Logs:Cleaning Company
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two's company, especially when cleaning duties are involved. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions |
| Early afternoon, hours after breakfast and after the first of High Reaches' two clutches breaks shell, duties carry on as usual for those candidates who didn't Impress with the sunrise. Having changed back into sturdy clothing more appropriate for working in the lower caverns than the too-large robe from this morning, Jocelyn's been making her way through the hallways replenishing dimmed glowbaskets and making sure that common areas remain free of debris. She's somewhat subdued in comparison to her usual briskness, nodding absently to the occasional passerby if they happen to attempt to exchange greetings while she keeps her focus squarely on the tasks at hand. He was there, of course, both at the hatching and the feast. Now it's past lunch and Z'kiel has returned to the innards of the Weyr after spending the rest of his morning with drills and other duties. He's dressed down a bit, without full leathers - but no less covered for it. Scarves, a heavy jacket, a knit cap in the colors of the 'Reaches, trousers and boots are only slightly better for the sake of appearances. Once he's inside, the gloves are stripped off and tied into the brightly colored sash at his waist and the jacket is opened enough to reveal a similarly brightly colored shirt with some peculiar, Rukbat-inspired embroidery. He's on his way to do something - and sucking his teeth while he goes, expression knotted up thoughtfully. Jocelyn's, "Excuse me, " from behind Z'kiel as she ducks around him to examine a small cluster of chairs and their shared, small table is a perfunctory one. There's a glance back in his direction soon after, however, followed by an almost puzzled, "You're that bronzerider." Anything further she might offer dissolves into a frown; setting down the two baskets stacked into one arm, she promptly crouches down to scoop up an abandoned sweets wrapper and a paperclip from under the little table, expression displeased when she straightens up once more. Litterbugs. Hnnnh. Z'kiel doesn't turn; there is no need. She's already moving around and past him, leaving the bronzerider to slow to a stop while Jocelyn continues to tidy things up. "Yes," is flatly intoned. "That bronzerider." Grunt. "Z'kiel. Ahtzudaeth's in Alpine." Because it's better late than never with introductions - or, more likely, his bronze is leaning on him, gauging by the momentary gloss in his eyes. There's something to the disorder of the space that quickly gets to him and he proceeds to start putting chairs in their rightful places or picking up this bit or another of trash. "Jocelyn, " returns the owner of that name shortly, observing the rider's attempts to help restore order to the small area with lifted eyebrows. "I did take what you and he said into consideration, " she adds, perhaps unnecessarily given the white knot she still wears. "Z'kiel." And she resumes her own efforts, glancing his way once the area's set to rights. More approving suggestion than actual direction follows: "You can put those bits in one of these baskets, " even as she's dropping the crinkled wrapper and paperclip into the top one, herself. An odd, somewhat musical hum-grunt escapes Z'kiel in reply. There's a slight duck of his head in an acknowledging nod - likely for name and explanation alike - and he moves to drop the trash into one of the baskets. "Trust Ahtzudaeth," he finally says. "Hasn't steered me wrong yet." More bits of detritus are collected, slowly but surely. "Had a feeling about those eggs," is added after a moment or two. He sucks his teeth and falls silent for the span of a heartbeat. Then: "Better one about Roszadyth's." But, even those words are said with a strange furrow of his brow, as if he doesn't fully understand just what he's said - or, rather, what was relayed to him. Jocelyn purses her lips faintly as she leaves one basket with Z'kiel, carrying the other to the next nearest niche of seats. "You can assure him that I won't be turning in this knot before Roszadyth's hatch, " she says at some length, briskly dusting off chairs and plumping cushions where applicable. "I've never put much stock in having feelings about how things will turn out, " but it's a sober enough statement, lacking in bite or dismissal. "It was - unfortunate, but twelve new pairs with the other thirteen will still be a large addition." "He isn't worried about that," is, if nothing else, matter-of-fact. Z'kiel snags the basket and carries it along with him to a section not far from Jocelyn. Conversation continues at a comfortable tone, at least, if only for the time being. Grunt. "Be surprised, sometimes. Sometimes it's worth listening to the gut and heart." A shoulder rises and falls in a lopsided shrug. "With her flight being what it is, wasn't much of a surprise. It happens. At least the ones that hatched are healthy and, Rukbat willing, so will Roszadyth's." He sets the basket down and ducks under one table to start picking up bits of nut shells and a few other bits that are large enough to be picked up. "Sometimes, " and if Jocelyn doesn't sound wholly convinced, she's at least willing to admit that sometimes, one should listen to one's gut instincts. "I feel a bit out of practice when it comes to following those." It's a quiet admission; her next words are more pitched to carry, tone even. "I assume that playing 'lower caverns worker' wasn't actually on your to-do list for the afternoon." Her subsequent glance is expectant, along with the unvoiced: surely he's more important things to do than help keep the floors clean? Another chair is scooted into place. Z'kiel replies, "At least it's something that can be learned." A sidelong look is angled her way. "Just takes being quiet. Not listening up here all the time." He raps a knuckle to the side of his head, demonstratively. "Helps to have a hobby." He passes a palm over the surface of one table and grimaces, the grimness cracked into a kind of lesser disgust. "Need a damp towel," is noted and, while he casts about for one, he answers, "Needed to get a few things. Nothing urgent." An eyebrow works its way upward. "Unless you wanted to do this alone." It's not a tease; the utterance is deadpan and earnest. Jocelyn's mouth opens and promptly closes again as she finishes with this latest grouping of chairs, pale eyes studying the other as she circumnavigates the seats to join him in his section. "We can go grab a few towels, " she offers in response, almost carefully. There's a moment where she clears her throat, then: "If you wanted to keep at it, that is." Awkwardly, she slightly shifts her stance, switching the basket from one arm to be tucked into the other. Hnnnh. Z'kiel straightens and collects his basket, with a glance askance spared for Jocelyn. His movements are - as they have been - calculated and efficient. The answer to her second not-quite-question comes readily enough: "Lead the way." The lift of his chin is a wordless confirmation - and he won't budge until she makes a move to where those towels are. Nor is she liable to be free of him for the duration; until the caverns are clean, he'll not go anywhere, though he might not be the most talkative throughout. And when he does go, it will be without a word or sound and, of course, when she's not looking. |
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