Fun with Feces [Group I, Chores, July]

[irbre]

T'nmor's nose wrinkled up in obvious disgust as he wedged the shovel under another heaping pile of dung, lifting it up and swinging it away from himself. He would clean up after Jedirth any day, for he considered it a reasonable price for being a bronzerider, but this...this was disgusting. Somehow, over the years, he had developed a very, very strong dislike for runnerbeasts, and herdbeasts in general. Some of it was resentment for the life they lived and the fact that his parents had lived for them, both of whom were presumably dead. He knew that his mother was, at least, and his father...well, he had not seen him in a long time.

Face puckering, T'nmor practically tossed the shovel aside, allowing a steady stream of profanity to escape his mouth. It was uncommon for him to lose control in the manner he had, but recent events had seemingly conspired against him. Jedirth retained a cool distance, no doubt waiting for him to work out his issues himself, which T'nmor respected him for. Others, on the other hand, were not quite so understanding.

Cannibal came skittering up only his shoulder, squeaking his distress at the smell. T'nmor smiled sadly at the brown creature, stroking him lightly with his finger, if only for a moment. His sister was with Jedirth, as he should be, no doubt curled upon the bronze dragon's back, dozing contentedly. T'nmor lifted Cannibal up, tempted to tell the salamandyr to join his sister, even though he knew that it would do little good. Cannibal was very good at disobeying him, a fact that he often flaunted.

"Well, back to work, eh, little one?" T'nmor reached back to set the 'mandyr on his shoulder, Cannibal peeping in slight reply, obviously not enthused about their work. It was chores, though, and they were required to help. His history with herdbeasts had perhaps brought this particular line of duty about, T'nmor thought somewhat bitterly as he went to retrieve his shovel, dusting off the handle before trudging back into the stalls, nose already wrinkling at the offensive smell.

[flupine]

Celeyn trudged reluctantly toward the Stables, hoping no one would be there. If she were lucky, she could just go in there, shove some dirt around and claim that she did chores today. That was the plan anyways. And Foglith lay out sunning or eating or socializing or... whatever it was that Foglith did when she wasn't attempting to be Celeyn's shadow. Celeyn did not hold a grudge against the little Green, how could she when the little dragon was her very heart? But she sometimes could not understand her. So friendly and sociable to everyone. Celeyn had been like that once but life has a way of changing people and she had been a great student. But Foglith brought a warm feeling whenever Celeyn thought of her, which was often. Maybe that was why she was in a better mood? Not that her better mood was really all that noticeable.

Reaching the Stables, Celeyn felt ontop of the Weyr, she could hide out here for a while, relax and tell everyone she worked hard. Shells, she would even shove the dirt around a little to make it look like she had done work. But that plan unfortunately fell flat when her eyes landed on another working. This was not what she had been planning. Unsure if she should continue or just turn around and find somewhere else to 'clean,' Celeyn sucked it up and moved into the Stables. She didn't really mind work but she simply did not feel like working, she worked enough without adding sharding chores.

Frustrated but determined not to let it show, she smiled brightly, this would take all her courage to do. Mucking out the stalls how completely disgusting. Picking her way carefully across the ground, she grabbed an extra shovel and headed down toward the working boy. Since she was here and so was he, she would have to work but perhaps she could just stick around with a shovel and he could work. Or perhaps she would really have to work although she hoped not.