over Naven or something. A suspicious narrowing of his
eyes takes place for the inspection of his mop, while the towel, after being
used as a napkin, makes its way to a slumped state about his shoulders.
"It could be nicer with your beads, yeah, you should just pop by one
night," he decides with a faint grin. N'cion is eyed in time for the little
bit about big snowballs to be caught, and a nearly woflish grin touches
Qualerik's features. "And /you/ could come by any night y'want too,"
he invites with a slight purr. Only slight, though, he is well aware he's
supposed to behaved 'till something cracks on the Sands. "I don't mind
scrubbing floors, G'aela, it's a right honourable job. And maybe it'll keep me
away from the latrines. That way I don't have to wear towels into the living
caverns all the time, 'cause I could go at least three days without bathing.
After all, need to develop a decent stench, what with the sayings about how
dragons choose by sweat and all..." The lad's got it all planned out.
"And if you ever /do/ need anatomy, y'can borrow mine."
Dragons
dropping snowballs on their riders, women arguing about the paternity of the
unborn child... It's just too much for a kid like Naven. He's likely to be as off-kilter as
Sylvan. So, as such, all he manages to
do is pour out the cider - warm - and stiffly make his way over to the gathering
holding both klah and cider. He holds
Taire's mug and waits for the payment.
After all, Scooby gets /his/ snack before he deals with the ghoulies...
it's not like this is a whole lot different.
Qualerik's remark draws his attention away temporarily -- "Talking
about scrubbing floors, did you ever figure out what that thing you were
peeling off the floor was, 'Lerik?"
"...
I think the lack of bathing has gotten to his brain." Said simply, Sylvan
turns her attention back to the book in her lap, but only momentarily; she'll
be scribbling in this thing for hours, now. So much for nap time... but
considering what's going on now, this is a welcome change. Chores can be
tedious and repetitive, and even if it is working toward a goal.... it's a
boring task. There's no one in the world that can refute it. Still, her
attention is dragged from the rather comical thoughts of someone pouncing
everything that moves... to dragons dropping snowballs. ".... That would
be a big snowball. And she is right. It isn't the, ah, anatomy that makes a
parent, one could say." Even if her father has sired too many spawn for
anyone's good. "It's the thought that counts."
Taire
stares blankly at Menace for the longest moment, teeth biting at her bottom lip
in a valiant effort not to burst out laughing. Ohhhhh, he /so/ deserves this
after those 'tying' and 'hip' comments from the other evening. Growl. Nod is
given to Qualerik at his comment. That would be an affirming nod. Yes. "Oh
yes, sailing and fishing. Definitely those. Gabby would make an excellent
father to any kid. So, don't get all self-righteous and tell her she can't
be." And now Taire is getting a little bit angry though, pushing abruptly
to her feet so that the chair teeters for a moment on two legs, coming rather
close to teetering over, but not quite. And then she is reduced to blinking at
Qual once more, snickering at that last comment of his. She is handing over the
sweetstick in return for the mug of cider, murmuring slightly, "Trust me.
You never want to know what you or anyone else is peeling off of
anything." Just some advice.
N'cion
shrinks back slightly from Gaby's vehement attitude. "Uh. Well. I think we're laboring under a
misapprehension here. See, I'm talking
about physical fatherhood, of which you can't possibly be guilty of." Note the choice of words there: Guilty. "You can be...surrogate mother or
stepfather or something, but not the /actual/ father!" he says
exasperatedly.
"...what?" He turns to
stare at Qualerik for a moment before lifting his eyes dramatically towards the
ceiling. "Why me? It's not like I'm overly friendly or
anything. Do I project some sort of /aura/?!" Brief aside, aside, he turns to actually
address Qualerik instead of the air several feet above him. "I think not, and as a Candidate, that
is a very inappropriate thing to offer."
he bristles, brandishing the rulebook at Qualerik...in a manner of
speaking. "Why...do I even bother
to come out of doors anymore? That's
it. I'm going back to bed." he grumps, stomping off towards the exit.
Taire
calls out after Menace, "If you sleep in my bed, be sure to make it
afterwards!!!"
G'aela
stops in her 'fury' to look toward Qualerik, nodding once. "I suppose any
job is an honor/o/rable one, Qualerik," she replies as the player hides,
"so long as you do it well. Yet I suppose the latrines may build up your
resistance to stench." G'aela scratches her arm at Sylvan's words,
sighing. "But I do not wish to be a mother... and this is a chance to be a
parent Who cares if it is truly of N'cion's family?" She plops into her
seat. "Okay, Menace," she continues with an apologetic look to the
man. "I suppose that is acceptable. And perhaps Qualerik has the same
taste as N'i. You seemed to like him, aye?" Fingers wave after the greenrider
as she shakes her head. "What a life he leads..."
Qualerik
nods to Naven, eyes widening in a sort of warning. "I did figure it out,
after a quick taste test. I'd recommend saving your innocence and not asking me
about it, though. Kept me awake all that night, y'know- those weren't just the
normal tossings and turnings! But Taire's right. Y'don't wanna know." And
then a rather blatant blink at Sylvan, and, matter-of-factly, he explains,
"Not my brain, just my arm pits. And those are clean now. See?" And
so the nearly-forgotten plate of meatrolls is held shakily in one hand while
the other arm lifts to expose his... Well... Pits. "Only the aura of your
rampant beauty?" is hazarded in return to N'cion. "And besides, I
just said y'could stop by. Maybe I was just lookin' at your fingers and
thinkin' that you would be good for doin' my hair!" Ah, but too late? Oh
well, Lerik still manages to look downright pleased with himself. Though G'aela
does get the afterthought of, "Ooh, who's N'i?"
N'cion
goes home.
Sylvan
goes home.
Naven
goes home.
Taire
frowns after Menace for a long time, looking rather thoughtful and maybe just a
little bit guilty. "Fardles... I'm gonna have to..." She sighs
softly, and then looks back to Gabby, "I still think you would make a
wonderful father, but I'm thinking a certain someone might get a wee bit anal
'bout that kind of thing. You should have seen him the other night when
I..." She smirks slightly, rolling her shoulders and for once keeping her
tongue.
G'aela
wrinkles her nose toward Qualerik's revelations, then eyeing her meatrolls
before pushing the plate away. All this baby talk and armpit talk has made her
lose her appetite. "He is a rider from our cluch, Qualerik, who took quite
a liking to N'cion from day one."
G'aela just tilts her head to the side at Taire, forehead furrowed.
"I am sure he will be a fine father, Taire, and I am sure he is sorry for
whatever you are attempting to make him sorry for." Yes, she understands
the greenrider all too well. "I, personally, am a little confused... but
it is your and his business and not mine. I suppose I am just a friend, here
for you both... And I had better head back to my work now. If you ever need my
help irking him again, however, let me know." She pauses in her current
stiff demeanor to give a slight wink before standing and heading out, waving to
the candidates as she goes.
Qualerik
lowers his arm with a dull sniff, not having achieved the oohing and aahing he
was going for. Same hand goes to finally take a meatroll from the loaded plate,
which is popped quickly into his mouth for the first bite. "So," is
pronounced with amazing skill from arund the mouthful, "you really serious
about those beads?" While G'aela is saluted with a bitten meatroll as she
retreats.
Taire
glances after Gabby now, and is beginning to feel really wretched now. Pouty
lip shows for just a moment as he glances after her bestest-best bluerider
friend, pal, and other things. "She really would be a good father." A
sigh, and she is blinking back to Qual, "Hrm? Oh yeah. The beads.
Definitely. I'll have to bring my jars down some time."
Qualerik
nods, forcing a swallow of food that, as long as it has anything to do with it,
isn't ready to be swallowed, forcing a faint wince to the boy's general being.
"Although I don't doubt that G'aela'd be a marvelous dad. She seems nice
enough and all, speaking from an utterly platonic point of view... There,
there?" Sympathy is not his strong point. Diversion, however... He might
give that a shot. "So yeah, if you would bring the jar that'd be great- I
don't need too many, but Keliana was gonna fuzz up my hair in little ropes for
me, so I figured beads might hold it in, all the while keeping it from being
too horribly nice. Right?"
Taire
wrinkles her nose slightly as she peers at him, moving on to patron her mushed
tubers, mixed with something that has an orange hue. "I'm Menace actually
lets me stay down here for an evening, I'd be happy to putter about the dorms
with you all. Doing hair, gossiping, and all that fun stuff." Ohhh, just
like a candidate again.
"Oh,
and there are some downright decent gossippers among us, let me tell you,"
Qualerik mentions as way of promise, going for another nibble. "S'easier
to eat when not so many people are around," he quips in that off-topic way
before going back to his pondering. "But it could be fun, yeah... And
'sides, imagine the bonding possibilities! The conversations y'could get into
would be downright amazing. Or at least have the potential to be. Everything
has potential, even if only in being held above the ground." Sagenod.
Taire's
eyes seem to glitter at these possibilities, "Oh... and I could tell you
all about the stuff my class did in those very dorms. Some of those stories
would make your toes curl, but they are so very entertaining." Ohhhh yes.
No, no evil cackles at this point. "We will definitely have to do
that." Its only been a couple of days, and she is bored already with this
whole pregnancy thing. She must do /something/.
Qualerik
blinks down towards his boots, and offers a dull shrug. "My toes don't
curl so easily, y'know," he informs her with a touch of bravado. "And
yeah, like I said, anytime you want. Even if you have to drag me away from
chores or dreary robe sewing, I promise not to complain. Really, it's your best
interests I have in mind."
Taire
looks down at Qual's booted feet as well, making a point of doing so at that.
"No? Well, I'll do my best to try to make it happen at least once. How
about that?" She offers him a quick wink before poking at a new part of
the culinary masterpiece upon her plate -nearly half-eaten as it is. Her grin
goes knowing at that last part, voice drawling, "Yeah, I'll bet you do.
Don't you think you aught to be getting on to those chores now... or
something?" Never was a stickler about candidates doing chores though.
*wink*
"Oh,
give me a break, I just cleaned your shardin' latrines!" Qualerik whines,
with every intention of sounding high-pitched and annoying. "But I'd hate
to keep you busy, so if I must..." And two meatrolls are stuck in either
pocket, while he waddles to deposit the plate on the edge of a bench, in the
hopes it'll be cleared away fairly soon. "Anywho. I look forward to seeing
you some random day, yeah? I'll go help them peel tubers..." Shudder. And
the towel is tossed near the plate- he'll probably be the one to clean such
things up later anyway.