Logs:Turnover Hangover
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| RL Date: 13 April, 2008 |
| Who: Milani, Leova, N'thei, Lynara |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| The land of milk and hangovers. Early afternoon on the first day of a new Turn sees half the staff groggy and crabby, kneading bred or scouring pots like work is the biggest imposition on such a day as this one. N'thei, one of the privileged taking it as a rest day, parks at a breakfast nook with a heap of food on a platter before him, apparently transfixed by the swish of hips from a red-head sweeping ashes out of a night hearth. Eating is slow-going with said distraction. It's unconscionable really, how /cheerful/ Milani is as she sails in and promptly butters up one of the cooks for a bowl of something and then sashays away to wheedle cookies out of another. With her own meal secured, the assistant headwoman hums a little off-key and marches herself towards the nooks too, snagging a glass of water off an outbound tray on her way. "Thanks Assara!" she calls out gaily and then there she is walking along the row of nooks with a little bit of a swish of her own, likely unconscious as she juggles bowl, glass and cookies. Like Milani and unlike the majority of the weyr, Lynara steps into the kitchens, also no sign of a hangover present. Which, granted, is probably a good thing given her tender age. All sunshine and light. Disgusting really. Unknown weather the looks she receives from the kitchn staff are for her cheery mood...or what it is that swings from her belt hook. The young girl's height luckily keeps said objects, three, possibly four, tunnel-snakes...dead from the look of it, from dragging on the ground. Well, for the most part at least. N'thei's eyes are still red, and his chin hasn't renewed its acquaintance with his razor yet today, and Milani's cheer puts his teeth on edge. He distracts his attention from the hearth-cleaner to the whistler; sashay though she may, he doesn't look at the blond the same way he looked at the red-head. "Why are you carrying dead tunnelsnakes into the kitchen?" Downright blunt, right after Lynara passes into his field of vision. Milani pauses as she passes N'thei and sneaks a peek his way. Red eyes. Unshaven. Check. Probably prudent to skip the Weyrleader this morning. Maybe she's feeling perverse. "Maybe Cook's planning a special stew, just for you? You know, hangover cure and all," Milani proposes with a wide grin as she eyes Lynara's belt-decorations. "Tunnelsnake's supposed to be a delicacy in some parts I hear." Her shoulder fetches up against the nook's dividing wall between it and the next and she gives N'thei another look. "Have fun last night?" Perkily. Again. Lynara has some sort of contraption held in one hand, that becomes clearer as she hastily strides closer to the Assitant Headwoman and Weyrleader. What also becomes more clear are the dirt smudges across the bridge of her nose and forehead. Scrapes are apparent on the forearms, just below the rolled up sleeves. She's already lifted the contraption towards Milani, her face alight in its pride, "Millie, I told you...or was it Amerie, whatever." Slight shake of her head. "I said my new trap would work! Look at all these beauties I got out of I'ro's weyr? Not that he'll appreciate it. The way he was acting you'd think I put them in there to begin with." Snort. then the Weyrleader's words hit, "Um, Cook wanted them?" N'thei to Milani, the summary of his response to her persistent cheer encapsulated in a single-fingered gesture, to-the-point. "Did she." He sounds appropriately annoyed when his eyes look around for the guilty cook, his hands now bent to the task of sliding his heaped plate a little farther away, tunnelsnakes upsetting a delicate appetite the morning-after. "Don't just stand there with them." He could go on to call Lynara a little-idiot but he foregoes the effort, all the insult there in his tone. "You told Amerie," Milani answers Lynara with a quick grin. "And good on you for getting so many. I'ro'll be glad when they're not sliding around his feet in the middle of the night and biting his ankles." N'thei's single-fingered gesture just earns a single raised brow and she pushes away from the wall, moves to set her stuff down. "Do you need, like, some tea or something for that head, N'thei?" With actual concern and ignoring the spirit of the flip-off. Lynara's nose crinkles at the Weyrleaders attitude and tone, but she stops herself just short of sticking her tongue out at him. Nothing like a good healthy dose of self preservation to get you through till your next turnday. Shoving the end of the contraption back into a pocket, she unhooks the tunnelsnakes from her belt pausing to flash Milani a bright smile before handing them off to one of the kitchen staff sent by the Cook when she heard N'thei's dulcet tones. "A small hammer will suffice; have you taken to carrying one?" N'thei's smile brightens falsely, short-lived, flashed at Milani without a smidge of real cheer behind it. He looks over Milani momentarily, sees no promising hammer-shaped bulge on her person, and resolves to smear his palm across his face in lieu. "Your protege?" He looks dubiously at Lynara through a lattice of his fingers, no warmer for lack of snakes. "Hammer ... nope, but I do have a heavy set of keys." These Milani unhooks from her belt and sets on the table. She's gentle about it too, abandoning whistling and noise-torture. "Think that'll do if I hit you hard enough?" Again brows-raised across the table at the Weyrleader, peeking back at him through his self-made latticework. "Lyn's born and raised here. YOu know, weyrkid just like I was until I got me a fancyish knot. I've known her a long time." Because y'know, both she and Lynara have been alive /oh so long/. Lynara's head tilts to one side as she studies N'thei. Milani's words bringing forth a smile and nod. She doesn't realy look all that suprised or upset that her presence hasn't previously been noted by the Weyrleader. "Yeah. Me and Millie, we go /way/ back. Shells, I remember that time when she..." Linear thinking. Got to work on that. Attention back to N'thei, "You know, I can fix that hang over for you. That's what the problem is, right? You're not always like this in the morning are you?" She looks at the man dubiously. N'thei, "Ah." Suddenly, that makes sense, does nothing to diminish the quality of his peevishness. When Lynara rattles on, he looks further dismayed, his hands slid off his face until they function as a cradle for a lazy chin, scruff set in his palm. Her question goes unanswered, instead a pleading look sent toward Milani, help-me in his eyes. "No, N'thei's usually a model of cheer, brightness and ever-loving kindness," Milani says, completely deadpan to Lynara, but then she's holding up one of the cookies she got earlier. "Cookie, Lyn? They're really good. And I'm sure that in the end a man as wise as the Weyrleader has his own very um ... effective hangover cure." She shoots a brief, questioning look over at said bronzerider: that okay? Lynara's eyebrows raise slightly as her gaze sweeps over to N'thei. In the end she lifts her shoulders in a brief shrug. "OK, if you're certain. But I've heard other riders swear by it. Call it something like the 'Blood of the Canine that bit you', or maybe it was hair. I'm not sure, they were kinda slurring at the time." A quick hand deftly snakes out and snags the cookie from Milani, just in case she changes her mind. This si a cookie after all. "Thanks Millie." Munch. Silence. Leova comes through the hides covering the doorway from the lower caverns. Leova has arrived. N'thei's certain, not by word or nod; by look alone, he's certain. Milani's glibness skates without argument, in one ear and out the other, as little mind paid to it as the exchange of cookie from one girl to the next. Then; "We need a cavern to sleep sixty. Anything?" It's a sudden question put presumably to Milani, but Lynara's right there, so it's hard to differentiate. The three of them have appropriated one of the nooks, the Weyrleader in a state of hang-over with a pile of uneaten food before him, the two girls munching away at cookies, Milani and N'thei seated and Lynara standing. Mid-afternoon kitchen work progresses blearily as people nurse their revelry-headaches. "Sure. Some of the Stores that aren't packed to the gills or you know, the Hatching Grounds," Milani replies promptly, eyeing the Weyrleader with some interest for that question. She picks up her spoon to start in on her stew actually, though that pile of cookies is definitely a presence near her right hand and her glass of water. "I think maybe I'll take pity on you and not ask you a million questions about why you need a cavern for sixty, just now. Maybe." Squinting sidelong at N'thei, Milani eats some more food and quietly slides another cookie over for Lynara's consumption when she's ready. Lynara takes up the cookie with a grin, not one ot ever look a gift runner in the mouth and slips out of the nook. But not before she gives a head jerk to Millie, the you-know-where-to-find-me-if-you-need-me kinds. The Weyrleader gets another scrunching of her nose. "'Scuse me. I think I should prolly go get a bath." Yep, just cuz she knows he'd care. Speaking of headaches. Leova holds the hides very carefully away from her short-cropped hair as she passes through the doorway, letting them go with a smack behind her when she continues toward one of the side tables. Detouring for kitchen staff who actually work here takes her in a direction right past Lynara's back, right until Lynara gets up and she has to sidestep. Actual food. Klah. It's there somewhere. If she can just get herself there without running into anything. If all goes well. Lynara brushes the hides aside and steps into the lower caverns. Lynara has left. To the mention of storerooms, N'thei finds a new blandness toward Milani. "Otherwise disused." Somewhere between a lack of gratitude for Milani's curiosity-free charity and couldn't possibly care less about Lynara's bath, he finds a moment to trail Leova's passage with blood-shot eyes and nary a word. He /could/ call out about the dishwasher with his tray of pans on a crash-course with the weyrling. He does not. It takes Milani a second to parse that then she nods. "There's nothing disused anymore since Hayda cleaned up, just ... /less full/," she emphasizes and pulls her lips in a little, thinking. "I guess there's a couple of back caverns that're big, but they're like, drafty and leaky and you'd probably need two, not just one, because /sixty/ would be ... cramped." All that delivered and she eyes the trajectory of N'thei's gaze to Leova and the incipient collision, shoots the Weyrleader a /look/ then clears her throat. "Leova." Not called out but spoken audibly so as not to startle the weyrling. Which means Leova doesn't realize right away, focused on her own endeavors as she is, but it does mean that she realizes in time for it not to be a full-scale head-on collision. Still a shoulder-check. Pans falling, if only the top two. And the thing about metal pans is that when they hit rock, they clang. Right through the dishwasher yelling, "Those were /clean/!" Why can't anyone figure out what N'thei means without him having to explain himself? His grunt is clipped frustration. "Then make something disused." Shards-and-shells tone brought to bear. In something like karmic retribution, the clatter of the pans puts the man's teeth further on edge, squints his eyes closed hard until the din has time to echo echo echo in his brains and finally die away. Looking up, he frowns accusation at Leova for the din. Milani's teeth catch on her lower lip and she considers N'thei for a moment, but then there's pans crashing down making loud noises and she's flinching away too though not as much as the bronzerider across the way. The pans distract from the immediacy of an answer and she peeers over at Leova instead. "You okay, Leova? Narlin? I mean y'know, other than pans not being spick and span anymore." At the epicenter, Narlin recovers much more easily, at least when one counts physical equilibrium over rightful grumpiness. "Least it wasn't glass." With Leova still quailing from the racket, when she starts to reach for one of the fallen pans he beats her to it, prodding her hand out of the way with his foot before bending deep at the knees before recovering them without losing any more. "Shouldn't of swapped for that shift, Milani. Don't care how sweet he talked, should of remembered nobody takes day after Turn's End for a reason. Stand up, girl." This must be to Leova, who does. Merely spectating now, glazed eyes on the glimmer of cleaned pans while they're recovered, N'thei contributes nothing but unshaven, blood-shot, grouchy atmosphere. He tries again to eat. "Whole Weyr can't take the day off sadly," Milani chirps over to Narlin sympathetically. "I /am/ glad though that I stopped drinking early. Amerie and I spent the time jawing by the bonfire watching everyone else get silly instead." She chuckles softly and holds a cookie up. "You look like you could use one of these, Leova." She doesn't make the same offer to N'thei. Nothing's going to sweeten his disposition anyway. Instead: "I'll see what I can do N'thei. Might take a day or so." Narlin grunts. "Pretty something, that bonfire. Better than last Turn." He starts to do some jawing himself with the friendly assistant headwoman, but ends up with, "No! Hands off the pans, weyrling. I'll take care of it myself. Don't know where those hands have been." Leova yanks her hands behind her as though he'd slapped them, and as he shoves off to actually take care of things, relapses into following orders. Or suggestions, in the case of that cookie, which she sidles closer to take without really looking at it first. And when it's sunk in who's sitting next to her, just to make his day brighter she adds an off-kilter salute. With the cookie. N'thei has made many requests of Milani, this one has the ring of command; "Make it happen, Millie." He beholds Leova's cookie-salute with the first crack of a smile, the fringe of humor while his attention chases crumbs from the raised hand to the floor at her feet. "You look idiotic." Sounds like praise. That command earns a snap of Milani's eyes back to the Weyrleader and she gives him another long look. Ultimately though, there's a simple: "Sure." And she applies herself back to her stew, eating a few spoonsfuls then choking lightly at N'thei's remark to Leova. She looks between the two to see how this is going to go down. Leova finds herself just leaning against the outer edge of the nook. On Milani's side. She's started to rub her head as though she could get the ache out while she looks between the pair, but luckily it's with the cookie-free hand. "Thanks, sir. All those wingleader meetings. Learning a lot." Unconvinced; "Are you." N'thei drops a look to the cookie, drops a look to the hand that saluted him a moment ago, shakes his head, resumes eating. For all the amount of food before him, his appetite is wanting. He chews deliberately for a spell, swallows easily to counter-balance Milani choking in the background. "Like what." "Busy, busy, busy," Milani says sympathetically to Leova and next slides her water towards the Weyrling. "Only cure for a hangover's to drown it my brother says." With all the wisdom of someone who's probably never had a hangover in her life. She keeps working on her stew too though she's getting close to finishing it unlike the big guy over there. Him she's just got another look for. "Mm-hm." Leova waves the cookie: see? Just the thing for a man with a hangover to focus on. She sets it down, un-bitten-into, in favor of the water that she starts gulping down. It's a start, but her own look at Milani says, how about a little more help here. "Not falling asleep, say. How tight you can squeeze the words together before notes get sent back. Plenty useful things like that." It's all very dry, water or no. N'thei finds an uncharacteristically politic gloss to cover his words. "What a fine use of the weyr's resources." He's not going to get through his meal and there's no point pretending any more; he piles his silverware on the tray with a metallic clack, starts a slide around the bench that will bring him to his feet at its conclusion. "Your brother may have a point, my honey, I should get started on that. --Please, have a seat." The courtesy goes to Leova, whom he waves into his vacated chair with gentlemanly grace. "I'll get you a pitcher," Milani says helpfully in answer to that look of Leova's, followed up by something else of dubious helpfulness: "And that was formation stuff and resupplying a wing you were working on the other night, right?" See. Trying. Really. She's sliding to her feet too, right about when N'thei is and she gives him one of her dimpliest prettiest grins as she slides past him. "Hope it works, sir. I'll keep you posted on the space." Leova waves off the suggestion of a seat: she's fine. "Thanks." And that last is probably for Milani, but with her leaning like that, eyes half-hooded and hands cupped around the glass, it's hard to tell. Gratitude in a nod at Milani. N'thei scrapes away from the table with a short sniff when Leova foregoes the seat he so politely vacated for her. On his way out, added to Narlin's work, he rids himself of dishes and departs through the caverns, no fit company in his present state. |
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