[chores] clearing tables- open

[reba]

Under most circumstances, Qirewen was not the one you'd want to set to cooking meals for anyone. She liked to experiment with recipes and spices just a little too often. Some of her results had been excellent; however, they tended to be either extremely spicy or overcooked. When one was trying to make a meal intended to be served to a large group of people, 'extreme' anything was usually not the best approach.

She had decided on bussing tables rather than inflicting her culinary skills on people It was a job that, in her experience, was the last one to be picked when chores were assigned. She busied herself, making a circuit of the dining hall, picking up glasses, utensils, and plates as soon as they were no longer in use and bringing them into the kitchen area to wash and put away. The dining area was cooler than the kitchen, nor as noisy, which was a side benefit Qirewen didn't mind, either.

[glamourie]

Anzalorin made quite the sight. One of his fellow candidates was assigned the job of cleaning up tables and Anz himself was assigned something similar: his job was to carry baskets to the different tables for dinner. Specifically, he had a large wicker basket with several loaves of bread, and a stack of smaller baskets to put on the tables his fellow candidate cleaned. Each table got one load of bread, covered in a cloth to avoid becoming stale. Then he would have to bring skins of klah and water to each table, before the evening meal was served. It was roast stew for the day and most everyone would get a chance to enjoy it. If the smell of the kitchen was anything to judge by, it would be mouth-watering. Keeping himself from lingering over the pots for a taste was almost impossible, but the further he drifted from the smell, the easier it was. Evidently he was someone who was very smell-oriented.

It wasn’t the basket that made him worth staring at. It was Anz’s outfit. He was dressed in a pair of pants that were white, and his shirt was electric orange, bright enough to merit a second or third stare. The colors complimented the yellow-blond of his hair, but to the casual viewer, he probably looked quite strange. The fact that most people didn’t know Anz counted against him. After all, those who knew him expected such unusual clothing -- but Anz only had a handful of friends so far, and most of them didn’t know him well yet. Only Thora and Zan could qualify as people at the Weyr who knew him beyond a superficial introduction and plot against the candidate master -- a very original way of bonding if ever there was one.

Setting down one of the smaller baskets on a table that the girl candidate just finished clearing off, Anz retrieved one of the loaves with a cloth, and placed it inside. Then he folded the cloth over the top, careful to cover all of the bread and to avoid touching it. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted around him temptingly, and he inhaled deeply in appreciation before looking into his basket to count the number of loaves left. Four. Silently, he nodded to himself, and moved to repeat the process on the second table that Qirewen cleared, all without speaking to her. While he was exceedingly friendly, she looked very busy and he didn’t wish to offend. Some people hated being bothered while they worked.

[reba]

Qirewen was making her utmost effort to ignore the various smells coming from the kitchen, or from the baskets of bread the other Candidate was setting out. She was, truthfully, not concentrating on the job as much as letting her mind wander, reviewing things that had happened earlier or that she wanted to do later on, once she was free of chores for the day.

She shook herself out of her reverie, running a thin hand through her cap of short, dark hair. She moved to the next table. While she wasn't antisocial while at work, she was trying to finish quickly, so as to be able to leave before a crowd of people showed up.

As she circled to reach a pair of discarded forks on the table top, she got a closer look at the young man's outfit. She didn't even try to conceal the fact that, yes, she was staring. Anyone who dressed so flamboyantly for kitchen chores? Well, Qirewen's assumption was that he not only didn't mind people staring or paying a lot of attention to him, but was in fact planning for it. She gave him a wry smile, before walking close enough to be heard without raising her voice. "Trying to outshine everyone in the Weyr, or just us Candidates?" she asked impishly.

[glamourie]

Casually, Anz set another loaf on the most recently cleaned table - in the process using up his last loaf, or so the glance into his empty basket told him. He huffed indignantly and pushed the fabric of his larger basket in. He was out of other baskets, too, which meant he had to (unfortunately) venture into the kitchens. He’d end up coming back with something he wanted to eat, he felt certain. The mere smell of freshly cooked food was enough to make him wobble on his feet -- but Anzalorin appreciated meals more than the average person. He just loved food. Back at Blossom Hold he’d kept himself occupied by eating more often than not - it was a wonder he wasn’t round enough to roll through the kitchens, down the stairs and off into the horizon. That was part of why he feared water, too -- he genuinely believed he’d drown if he went too deep. He’d sink right to the bottom like a rock. Because he ate too much. And then Zan would have to fish him out and it’d be awkward.

A question from somewhere near him caught his attention right as he turned to head back to the kitchen and Anz turned around, propping his basket up at his waist. His eyebrows raised inquisitively and he looked over the girl’s shoulder at the table, then back to her. And then his gaze dropped to his outfit, the blinding color of it more than enough to glow in the dark or something equally bizarre. The expression he wore quickly turned into one of a genuine, ear-to-ear smile. He was so used to wearing such bright hues that it often caught him by surprise when other people found them strange, or out of the ordinary. He personally found dark colors bizarre. So morbid. So depressing. Why anyone wore such dreary colors was beyond him. Didn’t they understand the virtues of bright yellows? Cheery! Happy! … Bright!

“Everyone! Although it wouldn’t happen if people had sense enough to wear proper clothes. I don’t know why they don’t,” Anz said with a slight sniff. “Everyone here insists on dark browns or blacks and personally I find it very boring. What’s wrong with bright yellows, reds and oranges? They’re warm, friendly and welcoming, and isn’t that the impression we want to be sending?” He stuck his hand out toward her, the free one, and quirked an eyebrow playfully. “Allo. I’m Anzalorin. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, though I’d guess from your words you’re a candidate and not in my rotation. Are you weyrbred then?”

[reba]

Qirewen was nearly done with her part of the nightly chores, much to her relief. The scents coming from the kitchen didn't tempt her. She ate only when necessary, not starving herself but not taking food as an indulgence. She tilted her chin slightly to meet Anzalorin's eyes. She was on the short side of "average"; most people had at least an inch or two on her, if not more than that. "Candidate, but not weyrbred," she clarified, taking his outstretched hand. "I'm Qirewen. I came in with a searchrider only a couple of days ago, from the Healer Hall."

His smile, and enthusiastic defense of "proper clothes", made her blink. She glanced thoughtfully down at her own tunic and trousers, which were muted shades of red and brown. "Cheery colors to help a cheerful mood?" She nodded. "Some of the rooms at the Hall were designed to brighten one's spirits, too." She wouldn't reply to the "we want to seem friendly and welcoming" remark. In truth, while she didn't want to argue the point with him, Qirewen suspected that her definition of "friendly enough" would fall several dragon-lengths short of his. "Though if I tried to dress like that, I doubt I could carry it off that well."

[glamourie]

From Healer Hall! “Does that mean you’re a healer then?” Anz asked, shaking the girl’s hand politely. “What rank are you? Do you have a shift on the infirmary yet? I hear the WeyrHealer’s a stickler for that sort of thing.” If he knew that his behavior could be taken as nosy, Anz did not acknowledge it. The boy was simply friendly and… very enthusiastic. Genuine though. The interest was real and not for any ulterior motive; he just truly liked talking to people, especially others he could relate to. Other candidates were people he had the potential to be around quite awhile; if they all Impressed, they’d share a Weyrling class, after all. So it was good to get on familiar terms with most of them, make friends and get to know one another. Worse come to worse, some of them would be sitting classes together, or having chores -- like the two of them did. So being friendly was better than indifferent, or worse still, enemies. He operated under the ‘kill them with kindness’ philosophy, though.

His hands, then free, ran over his clothes and he shrugged his shoulders in a posture describable only as lazy. “Learning to carry yourself with an outward happiness takes time, the clothes come to fit when the attitude does. When you’re happy inside and out, then you can get away with wearing whatever brightly colored ensemble you want and people start to expect it. Bright on the outside just like on the inside.” Posture had a lot to do with it, in his not-so-humble opinion. The more relaxed, confident and at ease someone was on the inside, the easier it was for them to pull off wearing the most exotic and strange clothing. People just didn’t stare at others who were totally comfortable in their own skin. It was natural to them. Though, sometimes Anz got gawkers. He liked to think it was because he was good looking.

“Well, Qirewen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m from Blossom Hold, but not Lake Dolphin Hall, and since we’re in the same candidate chore rotation, I’d be willing to bet we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Pity we’re not in the same class but --” He paused to whisper conspiratorially, “you probably will be grateful for that. I think Emoyan hates our class. At the least, he only seems to favor the girls.” Which was exactly why he and some of the other boys were planning to wear dresses to the next lesson but he had no intentions of telling her about that. It needed to remain a surprise in order to blindside their ‘beloved’ candidate master. No spoiling the surprise.

[reba]

Qirewen had had a lot of practice at keeping a friendly or neutral expression. She didn't find Anzalorin's questions annoying, at any rate; if she hadn't wanted him to know where she was from, she could have said "Hyphen Hold." It would only have been half a lie, after all. She'd been born there, though it had been turns since she really thought of it as home.

"Apprentice. I started there three Turns ago." She paused. "No. I haven't met the Weyrhealer yet. If I can keep learning the Craft while I'm here, I'd rather. Infirmary shifts would be better than sweeping floors. " That reminded her of their current assignment. She picked up her load of utensils, glancing toward the kitchen area. "Probably should work as we talk, or they're likely to decide we need more to do," she said in a low voice.

She fell silent, listening without interruption, her interest piqued a bit by mention of the Candidate Master. Her dark eyebrows lifted. "Good to know. It's not like he'd be the only teacher to want his students to ...entertain him." Though, given what she'd heard about Weyr life versus Craft or Hold, possibly that wasn't considered unseemly. She mulled that over, and shrugged.

[glamourie]

“Oh, you ought to be able to,” Anz replied knowingly. “See, I know for a fact they exempt candidates from normal chores in the case of healers, because infirmary shifts take so long. It might be longer shifts, though, since I usually only spend about two candle marks on my chores. But -- I know there’s special exceptions for healers. You should definitely go to the infirmary and check it out.” He was betting that, if it was her Craft, she’d probably like the idea of learning healing more than spending a few candle marks working in the kitchens. While that would deny him someone to talk to (pity, too, because she seemed really nice), it would help her to learn more about what she was choosing to dedicate her life (should she fail to impress) doing. “If they do give you a shift, you can let me know and I’ll stop by for a little, um… infirmary-warming party! Oh, yeah - the infirmary right now is down with the queens’ weyrs, until it’s finished being rebuilt. Some people find that a little confusing, I remember when I first got here I was baffled…”

But the infirmary was blown up. So of course it didn’t exist anymore. Unfortunate, that. He didn’t intend to tell Qirewen if she didn’t know; maybe in the north people didn’t talk about what Benden had done at Selenitas. Or maybe she was sent to deal with patients…? But since she didn’t have an infirmary shift that seemed unlikely. Someone would tell her eventually if she didn’t know, he assumed, but Anz didn’t want that someone to be him. There was always something incredibly depressing about relaying a tragedy to a near-perfect stranger. It felt like he was breaking some unspoken rule. He went out of his way to remain positive most of the time, though, so that was probably the source of his discomfort. Someone who tried to paste a smile to his face all the time found it awkward to talk about negative things. Imagine that.

She was right about working, but -- “I have to go back to get more bread,” he admitted, then paused. “But uh -- I don’t think Candidate Master Emoyan is like that -- like you’re implying. I think he just doesn’t like us because we don’t follow the rules perfectly, and the girls usually do. Just so you don’t get the wrong impression of him.” It felt weird to defend Emoyan, but he didn’t want someone thinking that about him. That would’ve just been wrong! “Umm - I’ll be right back, but uh, note for when you have your first lesson: Guard your ears. Hold that thought now!” And then he half-dashed into the kitchens to acquire some more loaves of bread.

The entire process took about five minutes, and when Anz returned, scurrying quickly, he put down one of the baskets, and a loaf in much the same fashion. Then he proclaimed, “So where were we…?”

[reba]

Qirewen was quiet, absorbing what he said. The longer shifts still wouldn't take up her whole day, which was what she'd been used to in the north. She had heard of the troubles between Weyrs, of course; you'd have had to be living with your head in a potato sack not to have heard. Details such as how much damage Selenitas had taken in the last confrontation with Benden, however, hadn't been included(or if they had, they'd have been edited for "public consumption.") She made a mental note to go speak with the Infirmary staff as soon as time allowed her to find the place, and see if they wanted her to work with them.
She'd be perfectly happy with more hours. If anything, the (relatively)lighter schedule felt odd to her.

Anzalorin's company wasn't unwelcome, though. She had as much of an appreciation for gossip or happy conversation as anyone their ages. It was just that she wasn't the one who'd initiate such things on her own, as a rule. Had he voiced his opinion of her as "nice" aloud, she wouldn't have argued, but privately disagreed. People sometimes had trouble understanding that being "nice" could be a real disadvantage in different circumstances.

She finished wiping down a couple of tables while he went into the kitchen for his refill. How did people manage to leave so many crumbs that weren't on a plate? Honestly, some of these tables looked as if the eaters were trying to attract vermin or insects.
Qirewen had a prompt reply to Anzalorin's question. "We were talking about infirmary-warming parties, and I think you just want an excuse. " Her tone implied very strongly that she didn't necessarily disapprove. "Were you in a Craft, or Holding, before you were searched?"