Logs:Of Caricatures and Respect
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| RL Date: 9 April, 2006 |
| Who: C'len, Harley, Maja, Morowen, Rachiel, Rathin, Satiet, Shalyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 3, Turn 7 (Interval 10) |
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| Your location's current time: 15:12 on day 31, month 3, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring afternoon. Candidate Barracks(#430RAJs$) This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items. The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl. Contents: Morowen Rachiel Candidate Cots Firelizard Perch(#8812JSae$) Obvious exits: Weyrling Training Room Bowl Rathin is currently lying in his hammock-come-rope-cot, gently swinging back and forth. He's humming faintly under his breath, just loud enough to be distracting to anyone currently trying to sleep, a slate propped up on his knee as he sketches deliberately with a charcoal stick. Morowen is lying back on his cot, with his eyes closed, looking as if asleep. Hearing the charcoal scratch across the slate makes him scrunch up his eyes, then open them. Rubbing his eyes, and muttering about not letting anybody get any sleep around here, he sits up. Seeing the source of the noise, his curiousity gets the better of him. "Whats that your drawing there?" he asks. The humming ceases, as Rathin glances up and over at Morowen, flashing an easy grin. "People," he answers, succinctly. "Well, one person in particular. Have you seen that candidate who has that back cot over there?" he waves vaguely towards the back of the room. "You know, the -really- tall one?" Morowen nods his head, "Yeah, but why are you drawing them? Just for the fun of it all?". Standing up he walks over, "Mind if I look?" "Uh-huh," Rathin confirms. "Just for fun." His grin widens momentarily, blowing excess dust off the slate and holding it back from him a little to admire his handiwork. As Morowen approaches, he doesn't even hesitate, turning the slate around to let the other candidate see. The picture he's drawn is, to put it simply, not kind. A very tall figure is at the centre, hands on her hips, staring down at the grouping of tiny people surrounding her. One of the little people is calling out, 'Is it cold up there?' Morowen raises an eyebrow questioningly at the drawing. "Its well drawn but...kinda harsh don't you think?" Shrugging, he asks, "Do you just decide to draw something, and draw what your thinking or what you see or is there a reason for drawing that?" "Well, duh. That's the whole point." Rathin's eyes roll ceiling-wards as he turns the slate back towards him to look over his work again. "And there's usually a reason. Did you know she threatened me the first night I got here? If you don't believe me, ask Harley, she saw it all. Personally, I think Maja has a particularly violent streak. I'm glad my cot's not near her's, I wouldn't feel safe at night." He might be overacting it a tad, but only a little. Rachiel comes into the barracks and walks over to her cot. She picks up her sketching pad and looks around for her charcoal stick. Morowen nods, "Actually I do agree with you, Maja is at best slightly over-zealous in her job, but its still not right to make fun of her....wait..did you say she threathened you your first night? Thats a bit harsh, so maybe I agree with your opinion here." "Slightly?" Rathin echoes incredulously. "I'd say more than that. Anyway, what am I meant to do? I can't exactly get into fisticuffs with a -girl-." He exhales slightly, as if suffering a fit of conscience. "Uh-huh. She said I'd regret it before the hatching. Very ominous." His eyes flicker towards Rachiel, and he calls towards her, "Hey, want to admire my latest work?" he turns the slate around in her direction. Rachiel turns to look at Rathin, "Maja threatened you?" She frowns slightly at the drawing. Morowen shrugs, "As long as you don't do anything wrong, theres nothing Maja can do to you, so just forget it, and enjoy the time here. She takes her job very seriously, so might as well give no reason to have her cause you problems." Rathin nods confirmation, adding, "She was looming over me. She's taller than me, so she can do that very convincingly. Not the kind of warm welcome I expected, but..." he shrugs a little, lowering the slate and resting it on his knee again. He gives Morowen a dubious kind of look, "Are you kidding? She could probably kill me in my sleep. I mean, she -is- a former guard." He puffs up a little, or attempts to - mostly he just causes his hammock to swing alarmingly - looking put out, "Me give her no reason? She's the one that threatened me! I don't see why I should stay out of her way." Morowen scratches his head, "And your the one who said she could probably kill you in your sleep...all i'm saying is no one will let you get pushed around if you haven't caused any problems, its if you do that you'll have problems." Morowen shakes his head, "Sorry, that sounds like a threat, and it wasn't meant to be, just some friendly advice from me to you." Rachiel tosses her sketching pad onto her cot and crosses her arms, "Maja is a good person, Rathin. Get to know her, and you might find out why she threatened you." She goes back to looking for her charcoal stick. Rathin's lips tighten, somewhat between a smile and a grimace. "So you're saying I should just take it, no matter what she does? You know, I don't much like bullies, never have, never will." He taps the slate briefly against his knee. After a pause, he quickly adds something with his charcoal stick, 'I stomp you!' are the words ballooned as coming from the tall figure in the picture. "I think I'll put this somewhere prominent." He carefully extricates himself from his hammock, a slow process, before straightening and giving Rachiel a level stare. "Oh, I should get to know her? Why not vice versa? Since she's a good person, she should apologise to me." He doesn't really seem -that- upset... at least, he isn't yelling, his voice largely even. Morowen rolls his eyes, "As I said, your the one who said she could kill you in your sleep...and even though I doubt she would, being agressive won't get you anywhere with this at all." Rachiel finds her charcoal and mutters under her breath, "She's not a bad person." She glances at the drawing, shakes her head, and turns back to her cot. "And letting her push me around will just encourage her more. -Someone- has to stand up for themselves." Rathin says, "It might as well be me." There's an odd kind of expression on his face, almost like he's pleased or something, or maybe it's just satisfaction as he moves over and props the slate up on the firelizard perch. He glances over his shoulder at Rachiel, "She may not be a -bad- person, but she's not exactly a -nice- person. And you didn't exactly answer my question, so you can't be -that- convinced." Rachiel picks up her sketching pad and charcoal stick, "One of you should get to know the other," She turns to a clean page and starts drawing. Morowen blinks, "Lets talk about something a little less hateful please....So....what have you two been doing for your candidacy? Enjoying yourselves? Oh, I didn't even ask your name..I'm Morowen", he gestures at Rathin. "Maybe I would if I weren't afraid she'd kick me somewhere very painful." Rathin answers Rachiel, tone wryly amused. He gives another careful look over his handiwork, before he wanders back in the direction of his hammock. "Rathin," the scruffy-haired candidate responds. "Oh, you know. Rolling bandages, mucking stables. It's all very mundane, I was expecting more Weyr-like chores, but they're exactly the same sort of chores I do for the Beowin traders." He bends down, opening his press to rummage around inside. Shalyn meanders in from the bowl. Shalyn has arrived. Shalyn ducks her head inside the barracks, "Knock knock?" Rachiel sighs and looks over to the door, "Hi," She sets her sketching pad and charcoal down on her cot. Shalyn smiles, "Hey there Rachiel, Morowen." the two get a nod. "Settleing in I hope?" Shalyn says "Did I hear some talk about chores just before I walked in?" Morowen nods, "Hello ma'am, I've been settling in fine...and yes, Rathin was just relating his days labour to me as you walkedin." "...annoying my fellow candidates with my apparently unappreciated opinions." Rathin belatedly adds to his list, with a quick, pointed glance Rachiel's way. Straightening from digging in his press, Rathin peers over the top at the new arrival, eyeing her carefully. "Hey," he goes for casual, before eyes finally hit her knot, and with a briefly irritated exhale, adds quick-and-faint, "Ma'am." Shalyn chuckles, "Nice to know I could still play that trick if I had tried." Rachiel looks over at Shalyn and blinks, "What trick?" Shalyn selects a specific bunk and takes a seat, "After I first impressed whenever a new batch of candidates would arrive I would take off my knots before meeting them." Rathin gives Shalyn a frankly confused look. "Huh? Play what? Ah, nevermind, I probably don't care." His latter words muttered as he bends back to dig in his press again. Shalyn blinks, "Oh I don't know. You might like to listen to the stories some people tell. Gives you an idea of what weyrlife can be like." "If they're all about who's-sleeping-with-whom, then I -really- don't care." Rathin's voice is slightly muted behind his press, but the blitheness of the words convey enough of his intended tone as it is. "Besides, I'm not exactly new to Weyrs. The Beowins regularly pass through Telgar Weyr." He finally straightens, a new message slate in hand, and shuts his press. Shalyn says "You know if I was your candidate coordinator I'd be sending you on extra chores for such a disrespectfull comment." "Good thing you're not then, isn't it?" Rathin says, deliberately cheerful. "And trust me, -that- wasn't anywhere near disrespectful." There's a deliberate pause, perhaps five heartbeats, before he drawls, "Ma'am." Morowen walks out to the bowl. Morowen has left. Shalyn blinks, "You're right. But I'll be reporting your behavior to your CC so you can expect those extra chores anyway. Now I'm off to the hot springs for a swim." Shalyn stands and heads for the door. Harley has arrived. Shalyn says "Hello Harlye, good seeing you again. Care to come for a swim up at the springs?" "Let me guess, those stories were about you? Oh, I'm sorry." Rathin's tone suggests he's anything but; he's still standing just behind his press, a message slate in one hand. "See you!" he adds, cheerfully. Harley is staring up at the slate, and by the expression on her face, she is not pleased. "Who put that up there?" she demands in a voice that she is completely unaware sounds like her own mothers. Rachiel glances at the slate and looks over to Harley, "Rathin put it up there." Harley slowly turns to face Rathin, that expression still on her face, her eyes fairly sparking. "I'm surprised it's you." she admits calmly. "I thought you were a little more mature than that. I'd appreciate it if you'd take it down." Shalyn whirls around aiming a slap for the left side of Rathin's face, "Lesson one: NEVER piss of a greenrider." She get's right up in his face, "Further lessons will follow if you don't watch your mouth!" Rathin shrugs, not looking too upset by Harley's accusation. "It's just a little bit of fun. She's the one that threatened me, Harley - you saw it." He makes no move to collect the slate, and seems about to add something else when Shalyn abruptly slaps him. He blinks, rubbing at his cheek with his left hand, already red from the impact. "What is it with the women of High Reaches?" he mutters, eyeing the greenrider warily as he takes a step back from her, voice taut: "What could you possibly do that's worse than that? Force me to listen to your stories? Now -that- would be punishment." Pause. "...ma'am." Satiet wanders in from the bowl. Satiet has arrived. C'len strides in from the bowl. C'len has arrived. Shalyn is toe to toe with an older man anger definitely flashes in her eyes, "For your information I'm happily weyrmated and to not ledgehop and I don't appreciate the implication that I do." Harley blinks and wonders what she walked in on. Her own eyes are still flashing, if for another reason but she goes quiet, looking from Rathin to Shalyn. The timely coincidence of Satiet's arrival is marked first by her heels clattering to the ground, and a swirl of the sober colors she's attired in. A few steps ahead of her companion, her easily spoken words contain a note of command, "If there was anything I'd wanted in your group, it'd have been for more inspections." With a wry smirk, her dark hair obscuring one side of her face a moment as she tilts her head back, she continues, "Just make sure they've kept their areas tidy, and up on the shelves that are harder for me to reach." Because, of course, shelves were made to be deliberately out of her reach. Her backwards glance prevents her from getting an initial eyeful. Rathin has, in fact, taken a few steps back for more distance between himself and the greenrider, one hand still rubbing at his left cheek, his other holding a slate. "...okay. That's a little too much information, but okay. You want to give me your entire life story next?" Another of those deliberately mocking pauses, "Ma'am?" His attention is focused on Shalyn, and thus he doesn't notice the new arrivals. Rachiel stands up and walks over to Harley, she notices the new arrivals and says nothing. Short-sleeves for the spring afternoon, but still C'len sports an orange (very orange) scarf wrapped around his neck to keep some semblance of warmth as he trails in along with Satiet. Spring in High Reaches is, after all, still fairly cold. The young rider grins, somewhat amused at having been caught up in this task. "Should I put on white gloves before I inspect their shelves?" He follows up, as he comes fully into the barracks. Then he murmurs, "I've always wanted to do this," and so he does: stops where he is, stands tall, cups his hands in front of his mouth and bellows, suprisingly loud, "INSPECTION!" Shalyn narrows her eyes, "I wouldn't give you the time of day you wherrynecked disrespectful dimglow! There are children with more manners than you! I came here to share some happy news with my friends and now you've spoiled it!" she whirls around tears starting to drip from her eyes as she starts to stomp out of the barracks, she flashes a salute to Satiet while swallowing a sob. Harley straightens up, turning her eyes from Rathin over to Shalyn. "New? What news?" she asks quickly before Shalyn disappears. She glances at Rachiel "What did I miss?" She catches sight of Satiet and C'len and blinks. "Ma'am, Sir." she nods to them. "I-," a pause as C'len's bellow draws surprise on the woman's delicate features, and then something just short of a smile that causes her eyes to glitter. "If you've brought them, sure. We had a candidate in my group who would find interesting places to relieve herself and I'm sure it'd be as toxic as a smith's bellows." Satiet hasn't brought any visible signs of protection from the evils that candidates may leave strewn about. "Poisonous tunnelsnake pets aren't allowe-," another pause ensues, this one far more lingering. Narrowed eyes shift as in the glance over she allows the barracks, her attention finds a near-sobbing greenrider, and a bevy of candidates nearby. The one arc of her brow demands an explanation as both hands find her hips. "And yet you just clued me into your love life." Rathin frowns, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as if contemplating. "Is that what you call... ironic?" His eyes follow Shalyn without sympathy, despite the words that follow, "Awww. Poor dear. Maybe you should go find those well-mannered children and tell them your happy news. I'm sure they'd be -far- more interested than I ever would." He straightens at the bellow from C'len, eyes finally snapping in that direction, and settling on Satiet, with a mutter: "Oh, -great-. You two should start up a club or something." He rubs his cheek deliberately, and doesn't seem about to offer an explanation, setting down his slate on the top of his press. Shalyn looks up as she passes Harley a goofy grin appearing right after a choked back sob, she sniffles and wipes at her face, "I'm pregnant Harley." she let's a sort of giggle escape. C'len clears his throat, the look of amusement on his face making him appear less than official but, it seems, that's what he is this afternoon. "I must've left them in my weyr," he comments sidelong to Satiet, almost seriously. Heedless of the barracks activities, he steps forward toward a set of shelves off to the side--then pauses, having seen Shalyn's earlier expression and caught her comments. "Is it his fault?" The rider ask, wide-eyed, looking over at Rathin. "Is that why you're calling the candidate a dimglow?" There's confusion in his eyes. Shalyn bursts out laughing, practically doubling over she find herself sitting back down on a bunk still laughing. She looks up for a second before burring her head in a pillow laughing some more. Eventually she sits up and wipes tears of laughter from her eyes and looks up, appearing about to say something she starts laughing again. Harley's face lights up and a wide grin fills it. "That's great! You said you'd been trying. Oh that's wonderful Shalyn." her face assumes a mock stern expression "You have told Th'res already I hope." But the joy this news gives her has her grinning a few seconds later. Hearing C'len's question she looks a little startled and her eyes dart to Rathin. "Boy, your getting blamed for everything tonight." she comments, wondering what else will happen. For a moment, Satiet looks like she wants to say something so desperately, it'll eat her alive if she doesn't. But that feeling struggles to survive and then gets washed away with a more bland look. "Congratulations on your new parasite." When it's clear there's no forthcoming explanation, the young weyrwoman tilts her head towards the bronzerider and comments off-handedly, "What makes you think he's not a dimglow of his own accord?" Rathin is spared a supercilious little smile, a longer study, before the emotional roller coaster known as Shalyn draws all attention back. "Greenrider," she begins coolly, "Either pull yourself together, or excuse yourself." It's afternoon, and various candidates are working steadily at trying to clean their areas after the bellow of 'INSPECTION' moments prior by C'len -- they've a reprive of minutes given the distraction due to drama. Okay, -that- caught Rathin honestly off guard, the scruffy-haired candidate eyeing C'len with considerable indignation. "Hey! I did -not- get her pregnant. I have -some- standards." This time, at least, it's probably an unintended insult. Shalyn looks up as Satiet addresses her, she may be a friend but she has years of training to back her up, "Yes ma'am." she inhales deeply, sniffles once and wipes up her face. As she stands up she whispers to Harley in that quick girl-hug kinda way, "Yes I told him yesterday. He was pleased as punch." before falling into place behind C'len and Satiet. "But you're right ma'am he is a dimglow of his own accord. And C'len, no, I wouldn't sleep with a trader if my life depended on it. The baby is my weyrmates, and Th'res is still ecstatic about it." Maja immediately rushes into the barracks having heard through the candidate gossip mill the fact that Satiet and C'len were arriving in the barracks for an inspection. Her outfit and hair are dusted with flour, though her hands are clean. Sliding past Satiet and C'len, she rushes without apology towards her own cot-- and though her cot would never need cleaning, she fiddles with the sheets and the pillows. It takes her a moment, as she finishes smoothing out wrinkles, to finally realize that the firelizard perch has something on it. "What...?" The woman turns towards the slate and stares. Rachiel blinks at everything happening in the room, not sure what to say about any of it, she turns and waves at Maja. The connection made, C'len's eyes light a little, "Ah, well, congratulations, then." And then there's a quick grin as Maja rushes in, but no wave, what with the Official Job to do and all. The rider hasn't noticed the slate, and instead he shuffles over to the first candidate's cot and shelf, easily looking over the contents before he turns back to Satiet, beckoning her over as if he needs help figuring out what, precisely, he should be doing. Harley takes a quick glance at her own cot and area, but of course it's as neat and clean as it always is. She steps back towards it, as well as out of the way of the cluster of candidates. A quick sidelong glance at Rathin, another glance at Rachiel, and her eyes finally settle on Maja. When she sees the guard look up at the perch her jaw clicks shut. Rathin gives a tiny little bow at Shalyn's words. "Thank you. I worked so hard to be a dimglow all my life. It's nice to get the validation of physical abuse to back it up." His left cheek is still red, a little raised, but he's stopped rubbing it. He catches sight of Maja's return, and subtly picks up the slate from on top of his press, dropping it inside before straightening again, following the tall candidate's progress to the firelizard perch. He has the distinct expression of someone who's perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing, which probably immediately makes him the prime suspect. His particular area of the barracks is relatively clean, and there's not much need to make his bed, given that it's less a cot and more a hammock-like-rope-structure. There is, however, charcoal dust all over his sheets. Some of the candidates near Maja's cot snicker softly, try to pretend they aren't, and then pretend further that they're really smoothing out wrinkles on their cot. The tall candidate's entrance doesn't go completely unnoticed, though Satiet isn't as kind as C'len in grinning. Satiet swerves from the pregnant rider to, what she presumes, is the cheek in question - Rathin's. Her hard eyes indicate an: 'I'll deal with you later,' to the candidate, while a clearing of her throat and dangerously even words are spoken to someone else. "If you haven't already, Shalyn, you should speak with the Weyrwoman about your pregnancy and the emotional benefits of refraining from physical abuse in general." If she notes C'len working in official capacity, there's no indication which could also very well mean he's not doing anything wrong, yet. Shalyn nod snarply and simply says, "Yes ma'am." Morowen has arrived. "Had a little too much sun, candidate?" C'len asks, momentarily studying the red of Rathin's face. "Maybe you should ask for chores that are inside." The hammock-structure gets a cursory look, "And maybe you should wash your sheets" A wrinkle of his nose suggests that he wouldn't sleep in such a condition. Rachiel grins Taking long, slow steps towards the slate, Maja stops about two feet away from it. The snickering candidates don't go unnoticed, and neither does the fact that Rathin has taken the time to follow her. She presses her lips together, crosses her arms, and says-- softly, but with a deadly hint to it, "You're going to want to take that down." Rathin straightens ever so slightly at Satiet's 'look', and if anything, looks somewhat pleased. He folds arms casually across his chest, alternating between watching C'len's inspection, and keeping an eye on Maja. "No, sir," he answers C'len, with perfectly straight face, "Little too much greenrider." His eyes go towards his sheets, looking a little wry. "It's just a bit of dust from the charcoal sticks." Maja's words, however, quickly draw his attention, and given that his arms are already crossed, it's not that much of a stretch for him to very subtly alter his posture, so that he's mimicking Maja's stance -exactly-. Wide eyed, he asks, "What, can't you reach that low?" Disinterest flickers in the weyrwoman's pale eyes as she follows Rathin to Maja and gets a glimpse of that slate. So disinteresting is it that Satiet turns and takes a few steps towards Shalyn and while there's a distinct lack of reprimand in her cool gaze, she looks marvelously displeased. The various pieces are put together in a split second, C'len's interjection of the state of Rathin's cheeks earning a very thin smirk. With voice low, meant only for those closest by, she comments, "It's an unfair fight pitting a candidate with a rider. The punishment he'd receive for striking back would be severe in comparison to you, and given your state, I doubt not that he goaded such a response. Nonetheless, I hope not to hear of such incidents again. Now," the smirk deepens sardonically, "If you pit words against him and somehow beat him at his little verbal game, I'd like to be present with snacks for the show." Harley is remaining quiet, near Rachiel, simply watching events unfold and wishing she had a meatroll or something to munch on. Her stomach agrees with her adding a particularly loud grumble, causing her face to go pink. Shalyn bites her lip to avoid either grinning or laughing, when she does articulate her voice it is very quiet so only the queenrider could hear, "Yes ma'am, on both points." Maja immediately turns around towards Rathin at his remark, her dark eyes highlighted with flame as she approaches him. "If you don't remove that," she threatens, though in a soft voice so that -hopefully- the entire room doesn't hear, "You'll see how low I -can- reach. And you'll be looking up at me from much further down than you are now." Rachiel turns around and glares at Rathin for a moment, then glances at Maja and watches what happens. "Shards, all of you need to grow up," C'len says suddenly, as he notes the slate. Long strides--for he's tall, like Maja--carry him to the perch where he picks up the slate and then returns to his point of inspection. Of course, as a candidate, his group probably did similar things. "Clean your sheets. And I'm assuming you have nothing weird growing in your press, candidate." The rider then moves on to the next cot, but does call over his shoulder to Maja, "Is it worth it?" Next up is Harley. "You should go rest now," Satiet allows, the discomfort of Shalyn's proximity betrayed with a glance stolen down towards the greenrider's belly -- as if pregnancy may be infectious. "If you wish to speak with Harley for the next sevenday, perhaps you could find places other than the barracks to run into each other. For the benefit of all parties involved." One fire semi-managed, the goldrider turns, shoulders squaring back to find what's left of the rest of the barracks and with faint relief finds C'len taking charge. Rathin would probably be keenly interested in Satiet's words; unfortunately for him she's speaking too low for him to hear - and he is somewhat distracted by Maja's approach. His arms remain folded across his chest, though he has to look up a little to meet the taller candidate's eyes. His voice is deliberately casual, and he's making no effort to lower his own voice, "Should I start keeping a scoreboard of threats you're going to make against me? You know, one of these days you'll have to follow through, or I'll think you're all talk and no action." Without taking his eyes off Maja, he answers C'len: "No, sir." He's probably answering the question directed to him, but giving the timing, he could also be answering the bronzerider's question of Maja. Shalyn nodnods, "Yes ma'am, I was just heading out when you came in." she salutes and heads for the door. Shalyn meanders out to the bowl. Shalyn has left. Harley steps back, on the other side of her cot, moving away from Rachiel for now. She doesn't hear Satiet or Shalyn speaking to each other. A sigh of relief emerges when C'len gets hold of that slate and she can't resist offering "There's nothing growing in my trunk Sir. Or anything odd or out of the ordinary." and she smiles. "You're going to want to remove the slate," Maja repeats her request, no humor in her voice, her eyes narrowing. "Perhaps you'll also want to watch your back from now on," she adds, then glances up towards C'len. Maja's got a pretty bad temper which has gone unchecked today, and C'len's question does bring her back to her senses. She takes a deep breath to calm down, shakes her head, and heads back toward her cot. "Thank you, C'len, for taking that down." she notes towards the bronzerider. Folded arms find themselves crossed over Satiet's chest, and with Shalyn not melting down a la pregnant style on her directive, she seems to take the moment of being the outsider to enjoy what's going on. There's a keen flicker of disappointment at how quickly Maja calms down, and the weyrwoman calls out idly, "I'm sure Rathin feels a sense of imbalance to his height. One cheek'll be fatter than the other in a moment. Ma always said balance is required in life." C'len carries the slate with him as he studies Harley's cot, which seems clean enough and certainly doesn't have a dusting of charcoal. "Could you open your press for me?" He asks, casting another look over his shoulder to where Rathin stands--as if to point out that he didn't ask the same thing of him. He coughs once, hearing Satiet's remark, before grinning slightly. "Three," Rathin says, apparently taking his earlier comment to heart. "Wait, slow down, I need to get a slate to keep track." He's got a strange glint to his eyes, almost as if he's enjoying himself. He takes note of C'len's removal of the slate, and offers a wry shrug. "Good thing there was a man about to save you, huh?" His eyes drift towards Satiet, now that the immediate threat of Maja's temper is somewhat lessened, the candidate calling, "You're always welcome to try me again, Satiet of High Reaches. -Ma'am-." Faint, but deliberate emphasis. Harley blinks, surprise filling her face. She speaks a 'thank you' out loud to someone who isn't there. Hearing C'len's request mere seconds later, she grins. Opening her trunk to reveal all the usual trappings a candidate should have, as well as a big ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles. She adds in a whisper to C'len "The growing stuff is back in the other dorm." and she points in the direction of the lower caverns. A candidate in the back squirms, and then seems to somehow be involved in trying to switch his press with an empty one next to his. Stopping in her tracks, mid-sheet-smooth, Maja stands up straight. Her eyebrows rise quickly, and she gives a very distinct and meaningful look Satiet-wards. And then Rathin-wards. She snorts at his last insult about C'len being 'a man', struts over towards him and raises her hand quickly. She brings it back far for a hard backslap across the face. Luckily, for Rathin, she stops her hand just as it would touch him and watches to see if he'll flinch. C'len nods faintly at the contents of Harley's press but, seeing Maja's sudden movement turns and just lets out a soft sigh. Without watching to see what happens next between the two, the rider continues on with the inspections, letting Satiet deal with the pair in her official capacity. Hopefully there will be no suprises found in any of the presses--notedly, the recently switched one. There's more disappointment, she's allowed it as Maja hasn't actually followed through with the expected action. Interest rises quickly though, leaving Satiet to stare intently at Rathin. C'len meanders out to the bowl. C'len has left. Rachiel walks over to her cot, puts her sketching pad away and straightens her sheets a bit. She walks back over to Harley and blinks at Maja. Harley shifts suddenly, standing straighter and doing a bit more blinking of her own. She seems to be staring off into space for a moment before she focuses on Maja and Rathin. "Well, at least she's not using her sword." she mutters to Rachiel in a soft tone that hopefully doesn't carry over to the pair. Rathin stands his ground, and there's a reaction, but probably not quite the one that might've been expected. He doesn't flinch, but he does look outwardly surprised that Maja -doesn't- slap him, and even a bit puzzled. "You were going for the right. Interesting." A beat or two, as if waiting to see if there'll be any follow-through, then, "Too much of a rules person, aren't you? Afraid of the consequences, no? Perhaps the great-and-mighty weyrwoman would be kind enough to close her eyes, and thus we would lack an official witness." His tone - indeed, his speech - is somewhat odd, different - as if deliberately formal, not to mention deliberately provoking. Maja narrows her eyes, keeping a looming position over Rathin even as she drops her hand to the side. "Great and mighty?" she whispers, only to him, then lifts her chin up. "The fact is, Rathin, I won't slap you. Not now. Not that I want to know why, but it's because you -want- me to." She takes a few steps backwards, then turns around and heads back to her cot. Any other comments she could say are left to the imagination. The inner-child that persistently exists within Satiet allows the seconds to pass without intervention, but with resignation in pale eyes, she takes a few steps forward on the heels of Rathin's goading. "That's enough," sharp and clear, but still disappointed, her alto slices across the distance. "A sevenday, Rathin, for endangering the emotional well-being of a paras-, pregnant woman the healers will be expecting you to work your endearing charms in the infirmary with vats of numbweed and making sure they're stored correctly." A pause allows for Maja's reaction to sink in, drawing out mocking bemusement for the pair in crystalline eyes. "It's a pity. I would have almost enjoyed locking the two of you in the latrines cavern until the skin was torn off either of you, or you'd come out canoodling. Pity." Shrugging, the dark-haired woman moves towards Harley, following after C'len's inspection with a cursory flicker. She asides to the former assistant steward in a fake whisper that's mean to be heard, "If anything should happen, you'll be sure to tell me, hmm?" Rachiel nods and walks toward the door, motioning for Harley to follow. Harley is closing her trunk and straightens. Her eyebrows go up and she blinks, but can't resist a small smile and nod to the Weyrwoman. "Of course." she whispers in a tone that is not heard by anyone other than Satiet, though of course they see her nod. A little grin appears on Rathin's lips, unbidden, at the whisper, though he doesn't elaborate. "We can always wait for the bronzerider to come back and do it for you?" His words are directed at Maja's back as she heads for her cot, his arms unfolding casually. Straightening, he spins to face Satiet, eyes dark. "What? -She- slapped -me-! She deliberately misinterpreted my words. If I thought she was loose legged, I'd have -called- her that." Beat. "Ma'am. So what's going to happen to -her-?" The threat, as empty as it is, is blithely ignored, though the scruffy-haired candidate doesn't miss the not-so-quiet whisper to Harley with a long look. Rachiel strolls out to the bowl. Rachiel has left. "C'len wouldn't have the courage, anyway," Maja replies to Rathin, sliding atop her cot to wait for the inspection. "What -is- going to happen to Shalyn?" Maja inquires of Satiet, looking more-than-naturally interested in the topic. Harley double checks her cot and looks around. "Do you need us for anything else Weyrwoman?" she asks Satiet once her area seems to have been inspected. Maja's question catches her attention and her own curiosity comes to the fore now. "That would be for the Weyrwoman and her wingleader to decide, candidates. Pregnancy is no excuse for her actions." There's emphasis in the title bestowed the pair, as well as the entire room, and Satiet's voice suddenly turns coldly distant. "But for the interim, she will not be entering the barracks for a sevenday. Unless," in the midst of rifling through the cots on the side C'len didn't inspect, the slender woman straightens to spare Rathin a flat look, "You'd prefer to make a public apology for mocking a rider at dinner tomorrow night?" "You don't either, it seems, so I wouldn't go about casting stones," is Rathin's comment towards Maja, with only the briefest of looks given to the other candidate. A brow flickers up at Satiet's words, and the scruffy-haired candidate says plainly, "I could apologise, but I'd be lying. -Ma'am-. Her behaviour was unacceptable for anyone, let alone a supposed great-and-vaunted member of the defenders of Pern." He's laying it on a bit thick now, but it's deliberate just the same, as if to make a point. "It seems," Maja repeats, crossing her arms and suddenly reserved and quiet. She is still interested in the conversation with Rathin and Satiet, and watches the two of them, listening closely. Morowen meanders out to the bowl. Morowen has left. Harley is torn between leaving to get to those other things and staying and listening to this fascinating conversation and she wavers between the two. Finally, she decides to head out and nods to Maja, Satiet and Rathin. "If you'll excuse me" she murmurs as she heads towards the bowl. "Then we'll leave it with infirmary duty." Satiet allows the scarf material in her hands to drop back into the press. "Those who've had their areas inspected are free to go." - "No," the weyrwoman levels a look to Rathin, including Maja a half beat later with an inclination of her chin, "It's not excusable behavior in the supposed great-and-vaunted defenders of Pern. Do you wish me to repeat myself, Rathin, or are you hard of hearing? Her behavior will be dealt with by her superiors. You may not have meant what she construed as the intent of your words," her lips twist wryly in a moment of sarcastic pause, "But she is not the only one to sense a current of disrespect. Do you wish to push the issue further, candidate?" Harley strides out to the bowl. Harley has left. Rathin's scowling a bit, but he doesn't protest verbally, which is probably an indication he doesn't consider the punishment -too- dire a fate. "Huh." There's a long pause, as the candidate draws himself up a little - at least facing Satiet he has the advantage of height - his head tipped to one side, affecting a slightly puzzled expression. His voice drops considerably, though it looks like the majority of the barrack's occupants have cleared out already. "As disrespectful as stealing from the orchard of a Lord Holder?" the candidate queries quietly, "Ma'am?" Satiet stays the coloring of her cheeks somehow, though a hint of flush lines her jawline. But amusement finds her cold glittering eyes, warming them up briefly in bemused challenge. "As such." Rathin's lips curve faintly, a tinge of amusement in the gesture as his eyes flicker over Satiet's face. "Than I shall bear such examples in mind, in future. Ma'am." Maja raises her eyebrows at Satiet's reaction, gives Rathin a much more scrutininzing inspection than she had before, and leans back on her bed. What -does- he know? "Good then," Satiet concludes her inspection, at least a quarter of the room being relieved of such honor due to the distraction that causes her to amble towards the bowl. Rathin's gaze follows Satiet briefly, though quickly loses interest as she conducts her inspections. Soon enough, he heads out towards the bowl, whistling under his breath. You wander out to the bowl. To: Satiet Subject: A gift... of sorts. At some point late that evening, a drudge appears at the entrance to your weyr and presents you with a single apple. If questioned, the drudge will say something about it being a present, and the person who gave it to him was 'some candidate'. |
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