that's the way the money goes [may chores]

[Avu]

“All a-round the mulberry bush…”

The words were voiced half in a wordless hum, and half in a near-inaudible mumble, and seemed to originate behind a pile of dust-smeared, yellowing records. Multiple piles, to be precise, some of which were stacked messily, others of which had no bearing to stacks whatsoever. The singer, Vix, had absolutely not a care in the world as to the records. His fingers were busy as he lay flat on his stomach on the ground, light streaming across stone and hide, not clamped around a pen but with little pieces of metal that gleamed beneath the sunlight, tiny and dazzling.

“…the mon-key chased the wea-sel…”

One finger ran along a groove in the wooden disc, Vix flipping it open to fit in a needle-thin arrow, giving it a minute to readjust before he picked up another piece that hooked onto it. A faint puff of breath into one end produced a low whistle, interrupting the meandering song. The Candidate smiled vaguely, pleased, and reached for the last piece, a thin, clear glass covering, which fit snugly on top of the wooden disk. Vix blew dust off of his hands, humming a repeat of the last few notes again absentmindedly as he turned over the little contraption, small enough to fit neatly in the palm of one hand.

“…the mon-key thought ‘twas all in fun…”

His eyes slid over and over the thing again; a compass, the arrow pointing, quivering faintly, towards the North, with a little metal piece that indicated where a whistle was also built in. Not of Vix’s making, but of a simple enough design that he could easily take it all apart and put it back together again. All in favor of actually doing his chores. Vix could read, but Archive Duty was ridiculously boring. And this was so much more interesting. A contented little smile crossed his lips and he pressed the whistle to his mouth, without blowing in. No need to attract the attention of those irritating archivists…

Vix hummed quietly in wordless pleasure before he shifted to shove the compass back into his pocket, pulling a record close to him for show as one of the archivists in question poked her head around the corner to check his progress, gaze skimming over the words without seeing. As soon as the old woman had tottered off, Vix smiled again, crossing his arms and resting his chin on his forearms.

“…pop! goes the wea-sel…”

[ryanne]

Archive duty. Now that was not his idea of fun. Of course, he needed to get it done and perhaps he'd learn something interesting while rifling through the old records, but he didn't want to start quite yet. Instead he wanted to curl back up on his cot and go back to sleep. This whole idea of switching his sleep schedule was not the best that he'd ever had. He ended up only being able to catch a catnap when the sun rose, leaving him awake, but exhausted now that it was evening time. He'd continued to try to sleep throughout the day, but something about the sun streaming in was not aiding him closing his eyes and finding some rest.

Shard it. The young man meandered into the Archives, looking around with a facial expression clearly displaying a lack of entertainment. In the back of his mind, he knew that he would get this done and get it done properly, but he didn't have to be outwardly happy about it. Instead, he could scorn and sneer like the rest of the candidates and pretend that even looking at the records made his stomach churn and mind shut off.

Truthfully, as much as he was inwardly moaning about the task, he knew when he sat down and actually began copying some of the old records, he'd probably get more involved in the task than he'd ever care to admit. He was a wanderer by nature, not one to set up shop in an Records Room and be happy, but all that knowledge at his fingertips was very tempting. It could tell him what else was out there that he hadn't explored yet. What knowledge was still out there for him to find and learn and use.

Those thoughts, as exciting as they were, still didn't change the expression on his face. He was tired, bored, and not happy with his task-- or at least that was all that he was willing to let anyone else see.

Catching sight of another candidate (he couldn't for the life of him remember the boy's name), he plopped down in the seat next to him and grabbed a set of old records that were laid out for copying. He didn't acknowledge his peer's presence besides a swift nod in his direction before he began to lay out materials, keeping a slow pace that spoke of dragging everything out. The slower he set things up, the slower he could work, and the less he'd get done in the longest amount of time. That's how candidates acted, and that's how he would go about things. No need to let anyone else know that records were actually interesting for him and the slower that he copied, the more he could read of them.

[Avu]

Uh. Company.

That was something Vix hadn’t counted on, and a look that was half-curious and half-irritated passed across the teenager’s face. His back stiffened almost imperceptibly, tense, ready for aggression, but he didn’t speak, and the other boy didn’t look interested in conversation, either, so for a long moment, Vix just watched him. A Candidate, he thought – Vix was good with faces, for the most part, but associating ranks with them, he wasn’t. Regardless, Vix didn’t expect himself to remember. His fellow Candidates bored him, all so intent on Impression – that seemed to be what their lives revolved around and Vix honestly just didn’t care.

That might have something to do with the fact that he didn’t actually intend to Stand. Just might.

Was it rude to stare? Uh, yes. That much, at least, his father had taught him (or perhaps his mother…?), apparently, because Vix was quite aware that it was. That didn’t stop him, though, the boy leveling a blank stare at his fellow Candidate. Why was he there? Go away, shoo, shoo. It was all that Vix could do to stop himself from actively flicking his fingers at the Candidate to see if that would drive him away like a fly or something. It probably wouldn’t work, more was the pity.

After a minute, though, Vix’s gaze dropped back to the records, and then he slid the little compass back out of his pocket, curling his fingers around it and watching the needle spin around. Keeping his eyes on the slim dark needle, he commented softly, for the other Candidate to hear only, “I hope you know I don’t actually plan on doing anything related to Chores. If you’re going to be distracted by that, I’d suggest you move.” The words were cool, borderline rude, but not quite a ‘get away from me’ just yet. While Vix would definitely prefer to be alone, it was difficult in a Weyr, and he was…getting used to, almost, having people constantly around.

Used to it didn’t mean he liked it, though. Given a choice, he’d always be on his own. No offense towards the other Candidate, or anything. Vix lowered his head, using one fingernail to tighten the glass case on the outside of the compass, absentmindedly willing the boy to leave. Please, please…? On the other hand, it’d been quite a while since he’d actually been nasty, but not having to be nasty made a nice change, to be honest.

[ryanne]

Dinag made a point to ignore his fellow candidate’s stare. He didn’t care what the other male had to say, or what he seemed to have against him (nothing about that stare was friendly). Instead, he just continued to flip nonchalantly through the records, aimlessly drawing on a fresh corner of the copying scroll. He flipped quickly, giving the impression that he wasn’t reading any of it at all, but it all actuality, he was taking in as much information as he possibly could. He had no idea that the smiths had to heat the metal so specifically before they could work it. Now that was something new that he could learn.

Refusing to slow his flipping to read more, he moved his gaze to his drawing before heaving a soft sigh and turning the pages back to the beginning.

Just as he was about to start copying, the boy said something. He muffled a soft chuckle, “I don’t care if you’re not going to do any work. I’m just copying to keep myself from dying from boredom. This place is dull.” There, indifference perfected. Quite satisfied with himself, he tore of the corner that he had doodled on, then began to copy the scroll, careful to make sure his scrawl seemed effortless even though it was neat and level. There was no use in copying and doing a terrible job about it, though he would never admit that to the other candidate.

Thinking about it briefly, Dinag hadn’t seen this one around a lot. Many of the candidates liked to chatter and meet the new people as they came in. Personally, Dinag didn’t mind meeting new people, but he had better things to do than seek out people just to try and impress them into being his friend. Mostly, he just wanted to get on without having anyone judge him or think he was something special. He wanted to be free to do as he wished without his peers scrutinizing his every move. By fading into the background, he achieved this. He had to assume that this guy had perfected that art as well. Either that or he was a complete shut in, which was a distinct possibility as well.

[Avu]

His eyebrow shot up despite himself, and Vix tilted his head to one side. Eyes narrowed the next minute, silently appraising. That…had to be the most absolutely convoluted logic he had ever heard. But whatever. If the kid didn’t plan on bothering him, then Vix supposed it’d have to be okay. His eyelids fell half-shut in annoyance, and he twitched one shoulder in a shrug. “Most people don’t copy in order not to die of boredom,” he responded softly, unable to help himself that one comment – but it was true. He really didn’t get the kid’s reasoning. Copying was boring. Therefore, one did not copy if one did not wish to be bored.

Simple, right? Sure.

Absently, Vix looked back at the compass/whistle in his hand, and pried the glass case off again. The cap was removed from the top of the needle, the needle pulled off of the little metal nub it resided upon…the dissembling was quick, movements mechanical and practiced. The compass/whistle was basically Vix’s fall-back; if there was nothing new worth taking apart and inspecting, he pulled it out of his pocket and timed himself mentally. The smooth simplicity of the compass never failed to amuse him, given how helpful it could be, even if he would much rather he’d something more interesting; a starscope…

Huh. Maybe there’d be one somewhere in this dust-trap? Maybe he’d ask, after…the kid, the one whose name he still didn’t know (and honestly didn’t care very much about either), not an archivist. The archivists didn’t like him, and Vix was all too happy to say the feeling was mutual. Though he was fairly certain they hated him because he didn’t ever do anything, but they couldn’t prove he didn’t, given that he was good at pretending to be working every time they passed by. The compass lay in pieces across the desk in front of him, and Vix allowed himself a brief wave of satisfaction before he picked up a piece at random, turning it over in his fingers, and began to put it back together again.

This was going to be a long day.



[sorry he's an antisocial brat =x]

[ryanne]

Even though his eyes were on the records, he caught the facial expression of the kid next to him. Obviously, he wasn’t impressed with his logic. “What is there better to do?” he asked briskly, “Sit here and stare at the person next to you? Well, the person next to me is doing even less than these records, so I think I’ll copy. It’s better than doing absolutely nothing.” That came out a little more harshly than he intended, but, quite honestly, he wished that he was alone in the room so that he could actually read the records in peace. Instead, this other male candidate was going to look at him funny if he even pretended to be interested so his act of nonchalance had to be perfect. And he was already failing at that one. A normal candidate wouldn’t even sharding look at the records, much less start copying them.

Oh well. He wasn’t trying to impress the male anyway. Dinag just wanted to do his time in the Records Room and leave. Maybe he’d sneak back later in the night to actually read. But he’d have to grab an extra glow. His would run out if he just replaced it like he usually did in the evenings.

Continuing to copy, he made his handwriting a little worse. Perhaps that would help his act be a little bit more convincing. The chicken scratch was still legible, it just wasn’t pretty. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. He stopped copying, a confused expression on his face.

“So you’re telling me that putting that contraption together is more interesting than copying records? You obviously know how to do it already,” there was no way that he took it apart and put it together that quickly without knowing how, “so it can’t be that much fun to do it again.” Again, he sounded more rude than he intended. Shard it. Shaking his head, he returned to his copying. This candidate was perplexing. Complained about work and then messed with a compass (not that he’d admit that he knew what it was)... And then claiming that copying records was worse than doing nothing. At least that was new information.

[And Dinag is a picture perfect social butterfly]

[Avu]

A faint crinkle of the nose. Insults Vix was used to. They just kind of…slid off. It was tempting to reply with something in kind, but it didn’t really matter, and it would just be redundant – he’d wanted the kid to leave him alone, after all, not to engage him in some stupid petty argument. He could have fun with his records, and Vix would mess with his compass. Ironically, the records might have actually held some interest for Vix, had he not been a completely tactile learner. Things he read, things people told him – most of it just completely faded out of his mind, or just never stuck.

His fingers stuttered, slowed, as the other Candidate spoke (again!) and Vix turned to stare at him, eyebrow rising. Oh, hey, look, he’d stopped his copying of the records. Lovely. The actual words, though, were more than enough to distract Vix entirely. What. He’d much rather play around with a puzzle he’d already solved (which was more or less what the compass was to him) than copy records over and over again until he wished his hand would fall off, yes. Was that really so strange?

“It’s what I do. That’s what you do, obviously.” His hand, which had paused over the tabletop, offered an abstract, disdainful flick towards the records. The words came out softly, though the note of disapproval in Vix’s tone was plain. He didn’t want to be bothered. For a moment he hesitated, toying with the idea of just outright asking the kid to leave, but…in the end, it wouldn’t work out in his favor. The kid was, after all, actually working, and if work did need to be produced for the archivists to be pleased. Even if it wasn’t by him, he could just…not say it hadn’t been, or something. Whatever.

“I’d rather put together something new anyway,” he added, remembering briefly his wish for a starscope. “But unless there’s anything in here worth it, they won’t let me out. So, pocket-sized.” Vix’s hands moved as he spoke, absently sketching out the size of the finished compass, small enough to clasp neatly in the palm of one hand, before returning the bits and pieces laid out on the table. There weren’t really that many; it was a very simple compass, after all, and even the whistle half was only a bit of wood that slid into place. “They have a starscope or anything in here?”

[ryanne]

Dinag was grateful that he received no caustic retort. He felt rather bad for being so sharp with the other candidate, but he didn’t want to be messed with right now. The chore would have been much more enjoyable without company sitting there, peering over his shoulder. Mentally, he scolded himself. The other male showed next to no interest in his work or his studying of the records, why should he feel self conscious about getting his work done? He wasn’t doing anything outrageous or out of pace. He was simply copying records slowly to keep from having to sit there and do nothing. That was not so unheard of.

“This is not what I do,” he protested as soon as he heard the small accusation. “I’m just doing chores like any other candidate. You’d be getting in trouble if I hadn’t showed up to at least produce some work.” Dinag was a tad insulted. “I don’t mind you not doing anything, I was just curious as to how doing something over and over again was more interesting than copying new things. It’s not like we’re supposed to be writing the same line over and over again. The words change.” Surely that had to be more interesting than that little compass. He knew how to make them; he had to learn with all of his wanderings. There was a time or two in his life that if he hadn’t had his, he would have ended up lost without even an idea for what direction he should be roaming in.

When the compass-kid continued to speak, Dinag nodded a small acquiescence. Putting together something new, or even taking a part something new could be more interesting than copying records. Even for him, he could understand the interest in physically seeing how something worked instead of just reading about it in the records. Eyeing the Records Room with renewed interest, he had an idea. Sure, it just might get them in a little bit of trouble, but it could provide for a very interesting time.

“I don’t know if there’s a starscope in here, but I do know that the archivist on duty is currently working on transcribing a record that’s rather difficult to read and is going to take him quite a while.” The man hadn’t even been halfway through when Dinag had arrived. “So we could look for something more interesting to take apart. I’m sure the record for how to assemble and dissemble it would be right next to it. We could take it apart and, if we got stuck or ran out of time, we could use the records to put it back together properly.” He lifted one eyebrow, knowing that the other candidate would probably be reluctant to agree without a little bit of a challenge, “You want to look? I can check on the archivist and make sure he’s still busy.”

((Haha, that should keep them busy ))

[Avu]

He seemed…very vehement about the fact that he was not, indeed, an archivist. Vix sniffed, shrugging dismissively. It had been mostly an absentminded comment, and regardless, he didn’t mind if he did get in trouble. Archive duties would be rotated out soon enough, and the kitchens was much to Vix’s preference. Hide in one of the old unused cabinets, trying to see if he could piece things together by touch, only by touch, without the light to guide him – yes. It was nice, even if it was frustrating sometimes, given that he had to be careful about not making too much noise.

The suggestion, however, had merit. Vix barely considered for a moment before a flash of something that could have been a smile quirked at the corners of his lips. It was such an easy decision, really, especially given that the opinion of Archivists never bothered him. Even being reported to Emoyan – well, anyone who had Impressed a worm would have to do a lot to impress him. He nodded, sliding the glass covering back over the compass, and shoved it into his pocket. “Sure, sounds fine. You go check, then. I’ll…” His gaze slid across the table of records and inkpots. “I’ll clean this stuff up…”

Vix pulled the nearest pile of records towards him – one of the more unorganized piles, as it were, sloppily thrown together by some other person who seemed to care just about as much as he did. Given the proper incentive, he could handle paper and stuff just fine…even if it was awfully fragile for Vix’s taste. He shuffled it into some semblance of a stack, and if some of the records were bent a little in the effort, Vix ignored it. He set the stack aside, reaching for the next to stack into a veritable tower of papers, this one considerably messier than the previous in his impatience.

Uh, yeah…this whole ‘neat’ thing? It wasn’t working. Nevertheless, Vix leaned forward to put the quills and pots of ink into their respective spots, wiping the ink from the nibs of the pens and capping the ink to keep it from drying out, before he placed the record that the other kid (and that was about the minute Vix remembered he had absolutely no idea what his name was) had been working on front and center on the desk, the old record next to it, and turned the glows absently to the side. Picture perfect, yes, yes? Hopefully the archivist in question would be adequately distracted by those fascinating records; Vix hated the thought of his actually working having been for nothing…

((<3!))

[ryanne]

Dinag fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. After that kid had just sat there, fiddling with a compass, he would clean something up? He had a distinct impression that he was going to have to come back up behind him and fix it after he left. But it didn’t matter for the moment. Instead he just put a bored look on his face and headed out to talk to the archivist. He had no clue who the man was, but if his nose was buried any further into the record, the ink would not only be smeared across his nose, but there would be a streak going down the page where his nose was.

“Umm,” he began, fidgeting a little bit, “We were wondering if, umm, there was work for us, er, to do other than copying records.” Of course, the answer to that question was always “no.” Candidates always copied records. That’s just how it worked. The archivist looked up with a shocked expression of his face, “Really? No. You need to copy records. You only have a little bit of time left. Just get it done.” The man didn’t spare him a second glance then when back to copying the record, not much further along than the last time Dinag had seen him. There was no way that this man would notice anything else going on unless they made a lot of noise. Dinag knew that he was careful enough to make sure that their noisemaking was kept to a minimum.

Heading back to behind the bookcases where their workspace was, he grinned. “Coast is clear. That man would notice if we started knocking bookcases down. I’m surprised he can even see anything past his nose—he’s got his face so close to the paper.” He looked around for a moment, “Let’s start at the back and see what we can find.” With that said, he turned his back and walked to the farthest point in the room and looked up the racks of records, and then grimaced. Nothing but paper on this row.

[Avu]

The grin on his companion’s face said it all. Vix actually grinned back, a flare of anticipation licking up inside of him. Faranth, but he wanted something new to figure out – the Candidate nodded in silent agreement to the other’s proposed plan. A flicker of a glance backwards in the direction of the archivist, before he followed the kid down the aisle of records, taking the row opposite to the one the other kid had taken. Vix took his time, scanning the shelves for even something small to inspect – sometimes the best puzzles were of the miniscule variety. Taking things apart never frustrated Vix, even if sometimes people did.

His fingertips glided along the edge of one shelf, gathering dust, before he sighed, almost inaudibly, facing the wall. Vix’s head tilted, glancing backwards, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, before he moved back out to the aisle, one eyebrow rising questioningly, hopefully, towards the other Candidate. “Nothing down there worth it,” he murmured, not really a whisper – he figured whispers were a lot more conspicuous than just a low tone; Candidates could hardly be expected work in utter silence – “Did you…find anything? What’s your name, anyway?”

The second question came out with a hint of challenge that Vix hadn’t expected or intended, nose crinkling slightly. It felt strange to even ask. Most of the time, he didn’t. Vix was asocial to the extreme; most of the time people were just ‘them’, lumped together in a group, but…well, if they did find a starscope, or anything else, really, he expected the kid would want to be involved in the dismantling and rebuilding. And if he had to put up with someone else’s input, Vix figured he might as well figure out their name sometime along the way.

“Hope you’re not looking just for a starscope,” he added, just to make sure it didn’t seem like he was too interested in the other Candidate’s name. “’Cause anything’ll do…” Even if Vix would really, really possibly kill for a starscope. That was beside the point. The point was keeping boredom away. Must remember that.

[ryanne]

Dinag bit back a sigh of frustration at the lack of anything mechanical on the shelves. There were only dusty records, which had their own appeal, but he could come back later to look at those. “Nothing here,” he replied, ghosting his eyes down the row once more. There was so much here to learn, but that was for another time. It would be no problem getting back in later at night. And it wouldn’t even be hard to stay awake. He was adjusting his sleep schedule already, just in case he managed to bond with a wher. Nighttime would be a perfect time for him to come in and study the records. Even if he didn’t impress, he could spend a few days learning before he decided whether or not he was going to stay at the weyr or wander elsewhere.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he realized he hadn’t answered the other question posed to him. “Dinag,” he murmured back, careful to keep his voice from carrying. “Yours?” Apparently he’d piqued the candidate’s interest enough to exchange names. Dinag had realized a while ago that he’d simply been referring to his fellow conspirator as “compass boy” in his mind, but he didn’t want to ask for his name until after he’d already given his own. It was a bit of a competition that existed only in his mind, but it was by those rules that he played.

Moving up to the next row, he rolled his eyes a bit at the last statement. “I’m looking for anything we can dissemble,” he replied, running his finger down the dusty shelf. You’d think with all of the Archivists and the candidates that had to work in here, the shelves would at least look as if they’d been touched sometime within the last turn. Records just seemed to attract the small particles. Dinag stuffed down a sniff of disapproval. He wasn’t a clean freak, but he would never let this much dust settle onto his collection of misplaced, mismatched findings.

“Here’s something,” he muttered, halfway to himself. There was an odd contraption. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it was a box, with a lid, but it didn’t seem to open. Taking it off the shelf, he jiggled the top, feeling the stick of a latch, but not seeing where the latch was or how to open it. Puzzled, he shook it a little. There was definitely something in there, but it was locked. He couldn’t find the lock, though, much less the key. “Come look at this,” he urged, his interest growing by the second.

((Have you ever played with one of those boxes that hides not only the key but the lock?? It’s fun.))

[Avu]

Nothing? Vix bit back an impatient sigh, glancing away from the other boy, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth anxiously. His fingers drummed along the nearest shelf with agitation – something he didn’t even notice he was doing, really. Perhaps it was unhealthy that he almost constantly required to be doing something with his hands – but no. That was inaccurate. He didn’t need anything if he was allowed to just sit and stare into space, and think about what he could create. As it was, in his absorption with trying to figure out where anything would be located in the Archives (that weren’t records) Vix almost didn’t realize when his question wasn’t immediately answered.

“Oh.” One eyebrow rose, and he shrugged in response. “Tekivix. Vix.” The addition of ‘Vix’ was less an invitation to friendship so much as a necessity. Vix knew his full name, but he didn’t automatically answer to it like he did to just ‘Vix’. He hadn’t heard anyone call him by his full name since…well, almost ever. He’d even signed up for Candidacy just going by ‘Vix’, never mind that ‘Vix’ couldn’t even be elided properly. A faint exhale of impatience as he left the row he was in, fingers still drifting along the top of the shelf, collecting dust. Maybe dusting would be a little more helpful than copying, hmm.

A faintly ironic smirk was offered in Dinag’s direction at his response, before Vix turned his attention to the row before him. A few inkpots were seated along the shelf, one on its side, a broken quill-tip glittering gold in the dust – but nothing interesting. Sniffing indignantly to himself, Vix flicked off the quill-tip onto the floor. Maybe some idiot archivist would step on it. Dinag’s low murmur didn’t catch the boy’s attention immediately; he’d squatted upon reaching the edge, trying to turn his head upside-down to look in the dark corner of one shelf.

He rapped his head on the shelf when Dinag called. “Ow,” Vix muttered, spitefully, even though the bump was more of a light tap than anything else. Standing, he moved as quietly and quickly as he could to the other Candidate, and was polite enough not to just grab. Instead, Vix tilted his head, peering at the little box Dinag held. “Open it,” he said after a moment – that was the most logical thing to do, wasn’t it? “’Sit stuck, or something?” Tentatively, he reached out to tug lightly at the lid, eyes widening in his surprise when it didn’t give. “C’mon, let’s go back to the table. It’s lighter over there.”

Still, Vix didn’t immediately leave. He turned to the shelf, where the spot the box had left empty, marked by a conspicuous lack of dust, was visible, and pressed his fingers to the back of the shelf, searching for…well. Anything. A key, a scrap of paper that might aide its opening…nothing. The records on either side proclaimed themselves to be old tithe records, so he left those where they were. Ugh. Who really needed records on that stuff, anyway?


((I haven't! It sounds like fun, though. :3))

[ryanne]

He didn’t bother with the pleasantry of “nice to meet you” or “well met.” It was obvious that names were just necessary now that they had determined they were actually going to conversate, or at least cooperate. “I’m Dinag,” he answered. Part of him was glad that they hadn’t just sat there in a tense silence the entire time. At least now they were somewhat acquaintances. Dinag never went out of his way to meet people, but he didn’t want the people that he met to think badly of him, especially not fellow candidates who he’d have to deal with for turns to come if they Impressed together.

He jiggled the top once more expectantly before he shrugged. “To the table it is,” Dinag agreed. The box was very lightweight. Nothing heavy could be inside. It seemed solid, didn’t jingle or anything of the sort. Now his interest was definitely piqued. The design on the box was simple. There were multiple panels along the sides. Then the bottom and top were both solid pieces of wood, jetting out a half of an inch from the rest of the box. Nothing seemed to be unsteady or moveable.

Setting it down on the desk, Dinag looked at Vix. “Go for it,” he motioned with his hand. He was okay with the other candidate having the first real crack at it. Honestly, he didn’t care who figured it out, as long as he learned how it worked. He wasn’t one to need to be the one to solve every puzzle as long as the next time he saw the puzzle, he could figure it out on his own. He wasn’t a perfectionist, he just hated not being knowledgeable. Taking a step back, he let Vix have a little bit of space, even though he could still clearly see the object of interest.

(So here’s how it works, just in case Vix wants to make any headway. The bottom pushes back so one of the panels slides out to reveal a lock. The bottom trim also push to the side allowing another panel to slide out the side towards the front. The right side panel is the one that slides out. Turn the box over and shake it and a key will fall out.)

[Avu]

A shrug; a nod. Vix gave up his delicate search of the shelf, following Dinag over to the table. The old half-copied record was brushed aside with careless fingers, settling like a moth onto the floor as Vix settled down in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together. His gaze never left the box – Vix was interested. Very interested. His lips came to rest idly against his fingers, and as Dinag didn’t immediately start to poke at the box that the other Candidate had, after all, discovered, curiosity and something almost like hesitance flickered across Vix’s face – he tilted his head up carefully to glance at his companion.

The invitation drew another split second of a pause, before Vix drew the box deliberately towards him. He drew his legs up, crossing them in the chair; it took all of his restraint not to bring the box down to his lap, like he was used to – curling up, around it. Instead, he pressed his elbows against the table, fingers pressing carefully in search of hinges, panels that might slide and give way, from top to bottom, gentle, careful. It wasn’t his intention to force it, after all. If it wasn’t made to slide a certain way, he wasn’t going to make it. The puzzle came in finding how it was supposed to work…

It was all too easy to lose himself in the familiarity of this, the push pull give take feel, and Vix almost hummed in pleasure as he reached the bottom of the sides without result and flipped the box in his palm, pushing lightly against the bottom before he tapped against the box, head tilting curiously. The faint hollowness was encouraging; Vix ran his nails along the edge, pads of his fingers searching carefully, pressing carefully, first in one direction, then the next, and then – the bottom slid, and in that smooth, deliberate movement, there was a kind of bittersweet taste; he’d broken the first puzzle, but that meant they were one step closer to being finished.

Oh. Right. They.

His fingertips pressed against the little lock exposed, before Vix looked up at Dinag. “Sorry,” he murmured – he’d more or less monopolized something that the other boy had found, and had the right to. He set the box back down on the table, sliding it towards him. “Have at it.” He could keep his hands to himself for awhile; even the lock, without a key, had been difficult enough to find that Vix was already imagining – if he could rig his trunk with something like that? Not that he’d anything valuable, but just the secret, the privacy of it…hmm.