"Chores" - Honest! [Evr / Open]

[rii]

Changing glow baskets was decidedly the best chore, ever. It allowed him access to (nearly) all the rooms around the Weyr. All he had to do was make a vague gesture at the basket he carried and people let him go where he pleased. It's not his fault he got listed to do general Weyr duty and no one had told him what that entailed. Quintrell just opted to wait until morning, when Quintresk had already turned in to sleep in the dark wherhandler apartments, and do the chore while riders were out of their weyrs.

He whistled merrily as he ascended the cliff side stairs, showing no trace of hesitation as he veered into the first rider weyr of an unknown owner. No dragon on the ledge, a good sign. With a bounce in his step, Quintrell made his way into the room, still whistling loudly to announce his presence. Brown eyes quickly took in the surroundings, looking for potential witnesses. No tiny lizards came out to greet him, nor were they any flits betweening around his head. Quintrell went straight for the glow basket, taking it down off the wall, noting that they had already been changed. He then.. accidentally.. spilled them all over the floor.

"Trel you are such a klutz," He sighed in a dramatic fashion, tsking at himself with a scolding shake of head that befit a disappointed mother. Better pick them up like a good little wherling. Quintrell knelt in front of the dresser, opening one of the drawers and quickly rummaging through the contents then closed it again. A very quick, efficient search finished before even he fully registered his actions. His hand curled around one of the glows and he shuffled along toward another rock. Another drawer was searched. Something hard and metallic met his fingers, and by instinct alone Quintrell snatched up the small object and shoved it into a pocket. He had no clue what it was, but it was his now. Hm, actually, this room was turning out to be a bore. And he was being careful about his theft too, considering he had to continue living in the Weyr. Normal protocol of his would be to tear everything apart, search each nook and cranny, all within a couple minutes then he would be gone with whatever goods he managed to uncover. To take his time would increase the chances of being caught..

There had to be something worth-while here.

Quintrell reached for another glow, knocking it into a roll under the bed. Silly clumsy fingers. On hands and knees the thief crawled over to the side then wormed his way beneath the bed. The glow underneath provided ample dim lighting to check if the owner of the weyr had anything of interest stashed. Nothing caught Quintrell's attention, but he had the habit of only looking for distinctively lustrous objects. Little point came of stealing objects of worth because he wouldn't be able to barter a trade with anyone to get the item off his hands. Trying to hide goods would only get him caught in the long-run. So petty theft it would be, with the blame fully on the mandyrs.

The little glow had rolled up into the far corner, out of Quintrell's immediate reach. The youth squirmed under the bed further, straining to get his fingers around the glowing rock. On the other side, his legs were visible from the knees down, kicking vainly as if to give him a boost to reach afore mentioned object..

[mierce]

Today had been a good day. It had started off with Evrgarde wanting to practice her aim and shooting while flying and ended with a full belly, lots of fur to show for their work and even a swim in the river. A happier dragon Iorath could not imagine himself being. He could also sense that His was pleased as well, though she hardly looked it, covered head to toe with splatters of blood. She rarely looked of anything but grim, come to think of it, but her present state wasn't really helping matters.

He landed gracefully on the shared ledge of their weyr, nearly soundless if not for the claws of his feet and the beating of his wings. Evrgarde hopped off and freed two bloody nets of skinned hides from the saddle--her spoils for the day. They landed with a squishy plop at her feet, and one at a time, she hoisted each on a shoulder and moved them to the side so that the blue would have room to lie down. With eyes a sleepy shade of blue, Iorath stretched out on the ledge, letting his tail hang off the edge as he rolled onto his side. A nap sounded wonderful right about no--

Thud!

Both rider and dragon looked up towards the door to the weyr. Did you hear something?

Evrgarde dropped the bloody sacks and walked deliberately towards the doorway. She brushed aside the fur flap and stepped in, then frowned. A few glow rocks were scattered around the bed and dresser. Hardly a mess but she really could not tolerate anything that was out of place--a strange quirk considering that she herself was looking quite like hell at the moment--but what she noticed the most were the flailing legs.

Her hand first closed over the leather-bound grip of her metal baton, then she thought better of it and instead grabbed a wooden fishing spear from the wall. Block the exits.

Iorath poked his head in through the doorway. What's wro -- what in shards? He quickly retreated his head out the door and promptly curled up right by the doorway while bringing his head to hover by the weyr's one window.

While still standing to the side of the doorway away from the window, she crossed her arms and waited until the unexpected visitor extracted him or herself from under her cot. Maybe he or she really was just a clumsy candidate ordered to change glow baskets, but somehow she found it hard to believe.

[rii]

The landing of dragon on ledge didn't go unnoticed. Pressed to the floor as he was, Quintrell felt the impact of Ioranth's weight, and the gentle pass of air from the blue's wings sent swirls of dust across the bare floor–reaching the thief under the bed. A frown marred his features. It seemed his usual luck was not with him today. First weyr he had chosen and the shard blasted resident had to return. But that was alright! The frown flipped around–once again a jovial grin. That's why he had put on an act before he had an audience to entertain.

Just about got it–a little further–"Gotcha!" Trel curled his fingers around the glowrock and wriggled backwards. "Thought you could get away from me, eh?" Rising up on knees, the thief tossed the glow up into the air, snatching it with a horizontal sweep of the opposite hand. "Nice try, but not good enough."

Quintrell noticed the figure out of his peripherals and turned sharply, dropping the glow in his surprise. "Oh s-sorry!" He stammered, not really looking at the woman but instead making a show of scrambling over the floor on hands and knees to pick up the spilled rocks. "I dropped 'em everywhere when I was trying' ta change the basket. So clumsy. I'm sor–"

The words halted on his lips as he got his first good look at the woman–holding the spear with that look of displeasure and splattered with blood. The thief paled, on his feet at once, snatching the glowbasket from where he had left it and began to skirt around the woman to try and ease himself toward the door. He was just changing the glows for Faranth's sake! His luck really must be bad today to land him in the weyr of some psychotic killer rider. "Sorry sorry, I didn't mean any harm, just dropped the glows I'll get out of your way uh-huh just get.. "

In his hunkered, submissive posture, Quintrell had edged himself toward the door near Evrgande but upon pulling back the fur he saw a dragon blocking his only exit. Immediately he drew back, away from any sort of grab or swing of spear the woman might aim at him. His panic soared, rousing even Quintresk back in the Wherhandler apartments. "Let me out! What the shards are ye doin'!?

No, the thief did not do well knowing he was trapped.

He started plucking the glows out the basket and throwing them (not too kindly) at the crazy woman. "Stay 'way from me. I warnin' ya." Window. He could get out through the window. Quintrell leaped up onto the chair, then table, making to scramble out the window with the quickness of a desperate rodent seeking an escape. Only to nearly run smack into Iorath's muzzle. Noooo, didn't want to be eaten by a dragon. Quintrell flung himself backwards, landing awkwardly on the table–knocking the whole thing over onto its side. But he was already rolling away, on his feet and crouched low and backing into the corner far away from Evrgande.

"HELP!" No, Quintrell was not below making a scene–and he started screaming at the top of his lungs in hopes of getting the attention of any passing riders.

[mierce]

Upon seeing a mere boy emerge, Evrgarde loosened her grip on the spear, but continued to watched Quintrell, feeling somewhere between mildly annoyed and wholly vexed. She hadn't moved since he noticed her and here he was completely over-reacting, throwing glows at her. Their impact against her leathers felt like nothing more than a tap, but it was getting irritating. You /are/ covered in blood, the blue offered, peeking in through the window. And armed.

Frowning, she started approaching the thief slowly, which only seemed to elevate his distress, which in turn meant he was going to make a bigger mess. Or go barging into Darya's weyr. With this in mind, she quickened her pace, then tossed the spear aside and and dived for him.

They fumbled a bit (okay, a lot, knocking some things over in the process) with Quintrell still screaming but eventually she managed to wrestle him into some sort of hold where she was lying on the floor with his back was to her front. Her left arm was wrapped snuggly around his chest securing his left arm in the crook of her elbow while maintain a grip on his right arm with her left hand. Their legs were a tangle as she tried her best to keep him from kicking, and her gloved right hand was clasped over his mouth, bloodied leather smashed against his lips; he could still make muffled noises, but at least it was no longer the head-splitting screaming from before.

"Shh." she murmured in his ear. "Calm down and maybe we can talk."

At this point, she didn't think he was a necessarily thief, but from his reaction this boy was probably snooping around where he ought not be.

[rii]

Quintrell made it quite the point to knock over every object he could kick or smack. Books and papers were thrown askew, ink wells knocked wide to leave a nice trail of black across one of the walls. Trel had even managed to pull out two of the dresser drawers and flip over the cot. Very busy hands and feet. And what on Pern did the woman think she was doing–she'd never catch him. Never. Yet the room was small, and Quintrell soon found himself grabbed, and eventually tripped to the floor. Fine fine, he'd comply, for now. But maybe she learned her lesson, she should have just let him get out instead of trying to make him stay in the room.

Despite having his right arm held, Quintrell was able to move it and he pried away the nasty gloved hand from his freshly blood-smeared face. "Shards woman! You reek! Lemme go! Lemme go!" He sputtered and spat, keeping the hand at bay. Nasty, he could taste it, whatever it was–Quintrell did not want to know. Crazy psycho woman chopping up bodies out in the jungle. That must be what was happening to all the disappearing bodies. She was responsible! (Even he hardly believed this, but he'd save it for later if he got close enough to shout out at passing riders)

Snarl, Quintrell twisted his right arm free of her grasp, rolling it out against her thumb to break the grip. Ugh, she had gotten more the bloody goop all over his arm. While he 'calmed down' Trel quickly debated his options. Even if he did extract himself from the woman, the dragon still blocked the two exits. So even though flight instinct wanted to guide him to ram his elbow into the side of her ribs, or snap his head back into her face, he wisely chose not to struggle any further. At least until he had a clear escape route.

"Talk, what's there ta talk 'bout? Changin' the glows and a crazy blood bathin' woman wants ta trap me in her room." If there wasn't blood involved, or the crazy part, being locked in a room with one of the fairer sex would be a lovely situation–but see, his luck wasn't that kind today. Bad luck, got the crazy instead. "Hun, any other time I'd be delight ta entertain ya, but Iunno what kinda things yer inta, dun really wanna find out, but blood ain't one of mine. So again, let me go because you really stink and yer starting to stick to me."

[mierce]

Iorath watched the chase, unsure of whether to be amused or horrified at the chaos rider and boy created. Inwardly he groaned, forseeing a night of His tromping around putting everything back in place... and there were skins to be prepared, too. Oh Farnath.

At the moment, Evrgarde did not realize the exact mess they made or she might have been more pissed and just pass the boy to Iorath to (not) eat. Maybe it was fortunate that she didn't really have that much stuff as for certain one of them would have gotten seriously hurt in furniture collapsing atop of them. For now, they simply lay amongst the haphazard piles, little glow stones scattered about.

Quintrell's suggestive accusations of her blood fetish completely when over her head, and so she took his complaints at face value. "It's just feline blood." Why would anyone be afraid of feline's blood? "And brains." Or feline brains? "Nothing some salt and water won't wash off. Now." She tightened her hold on his remaining limbs, forcing his shoulders back so that his head fell against her shoulder. He'll just have to deal with the smell, it was his fault for trying to flee anyway. Her predatory instincts were higher than usual after a day of hunting in the jungle. "You were changing glows you say? Then why so suspiciously? Certainly other riders have happened to return while you were still in their weyrs."

[rii]

"'Cause that's soo much better than any other blood and brains," He quipped with a roll of his eyes. See, he knew she wasn't a body chopping psycho lady–still crazy weird one though. "Thanks but I'd rather avoid gettin' it on me in the first place. Yer not helpin'."

The thief squirmed a bit when she tightened her hold. Typical, tell people to let go and they do exactly the opposite. Fine then, he could play that game. "If ya wanted ta snuggle, all ya had to do was ask." Instead of pulling away, Quintrell torque his torso around–and with a bit of kicking of the leg, managed to snake his way around to face his captor. The jovial smile was back into place. "See, isn't this better? I can actually see you under all that goop."

He made to snuggle his face next to hers. "Hun, yer one of those paranoid types. I wasn't doin' anything suspicious–unless yer callin' my attempt to escape a thing ta question. And honestly woman, I turn 'round to stare at a very displeased woman holding a spear and covered in blood. I don't think anyone can blame me for wanting to skirt away from that." Harumph. Innocent until proven guilty. "And yer dragon is blocking the door. I dunnae 'bout you, but I think you're the one being suspicious. Ya act like you've never had a youngster change the glows. Just a chore, they never said nothing about crazy riders attackin' you for it."

If it had not been blood that was splattered everywhere, he probably would have licked her cheek. Shardit he wanted her to let him go. Wasn't it obviously he didn't like to have blood and brains smeared all over him. He was going to start being mean if she didn't release him soon enough. Quintrell had taken to playing nice since he had to stay at the Weyr–at least until Quintresk matured enough that they felt no dependency on the place. But really, habit or instinct, if Trel wanted to get away, he would.

"Would you please let me go, yer gonna make me sick." Busy, busy hands. His fingers had found the tie connecting the metal baton to her waist, deftly unfastening it in a subconscious action. "Not like I'm goin' anywhere. Blue lump's kinda in the way."

[mierce]

"Feline blood is better. Especially after an adrenaline rush." A simple statement that could have been an agreement if only Quintrell wasn't being sarcastic. "Tastes sweeter-- Sweeter than human blood at any rate."

She tried to keep him in place, but to her chagrin he managed to twisted himself around. No, she did not want to snuggle, not with him, not with a greenrider post flight, not with anybody really. Snuggling was not her thing if it could be avoided. At his accusations, she merely shrugged. "The things you learn every day."

The kid does have a point, Iorath mused, still watching the two. From his angle he could really only see their feet and the boy's back. You're not exactly sweet tarts and caramel candies looking like that.

Hrmph.

With some trouble Evrgarde managed to bring a knee up between them and half shoved half kicked him back with the (muddy-and-bloody) sole of her boot. Not enough to be anything more than a discomfort, but with enough force to send him tumbling back a few steps. With him a safe distance away she sat up then began to rise to her knee except something about the weight hanging off her waist caught her attention. Reflexively she kept her eyes on Quintrell while reaching behind her to adjust the baton...

[rii]

"Yer crazy."

Quintrell brows rose and he leaned away from the oh-so-serious woman beneath him. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or truthful. No, she sounded dead serious, but he wanted to pretend she was trying to make a dead-pan retort–like a normal person. "Do you hear yourself? Yer sharding mad."

Freedom! The thief could have avoided a stumble, but instead he let himself back peddle, arms windmilling twice before he hit the wall. Wasn't he such a graceless thing? What a klutz! And ugh, just look at the state of his shirt. Smudged with smears of red. Well, Quintrell's grin peaked, he'd get that taken care of. If she wanted to keep him around, he was going to make a nuisance of himself. He made for wonderful company.

The thief, steady on his own two feet, peeled of his shirt and paraded himself over to her shared washroom while tossing the bloodied garment at the woman. After fiddling around a bit he stripped–being sure to keep his pants nearby–and eased himself into a lukewarm bath. Door open and all, Quintrell had no shame. He went right for her stash of scouring sand. And yes, he made sure to use more than necessary so the damnable woman wouldn't have any when she chose to bathe off all that grim and muck she wore in sick pride. Yuck yuck.

"So what's yer name?"

[mierce]

Out of habit Evrgarde caught the shirt, then promptly threw it into the waste recepticle. She eyed his pants and considered throwing those off the ledge, but that would likely keep the boy here even longer making a nuisance of himself. Instead she waved her hand dismissively. "You gave me a name already, so we can keep it at that, boy." Turning around she surveyed the damage for the first time and sighed, a headache swelling up again. It will take quite some time to get everything back in order...

Clearing her throat, she turned towards Iorath and announced clear enough for the thief to hear over the splashy noises he was making. "Watch him. If he takes anything, eat him."

That scrawny thing? Iorath joked.

Yes. She did not. Well, not entirely anyway.

She headed towards the window where Iorath backed up a bit so that she could vault out, then resumed his post of staring into the room. Not exactly exciting business to say the least. So much for a nap.

We'll go out again later and you can sunbathe.

Fair enough.

While Iorath stood guard, Evrgarde pulled a rather large leather bag off from Iorath's saddle and set to preparing the two bundles of feline furs. All the tools needed were in the bag, and there was more than enough for this session. She was not a tanner or leatherworker by trade, but had watched the apprentices and journeymen and learned enough to do a decent enough job. After all, for her purposes they hardly needed to be masterful in quality.

[rii]

Splash, splash.

Quintrell sloshed about in the tub, big enough for him, but he could pretend it was too small. Play sea dragons, oh yes, make sure the bathroom was entirely drenched with the bloodied water and there would be little left in the tub itself. The thief made loud whooshes and wheeees as he played the diabolical game fit for a vengeful weyrbrat.

Oh, she left?

Crawling half way out of the tub, Trel peered through the open door way to ensure the bloody wench had left. He could see part of the dragon's head through the window, but he was no concern. Doors were human-sized, silly watch dragon. Quintrell hopped out, strolling back into her room and began to clean up.. yes.. picking up an armful of her clothes and going back into the bathroom and dumping them into the half-full tub. He went back in, pick up another piece of clothing and used it for a towel, whistling as he tossed it in with all the others. Only afterward did he put his pants back on.

Back to the room, Quintrell padded around looking for anything of interest. Making sure his wet feet stepped on every piece of paper scattered over the floor. His dark brown eyes fell on the half-spilled bottle of ink. The grin took on a more mischievous note. He should poor it into the bath with her clothes, or dump it over the furs of her bedding. Would serve her right, for trying to keep him cooped up.

The thief passed over the ink option and poked around further (in a rather methodical and quick search. Trel knew how to toss a room and take what he needed). He soon found something of use, a slender dagger and he bounced back into the bathroom, steps splashing as he went over to the neighbor's shut door. He undid the latch from his side and began to slid the dagger (roughly, not carrying about the weapon. It wasn't his) between the door and frame to try and lift the latch on the other side..

[mierce]

Um, Evr...

What?

Heh. Don't get us exiled, okay?

Dropping what she was doing, Evrgarde hopped back into the room in time to see Quintrell bounding back into the bathroom. Absently she noted that the room was... cleaner. Actually devoid of stuff more like it, stuff like her clothes, while being sogging wet. It was apparently a bad idea to leave that brat alone. Stiding towards the door, she stepped in and leaned against the wall. The disaster in the bathing room was not lost on her, oh no.

She was not a violent person by nature, not to humans anyway, but this boy was like a feline. Yes a feline. Restless, and constantly on the prowl for something to do. And felines tasted good after a chase, as Iorath had confirmed earlier that day. She absently closed a hand over the handle of her baton. Maybe it was time she tried some.

Do /not/ attack him! /Not/ a feline!

The fingers reluctantly uncurled. "Oi, boy. Mucking about one room is bad enough isn't it?" She eyed the dagger. It seemed to be jammed into something on Darya's side. "Ah, stealing as well. Well, keep it, but do come back out this way." She smiled then, a rare sight indeed. Outside on the ledge, Iorath grew tense, his eyes clearly turning yellow, except it was not for his or Evrgarde's sake.

[rii]

Come on. Come on.

Quintrell urged the dagger, using both of his hands to shove the tip far enough between the wooden framing to lift the metal latch on the other side. He heard the lock lift on the other side just as Evrgande made her appearance. With a charming smile, the blonde spun back around. One heavily ringed hand raised to rest high against the door frame, slanting his stance as he crossed one ankle over the other–posing for the woman.

"Darlin', why would I ev'r do such a thing?" Why indeed. He was going through all this trouble just to get out the other door. The thief knew he didn't want to go anywhere near the blood-soaked crazy. Especially after he had terrorized her belongings. Served her right though, for over-reacting to him changing the glows. Not like he had taken anything–oh wait. What had that been he snatched out of the drawer? Hm, he'd have to inspect it later. Hopefully a piece of jewelry he could flaunt.

He gave her a cheery finger-waggling wave with his other hand (also covered with rings) making sure the jewelry he already wore reflected for his own amusement. The thief loved to give that peculiar wave, especially to those he had robbed. Did they even see that he wore the very things he had taken? No, so easily hidden in plain sight.

"This has been fun n'all, but I've got chores to do, more glowbaskets to change." A wink was given before he shoved his shoulder into the door, bursting it open–the dagger falling to the floor as he rushed through and slammed it behind him. The thief flipped the latch back over and made a run for the exit. He planned to hit the weyrledge and take to the stairs and flee into the Weyr. Being around other people was better for physical safety. If the crazy lady try to bloody him surely someone would put a stop to it. He was just an innocent wherling!

[mierce]

Oh do catch him. He's coming fr--

As soon as the boy appeared through Darya's doorway, he found himself snatched up in a pair of clawed, blue paws and airborne, floating yards over the bottom of the canyon below.

Done. Not unexpectedly, the boy was screaming bloody murder and all sorts of colorful things. Iorath grumbled and flew higher into the wind currents, away from anyone who may be able to hear. Will we get in trouble for this?

Just don't hurt him.

I should really be saying that to you, Evr.

While the boy was distracted, Evrgarde removed her gloves and started a fire in the fireplace--even though it was in June. She leisurely went about righting the upturned furniture and fitting emptied draws back into dressers. Scattered papers and half-empty inkwells she set back on the desk, discarding those that were blank and too damaged to be salvaged. Anything that had already been written on, she would have to recopy. So annoying. The ink splatter on the wall, however...

She stood with a hand on hip and studied it. It was a mess, but not really that unsightly. In fact the way it splattered could very well be some sort of interpretative art, perhaps that of a feline'd blood after being struck by a blunt object. Certainly better than smudging it in an attempt to wash it off. She rubbed her chin and squinted. That was it then! It would stay, drippy marks and all.

With her own room somewhat sorted out (if a little damp), she returned to the bathing room and eyed her clothes in the tub with a frown. Well, not only was there no water, she had no change of clothes either. Which meant laundry and bathing would have to be done by the river that afternoon. She really wanted to try some feline.

/Not/ a feline!

Darya would not be pleased with the mess, but there was little she could really do. She would simply need to ask a drudge to fix this mess. Maybe they could do something about her clothes as well. Yes that's it. Picking out a set of clothes from the mess, she return to her room and wrote out a note to Darya apologizing for the mess while assuring her that it will be cleaned up shortly.

With everything sort-of set, she stepped out onto the ledge just as a drudge walked by. How lucky! "Ah, excuse me. There was a bit of a... problem in our bathing room so it is a mess. Would you be so kind as to tidy it up?" She pressed a few coins into the girl's hand.

After the girl had headed off to her initial destination, Iorath returned with the noisy thief in his paws. She ignored his complaints and hopped onto Iorath's back (while he was still hovering in the air).

To the river. Take the scenic route.

[rii]

Thieving on the streets, and avoiding human hands.. did not train him to avoid nasty dragon claws clamping around him. In all honesty, the thief felt a little shocked that it had even occurred. Pointlessly he reflected on how he should have kept the dagger–maybe he could have stabbed it into the blue-gray hide. No, that would be bad, because then the dragon would drop him to become a blood splatter on the rocks below. He hadn't yet, so just what was the bluepair's plan?

Did she hope to punish him for his actions?

Quintrell chuckled to himself, folding his arms over Iorath's claws. He enjoyed the ride, in truth, it was his first time ever to be in the skies. Being a wherhandler meant he'd never get to experience the thrills, so instead of cursing up a storm, Quintrell idly watched the scenery pass by below. He could have done with a jacket though, the rush of wind over his bare torso and wet hair made him shiver ever so much. "Woo, should do a looooop!" He yelled up at the dragon. Yes, it was all one big game to the thief. Life was too short to take seriously.

And as for any impending doom, he didn't fret. The grin once again stretched across his youthful features. She really should just let him go, but that moment had gone and past. Now it was personal. Quintrell vowed silently to make her life a living nightmare. They could slap his wrists all they wanted (the south really needed to take a lesson from the north in how deal punishment).

"Darlin'" He called jauntily to the woman with a smile and wave. Yes, he was having ever so much fun, could they land yet? Sigh, guess not. Trell propped his elbow against the dragon's foot and laid his chin against his palm as they took flight. Was it normal for dragons to just pick up people like rag dolls?

"Hey blue!" No reason not to be friendly with the dragon. Iorath was just listening to his rider–and dragons didn't talk back. Usually didn't, anyway. "You've got some lovely wings. Let's see how fast you can go, eh?"