An Archivist's Hell {Open}

[binker]

Neikolai hadn’t yet decided if he had stumbled in to heaven, or hell. Perhaps some twisted place in-between; stuck in some nightmare. At first, he had been thrilled at the amounts of scrolls around him, the familiar smell of parchment and the must of archives beckoning him inside. And yet, when he actually stepped forward and grabs a scroll… His dream had shattered in to the pure nightmare he was now experiencing.

As he unraveled it, age-worn letters stared back at him, nearly faded in to unrecognizable blots. What kind of Weyr was this that they would allow such valuable documents to fall in to such disarray!? His first instinct had been to storm up to the Weyrwoman and demand reparation for this travesty, but he knew that would probably just get him in to a world of trouble. No, it was obvious that he just needed to take things in to his own, more capable hands…

He had decided this well over twelve hours ago. And even now he was hunched over the desk he had overtaken, forcing numb fingers to scrawl out words in his usual perfect script. His eyes were grainy, his back ached, his stomach was grumbling… But Neikolai had learned long ago how to block it all out, instead focusing on the world of words. He had known going to the Weyr was a good idea… The Records Hall here obviously needed his careful tending much more than Southern’s. And he could learn here, so many more possibilities than the Hold could ever offer him. Yes, there was the chance of impressing a dragon, but… He figured that no dragon would want him for a partner.

Besides, the idea of sharing his mind with a dragon was not something he was too comfortable with. He had been to the candidate barracks, and some of the wistful, dreamy candidates had made him feel ill. They hinged so much on the whims of a hatchling beast? It seemed silly to him… But his bitter thoughts didn’t keep him from searching out a few scrolls that pertained to the largest of the Weyr’s residents, reading them more intently than he copied them, for once.

“Hmnph.” He shoved the scroll aside with a weary huff, absently rubbing at his drooping eyelids with the back of his hand. How late was it now? Or… Was it early? He didn’t even know any longer, nor did he particularly care. All he knew was that the Records Hall was sedate, and his silly brother had no idea where it was. He would never simply ask anybody, and Neikolai would be surprised if he found it before a sevenday had passed. Such a fool…

He huffed quietly to himself, returning his attention to the scrolls that so desperately needed him. Perhaps he would head out to get some klah, his mouth was rather dry… But it could wait until he finished this scroll…. Before he knew it, he forgot all about his thirst, still writing away with a steadily-accumulating pile of finished scrolls beside him.

[Avu]

He was torn between throwing an outright tantrum and foisting off the Weyrleadership on Ka'rys again, or just accepting it and skulking around the Weyr and taking out his temper on whoever passed. In the end, thanks to Corinth, neither of the two happened. The bronzerider had previously capsized on his bed and curled up there, when Corinth had decided that, since Weyrleadership came with Wingleadership attached (usually), T'rid should be reading up on previous wing patterns and how well they'd worked, so when the wings were organized, he could plan out the formations with more ease of practice - right? Wrong. Wrong, because he hated the Records Room. So boring, there. Just stacks and stacks of musty old scrolls, printed in the haphazard hand of previous Weyrlings and Candidates. So, so boring. Urgh. The bronzerider stalked, fuming impotently, down the Hall, ignoring the brown 'mandyr skittering after him.

His footstep was probably quite audible even before he pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind him and nearly squashing Stupid, who hissed indignantly, taking a flying leap and latching onto T'rid's leg, eliciting a bad-tempered hiss from the young man. Stupid! the creature scolded, broadcasting as was customary for him. Is no green, ugly, he added wisely, nodding his head as T'rid glared at the 'mandyr poisonously, trotting down the rows of records. Hmm. Wing Drills. Wing Drills...ah, here. He tugged out a few records, making a noise of frustrated disapproval at the sight of the untidy scrawling. I hope you're happy, he commented bitterly to Corinth. It is necessary. It wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't Chased.[/b]

T'rid tucked the records under one elbow, fighting back the urge to sneeze, as he rubbed his temples lightly, hazel eyes sweeping around the records room for a place to sit. And - and - Stupid suddenly took a leap from his shoulder, landing on one of the tables and leaping across it to another. And another. And - the brown 'mandyr landed squarely in the pile of records that Neikolai had finished, sending them flying as he trilled curiously at the Candidate. Is scribble? he queried solemnly, ignoring the fluttering Records as he frilled expectantly at Neikolai. Scribble stupid, yes? he added cheerfully, staring intently at the words that had been forming under the Candidate's quill, head cocked and beady eyes flushing with confusion as he blinked up at Neikolai, clearly expecting an explanation.

Had T'rid been in a good mood, he might have grabbed Stupid and apologized. Might. But...as it was, he simply watched the destruction silently, a slightly sardonic smile starting at the corner of his mouth as his eyes flicked automatically to the Candidate's knots as he cocked his head, one brow rising. "...well." The brown 'mandyr tilted his head at His bonded, uttering a questioning chatter, but recieved no response from the Bronzerider. Havoc had been wreaked, which satisfied him immensely, and while it hadn't been he taking out his anger, watching someone else get - randomly assaulted - was pleasing, too.[/size]

[binker]

Neikolai had, at first, paused at the sound of angry footsteps coming towards his Halls. However, he soon lost interest, vowing to just ignore whoever had decided to ruin his silence unless they gave him reason to yell. He bent back to his parchment, the only indication that he had heard the other's entrance the subtle twitch when the other slammed the door. Didn't this fool have respect for /anything/?

Already building a steady loathing towards a person he had not even seen before, he didn't even notice the little leaping body of the 'mandyr until suddenly his scrolls were flying, pushed aside by the little brown body. He glared as the broadcasted words reached him, recognizing them faintly from before as he carefully set aside his quill and stood. He was careful to ignore little Stupid, irritation spiking at having his work called /stupid/.

He started to pick up his scrolls from where they had fallen, moving them to a safer desk before he glared at the 'Mandyr. "Writing is /not/ stupid," He growled, moving to pluck the little annoyance from his desk and turning to T'rid. His glare could have melted steel as it settled on the Bronzerider, moving over with Stupid in tow.

"I believe this is your's," He gave a brief glance at his knots, "sir." One would think a Weyrleader would be a little more respectful of the Records Hall! Honestly, most of the information he needed was stored here, and he came trampling in like a sick herdbeast and let his pet run rampant! What if the little bugger destroyed a precious record? Neikolai scowled angrily, thrusting Stupid at T'rid once more.

[antinanco]

Pasine arrived in the wake of the Weyrleader, quietly sipping a steaming mug of klah with one arched eyebrow raised. Today she was sporting a carmine and chocolate bloue petticoat combo that was hemmed with dampness. She had had a bit of difficult navigating her way over to the Main Hall from the Candidate Barracks, having never steered a boat before. Thankfully the other Candidate passenger had been nice enough to take over after she nearly capsized the boat, dunking her legs in the river’s swift current in the process. But in the time it had taken for her to side-track to the Kitchens for an early-morning cup, the water was already evaporating and Pasine didn’t pay it much mind.

First stop on her very long list of things to do was to learn about the new Weyr. True, she had heard stories about Selenitas at Southern Hold, but a Weyr on treetops! She’d never believed it. And suspended over a raging river too! Surely there was much that needed to be learned if she was ever going to live here. After asking a few people around the Barracks, she decided that the Records Room was the best place to start her investigation. Maybe she’d even see that grouchy yet alluring Archivist that had been Searched along with her.

But the scene she faced now was entirely different from the one she had been expecting. Instead of a quiet, meditating atmosphere that usually rested in the dusty lull between scrolls, there was a nosy Weyrleader, a testy Candidate and a stupid… uh… thing… Grey eyes narrowed at the mutated flitt that was currently centered in the midst of strewn scrolls. Was this the infamous ‘manders that she had heard rumored whispers about? Humpfh. They didn’t seem all that great. Scrawny even.

So Pasine stood in the doorway and held her mug to her lips for another sip as she thought. This was going to make things rather… difficult. Now she’d actually have to be faced with two men instead of silently going about her business as she had intended. The Candidate cleared her throat and ushered, “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything. Could one of you kindly point me to where the oldest Records are held?" Though her speech was polite, it held none of the sincerities it usually did. She wanted her information, arguing men or not.

[Avu]

Was he angry? Good. T'rid watched silently, a smirk automatically flicking across his face as he tilted his chin in slight defiance towards the older man. It was perversely pleasing to see someone else irritated, see them squirm, under Stupid's far-from-tender ministrations. So technically, he probably shouldn't have let Stupid come, but when he was in a foul mood, reason had no place in his mind. T'rid watched him gather the scrolls silently, Stupid nosing through the scanty few that remained on the table and puzzling over the marks on the paper - and failing, obviously.

Is! the 'mandyr insisted stubbornly, to the Candidate's growled words. Who would spend time and effort making silly marks on paper that nobody could understand? Pfft. Humans were so silly sometimes. The brown allowed the Candidate to pick him up, but refused to stay in his hand. That was so - so inhibiting! He squirmed free, slipping onto Neiko's forearm, tail closing around the boy's wrist as he trilled smugly. Mine pet now! he added to Neiko, almost possessively nibbling on the Candidate's sleeve. What an interesting pet this boy would make, no? Wouldn't Corinth be jealous! Not to mention Mir. Oh, yes, that little blue would be most jealous of Stupid's new pet. The brown bobbed happily on the wrist, ignoring the anger in Neiko's voice as he jumped to T'rid, looped his shoulders once, and jumped back to Neiko, taking up residence on the man's right shoulder with a cheerful coo. Minepet, he explained again.

T'rid met the other's angry gaze coolly, his eyebrows raising fractionally. Apparently the rank of Weyrleader got no respect, did it? Hmm. It was hardly a desirable rank, he thought sourly, just work and no respect. His gaze didn't waver as Stupid looped him, though a smirk tightened the corners of the young bronzer's mouth. "You should be delighted," he commented quietly. "He likes you. Why don't you keep him? I don't think he's got any complaints." It felt lovely taunting someone else, really. Beyond wonderful. Weyrleader dearest, it's a Candidate. What are you /doing/? Corinth protested. T'rid deliberately sidestepped the Candidate, absently reinforcing a command to Stupid: Stay.

Yes. Stay on the Candidate, leave him alone. Stay minepet, Stupid agreed solemnly, jumping onto Neiko's head and twirling strands of the man's hair around his claws idly, useless wings splayed for balance. Stay minepet. It was then that the girl at the door chose to spoke up - previously, T'rid had been ignoring her, and Stupid was much too infatuated with his new pet to care - and T'rid glanced around at her, his eyes cold as he jabbed a thumb in the direction of what had to be the most disgusting, oldest, mustiest, messiest records. Have fun with those. Stupid, meanwhile, caught sight of the klah in her hand and frilled, directing a mental jab at her. You! 'nother stupidpet? 'lah yum, yes no?

Plopping himself negligently at one of the desks, T'rid pushed the wing records away from him with a wearied sigh. Hmm - wait! Wait! Wait just one moment! A spark of something vaguely akin to joy flicked through the Bronzerider's mind. Did this mean - Weyrleader - did this mean he got to organize the wings? Yes! He was sure it did. Good-bye, K'lir and Calistoth. A much better-tempered smirk crossed his mouth, his hazel eyes suddenly wryly amused, as he flicked open the first record and - gah, boring. His momentary spurt of joy disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he sighed, wishing he could just drop the record. Fun fun.

[Rei]

Raylin breezed into the records room intent on finding Aslath’s last hatching record. She was curious to see what the golden monarch had produced in the past. Perhaps it would give her some clue as to what to expect from this hatching. The candidate stopped short as she witnessed three people already in attendance in the small record room. Perhaps she should come back later.

Then again why? There was really no point in putting it off. Besides there was another girl in the room and she had met T’rid and Stupid before. The candidate walked over to the hatching records pulled Aslath’s records out and strode over to an empty table where she plopped down and began to read. Stupid seemed to be attached to the new boy good perhaps he would leave her alone then.

The dark haired girl poured over the records and absentmindedly pulled out a blank piece of parchment where she began to record what colors had been hatched and which impressed who. Raylin doubted there would be any type of pattern but one never knew. Her mind drifted to her, as of late, absent friend Saeo. She wondered where the girl had run off to now. She missed her company although she was a bit loathe to admit it she hadn’t made any other friends.

[binker]

This stupid little lizard was wearing thin on Neiko's last nerve. Firelizards were rarely seen in Southern Hold, but at least /those/ were intelligent and made for good message-carriers. These things seemed to only be good for getting in /trouble/. As Stupid moved to T'rid's shoulder Neikolai tried to back away, but he still got the little 'Manyr on his shoulder. Ugh...

"He might like me, but I certainly don't like him." Neikolai ground out, trying to remove Stupid from his person once more as he became fixated on Pasine's klah. Little bugger had his claws in Neikolai's hair and he wasn't liking it, naturally. "Besides, he is bonded to /you/, sir. I wouldn't dream of taking such a bond away from you." He had to add the jab, simply because it was clear the other didn't like his little pet. Well too bad for him, he shouldn't have stuck around when there were hatching eggs nearby!

He glanced towards Pasine, dark eyes flashing as he recognized her; ah, yes, the girl from the Search... She seemed sensible enough to be left alone with the scrolls, but Neikolai still gave a tight-lipped smile to her. "Please be careful with them, I haven't gotten around to recopying all of them. Some of the scrolls I have rewritten though, you might want to start with those." He had a good idea what she was looking for, because Neikolai had zoned in on the same things himself as soon as he had entered the Records Hall.

He gave a gesture towards his finished scrolls, finally obtaining Stupid from his scalp with minimal hair-pulling. He was quick to plop the Mandyr on a table, taking a leather strap from around his wrist and smoothing his hair, pulling it back in to a tight runner's-tail, a look that made him seem sterner than before. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have lots of work to do." A warning glare was directed to Stupid before he turned towards his desk.

[antinanco]

Pasine would’ve gone straight to the scrolls after T’rid's remarks, but three things stopped her.

The first was a sudden mindvoice ringing through her head, asking whether or not her klah was ‘yum.’ Pasine paused a moment as she decoded the abbreviations and located the source: the brown ‘mander perched atop Neiko-bean’s head. She took another drink as if to taunt the creature before replying warmly, “Well, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t be drinking it.” A smirk played across her face. Maybe these things weren’t so bad. Still stupid as shards, but their lack of intelligence was entertaining, if not sustaining of her own ego. To study the lizard, Pasine threw out, “But I do think you’re a little confused, as I’m not a pet. In fact I don’t even own any pets.” Before she could go on to explain how she was also not stupid, the second thing spoke up.

The second thing was Neikolai in general. His newly rewritten scrolls threw her briefly off kilter, his wrestle with the brown ‘mander caught her amused attention and his grumpy disposition seemed peculiarly perpetual, from what she had gathered from the Search. He intrigued her. “Thank you, I will be careful,” was her basic reply, so simplistic since she had no intentions of using the *nice* records. Ohnono, she was going to dive head first into the decrepit ones… Or rather, she would have, if the third thing hadn’t rushed in.

The third was a dark-haired girl who suddenly appeared and raced past her towards the records. By the time she had replied to Neiko the girl had already pulled out a rather new piece of hide and was rerecording whatever was on the scroll that had so urgently called to her. Pasine nearly snorted into her cup. Obviously that girl, however good her intentions were, was doing no real good. The records in need of help were over there, where she was headed now.

But she couldn’t help but pause as she paused at the other girl--a fellow Candidate she now saw from the knots—the other Candidate’s table and loomed over her work. What fascinating information had drawn her so blindly? She placed her mug down on the edge of the table and leaned in over her shoulder. “Clutch records?” she murmured, slowly raising her voice as she spoke, “Are you trying to get an advantage over the rest of us?” Pasine meant it seriously, but not threateningly in any way. Her motive was simple curiosity.

She picked up her cup again and took another taste from her quickly dwindling supply of klah. Faranth, she was addicted.

[/font]

[Avu]

What? The boy didn't like Stupid? What a shame, as the 'mandyr seemed very content snuggled against his scalp. T'rid allowed himself a satisfied smirk as Stupid frilled, nipping at the boy's attempts at removing him. IS BAD MINEPET! he scolded, his voice escalating quickly into a mental shriek. MIIIINEPET BAD! Stupid hissed, almost inaudibly, his claws scratching at Neiko's head as he clung to the boy's hair, determined to stick fast. Minepet no shine green, still minepet, he added condescendingly, clearly expecting delight to follow the comment. After all, was he not as good as that ugly, fat bronze thing? (I heard that, Corinth grumbled.) And Corinth never spoke to anybody except T'rid, and other draconics. Thus, these silly pets should be pleased he was addressing them, no? (Phremath certainly had been! Or so the 'mandyr had decieved himself into thinking.)

A mild snort was the response to Neiko's jab, T'rid stretching, raising his eyes with clear indolence to meet Neiko's gaze as he watched the boy struggle to remove Stupid, ignoring Pasine completely as he dropped his eyes to the record again. Forward V. Right, he knew that much already. Balance. Greens, blues, browns, bronze; all balanced on either wing of the V, and front and back. He'd lead point and - I already know this, he commented grumpily to Corinth. I don't need a /review/. I haven't even gotten a wing worked out yet. All I know is that - - that Calistoth and Hers are not going to be on it. I know. Old news. Moving on. Corinth's sharp tones startled T'rid, the bronzerider hissing through his teeth, eyes narrowing. Read. Learn. If you repeat something - well, that's how they get the Teaching Songs across, isn't it?

T'rid would have responded. Really, he would have. But, alas, he was not alone and the others succeeded in distracting him from a certain bronze. Wait - Ra - what was her name again? Ray - Raylin. Right. That girl he'd sent to the Infirmary, along with that kid who got mauled by Stupid. She wasn't...too irritating, he supposed. What was she doing? Clearly confused, he eyed her actions. How could she be so - so scorching enthusiastic in the Records Room? Ugh. It was so dampening in here. Completely depressing. Stupid, however, provided the second distraction, uttering a squeal of something that was undoubtedly delight at both Pasine's answer to his question - Good minepet. Minepet you minepet! - and to Raylin's entrance.

Ohh! This was the girl who had been irritated at him before! Eyes sparkling with delight, he loosened his grasp the second that Neiko pulled him free, plopping him unceremoniously on a table - but no matter. For Stupid now had a new goal! Frill flattened to gain speed, the brown's honey-sheened form nearly blurred as he sped towards the girls, Pasine having stopped to address Raylin. A leap, and he was clinging to Pasine's shoulder, his weight pressed there for one split second, before he dropped like a stone to the table, leaping again, wings fluttering, and grabbing the quill from Raylin's fingers. A jerk, and the lightweight utensil, as large as he, was in his possession, the brown 'mandyr giving a triumphant squeak through the tickling fringes in his claws and against his throat, dragging it just out reach and frilling defiantly. Is mine! Ha ugly!

Another flying leap took him to T'rid's shoulder, the tip of the quill brushing against the Weyrleader's jaw and eliciting a curse from the bronzerider as he swung, plucking the squirming 'mandyr from his shoulder. Is mine! Mine! MINE! Stupid protested, as T'rid deftly disengaged the quill from the 'mandyr's grasp and tossed it lightly back at Raylin with a snort of irritation at Stupid, sticking the 'mandyr into his pocket. You'd better stay, too, he shot icily at the creature, who merely frilled in response, wriggling upwards to shrill at the other three occupants of the Records Room, naming them all cheerfully. Minepet one, mineplet 'lah, ugly! Now they all had names! Wonderful!

[Rei]

Raylin was so absorbed in her task that she hadn’t noticed Pasine approach. She jumped as the girl spoke and then stared up at her in mild confusion as she tried to piece together what had been said. Finally the muddle of her brain sorted it out and she stared coolly up at the girl. “An advantage over the “rest” of you? I doubt any type of advantage can be gained by staring at past clutch records.” Her voice had an icy edge to it. She did not enjoy being disturbed and she viewed the question the girl had put forth as rude. “Hatchlings know who they want the minute they hatch. No one can sway them with preparation.”

Raylin’s exchange with the girl was suddenly interrupted by a familiar flash of brown and the sensation of a sharp quill being ripped from her grip. The candidate growled in irritation at Stupid as he danced away broadcasting, Is mine! Ha ugly! , to the entire room. How she hated that sharding mander sometimes. She raised her eyebrow as T’rid disengaged quill from mander and lightly tossed it back to her. “Thank you.” The dark haired girl replied to the bronze rider before going back to her recording. The candidate fully intended to ignore the girl beside her. Didn’t she have her own things to attend to?