Grumpy {GIII chores; open}

[felina]

Niera was not in a particularly pleasant mood. Granted, she really hadn't been since the Hatching; her Gold had failed to show up, and for that she was rather peeved. Oh, sure, it was better than her dragon going to some other little twit of a girl, but still! Where was her dragon, exactly? Apparently the clutchmother had forgotten her. Or perhaps it was the fault of the bronze that caught her. Either way, it seemed that the entire weyr was to blame- except herself, of course.

And now they went and saddled her with this most unrewarding of tasks. Kitchen duty? Really? She thought she had risen above all of this nonsense; it was why she'd left her Northern home in the first place! Not that there had ever really been much about it to call 'home', actually. More a step on her way to greatness- and she would be great, once she Impressed. There was nobody on Pern higher than the weyrwoman. Of course, that was what she would one day become, once she got rid of all those other Goldriders. They weren't particularly important anyhow, save for a vessel that would create her queen.

And what a pair they would be! It was difficult for Niera to keep from daydreaming as she beat at the floor with the broom, raising small clouds of dust that quickly settled in front of her once more. Useless! Why would anyone want to get rid of all of this dirt anyhow? It wasn't as though the stables ever had a perfectly spotless floor! It kept it from being too slippery, and it wasn't as though people actually ate off the floor. But no, it was the way of things and now she was stuck conforming to this utter madness.

Of course. How... fitting.

[reqqy]

M'ta was late, and he didn't care. Behruth had this rather bothersome habit of being unable to fall asleep if the brownweyrling wasn't curled up beside him. It was probably a habit the new weyrling should...break. Kind of like breaking little kids of always sleeping with their parents. M'ta simply didn't feel the need to right now, if only because it was nice to feel needed and loved like that. Oh, he needed to break Behruth of the habit, he mused to himself. Definitely. The brown hatchling fell asleep partially on him, after all, and he was already becoming big enough where that was rather dangerous; if the dragon rolled in his sleep...

The boy made a mental note to pull his furs up beside Behruth's couch and sleep touching or something. That wouldn't be too big a change, right? And there was no reason that arrangement couldn't continue indefinitely. No reason at all. Sliding into the kitchens, he nimbly dodged a few people hurrying out the door to set more food up along the large table. His eyes swept the bustling kitchens, and he quickly stepped to one side to avoid the amazingly sharp eyes of the old crones who ruled with their ladles and screechy voices. (None of them liked him very much after the fights he'd already gotten in. Nevermind that it was their fault for accentuating his small stature and making him a target of some of the fool children at the Weyr. Shards if he was going to allow weyrbrats to mess with him.)

Noticing that several people were avoiding a certain part of the floor, the dark-clad weyrling trotted over to a bench and swung himself up, glaring at the nearest drudge who had started for the stool. He was not about to stand on a stool again. Didn't anyone ever learn? Now what? M'ta glanced around, noticing a large pile of tubers that needed to be washed and cut up. He shrugged mildly to himself. He was good at cutting, and it didn't involve socializing...which often became disastrous. The boy had the bowl clutched between his knees and was dicing the tubers midair when he realized why people were avoiding this area of the kitchen. M'ta began to cough violently. "Tryna kill me or something?" he growled testily, between coughs, blinking away moisture from his eyes.

When his vision cleared, he aimed a glare at Neira. Candidate. It felt strange that he wasn't numbered in their ranks anymore, after nearly three turns. Blowing some of the hair from his eyes, he glanced down at the (once) clean tubers in disgust. "I don't think the purpose was to get dirt all in the food," he commented dryly. "Mind not flinging that broom around so violently? Makes me nervous. Not to mention the extra work." M'ta had already twisted to rewash the tubers, still perched on the top of the counter. His small body was proportionate, for all that he was short, and the width of shoulder, breadth of chest and depth of voice all pointed toward a man, despite his boyish size and face.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not all that bad."