Crime Scene [August Chores//Open]

[Avu]

What was it with him and Kitchen Duty?

It wasn’t like R’ahre was exceptionally good at cooking things, or was adept at taking orders without a snide comment for anyone who offered the opportunity – in fact, he’d spent his Candidate time in the kitchens not working at all. The grand total of his ‘work’ done in the kitchen had usually amounted to his making himself a sandwich and deciding that counted for ‘preparing food’. Which, technically, it did. Nobody had specified for whom the food was for, after all, had they now? But he was back. Again. Clearly some of the Drudges simply did not understand that he didn’t cope well with hot, stuffy environments when everyone was practically on top of one another. Even worse when said environment contained a good deal of hazardous materials, be it knives, forks, boiling water, spoons wielded by vicious Head Cooks – whatever. It had been extremely rare that R’ahre went into the kitchens in a good mood, and rarer still for him to come out in a good mood. Sylph had already discovered the dangers of the kitchen and had decided the best place to roost while still being on his person (something that had become habit when she wasn’t off with Skink; all the better to claim him!) was curled up behind his ear, underneath the long black hair.

Today was rather a rare day, for R’ahre was in a good mood. Ahth’s doing, of course, much to Sylph’s displeasure. The blue hatchling had wasted no time before he’d formed opinions on almost every one of his clutchsiblings, and had decided Baoth was his favorite after R’ahre, and was currently sprawled, absolutely motionless, in the shadows beneath a large bush just outside of the kitchen, happy providing R’ahreHis with a good deal of what was being said by the people passing him. Much of it had happened before his Hatching, but he could always draw on R’ahre’s memories if necessary – but usually, Ahth was intelligent enough to puzzle it out by himself, what it was like before his and his clutchsiblings had Hatched.

MineR’ahre? Do you remember awhile back when underwear was strung up all over the Main Hall? I suppose the owners of the fake hides got very upset. Ahth’s tones were undeniably smug, and R’ahre crinkled his nose slightly; Ahth had not been Hatched long, but it had become clear that the blue found eavesdropping to be exceptionally interesting. Which, R’ahre supposed, it was. It is silly that humans even wear fake hides. They must be very uncomfortable, and MineR’ahre, your own hide is quite handsome enough… the hatchling added musingly, though he moved not a muscle. His hide was darker than the shadows; only glittering, multi-faceted eyes marked his presence – and yet people were, apparently, very good at ignoring the fact that Ahth was lying there. Maybe they didn’t care, thought a dragon had better things to do than eavesdrop. How wrong they were! What else, after all, would he do when His was busy with his chores?

I remember, R’ahre replied indulgently, one hand rubbing his nose as he eased around a particularly large cook to snatch up a knife (no way he’d be using his dirks on peeling tubers). Kind of hard to forget. Ahth, we wear /clothes/ because it’s modest. Dragons don’t. They never have. But humans always have – it’s just kind of the way things are. It’s how it’s always been. Custom. I guess it’s stupid, but I sure won’t be the first to parade around nude to prove it. Okay, so he was slightly arrogant, but…his arrogance didn’t extend that far; that was pure vanity and yes – he thought he was far from ugly, but – not so much that he’d wander around without clothes. That simply did not work. Do you understand?

The first humans must not have been very handsome, then, Ahth commented indulgently, and then fell silent again, leaving R’ahre to blink in amusement as he slid through the crowd, Sylph chirruping in amusement by his ear as the green eyed her surroundings intently. How amusing it would be to jump onto that woman’s head, the one so primly and properly adjusting her hat just so, and shred it – hat, not head – to pieces. But, alas, there were no firelizards around on which to pin the blame, and fabric had (much to Sylph’s distress) proved immensely difficult to shred anyway. R’ahre eased past a stove, and then jerked sideways as an elbow jabbed at his ribs, wielding a vicious-looking wooden spoon and a bowl of cake mix – and bit back a yelp as his hip struck a pot and sent the contents flipping onto the ground; hot sauce of some kind (fortunately not hot enough to burn) slid over his shoes and pant leg, and R’ahre examined the mess impersonally for a brief second before he decided that the best course of action in this case would probably be to run.

As fast as he could. He had absolutely no desire to be beaten over the head with a spoon.

Good Rusa, mess make, you do, Sylph praised him, pleased that he’d taken a leaf out of her book as the Weyrling ducked under an arm, nearly slipped on the sauce, and slid rapidly away, ending up on the opposite side of the kitchen innocently slicing roast wherry and occasionally stuffing a piece into his mouth as a Drudge’s shriek and undignified meeting with the floor announced that the spilled sauce had been discovered. Cue Crime Scene Investigation.

– MineR’ahre? What did you /do/?
Me? /Me/? I did absolutely /nothing/, Ahth. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.

Hmm. Was it bad that he was amused?

[glamourie]

Hungry, hungry, hungry, am hungry, do want yummies, hungry hungry, maybe tasty yumyums? Fatty not eating, maybe. Fatty leave scraps for else. Stupid Fatty. Hungry, hungry. Want tasties, I do. Faaaaster, Dungheadlovemine, please, please, am hungry!

“I’m walking as fast as I can,” K’lir barked, his voice nothing short of furious. Understandably so, considering how naggy the salamandyr was being, but nevertheless unusual for his typical behavior with Showoff. Most of the time, K’lir was patient with his pet, especially since Calistoth had --- had died. But when he Impressed Baoth, his nerves became frayed, for lack of a better word. It was a strange sensation, like betrayal; he found himself curled up in the weyrling barracks, sometimes staring in wonder at Baoth, and other times unable to look at her. More than once he’d woken up curled against her, half-hysterical, with her sinuous form wound around him in an undeniable gesture of protectiveness. He was… not sure how to feel about her. Naturally he loved her; she was his dragon, and she needed him more than anything else on Pern, and he could feel how strongly she loved him (bizarrely, a sensation that he’d never experienced from Calistoth). He just… wasn’t sure how to treat her?

The fact was, she wasn’t Calistoth. Calistoth had never offered him such unconditional love. It was… strange, to think of her in past tense. He’d known she cared about him, that he was important to her, but it wasn’t such warmth. Baoth was… not the same. Not the same at all. And K’lir felt like he was being a traitor to Calistoth in loving Baoth, like he was insulting her memory somehow. Would she have wanted him to Stand again? He didn’t want to; Baoth wasn’t Lis, and she couldn’t replace her. She couldn’t take away that massively empty feeling inside or the sensation of loss that plagued him, nor the memories formed with Calistoth. She couldn’t change that. Nothing could. And sometimes he was sure that he could hear Lis, still, in the back of his mind… and he didn’t think that would ever go away, either. So unpleasant.

Not half as unpleasant as being forced to do chores again when he’d already completed weyrling training, though. As far as he was concerned, he was a greenrider, full-fledged, his dragon just hadn’t caught up. Which meant he shouldn’t have had to do chores. Just the same, he wandered into the kitchens with a scowl on his face, his ill-fitting clothes highlighting how much weight he’d lost of late. The black leather pants once fit him tightly; they were on the verge of falling off anymore, and the shirt looked like it belonged to one of his parents or something. The only thing proper about his ‘outfit’ was Showoff on his head, bronze hide mingling with the red strands. The salamandyr was displaying prominently as they walked into the kitchens, and was immediately presented with the sight of one of his ‘classmates’ -- the one that looked suspiciously like R’wign -- slicing roast wherry.

“Which one are you again?” he asked, unhelpful; he didn’t remember names. Names implied he cared. Showoff preened at the sight of the roast and moved to leap, only to be clamped down by one of K’lir’s hands. “Are you on kitchen chores? Would you mind cutting up some of that for Showoff so that he stops harping at me? That or I’m going to bake him into a pie. Either or really.”

He’s Ahth’s, came the helpful reply that made K’lir jump in surprise. Baoth, meanwhile, was happily slithering up behind the dark blue weyrling and his bush. ‘Slithering’ really was the accurate description of her movements, too. Crouched low, it was almost impossible to identify her dark coloration, so close to black. She wasn’t trying to be quiet, though she could have been painfully so if she’d wanted. Instead she made her way right to Ahth’s side and then sat down next to him in a classical sphinx pose, legs crossed in front of her, wings flat on her sides. Don’t harm the little cousin, my love; I like him.

Turning her head, Baoth crooned to Ahth before nosing him gently. Her mind was racing; she was neatly picking through K’lir’s memories in his distraction, trying to understand more about this ‘Calistoth’ that seemed to upset him. She’d decided that she was smarter early on: she didn’t intend to let Hers go, ever. But also because she had made an alliance with Showoff. The bronze salamandyr was smart, and that made him useful. Uses were good. Hello, Ahthbrother; do you have a moment to help me with something, while ours do chores? I should warn you that K’lirmylove is quite persnickety and will probably not be very much help to Yours.

[Lotty]

Dumpster diver. Libation liberator. Whatever you wanted to call him.

It was a sour pout as reeled back. He had successfully cleaned the bottom of another glass...with his tongue. It was desperate, it was disgusting, and it was K'sel's little secret. Like any washed up addict he was convinced it would be all over soon (he had acquired some marks as of recently, he would certainly begin suppling himself), he didn't need to do this, his chores just made it amazingly easy. Giving the brownweyrling the task of busing tables might have been a mistake - there weren't many others who were going to jack people's dinner wine - but it was an even worse idea to put him in charge of making food because shardit the operative word in the phrase "make me a sandwich woman!" was the woman part. As flamboyant as he could be on occasion he definitely had all the equipment of a man. Not that he was any more sexist than the average teenage boy, these things just made for good excuses, good reasons not to be trapped in the kitchens cooking. He'd rather not expose how utterly incompetent he was at doing anything other than heating up klah.

However this didn't stop him from taking a peak at the ruckus going on within. He rounded the corner, serving tray folded against his side as he casually assessed the scene before him. Only the mildest amusement ran across his face, mostly in that curiously cocked eyebrow. A pool of reddish brown sauce - from the way the smell wafted up he was guessing it wasn't too much of a loss, despite the disgruntled clamoring of the drudges and the unkindly forewoman who was also now rounding the corner to investigate. K'sel was thankful that this was very obviously no fault of his...though he had an inkling of who might be responsible. Good thing the boy wasn't one to run his mouth, instead he very non-chalantly stepped over the mess and towards his number one suspect. Don't worry, secrets were always safe with him, assuming nobody noticed that smell on his breath.

K'sel liked R'ahre well enough. Of course he only recognized him in the most vague of ways, he knew him when others called him Rusa and met him for a brief moment before he flung his knife right into that one rider's neck. Afterwards they exchanged looks without a word and parted quickly. For this it was safe to say that K'sel liked R'ahre. His is Ahth. I remembered all little ones from the hatching. Pettahth was very proud of this, but his rider knew that this memory would be short lived, You aren't but five? Six months old yourself? Calling them little ones is more than ironic from you. K'sel was sure that the dragon was stomping his feet in defiance now, but he was off on his couch and hardly in the way - he could throw all the tantrums he wanted. Still, there was no denying that Pettahth was a little dragon. Tiny even. He was hardly keeping up in size with the blues in his clutch, but he was trying his hardest to make up for it by being the best. At everything.

He was beaten to the punch by K'lir, who was looking every bit too good to be there, and for some reason K'sel couldn't fault him. Perhaps it was because the weyrling though that he was quite the interesting fellow, or more likely out of some sort of quiet respect. K'lir's Calistoth was a casualty of the foreigner's recent attack and that alone was enough to garner a wide berth, but to re-Impress made the man a downright anomaly...His is Baoth. A split second later. I think. A little rusty on the names already.

In the background he still heard screeching from kitchen workers trying to clean up the sauce, something about splatter and how the little specks were drying up and crusting over everywhere, but he nodded at K'lir, "Insufferable lot forced you into this?" The question was rhetorical more than anything. Of course they forced him, there was no other reason people would hang out in the kitchens, but it was odd he thought that they would make him do weyrling chores all over again. It seemed like a punishment and an unjust one at that.

For R'ahre he gave something of a subtle smirk, "I really don't know what their big fuss is. That sauce is no great loss..."

[Avu]

Which one – was he?

R’ahre looked up from his task (which was carving a sizable hunk off of the wherry to stuff into his mouth) to blink curiously at K’lir; his gaze flickered automatically over the greenweyrling, his mind supplying the name instantly. Good to know he’d been just as remembered. R’ahre’s memory was hardly faulty to begin with, but Ahth liked Baoth and therefore he’d remembered K’lir – more for Ahth’s sake than his own; wasn’t like he didn’t already have a few friends/companions/people he knew among the Weyrlings; he didn’t, strictly speaking, need to become best friends with K’lir just because Ahth was undeniably fond of Baoth. Sylph peered out from behind his hair, the green’s frill quivering, though it did not rise yet. As of the moment, it didn’t seem like she’d been spotted, and she didn’t want to be spotted. Not…just…yet. Clicking his tongue audibly, R’ahre bowed his head to slice the wherry he’d been about to eat into smaller pieces, and then pushed them to the side of the cutting board, gesturing at Showoff in what was clearly an invitation to have at it, before he turned to K’lir to answer the question as to ‘which one he was’.

“I’m the one who Impressed the blue currently eavesdropping on anyone within hearing distance” was probably not the reply that K’lir was looking for. Most probably, he’d been looking for a name. Oh well. R’ahre paused for a moment, carving another neat slice from the wherry and stuffing it into his own mouth before he swallowed and added, “R’ahre. I’m R’ahre.” It felt…decidedly odd to introduce himself as thus. He’d never been exceptionally fond of his whole name to begin with – Rusahre – but he’d always introduced himself as Rusa. Shards, even Emoyan called him Rusa. His nose crinkled slightly, and he added quietly, as all of his words had been, “It’s nice to meet you, K’lir.” Yes, see? He knew the greenrider’s name.

His gaze flicked towards the Drudges crowded around the saucepan, and a slight smirk flickered across his face – a smirk that vanished into blankness as K’sel approached. The brownweyrling…R’ahre honestly did not know very well, and had very little opinion on. He’d done well enough, killing the last man at the Hatching Sands, but other than that he was nothing more than a name, and now a face. K’sel’s question to K’lir made R’ahre glance from brownweyrling to greenweyrling, and then he commented dryly, still softly, “Funny, I thought he came so that his Salamandyr could get food.” Want food too, I do, Sylph informed him (privately!), squirming slightly on his ear. Rusa…eat please, I can? Still private. She was very nicely hidden; not camouflaged, the green of her hide was too pale to match at all with R’ahre’s black hair – but hidden.

Oh, the sauce. That disgusting sauce. R’ahre crinkled his nose, not quite playfully, at K’sel, and shrugged one shoulder. “I really have no idea either…I always did prefer herdbeast without that disgusting sauce on it. I suppose whoever knocked it over did the Weyr a favor, didn’t they?” Actually, he didn’t like herdbeast much one way or another; he preferred wherry (which was why he was cutting it and not the herdbeast; so he could eat!). The sauce on wherry was bearable, in his opinion, though not in Sylph’s – the Salamandyr liked cooked meat just fine but hated sauce, mostly because she’d had a bad encounter, the thought of which could make R’ahre laugh himself to tears when he permitted himself to. “Drudges certainly can’t take a hint, can they?” he added, watching as the Headwoman’s fearsome spoon was wielded with great efficiency. “I mean – spoons hurt, stay away…how complicated…?”

Meanwhile, Ahth had unfrozen, the almost-black statue coming to life and stirring, twisting to return Baoth’s nudge affectionately; the blue purred quietly, though he made no more noise than that. Hello, sisterBaoth. Certainly I will help you; what is it you require my help with? His tail flicked lightly, and he couldn’t resist adding, It doesn’t matter if Yours doesn’t want to help. Mine simply wanted to eat anyway; apparently that counts as chores… Sure: Manipulate and purposely misinterpret what chores were supposed to be, why not? Ahth certainly had no problem with His doing such a thing. But oh, oh – Baoth’s problem certainly was the most important thing at the moment, but once they’d resolved that (and with both of them as clever as they were, that surely wouldn’t take too long!), he had much to tell her (perhaps depending on her problem, some of it could even come in handy!); Drudges did gossip so even if they weren’t actually involved in much. And not all Drudges; Riders had passed, and Candidates…Ahth’s knowledge of the goings-on in the Weyr had improved drastically, it had.

[glamourie]

Showoff eyed R’ahre testily before letting his frill fall back into place. His head cocked to the side, and then he flung himself off of K’lir’s head. His wings, though small, were large enough to help him glide across the air, and he easily made it from the head of his mindmate to the counter. The bronze eyed R’ahre suspiciously before grabbing a piece of the meat in his mouth and bouncing several paces away. Once he was out of arm’s reach, he actually flopped over and moved to hold the meat in his claws much the same way that a human would, nibbling at it in interest. His ridiculously long tail curled around him and his frill flared, the red color showing off prominently, but it wasn’t a threatening posture… Showoff just liked strutting his frill around; he was gorgeous, he was, and he knew it. See, see? Oh, but the yummy. He was hungry. He hadn’t had proper food since before the greenthing hatched -- when the previous greenthing disappeared. His wouldn’t leave the weyr, it was upsetting, and he wouldn’t leave His, because His needed him. Fresh, warm food was coveted, and Showoff ignored the idea of talking to snarf down a bit of the wherry meat anxiously.

Ignoring his salamandyr’s eating habits, K’lir fixed the boy across from him with a look that said very clearly that he didn’t approve of the lack-of-answer. Baoth said he was Ahth’s, which was suitably unhelpful since knowing the dragon’s name did not confirm anything one way or another. He’d just sort of mentally been calling the boy “The R’wign Look-Alike” which worked just fine in his mind but would doubtlessly be offensive to anyone else. It was highly tempting to insult the boy - just for the sake of it. Never mind that he was bigger. K’lir wasn’t afraid of some pipsqueak and if he hurt him, well - what did it matter, anymore…? A low hiss was the answer in the back of his mind and K’lir pushed those darker thoughts away. Baoth would never forgive him for provoking someone solely to get himself hurt. Injuries meant nothing to him but quite a bit to her.

“R’ahre,” K’lir echoed at the offered name, and twitched at the mere mention of his own. Nice to meet him? Obviously the kid didn’t know him. “Nice to meet you, R’wign-clone.” It was half-derogatory, but at least he hadn’t stormed off. Movement from the drudges kept him from tacking on anything else to his statement, and K’lir lifted his arms to wind them around his lower stomach. The movement was intended to comfort himself. He felt awkward and miserable, just being around people. Showoff needed to eat, though, and he couldn’t starve his beloved salamandyr. So he’d linger, and hope that Showoff ate fast enough for him to run away soon…

Forced…? His eyes narrowed, but he smiled slightly; it was not a very nice look but better than the glare and/or scowl. “I did,” he tacked on smoothly, “and then to supervise and claim I did these so-called chores that I’m assigned and don’t really intend to do.” He didn’t explain why -- to him, it went without saying. He knew everything the weyrlingmasters could teach him, he could teach Baoth just as well himself. Being assigned chores like some common weyrling was insulting to his intelligence and he refused to partake in it and indulge what he deemed stupidity. Self-righteous? A little. “Primarily I’m here to feed that -” K’lir gave a curt nod toward Showoff to emphasize his point, “- because it was chanting how hungry he is. Was. Happened to be. Are you still eating, monster?”

Is yummy! Showoff replied defiantly, before pushing a bit of the meat into his mouth. Dungheadlovemine neglects! Hungry, hungry… Dungheadlovemine needs yummy too. To prove what he meant, Showoff held out a bit of the meat in his mouth, causing K’lir to back up with a look of utter distaste on his face. Huffing, the bronze salamandyr snapped it down and then looked up toward R’ahre curiously. But it wasn’t to him that he spoke -- it was to the hiding one. Yes, he’d noticed her; he was good at locating salamandyrs amongst crowds, even if other people weren’t. Came with the territory of being one of the oldest ones. Yours stubborn also? No eat ‘less I say. Bad dungheadmine. Hate food now.

Outside, Baoth gave a little flutter of her wings and pleasant shades filled her eyes. Her gaze went off to the people around the bush, which she blended into flawlessly thanks to the green hue of her hide and the blocky markings that covered her. Natural camouflage. She was watching suspiciously of who might come and what they might hear - not that most people could hear her. It was odd, that; they could hear the little cousin when he spoke but not her. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind to be mulled over later, she gave a low whine and then said simply, Amith and Hers intend to steal mine from me. I saw them trying. They believe themselves sneaky, but I know what they mean to do. Mine does not believe me, he calls me paranoid, but I know what I saw, and I do not like it. I want to chase them away without my love knowing; if he knows, he will be angry that I meddled. Have you any ideas for how to do this, Ahthbrother?

[Lotty]

Hmmf. This was going to be a tough crowd. None of them were exactly smiling. K'sel had the closest thing to a grin and he was not used to being anything near cheery most of the time, so being the most enthused one of the bunch left an awful taste in his mouth. Oh, wait...he curled his free hand into a loose fist in front of his mouth as he hiccuped; a bubble of sour, stale, alcohol rolled up his throat and left him a reminder of his bad habits and a lesson to be learned about drinking on the job. So maybe it wasn't happiness or even contentment that had such a bitter flavor and it was just the aftertaste of the liquor, but that still wouldn't explain why that subtle little smirk of his left him feeling so dirty. He withdrew his hand slowly, giving the little group another sleepy look before mumbling out a nearly bored response to R'ahre's remarks on K'lir's presence, "Oh really?" It didn't seem like the greenweyrling (and that still felt like the wrong term to use) was putting much of a protest to the statement either. He glanced down at the salamandyr, following the nod that pointed him in the right direction. Based on his knowledge of the creatures - which was primarily limited to "avoid because they talk and double your chances of knocking some poor girl up" - he figured feeding it ranked much higher in priorities than these chores.

"Do what you've gotta do," was all he could muster in reply, "but keep in mind if you are doing any supervising, it will be of me not giving two shards about this stuff," he waved around at the pots and pans, chopping blocks and hearths. He frankly didn't care if anybody else was doing their chores or not, as long as they didn't expect him to do anything but the same. Of course if K'lir was trying to play supervisor then that might not pan out. Oh well, he mentally shrugged, if he was told to do something he would take on the responsibility like he would from any other person: agree to it, walk off, and decide if he wanted to play those games or not. More likely he would casually blow any command coming from K'lir off. It really shouldn't be taken as offense, he just saved his effort for when it mattered. These chores didn't matter. It really didn't. The only difference that K'sel made in the dinner process is that he was taking up valuable space in the kitchens.

The brownweyrling took a glance over his shoulder. The headwoman swung around her wooden spoon and the drudged scattered about the saucy mess, and K'sel not giving a crap about it grabbed a piece of meat that had just been sliced up by the other weyrling. Something about having a bit to drink made him hungry...and of course eating ruined what little buzz he had going and so it seemed his was stuck in a vicious cycle. He was about to pop the morsel into his mouth when Eyesore popped in from between and took it off his hands quite literally. The tiny blue firelizard swooped in as a blur and stole the piece from light grip. He perched on his beloved pet's forearm for only a moment before taking off again to lurk in a shadow or high place; somewhere he could keep tabs on K'sel and make sure he didn't get himself in any trouble.

With his chance at snacking busted he was back to the conversation, chuckling lightly about the sauce, memory of the initial spill brought back to his mind, "Well I applaud whoever did that great service to the weyr," in obvious reference to the scene on the other side of the kitchens. One drudge's face meeting the back of a wooden spoon and another slipping in the sauce trying to avoid the follow-through, "not only did they save our palates, but they have a pretty good sense of humor..." It truly was entertaining if a little bit sad. He would have expected the kitchen workers to have a little bit more sense than that, "I understand that they are drudges," he drawled on, "and that they are a little dense, but really?"

[Avu]

His eyes were on Showoff, but had they not been, R’ahre would doubtlessly been amused at the look he received. He wasn’t usually outright argumentative, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t difficult; as it was, Showoff had aptly distracted him. R’ahre liked Salamandyrs – Sylph was his favorite, of course, but he had no problems with any of them and Showoff was…amusing. He’d stopped cutting actual slices off of the meat now, simply slicing what he did have into smaller pieces – not for Showoff but for Sylph; she was hungry too and she mustn’t be neglected (not only would he feel bad, but likely she’d get her revenge in some way or another; R’ahre kind of thought it was a good thing for the Weyr that Sylph still wasn’t accustomed or fond of Ahth). The green’s claws tickled at the back of his ears, but she didn’t move past that; she played quite the perfect little pet most of the time around him, even though she didn’t need to – wasn’t like he cared to stop her, anyway. The repetition of his name made his eyes flick up to K’lir, and then down to Showoff again, acknowledging but dismissive; the Salamandyr was more interesting than either of his human companions, at least in his opinion.

R’wign-clone. What?

R’ahre’s gaze rose to K’lir again, slower this time, and he shrugged again, silently. He already knew that he resembled R’wign – who he’d only seen a few times, the day he’d acquired Sylph being the one that he remembered most prominently – mostly because he’d been practically stabbed by Lennae because he looked like the brownrider. Which, personally, he didn’t think they looked that much alike, but that was probably because of the eye-patch, which stood out to him. Superficial, a little – but he didn’t plan on sitting and staring at R’wign anytime soon until he could figure out exactly how alike they looked. That would be…strange.

The exchange between K’lir and K’sel had his attention back on the wherry; he pushed it away and then reached up to Sylph, who squirmed backwards, eyeing Showoff curiously. His speaking to her made the green squirm slightly, and then she slid from R’ahre’s hair to his shoulder, and then, preferring to go on foot rather than glide, slid silently, quickly, down his arm and onto the countertop, right to the pile of small slices of wherry that R’ahre had cut. Boldly, without bothering to grab a piece and take it away as Showoff had, Sylph snatched a piece in one forepaw, bringing it to her jaws to eat. Fooood. Silly, is Yours, she agreed. Why would somebody not want to eat? No sense, did it make. Not a bit. She’d offer to eat it for K’lir, but…somehow, she didn’t think Showoff would like that offer very much and she had no plans to antagonize the bronze at the moment. He was a Salamandyr, he was. Eat, does Mine. Stubborn, is, but does eat. Her head cocked curiously, as she thrust the last bite of meat into her mouth and snatched another, pulling it towards her. Why not eat, broken Yours? Clearly he was broken. The words were cut off with a hiss, though, Sylph’s frill flaring at Eyesore, as the blue appeared, and she eyed him. Firelizard.

“She doesn’t like firelizards,” R’ahre said softly, probably unnecessarily given Sylph’s reaction to Eyesore, reaching out to snatch up a piece of the meat for himself and stuffing it into his mouth. “I hope you didn’t actually want to eat any,” he added, as Sylph eyed K’sel for a moment and then, grabbing a piece of meat in her mouth, the green dragged it to sit on top of the sliced meat and ate there. He didn’t get any, because he was a firelizard-lover-pet-owner-thing. His head cocked at K’sel’s comments on the spilled sauce, and he shrugged, blinking at the Drudges and then clicking his tongue dismissively. “We’ll see. Likely they’ll just fuss for awhile and then make a new pot-full.” His attention slid back to K’lir, and he added, “So, Supervisor~” The emphasis on the word wasn’t quite skeptical, but…almost there. “I hope you didn’t plan on supervising, you know – work, or anything. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself a sandwich now.” Which…sadly enough…happened to be one of his usual pastimes when he was assigned Kitchen Chores. Swiveling on the spot, he scanned the kitchen. Now – where was that bread…? Preferably fresh, hmm.

Ahth hissed. The blue was a quiet creature, but Baoth’s words still drew that soft noise from him, the blue’s head coming around to eye his favorite sibling in agitation. Mustn’t be stolen, no no; the nerve of Amith and Hers! It did not occur to him to doubt the green’s words; Baoth wouldn’t be mistaken. Ahth moved, his entire body stretching thoughtfully, and then he curled his tail around his haunches, the tip flicking absently. I…am not quite sure. I /will/ help you, though, sisterMine…tell me about Amith and Hers? I am not familiar with them. His was, apparently, but R’ahre never thought about her anymore and Ahth, by default, didn’t care too much. Now he cared, but he didn’t think HisR’ahre would help them if K’lirBaoth’s didn’t want to help himself. Humans were simply silly that they didn’t see the dangers of being stolen, hmm…She is not Weyrlingmaster, or anything along those lines, is she? he added, helpfully.

[glamourie]

Apparently, the meaning of the word ‘supervise’ was going right over the heads of his companions. K’lir would have been disappointed, had he been able to bring himself to care. He didn’t really intend to supervise, and no, K’lir didn’t much care whether or not the other weyrlings actually did their jobs. He was just lurking to claim he did his own chores, and he fully intended to pull I’fael aside and impress upon the Weyrlingmaster why it was wrong to give him them in the first place. He already knew the lesson schedule and virtually everything in it; he was betting he could get Baoth in riding gear faster even than I’fael himself (he was very quick with that, perk of being a greenrider for so long and needing to learn the virtue of speed). Treating him the way one would a typical weyrling, complete with chores and bunk assignments, was not only obnoxious but wrong. He understood living in the barracks -- Baoth was too young to fly and couldn’t make the path up to his weyr -- but chores? No, no. He was not about to be party to that. As for lessons, he’d attend for Baoth’s sake, but participation would be minimal: he knew everything already and his tolerance for relearning things was remarkably low. His head tilted, and he kept his mouth shut. If they didn’t want to do chores, he certainly wasn’t going to tell them to do so.

The greenrider glanced toward the drudges and headwoman fussing over what appeared to be spilled sauce, and he crinkled his nose in disdain. Then he stepped around R’ahre and K’sel to retrieve a slab of still-hot wherrymeat, which he promptly plopped down on one of the cutting blocks. He grabbed a very large knife and then with precision that came only from practice, cut through it; chop chop chop. Slices of meat fell away and piled up, while Showoff darted over toward him expectantly. He ignored the salamandyr, his blade tearing through the meat with ease, and once he had a suitable stack, he pushed the larger chunk away. The wooden cutting block was pulled over and then K’lir took to actually dicing the meat into tiny, salamandyr-sized pieces (one of which was snapped up by Showoff quickly). He kept his focus on his task, but to describe it as ‘chores’ was laughable -- nothing about what he was doing benefited the rest of the Weyr. K’lir was cutting it up solely to make himself a sandwich of some kind. Solely to shut Showoff up, really.

“I like the sauce,” he countered smoothly, his gaze turning toward the pair of ‘boys’ (never mind that they were his age). “When it’s on herd beast, at any rate. They make a thick herb sauce with meat stock that actually tastes really good, especially on bread. I don’t know what kind that one was, but I’d recommend not talking so loudly. If they hear you, proof or no proof, you’ll spend the rest of the day cooking.” Not that they didn’t deserve it. Some people liked the wherrysauce. He didn’t, but then, K’lir didn’t really like food anymore. The mere scent of it made him want to gag. Part of him just wanted to wither away. A lot of him did, actually. Baoth helped… some. She kept him from actively trying to. But it didn’t take away the hurt, she couldn’t take away the emptiness… No one could.

Broken mine Greenthing gone, Showoff replied to Sylph, cramming a bit of the meat into his mouth. Yum yum! Her hiss made him look up and he eyed Eyesore testily, before flaring his own frill. Right up onto his hindlegs the bronze salamandyr went, the meat still clutched between his foreclaws. His gaze settled on the fire lizard accusingly before he spat, for all to hear, Ugly flyer not welcome go’now, go’now. Go’way. Shoo. Shoo, shoo. No like. You not welcome. Flyer shoo. He hated fire lizards, he did. Those that were fool enough to perch on K’lir found themselves bitten. Though, he wasn’t adverse to biting salamandyrs for the same mistake, but that was irrelevant. Shoo. I throw yums, you go? To test the theory, Showoff actually grabbed a piece of the meat K’lir was cutting into his mouth (his mindmate ignored him, busily cutting away) and then threw it across the kitchens, frilling defiantly. Shoo, ugly flying thing.

R’ahre’s words made him glance at the other boy, and then he raised an eyebrow before saying softly - but not without a hint of poison - “Are there any brains in that pretty little head of yours?” Did he look like he actually gave two hoots about what they were doing? Really? He must have. That or R’ahre was blind. Equally likely, really…

Twitching her tail, Baoth hissed as well - a near perfect imitation of a terran snake, complete with lowering her head. She stood up and slithered around Ahth as he spoke, her own wings twitching downward to emphasize her annoyance. She is nothing special. Mine calls her Searchrider. They go and find the candidates for the littles, she explained, then stopped to half-lounge inside the bush. Her bush. Her hidey-hole. Amith’s likes Mine very much, which is understandable because Mine is amazing. However, she is unacceptable for him. She belongs to a green. You see, Mine simply can’t belong to another Green, because he belongs to me. The same applied to all females, but Amith’s was proving particularly agitating because she doubled up. Amith’s also has an annoying lizard queen that the little Showoffcousin does not like very much. She looks at Mine like she wants to keep him, take him away. She was talking to him and I watched her. I saw her thinking about it. I want her to go away, or at least realize that she cannot hope to compete with me. But Mine will be upset if he knows. He believes not many like him anymore, after That One left him… ‘That One’ was unacceptable. It was all her fault. If she wasn’t gone already, Baoth would’ve bitten her for her audacity. Hers was the best. Only a fool would let him go.

[Lotty]

Serenity now.

Occasionally, when put into awkward situations, K'sel felt the need to repeat a mantra to himself, probably because he felt self-conscious and bewildered so very rarely that this was his body and mind's only coping mechanism. The terse, colorless conversation was punctuated by the ramblings of the salamandyr kind, obviously in distaste of his choice in pets. Not that he actually picked Eyesore, he was more of a mistake than anything, but once he had him hooked into a mental bond it was sort of hard not to like the little guy. At least he didn't make noise...or throw things. Do you think if you ignore them that they will all go away? Can digging a hole in the sand for your head be a remedy? The brownweyrling would volunteer for those experiments, because dealing with one salamandyr, much less two of them was not one of his fortes.

In uncharacteristic politeness, K'sel decided to swallow his own tongue and not reply or even do as much as react to the disjointed chants of the salamandyrs. He wanted to snap at them, call them stupid for their stunted word salads and insult their inability to fly, but winning an argument with one of those creatures was sort of like winning the "smartest stupid boy" award. Besides, Eyesore was already taking a similar road, flittering up into the catacombs of the ceiling rafters, and hiding on a hanging rack meant for pots and pans. Noisy, noisy, creatures...silly too. Didn't they know that he didn't just want any wherry meat, he specifically wanted that which his pet had picked out? The morsel that Showoff threw hit the ground and stayed there.

"It's probably better that I don't," he said in reference to the now highly guarded food. Typically when the women of the weyr looked at him they insisted that he should eat more. A lot more. He thought he was rather healthy, he had long lithe muscle and usually ate like swine, but he tended to look thin in the face and clothing always hung on him in a ghostly manner. He needed to eat! But he supposed that he could do that later, on his own time, and this gave him a good segue into moving on and hunting down another drink. It would be a little rude to just leave these two fine gentleman ha, ha hanging, "Well to be fair...I don't think Eyesore likes anybody back...myself included," you could say they mutually tolerated each other, which was more than he could say for the atmosphere in the kitchens. They could go make their sandwiches, he was going to live off of table scraps now.

He cocked an eyebrow at K'lir's little quip at R'ahre, "Well on that note..." he mumbled it to himself more than anybody and stepped around the other two boys, "excuse me a moment," his tray swung out front to wedge himself in between people. He didn't assure the two of them that he would be back, that would suggest a degree of enthusiasm that was inappropriate for this bunch. However he knew he would come back. He would be drawn in, because in a weird way he imagined that with different circumstances they could have been friends, or even should have been friends, but something got warped along the way. What are you going to do? K'sel refused to force anybody to like him.

You seem relieved to be picking up dishes again...usually you are whining. K'sel was leaning over and piling plates onto his tray, and subtly sniffing around the glasses and mugs, That bunch is enough to give me a new perspective on life... he picked out a glass with some wine still at the bottom, jackpot. The brown gave a disgruntled snort You always drink the stuff that makes me dizzy, sleepy, and I do no like it.

You don't understand. I need this today, which was really saying something. Usually he just liked it, but today he felt the need to be an overtly drunk, pain in the behind. He slunk back into the kitchens to dump off dishes, the empty ones now, passing by R'ahre and K'lir again and assuming he didn't exactly miss too much. A few plates slid off the tray prematurely causing soapy water to splash back up into his face and eyes, he took Pernese cursing to the next level vehemently spitting and he rubbed his eyes dry, "Oh for the love of that sharding, fat, mother dragon! Stupid gold lump..." Blasphemer. Watch your mouth! Somebody could have heard you!

[Avu]

They. Had. Won.

Sylph’s frill quivered, fully stretched in Eyesore’s direction, for a minute, the green still poised on top of the pile of meat, before she gave one last defiant hiss towards the firelizard and then dropped to all fours, back to the meat and her previous line of thought, though another one had now grown. Hmm…what to doooo. They had to do something for punishing Eyesore for…being a firelizard, but what was there to do when the kitchen was already in chaos? She’d think on it, she would, and see. Gone, is stupid flyer, she stated, pleased, before moving to a corner of the meat and starting to gnaw at it – never mind that it was bigger than she was. Gone Greenthing – bad Greenthing… Not that she understood exactly what said ‘Greenthing’ had done, or the extent of it. The Greenthing – she did remember; Hers had been there when it had gone, hadn’t he? But…but now he had a new greenling. Not better, new one make?

She probably shouldn’t be eating that. R’ahre should probably have stopped her. He didn’t, though, and simply watched Sylph, a look that was almost a kind of curious amusement on his face. The Salamandyr was spoiled, he knew – but he also didn’t care. She was sweet enough to him, and as far as he was concerned, she could rip the archives to pieces if she wanted. Wasn’t like he’d miss it any. Fortunately, Sylph had either never considered this or had never had ample opportunity, for the Archives was, indeed, still standing. Still, R’ahre clicked his tongue, glancing at K’sel and then up towards Eyesore at the brownweyrling’s comment, resisting the urge to inform K’sel that whether or not Eyesore liked Sylph was quite beside the point – because even if a firelizard hero-worshipped the green, he honestly didn’t think that she’d care. Decidedly anti-firelizard, Sylph was, though R’ahre never had a problem given that he didn’t want a firelizard. Sylph could outdo any of them, as far as he cared.

“Nice to know.” The comment was dryly voiced, R’ahre flicking a glance at K’lir before he returned to his search for bread. If any of the Drudges heard them talking through the din of kettles whistling, the sluggish bubbling of stew and sauces, people shouting orders, shuffling around, slicing things – and actually cared, R’ahre would be very, very surprised. He declined to mention such, still intently searching for bread. “Shift over, Syl, I need that…” he added, reaching forward to slide a slice of the wherry out from under Sylph – the one at the very bottom, away from the green. Much as he loved the Salamandyr, he didn’t want to know that his sandwich had been…sat upon…by a Salamandyr. Ironically, he was okay with it if she’d just walked across or some such – but sitting, squirming around, as she had…was not appealing. Sylph shifted obediently to allow him access, and R’ahre leaned over to pick the plate that had once carried the entire roast wherry to deposit his sandwich meat in.

K’sel’s departure went ignored in the face of K’lir’s comment; R’ahre tilted his head and stepped out of the brownweyrling’s way before he shrugged one shoulder. “Enough to tell when sarcasm is being returned, in any case,” he replied, his voice just as soft as the greenweyrling’s. He hadn’t, strictly speaking, wanted to dislike K’lir, nor yet to have K’lir dislike him – if only for Ahth. Ahth liked Baoth; by proxy the blue liked K’lir at least a little. But – whatever; as of the moment he wasn’t exceptionally fond of K’lir (not that he actively disliked him, either). Ahth could deal with that; or he could decide to actually give Chaoth, Futh, and Minth a chance. Or…Sprite or Absinthe…? Which he wouldn’t, of course. R’ahre’s head bowed slightly, and he flicked a glance at Sylph before he left the green Salamandyr – she’d find her way to him; he didn’t worry about her – to move to the next table to snatch up the freshly-cut bread there, taking two slices and then setting them onto the plate and stacking them with the wherry meat into a sandwich.

Operation Sandwich: Complete.

Enthusiastic cursing caught his attention, and, biting into the sandwich and skirting around K’lir again, R’ahre paused to consider K’sel curiously for a moment before, swallowing the bite he’d taken, he commented dryly, “Better hope there’re no queenriders loose in the kitchens today…” Taking another bite of the sandwich, R’ahre idly leaned against the counter (directly between K’lir and K’sel, as it were), head tilting curiously for a moment. “Having fun, I hope.”

In an almost direct contrast to Baoth’s movements, Ahth was still, his tail curling around his haunches, wings flat against his body, eyes narrowed in thought. What could one do to a Searchrider…? A Searchrider with a green and an annoying little queen lizard, no less…Then we will /prove/ that she can never get him in front of her. Perhaps that will dissuade her? If not, I expect we will have to make it more obvious. To her only, of course. His tail twitched, and his head turned to rest upon his own flank, looking at Baoth. How close is Yours to Amith’s? Certainly he didn’t want to make a mistake and get Baoth in trouble, but he didn’t want Hers to be stolen either. Bad Amith’s. Also…if I should ever encounter her, I will try to make her stay away from Yours. You do not mind if I lie to accomplish this? What lies? He wasn’t quite sure yet, but Ahth was sure he could think of some. Even genii didn’t think of schemes in split seconds, did they? I could probably get Sylph to help, too, he added thoughtfully. The elements, what they could do and couldn’t do, had to be defined first, before anything actually was decided, yes?

[glamourie]

Stupid ugly stupid, Showoff thought viciously as he stared up in the direction of the firelizard. He had little use for them. Part of his intense dislike of firelizards came from the fact that they had no manners, though. How many of them had he attacked to keep them from perching on StupidHis? Ooh, it made him so mad… Nowadays, most of them picked up that His didn’t like firelizards, either (there was a reason he picked him – so smart, His was), so he didn’t have to fight them, but… He remembered. Moreover, they were just inferior. None of them could talk, none of them seemed willing to compromise, and their eggs were just… delicious. Showoff had a hard time seeing any creature as equal when he liked to eat them. So he stared, fixing Eyesore with a menacing look, his frill flared as wide as it could go. Stupid firelizard needed to leave. However, at least it was staying up there, so far away, far away from his yummies and him. He didn’t want to have to fight a firelizard. Average-sized for a bronze salamandyr though he was, he could not hope to win if the firelizard fought dirty. They liked to go between and he couldn’t come back from that, he was not able to do the jumps. Dirty cheats. This one looked like one of the types to not play fairly, too. Grr. He curled into a tight ball and continued to stare, hoping his menacing look would get the point across. Do. Not. Like.

Isn’t. Is hiding, is here, Showoff corrected, though he turned to look at Sylph curiously. Baothmine help, some. Not all. Smart greenling, Baothmineis. Much more better. Still, not ugly greenthing. Misses, Dungheadmine does. Misses her always. Not good enough is Showoff, upsetting, upsetting. Kept from going dark… Hnnn. Mine not go dark now. Just not eat. So pretty. ‘Pretty’ in this instance having the meaning of ‘stupid.’ It was an insult pattern that Showoff had picked up from Daeluunya, rather than K’lir, and he did not realize that ‘Pretty’ was not a dual-meaning word. Not that it mattered, since in the context, it was fairly clear exactly what the salamandyr was trying to say. Context clues and all.

K’lir glanced up at the firelizard, before pointedly looking at K’sel. “There’s very few salamandyrs that have any use for firelizards, and Showoff is no exception – before Dael runs, he makes a point of eating as many firelizard eggs as he can, pretty much thoughtlessly. I doubt that he cares whether or not your flying horror likes him much.” As if to emphasize his agreement with K’lir, Showoff gave a shrill chirp – a sound that almost was unusual coming from the normally talkative salamandyr. K’lir shrugged absently; what could he do? Even if he wanted to tell Showoff to be nice, the ‘mandyr wouldn’t have obeyed a word he said. It was pointless, and he didn’t believe in wasting his time. Cool amber eyes followed the brown weyrlingrider to the other side of the kitchens before he turned away again, indifferent; he had no desire to converse with either of them… but then, K’lir’s desire to socialize died with Calistoth. Everyone who knew him surely noticed it.

Chop. Chop. Chop. Words went ignored, aside from a mild look. Part of him wanted to point out that were any queenriders present, no doubt they’d be whining already. That was what they did. Collectively. The second they Impressed a gold they started whining and fussing and generally being annoying (and if his chopping became more frenzied in his irritation, he didn’t notice it). Chop chop chop. He narrowed his eyes, then flicked a piece of meat to Showoff, who snatched it up eagerly. Goldriders were useless. Come to think of it, people in general were. He wanted to go back to bed and not come out again…

Mine is close enough to be annoying. Not that close, though. Ever since That One left, K’lirmylove does not really like people. The only one that he seems very fond of is Adith’s, Baoth replied smoothly, as she made herself at home in the bush – as if it was made for exactly that purpose. In her mind, it was. You may do whatever you see fit, Ahth; whether it be lying or honesty, it makes no difference to me. I do not question you. And she didn’t. Baoth was not a trusting creature by nature (evidenced by her blatant disdain for Amith’s most prominently) but Ahth was one of the few that she liked – and she had faith that he wouldn’t get her into trouble intentionally. And if he did? Well, if he did, he’d find out why she was a much better friend than enemy, of course. There was always a fallback plan with her. Mine is sulking again. He keeps thinking about That One. I do not know how to make him stop…

[Lotty]

Pointed hate was not something that phased the firelizard because it was something he thrived on and expected. He didn't want to be friends with them, he liked salamandyrs even less than other firelizards, and that was saying a lot. So they could frill and stare and be raucous, creatures all they wanted, because he knew somewhere in that little blue head of his that it was all talk and no walk. He would tear both of them to pieces, he would prove it too, casually preening and flashing them glimpse of his razor sharp talons - the same ones that would leave snaps and holes in an array of K'sel's shirts, a fact that he didn't appreciate. Aside from his little display however, he stayed in place. Still, observing, and refusing to be backed down from his perch. His eyes were flecked with colors hardly related to happiness and friendship.

K'sel wasn't doing a good job of listening to K'lir's lessons on mandyr kind. If anything he was biting his tongue the whole way through. Showoff eats firelizard eggs? They are egomaniac noise makers? What was new? Were these revelations intended to shock and surprise him? Because K'sel wasn't the least bit concerned, especially as he got all liquored up his only concern was letting the wrong things slip. His face was a tad numb, and his lips slightly loose and it took most of his will power (and a little help from being preoccupied by work) to keep his mouth closed and not say exactly what he was thinking, Cool story. I was just making conversation, and I still don't care.

His glance briefly flickered back up to Eyesore...he was so appropriately named, with his toxic blue hide sticking out against the dark shadows of the kitchen corners. He was rather low maintenance, so this urge to keep creature under close scrutiny was odd. K'sel's worry? That one of the draconic creatures in the kitchen would do something rash (namely Eyesore trying to pick a fight).

And really did he want to deal with that after cursing the name of all the gold riders on Pern?

He couldn't help but smile, and quietly he laughed at the realization of what he had said, tossing a nearly playful look at R'ahre, "I better hope?" He asked rhetorically before daringly pushing forward, "Too bad I never know what is good for me. Sometimes I think I'm just asking for trouble..." he then shrugged and carried on with his dishes feeling more and more liberal with his words as his blood thinned out slowly and those stolen bits of wine deadened frazzled nerves. Asking for trouble indeed. Though somewhere he sense that the shift was to be over soon, he hoped. He wasn't exactly sure if the next question was even aimed at him, but K'lir's silence meant the floor was his, "If only you knew..." Things were getting better, thanks to alcohol. Maybe all those old aunties were right when they would say you have to make your own fun.

[Avu]

Hiding, gone – it was good enough for Sylph. Regardless, Eyesore wasn’t bothering her anymore, and quite honestly she preferred that he wasn’t entirely gone. She couldn’t blame him for chaos if he was gone, after all. Not that the green was planning on it, given that Showoff was quite an adequate distraction, but…still. Just in case. It couldn’t hurt, anyway; they could just drive it away if it got too close. The green chewed thoughtfully on the meat on top of which she was perched, her tail curling idly around her haunches. Yummy, it was, though it was decidedly awkward that she had to sit on it and eat – but she couldn’t not sit on it, because then the flit or his pet would take it. Very pretty was Sylph’s thoughtful comment. Pretty indeed. Will make better, time ‘n greenling ‘n Showoff will. Forget, Yours will. Yes? Pretty no more. Yes, she’d borrowed the…’insult’. And it made sense, didn’t it? Humans’ memories surpassed that of dragons, but they forgot too, yes yes? Maybe not entirely, but it would happen. Or…or at least it would maybe fade a little. Lots time, maybe, she added, just in case it didn’t happen soon enough.

K’lir’s explanation on the Salamandyr/firelizard relationship earned a flicker of a glance from R’ahre before he leaned backwards to run a finger down Sylph’s back, the Salamandyr not pausing in her chewing to arch her back beneath his touch. He didn’t feel it needed much explaining, given their…enmity was pretty obvious to most, and while he was aware that Sylph was probably affecting him to some degree, he would side with Salamandyrs no matter what – see Sylph and Skink’s frequent outings. He made excuses for both greens (despite the fact that Skink wasn’t his and he didn’t even really like Emoyan), refused to admit to any wrongdoings on their part, and…basically spoiled them. Both of them. Sometimes he fed Skink; when he oiled Sylph and she was there, she got oiled, too; he talked to both of them as he would address Ahth, and they understood him. R’ahre tilted his head, glancing up towards Eyesore before he clicked his tongue thoughtfully and bowed his head.

“Weren’t you going to run some Salamandyr-care lesson?” he inquired of K’lir – his voice was soft, and actually polite. “When’s this going to be happening, hmm?” And shouldn’t he save the lectures for it? He bit his tongue, though; R’ahre intended on attending said lessons if they occurred, given that Sylph was mature now and would probably be Running soon. Or Chasing. Whichever she decided to do. Lucky Salamandyrs, had a choice in the matter – green firelizards didn’t have that choice (which only one-upped Salamandyrs in his mind). Even if the lessons came after Sylph’s first mating Run, he didn’t think Ahth would be frightened, assuming he could keep his head at least a little in order to reassure the blue that nothing was wrong. Which – R’ahre was arrogant enough to assume that he could. Just long enough to make sure Ahth didn’t panic, understood. Because, yes, he’d definitely gone through Flightlust and Runlust multiple times before.

K’sel’s look was answered with a glance that was nothing short of amused, and R’ahre took another bite of the sandwich, pulling himself onto a tall stool next to the counter and braced his feet against the legs of the stool thoughtfully, elbows resting against the counter behind him. “Right now, I think you are,” he replied wryly, head tilting slightly to watch the brownweyrling carry on with his chores. “If you’ve got to curse someone, maybe you should consider someone less detrimental to…your life, the Weyr, and so on and so forth…” He didn’t actually know any of the goldriders past name and face (nor had he made any effort to get to know them), and on a personal level he really didn’t care if they were insulted or not, but the idea of a queenrider walking in on them while K’sel was oh-so-happily cursing was…very amusing. That K’lir was not…talking…made him flick a glance at the greenweyrling before he dismissed it mentally; a dry smile flickered across his face for K’sel’s benefit before he tore off another bite from his sandwich and stuffed it into his mouth. Tempting though it was to just suggest ditching chores and getting food, R’ahre resisted. Bad influence. That would be bad.

He definitely cared about his influence on people, after all. Definitely.

Permission to lie. Good. Ahth flipped his tail thoughtfully, crooning low in his throat, though he didn’t reply. She wouldn’t regret it – Baoth was possibly the only dragon he actually liked. Chaoth was tolerated because the brown provided a source of information that was currently useless but would not remain so forever – and as for Salamandyrs? Sylph and Skink were tolerated because he could use them to wreak havoc. And that was…just about it. Thank you…I’ll see what I can come up with. Mm; it was much nicer to plot when he had a specific target; a general target was just too easy. Amith’s – he’d have to see what how much he could discover about Amith’s. Who to ask…? Ahth’s head turned towards Baoth at her comment, and his tail flicked again, almost in agitation. That One; it hadn’t taken long for Ahth to dislike the mention of Calistoth. He’ll see that you’re much better than That One, and the words were delivered with confidence. Because Baoth was better; Hers would see, even if it took him awhile.

[glamourie]

Chop. Chop. Slice. K’lir did not involve himself in the conversation between the other two. In fact… he deliberately chose not to respond to R’ahre, instead focusing entirely on his task. When he was finishing cutting the meat, he threw the knife down on the counter with an audible clack and then climbed up the side of it without a care for hygiene. His knees rested on the side and he leaned up as far as his torso could to swat around the top shelves of the cabinets (being quite short, he had trouble reaching most things but he learned early how to get about without help) before retrieving a decent sized mixing bowl. Then all at once he dropped off the counter, putting the bowl down in front of him, his shoes hitting the ground with an audible clack. All without glancing over his shoulder or so much as acknowledging that he heard R’ahre’s statement, K’lir swept the meat into the bowl and then spun around, walking over to the other side of the kitchens in search of some red Blossom wine to pour over it for marinating. Showoff liked his meat with a little tang, and the salamandyr for all of his annoying habits, was probably K’lir’s closest companion. So what if he wanted to spoil him a little bit?

He heard very well the question, though, even if he didn’t answer. Yes, he’d promised to host salamandyr care classes… before Calistoth died. He’d fully intended to do it, too, but he was a little wrapped up in other things, like the trauma of losing his dragon so suddenly. To make matters worse, he’d immediately afterwards Impressed Baoth, and her presence both deepened the existing wounds and scabbed them over – an imperfect fix if there ever was one. He spent half his nights awake, just staring at the sleeping green, trying to decide how he felt about her. Sometimes the affection he felt for the weyrling was overwhelming, and he had to climb to his knees and curl up against her, just be touching her to reassure himself that she was there, alive, that she was His and she loved him. Other times, he found himself enraged with her for daring to have the audacity to believe she deserved him because he was Calistoth’s and her being gone didn’t change anything. He was claimed, and there were no take-backs.

Seizing the bottle, K’lir uncorked it carefully and then – with little regard to whether or not it was intended for other purposes – poured it onto the meat in the bowl. His eyes narrowed, then he retrieved a spoon to mix the meat up, sloshing the wine up the sides as his gaze very slowly turned back to R’ahre and K’sel. Idiots.

“To answer your question,” he said, finishing with his task. Showoff slowly edged over to the bowl and climbed up against it, obviously interested in the contents, and K’lir plucked one of the small meat pieces out to hold out to him. The delight of the bronze was obvious – he snatched it up and started chewing on the hunk immediately. K’lir ignored him. “I intended to start the salamandyr lessons after everyone Impressed. Unfortunately, I was just a little bit busy, what with the attempted theft of Hepaticath’s eggs… and by this point, most people who have Impressed should know about their salamandyrs. However, since you’ve so kindly brought it up, I will arrange for a class next week, right after our weyrling lessons.” At an unholy hour in the morning. Not like K’lir slept anyway – and yes, he picked the time solely to be spiteful. K’lir was nothing if not grouchy when asked to do something he didn’t want to do.

Of course he will. Mine is very smart. He lingers on thoughts. I will break him of this soon, said Baoth with a fierce determination in her voice that would have been alarming had K’lir heard it. Her tail swished back and forth and she fixed the ground with a solid, steady stare. Sometimes he thinks only of me, loves only me. Other times, he is upset with me. The little Showofflizard says that I am much better than That One, that he likes me far more, and I believe him. He doesn’t like dragons. He claims that Amith’s has a false-queen pet. I believe him that as well. The little Showofflizard is the king of their species. At least, as far as she knew, he was. Showoff certainly proclaimed it with unending confidence and Hers had never protested, so it must have been true. Maybe we can convince the lizard-Yours to help us. The Showofflizard is willing to.

[Lotty]

Things were looking up, conversation was becoming a bit easier, and Pettahth stopped nagging in the back of his head, probably because the beast slipped off to sleep. In a spur of the moment, idea of absurdity he considered the possibilities of if he broke out into song, but he was still a little too sober for that, and he wasn't sure that dancing around the kitchens and wailing off key about dishes would be appreciated. Maybe R'ahre would see the humor in his ridiculousness, he wasn't all muddled up in dragon-loss angst, so the blueweyrling had that going for him (this was K'sel being generous, he didn't know K'lir before he lost Calistoth, but he was willing to bet he was a little more amicable in those days). Additionally, just based off, you know the entire time he had been in the kitchens, he suspected that K'lir would have something to say about someone having fun around him, and to be honest he didn't want to put himself in the line of fire today. The brownweyrling liked to think he was rather invulnerable to sticks, stones, and even spoken word, but like any mere mortal he had his own insecurities and he would rot in between before he would give a hint as to what they were, and allow it to be picked at.

So keep your songs to yourself was what he decided, and he carried on with the dishes, still grinning about his foul mouthed slander of goldrider kind. Not that he actually took any issue with the goldriders at Selenitas. Honestly he didn't even know any of them. But there was a bigger picture, it was what they stood for, that and he unknowingly sort of agreed with K'lir. They were pretty useless. If you could argue that their importance was that they laid the eggs that allowed him to Impress, then K'sel would argue that its a moot point...if nobody had any eggs or any dragons to protect them from Thread the whole population would have been gone a long, long, time ago. He would have never been born to know the difference. An argument that could go around in circles to be sure, so he'd save his reasoning for another day.

"You caught me...." he said at first, feigning disappointment, before pressing on, "anyway, it wouldn't be any fun cursing the names of the so-called 'little people'. Shaking my fist at the nameless first green dragon isn't quite as rewarding as going to the top and addressing Faranth the way she was: a big, sharding, egg laying, lump," after all, if he did so much as say something mean about the shine-less hides of the greens, blues, and browns he would only be insulting himself. He'd only be insulting countless generations of his ancestors who all Impressed without so much as a bronze amongst their ranks. He was a sharding nobody and he was sharding proud of it. Shrugging he finally added, "And if I get caught saying these things....well...you can't let the bastards get you down..." and that was that.

In other words, had he not had the luxury of growing up in Selenitas and instead be in Benden, he'd probably be dead by now - but to K'sel it would be so worth it.

His attention was only drawn to K'lir because the greenrider (K'sel decided the term weyrling for him was inappropriate) decided to talk again. An unexpected turn of events, but if the subject was salamandyrs then maybe not such a surprise after all, and since K'sel didn't like the little things, he didn't care about when or where these lessons were going to be...he merely shot R'ahre a 'sorry dude' type of look. Early morning was going to be no fun for him.

But it was because of K'lir and the salamandyr that he noticed the wine bottle. Oh the wine! Oh how it was wasted on that silly...thing! Ugh. He wrung his hands through a towel before quietly side stepping over to investigate the bottle and what may or may not be left and sneaking one eyed glances down the neck. Gingerly lifting the bottle, he shook it waiting for either the tinkering sound of miniscule drops or the swish of something more substantial.