M'lan saunters into the living cavern, tucking a pair of riding gloves into
his pocket.  Still muttering under his breath, the bronzerider looks rather
less than pleased.  Blue gaze canting upwards to assay the cavern, it falls
after a moment upon Kishairyn, and M'lan smiles, "'lo, Kishairyn.  How goes
the chores?"  Trust M'lan to ask that, right?

Kishairyn's eyes narrow slightly, the candidate seems more focused on the way
bronzerider enters than the smile ... time to tread lightly.  Though it's too
late to look really busy, she fiddles aimlessly with her klah mug to at least
appear as if she's doing something.  "Hello, M'lan," she returns.  "As well
as can be expected.  How are you?"  She stills seems wary.

It would appear that M'lan just entered, for he's still tucking his riding
gloves into his belt.  Shaking his head, he murmurs to Kishairyn, "Fairly all
right, aside from a few hints of trouble, down at Herder."  Sharding
craftmaster's still pouting over the people they Searched.  Sigh.  His
footsteps take him, after a brief pause, to the side, where he pours a mug of
tea.  Perhaps hearing footsteps, he turns to glance over his shoulder, and
spots the entering candidates first, then P'tala.  Aryion, Menacion, and
Sanna all receive smiles, lips quirking, before he glances at P'tala, and
shakes his head.  He's heard a few rumblings, and thus, cradles his tea in
his hands, watching a moment as he lifts the mug to his lips.  P'tala does
get a greeting, though, "'lo, P'tala," before he focusses upon the trio, and
asks, "How goes the chores, you three...?"

Aryion strolls into the cavern, a cloud of dust and runner hair falling
toward the ground with every step he takes. "Hello all." Candidates and
riders alike are given the greeting while respective nods are directed as
well toward the riders. A mug of klah is obtained before seating himself down
at the table with his fellow candies. "Not bad, just finished up some chores
in the stables." Ary responds to M'lan's inquiry before relaxing back in his
chair and beginning to sip his klah.

P'tala strolls into the living caverns, face molded into a brooding mask, and
even unaffected by her T'var-ish therapy session. A flagon of warm, spiced
wine is eyed warily, then plucked from the sideboard and poured into a mug.
Finding a seat at the Peregrine table, she sips the wine before glancing at
M'lan with a slow, solemn blink. "Hello." A nod to the candidates, and the
girl rolls herself into a little brooding ball.

"Horrible."  Menace replies immediately.  "I don't understand how they
managed to track /that/ much dirt in there.  I think somebody must have used
shovels to bring in enough."  He slips across the room, pouring himself a
glass of prune juice along the way.  "Hello."  He greets back at P'tala,
giving her a wide berth as he circles around towards an empty table.

Sanna comes not to eat - she's already munching on a chunk of sweetbread as
she emerges from the kitchens, limiting herself to a general wave as she
chomps on.  Rude to speak with one's mouth full.  Weaving her way through the
crowds with practiced ease, she pulls up next to her fellow candidates.  A
wordless nose-wrinkle is spared for Menace and Aryion, and she opts for
cleaner company: Kishairyn.

Kishairyn inclines her head in a slight nod, easing her fingers along the
surface of the mug as if to coax the warmth of the liquid into her fingers. 
"Pity, that," she remarks, "but as long as they're not throwing herdbeasts at
you ..."  She takes a tentative sip, wincing as the klah still proves hot
enough to burn her tongue.  "Hello, fellow victims," she greets her fellows
en masse.  "And P'tala ... are you all right?"  She squints at the
greenrider, brow lifting.  She adds a further twiddle of her fingers to
Sanna.  The reason she's cleaner is much simpler:  slacking off.

First, it'd appear, answering the two male candidates, M'lan grins, "Oh, I'm
sure we did, you see, that's part of the fun."  Whether he's serious or not
is hard to tell, for once, M'lan's not going to divulge, instead regarding
them with a slow grin, before turning to P'tala.  His brow rises ironically
at her solemn mien, before chuckling again, and taking another sip of his
tea.  And finally, Kishairyn and Sanna are regarded as the latter girl
approaches the prior, and M'lan perches casually on a table not terribly far
from they nor P'tala, nor the others, and nods at Kishairyn, "True enough,
though I'd not want to meet the Herder that could throw a herdbeast, anyway."
 Sanna is given a smile then, "Early snack, Sanna?"

P'tala glares over her wine, a Look going to Kishairyn before the greenrider
replies "Yes, I'm fine." in what she deems to be 'as polite as possible'.
Considering the circumstances, it's a wonder that she's not tearing out the
candidate's hair in a fit of emotional angst. That's not to say that the
inner, sadistic, and gleeful child isn't there at all--she stands and plunks
herself down near that empty table of Menace's. He will not escape, and she's
in a bad enough mood to enforce that postulate.

One eyebrow raises questionably towards P'tala, but, Aryion has learned to
leave certain things alone. A grin is cast toward Sanna in greeting, before
nodding towards Menace. "Herder trouble eh? That doesn't sound good." He
casually comments to M'lan, before taking another drink from his still
steaming mug. Inclining his head toward Kisha and Sanna, "so, what have you
two ladies been up to today?"

Menacion isn't all /that/ dirty.  He certainly wasn't rolling around on the
dirty floor.  All he's got is some dirt on his boots and the oh-so-delightful
faint frangrance of dried sweat.  Straddling a chair in the usual manner, he
sips his juice.  And mouths the word 'proddy' in silent exaggeration,
gesturing at P'tala gingerly.  "I have."  Menace replies to M'lan.  "Well.  A
baby herdbeast, at least.  Though I hear they've got some giant as well. 
Eight feet tall, or so I've heard."  Eyes flicker to P'tala, watching her
warily.  Uh oh.  Turn around, turn around, go past, go past....doh.  Why
couldn't she have stayed at the other table?

Because that, Menace, wouldn't have been entertaining.  Sanna visibly perks
up, craning her neck slightly to watch the greenriding weyrsecond and her
quarry.  "I'll take snacks whenever I can get them," she comments absently to
M'lan, dropping to a chair - almost missing, due to an unwillingness to take
her eyes off Menace and P'tala.  Settled safely, however, she directs her
words to Aryion, although he'll have to divine that himself.  "Kitchens. 
Pots.  I think my hands must be gleaming by now, or entirely bare of skin." 
It's really just the candidate's obligatory complaint, though, uttered with
little feeling.

Kishairyn leans back, gingerly crossing her legs at the ankles ... though she doesn't
dare resume her earlier sprawl, having long since figured out that this is an
invitation for assigned chores.  "Mmmm, one would think they could invent
some sort of herdbeast catapult, in cooperation with smith."  She snorts. 
"Eight feet tall?  Menace, lay off the wine."  She flashes a bright smile
over at P'tala as if oblivious to the other's mood.  "Glad to hear it," she
chirps.  "Two ladies, Aryion?  Are you seeing double?"  She's certainly not a
lady, and P'tala ... is a greenrider.

"Ahh, I see," M'lan says with a grin and a smile towards Sanna, pausing,
before turning curiously towards P'tala and Menacion.  Deciding that this
should be interesting-- as long as P'tala's torturing Menacion, she's not
bothering *HIM*, you see.  He notes as an aside, though, to Kishairyn, even
as he stretches, "He's not lying, I've seen the fellow.  Really tall.  Nice
enough, if a bit slow."

P'tala is a greenrider, and therefore more of a lady than typical men can
handle. Off-the-meter kinda ladyness, or something like that. A brow raises
upwards with a menacing slowness at Kishairyn, but lowers again as Menacion
reacts. Hee. Kish is really walking the line between life and death, isn't
she? The wine at hand is sipped again, but not before the Weyrsecond waves to
Sanna. "Hey there, girl. Haven't seen you in a while. You've been hiding."
And does anyone blame her?

Aryion glances toward Menace at the right time to catch his mouthed comment.
Ah, that explains alot. Continuing to sip his klah, Ary simply leans back
into his chair to quietly observe the goings on around the room. He chuckles
a little at Sanna's comment, "Aye, too much cleaning can be bad," before
turning toward Kisha. "Never heard tale of an eight foot tall heardbeast,
but, it would be fairly easy to come up with a catapult of some sort." So
speaks the smith. Ary looks fairly amazed at M'lan's verification of the
tale. "Really?" Eyebrows raise in disbelief, before turning back to Kisha.
"Hum.. true.. I must have been mistaken.. sorry for that." He replies with a
wink at Kisha.

Menacion looks injured.  "I don't drink.  At all.  And I was just telling you
what I heard.  The man I heard it from is usually a very reliable source." 
He nods at M'lan.  "See?  He does exist."  Eyes flicker back to P'tala, like
a hamster keeping an eye on a wherry about to strike.  "An eight foot tall
/herder/, Aryion, not a herdbeast."

P'tala continues brooding, but, extremely uncharacteristically of her, gives
up making Menacion uncomfortable for the private comfort of her office. Sigh.
Emotions are the damnedest things, aren't they?

V'len steps into the living cavern and just stands in the doorway. Yep,
folks, he's here! V'len inclines his head a little, waiting for the
conversations to stop and the recognition, complete with nudges and whispers,
to begin. It's what always happens when he arrives, it seems.

Sanna's gaze swings around after the departing weyrsecond, but only
momentarily.  Sighting V'len, the girl goes so far as to hastily swallow her
mouthful of sweetbread, voice dropped low, pitched only for those nearby. 
"And here, boys and girls, we have the dancing darling of the Harper Hall." 
Insert almost-sniggers here.  But Sanna's too wise in the ways of the weyr to
try that label out too loudly, and another, more socially pitched, quickly
follows it.  "I'll accept that a herdbeast /can/ be thrown, but why would
someone want to?  Wouldn't it get hurt?"

Kishairyn drums her fingers absently along the side of her mug.  "Oh, I
thought you meant the herdbeast was eight feet at the shoulder," she
dismisses lightly.  "Although I must confess, a man that tall ..."  She
whistles softly, a saccharine smile sent over in P'tala's direction.  She's
innocent, really.  Another drum of the fingers.  "Would it be, Aryion?  Do
it," she says with the abruptness of an order.  "You don't drink?  Maybe you
should."  Shaking her head, she leans back in her chair and twiddles her
fingers in greeting to V'len.  As if - gasp! - he's anyone else.

Unable to help it, M'lan's own lips curve into a smirk as he spots V'len
entering.  He also, of course, hears Sanna's words,a s he's sitting somewhat
close to her table: he has a mighty hard time stopping from laughing out
loud.  He slides along his table, ending up by both candidates, then calls
out to V'len, "'lo, V'len.  How goes R'kan?"  Unlike the candidates, he isn't
afraid to hint out loud.

Aryion peers at Menace. "Oh. Well, now that does make better sense than an
eight foot tall heardbeast." He sighs and continues to take occasional sips
from his mug. At Sanna's words Ary turns to watch the grand entrance of
V'len, hiding his chuckle behind his mug. At M'lan's words, the laughter just
can't be held in, as the former smith turns his laughter into a choking fit.
"Oh, too much dust.." he manages to get out after taking time to catch his
breath.

Menacion heaves a sigh of relief, watching P'tala depart.  Though he eyes her
route of departure carefully.  Who knows, she might just be getting her
cleaver from her office.  "Oh, no, R'kan was more entertaining out there." 
He mutters back at Sanna.  "Not if you threw it into a lake or something. 
Maybe you just want to find out how much you can trust it?"  News flash: 
Being catapulted renders one more trustworthy.  "Don't like the taste of
alchohol.  Or the side effects.  Or the morning after."  Only took one try to
swear Menace off drinking forever.  Oh boy.  By the pricking of his thumbs...

Aniy glances around the corners of the entryway before moving inside the
caverns, light eyes perusing cavern-denizens as she treads along the
refreshment table. Perhaps a faint smile is offered for a moment, but soon
she focuses on pouring a mug of warmed cider, sprinkling and stirring a bit
cinnamon into the stuff. Sipping carefully, taking time to let the taste
simmer on her tongue, she returns a bleary glance to the rest of the room.

Oh look! V'len did get whispers and nudges! Yep, he's Yevgeth's rider,
alright! With a warm smile to his admirers, he heads towards the table, only
to run into M'lan. "R'kan? Oh, I suppose he's fine. I've not seen him since
the Harper Ball... but such a dear man, don't you agree?" He smiles warmly,
pouring himself a drink. An extra nod is sent Aniy's way, but his brow knits
at the conversation. "Throwing herdbeast? Whyever for? Seriously, I would
think you all would find better uses for your time." He pauses and a light
comes across his face. "I could teach you all to knit?"

Sanna certainly spared V'len a whisper and a glance.  And now, she spares him
a beaming grin, bringing one hand up to mock-flex biceps that are hardly the
most impressive in the weyr.  "No, no, herdbeast throwing is our newest
training exercise.  It was M'lan's idea."  And note, her gaze does /not/ meet
that of the weyrsecond as she blithely continues.  "Meant to toughen us up,
so that we can take care of dragonets better.  Don't want any faint little
Holder girls, do we?"

Snorting laughter,  M'lan /looks/ at Sanna, and says, simply, "Hrm.  I wasn't
aware I thought that..."  He trails off, and smirks then, "Now that you think
of it, though, I think it's a good idea."  He gives V'len a look, then slips
to his feet, "Come on, then."  He gestures to the living cavern in general,
eyes twinkling, "All out, I think I'm going to have Sanna, Kishairyn, and
Menacion throw a few herdbeasts."

Kishairyn blinks at Menace.  "No, that's cheating.  You can't trust anyone
further than you can throw them.  Catapults queer the whole deal."  Aryion
gets a snort and a skeptical lilt of one brow.  "Too much dust, of course. 
Have something to drink, get the dust out of your throat before you swallow
it."  The concern in her voice really isn't very convincing.  Her head rolls
back to regard the arrival, and she flicks her fingers in a wave.  She shakes
her head seriously at V'len's words.  "No.  I have an obligation to the
weavers to concentrate on being a messenger.  Can't infringe on the craft." 
Wait.  Perhaps she shouldn't have said that here.  "After candidacy, of
course."  She frowns at M'lan.  "Hmmm.  And then you're going to give us a
month's infirmary leave whilst our muscles heal?"

Aniy moves a passive motion of her mug toward V'len, her attention moved
elsewhere blankly, to a wall. She inclines to lean against a chair, tucking
her foot around a chairleg and scooting it to catch her as she collapses.
Legs are crossed at the thighs, posture failing as elbows balance against her
knees. A soft breath of laughter is exhaled toward Sanna and M'lan, head
skaing as her mirth is drowned by another sip of cider.

Aryion rolls his eyes at V'len's words, taking small sips from his mug trying
to recover from his coughing fit. After draining the mug he gets up to head
to the refreshment table, giving Aniy a small nod in greeting before pouring
himself some juice. Grabbing up a redfruit as well, Ary takes a bite before
returning to his seat to listen to the conversations. Turning to Kisha,
"Actually, the device would be a simple one, but the size would be the only
thing. Depending on what you want to toss, and the weight of the object, you
have to build the catapult to a comparable size." He turns to M'lan with a
questioning look, "I guess I am left out of that activity? Oh well, I'd
rather build a catapult to throw them anyway."

Menacion shakes his head.  "Um.  I think I'll pass.  I've got other things to
do besides throwing herderbeasts and knitting."  Like sit around and do
nothing.  "Actually, I think just holding herderbeasts in one place long
enough for the dragonets to pounce would probably be better..."  he replies. 
"I think the exercise would be a rather moot point with me, though. 
Obviously I'm not a faint little holder girl."  None of the above, actually. 
"But how does physical distance translate into...trusting distance...How far
you can throw them is how far away they'll be before they divulge what you've
told them?"

V'len turns to M'lan, a little bit of ... confusion mixed with humor flashing
across his face. "I remember an event of my candidacy, actually that involved
herdbeast. Are you suggesting that these herdbeast might be dragon meals?"
Well, that's one way to keep them from talking... His brow raises and he
looks over the other candidates. "I think that my experience with herdbeast
on the sands might be something every candidate should experience."

This is Sanna.  Sanna just had her comment backfire.  Backpedal, Sanna,
backpedal!  "Oh, I threw six or seven this morning."  She's quick to assure
M'lan, with only a small quirk of dusky lips.  And just to shift the focus a
little further away, she swivels, propping her chin up on one hand to eye
Menacion.  "How many secrets of yours do you expect a herdbeast to divulge,
Menace?"  There's apparently genuine puzzlement there, although a glint in
her eye might be the giveaway.  "I'm sure they're a tight-lipped bunch, as a
rule."  Isn't she kind?  She's leaving his assertions about being
un-holder-girl-like for another time.

"Oh, I don't know, V'len.  I was thinking that Sanna here had such a
/wonderful/ idea."  The man's gaze is twinkling as he sits near she and
Kishairyn, gesturing briefly before his hand falls again.  Aryion is given a
chuckle, and he quips, "I was actually going to have you catch, Aryion,"
before blinking innocently at Menacion and Kishairyn, "Oh, I'm sure you'd do
well-- see, Sanna threw six or seven this morning."  He's playing up the
girl's suggestion for all it's worth, before nodding at V'len, "Something
like that, perhaps..."  He asks Sanna, "Sure you don't want to help?"

Kishairyn folds her arms behind her head.  "Well, then you'd best get
dragging things out of the stores:  show us what you can build," she directs,
nose crinkling with a faint hint of skepticism.  She shakes her head at
Menace.  "It's a simple question of weight ratios.  The more something
outweighs you, whether in heft, speed or wits, the less you can trust it,"
she points out.  "Oh, yes.  And malice.  Malice is in there, too."  She folds
her hands serenely.  "You could teach the herdbeasts *to* knit?"  Suddenly,
her head snaps up:  she's heard about this.  She stares at V'len.  "But we
couldn't possibly hope to come through it with the same panache ..." her
voice is weak.  "I can throw knives.  That's about as much as I heft," she
protests to M'lan.

Aryion ponders his catapult idea. "It could be a new sport, for the dragons.
Catapulting heardbeasts into the air and having the dragons catch them." He
thinks on that for a few moments before raising one eyebrow at V'len's words.
Heardbeast on the sands? Nope, he doesn't want to know. Ary simply focuses on
eating his fruit and drinking his juice, occasionally wiping his mouth to
remove the fruit juice. He nods at M'lan, "catch? You want me to catch them?
Um.. I think I like the catapult idea better." Thanks anyway..

Aniy tugs the hem of a passing drudges' tunic, quietly requesting the time.
When she's informed, she gives up her mug and slips out, perhaps remembering
to retrieve her son, left in the care of a nanny.

V'len is warming up to this, actually. "I've not really heard of candidates
being able to refuse an activity, have you, M'lan? Not unless the rules have
been changed since I was a candidate." He looks pointedly at Kishairyn and
Aryion as he says this. "And Aryion... such a big, strong man like you?

Smith, hmm? If Sanna said she threw six or seven this morning, certainly you
can /catch/ one! After all, all you have to do is stand there with your arms
ready." He shrugs with a little shake of his head. "Oh and Kisha, don't throw
away those knives. They might come in handy. Afterwards."

Menacion shrugs.  "The walls /and/ the herdbeasts have ears, you know.  Never
know when some sneaky person is hiding in a false bovine."  Paranoia at its
best.  "They've never given any of my secrets away, but then again, I never
tell bovines any of my secrets."  Not the kind to talk to animals. 

"Tight-lipped?  Nah.  Their mouths are always working.  Chewing things,
mostly."  He shrugs at M'lan.  "I threw ten last night.  I've filled my quota
of animal throwing for the month."  He shrugs at Kish.  "Then why just throw?
 Shouldn't it be a blending of mental heft /and/ physical heft?  How far your
brain can throw theirs?"

Sanna is about to respond to much of the above, when a cook-type head emerges
from the kitchens.  And our heroine is unlucky enough to make eye contact.  A
pot is brandished, and although to the inexperienced eye it might appear to
gleam, obviously its current wielder knows better.  There's a small smudge
somewhere that requires Sanna's personal attention.  With a grimace, Sanna
pushes up from her bench, making ready to return to toil.  "Give my regards
to the feeding pens, mmmm?"  That's for her fellow candidates, with a sweet
smile.  And then she's off.   Rub-a-dub-dub.

A battle of the brains with a bovine? V'len just might be able to /win/ that
one. "Mental heft. I've got that." If he could flex his head, he'd do it.
"Although somehow, I just don't think it's possible to mentally toss a
bovine. I mean, you'd need to get into the /thoughts/ of a bovine. And I'm
guessing they're not very interesting. Like, what grass tastes like?" V'len
pauses for a moment, finger tapping on chin. "Umm, are these meat bovine or
milk bovine, by the way? There /would/ be different thoughts.

Once more, V'len makes M'lan worry strongly for the dragonets.  What in
Faranth's name made Yevgeth choose this guy?  Intelligence *obviously* isn't
his strong point...but does V'len even /have/ one?  Wincing slightly, M'lan
sighs, softly, and shakes his head, glancing to the other candidates after
watching Sanna disappear, and notes, "On your feet.  We're off to throw
Herdbeasts."  How far he's going to take this joke is hard to say.

Kishairyn purses her lips in thought.  "Faranth, that's a disturbing image
..." she murmurs, shaking her head.  "But I could see Aryion catching
herdbeasts.  Except possibly eight-foot high ones ..."  Her face pales at the
turn this is taking.  "Oh, I'm not refusing," she says hastily, "just
claiming incompetence.  I'm likely to sprain or break something, and then I'd
have to be in the infirmary ... no chores at all," she bargains.  She
wrinkles her nose at Menace's words.  "I never said it wasn't," she points
out quite simply.  "And I haven't seen any ears on the walls.  Not even
whilst scrubbing them."  She casts a worried look at M'lan, then grumbles in
resignation and rocks to her feet.

Doubtful.  One thing's for sure, V'len's got a swelled head.  But whether
there's anything in there aside from hot air is a matter for little debate. 
"Hey, hey.  I already told you.  I've fulfilled my quota of herdbeast
throwing.  Any more, and I might get fined."  One finger points at Taire. 
"See, /she's/ the one who really needs to practice the herdbeast throwing." 
Right, distract him with more victims.  "You'll be lucky, then, Kish.  Think
about it.  One little injury that keeps you out of work until the hatching."

Taire patters into the room, all innocence personified and bafflement
evident. She seems to have pilfered yet another sweetstick, and is happily
sucking upon the end of the red and white striped candy. Smacking lips on the
'stick, she hesitates just past the threshold to peep at those within, and
then get one of those rude pointing gestures waggled at her from all people,
V'len. Immediatly the words form and are given voice, "Whatever it is, I
didn't do it."

V'len hops to his feet. After all, he's the clutchdaddy's rider. An important
guy. He's safe... no one's going to risk smooshing him with a wayward
airborne bovine. "You heard 'im," he barks in the most authoritarian tone
V'len can muster. "Outside! One Two! Canidatial Bovine Tossing! it's a
Fortian Tradition!" Starting.... now. With that, V'len's out the door,
shoulders squared and ready for the show.

M'lan simply ... blinks.  He starts to laugh, helplessly, and looks to the
candidates a moment.  He shrugs a shoulder, and shakes his head again,
murmuring, "Oh well.  It looks like he's taking me seriously."  Amused, he
gestures with a hand, "C'mon, all of you.  Out.  It's time to toss bovines." 
Yes, you heard him right, Taire.  Toss bovines.

Kishairyn bursts out laughing, sliding out of her chair and nearly ending up
in a boneless puddle on the floor before she gets her legs underneath and
hops to her feet, shaking her head.  "Wonder what the scoring system is?" she
wonders to no one in particular.  "Distance or accuracy?  Size of herdbeast?"
 She tosses a jaunty wave to Taire.  "Here, you'll be my champion.  Do my
tossing for me."

Menacion shades his eyes and sighs.  Oh boy.  There he goes.  "Joy.  As long
as the two of you get to demonstrate first, I'm fine with it."  He shrugs at
Kish.  "Err...Distance times size, wouldn't you say?  A composite of the two."

Taire continues to blink with most acute perplexion. "Wait? /Toss/ bovines?
I've been known to tip a few in my lifetime." She even rounded up a couple of
candidates to do that with her once, but still. "That the same thing?" She
plucks the sweetstick from her mouth to peep at Kishairyn, looking a touch
unsure but game for anything. "Uhhhh. Sure. I'd be my pleasure." And then in
a not too quiet stage whisper for her fellow candidates, "What the fardling
shards are they talking about?"

M'lan whistles quietly; he considers the candidates, then quips to V'len,
"Why don't we start with bovine tipping, and it they're good enough, we can
go to tossing."  Yes, that's right, candidates, they're going to make bovine
tipping an official game.  Or not.  This is just strange, now isn't it?

And just when Thanial thought Fort was nice and civilized, bovine tipping is
mentioned... beats bovine tossing, but just barely.  After all, who's really
strong enough to toss a fully grown bovine?  "We're not /all/ supposed to
participate are we," he asks worriedly.  After all, Nial just came out for
the show.  "Exactly how does one go about tipping bovines."  He doesn't think
giving them a few marks is what M'lan's talking about.

 

V’len had already gone running for a drudge when he'd ducked out before. (and you
all thought it was a mistake now, didn't you?) And here they come... a tall
sallow youth with a fair number of pimples and a white-blond shock of hair
leading a rather sad-eyed cow, her head down and tail aimlessly switching.
"This," V'len motions with a flourish, "is Sallan. Bovine drudge. And this,"
there's another flourish indicating the unfortunate animal, "is Bossy. And
she's ready to be tossed. Or tipped." V'len steps back with a smug little
smile, as Sallan eyes the crowd of riders and candidates warily. "

Taire instantly sweeps up to M'lan at mention of her childhood pastime. "You
all actually will allow us to come out here and tip your bovines? And here I
had to go off and sneak around everyone's back to do it." Never mind that the
watchrider prolly had a fine view that evening. The girl rolls her eyes,
crossing arms before her chest and ducking hands in her armpits to garner
warmth. "Are there many bulls out in the pastures? Cause that can make it
right exciting... and the wind, always be sure to start in on them from
down-wind." Its a science she has perfected. The girl blinks, staring at the
bovine, and then looking most outraged at V'len. "Ya can't tip an /awake/
bovine, ya stupid git!"

Kishairyn claps both hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter and stumbles
backwards, thankfully finding a rock wall to lean against.  "Bulls?  Can you
tip bulls?  Don't they get ... stuck?" she inquires dubiously, fingering
where horns would be on her head ... if she had them.  She casts a bright
smile over at Thanial.  "What a silly idea!  Only the strong men are, of
course."  That might be a small jibe at the candidate's upper arms.  "And you
have to have a hill, don't you?"  She'll cheerfully throw out what little
information she has.

Menacion trails behind the others out of the Living Cavern.  Just here to
watch people strain to pick up bovines and throw them.  One brow raises at
Taire.  He'll have to send a brief message to the Xanadian guards...(In case
of cow-tipping, arrest Taire).  "How much do you think that bovine masses,
Kish?"  Brow furrows at Kish as well.  "How do you two know so much about
bovine tipping, mmm?"

Blinking again, M'lan can't help but laugh, as he looks towards V'len, then
the tired-looking cow.  He shakes his head, and quips, "Ah...well..."  He
glances to the angry Taire, and blinks again, asking, "An expert, are you?" 
He's amused, incredibly, and shakes his head.  This joke went far further
than it should have.  So.  He crosses his arms, and steps back, "Show us how
it's done, Taire."  Sure.  Let her do it.  He honestly has nary a clue.

Sallan blinks slowly at the Taire. "Well, ma'am," he drawls, a piece of straw
hanging from his mouth, "Bossy here ain't asleep, but she's not exactly
energetic as bovines go. You might be able to catch her right surprised iffin
you know what yer doing." He steps back a bit, clearly bored by the entire
affair.

Somehow Thanial isn't surprised Taire knows so much about bovine tipping.  It
suits her, it really does.  "Well it's obviously not just for the strong
candidates," he tells Kish haughtily, "Especially if Taire can do it."  Is he
calling the other candidate weak.  You bet.  Anything to turn people's
attention from bovine tipping, or tossing, and to more civilized forms of
entertainment.

Taire shifts a glance to Kishairyn. "No, you don't tip the bulls. They'll
sooner run you through. They protect the females... and will get right nasty
-chase you down, if you go out there." The girl continues to just peer at
V'len, hopefully finding some kind of comon sense there... and obviously
finding none right off. So, she blinks at the boy. "Whats the fun in that?
The fun is sneaking up there and catching them unawares. There ain't no point
if its just standing there waiting to get knocked to the ground. It ain't fun
unless you hear them bellow... and then the stampede that sometimes follows."
*snort*

V'len steps back as well, a smile shot to M'lan. Didn't he do good? He got
'em a clearly tippable bovine! "I'm looking forward to this. Taire, I'm quiet
impressed. I mean, I can control the Magnificent Yevgeth, but that's clearly
a different matter. This takes stealth and cunning... sneaking up on an
unsuspecting beast!" His eyes travel to the object of this stealth and
cunning... Bossy, head down, slowly chewing, eyes half closed, back hoof
resting on it's edge."Oh, if you tip this one, Taire, we'll get you one
that's more challenging. You wanted one that was asleep to begin with!"

"I wouldn't be tipping a bull, anyway.  I still think their horns'd get
stuck," Kishairyn insists with a high hike of her chin, hands resting lazily
on her hips.  "What's the fun in it, anyway?" she counters to Taire.  "Just
sounds like a lot of noise and clatter to me."  She shakes her head at
Menace.  "Just by listening to people talk.  The folk I used to know were
more likely to carve up the bovine than tip it.  Waste of perfectly good
meat."  Her brows fly up at Thanial's words.  "Oh, I just bet she's stronger
than you."

"Maybe you should distract the bovine."  Menace suggests dryly.  "Make it
easier for Taire to sneak up on it."  He pictures the candidate group
tramping around Fort, or even going between to the herderhall, in search of
sleeping bovines.  Oy.  "Stuck?  Nah.  They've got strong necks, you know. 
Well...depends on the ground, I suppose."  He nods at Thanial.  "I think I
agree with Kish.  Stronger /and/ more experienced in bovine tipping."

M'lan smply shakes his head, and laughs, softly.  He mutters under his
breath, "Sometimes, people really take things too seriously," before offering
V'len a smile.  Wouldn't do to call the man a buffoon, after all.  He
gestures for Sallan to take the herdbeast awhile, and quips, "We'll let you
get rest before trying it."  That's it, candidates, agree with M'lan-- unless
you /want/ to tip bovines.  Just lull poor V'len so he'll stop.

Oooh, them's fighting words Kish and Nial can't back down from a challenge. 
It's his one weakness.  "She is not," he retorts.  "I can tip anything that
Taire can tip, heck I could tip things she can't.  In fact, I could tip a
bull whereas she's obviously too scared and weak to."  Typical Thanial, open
mouth, insert foot.  "But I don't need to," he adds.  Perhaps he's learning
caution in his old age.  After all, pride has gotten him into some pretty
painful situations.  "I just know I can."

"Ohhhh, Sweet, fardling Faranth!" Taire rolls her eyes for yet another time
before she moves about to the side of the cud-chewing bovine with
stealthy-footsteps. But its awake... and it simply isn't near as fun as it is
supposed to be. Her hands reach out to touch the animal's flank, only to
remove and the girl walks away, utterly dejected. "I simply can't... Its just
not right. She's expecting it, and awake, and it just ain't the same." Hands
are tossed into the air as she moves away. "Go ahead. Have at her. I won't.
Its the principle." Arms cross before her chest, casting an incredulous
glance to Nial.  But then she tacks on, "Nothing tough about it. Put your
hands on her flank and push. They teeter easily when asleep. But a bull? You
would be dumb enough."

V'len just sighs, turning back. He tried. He really did. Is this not the
perfect tipping bovine? With a sad little shake of his head, he catches
Sallan's eye. "They don't want to. I'm sorry to drag you out for nothing." He
crosses his arms and chews on his bottom lip, head cocked towards M'lan. "If
they're not going to tip her, what do you want to do with her?"

Kishairyn sticks her tongue out at Menace, displaying the pinnacle of her
maturity.  "And how precisely do you suggest someone distract one?"  She
frowns slightly at the image that assaults her mind, of a bull flailing
around horn-first in the mud.  "We could use some rest.  It's exhausting just
trying to absorb all the information," she says brightly.  She smirks at
Taire.  "Just not right without an unfair advantage, eh?"  She claps her
hands together firmly.  "Yes!  You really *must* tip a bull, Nial ..."  She'd
pay to see that.  "Let's have steak," she suggests to V'len.

"Soft-hearted coward."  Menace directs without much sincerity at Taire. 
Formula response.  "Um.  Wave your arms and yell?  Dress up like a shapely
heifer?  Sing?  Make noises like hay?"  The possibilities are endless. 
Honest.  "Oh, I don't know.  It would be a shame to not tip the cow.  I think
Thanial ought to give it a go."  He shrugs at V'len.  "I like Kish's idea. 
Tipping and a steak dinner."

Thanial puts his hands against the bovine's right flank and pushes... and
pushes... and pushes.  Does Bossy tip, though?  No... she just moves to the
side with each bit of pressure, an utter failure in the cow tipping arena, he
straightens and makes his excuses, "It's not the same.  She's awake," he
scrambles to repeat some of what Taire had said.  "And she's expecting me to
push."  Thus no tipping.  "But I can tip them."  Theoretically.

Taire seems to be an eye-rolling freak as one outrageous comment after
another surfaces. Don't any of these people know anything? And here some
certain unamed people went and put on all these airs, only to be full kin to
a bowl of boiled tubers -not knowing a single thing about such a pastime.
*snort* "Distracting just makes it wary. It has to be asleep. Thats the key,
folks." And then she watches with acute amusement as Nial pushes the bovine.
"Uhhh. Nial? I thought you said something about a bull. Bend over and take a
feel down below... that sure as Thread ain't a bull. Or can't you figure even
that out?" *smirk*

V'len tsks, shaking his head. "I suppose you could lull her to sleep. Sing,
maybe? Hypnotize her? Read her some philosophical journals?" V'len is just
leaning against the bowl wall, watching, offering his helpful suggestions
while Sallan stands in utmost boredom, Bossy's lean dangling from his
fingertips."

Kishairyn eyes Menace.  "Dress up like a shapely heifer?  And risk ...?  No,
thank you," she says with a small, dramatic shudder.  "Yes, V'len.  Let's not
waste the poor thing by tipping it.  Besides, doesn't stress ruin something
for eating?"  A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and Kish spends her
time in the kitchen talking to tubers and terrorizing cooks.  Wait ... the
other way around.  Well, usually.  She snorts at Nial.  "Which doesn't
explain why you tried.  I won't be content 'til there's a bull horns-down in
the dirt."

Menacion raises a brow at Thanial.  "Actually pushing helps, you know."  He
says amusedly.  "Surely you could have shifted her a few feet, at least."  He
shrugs at V'len.  "Why don't you tell her all about you and Yevgeth?"  No,
wait, sleep, not death.  Right.  "I'm sure you'd make a very nice heifer,
Kish.  Drive the bulls absolutely crazy."  He shrugs.  "Stress ruins meals
/for/ me, not the actual meal..."  Eyes roll at Kish.  "Why don't you tip a
few yourself.  Surely you can do better than Thanial did?"

Thanial shoots a look over Bossy's broad back to Taire, "I know she's not a
bull.  I'm practicing," and doing a terrible job of it as well.  But she's
awake and therefore doesn't tip easily.  He adds, more to salve his wounded
pride more than anything else, "And bet you couldn't tip a bull.  That's why
you're not willing to.  Afraid to look foolish, Taire," he taunts.  Silly
Nial doesn't realize just how foolish he looks at the moment.  Turning to
Kish, he grins cockily, "Lets make it a contests.  Taire or me, let's see who
can tip a bull."  Of course Nial's gonna let Taire go first.. ladies first
and all that rot.  Turning to Menace, he sighs.  "I did push, you want to
try, oh master bovine tipper.  Eh?"  Nial doesn't like having the fact that
the cow didn't keel over rubbed in his face.  So he's defensive.  What of it?

Taire has been loosing some of her outrage at the stupidity of the entire
situation, lips drawing up slightly, "Just whose bright idea was this?"
Pointed glance peeks from the obviously innocent V'len, on to Kishairyn with
upraised eyebrows. She couldn't have thought this whole thing up, could she?
The girl stifles a giggle at Menace's suggestion for lulling a bovine to
sleep. Oh yeah, that'll go over well. Gaze sweeps back to Nial, "No. I don't
wanna tip a bull because only a wherry-arsed dolt like yourself would be dumb
enough to try."

V'len has his back against the wall. "It seems we had a lot of experts before
there actually was a herdbeast here to tip." He's clearly disgusted with this
candidate crew. "You know what this is? It's like... a team-building
exercise. We give you a difficult situation and see if you can come up with
the solution. And thus far, the best you can do is suggest singing to a
bovine. And this crew wants to stand for /Yevgeth's/ eggs?"

Kishairyn coughs softly.  "I am not a heifer!" she says indignantly.  "I'm
too scrawny for one.  Haven't got enough meat on my bones."  She takes an
annoyed pinch of her arm to prove it.  "See?  See?  Not a bit of fat."  She
shrugs, looking self-conscious.  "I thought ... it was something about
stomach acids.  Ruining the meat.  Or something."  She shakes her head.  "No,
already told you.  I'd strain my wrist."  Wide eyes regard Taire.  "Oh,
certainly not mine."  She grins over at V'len and tips an imaginary hat.  "We
could drug it."

"No thanks."  Menace replies suavely.  "We've already determined that we're
not going to be tipping this particular cow, so why try?"  He shrugs, thumb
pointing over his shoulder back at the Living Cavern.  "Sanna's.  She came up
with the idea.  Well.  First we were talking about bovine throwing, and
tipping was suggested as a warm up..."  He shrugs at V'len.  "Oh, you wanted
us to come up with /practical/ solutions?  Break it's legs.  Hit it over the
head with a rock.  Disembowel the thing.  Stab it through the heart.  All
accomplish the same general end as tipping.  Except for maybe the
disembowelment..."  He raises a brow.  "I don't /want/ to.  That's the point
here."  A grin crosses his face.  "Oh, well, I'm sure we could fatten you up
in no time.  You'd be a cut above the rest of the heifers."

Thanial stutters, affronted.  "I am not wherry-arsed!  I have a very nice
arse that doesn't resemble a wherry at all," he retorts.  "And I bet if
Fynelox asked you to do it, you would.  Cuz you like him."  Oooh, how Nial
devolves when name calling is done.  Turning Menace, he sighs, "Leave it to
you to come up with the messy, painful options."

Taire just eyes Menace and all of his suggestions. Who would have thunk that
he had such a sadistical side to him? Well, at least not that extreme. And
all she has for the ex-guard is, "Thats disturbing, Menaction." Nial is
earned an amused glance, 'til he had to go and bring up Fyne. Dirty tricks!
"Ohhh, puh-lease. I lusted after him cause the boy planted a kiss on me that
curled my toes. I fancied him for a time, then I came to my senses. He's
nothing but a boy." As if she is much older. And yes, the word 'lust' did
just come out of her mouth.

V'len just shakes his head at Menace. "The challenge was to knock it over,
not to decimate it." V'len's clearly disgusted. "You've failed this simple
challenge. But not to worry. There will be others." Hopefully not as creative
and ...stupid. "In the meantime, I'll be back on the sands." His voice is
dripping with dissapointment as he eyes the candidates. "I leave it to you to
try and come up with a solution... but I'm going back to have a talk with
Yevgeth. This... this is ... pitiful." With a shudder, he turns and heads
back to the sands.

Kishairyn lifts her hand to her temples.  "Faranth, will you listen to that!"
she exclaims, rolling her eyes skywards.  "I've got an idea.  Tie ropes
around its legs, and we'll all pull."  She shakes her head.  "Next thing you
know, we'll be assigned to build a catapult with nothing more than twine and
forks from the living caverns.  Dark things are ahead, candidates."  She
sticks her tongue at Menace.  "I'm not a bovine!"  Ah, maturity.  She cocks
an eyebrow at Taire.  "What'd you have to do a thing like get over it for?"

Menacion shrugs.  "Well, hitting it over the head isn't all that messy.  And
it's quite possible to break a bone without spilling blood on the outside. 
They wouldn't be painful to /us/."  He raises a brow at Taire.  "And you're
sure that you don't...lust...after him any more.  Not even if we were to
convince him to kiss you again?"  Not that they could, but in the interest of
speculation... "Knock it over?  Why didn't you say so?  That's the problem
with these challenges.  No clear goal in mind."  He eyes Kish.  "Hrmm...you
may be right.  Caprine, instead?"

Thanial heard that, yes he did.  Taire said lust... and he's going to rub
that in.  "And you know all about lust, do you Taire?  After just one little
kiss?  I'll have to tell him he needs to do better if he wants to keep your
attention."  In fact, Nial thinks he'll go and find the poor candidate now. 
All Fyne needs is advice from Nial.  It's about as bad as advice from V'len. 
"Excuse me, I just thought of something."  Not very imaginative, but hey,
that's Nial.

Taire casts her hand to the side. "Shells, no. I could care less." And with
that, she as simply dumped Fyne -if they ever were an item as apparently most
of the barracks is thinking. As for V'len's expectations and goals and
whatever else the rider was blathering on about, she could also care less.
"Ahhh, just leave the bovine alone. I'd rather just get in out of the cold
than stand around coming up with something for /him/."

Kishairyn holds up her hand.  "Please ... enough of mauling the poor bovine,"
she says, shaking her head.  "And I'm not an animal.  I may not be a lady,
but I'm not so far down the chain of civility as to be an animal."  Her arms
fold across her chest, something like a glower flitting across her features. 
"I wonder what the cooks would do if we escorted it to the kitchens," she
ponders, eyeing the poor beast.

Menacion shakes his head as Thanial goes.  Poor Fyne.  "I'm sure you do.  And
this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the way you made a fool of
yourself at the party, would it?"  He looks innocent.  "I'm not mauling the
bovine.  Merely suggesting ways to tip it over."  Permanently.  "Why don't
you..er...put the thing back wherever you found it?"  He suggests to Sallan. 
"I think they'd beat us with brooms and rolling pins to get the thing out
before it sheds in the cooking and leaves bovine patties everywhere?  Well.
Depending on where we put it.  I'm sure the butchers wouldn't mind."

Taire grins faintly, eyeing the caverns with an envious eyes. She simply
can't abide the winter coldness any more. "I'm going in." And with that
declairation, she is rushing back inside to the warmth and the fire. Ahhh,
the joys of Fort.

Ashelyn stumbles upon the small gathering of candidates, rather surprised to
see anyone out and about.  Having recently returned from a trip south, she is
wrapped in more layers than usual, fighting off the chilled temperatures of
the northern winter.  Eyeing the bovine, then the candidates, though avoiding
looking at Menacion.  Doing her best to look stern she eyes about.  "Um, just
what is it you are doing?"  Arms crossed across her chest, she waits silently
for an answer.

Kishairyn shakes her head.  "Not doing anything," she says.  "V'len and M'lan
had the idea that we were supposed to throw it and kick it and otherwise
mutilate -" she has no compunctions about getting the story wrong when the
two riders are not present to defend themselves "- but we talked them out of
it, and we're sending it back to the pastures."  She sighs at Menace.  "True.
 I was hoping they'd take as a hint:  I could use a good bovine.  To eat,
that is."

"Err, hold that bovine!  Stop.  Hold on a few minutes."  Menace directs at
the confused herder.  "We're taking a bovine to the kitchens.  To be
slaughtered for dinner."  Honest.  Wink wink, nudge nudge.  Or, rather, sly
smile.  "On M'lan and V'len's orders.  Right, Kish?"  Hint hint.  "They
wanted to reward the candidates with a steak dinner.  A large one."

Ashelyn eyes the guard.  "Oh really, Candidate.  That request didn't go
through my office.  And being that I'm handling /all/ of the requisitions for
the kitchens I find that mighty strange."  Ashelyn continues to stand with
her arms crosses, now glaring at Menacion.  "Care to explain, Candidate?"
"It was a last minute request," Kishairyn explains, "kind of a rush, for a
surprise.  The kitchen thought it was better to stab and ask questions
later."  She flashes a sweet smile.  "We'd really better go ... the poor
thing has been patient enough."

Menacion looks guilty.  "They said so.  Just now.  Honest.  They went off to
do the paperwork for it.  Err...V'len said he was going to do it.  But I'm
sure it'll slip his mind and he'll forget completely about it.  You know how
he is...umm..."  He bobs his head along with Kish.  "Yep.  What Kish said. 
We'd better get going.  With the bovine.  Err...you know how to lead the
bovine to the kitchens, right?  Good."  That last bit is directed at the
herder boy.

"No, stop now."  Brilliant green eyes flashing, Ashelyn takes the long-knife
from her belt and hands it to Menacion.  "I'm sure the kitchens would so
appreciate it if you slaughtered and cleaned it properly.  They have been
rather taxed lately with you Candidates about nowadays."  She waits,
expecting.

Kishairyn shakes her head.  "Unfortunately, I don't have a knife on my person
... but I could borrow one once we get the bovine to the kitchens?" she
volunteers, probably backing herself in a corner with that.  "Besides, I
don't the kitchen folk trust us.  They insisted they supervise any candidates
with knives, and who are we to question?"  She changes tactics mid-stream,
and hopes Ashelyn can't tell.

Menacion places his hands behind his back, refusing to take the knife.  "Come
now, Ashe.  You're being unreasonable.  Why should we drag a carcass all the
way over to the kitchens when it can walk, just the same.  It would be
terribly rude to leave a pile of entrails and the like on what is, after all,
the front door of the Weyr."  His voice is that overly reasonable and
placating tone of voice.  "Exactly.  They don't trust her with knives."

Ashelyn raises an eye, not so untrusting of the meseenger girl from
WeaverHall, but of the former guard.  "Well, then lead it to the kitchens and
I'll supervise the slaughtering."  With a flick of her wrist, she sends the
long knife spinning towards Menacion's feet, landing firmly planted into the
ground.  "You can have your steak, but you can only eat what you kill. 
Kishairyn, you may do whatever you wish with knives if I'm around."  Ashelyn
will be no fool and lays her own truth down, simple, reasonable.  "If you can
handle such, then lead the way, Candidate."  A glare follows the words as
they are shot towards Menacion.  Ashelyn finally steps aside.  "Oh and be a
dear and fetch my blade."  Sweet sarcasm followed by a sweet smile.

Kishairyn shakes her head.  "We certainly wouldn't impose on your time, just
to watch a pair of fluff-headed candidates," she says swiftly, hoping that
Menace doesn't mind being tarred with the same brush.  "And I've never had to
kill what I eat before ..." she trails off and makes a face at Menace.  "No,
it's not just that.  There's a special art to butchering, and I don't think
either of us knows it ..."  She regards Ashelyn hopefully out of the corner
of her her eye.  Buy it.

Menacion eyes the knife and casts a sidelong, rather confused, glance at
Kish.  Yeesh.  What's gotten into Ashe?  Must be the stress of the job or
something.  Lack of sleep, perhaps.  "All right...hope you don't mind a
terrible mess.  I'm not too good at butchering things."  A little white lie,
there. He does it often enough on his hunting trips.  Though...not on
bovines.  "Exactly.  I'm sure you've got other, more important things to do
than supervise the slaughtering of a bovine."  Bending over, Menace picks up
the knife and offers it to Ashe.  "Like finding that paperwork that V'len
should've put on your desk by now."  Searching for non-existant paperwork
should keep her occupied for a while.

Ashelyn snatches the blade away and cleans it with care on the hem of her
dress.  "Well my dears, tis your lucky day.  My work is done, and Jillian
will handle the 'paperwork' you are trying so hard to convince me exists." 
She looks rather disappointedly at Menacion.  "And Candidate, you were once a
honest and kind man.  Perhaps I was wrong about you."  Calm even tone reveals
no emotion.  "I suggest you take the bovine to the kitchens and take care of
your business before I start to think you two, candidates, are being
dishonest with me."

Kishairyn smiles sweetly.  "You know, I've been thinking.  The kitchen was
asking me to get some other supplies, so maybe I should run and retrieve
those while you and Menace guide the beast?  Animals don't like me ... I'm
afraid I might trouble it."  The fact that she might miss the slaughtering
itself is coincidental.  Really.  "Are you sure you wouldn't rather lounge on
a southern beach, have a cool drink?"

Menacion looks wounded.  "I...I..."  His mouth opens and shuts a few times. 
Unable to deny Ashe's accusations.  Candidacy has corrupted him.  It's all
Kish's fault!  "Err...well...you look tired.  Maybe you'd like to take a nap,
instead?  Catch up on a few hours of sleep?"  He turns a glare on Kish.  No,
she is /not/ leaving Menace with Ashe--especially with Ashe behaving the way
she is.  "Don't you want your steak dinner, Kish?  I'm sure we can find a
drudge to pick up things instead.  Perhaps one of the normal butchers could
do it, since /we/--" Note the emphasis there. "--are going to be doing his or
her job."

Ashelyn mocks a shocked look.  "Kishairyn, now I doubt you have a bad way
with animals.  Especially after Keryna has told me about your many trips to
HerderHall.  I will send a drudge after the supplies myself."  Another glare
is shot at Menacion.  "Since when have you had the slightest inclination to
care about my health, Candidate?"  It's getting fairly obvious that Ashelyn's
fondness of the guard has long since faided into something more dark. 
"Again, I suggest you get to the kitchens."  Last chance, Ashe has long since
given up playing around.

And a side of her reputation she never knew existed comes back to haunt
Kishairyn.  "Yes, well, I was just around the apprentices.  And I'm ... I'm
afraid of them, you see ... the animals, not the apprentices," she hastens to
clarify.  "I was trying to cure my fear by spending time up there.  Plus, as
a messenger, it's not as if I had much choice ..." she trails off with a
sigh, tugging on the bovine's lead.  "Not that badly," she grumbles to Menace.

 

Menacion looks indignant.  "Hey.  I've been telling you for a Turn to get
more sleep.  More rest.  I've cared."  He raises a brow at Kish, starting for
the kitchens.  "Afraid of animals?  You didn't seem like the type to shriek
at small furry things."  She's the one leading the bovine, too.  "Hope the
thing doesn't leave a pie in the middle of the Living Cavern.  They'd
probably make us clean it up."

Ashelyn follows the Candidates, taking a seat in a corner after explaining to
the butcher what is going on.  With a nod he leaves, likely happy of the few
moments of reprieve from the heat of the kitchens.  "Well now, I suggest you
get to work should you expect to eat your steaks anytime soon."

Kishairyn casts an askance look over at Ashelyn.  "We're not expected to ...
cook it, too, are we?"  As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she claps
a hand over it.  Fardles.  Talk about picking your own method of execution: 
death by steaks.  She makes a face at Menace as she tugs the bovine gingerly
along.  "Who said anything about small, furry animals?  It's the big furry
ones that are the problem.  The hairless ones, too."

Menacion shrugs.  "We've got plenty of time.  And so do you, apparently."  If
he ignores her odd mood, maybe it'll go away?  He chuckles.  "Well, /you're/
the one who volunteered to lead the bovine here."  he points out, looking
around for suitable implements.  "I never would have guessed.  Does this mean
that you'll run if a runner comes at you?"  Information for further
reference.  "Soo...what's our preferred method of executing this poor bovine."

Ashelyn looks to Kishairyn with an apologetic glance.  She would save the
girl from this if she could, but it is a lesson in honesty.  However, another
glare is directed to Menacion as he taunt's the messenger girl.  "To waist
time is to waist life.  I don't suggest it become a hobby you indulge in." 

Did Menacion lose his common sense with the tufts of beard that were cut away?
Honesty is a lesson Kishairyn was never very fond of.  She makes a show of
hunting around for an appropriate knife, a tuber-peeler, then a cake-stick,
poked in the general direction of the rather bewildered bovine before she
decides that neither are quite appropriate.  "No, I volunteered to have it
led here.  There's a difference."  She shakes her head.  "Nope, not if herder
therapy works."

Menacion isn't taunting.  It's...teasing.  Ribbing.  Payback.  Whatever you
want to call it.  "I'm not wasting time.  I'm taking my time.  There's a
difference there.  I see no reason to be hurried about this."  He looks
irritably at Ashe.  "What's gotten into you?  You've been acting strange ever
since that day in the baths, when Fyne kissed Taire."  He raises a brow at
Kish.  "And the difference would be that you were actually following the
bovine, not the bovine following you?"  Hrmm... "Menace's law of tools:  You
can never find someone else's when you need them."  Sigh.  He draws the knife
from his belt.  "Say goodbye to Bessie."  he says cheerfully.

Ashelyn lifts her hand.  "No, don't kill it."  Calmness attempts to enwrap
her voice, though the idea of blood stains Ashelyn's attempt at a lesson. 
"Put the knife down.  And tell me just why you were so quick to be dishonest
with me."  Last chance and Ashelyn would rather not have Kishairyn have to
witness the scene unwillingly.

Kishairyn stops brandishing a spatula thoughtfully in the direction of the
herdbeast, head coming up with singular abruptness.  "That certainly is
true," she remarks.  "All I've got over here is a wooden spoon ..."  And
she's being honest, this time.

Menacion pauses, knife held over the bovine's head.  "Why not?  You prefer we
slice steaks off it while it's still alive?"  Hand drops back to his side,
though the knife isn't returned to the sheathe.  "Me?  Dishonest?  Well...I
wanted a steak dinner.  The food we've been getting is so monotonous. 
Especially since we're helping to prepare some of the food."  He shrugs.  "On
the off chance that you wouldn't want to go along with the idea--which seems
fairly accurate now, from hindsight--it seemed better to make up a glib
story."  He raises a brow at Kish.  "What in the world are you planning to do
with that spoon?  Whack the bovine over the head until it drops?"

Ashelyn shakes her head.  "You had only to come to me.  Have I been that
unkind to the Candidates."  Menacion not included.  "I'm more hurt that you
would lie to me, Menace."  Her former title for her former friend.  "Mayhaps
you'll turn into a rider yet."  A sad look can be seen in the traces of dark
green in her eyes.  "Kishairyn, go fetch the butcher, and let him know I've
requested steaks for the candidates."  A nod to the girl and then a nod of
greeting to Anki as she enters.  But eyes go back to Menacion.  "Candidate,
just what did you do with Menacion?"

Kishairyn shudders.  "Faranth, no ... but it's better than having to kill the
dish one's self ... and I thought the spoon would tenderize the meat," she
explains.  "Or turn into a fork in the light of day.  Ever notice how an
implement you think is one thing constantly turns out to be something
entirely different?"  She takes a deep breath, beaming at Ashelyn.  "Oh! 
Thank you!"

Menacion looks uncomfortable.  "Ah, well, it seemed simpler at the
time...more expiedent."  He looks confused, putting away the knife.  "Me? 
I'm still here.  They didn't kidnap and brainwash me or anything."  he
replies wryly.  "Still the same old Menace.  Well.  Not the same.  Shaved." 
He raises a brow at Kish again.  "Tenderize it?  Wait until after pieces get
sliced off.  That usually works better..."  He snorts, grinning.  "Not
really.  My spoons stay spoons, and my forks stay forks.  I think you need to
get your vision checked."

Anki didn't do anything! Strolling into the kitchen, she frowns slightly at
the question. "I didn't do anything to Menace. At least nott something that
he didn't already get me back for." Nodding, one eyebrow arches. "Did I come
in at an inopportune moment?"

Ashelyn shakes her head.  "No, Anki, I'm not accusing /you/ of anything." 
Eyes again fall on Menacion, questioning but silent.  Just as quickly the
professional side of the steward emerges.  "I'll see to it that you get your
steaks, just please let that poor, pitiful creature go."  Ashelyn visibly
shudders for a second, then goes to sit in a further corner.  Mayhaps that is
the curse of this place.  No one leaves the person they entered as.

Kishairyn makes a face at Menacion.  "Well, how would I know?" she
challenges.  "I'm not a cook ... I'm just the messenger."  Even if she is a
candidate at the moment ... ah, how she loves that phrase.  She brandishes
the spoon at him.  "Well, this was a many-bladed knife, and I can prove it,"
she challenges.  "Nope, Anki.  Pull up a bovine and sit down."  She sighs. 
"I suppose we should take the poor thing home."

Menacion shakes his head.  "Well, it might've been.  But apparently, there
will be no inexpert candidate slaughtering of a helpless bovine.  It'll rest
in the hands of the professionals."  He gives Ashe another odd, sidelong
glance, shaking his head.  "Well, you should have at least thought of the
possibility that the living bovine might not have appreciated being whacked
by a spoon?"  Brows furrow.  "You can?  Please.  This I want to see."

Anki is so totally lost. Looking between the Candidates and the bovine, she
just shakes her head. "I think the heat's affecting the lot of you. I also
think I should flee, but I don't think that'll get me far." Moving off to the
crockery section of the kitchen, she pours herself a mug of klah. "I'm
hideously curious, but I'm too afraid to ask, really."

Ashelyn sits, just watching the scene.  "I suppose I should go now."  Another
looks falls on Menacion, one almost of disbelief.  She stands, smoothing her
skirts.  She nods to Kishairyn and Anki and passes by Menacion and whispering
'You've changed' as she disappears down the stairs.