Lost, Lazy and Sorry

Characters Daija, Eresai, Sabrael
Synopsis Someone is lost, someone claims not to be lazy, someone is sorry.
Out-of-Character Date December 23, 2014

Igen Weyr - Storage Caverns
This room is, literally, under construction. It seems after so many centuries the cooks are finally tired of sending their staff off to the deep inner storage caverns for supplies. The front end of the cavern is newly carved out and shelves are in various stages of assembly. Farther back in the room the stone is still being worked at by miners with all sorts of scaffolding, buckets, picks and other very non-kitchen items in use.

Construction - the banging, thunking, clunking, chipping, and various other sounds - isn't the usual backdrop for calm repose, but here Daija is, leaning against one smooth wall while a couple of miners are busy at work. She has her black hair braided in a single plait down her back, and an all-black ensemble that speaks of the desert atmosphere. Her dark eyes are flitting to-and-fro, watching the workers work, with an untouched sack of.. something.. lying at her feet, which happen to be crossed. Anyone who happened upon the candidate would see a young woman in thought, relaxing in an unlikely location; those that know the girl better, however, would guess differently.

Sabrael looks more than a little out of place as she enters the caverns. Bright blue eyes sweep around and her shoulders slump slightly. Nope, this is not where she meant to be. It's quite possible that she's been wandering for a bit, trying to find wherever it is she should be right now. Reaching upwards she rubs a hand against her bag as her eyes pick out the only familiar face in the room. Screwing up her courage Sabrael ghosts past a few workers to approach Daija. "Um… hey." Right, not ready for the question just yet.

The former-infirmary aide, present day candidate, is standing in a relaxed position up against the wall, a sack at her feet. She's been busy watching the miners work, for some time, and only lifts her eyes to glance at Sabrael as she approaches. "Hey," Daija greets back, openly assessing the other girl.

Eresai is dust-covered. Not the sort of dust that accumulates when one simply stands in one location (relaxing or not) for too long, but the fine light powdery dust of sanded wood. He's wiping his hands down the front of his work apron which has telltale wood curls here and there stuck to the fibers, and heading for the kitchens. It must be break time. He stops as he nears the two girls, hazel eyes going between them, one then the other and back. Conspiracy? His suspicious look suggests it. "…Hi." He offers after a moment, hardly his usual bright greeting, but one that laces his voice thicker and slower with an edge of caution.

Daija doesn't tower over Sabrael like most people. Like Eeresai over there who is just plain TALL. The woman gets a bit of a shy smile and another deep breath. "I was wonder… hey Eresai." The act of starting to ask her question is cut off by the other candidate's approach. "Are.. you working?" Her eyes flick past the pair to where the building happens.

Blankness greets the start of the question, a lack of understanding until she gets to the point— which she doesn't, because Eresai so kindly interrupts them. Daija doesn't huff and puff, but flicks questioning eyes towards the woodcrafter. "Got lost?" is all she says, not even to Sabrael, but to Eresai. Her slim arms cross over her blousy shirt and she rocks back on her heels, legs braced wide apart; her tongue even tucks into the side of her cheek, her eyes squinting— patient, unperturbed, waiting.

Getting lost, a likely story. Eresai looks between the girls one more time before he answers, "Yyyes." The first sound drawn out uncertainly, though he's almost certainly not unsure if he's been working. He's wearing the evidence after all. "Sanding shelf separators." He adds a moment later. "Are you?" He asks the question of both, presumably meaning are they working? Even though he's asking, he already sounds dubious about anticipated affirmative answers.

Sabrael is slightly lost when Daija directs her 'lost' question towards the sanddust covered teen. Is that meant for her? But no, because she's looking at him? Excuse her as she blinks a few more times. Eresai's question at least seems directed at her so she answers with uncertainty, "uh, yeah…. These… aren't the storage caverns?" Eyes dance across the workers then back to the pair. "Um, yet?"

Squinting— squintier. "Sure look like ya lost," Daija quips, ignoring the apron and dust-covered clothing Eresai wears. She spares Sabrael a quick look, and answers readily with a short shrug that could just as easily be her adjusting her shoulders. "No. Off. Just.. hangin' round and stuff." Her narrowed eyes leave Eresai /again/, to find Sabrael, and on, to the workers. "Stores're too deep. Pain in the ass to get things and bring em back. They're buildin new ones. Ma says they'll be nicer'n the Weyrwoman's weyr."

For all that Daija was looking at him when she asked, Eresai must have assumed the lost question was for Sabrael (why wouldn't he?). His uncertain answer had almost certainly been for the small girl, but now that's all in question and he squints right back at Daija, his hands finding their way to his hips. "And you look lazy," clearly this is going to be a friendly exchange. "I'm a woodcrafter." Okay, candidate. But. In another life! He glances down to the sack, "Did you bring tunnelsnakes to populate the new caverns?" It actually sounds like a real question and not the mean commentary on what Daija's good for that it could be. This probably also serves to answer Sabrael's question of 'yet.' "They will be. Well, some of them anyway."

"Oh." Sabrael's voice is very tiny as Daija explains the situation about the caverns. So she wasn't sent to the wrong place. It just isn't the right place yet. Her eyes flick between the two brows furrowing. Those sound like fighting words coming from Eresai, and the small teen isn't totally sure what to do about it. Well, she could leave. But that would draw more attention then standing here mute. So she's going to do the mute thing.

Unimpressed— Daija sticks a pinky in one ear and wiggles it around, disinterested in the woodcrafter's salaciousness. "Nah, not lazy. Can't say what lazy does. /I'mma/ infirmary aide, been workin all night, whatta bout you?" with a /lazy/ flick of dark eyes towards the taller candidate. Her toe reaches out to kick the sack towards Eresai. "Look in it if ya so interested." But, to Sabrael, with hardly a blink between words— "Where'd ya come from? Not these parts?" Interest in Sabrael, and none in Eresai, might /suggest/ she doesn't care about the latter's situation.

Doesn't mind if he do! Eresai stoops to pick up the sack. There's no hissing, so chances are good whatever it isn't going to bite him. And if it does? Well, there's an infirmary aide right here! What could go wrong? "These won't attract tunnelsnakes," he points out, playing at seriousness as he drops the sack in pretended disgust, though there's a slight press of his lips together and a pull outward like he might like to smile. There's no overt sympathy for Daija's long night though, but he does follow her inquiry to Sabrael with a curious look himself. She wanted to be the center of everyone's attention, didn't she?

Blink. "Uh, Cothold By Igen river? My… family runs a ferry?" Sabrael curses herself inwards- why does everything come out like a question? The two of them have completely unsettled her. A shake of her head and she smiles slightly. "What… is in the bag?"

"No, but they'll make ya go to the latrines quick like." What emotion simmers in her dark eyes /could/ be humor, but neither does she smile or bat an eye, besides to shift her focus to Sabrael. "Igen River, eh? Bet ya miss the water. Not much out here." Daija crosses her arms over her shirt again, snuggling them up so the folds of black material billow over one forearm. "Herbs."

"I don't need any help in that area, and that's gross. Save it for the infirmary," Eresai advises Daija with a wrinkle of his nose. To Sabrael, he adds, "At least when I talk about my work it doesn't make you lose your appetite," which he might have since he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get to the kitchens anymore. "A ferry," he says thoughtfully, but makes no other comment. "And your from here?" He asks of Daija with polite curiosity.

"Are you leaving them here in the stores?" Because on one hand that totally makes sense to Sabrael. She relaxes slightly- this is totally normal interaction. "Little? I like the trees they have here." She waves in the general direction of back-that-a-way. She bounces slightly on her heels, head tilting to listen to her answer to his question.

A magnanimous shrug follows. "Suit yaself." Clean talk isn't much of Daija's forte - given what goes on in the infirmary anyway - but she's willing to give it a rest in lieu of other topics. "Nah, bringin it to the kitchens. Ma's a cook and aye," with a slanted look at Eresai, "born and raised." Of Igen, if her /look/ and /speech/ weren't apparent enough. "Desert's the best. Both day and night. One day'll have to show ya, if ya're still around."

"I'll be around," Eresai assures, but then he furrows his brow, "Or did you mean her?" Since he, apparently, is unclear about whom the tour offer is being given to. "Are you staying on, after? I mean, regardless." He asks of Sabrael with a renewed curiosity.

Reaching up Sabrael brushes hair out of her face, relaxing the rest of the way. "Because you're working here?" A nod towards the construction as a small smile appears. Small talk. Mastered! As for Daija's question Sabrael has to think for a second. "Maybe? I was thinking… maybe I could talk to a harper about… art. Do… either of you know someone?" Slightly hopeful.

Daija casts a dubious eye at Eresai. "Lily boy, ya'd die in the heat, and whine the whole way of the sand in ya'r shoes." She snorts and shakes her head, reaching to grab her sack of herbs. "Harpers all over. Check the records, or the craft rooms. Harper always got somethin to say." Then, she gives a sharp nod to each, in turn. "Gotta run, but.. see ya both round, yeah?" She, finally, flashes a grin of white teeth in her over-tanned face, and leaves her fellow candidates to it.

Daija has disconnected.

Eresai takes the moment in the wake of Daija's abrupt departure to roll his eyes at her back. "I was just.. I hadn't been here long when.." The teen is suddenly having some trouble finding his own words. Then after a moment of silent reflection, he offers a more put-together explanation. "I'd just walked the tables to senior apprentice and my journeywoman and I got posted here. Then the next thing you know, there are eggs and.." He lifts a hand to gesture to his knot as an end to the explanation. "I only know woodcrafters, really. And my sister's a weaver," which also doesn't help the younger girl. His tone, at least, is apologetic.

"She… isn't… really… nice… is she?" It comes out slowly as Sabrael stares at the back of the departed woman. It's only surprise that brings the words from her lips, the first mildly unkind thing she has said since coming to the weyr. "No, it's… I'll find someone. Sorry."

"No, not really," Eresai agrees with a shrug. "But sometimes that's better. Sometimes people are only nice because they feel like they have to be. At least with not so nice people you're sure they're being honest, because there's no point in being not nice and lying when you could get through life so much easier by being nice and lying." He's looking in the direction Daija departed as he says it before coming back to look at Sabrael. "So, art?" It's an opening; the interest is genuine. She can say what she likes, and he'll be an eager audience.

There's logic there and Sabrael slowly follows it down to the twisting path that it takes. Not everyone is nice for the right reasons. At least, that's the conclusion she comes to. "Yeah um. The Weyrleader asked me to paint some uh, anatomy things. Maybe it's a start?" A new lift at least. Sabrael brights up slightly at the prospect. PLANS. "And… you'll stay? No matter because?" and she gestures at the work-to-be-done.

"Anatomy," Eresai says the word thoughtfully. "For a particular purpose or does he just like anatomy?" The question is heavy in curiosity without apparent reason. "I'm posted here, so yeah. I expect we'll have the posting for at least two turns, unless there's an ornamental carpentry emergency somewhere else." His smile is wide, but close-lipped, dimples showing themselves nonetheless because that's funny, to him, anyway.

"Some times change is important." Totally deadpan there, Sabrael's wide eyes not giving a hint that she's joking. Well, until she breaks into a grin and brushes her hair aside. "If I get to stay… it'll be good to know people. It's.. hard to start over." Even if she totally does still need to get him back for the person-eating-gold-dragon thing.

Speaking of… The change of topic is abrupt. "Look, I'm sorry about the other day. About Feyruth and all." Eresai looks quite earnest when he say it. "This is my first time really being around dragons, and Tae told me he heard they ate people when we went into weyrwoman Janja's weyr, and had to go past Feyruth to do it. I think it goes without saying that she's scary." He doesn't have a problem admitting that. "But I didn't mean to make you think they really ate people. I don't think they do. I'm pretty sure it's just the kind of horror story my parents told us when we were kids to get us into bed at night." Holders, amiright?

"Oh…." Sabrael wrinkles her nose slightly, and looks a bit sheepish. "I… shouldn't be so… gullible." Don't think this gets him out of getting something squishy in his bed later. "I'm working on it." Like so many other things. Her eyes are on the ground again and she rubs a toe at an invisible speck, like she might clean it if she just rubs hard enough. Her hair falls forward to cover a slight flush on her cheeks. "I didn't know you were a holder."

"I'm not really, anymore," Eresai's answer is amicable. "I'm the fourth son in a very, very minor hold, so I'm really a crafter," if one can only be one thing. "Anyway, I ought to go get some food before I run out of break time," he ducks his head as he steps off to one side, toward the kitchen. "I'll see you," he offers, since they live in the same place and all.

"I'll see you!" Sabrael waves at his departing back and is left standing there. Turning she blinks, then under her breath swears slightly. She didn't think to ask the people-that-know the way to the real storage caverns. For a moment she considers calling out to Eresai but shakes her head. No, she'll find it. Or break down and ask someone again.

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