Logs:Ayson and Nathein Look For Thicker Shoes
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| RL Date: 20 July, 2007 |
| Who: B'yan, Ayson, Nathein, Talien |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 26, Month 10, Turn 12 (Interval 10) |
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| The day winds down as the dragonriders start returning home from their various duties, kicking up a slight frenzy in the weyrbowl. Among those arriving is B'yan, maps of the Reaches lands already being strewn across the table with his riding jacket slung over the edge of it. The bronzerider isn't looking at the maps yet, however; he's just outside the records room, exchanging low words with a grey-cloaked man who looks to be heading out of the room. Nathein passes the gray-cloaked man with a flickering-friendly smile, one to acknowledge the man but not invite conversation right away. One candidate to another, he's still talking to Ayson as the two work their way into the nexus from the inner caverns; "Errand runner for the Weyrwoman. Might as well just call it Goldrider's Gopher and save the trouble of pretending it's a dignified duty. What did you get today?" Ayson snorts, "Weyr cleanup detail. I've lived here my whole life, and I don't think I've ever spent as much time cleaning the weyr as I have since I was searched. General weyr clean up, storeroom cleanup, lower caverns cleanup, living cavern cleanup, random weyrs in the middle of the night cleanup. The list goes on." He gestures with his hand and does the eyeroll. Casting his eyes onto B'yan, he gives the familiar looking man a quick wave. "You sure?" the grey-cloaked can be heard saying as the two candidates pass by him, and it's a furtive glance being sent there way. B'yan, flashing him a wide grin that lingers when he himself notes the men passing by, "Yeah, I'm sure. Trust me," he drawls in that cocky way of his before tossing a wink his way and turning away to signal an end to the conversation. The wave from Ayson is intercepted with a quick lift of his chin in a silent greeting, then makes to lean lazily against the wall as the grey-cloaked man takes his leave. "Well well. The sound of candidates talking brightly of their chores," he litanies with open dry humor - or with a mocking gait if his crooked smile is any indication. "Cleanup, cleanup, cleanup. Toss in the occasional throwing of firestone sack..." Nathein ducks under the doorframe, stands aside so the cloaked man can pass unimpeded. "Brightly? That's an interesting term for it." He stays in the door frame now, holding on to the edge of the doorframe with the ends of his fingers and looking toward B'yan with an easy chuckle. "Or better, toss in a random kitchen duty where you cut tubers for hours and hours, and you've got it all right." Ayson half grins. The rider's comment catches his ear and he responds, "Yeah, though I think it can be better summed as 'the sound of candidates crying over their chores' while wearing dusty, mucky clothing on their search for decent sandals." A hand is waved to indicate the day's accumulation on his pants. "About as bright as it sounded when I was in your place, anyway," was B'yan's timely quip behind Nathein's answer, moving slowly towards the table where the maps are spread out on. Turning in time to view Ayson's attire with a slow shake of his head, "You all must be hard workers," he murmurs, letting amusement color his tone when flicks his study towards Nathein. "Don't recall my ever being dirty when I didn't want to be back in those days. Are they still finding it influential to have you all watching littles and carrying out Weyrwoman's work all day?" he asks then. Nathein looks down at his clothes for a second, drops one hand to flick off a speck of mud from his vest, the only speck of mud he's sporting right now. "It's not easy keeping tidy, I'll admit." He offers his hand toward B'yan rather than latching it back on to the edge of the door frame, taking a looksee at B'yan. "I've had the good luck to avoid the babysitting duties so far, but Weyrwoman's work?" He screws up his face, evidence of how he feels about /that/ chore. "Nathein, by the way. Sir." Ayson eyes Nathein, a 'brow raised. "Well, maybe I'm filthy just because of the extensive cleaning I've been involved in." A shrug is given for the talk of watching littles and errands. "I had to help the nannies once and it was unpleasent." He wipes his grimey hands off onto his pretty grimey pants, "We've met before, haven't we? B'yan, I think?" A low chuckle escaping from the bronzerider as he turns slightly towards the maps, "The lady of the Spires is quite a woman, isn't she?" he puts in about the Weyrwoman in a tone of wry amusement. "All the same, I remember me a few of my associates use to foist the chores off on someone else until Satiet found out. Hence the tidy comment." Smirk. Nathein gets a languid study before his hand is firmly taken. "Well met, Nathein, and no need to be sirring me. B'yan's just fine, and yes," and hazel eyes turn on Ayson mid-sentence as he releases Nathein's and goes to grip his hand next, "we've met. You're the fellow handyman with a good conscience. Didn't take well to my ...less-than good views on life. Well met, both of you." Nathein eyes Ayson back and raises an eyebrow in return; "And because you haven't taken the time to change and clean up a little. Don't worry, you're not the only one. --Just the only one in this room." He smiles a sunny smile to the other candidate, then lets his other eyebrow climb upward to join the one lifted at Ayson. "That's begging to be asked about, now isn't it? What less-than-good views would those be, B'yan?" Ayson inclines his head in his direction, recieving the handshake firmly. "Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you, again." He casts another look Nathein's way and rolls his eyes. "Or maybe I've been doing something other than relaying messages all day, something that involves dirt under the nails? Not often a chance to change sometimes." For the 'begging to be asked about' remark, the former handyman remains silent. It's more than up to B'yan to discuss that it would seem. B'yan lifts a brow as well, that crooked smirk still lingering on his features at Ayson's remark. "Oh, it's nothing with a long history," he bandies non-chalantly in Nathein's direction, a shoulder lifting in a half-shrug as his arms come to a fold across his chest. "Mostly that his and my views on business and reputation differ, but that is to be expected - with me being from a very different background." Then moreso to Ayson, he adds, "Candidacy treating you well? I was still hoping to see some of your work on repairs." Nathein turns his hand around so he can look under his fingernails for a second, assumes an impressed expression, and then hooks his fingertips over the edge of the door frame once more; "Rumor has it..." He smiles with an off-handed expression. "That you can see plenty of Ayson's repairs in the barracks if you're inclined, cots specifically." Talien strides in from the lower caverns. Talien has arrived. Ayson glances at his fellow candidate, but gives B'yan a mostly collected look before saying, "Rumor has it that Nathein wants to wear make-up onto the hatching sands. But we don't believe everything we hear, now do we?" He asks semi-rhetorically. "And yes, candidacy is treating me mostly well. Even if my sleep is a little injured." "Repairing cots?" B'yan echoes, turning a quick look at the former handyman with interest until his quip is heard. "Wearing make-up?" is added more in disbelief as he regards Nathein. "Shells, I'd almost pay to see him wear make-up," and he jerks a thumb at the candidate in question. "We all could use alittle entertainment on the sands." He doesn't comment further about the cots, but looks sent Ayson's way is more thoughtful enough to suggest he's filing that piece of information away. Nathein, big fellow that he is, has blocked off the doorway to this particular bit of storeroom; his fingers are hitched on the edge of the door frame while he faces into the room, talking to the other two. "As long as the make-up brings out my eyes, I'm sure it will look great with my dress." He flutters his eyelashes at the two men. "We're looking for sandals, by the way. Any chance you could point us in the right direction, B'yan?" "Hopeless. The lot of you." Talien is somewhere - just not a visible somewhere as Nathein blocks the door of the storeroom. Needless to say, she's still heard enough to make that assumption and quite likely recognizes the voices of the three men in the room. Ayson ducks his head, trying to look underneath Nathein's arm and well, around his big body in general. "Tal?" He questions, trying to catch sight of the girl, wherever she may be. "Don't worry, I'll try to find a stunning shade of it. Maybe we'll stumble on something while looking for sandels. If not, I guess you're just going to have to settle for those whatchamacallits in your hair." He casts a quick grin B'yan's way, "I hear from a certain harper that Nathein likes betting. Maybe if you bet him, he'll wear it." "I'm sure little Madison can help you tie bows into your hair as well," B'yan banters casually towards Nathein from his leans against the map-strewn table as he faces the two men. "You'll be the prettiest of them all." As for the sandals, the bronzerider straightens from his lean and gestures out the records room towards one of the rightmost shelves. "Try the bottom boxes," he suggests with an added nod in said direction. he flashes an amused grin Ayson's way then, "Betting, huh? Don't tempt me," he sends lightly, waggling a finger until Talien's familiar voice cuts across the conversation. He doesn't bother turning to find her; he simply snorts and looks in the direction of her voice. "Such dry humor and longing for attention," he drawls aloud, perhaps in his version of a fond greeting. "That must be Talien." For a moment, Nathein looks serious, not the permanent glib that's tinged the conversation so far; "You heard this from whom, Ayson?" He spends less time looking around for Talien, just a cursory glance in what he probably suspects is the direction of her voice. "I'll save you a spot on my dance card, stud." He must be over whatever made him so serious a moment ago, now winking at B'yan. Talien shoots a look up at Nathein first, because he's in the door and the closest to her. Then, warily enough, she moves in an attempt at getting by him and into the room. A flattened bag is clasped against her stomach, her attention switching visibly between the three men. "Did I come at a bad time?" Genuine, if still slightly mocking, she turns to put her back to the wall while still trying to keep Nathein, Ayson and B'yan all within sight. Ayson is quick to pick up on the change in the larger man's voice, "A close friend." He responds to Nathein and shrugs his shoulders, pulling forth the smile once more. "And B'yan is right, Madison can help you and you'll be the prettiest of all the candidates when the eggs hatch." He offers Talien a more genuine smile, "Nah, we're just discussing Nath's newest fashion trends and where the sandals are kept." B'yan steps away long enough to allow Talien plenty of room to enter the little grouping, teasingly waggling his fingers at her back. "You should put in your mark piece, you know," he drawls towards Talien with ease. "Seems like candidate fashion isn't just the robe-and-sandals craze anymore." He shoots Nathein a toothy grin at his return response, stealing a hand over his heart and releasing a harper-like sigh for his own. Nathein leans off to one side of the door, enough room left in the doorway for Talien to slip by easily enough, with his smile to send her through. "You came at the best time. We need a woman's opinion. Can you wear ribbons /and/ barrettes at the same time and not look like a floozy? --We're really not getting very far with the sandals, are we?" He pushes out of the door, trying to get bearings on where to start. "Got to bring a bag back myself," Talien says to Ayson, holding up the flattened bag, "Couple of the others couldn't find any so I volunteered." She smiles like the benevolent little creature that she is; the only betrayal is the slightest crinkling of the corners of her eyes and a flick of them toward Nathein. It'd be the combination of their statements which finds Talien glaring at both - Nathein accusingly, B'yan suspiciously: "What's that suppose to mean?" Ayson looks like he's counting himself lucky that he made no comments about Talien participing in Nathein oriented fashion. "I believe it's in this direction?" He says, gesturing forward and starting to move. "Are these sandals going to be particularly thick soled? Or am I going to want to cry after a certain length of time out there?" To Talien, taking that suspicious look with fleeting innocence, "What?" B'yan intones at her. "You're a girl, aren't you?" Amused and looking like he's holding back laughter, he moves over to some of the bottom boxes and pulls one out. "These a thick-soled," he answers as he pulls one out to show, "but it still won't matter much. You'll be shifting more times than you can count out there. It's -that- hot," and he moves the box of sandals toward the group.
"There's some in the barracks right now. Good soles. Too small." Nathein lifts one too-large foot about six inches off the ground, puts it back down, and shrugs. "So suspicious." Thus chiding Talien, he heads in the direction Ayson indicated, taking a look at B'yan's offering before he sets to the task if combing through boxes to find a pair that come close enough to his size. |
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