Well, it said washrooms... V'rael

[archenstone]

"This is getting old." V'rael grumbled as he held up another pair of underwear. You'd think adults could keep better care of their stuff. He said to Taith.

We'll if you didn't wear fake skin you wouldn't have to wash it. Taith replied from a warm spot on the river. He was lounging in a sunny spot, occasionally frightening fish with a twitch of his tail. He took great humor in letting all the nice sensations roll across their link to an envious V'rael.

"I got tricked into this....I just know it." He said aloud even though he was the only one in the room. Of course you did. The moment he suggested you would shirk responsibility rather than do whats necessary he had you. If you were more like me well.....you'd be in the river.

He looked around at the mass of fabric. Once smelly undergarmets now sat neatly piled in baskets ready to go to their respective owners. "He said responsibility though....this is women's work!"

He folded a shirt....twice...since the first time around it was mangled looking. Now for a new load. He pulled another basket foward labeled 'M'ta and R'wign'. As he began to dumb clothes into the wash bin he felt something hard. "What?" Out from a pants pocket came a small throwing knife. He flipped it in the air and caught it by point. "Nice balance." He searched through the rest of the laundry and found around five or six. "Who would leave their knives in pockets?" It didn't make sense. All well, finders keepers right? He pocketed the knives and dumped the rest of clothes in. He might return the lost knives someday.....like when mens underwear stops stinking.

[Requiem]

"Probably whoever decided it was a brilliant idea to wander into personal weyrs and steal laundry, considering I don't personally know anyone idiotic enough to carry knives in a pocket." His own throwing knives, considerably nicer than the ones V'rael had just pilfered (a gift courtesy of his former weyrlingmaster), were displayed prominently across the broad chest of the short man who had positioned himself in silence on a table behind the weyrling. He was twirling a much longer, wicked-looking dirk through his fingers idly, his dark eyes focused unwaveringly on the giant thief pawing through people's personal items.

Neither he nor R'wign had been too happy to find their laundry pilfered. R'wign had some things that he rather liked - including a pair of leather pants that M'ta rather liked on him - in with the missing laundry. And since the younger of the two brownriders was almost neurotic about always being clean when his weyrmate was around...and equally adamant about spending most of his time outdoors doing things that tended to make men sweaty and decidedly not clean...he went through enough clothing in a day that missing a week's worth was highly inconvenient. M'ta was just waiting for R'wign to throw a fit and declare he wasn't going to wear anything if he couldn't wear what he wanted to - it wasn't completely unlikely, after all, given the healer's temprament - and M'ta would rather have him clothed or in bed, thank you much.

Nor had it been easy to actually find the clothing. He never would have thought to look in the candidate barracks if a drudge hadn't mentioned that a weyrling was doing laundry in here in passing. A weyrling doing laundry in the candidate barracks was unsual enough to merit investigation. No one, of course, had mentioned that the 'weyrling' was actually a behemoth. He wasn't quite C'oar-sized - but then, C'oar was clearly unnatural. If M'ta didn't like having his things stolen, he liked being nervous even less, and the familiar lick of fear was always enough to make him angry and testy. Which was always when M'ta was at his most dangerous.

"Does everyone else know you're sneaking around, taking their clothes and emptying their pockets? Though how you could manage to sneak I have no idea." He tossed the dirk, catching it buy the blade and sending it another pass through his fingers. "I'm going to have to ask you for it back."