they call it ‘karma’. [open/september chores]

[Avu]

I don’t think this was what was meant by ‘double chores’, MineR’ahre.
Does it matter? They’re getting what they want, came the impatient answer, earning a grumble of amusement from the blue hatchling.
Stupids smarter than, RusaMine is, was Sylph’s input. earning her an affectionate touch along the back from R’ahre before he leaned forward to jab at the inkwell with the gold-and-black tip of the quill before settling back in his seat, slouching, to apply the tip to hide and scrawl. His handwriting was not neat, but that didn’t matter; the big loops were readable and what else mattered, really? The Infirmary people were getting a faded something-or-another rewritten (just because R’ahre was copying it didn’t mean he knew what it said) and the Archivists got to eye him beadily and make sure he was working. There, see? And all it had taken was blatantly flirting with one of the Healers on duty and impressing upon her just how much quicker he was at copying down records than he was mopping floors (which was true!) so oughtn’t he to go to the Archives and copy out a bunch of old Healer records? It helped a lot that the archives happened to be the other half of his double chores, and for the moment R’ahre was feeling quite smug, even if this was unbearably boring.

If you must trick them I don’t see why you come at all, Ahth returned. The dark blue hatchling had outgrown squeezing into the already-crowded archives and was curled up outside, an almost-black smudge in the shadows that was all but invisible, half-concealed behind a leafy plant of some sort and curled into a tight ball with one wing flung over his head to hide himself from the glare of the sun and to hide the glowing of his eyes from outsiders; it was a perfect place to eavesdrop – had there been anyone to eavesdrop on. But only archivists, Candidates, and other Weyrlings frequented the Archives, it seemed, and the lack of information made for a very impatient Ahth. There is nobody /here/ for me to talk to. /You/ are hardly very good company at the moment, so delighted with writing down smudgy notes for the Infirmary, and Sylph certainly doesn’t know anything I don’t already know, too. And that, of course, made one very boring indeed.

The implication of the blue’s words earned a shrill mental scolding from Sylph, the pale green shooting a glare in the direction of the blue hatchling, before she huffed quietly and then reached out to snatch at the quill again. R’ahre crinkled his nose at her, brushing the feather across her belly teasingly, and then blew on the glistening ink on the paper. It was so difficult to write, given that he was left-handed and writing like he normally would have meant smudging the ink across the paper and making it therefore just about as readable as the older copy, so he’d taken to copying with his hand held at an uncomfortable, decidedly unnatural angle. Not. Fun. “Hardly ‘delighted’,” he mumbled quietly in response to Ahth, not quite registering the fact that he’d spoken aloud instead of mentally; the two got mixed up so often that R’ahre had come to expect any questioning glances thrown in his direction. “Mmmf, what’s that supposed to say?” he added indignantly, brushing the quill against the tip of his nose before he picked up the hide he was copying off of and squinted at it. “Something – o-m – something – e-y – what?” His nose crinkled slightly in annoyance before he sent a questioning glance at Sylph and commented dryly, “This would work so much nicer if you could read.”

Something o m something e y. Don’t wanna, was the immediate unhesitating rejoinder, and Sylph butted her head abruptly against the inkwell, sending it toppling. Instinctively R’ahre snatched both hides off of the table and jolted backwards, almost knocking the chair over in his haste to get away from the ink that spread across the surface, hastily righting the inkwell. Sylph, meanwhile, gave a croon that made it clear she was pleased with her handiwork, stepping into the puddle and smearing it across her body before she darted towards the unused hides and tugged one of them out of the folder they’d been stuffed rudely into, pressed it against the table, and then stepped all over it, leaving inky black pawprints, scratching happily at the surface. Write, I can. /My/ way, she announced proudly, before R’ahre, setting down both of the precious hides (one of them the one he was copying from, and one of them his half-completed one) onto a desk behind him, snatched her up, ignoring the squeak of annoyance and the ink smearing across his palms and fingers.

“Little nuisance, what’re you doing? You could’ve just asked politely!” R’ahre huffed in annoyance, glancing around for something to mop up the ink with. Certainly he wouldn’t be using his shirt; it was white and ink was – no. Just no. “Go bother Ahth, I’ll wash you later, go – get!”

Getting! Sylph sang, mischievous pride dancing in her eyes as she darted out of R’ahre’s hands and streaked for the door, slipping beneath it with a flick of her tail. Defiant; blatantly defiant. R’ahre crinkled his nose after her, and considered sticking out his tongue, too. But no, that would be too immature. Sigh. Let’s see now…he glanced around the room curiously, refraining from wiping his hands onto his pants as was instinct. Little brat…he sighed, standing up and snatching a piece of cloth that had been draped over the back of a chair; ink-stained, it was, and looked like it’d been use to mop up a previous spill. Well, it’d do. The weyrlingrider clicked his tongue in quiet irritation as he pushed it across the table, starting at the edges of the spill and going inwards. Oh, his hands were going to be so stained after this, but…hey; proved he’d done his chores, didn’t it? Ironic; he’d come to the Archives to get away from mopping in the Infirmary, and now he’d ended up mopping anyway. R’ahre expected it was funny in some way, but right now, he really didn’t see the humorous side of it.

[Tashe]

Just because his Wher could see in the daytime, did not mean that he should be up any earlier than the sixth candle mark in the afternoon! But nooo~. He was made to get up far earlier than that to do what? Archive duty! It was the second time /in a row/ he had been given archive duty. First the Emomaster, and now Roivao had given it to him. Did they want him to pass away and die in the shelving units? Two months straight. If he didn't die there than may Faranath descend from the sky and sit on him accidentally. Minelovehead. You write. You write good. As me, no good! Better me. But you good. Happy you be, maybe friend there? Friend good. Make Minelovehead happy, yes. Although he appreciated his Salamandyr's attempt at cheering him up, the Wherling was far too tired and grumpy to even tell her to shush. Even the small little licks she gave his cheek went unnoticed. As did the small little streak of Green that skittered by his boots.

Pushing the door open slowly, the Wherling might have well looked as if he was about to face his utter doom and destruction. The expression of dismay on his face was not very not "Nautic-esk". Clutching at the door-frame for all the dramatic value that was in fact, very much like his normal self, the blond traced the familiar path that lead him to the Head Archivist's desk. Better to get it over with than delay the inevitable. See Mineloveface. Good. Sky is up. You is up too. Gooooood. He sighed. At least Absinthe wasn't plastered. When she was between plastered, and sober, is when she acted almost like a normal Mandyr. She still at times didn't make sense, but at least he could understand most of what she said. Returning to the main area, Nautic nearly dropped his stack of hides. Where had Rusa come from?! The Wherling, although very excited to see his friend, was confused as how he could have missed the other boy. He seemed to be cleaning up something... maybe R'ahre had been just out of sight in the time period that it had taken him to enter the Archives and go get some work. Minelovehead! See! I right. Friend, Sylph's sillyheadmine! Who right? I right. Woddling over to his friend, Nautic hid behind the stack of hides before greeting him in a high and whiny voice.

"Oh no. Look what you did. I theenk we're going to have to have a che-at with your Weyrlingmaster about this." He waited a few moments before peeking around the side of the stack. "Ruuuusa~ Do you need any help? It looks like you got yourself into a very inky situation." Putting the stack down on a near by table, Nautic inched closer to the messy table, extraordinarily glad he had grabbed all black clothing today. Well... except for his pink scarf. But that of course was removable and there for, he was not worried about it.

[Avu]

A voice. A voice. R’ahre narrowed his eyes, half-whirling to face the origin of the voice, fully expecting some snotty shrunken old archivist to come out and beat him with a quill. Or – or something equally dramatic, unneeded, and annoying like that. No, he wasn’t nice when he was in a foul temper, even though his irritation didn’t show too obviously on his face; the only indication were his eyes, narrowed and gleaming. Of course, such a stereotype on archivists normally would have irritated R’ahre, too, but it didn’t register upon him as being unfair at the moment. There was actually a younger archivist who was quite pretty and who made good company, but she didn’t count at the moment; there were only those irritable, snarky, grumpy ones who waved their arms around and complained about his handwriting and had the worst habit of popping up at the worst of times. Grah.

Oh. Oh. Guilt and surprise flickered through his eyes, and R’ahre blinked before he rubbed his nose awkwardly with the back of his thumb to avoid smearing ink on himself, flicking a half-hearted grin at Nautic. It was good to see the other again, but he couldn’t honestly say that he was happy because of it. This wasn’t the best of times, after all, and speaking of which…he was dripping. He turned back to the table to drop the cloth with a soft splat back into the inky mess, and flipped over his hands to examine his stained palms and fingers. Of course. Of course he’d be covered in ink. Funny how he fretted more about ink than he’d ever blood. Absently wriggling his fingers, R’ahre shrugged at Nautic with one shoulder before he shook his head. It wasn’t Nautic’s fault, nor his mess to clean. He didn’t consider it his fault either, but it was his responsibility to clean up after his little snot of a Salamandyr, and he’d do it alone. Mostly, anyway; maybe Nautic could help a little –

“I’ll do it. Sylph’s a brat,” he replied softly, crinkling his nose in slight annoyance at his task. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they’ve got their rags for cleaning things, would you? Hi, by the way. And hi, Abby. Sylph just took off, sorry.” Probably to go hide out with Skink and brag about her newest accomplishment; R’ahre was seriously considering the idea that if Skink didn’t exist, Sylph wouldn’t get in any trouble at all, because it seemed that her sister’s encouragement was all that Sylph needed, ever. Which stung at his own pride a little. Sylph could be a darling and adore him, but only when she wanted to be – like Ahth, set to deceive and get something. How irritating and wasn’t it just his luck? One eyebrow quirked at the green Salamandyr, though – R’ahre was quite fond of all Salamandyrs as a whole, and while Sylph would always be his favorite, Abby and Sprite ranked quite highly as well, even though the latter was dreadfully shy, as well as Skink. His gaze flickered back to the table and he spread out the rag in a vague attempt to let it soak up the ink as he went on, “Haven’t seen much you, Abby, or your pet and his new wher…congratulations, by the way. A new slave for you, hnn?”

The last comment was teasing, but the congratulations, R’ahre did mean, even if they were directed at Absinthe and not at Nautic, who was the one who was actually being congratulated; it was just R’ahre’s roundabout way of saying so. He hadn’t met the kid’s wher yet, but gossip traveled fast and Ahth was practically the crossroads of gossip, pleased to gather and give gossip both; the blue had quite a few ‘sources’ but most of it was gathered from eavesdropping. So fun. A green, he’d Impressed; Nautsk or Nausk, and Anz had gotten a blue called – what?

Nautsk, she’s called. And Sprite’s Impressed Anzask. Ahth informed him helpfully, the blue uncurling from his spot in the shadows and slinking silently behind one of the bushes placed nicely in front of a window; he squeezed between wall and bush and then arched his neck back to place his muzzle neatly onto the windowsill in order to get a glimpse of the ink-covered table, His, Nautsk’s, and Abby. Hnn, Absinthe…she could help him, could she not? Hello, little Abby, the blue greeted her, pleasant as always. How /are/ you faring, then? We have not seen you in some time.

[Tashe]

"Hello, hello!" Hihi! Nautic bit the side of his finger to stop from laughing at Rusa, who had successfully smeared some of the ink onto his nose. It positively brought up a whole slough of comments, but which would never be said to a friend like R'ahre. "You... you've got a little... little something right there." He said between forcing laugher down, pointing at his own nose and motioning in the general area where the ink was. "And yes I do. I swear I've been here so long that I'm surprised I haven't turned into a crotchety old man with half moon spectacles." Sylphie gone? Sad Absy. Saaaaaaad~ Absy. He of course, was talking about the Archivist who seemed to have it out for him. Then again, with all of the shenanigans he's pulled over the years on the 'crotchety old man', he's beginning to understand why the Archivist disliked him so. Has Wherface now yes. Sleep day, up night. Busybusy. And then to Rusa only, because her Human wouldn't like it. Greenbug too young, steal wine no. Give Absy rides, get Absy things. Good Greenbug. The Wher had been very cooperative, which was good news for later on. She had learned if she acted sadly, the Wherface would get her stuff to make her happy. She learned quickly when it came to possible ways to get her next fix.

Reaching up to his shoulder to rub Absinthe's chin, Nautic offered Rusa another smile. He knew all about the Blueweyrling's roundabout ways, and he happily accepted the Congratulations. "Of course, Absinthe was upset to find out that Nautsk listens to me over her." Mineloveface no fair. Me best tell greenbug. You go 'way! "Let me go get some for you. Best not to drip all over the floor or, " He switched over to the whiny nasal voice, "You really will have to talk to I-failmaster." Yes. He did in fact have clever nicknames for all of the Masters of curriculum. "Wish me luck. If I'm not back within two minutes... don't come after me. I will have fallen to the old gizzards drolling speech." Tossing his hand up in a wave, Nautic jogged out of the main area with a wary look on his face. He didn't want to be caught running in the Archives.

Absinthe of course, decided to stay behind by means of falling awkwardly off of Nautics shoulder to land on the nearest table. BigBluewingylove! Good me. You good? Greenbug, much timely 'round. Nighttime wake! No daywake. Bigwingy, Abby miss yes. Miss Abby Bigwingy did? Abby miss Sylphie. Gonegone. She is. She flicked up her frill happily then closed it. Gots plotties? Skyfull!

Returning a few moments later with an arm full of rolled up rags and a basket dangling precariously from his fingertips, Nautic came to a halt beside R'ahre. "Here you go. I even scrounged up another shirt. Its... old and dusty... and there are a few holes in it, no doubt moth created. Its been in the closet for ever.... But its a shirt." Maneuvering the bundle so he could hold it in one arm, the Wherling draped the shirt over his shoulder before stabilizing the pile of cloths again. If Rusa wanted it, he could take it from his shoulder. The amount of towels was overkill, but it was better to look overly busy when you walked out of the storage closet. "I'll show you where the closet is after this is all cleaned up." Dropping the basket onto the ground, he moved it with his foot so it came to a halt under most of the drippings. "I grabbed this so we could put the inky cloths in so that they're out of the way."

[Avu]

What, he’d gotten ink on himself? R’ahre crinkled his nose again, this time conscious of the action, nearly crossing his eyes in an attempt to look at wherever he’d managed to smear ink on himself. Unfortunately, it was stuck there for now; his hands wouldn’t help and he refused to get ink on his shirt, not because he really cared whether or not he got a little smudge of ink on it but because it would require picking up his shirt and therefore getting too much ink on it. And ink was much too annoying to wash off. Well, better his hands than his face, R’ahre supposed; he rubbed at the area indicated by Nautic with the back of his hand, mercifully ink-free for the moment. His hand came away with a smear of black, but likely something still remained. He crinkled his nose again, and then shrugged, obviously giving up; he half-smirked after Nautic and offered helpfully at the departing wherling-handler, “If you ever do feel like turning into a crotchety old man, do let me know so I can get you a pair of those stunning half-moon spectacles. And then disown you, but still.”

After Nautic had vanished, he flopped into the chair again and quirked one eyebrow at Absinthe. R’ahre was tempted to poke her, but he doubted all Salamandyrs would be as happy as Sylph to get covered in ink. His little green saw it as a perfect disguise and method of destruction both, but Abby wasn’t as destructive as Sylph was; he wouldn’t be giving her black inky spots anytime soon. “So you’re already training the poor wher to get wine, hnn? Well, more power to you; I’m sure Ahth’ll help if he can.” And the blue would, too, but it certainly wouldn’t be for free; once Ahth had discovered what could make people and draconic creatures work for him, he abused it. Terribly. Always. Abby was spared the humiliation that some were subjected to because Sylph liked her and because R’ahre liked Hers, fortunately, but sometimes R’ahre didn’t think the green would really care as long as she got the wine. Hmm. So strange.

The blue in question gave a low rumble, smudging his nose against the window quietly before he flipped his tail, completely obscured behind his bush; his claws tapped against the sill curiously. I /am/ doing quite well, thank you, he replied pleasantly. I /have/ missed you very much. It is not nearly as much fun without you. The dark blue dragon’s eyes whirled rapid shades of amusement; it was true that he had a special fondness for Abby, but, as a direct ‘drainage’ from R’ahre, he had very little problem with any Salamandyrs. Showoff he liked too, but that was mostly because he was Baoth’s; the bronze he left to the green. Plots? Oh, yes. I have /many/, he informed the green, conspiratorially – he knew Salamandyrs well enough to know that most of them liked the idea of being let in on secrets. Sylph certainly did. Would you like to help me with them? I would be sure to repay you adequately. The emphasis on the last three words made it clear the type of payment; what else but alcohol of some form?

Amusement passed over R’ahre’s face before he turned to Nautic, offering the other boy an innocent half-smirk. He was very fond of Abby, and it amused him that the green got drunk regularly – he saw no problem with her…odd…habits and if Ahth felt it was appropriate bribery to assist her with it, who was he to poke holes in the blue’s plots?

“I don’t think we need a shirt,” he commented, half-amused by the amount of towels that Nautic had brought. Nevertheless, he took most of the towels from Nautic to place them onto a chair to relive the greenhandler from trying to balance them all, and then unfolded one to toss it onto the spill. Another one was rapidly added, and R’ahre eyed them as they began to soak up the spill before he turned, eyes narrowing, and then grabbed Nautic by the wrist and pulling him sideways, whispering at the same time, “Be a shield.” Not very articulate, and though his tug wasn’t gentle, neither was it violent, but it did leave an inky handprint once R’ahre released him and promptly stuck his hands behind his back innocently as an archivist passed by, throwing a curious look at the two young men. R’ahre raised both eyebrows, widening his eyes innocently, hooking his foot around the chair and pulling it in front of the bucket at the same time. See, see? Nothing was wrong here. Nothing at aaaall.