Pies! (September Kitchen Chores) (Open)

[kysseh]

How she had gotten roped into this particular chore was beyond her, but Savitri was a bit displeased about being stuck on kitchen duty. Oh, Savitri enjoyed cooking... she enjoyed making a tasty--albeit, usually not pretty--sort of creation to enjoy with company or to give someone to cheer them up. And she was not incredibly terrible at it either. Unfortunately, being not-terrible at cooking meant that you usually got landed with the prolonged sort of chores. In her case, after exercising, bathing, oiling, and feeding the ravenous Hepaticath, she had come to fulfill her chores obligation only to find one of the cooks fussing about berries going bad.

She had gotten too close and had had a barrel of berries dumped in her arms with the instructions to make something tasty and useful out of them. She had peeked in to see that the berries, though not squished, were looking a bit soft. That ruled out just washing them and putting cream on top. Pudding was an... unlikely sort of possibility, so she had finally decided to make pies. Unfortunately, pies were very involved and required a lot of bowls, so she had chased a few chattering kitchen workers out of one of the counters in a corner and had taken possession of the nearby oven.

Now she was trying to simultaneously wash the berries and dump them into a massive bowl whilst adding ingredients to her bowl for pie dough. She still had to mix up and roll out that dough and put it into the stacked pie plates which were.... somewhere to be found. Shardit. She loved pies in small doses, but this was something of an enormous hassle. Hepaticath had been 'listening in' for quite awhile and was being helpfully unhelpful in telling her to recruit assistance. Humph. From whom? Everyone else was escaping the kitchen to enjoy the midday sun or was busy preparing for the evening meal. Where was she going to find help here?!

[reqqy]

He knew he looked like an absolute loon, but he didn't care. He also knew that he was going at a much slower speed than usual, but again, he didn't care. After sparring with Ferneth for awhile, he'd discovered a very nice way to get around, and if it made him look a little like a scuttling crab crossed with a skipping weyrbrat, that was okay, because...well, it was better than crawling along with the use of this annoying cane. Frankly, doing anything even slightly physically challenging after a month of being holed up in the barracks pleased Mutasim, and he actually looked much closer to his age with the goofy grin on his face, flailing the cane around for balance - he'd discovered it didn't work so well without it...

In fact, he was so delighted with this new mode of travel that he decided to circle the large island that held the Main Hall a few times, just to do it, and the feeling of the warm soreness again entering into his muscles was sheer bliss. How he'd missed this! Too bad he had to be in the kitchens. Not that there were really any chores that they usually assigned which involved a lot of moving, but he didn't much like kitchen duty, and he was sure the drudges wouldn't like to see the literally ear-splitting candidate back again. Oh well. If he had to endure them, they had to endure him.

The climb up to the dragon landing wasn't so fun, until he decided that his arms were more than enough to support his weight and just climbed up hand-over-hand. Oh yes! Why hadn't he thought of these things before?! Mutasim blew through the doorway, slid through the dining room, and dashed through the door into the kitchens, using all the available space he had to him. Of course, then he had to stop himself pretty quickly before running into anything, and a sharp cry and a few curses came from behind. Mutasim knew he'd probably smashed someone upside the head with the cane, but...he didn't look, because this way he could feign ignorance.

Panting, but not at all upset at the fact that he was nearly winded, Muta drew himself up regally and began to walk with the cane like a normal, rational human being. Had they seen a crazy cripple barrel through here? Nooooo. It was just their imaginations. That's when he spotted Savitri way back there in the corner, Mutasim freezing for a moment. He'd managed to avoid her for a month! How...? Well, if it had been just a couple of days ago he might have deliberately gone over to the opposite part of the kitchen, but not today. Nothing could put a damper on his mood, and even if she decided to scold him for running about, he'd just grin. So what if she knew? She had to be better than the annoying weyrbrats who seemed to think it a good idea to torment him...

In fact, there was one right there, moving as if to kick the cane away. Mutasim thought about letting him - he didn't really need it as much anymore. Instead, though, he waited until the last moment and whipped the cane away, chuckling as the boy fell flat on his rump. Served him right. Muta made his way over to Savitri with a smug grin and, setting the cane a little to one side, levered himself right up onto the countertop she was working on, not noticing that he'd seated himself on a few escaped berries. "Trying to find a way to make yourself sweeter?" he asked her, snickering.

Muta in a good mood. A danger to all.

[dragon]

After receiving word that now that he was done copying old dusty tomes into legibility he was to work in the kitchens, Cloar heaved a slow, weary sigh.

Kitchens. He really didn't like kitchens. They were neat for raiding, but not alot else. He'd not really enjoyed working in the kitchen back home at all, when his mother had rounded him up for it. It wasn't the heat ... oh, no. He didn't mind the heat. In fact, his father's forge had been far hotter. What bugged him was the painstaking detail that went into food making. One slip, and it was all over. Not even the canines would eat it!!

Naturally, this had prompted him to learn to not make those kinds of slips, but still ... he hated cooking. He hoped that he could possibly get out of actual cooking if he offered to do the other things. Shards ... he'd even be willing to wash a mountain of dishes to get out of actually cooking!

A place this big had to have no shortage of dishes ... and playing in the dishwater wouldn't be so bad, if he was careful to not scrub his callouses off... Cloar mused on this idea absently as he ascended the stairway. When he reached the kitchens proper, he paused to look around. Ah hah. There was definitely a pile of dishes ... far more than he had bargained on.

On second thought ... maybe he wasn't going to want to wash dishes all day, after all.

And then he spotted where Savitri was making pies, and smiled slightly. Pies. There would at least be something nice to eat sometime along the way. But he also did not fail to notice Mutasim sitting there.

Which made Cloar frown ever so slightly ... bringing his general expression right back to nil, canceling out the previous smile. The creepy-looking kid seemed to be everywhere, and at the same time ... always seemed to be sitting on some poor girl's workspace! Making a wide berth around the knife-wearing fellow, Cloar headed for the stack of soiled dishes. It may not be what he wanted to do all day, but it would be a good start...

[glamourie]

Rawign stretched his arms up above his head, causing his back to crack in a series of most definitely audible, hollow sounds that would have made most people cringe. His eyes were closed and he yawned widely, tongue curling back, as he made his way across the Main Hall. Despite all appearances though, Rawign wasn't tired; he was just stiff, which was a frequent occurrence when he spent the bigger part of his day chopping herbs in the infirmary. Specifically, he'd been combining meadowsweet, peppermint with nettleweed, chopped and ground to the smallest pieces imaginable, then jarred for teas to give to patients with stomach problems, because if he heard one more person complain about their bodily functions he was going to hit them. He had a remarkably high tolerance for genuine injuries but whining tended to irritate him very quickly, though he'd gotten better about it. Alas, his recommendation was always tea, because people were more inclined to drink that than actually intake the herbs the way they were supposed to. In his experience, at least. He had several jars and considering the latest complaints, he was betting he'd be chopping again soon. The good news was, he smelled like peppermint and unlike numbweed, that was generally a popular scent... even if it did attract Weyrbrats who were convinced he had sweet sticks hidden away. Did he look like the candy man?

He figured he could do with some food before he made his way back to Marra's apartment that he kind-of sort-of lived in. The main reason for that was that he highly doubted his female counter-part would thank him for scarfing down meat in front of her (she'd made it clear she was not a fan) and he had the strangest craving for --

PIE!

Many rude comments did fit Rawign in description - from obtuse to arrogant to bratty, and all were true... but the teenager had a gift for pies, or specifically, locating when they were being made, by whom, with what ingredients, and figuring out how much sucking up he needed to do in order to attain one free of charge. Evidently, even when he wasn't trying, for he'd honestly come in search of meat. Still, there was only a few uses for a bowl that big clearly filled with berries, and Rawign had caught sight of Savitri. He didn't know the apprentice healer well, but that was okay, because if he did, she would probably be less inclined to give him any of the pies. He had a talent for irritating people on prolonged exposure but one or two meetings, he was sure he could handle. What was his plan of attack?

-- Er. He blinked, twice, and turned to stare. His plotting to attain a pie was temporarily halted as Mutasim (he knew the candidate's name and face well, since he was the only one as much of a flop as he was) made his way so.. oddly... across the Main Hall. What had gotten into him? If Rawign didn't know any better he'd have guessed the kid got lucky. But his foot! His foot was still bandaged and he was walking on it. The urge to scold was almost overwhelming and he stalked after the boy, ignoring the fallen Weyrbrat to come up right behind Muta - who had moved over toward Savitri. Good, good. Improvising was okay with him, if it meant he got a pie in the end.

"Are you supposed to be wa-- pies. Are you making pies?" Easily distracted much? So much for waiting and swindling her out of one somehow. Rawign lifted one hand to brush his fingers through his hair; he'd hacked it off considerably shorter earlier that day. From the bottom of his shoulder blades to uneven shaggy cuts around his face. He was still getting used to it, as evidenced by his constant fiddling; the change was... very dramatic. Marra would probably kill him.

[kysseh]

Savitri had been so absorbed in her attempts at working that she only vaguely noticed some curses and protests in the background. She was trying to figure out which of her many tasks to accomplish first. There was so much to do! She was reaching for the bowl of half-finished dough when she caught movement in her peripheral vision and turned to get a better look at whatever it was. She was startled to see Mutasim skipping--no, that wasn't right, but whatever he was doing was odd--over toward her with a smug grin on his face. The faint frown that had been gracing her face threatened to deepen a bit at first, but seeing Mutasim in such high spirits made it impossible for her to stay angry. He was not in this good a mood very often.

"I don't think even berries could improve my temperament," she said dryly, sighing quietly as her frown gave way to a faint smile. Mutasim had her in a better mood now, and she paused in her workings to observe him as he seated himself on her counter. Should she tell him that he had just sat on some pretty and squishy purple berries? Nope. That would've been a pointless waste of time. "I would lecture you, considering how you should still be off that foot, but I'd much rather see you in a good mood. And not looking so terrible." She watched him for a moment, considering. She had missed his company immensely as of late. He was an odd and cranky friend at times, but she valued him quite a lot.

She caught sight of a boy scuttling away from her corner and snorted. Oh, so he would rather go do something else than make pies, hmm? Fine then. There were plenty of other things to keep a candidate busy--and oh, he had to be a candidate. He was not a weyrling. "Well, while you're here, why don't you stir this dough? It'll make things go faster," she said dryly, shoving the massive bowl closer to Mutasim. "I just have to put- oh, there it is." She dumped a small bowlful of powdery white stuff into the mixing bowl and then passed the long-handled spoon over to Mutasim. "Go ahead. I need to get that all finished up and put into the plates... bake them to harden up the crusts then-"

She peered as she saw another male on the approach. She did tend to attract them, didn't she? Shardit, but she disliked that sometimes. Well, they were less giggly than females, usually, and she blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Humph. She needed a haircut... and apparently, so had Rawign. She resisted the urge to chuckle at his new, very messy-looking hairstyle. Did he know how odd he looked? Probably. Did he care? Likely not. She had to feel an ounce of sympathy for him, though. After watching his two flits die at the Gather, she had a new respect for the other healer for holding it together as well as he had. She detested Shadow sometimes, but she knew she would be devastated where something to go happen to him.

Ahhh, leverage. She snorted softly. "Of course I am. And since you're here and kindly volunteering to help, start washing berries out of that barrel there to put into that bowl. I've gotten it started, but I'm going to need all of them washed. I have to use them all up, so pies it is. You both can have one if none of those berries go down your throat before we're done." She aimed a look at Rawign. She thought he would be the more tempted of the two.... if only because he was obviously so intent on the pies. He was probably hungry. Men.

[reqqy]

Goodness, why was she so dour today? It was nice out and...well, that was about it, but still, wasn't that enough? He kicked his feet absently, thinking again that boots might be a good idea once his foot healed...if his feet ever stopped growing. He wondered if the broken bones would effect the one foot and, if they did, if it would have an effect on how he moved. Not that it really mattered. Either his feet would be the same size, or they wouldn't; he'd deal with it as it came. Strange to think that he might be growing here soon, though. Or maybe it was just the feet. Heh. That would be typical, no? Mutasim found the idea humorous and couldn't resist a chuckle at himself.

Which quickly carried over into a chuckle at Savitri. "No, but maybe combined with sugar we'll get lucky," he responded, tongue-in-cheek. Truly, he hoped to get a little more of a smile. That pathetic little ghost was almost depressing. Maybe he should throw some of this powdery stuff at her? At the very least, it might make her sneeze which, while not the same as drawing out a smile, would at least be fun to watch. He scrunched his face at her. "If it doesn't hurt, I'm going to be on it. You don't expect me to sit around in the barracks for another month, do you? I'm quite certain my brain is almost as mushy as the rest of me by now." And yes, Mutasim felt mushy after so much inactivity, but he was okay with that now that he was out and about again.

Mutasim's gaze flicked to Cloar, and something rather - foreign - intruded into his gaze then. His face didn't quite go stony, but it lost a lot of its animation. Following the boy with his gaze all the way across the kitchens until he was certain the other candidate wasn't going to be headed this way, Muta visibly shook himself, only to find that a bowl was being thrust into his hands. He stared at it curiously, not really knowing what he was supposed to do with a bunch of powdery and sloshy stuff. It certainly didn't look like pie. There was a definite reason the candidate was often put to the task of cutting greens and tubers; he had no previous training in the kitchens, and his disposition was not an easily teachable one.

He coughed as she poured in more powder - just to bother him, he was sure - and cast a scathing glance her direction before blinking at the spoon. Stir? "Okay," he commented, somewhat tentatively, as he took the spoon from her. Stir. He could do that. Mutasim placed the spoon in the bowl and began moving it around in circles, but it wasn't stirring very quickly, so he picked up the speed, sending a few droplets flying at Savitri. The boy snickered, seriously tempted to fling some more at her just for confounding him. But then he decided slow was okay, because it probably wasn't good to be getting things out of the bowl.

Openly laughing at Rawign - whom he had no fear of whatsoever given the healer was Marra's doormat and Z'hin's old friend, besides being someone he'd known for turns, if imperfectly - the candidate stuck a spoon out at him, flinging more globs of half-mixed batter, one landing right on the healer's nose. "It's a conspiracy, isn't it? All the healers must come out to scold me. But I know your secret. Want me to tell you where the hidden pies are?" Clearly Rawign was more interested in pastries than Muta's foot, and it amused him to mess with the other candidate. He pouted when Savitri seemed intent to put Rawign to work, though. That wasn't fair! He would have loved to see the healer trying to find nonexistant pies in inconvenient places...

[glamourie]

Rawign blinked at Mutasim and cocked his head to the side inquisitively. He then went cross-eyed and wiped the goo off of his nose with as much dignity as he could muster... which really was not much, given the fact that the action was then followed by popping his finger into his mouth. He made a curious face, as though analyzing the taste, and squinted at the younger candidate. Oh no no no. He was not that gullible. What did he think, that he was stupid? He wasn't the one walking around on an injured foot. Sniffing indignantly, Rawign licked his fingers cleaned before pointing at Mutasim accusingly - though there was really no malice in the action or his face. Some people may have found the small candidate intimidating. Rawign didn't, for several reasons. Chief among them was the fact that Mutasim was about a foot shorter than him and considerably smaller. Rawign wasn't a big man but when he completely dwarfed someone, it usually made him disqualify them as a threat. Arrogant? A little. Additionally, he'd known Mutasim was Z'hin's friend and Rawign considered Z'hin his friend. He found it hard to dislike anyone that Z'hin so clearly was fond of. Besides, if the boy was obnoxious, what was that to him? Exactly who was Rawign semi-living with again? Right, Marra the Harper.

"No, no, you will not seduce me with your pie-like ways, oh bad patient. As it is, I didn't come out to scold you, but we'll pretend I did for the sake of -- what?"

Savitri's words made the black-haired boy turn to look at her and squint slightly. Was she bossing him around? Why yes, yes she was. What was it with women that they felt they had a right to completely boss around every male they came in contact with? Technically, he didn't even need to help her because his chores (which he had very little intention of doing) put him in the Archives which was a sure sign of blatant insanity on the Candidatemaster's part. Anyone who willingly let Rawign into the archives needed a slap. It was usually near-impossible to get him out of there once he went in. He loved that place more than he did anywhere else in the Weyr.

Except the kitchens, when there were pies to be had. Then he loved the kitchens the most, but no conclusions should be drawn from that because Rawign would have loved cleaning chamber pots if it meant that he would get pies eventually. There was very little he'd refuse to do if it ended in something warm, gooey and sweet, berry-filled and topped with luscious cream.

The problem was, clearly the young goldrider (a fact which made Rawign want to leave as soon as possible and only pies kept him from fleeing at the sight of her; he did so fear gold dragons) did not know how to bargain. She thought he'd avoid eating the berries for just one pie? He could eat five pies in one sitting - he'd done it before. And that was the large ones. Although, he'd been ridiculously sick afterwards, but ignoring that fact, one simply was not going to cut it for an entire barrel of berries. That barrel would easily make ten or fifteen. His eyes flicked from the barrel, then to Savitri, then back to the barrel appraisingly before he looked over at her with quite an exasperated expression - an excellent precursor to the fact that he was about to whine. Warning, warning!

"My, aren't you bossy? Are you always this demanding?" he teased, then indicated the barrel with one finger. It was whining, but with an undeniably playful lilt to his voice, as if he didn't really mean it; he didn't. There were few chores Rawign truly loathed doing. Washing berries wasn't one of them. Boat duty, netting and things of that nature were -- but fortunately no one had picked up on that yet at Selenitas. Yet. "If you expect me to wash all of those and not accidentally swallow some of those berries, you'd do better to up your bet. I can coax Cezine into making me a pie for free. If I'm helping, I'll expect at least two. Have a heart, I spent the entire day chopping herbs for tea; we've enough digestive tea to last us into the next Turn provided we don't have an outbreak of some stomach bug."

[dragon]

Despite how he was trying to really truly avoid doing anything remotely resembling cooking, Cloar found himself paying attention to what was going on with the pie making. Pies he would look forward to ... he just hoped there were going to be some left by the time everyone over there got done bargaining. Maybe he ought to make a mention of that... that some other people might want some, too.

Ah-hah! He'd found his ticket, lurking there in the bottoms of the sinks. Someone had really truly gone through and used up a bunch of dishes, indeed ... and he had at his disposal several that those three were definitely going to need! Namely ... pie pans. And ... maybe some pans that ... might ... with ... a little imagination ... be used as pie pans! Cloar tilted his head, unable to help noticing how the pans were made. He'd made many a pan in his day.

Not that he'd spent overly many years of his life smithing. He wondered if anyone would be overly offended if he made some new pans for the kitchens, as he washed the ones he had. He could make some in various shapes that could be used for all kinds of cakes and loafs and ...blobs of meat. Even those loafs of meat! Cake pans were fun ... you could get creative with those! Cloar's attention was brought back to what he was doing when he stumbled across something else essential to pie making...

Well - not essential - but useful enough that those three over there would really like to have, as it would make the berry washing go easier and faster. Squishing fewer of them before they were in the pies proper like. Cloar dug the pair of colanders out of the bottom of the sink, and started washing them. Apparently they'd been used on tubers, as there was still bits of cooked tuber all over them. One was wire mesh, and the other was a solid plate style with tons of holes poked in it.

Personally, he preferred the wire one ... those were easier to make, even if they were harder to clean. Though ... they weren't quite as durable, he had to give the solid one two scores, then ... ease of cleaning and durability. But they were a royal pain to make. Maybe it was worth it, then, if it resulted in fewer cases of food poisoning from food remnants being stuck in it?

Rinsing the colanders off, he stacked them atop his nice heap of pie pans, and then picked the whole mess up. Holding the stack up with one big hand, he wrapped his other arm around it to keep it from getting awry as he carried it over to where there was suddenly ... batter ...?! ... all over the place.

"What is that?" Cloar couldn't help but ask. "It kinda sounds like pies over here, but it looks like cobbler." he pointed out. This was a good sign ... something even better than pies was cobbler! Pies didn't have batter, but cobbler did. Maybe some of both?

"Anyway ... I thought you might could use these." Cloar said, setting the stack down on the counter top. "Some pans ... and these might make things easier." Guessing that Rawign was the one supposedly supposed to be doing the washing, he handed one of the colanders directly into Rawign's extended hand that he was pointing with. "There you go." Cloar said, with an ease that was rare for him. Normally he didn't say much at all to anyone at all. Even the weird kid with all the knives wasn't going to bother him if he decided it wasn't going to bother him.

It wasn't the knives that bothered him anyway ... knives he knew. It was the person wearing them that sometimes made a body wary. But today Mutasim seemed to be more happy-go-lucky, so Cloar decided it was okay. For now. "There's a bigger bowl in the sink. If you need it, I can get it washed." Cloar offered Mutasim, noting the runs of batter down the sides of the bowl, the spatters all around him, and such. Though he guessed that Mutasim was having too much fun making a terrific mess to want a bigger bowl ... besides that, soon he wouldn't need a bigger bowl.

But that was all okay ... the messiest cooks were always the best ones, his father used to say. Though Cloar would really be surprised if someone wearing that many throwing knives would know how to make something more complex than a fried egg. The personalities rarely mixed in those directions at the same time.

And ... if he was going to be spending any kind of time in this weyr, Cloar figured that he'd best start getting to know people ... and not just by looking at them. He knew he wasn't a terribly approachable personality type himself, so he would have to make the effort to show he wasn't going to bite. Which ... was going to be hard. Looking like he was going to bite was a default expression when he wasn't concentrating on not looking that way.

And through all this round about thoughts running through his head, he completely forgot that his original mission was to let them know that other people - namely him - were going to want some of those pies, too!

[kysseh]

Could this turn into anymore of a disaster?!

Savitri wanted to smartly reply to both of the males, but getting splattered in the face by pie dough and having Rawign smart-talk her in the midst of her attempts to organize this chaos was quite disconcerting. Then the little boy had to prance up and provide her with yet more pie plates and a dose of unhealthy enthusiasm. Savitri was not thrilled. She wanted to respond to all of them at once, which likely would have meant one or more males slinking out the kitchens with hands protectively covering vulnerable areas from fear of her wrath. Instead, the young woman took in a deep breath, held it, pondered for a few seconds, and then let it out. There. Now she was calm and ready to deal with this mess.

"First of all, you-" She pointed at Mutasim and impatiently wrapped her hand around his on the spoon. "-need to slow down. Slow stirring. We don't have to whip it into shape. The dough just needs to be mixed evenly, and I have one more thing to add. It will be very thick and might require more kneading than actual stirring once it starts to really thicken like it's supposed to. Just... gentle," she stressed as she demonstrated a much more sedate stirring technique. Then she released him and took up another small canister and measured an even cupful into the bowl. "There. Now gentle, please. It's supposed to be thick so I can make crusts with it." She tempered her orders with a smile. She was really grateful to see him, and the brightness in her eyes indicated that.

Rawign was next to be turned to, and Savitri just patiently sighed, offering him a more wry sort of smile. Of course he was teasing her. "I'm very demanding and bossy when something needs to be taken care of. And if you boys-" She emphasized the word. "-would like pies today, then helping is the best way to get them." At least he was being playful and not just rebellious. He was certainly whining a bit, though, which was irksome. Ah well. He seemed to be in the sort of mood to help, perhaps. "Very well. Don't wash any berries, then, and these pies will never get done. Unlike Cezine, I do not have free time to make a batch of pies just for your consumption." Her lips twitched. "I might be able to spare you a few, though..."

The boy, however, was someone entirely unfamiliar. This bore careful proceeding. "These are pies, and thank you for the pans." She had some, but more were always welcome. She had no idea just how many pies she could make. At least a dozen, probably a dozen and a half. Possibly two dozen. "I don't know you. Candidate, I'm guessing? I'm Savitri. That's Mutasim... and this is journeyman healer Rawign. Are you looking for something to do, or... are dishes keeping you busy?" she asked dryly, glancing in the direction the boy had appeared from. She then looked over at the messy bowl that Mutasim held, sighing softly. She really hoped he learned to be more careful, or there would be a horrible mess everywhere.

A smell wafted through her nostrils, and she perked up and spun around almost immediately, effectively distracted. She snatched up some mitts and opened the oven, removing a rack full of filled pie pans that she set on an open counter. Ahh, but these smelled good! Granted, her crusts were not fancy or decorative, but they looked tasty enough to her. She inhaled deeply, smiling. Then she remembered her company and turned around to waggle a finger at all three males. "They're hot; don't touch them yet." 'Yet' was the important word in there. She fully intended to let them have their fill. The fat would go better on their waistlines than hers, after all. Mutasim could use some nutrients to grow a bit more, and a full belly would keep Rawign from whining. Her expression softened a little, green eyes flicking over the trio. "Well, let's get this done, then. The quicker we finish putting these together, the quicker you can eat these."


((Sorry. I'm sooo distracted tonight, but I tried.))

[reqqy]

Mutasim cocked his head to one side when Rawign called his bluff, clearly pouting, though his eyes flashed with a touch of amusement still. Seduce? Dramatic much? Normally he had little patience for such behavior, but it was simply rather funny at the moment. Got to love being in a good mood. He was absolutely certain his reputation was about to go to mush, and he'd have to rebuild it from the ground up to continue to scare people away, but Muta didn't truly care so much at the moment. Rawign made life interesting, and he liked seeing Savitri brighten up a bit - even if she did look like she might just blow a gasket here shortly. He rather suspected the girl liked being stressed. She was a goldrider, after all.

Rawign also had something of the attention span of a flit, or so it would seem. How did he ever manage working in the infirmary without completely losing himself and half-finishing something? At the other 'candidate's' -definitely in the loosest form of the word- question, Muta grinned, casting a glance at Savitri. "Yes. Bossy, bossy. She could probably boss the Weyrleader around and no one would bat an eye." The candidate smirked, knowing that was exactly what she had done. Oh, he was evil, bringing such things up here, but he couldn't help it, really. Mutasim tended to be at his most annoying when in a playful mood.

A mood that took another turn immediately upon noticing just who was coming their way. The amusement fled from his eyes, which followed the other candidate's movements, not at all pleased by this new turn of events. He immediately got to thinking about how vulnerable he was up on the countertop with both his hands occupied. Of course, he was pretty sure a good whack with the spoon would still smart, and there was just the remote possiblity that the handle was long enough that he could actually jab the utensil up the other boy's nose and scramble his brains if he was so inclined, but it still wasn't a comfortable arrangement for the paranoid little man-child.

And yes, he had every reason to be paranoid.

Unfortunately, before he could rectify his exposed situation, Savitri chose to take hold of his hand, Mutasim blinking at her dazedly. He'd rather forgotten that she was there. Then he was distracted by her hand, torn between watching what she was doing and keeping an eye on the big, evil one. Stupid adolescent. Didn't the kid have the courtesy to wait for an invite? Not that Mutasim or Rawign had even so much as asked about joining her, but then, she'd put them right to work anyway, so it wasn't like she had all that much to complain about, was it?

Thinking about Cloar kept him from thinking about how nice Savitri's hand felt, even if the touch was distinctly impersonal. He stirred the dough at the pace she'd shown him the moment she pulled away, still casting occasional suspicious glares in Cloar's direction. The only thing that kept him from reacting viciously right this moment was the fact that the other boy had his hands full, too. Mutasim truly wanted to give him the dough so he could just watch the boy for any trickery, but then he caught Savitri's smile, and the candidate suddenly decided that he didn't mind stirring the dough so much. Smiles were good. Yes.

Not at all pleased that she seemed to be allowing Cloar to stay if he wanted, though. And, unlike Rawign, pies didn't do much to distract Muta; food was simply food to him. Part of him recognized that they smelled good, but that was definitely the extent of his awareness of them.

[glamourie]

Multitasking was only Rawign's strong point when he was dealing with his craft. Social situations did not, in any way, bring out that side of him, so it was little wonder that Rawign actually jumped at the sight of another candidate, who he didn't know at all. His face twisted slightly, eyes narrowing into a squint, blatantly befuddled by the boy's presence and where he had come from. Had he just spawned out of the wall or something? Before he could ask (and indeed he actually planned to), a colander was shoved into his hands and Rawign jumped back away from the boy (literally) and his bowl as if burnt. The sieve fell through his hands and hit the floor with an audible, metallic clatter loud enough to put the healer's teeth on edge and he immediately regretted his slippery fingers. Slowly, he knelt down to pick it back up (it would need to be rinsed again, though, thanks to his negligence) and stared quite blatantly at the boy he'd only seen a few times, that had so boldly come up to them and - started... chitchatting.

"Who... are you? Where did you come from?" he asked, blinking widely. But Savitri was speaking again, and he turned back to her before snorting indignantly. Goodness, she was bossy. His eyebrow raised. There was something outrageously hilarious about being told what to do by an apprentice that he couldn't even begrudge her that bossiness, although the fact that pie was present was probably a big part of his willingness to forgive. She wasn't the only woman to boss him around, after all. He lived with a female considerably more bossy. The difference? Marra knew enough about Rawign to know that asking him to do something, rather than telling him, always garnered better results. If he had free time he was usually willing to help - especially with pies - so long as someone asked. Demanding just made him feel inclined to argue for the sake of being contrary.

Pushing the colander back to the candidate, Rawign pulled a face. "I'm sorry; you surprised me." Well, it was true. He didn't even know the kid's name, which ... in itself wasn't surprising at all considering how little interaction Rawign had (deliberately) with other candidates. "Would you mind um... I can't very well rinse anything with this having hit the floor that way."

Funny how Savitri launched into an explanation. The nineteen-turn-old cast her a sideways glance. She didn't know him; he didn't know her. The introductions were comical in their own way because of that. The fact that she also used his title amused him endlessly. Perhaps he was simply too easy to amuse? He shook his head, then leaned back as his eyes followed the pies being removed from the oven. His eyebrows nearly met his hairline and he leaned back against one of the counters, looking bemused. If she was making so many, why was she acting stingy? Pfft. Then again, Rawign was quite... fond... of stuffing himself to the point of it being painful, when it came to intaking pies. He should have been embarrassed by that fact, but he wasn't. It wasn't easy to embarrass Rawign anymore. Once upon a time, yes, but he was pretty sure that he was totally shameless anymore.

"I like that she uses my title, yet not her own or Mutasim's," he said conspiratorially to the stranger, before turning back to Savitri. "You remind me of one of those old kitchen ladies, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. I half expect you to start shaking spoons at us. 'Make yourself useful or get lost!' This would be comical if not for the fact that I am fairly sure you're not much older than I am. Lighten up. They are just pies. There's really very little way to go wrong with them." Another indignant sniff, then -- "And for the record -- Mutasim is making the pie crusts." Apparently, Rawign knew a little more about pie making than he let on. That fact should not have surprised anyone, though, given that the healer spent most of his time trying to figure out ways to attain pies with as little effort as possible. He'd even go right to work at washing the berries, just as soon as the colander was rewashed. Oops. More work.

[dragon]

Cloar placed the stack of pans on the table, arranging them carefully so they'd stay that way. No need to be letting them fall off and get dinged up on the floor … "You're welcome. I didn't know how many you'd need … so I washed these up." he nodded, slightly, wondering if maybe he'd made a mistake coming over after all. Why had he done it, again? Oh, right. Pies. But there looked to be a lot of them being made…

He looked over at Rawign with a little bit of shock showing on his face before it slipped back under hiding. "Uh…" he said, as the colander clattered to the floor. "I came from the sinks?" he offered, taking the colander back again. And then he handed the other one to him. "Don't drop that one, okay?" he said, by way of a mild joke. The dropped one he set on the edge of the counter near him, to journey back to the sink soon.

"I am Cloar … a candidate, yes." He said, introducing himself. He would have added 'nice to meet you all', but it was starting to look not so nice. That and he really wasn't a talker. This was hard for him… getting to know a whole new batch of people. "Savitri. Mutasim. Rawign." He repeated, quietly, in acknowledgment. "I can help, if you really think you need it." He glanced at the other two boys, seriously doubting that he should stick around at all … pies or no pies. It wasn't worth dieing over. "And if you don't, there are plenty of things needing washed." Cloar pointed out.

At the sight of the finished pies, Cloar thought for a moment. Was it worth sticking around for? Maybe. Depended on why he was getting such … evil … looks from Mutasim. He'd gotten those same looks the last time he'd seen the boy. And it was downright freaky. What was it the boy had against him, anyway? Cloar had never said a single word to him before today. Maybe he offended him by offering a bigger bowl? But that wouldn't apply to the time in the archives… He was tempted to ask what Mutasim's problem was, but managed to not.

He looked at Rawign silently as the healer spoke to him, and then wondered what was special about ranks among candidates. But he made a wild guess that Savitri was not a candidate … not the way she acted and used the word candidate. What she might be, he didn't know. And wasn't about to guess. "So what might they be?" he asked of Rawign eventually, curious.

And on a leap, Cloar offered: "I can weave the tops." And then he wondered why. What kind of tops they had were of no consequence to how they tasted … Maybe it would keep him a fair distance from Mutasim, yet allow for a little interaction with someone? He had no idea. The sinks were a good place to lose one's calluses, at any rate. And he didn't look forward to the blisters that would happen without them until they rebuilt.

Darn. No cobblers. Oh well.

[archenstone]

Kalina made her way into the kitchen, wondering what would be for supper. True, she was drafted for kitchen duty but she saw the bright side...knowing what was being made and even adding a spice or two of her own. So she glanced around. The dish pile seemed less than usual and the smell...the smell of pies blanketed all other foods and she walked further in. Forget about dinner! I'm after dessert! So she made her over to the other candidates and cheerfully said, "Hi! Anything I can do to help?"

Looking around though she realized how much was already done. I really should have come sooner She thought.

[ladybug]

Alifyr was no stranger to hard work, but when he had been assigned to the kitchens, he was a bit surprised. Back in his Hold, it was always the women who did the cooking. Alifyr had no idea how to cook anything, except perhaps the Pernese equivalent of Easy Mac, but he took the chores "like a man," deciding not to complain about the assignment.

Unfortunately, he was also reluctant to ask for advice, so he struggled through the creation of a pie all on his own, surreptitiously watching the others to guess how he was supposed to do it. The end result looked more like a lump of congealed dough and berries in a tin, but it didn't matter how it looked, did it? As long as it tasted good.

As it turned out, it really didn't matter, because he left the pie in the oven too long, and he took the pie out to find that it had turned hard and black. Mmm, yummy. Blushing, he threw it out. "Maybe I should do dishes instead..." he mumbled, retreating to the sink.