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.