Log: Snakes
May. 1st, 2012 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently late spring on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 6th month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
What Ruchik -was- doing is obvious enough by the tools laid out on the ground, the splintered fence support that now lies on the ground, the obviously newer slat that's taken its place - set into the notches made for it, nailed in, but only secured with rope on the one side. Also lying in the open is the second bit of rope, the resin to solidify it and paint it down. Halfway through finishing. Abandoned. And Ruchik? Ruchik's got a box that surely once held those tools in gloved hands, and is crouch-walking along the outskirts of one of those shelters, pausing occasionally to listen, features those of a man on full alert.
Citlali is doing what Citlali does when nobody tells her to do a specific chore; that is, mucking. She appears to be quite the natural at mucking, moving fluidly as if it's second nature to her. It's quite possible that it /is/ second nature to her, as she also appears immune to the smell. Therefore, she's inside the shelter Ruchik's approaching, and looks over her shoulder when she hears footsteps. "Help you with something?" she asks, oblivious to if he's trying to remain unnoticed.
"Shhh!" is hissed out at the other candidate more than anything, one gloved hand raising a finger and pointing it square at Citlali. "Keep out of the way" adds the trader, coming up partways from his crouch, and squinting along the dirt. "Saw him come this way." Ruchik's tongue comes out to moisten his lips (absorbing dusted bits of Faranth knows what as he does so), blue eyes tracking along the ground again, fingers of the formerly-pointing hand now splayed, at the ready.
"Wha--" Citlali starts, though at least she's asking at a sharp whisper. The mannerism of Ruchik's behavior is too interesting for her not to keep watching him, though, abandoning the mucking for focus on trying to figure out who 'him' is. "Trying to catch some sort of animal?" is asked in a low tone, as she starts to lean against her shovel, giving up on work temporarily.
"'Snake," Ruchik replies, a whisper-hiss now. Slow sideways steps, legs moving in neat crossovers, brings him slowly around, a bit nearer to Citlali, looking back along his steps. "Just the one I was look-" and then there's movement that catches his eye, and the trader lunges, that box coming down hard on the ground... to cut off a line of trundlebugs, mid-trundle. The young man spits a wicked curse, and rocks back on his haunches, disappointed.
Citlali swallows a giggle, to the point where she actually has to physically swallow and look away as he catches a bunch of trundlebugs with a box meant for a snake. "I haven't seen one," she offers more quietly once the trundlebug fiasco is immediately over with. "Where was it? And /why/ are you intent on catching it?" Slowly, she begins to shovel again, just a little. Quietly. It's hard to do.
Leaning forward on his toes in his squatted position, Ruchik grabs his big box of failure, and gets up to his feet. "Thing went right past me." There's a quick bob of his head toward the fence repair-in-progress. "Had my hands full." The excuse is grumbled out, finished off with a bit of spit spat to the ground, and he lets the box bump at the end of his arm against his thigh. "Don't have my equipment for catching them anyway," isn't exactly an answer to the other candidate's question. "And got distracted." Blue eyes pin on the girl just a moment before he sends a final, hopeless little glance to the ground around the shelter, where the both of them stand - Citlali with a shovel, Ruchik with the aforementioned box, and no shovel of his own.
"I don't know what the purpose of catching them really is, unless you're trying to kill it to get rid of pests -- and there're cats to do that, yeah? Not part of our job," is Citlali's take on snake catching. Something she not only knows nothing about but doesn't really seem to want to, either. Except for how, well. She's still paying attention to what he's doing, and obviously wondering if, in fact, the snake is going to come back and get caught.
Beware of Harpers bearing gifts. Visible through the haze of dust and sunlight for a long ways, Miahve's form slowly resolves itself from a blurry blob into her recognizable shape, with the addition of a couple of extra blobs, those being waterskins that she carries awkwardly one under each arm. She follows the fenceline on the safe side, making for where Citlali and Ruchik are easily spotted. "Apparently," she begins, skipping over the 'hi how are ya' part of the conversation, "heat stroke and dehydration are becoming epidemic among Candidates. Here." Waterskins, plopped gracelessly on the ground at her feet.
Ruchik shrugs a little to Citlali, giving her now a slow once-over, looking up and down, before deciding to offer, "Don't know otherwise if they'll keep." That box is tapped against his leg idly, as if tied to a string and blown by the wind. "Probably had a hole somewhere around here. Wouldn't make sense otherwise. Too like to get trampled." No sooner than Miahve is recognized, Ruchik juts his chin out a little, and fixes some extra weight to that heavy brow, complete with a few furrows between his eyebrows. "Among stupid candidates," comes a mumbled correction.
"Miahve," Citlali says as she scoops up a waterskin, sounding as if she has been blessed by some magical gift, "My darling. You've saved me." Evidently she really was scarce on water, regardless of if she considers herself a particularly stupid candidate. "This your job for the day? Making sure nobody else dies of heat stroke? Because I could definitely go for a less smelly job one day." The snake is still getting thought about, though, obviously. "How big a hole?"
The good thing about a mumble is that Miahve can pretend not to have heard it. Or maybe really didn't hear it. She only glances Ruchik's way for a second, long enough for a smile to bloom in answer to the deepening of his scowl, a cheery counterpoint to his obvious displeasure. But maybe the smile is more because of Citlali's pleasure than any perverse enjoyment of Ruchik's lack thereof, for she turns to explain, "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got roped into carting this out to you. What /are/ you two doing?" she adds, looping a now free arm around a fence post and peering at the hole and the arcane box and the two of them collectively.
Ruchik shrugs, eyes flicking between Citlali (almost a companion on his hunt by this point) and Miahve (a decided outsider). When he answers, it's with a carefully measured, "Depends if it's just that one's, or if they share, I guess. If it goes somewhere, or if it doesn't. Things disappear right quick, though." And with all this shared, the harper is shot a look. As to the two of them, Ruchik takes the opportunity to provide the answer, free hand jutting a gloved thumb at Citlali. "Shit." And then a finger toward the fence, the scattered tools and materials. "Fence."
Citlali adds, for clarification: "That's what we're meant to be doing, anyway. We seem to have ended up on a snake hunt, though." What she actually thinks of that is completely masked in her voice; she's expressing no opinion either way, so it's anybody's guess. "And I, right /now/, am enjoying this water. Maybe the fence will start repairing itself if we watch it long enough, though." So far, it doesn't seem to be.
Miahve ahhhs after Chatty Cathy's explanation, like that clarifies except... it's on the tip of her tongue to ask what shit and fences have to do with holes in ground when Citlali supplies that tidbit. "Way to take initiative with snake-hunting, Candidates, you do the Weyr proud," she answers with praise so effusive that it's clearly mocking. "If you don't drink the water, I have to go back and tell them that. Just FYI." With a look to Ruchik, since Citlali is already being good and hydrating.
"Well, times like these, you want to deal with the clear dangers right off." It's a wonder, with words so sandy-dry, that the trader-date doesn't make a dive for that water even then. Blue eyes flick down to the waterskin, back up to Miahve. "There's lots of things you've got to tell 'them', isn't there?" A curse is whispered slowly, as if in awe. "Lots of responsibilities, you've got. I suppose you'll take that skin away if I don't drink it all up right now." Citlali's words have him looking back to that fence. "It's solid enough now. Just not reinforced. And unless there's going to be a raging dragon orgy in the next few minutes..." An expectant look is turned to the sky, and Ruchik waits.
"Doesn't appear to be, no," Citlali confirms, trying again not to laugh. Miahve gets a smile, though -- it's a small, quick flash of one, as if it's a secret, but it's there. "So I think the fence will, at least, last another hour. Not that I guess greens can really be predicted much." Her expression darkens only the very slightest little bit. "And it figures whomever it was has you reporting back! Assistant weyrlingmaster, I'm betting. Heatstroke isn't part of my life plan."
With breezy indifference, Miahve easily meets Ruchik's eyes, lifts a shrug, nudges the waterskin with her toe, and answers, "The thought crossed my mind." The one about taking it back. "But then I wouldn't be doing a very good job, and I do so strive to be a model Candidate like you two." Shifting her stance so she can put a hand atop the nearest post, pulling on it as much as her insignificant strength will permit, she adds, "Seems pretty sturdy to me. I'll tell," thanks to Citlali for supplying a rank there, "the assistant weyrlingmaster that you two are an ace team."
Ruchik waits with his face pointed at the sky a few extra moments, executing a lazy shrug when no sex-riled dragons are found. That empty box is absently brought before him, where he grips either end with both hands. It's given a testing tug, unconsciously mimicking Miahve's test of the fence, maybe. "Man, maybe we'll get a special prize or something." It's not really said to either of the girls, and comes with a free eyeroll on the side. The box goes to one hand (the other hand, now) and Ruchik grudgingly squats down to grab the waterskin. But it doesn't get opened. A few shuffling steps bring him a bit closer to the fence, and he gives a sighed, "'Snake's definitely gone."
"Successfully hunted and been ridden of just by us standing here," is Citlali's judgement, and she has a mockingly proud look on her face. It's not mocking anyone in particular, so much as in general; or maybe she's mocking the snake. "Maybe it just doesn't like dirty pen shelters, because I haven't actually finished the mucking yet. We'll find out, won't we -- actually, I hope we don't." There is more water to drink, though, and she can do that while using the shovel as a post to lean against.
Miahve, sweetly, "Don't be grumpy, darling, I'm just trying to make sure you survive to Hatching day." The same way that he subconsciously mimics her gesture, she subconsciously sidesteps to put the post where she's been loitering 'tween herself and Ruchik, hooking her elbow around it again like it's all so casual a gesture. Suffice it to say, she won't be shedding any tears when he wanders off. "Don't you ever get chores that aren't...?" She trails off, letting Citlali figure out the crux of the question. [Smelly? Dirty? Manly?]
"Touched," Ruchik offers to Miahve, thinning his lips as if trying to smile - though clearly not trying all that hard. "But you know, surviving's pretty well what I do best. Be a better use of your time, you go take care of the ones aren't so used to this kind of thing." One last look up (still no proddies), and he raises that unopened and unthanked waterskin in salute to the mucking girl. "You see that 'snake, give me a shout. Try and keep it cornered till I get there, I'll even name it after you." And it's back to that fence, a ways down - at least outside of easy earshot - and he puts down box and skin, picks up the rope, and continues with the reinforcement of the new beam, head down, girls ignored.
"Funny name for a snake!" Citlali calls after the departing Ruchik, only to droop a little more against the shovel once she's done raising her voice. "Me?" she asks, looking at Miahve -- as if there were anyone else there that question was directed at. It clearly wasn't for Ruchik. She thinks about it for a moment, and says, "Sure. Laundry. Kitchen duty. This is just easy, and kitchen duty kind of isn't, for me. I like laundry, though."
Miahve's closing comment, a subdued, "How silly of me," clearly wasn't meant for Ruchik, since she holds it until he's out of earshot, definitely too far away to hear a remark as low-pitched as that one. Anyway, he's gone, and she stays her attention on Citlali, brow drawn curiously upward. "Oh? You actually like laundry? Because I personally detest it. I don't suppose you ever draw anything like... storeroom duty or nanny assistant, do you?"
"I do actually like laundry, yeah. I find it kind of relaxing." Citlali doesn't appear to be ashamed by that, even if she seems to think it's a little silly. "That and I like the way it smells. Manure I've just kind of become used to, but laundry I actually enjoy." As for storeroom duties and nanny assisting, she actually has to stop and consider it -- again. For a minute. "If I do," she says, "I'll trade you for laundry. I'm not good with children. The stores I could probably handle."
"Neither am I," good with children, "but it's remarkable how easy it is to get them distracted with teaching ballads." And it's one of the few things Miahve can actually do reasonably well, go her! She nods firmly to answer for the suggested trade, saying, "Deal. Next time I draw laundry and you draw nanny duty, we'll swap." She's got quite a racket going now, and seems happy to add to the fold. "I'd give you my mucking chores, too, but I've already promised them elsewhere. Who knew people liked shoveling manure so much."
"There are other people signing up for that?" Citlali really laughs, now; head tossed a little and everything. "That's weird. Um, unless it's Rylsar, in which case it isn't -- I forgot he'd probably like that sort of chore too. I don't mind /not/ mucking, really, it always messes up my boots and I've got to spend the next century cleaning them. I did a lot more riding and training and a lot less mucking before." The manure gets a look, like, why isn't it all gone yet?
Miahve scuffs the bottom of her shoe across the ground, managing to convince a few little pebbles to rattle their way into the snake-hole that had so captivated Citlali and Ruchik before she gate-crashed their party. "It takes all kinds," she points out, assigning people who would be fascinated by snakes into much the same category as those that would vie for mucking duty. "I probably shouldn't keep you from your chores, since the whole point was to make sure you didn't expire before finishing them," she adds amusedly.
Well, Ruchik was dead set on it before Citlali even got involved, but Citlali just had to be nosy. "True. That's one thing I've definitely learned, being around candidates like this. Being one, I guess -- actually, no, the entire Weyr experience," because she was there short enough beforehand that candidacy is just a step in The Weyr Experience, "has demonstrated that it /definitely/ takes all kinds. And yeah, I suppose I should actually finish doing the work! Thank you so much for the water. Lifesaver."
Miahve uncoils her arm from around the fence post, saying readily, "You're welcome." For all she was supposedly meant to go back and report to whomever, she doesn't head off toward the caverns again at all, but instead takes a leisurely stroll along the fenceline, making vaguely toward the gardens. In no particular hurry.
Eventually, Citlali even finishes the mucking.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 6th month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
Feeding Pens
The feeding pens of Fort Weyr contain various herds of well-tended herdbeasts and clipped wherries, many eyeing you with definite caution. Against the rim of the bowl, sturdy shelters provide refuge from the weather; separate pens nearby provide space for breeding or, more rarely, ill animals to be cared for away from the main herd. A heavy fence surrounds the whole conglomeration, wandering a little way into the Weyr lake to provide water for the animals. Often, a proddy dragon terrorizes the beasts, feeding before taking 'flight' to taunt her chasers.
The weyrling barracks lie to the northeast, and the center bowl to the east.
It is a spring midmorning. The sky's a clear, gloriously vibrant blue.
What Ruchik -was- doing is obvious enough by the tools laid out on the ground, the splintered fence support that now lies on the ground, the obviously newer slat that's taken its place - set into the notches made for it, nailed in, but only secured with rope on the one side. Also lying in the open is the second bit of rope, the resin to solidify it and paint it down. Halfway through finishing. Abandoned. And Ruchik? Ruchik's got a box that surely once held those tools in gloved hands, and is crouch-walking along the outskirts of one of those shelters, pausing occasionally to listen, features those of a man on full alert.
Citlali is doing what Citlali does when nobody tells her to do a specific chore; that is, mucking. She appears to be quite the natural at mucking, moving fluidly as if it's second nature to her. It's quite possible that it /is/ second nature to her, as she also appears immune to the smell. Therefore, she's inside the shelter Ruchik's approaching, and looks over her shoulder when she hears footsteps. "Help you with something?" she asks, oblivious to if he's trying to remain unnoticed.
"Shhh!" is hissed out at the other candidate more than anything, one gloved hand raising a finger and pointing it square at Citlali. "Keep out of the way" adds the trader, coming up partways from his crouch, and squinting along the dirt. "Saw him come this way." Ruchik's tongue comes out to moisten his lips (absorbing dusted bits of Faranth knows what as he does so), blue eyes tracking along the ground again, fingers of the formerly-pointing hand now splayed, at the ready.
"Wha--" Citlali starts, though at least she's asking at a sharp whisper. The mannerism of Ruchik's behavior is too interesting for her not to keep watching him, though, abandoning the mucking for focus on trying to figure out who 'him' is. "Trying to catch some sort of animal?" is asked in a low tone, as she starts to lean against her shovel, giving up on work temporarily.
"'Snake," Ruchik replies, a whisper-hiss now. Slow sideways steps, legs moving in neat crossovers, brings him slowly around, a bit nearer to Citlali, looking back along his steps. "Just the one I was look-" and then there's movement that catches his eye, and the trader lunges, that box coming down hard on the ground... to cut off a line of trundlebugs, mid-trundle. The young man spits a wicked curse, and rocks back on his haunches, disappointed.
Citlali swallows a giggle, to the point where she actually has to physically swallow and look away as he catches a bunch of trundlebugs with a box meant for a snake. "I haven't seen one," she offers more quietly once the trundlebug fiasco is immediately over with. "Where was it? And /why/ are you intent on catching it?" Slowly, she begins to shovel again, just a little. Quietly. It's hard to do.
Leaning forward on his toes in his squatted position, Ruchik grabs his big box of failure, and gets up to his feet. "Thing went right past me." There's a quick bob of his head toward the fence repair-in-progress. "Had my hands full." The excuse is grumbled out, finished off with a bit of spit spat to the ground, and he lets the box bump at the end of his arm against his thigh. "Don't have my equipment for catching them anyway," isn't exactly an answer to the other candidate's question. "And got distracted." Blue eyes pin on the girl just a moment before he sends a final, hopeless little glance to the ground around the shelter, where the both of them stand - Citlali with a shovel, Ruchik with the aforementioned box, and no shovel of his own.
"I don't know what the purpose of catching them really is, unless you're trying to kill it to get rid of pests -- and there're cats to do that, yeah? Not part of our job," is Citlali's take on snake catching. Something she not only knows nothing about but doesn't really seem to want to, either. Except for how, well. She's still paying attention to what he's doing, and obviously wondering if, in fact, the snake is going to come back and get caught.
Beware of Harpers bearing gifts. Visible through the haze of dust and sunlight for a long ways, Miahve's form slowly resolves itself from a blurry blob into her recognizable shape, with the addition of a couple of extra blobs, those being waterskins that she carries awkwardly one under each arm. She follows the fenceline on the safe side, making for where Citlali and Ruchik are easily spotted. "Apparently," she begins, skipping over the 'hi how are ya' part of the conversation, "heat stroke and dehydration are becoming epidemic among Candidates. Here." Waterskins, plopped gracelessly on the ground at her feet.
Ruchik shrugs a little to Citlali, giving her now a slow once-over, looking up and down, before deciding to offer, "Don't know otherwise if they'll keep." That box is tapped against his leg idly, as if tied to a string and blown by the wind. "Probably had a hole somewhere around here. Wouldn't make sense otherwise. Too like to get trampled." No sooner than Miahve is recognized, Ruchik juts his chin out a little, and fixes some extra weight to that heavy brow, complete with a few furrows between his eyebrows. "Among stupid candidates," comes a mumbled correction.
"Miahve," Citlali says as she scoops up a waterskin, sounding as if she has been blessed by some magical gift, "My darling. You've saved me." Evidently she really was scarce on water, regardless of if she considers herself a particularly stupid candidate. "This your job for the day? Making sure nobody else dies of heat stroke? Because I could definitely go for a less smelly job one day." The snake is still getting thought about, though, obviously. "How big a hole?"
The good thing about a mumble is that Miahve can pretend not to have heard it. Or maybe really didn't hear it. She only glances Ruchik's way for a second, long enough for a smile to bloom in answer to the deepening of his scowl, a cheery counterpoint to his obvious displeasure. But maybe the smile is more because of Citlali's pleasure than any perverse enjoyment of Ruchik's lack thereof, for she turns to explain, "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got roped into carting this out to you. What /are/ you two doing?" she adds, looping a now free arm around a fence post and peering at the hole and the arcane box and the two of them collectively.
Ruchik shrugs, eyes flicking between Citlali (almost a companion on his hunt by this point) and Miahve (a decided outsider). When he answers, it's with a carefully measured, "Depends if it's just that one's, or if they share, I guess. If it goes somewhere, or if it doesn't. Things disappear right quick, though." And with all this shared, the harper is shot a look. As to the two of them, Ruchik takes the opportunity to provide the answer, free hand jutting a gloved thumb at Citlali. "Shit." And then a finger toward the fence, the scattered tools and materials. "Fence."
Citlali adds, for clarification: "That's what we're meant to be doing, anyway. We seem to have ended up on a snake hunt, though." What she actually thinks of that is completely masked in her voice; she's expressing no opinion either way, so it's anybody's guess. "And I, right /now/, am enjoying this water. Maybe the fence will start repairing itself if we watch it long enough, though." So far, it doesn't seem to be.
Miahve ahhhs after Chatty Cathy's explanation, like that clarifies except... it's on the tip of her tongue to ask what shit and fences have to do with holes in ground when Citlali supplies that tidbit. "Way to take initiative with snake-hunting, Candidates, you do the Weyr proud," she answers with praise so effusive that it's clearly mocking. "If you don't drink the water, I have to go back and tell them that. Just FYI." With a look to Ruchik, since Citlali is already being good and hydrating.
"Well, times like these, you want to deal with the clear dangers right off." It's a wonder, with words so sandy-dry, that the trader-date doesn't make a dive for that water even then. Blue eyes flick down to the waterskin, back up to Miahve. "There's lots of things you've got to tell 'them', isn't there?" A curse is whispered slowly, as if in awe. "Lots of responsibilities, you've got. I suppose you'll take that skin away if I don't drink it all up right now." Citlali's words have him looking back to that fence. "It's solid enough now. Just not reinforced. And unless there's going to be a raging dragon orgy in the next few minutes..." An expectant look is turned to the sky, and Ruchik waits.
"Doesn't appear to be, no," Citlali confirms, trying again not to laugh. Miahve gets a smile, though -- it's a small, quick flash of one, as if it's a secret, but it's there. "So I think the fence will, at least, last another hour. Not that I guess greens can really be predicted much." Her expression darkens only the very slightest little bit. "And it figures whomever it was has you reporting back! Assistant weyrlingmaster, I'm betting. Heatstroke isn't part of my life plan."
With breezy indifference, Miahve easily meets Ruchik's eyes, lifts a shrug, nudges the waterskin with her toe, and answers, "The thought crossed my mind." The one about taking it back. "But then I wouldn't be doing a very good job, and I do so strive to be a model Candidate like you two." Shifting her stance so she can put a hand atop the nearest post, pulling on it as much as her insignificant strength will permit, she adds, "Seems pretty sturdy to me. I'll tell," thanks to Citlali for supplying a rank there, "the assistant weyrlingmaster that you two are an ace team."
Ruchik waits with his face pointed at the sky a few extra moments, executing a lazy shrug when no sex-riled dragons are found. That empty box is absently brought before him, where he grips either end with both hands. It's given a testing tug, unconsciously mimicking Miahve's test of the fence, maybe. "Man, maybe we'll get a special prize or something." It's not really said to either of the girls, and comes with a free eyeroll on the side. The box goes to one hand (the other hand, now) and Ruchik grudgingly squats down to grab the waterskin. But it doesn't get opened. A few shuffling steps bring him a bit closer to the fence, and he gives a sighed, "'Snake's definitely gone."
"Successfully hunted and been ridden of just by us standing here," is Citlali's judgement, and she has a mockingly proud look on her face. It's not mocking anyone in particular, so much as in general; or maybe she's mocking the snake. "Maybe it just doesn't like dirty pen shelters, because I haven't actually finished the mucking yet. We'll find out, won't we -- actually, I hope we don't." There is more water to drink, though, and she can do that while using the shovel as a post to lean against.
Miahve, sweetly, "Don't be grumpy, darling, I'm just trying to make sure you survive to Hatching day." The same way that he subconsciously mimics her gesture, she subconsciously sidesteps to put the post where she's been loitering 'tween herself and Ruchik, hooking her elbow around it again like it's all so casual a gesture. Suffice it to say, she won't be shedding any tears when he wanders off. "Don't you ever get chores that aren't...?" She trails off, letting Citlali figure out the crux of the question. [Smelly? Dirty? Manly?]
"Touched," Ruchik offers to Miahve, thinning his lips as if trying to smile - though clearly not trying all that hard. "But you know, surviving's pretty well what I do best. Be a better use of your time, you go take care of the ones aren't so used to this kind of thing." One last look up (still no proddies), and he raises that unopened and unthanked waterskin in salute to the mucking girl. "You see that 'snake, give me a shout. Try and keep it cornered till I get there, I'll even name it after you." And it's back to that fence, a ways down - at least outside of easy earshot - and he puts down box and skin, picks up the rope, and continues with the reinforcement of the new beam, head down, girls ignored.
"Funny name for a snake!" Citlali calls after the departing Ruchik, only to droop a little more against the shovel once she's done raising her voice. "Me?" she asks, looking at Miahve -- as if there were anyone else there that question was directed at. It clearly wasn't for Ruchik. She thinks about it for a moment, and says, "Sure. Laundry. Kitchen duty. This is just easy, and kitchen duty kind of isn't, for me. I like laundry, though."
Miahve's closing comment, a subdued, "How silly of me," clearly wasn't meant for Ruchik, since she holds it until he's out of earshot, definitely too far away to hear a remark as low-pitched as that one. Anyway, he's gone, and she stays her attention on Citlali, brow drawn curiously upward. "Oh? You actually like laundry? Because I personally detest it. I don't suppose you ever draw anything like... storeroom duty or nanny assistant, do you?"
"I do actually like laundry, yeah. I find it kind of relaxing." Citlali doesn't appear to be ashamed by that, even if she seems to think it's a little silly. "That and I like the way it smells. Manure I've just kind of become used to, but laundry I actually enjoy." As for storeroom duties and nanny assisting, she actually has to stop and consider it -- again. For a minute. "If I do," she says, "I'll trade you for laundry. I'm not good with children. The stores I could probably handle."
"Neither am I," good with children, "but it's remarkable how easy it is to get them distracted with teaching ballads." And it's one of the few things Miahve can actually do reasonably well, go her! She nods firmly to answer for the suggested trade, saying, "Deal. Next time I draw laundry and you draw nanny duty, we'll swap." She's got quite a racket going now, and seems happy to add to the fold. "I'd give you my mucking chores, too, but I've already promised them elsewhere. Who knew people liked shoveling manure so much."
"There are other people signing up for that?" Citlali really laughs, now; head tossed a little and everything. "That's weird. Um, unless it's Rylsar, in which case it isn't -- I forgot he'd probably like that sort of chore too. I don't mind /not/ mucking, really, it always messes up my boots and I've got to spend the next century cleaning them. I did a lot more riding and training and a lot less mucking before." The manure gets a look, like, why isn't it all gone yet?
Miahve scuffs the bottom of her shoe across the ground, managing to convince a few little pebbles to rattle their way into the snake-hole that had so captivated Citlali and Ruchik before she gate-crashed their party. "It takes all kinds," she points out, assigning people who would be fascinated by snakes into much the same category as those that would vie for mucking duty. "I probably shouldn't keep you from your chores, since the whole point was to make sure you didn't expire before finishing them," she adds amusedly.
Well, Ruchik was dead set on it before Citlali even got involved, but Citlali just had to be nosy. "True. That's one thing I've definitely learned, being around candidates like this. Being one, I guess -- actually, no, the entire Weyr experience," because she was there short enough beforehand that candidacy is just a step in The Weyr Experience, "has demonstrated that it /definitely/ takes all kinds. And yeah, I suppose I should actually finish doing the work! Thank you so much for the water. Lifesaver."
Miahve uncoils her arm from around the fence post, saying readily, "You're welcome." For all she was supposedly meant to go back and report to whomever, she doesn't head off toward the caverns again at all, but instead takes a leisurely stroll along the fenceline, making vaguely toward the gardens. In no particular hurry.
Eventually, Citlali even finishes the mucking.
