Logs:Chop, Chop
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| RL Date: 24 October, 2015 |
| Who: T'gar, H'vier, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rategar helps Faryn chop up meat (which is her candidate task, not his) while H'vier looks in on them. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: pre-Hatching scene! |
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| The anxious energy of the weyr is palpable, a heavy pressure that perhaps nobody feels more acutely than the candidates do. In this, it is lucky they've all been assigned any number of chores to keep them both busy and prepared to hit the sands. As with Niahvth's eggs, Faryn's drawn the exact chore lot that would be expected: helping to guide the butchering of the meat for the new dragons. She's not a crafter anymore, but the supervising journeyman is a ways away now, helping a younger group manipulate a rather large buck to get the choice bits into the proper size pieces. Faryn is hunkered beside a beast herself, her blade moving with quick, sure strokes; the array of buckets around her are filling quickly, even if every once in a while she lifts her eyes to check those around her as well. One candidate doesn't seem to be feeling the pressure it all, it looks like. Rat seems to be on a stroll, suggesting maybe he's either finished his chores or had managed to get himself lost along the way. He walks in like he's meant to be here, anyway, nodding to a few of the candidates he talks to as he makes a beeline for Faryn. As if she's the one he's been looking for. Hunkering down beside her with a knife out, "Looks like you need help," he offers, his knife held up for her to see. It's his greeting, too. Does it? Does it really? Because working alone at it, Faryn's whittled down both flank and shoulder in enviable time, enough that one of the girls on a smaller beast keeps stopping to evaluate, and then adjusts the grip on her knife to try and accomplish Faryn's speed. She's going to cut her own fingers off, if she's not careful. The former beastcrafter doesn't miss her own beats. "There's one right there," she points just in front of her to a beast that's been started but is nowhere near finished. "Get a bucket." Rategar looks non-plussed. He seems determined to rattle her today. He gives the other girl a cusory glance before he heads over towards the pointed beast casting a look her way as he says, "You know, I'm going to get you to smile one of these days," he vows as he starts in on it, showing his skill as well. Suspect, since he's supposedly related to Bitran blood. "Maybe lift one corner of your mouth. Get you to laugh and say my name. Maybe once all this waiting's over." Strong arms work as he talk, seeming to act as if they're picking up some conversation they had left off from. Faryn, though less worried about whether or not he's too deformed to stand than that younger girl, watches his first few goes with a dispassionate expression that culminates in a grunt of apparent approval. She fills her own bucket in a few swift swipes and shoves it away to join the growing congregation, dragging an empty one closer. "You should also try to train a tunnelsnake to talk, while you're at it." Slice. Slice. Slice. Rategar works through the beast in a systematic fashion, only pausing to take in Faryn's words before a huff of laughter is given. "Still working on that one," is his answer, a little too cheery. "Give me a few more sevens. So," and there's another pause as he reaches for his bucket. "You still ride during all of this?" 'This' being candidacy. "Since I'm hearing this clutch will go any day now." "No," Faryn's reply is short, without rancor. She and Rategar, along with a handful of younger candidates, are crouched among the carcasses of several beasts and buckets they're slowly filling with meat. Some are working in pairs; Faryn seems keen on working alone, and Rategar is just close enough to be a nuisance working on his own. "I have to stay in the weyr, just like everyone else. No point getting so many candidates to have some of them off and inaccessible." "I miss it," Rat relates on riding, moving cuts towards the bucket. "Probably a long time before any of us could, once this is all over. You have family here?" Yeah, he's probing. Just as well that he can chop up a beast and be chatty, all at the same time. H'vier must be bored. Is there any other reason he'd be making his way into the cavern with his eyes focused on the candidates hacking away at carcasses? Probably, but this is just as likely as any. "Hello, children," he greets the group despite their varying ages. He's old enough to do things like that. "Oh for--" Faryn's expletive is cut off into ungracious muttering at the sight of the bronzerider, and his greeting too. She ducks her head down and really starts at the beast like it's done her personal affront, answering Rat instead. Because, in this situation, silence is the ideal but Rategar somehow rates higher than H'vier. "No family." Children? Rategar's giving H'vier the eye as he enters, saying with a brief, "Hey, I know you." Yeah, he remembers. He looks at the kids around them though, seeming to hold his tongue as to where. He turns to regard Faryn then for her answer, "Where are they?" he asks then as he returns to hacking at the beast in front of him, making a lot less cuts than she currently is. As the bronzerider comes closer, it's clear his path is purposefully aimed toward the vicinity of Faryn and Rategar more than any of the other candidates. "My beautiful Faryn," says H'vier, ignoring the young man who's addressed him in favor of the woman. "I must say. Seeing you mutilating a perfectly nice carcass kind of turns me on." Only now does he glance at Rategar, briefly. They can probably both agree that Faryn is much nicer to look at. "Ughhhh." Faryn's cuts are shallow but efficient, and she's coming away with a piece of meat every time. She's good at this, still; some things just stick with you. "Here to offer your post-hatching comforting services to girls who are way too young for you, wingleader, sir?" The sarcasm drips from the titles, and she brandishes her knife while cutting, not missing a beat. "Would you like a stabbing, sir?" "Age is relative," H'vier assures Faryn before his voice rises just enough to address the rest of the present candidates. "If any of you girls are in need of some comfort after you fail to Impress again," at least for those that were at Niahvth's hatching, presumably, "I will be more than happy to offer it to you." When his attention refocuses on his real target, the bronzerider doesn't explicitly extend his offer, but it can probably be assumed. "Don't be foolish, Faryn. You may have been able to get me with the fork, but I know better now. And I'm perfectly well-equipped to disarm you." "Relative to what, exactly?" Faryn asks, though she really probably doesn't want the answer. It's out too quickly to leave her with anything more than a pinch of the lips that suggests she regrets not catching the question before it was voiced. As for the rest. "Damned missed opportunities." "Relative to how enjoyable someone likes their partners to be." That's probably not how H'vier answers that question for everyone, but Faryn makes it easy to want to push her. "How about you come to my weyr the next time you're able, I'll give you a knife. And however manages to stab the other wins." Sounds like a fun game, right?! Rat's been here all along, really. Before he could address either of them further, one of the younger candidates had pulled him away for help with the chopping. Now he was back, watching the exchange between bronzerider and candidate with an amused snort and a, "I'm learning that women are turned on by strange things in this Weyr." Yeah. He picks what he wants from their banter. Expect it. Faryn grunts an unintelligible response to H'vier, rolls her eyes at Rategar, and pushes to the balls of her feet so she can step over her beast and to its belly. Nothing like evisceration to add to a conversation. "This is true. For example, women keep falling in bed with him." Weird. Gross. Hey look, intestines. "I'm good at what I do." It kind of makes sense. There's some reason women sleep with him, after all. It can't just be his rugged good looks. H'vier isn't going to be defensive about it, but he turns his gaze back to Rategar now that the large candidate has rejoined them. "Who's your ugly friend, Faryn?" Then more directly to the young man, "I don't recall your name." Or whether names had come up when they first met, probably. "I'm almost inclined to agree," Rategar states to Faryn on H'vier with snort as he returns to his work. "About your family," he adds to her. He hasn't forgotten. To H'vier, though, he straightens up as he looks the man over for his question to Faryn. "Don't think I gave it," he says on names. "You didn't give yours, either. I seem to recall you showing off for a girl with a runner." Or something. His memory must be muddy. "Name's Rat," he supplies it, hands deep in bloody carcass. "Not my friend," Faryn disavows instantly of Rat, and lets them go at it with quite a lot of intention as she strips the herdbeast of its vital organs and separates them into a bucket that isn't meat. Maybe some dragon will take them later. There's a snap of tendons. "Now we're all acquainted. Joy." Is it hot when a girl yanks a heart out of a chest cavity? Who cares, it's what she does. "H'vier, Iceberg Wingleader and rider of bronze Reisoth," he introduces himself. It sounds official, but slightly bored, too. He's watching both of them with their carcasses, perhaps Faryn more closely than Rategar, but seems unaffected by the bodies. He's been a dragonrider for over two decades. He can hardly be squeamish about such things at this point. "And I'll have you know that girl made that night very enjoyable." "She was weird if she got off on seeing runner balls, H'vier," Rat tells him with a knowing look. "In any case, me and Faryn aren't friends yet. She's warming up to me, though. I think last time, I had saw her lips quiver as if she was going to smile. Almost. Either that or I'm starting to think that she hates all the men in this here Weyr. Well met, H'vier." He has a smile as he tosses guts into another bucket. It's a very good thing Faryn's really focused on her job. This way, it's unlikely that H'vier and Rategar will notice the judgemental look on her face or the way her nose wrinkles up like she's smelled something horrible. She doesn't want to know, and this time, she does really well not asking. "Not all men. Just you two, and I think that would stand even if you were women. Do you even hear yourselves?" "She wasn't there to see his fucking balls," H'vier says, annoyed by, well, something. It's probably hard to imagine what he could be annoyed about in this circumstance. "Hate is such a strong word, Faryn. But suit yourself." To the other man, "I'm not sure I'd waste your energy on her. She's pretty, but I'm not sure she's worth the effort. At least not if you enjoy willing women." And H'vier, at least, is quite fond of them. "What's so wrong with me?" Rategar even takes a look at himself, all bloody hands and all. "I've been nothing but nice to you, Faryn. Gentlemanly, even." To H'vier for his comment, "What, you've tried already?" he asks, referring to, yes, Faryn. The sound the knife makes when Faryn drives it hilt-deep in the beast before her is sick and wet. The sound she makes is frustrated. "Do you think we're all stupid enough to fall for your lies or your fake chivalry? Gentlemen take a woman saying no gracefully." The look she cuts H'vier is--daresay--almost relieved. "Yes, by all means. I'm too much trouble, go harass someone else forever." "In some manner," H'vier answers Rategar. Which is to say, he hasn't tried very hard. Just enough to know that it's more trouble than it's worth, presumably. Except, "I've never claimed to be a gentleman, Faryn. I don't require intelligence to enjoy a woman's company, only open legs." There's something darker, agitated, about the way he says it now, but he continues, "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll take a nap before these eggs decide to hatch. Enjoy your viscera, candidates." And then he turns to make his way back out to the bowl. Rat is amused. It's evident as he tosses the last of his cut meat into the bucket before getting to his feet. "You're quick to judge, you know that?" he notes to Faryn as he wipes his bloody hands. And, really, something H'vier says seems to resonate with him since he's laughing, but he's not saying what. He only watches the man go. H'vier's departure should offer some solace, but it doesn't, not for Faryn who's wound tight tight. She yanks her knife back out, wipes the flats of the blade on what remains of the coars fur, and sheathes it as she stands. "I'm moving these. You keep cutting." That's what she has to say about that, and she's true to her word. She stands, picking up two of the buckets and starting away to the back of the cavern, where the weyrlingmasters will be able to gather their goods when the time is right. |
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