Logs:Worse Than Dragon Morning Breath
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| RL Date: 20 June, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Isidro |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee and Isidro knock another off the lists given to candidates in the form of wherry butchery. |
| Where: Near the Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Dee and Isidro have the best chore today, one step back from the chore that would have them scraping up the frozen or still steaming innards of dragon kills. Wherry carcasses for the evening repast are piled in wait for butchery in the usual place for this assignment, the necessary sharp knives available for once they've plucked the avians clean. Dee's nose is wrinkled as she ties the leather apron around herself to protect from the blood and-- everything else. "Smells like dragons' morning breath," she tells Isidro helpfully, unhappily before moving toward the pile. For the most part, despite being more fussy than your average young man about his appearance, Isidro has not been one to complain that there's work involved in being a Candidate. This? Well, it's telling that he reports for this afternoon's work wearing a shirt that's about three sizes too big and clearly pulled out of storage for this express purpose. More telling that he's making distateful faces immediately upon arrival. "Worse than that, probably. So glad I didn't have anything heavy for lunch." "Yeah. It's old by the time it's morning breath," Dee decides after Isidro's words cause her to reconsider the question. "So, pluck, eviscerate, rinse, truss, I think?" The girl reviews her mental list of the expected order of operations, nose still wrinkled. It might just get stuck that way. She doesn't waste time, though, selecting for herself a plump wherry and taking it to one of the stools provided for the workers doing tedious chores such as plucking. "It's nice that dragons don't want cooked food. Can you imagine how much more we'd have to do for them if we Impress?" It's Dee's habit to provide idle conversation during work; in an ideal world, it makes the time pass more quickly, but not always. A heavy sigh accompanies Isidro as he hefts one himself. "I would mind the cooking considerably less than this. Maybe they could be persuaded to accept other kinds of protein." The plucking process is at least not the most distasteful part about this, and he sets about that without much dawdling, although maybe not in the most efficient way possible. "Although, I guess cracking that many eggs would get tedious very quickly, wouldn't it? Still, less gruesome. And the cooking would be easy. Big cast iron pan?" "Legumes?" Dee suggests with ready amusement for the idea. "Ooh, or vast quantities of cheese." By now, she's grinning goofily despite the unpleasantness of the task at hand. Her hands move across the feathers as quickly and efficiently as she can. "The cooking would probably have to happen in batches," she theorizes. "Unless they made special cook pits for them in the bowl?" "Beans or cheese... either way, I think the smell in the end might wind up being worse than this." Isidro's disgusted face this time is a more exaggerated thing, humor for effect. Once he's got his wherry most of the way... denuded? Once it's that far, he spends a bit of time going back over it to get the few strays. Dee's giggle is delighted and she doesn't bother to smother it because her hands are busy being ew. She turns her face just enough that she can see Isidro better and flashes him an appreciative smile. "I suppose it can't be much worse than firestone," she hazards before glancing down to the bird, sighing. "Now for the fun part," Dee murmurs with resignation. "Firestone is a less... less... biological smell." It takes Isidro a few moments there to come up with the right descriptor. "A lot of the riders seem to end up smelling a little bit of it, but have to say, I don't really mind much." There's a bit of a smile at the end, with that, but then reality has to go and rear its ugly head. Literally. "I guess at some point we have to break down and actually decapitate these poor things." "And take the feet off, though I think they want them for stock." Dee makes the appropriate face for foot stock, and then lets herself have one more sigh. "I'd take a firestone smelling rider over this any day." It's probably one of the only chores she's ever complained of, but there it is. She's resolute in her movements to do as her comrade suggests, finding the sharpest cleavers to do the job. Isidro gives her a Look, with eyebrows raised. "Just over this? Please!" It's a very forced sort of lightness, though. Hopefully they can carry on enough conversation about completely unrelated topics to avoid either having to dwell too much on the rest of the process. Once the bare minimum has been completed to avoid actually getting in trouble, he'll be off for the baths, and possibly for burning these clothes. |
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