Still Searching
Py runs into Nissa again, and this time she Searches her. Only she's really rather nasty to her first. A wee bit of newly arrived candidate Micail at the end.

I find I'm enjoying retired-Py far more than I should. *smirk*



Living Caverns

And on Pern ...
The time is 09:34.
It is midmorning of the thirty-second day of spring.
It is the first Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a spring midmorning.

Pyrene is sitting by the bowl entrance, enjoying the light draft blowing
through the canvas. Even more than this, she is enjoying a glass of
iced redfruit. There is a certain time of a woman's life where she does
not appreciate being stuck on hot sands day in, day out.

"Why do /I/ have to?" Nissa is whining to an older woman who looks much
like her as they come together from the inner caverns. "Because they're
short-handed, and you can't just stay in the laundry, Nissa," the other
woman replies wearily, and pushes the girl towards the kitchen. "You
do!" Nissa retorts, but goes where she's sent; reappearing a few moments
later with a heavy tray and a sulky expression.

Pyrene glances up at the minor commotion by the entrance to the lower
caverns. Spying Nissa with another tray, she smirks. "We /are/ getting
desperate, aren't we?" she opines, loud enough to be heard clear across
the cavern.

And heard she is - Nissa's face goes bright red, and she seems about to
retreat to the kitchen. But one of the regular kitchen workers gives her
a stern look, and Nissa makes her way - slowly - towards Pyrene,
stopping at each table to place a jumble of cutlery. She eventually
reaches the golrider's table, and sets the tray down without looking at
Pyrene; her blush has thankfully faded at this point.

Pyrene glances at the tray and then across the tables. "Are you setting
them out properly? Knives on the left, forks on the right, smallest on
the outside?" she asks helpfully. And then, by way of ostentatious
encouragement, she adds: "You're carrying that tray very nicely though."
[OOC:] Pyrene says "And, ironically, I've mixed the knives and forks up
in that pose..."

"No'm." Nissa doggedly doesn't look at Pyrene. "No-one said I had to do
that, just to put the cutlery on the table, that was all." The rest
might've been implied, but Nissa wouldn't know about that sort of thing.
She glances around to see if anyone can help her out, but the kitchen
staff are busy elsewhere.

Pyrene rolls her eyes (the girl's not looking at her, so why bother
keeping her expression neutral?). "Where were you brought up? I'll
have to speak to Marond about getting somebody to train you properly.
If you want to be a serving girl, you have to know these things." She
sips at her juice, studying the bundle of cutlery with an exaggerated
air of resignation.

"I /don't/ want to be a serving girl," Nissa replies irritably.
"Everyone keeps getting me to do it even though I don't want to. And we
never had more'n one fork each at home, so I don't know how to set lots
of them out!" She doesn't care who she's talking to any more - though
she still doesn't meet Pyrene's eye as she bangs the cutlery down into
place-settings as suggested.

Pyrene sniffs. "Watch your tone, young lady. You have to earn your
keep, and that means doing things we don't want to do. When /I/ was
your age, I was doing childcare. Serving tables is an easy ride, trust
me. And don't bang them down like that. You'll scratch the tables."
Although one would be hard put to notice it amidst all the other turns
of scratches.

"Sorry," Nissa mumbles, driven meek and mild again by Pyrene's scolding,
though her scowl doesn't completely disappear. She places the cutlery a
bit more neatly on the table, but still comments, "I'd rather stay in
the laundry. And I really don't want to look after smelly babies."

Pyrene furrows her brow. She understands the smelly babies sentiment,
as it matches hers. But the bit before that? "Why in the world would
you rather stay in the laundry?" she demands. "Getting rid of dodgy
stains in bedding. Having to handle everybody's underwear--great
Faranth, /Marond's/ underwear..." It just doesn't bear thinking about.
"The only thing laundry's got going for it is the gossip, and that
won't hold you out. Trust me, I've done just about every menial job
there is to do in this Weyr, and laundry is way down the list of
desirables." Listen to her voice of experience. The advice isn't
always good, but it keeps her happy.

"Well, I did all the mee... meni... housework at home, and I like
laundry. I like ironing, and I like everything smelling clean," Nissa
explains, straightening a last spoon in its place, and then picking up
her tray. Something Pyrene said strikes her and she tilts her head to
look at the woman: "You're a goldrider, why would you have done all the
menial jobs?"

Pyrene was watching Nissa speculatively, but when the girl finally turns
to look at her, she again rolls her eyes. She even shakes her head a
little. "We weren't /born/ Impressed, you know," she tells her, in a
duly withering tone. "I had to earn my keep before Cadgwith was
clutched, and candidates are expected to get to know the Weyr's workings
from the bottom up. Personally, I find that laundry lacks stimulation.
My mind's too active, you see," and her smile becomes saccharinely
sweet. "I get bored just doing something so repetitive. /I'm/," (oh,
the careful emphasis on that pronoun!) "far better suited to more
demanding tasks."

"Oh, I see." Nissa doesn't have much of a response for Pyrene on this;
she turns away without another word and starts to arrange the cutlery on
the nearest table instead.

Pyrene scowls at Nissa's back, suddenly looking very irked about
something. "And that's exactly why you'll never amount to anything,"
she calls after her, spitefully. "Get me some more juice, while you're
here."

"Why do I have to amount to anything?" Nissa asks, turning back to scowl
some more at the goldrider. "You people will always need someone to do
your laundry and to wait on you hand and foot. Might as well be someone
like me." And with that summation of the socio-economic state of Pernese
feudal society, she trots off across the cavern, banging her tray
rhythmically against one hip as she walks.

Pyrene smiles, just as swiftly self-satisfied. She likes getting a rise
out of people. "I'm treating you like dirt, and you're happy with
that?" she calls after her. "You make a fuss about having to do the
job, you're sulky--but you'd eat firestone ash if I slung it at you."

Nissa slogs her way back across the cavern, having lost the tray but
gained an expensive glass pitcher of redfruit juice. She bangs the
pitcher onto the table in front of Pyrene, sets both hands on her hips
and glares. "I'm here and I have to work so I can eat and have clothes
to wear and somewhere to sleep. I might not like this job, but I'll do
it anyway because I have to, else I don't eat. Doesn't mean I have to
enjoy it. Nobody's paying me to enjoy it." Although her usual accent is
neutral, hints of a rather uncultured Telgar plains accent is starting
to creep in.

"Stand," Pyrene tells her without expansion. And because she does
actually want the juice, she pours it herself instead of needling Nissa
about it.

"Stand? What do you mean, stand? I am standing." Nissa looks bewildered
now, and defiant - she's probably expecting a (further) scolding.

"For the eggs. It means be a candidate," Pyrene says calmly. "Look,
the other sevenday, you served me meek as a mouse, but as soon as that
wino tried it on, you slapped him down." Poor, slandered Pinvine.
"You've got a backbone, but you'd rather not use it. But I'll tell you
now, that after a few turns in the laundry you'll be unhappy with your
life but you won't be bothered to change it. At least as a candidate
you'll see what else the Weyr has to offer. Might even Impress, if
you're lucky."

Nissa is baffled and bewildered and other such words beginning with B.
(Bemused?) "Be a candidate for the eggs, for Cadgwith's eggs, me?" Her
hands drop from her hips and she clamps them defensively around her
elbows instead. "You think I could be a good candidate?"

Pyrene sips her drink again. "To be honest, I think you'll make a
terrible candidate. I doubt you'd be able to carry that jug across the
bowl without spilling half of it. But you might well make a good rider,
and you'll definitely benefit from being a candidate. And anybody with
a backbone and half a brain should Stand at least once."

The muscles in Nissa's face twitch and the tips of her ears flame
scarlet, but she manages to keep her expression relatively calm and
friendly and interested. "Then I accept."

Pyrene drains the rest of her juice. "Right, well I'll show you the
barracks before getting back to the eggs then. This way!" Standing and
grabbing her cane, she strides off.

You survived! Escaping through the heavy canvas curtain you arrive here...

Candidate Barracks
Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy
canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of
ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the
walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is
the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the
others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively
fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of
chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.
Perched on a few empty cots are two firelizards.
You see Name Board, Cheyanna's Cot, Xayna's Cot, Micail's Cot, and
Khalylai's Little Shop of Horrors here.
You notice Xayna and Khalylai asleep here.
Micail is here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns

Nissa escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

Pyrene sends a drudge running for a cot. After a few minutes the drudge
returns dragging a big heavy cot for Nissa.

Nissa follows Pyrene meekly, but stops in the doorway to look curiously
around the barracks.

Pyrene waves cheerfully. "Here you are. Plenty of cots to choose from,
we aren't likely to fill the room this clutch." She gestures vaguely at
Micail, uncertain of which one he is having seen lists so far rather
than faces. "The lad here can probably give you a few tips."

"Aunty Vi's going to have kittens," Nissa remarks, mostly to herself, as
she advances into the room and claims a cot by sitting on it. "Do I
bring my belongings in here, then?" she asks Pyrene, standing back up to
face the goldrider boldly.

Pyrene nods at Nissa. "Bring anything you like in, as long as it fits
in or under your cot, or in the chest at the foot. And as long as it's
nothing against the rules. No alcohol, no sex and no animals other than
fire lizards." And the last only because nobody's figured out how to
stop them, most likely.

Micail can? Really? The baker-turned-candidate looks up quickly from
rummaging in his own things. He can't /find/ a shoe. "Uhm.." There isn't
anyone else that could be the 'lad' though! "Keep..your shoes where you
can see them?" All hail the master of /tips!/ He blushes a little bit at
his own lack of knowledge about things before ducking his head to look
under his cot.

"Yes'm," Nissa answers to Pyrene, and then gives Micail a nod, replying
in all seriousness, "I'll try and do that. Wouldn't want to lose my shoes."

Pyrene leaves these two bright young things to it, although it can be
noticed that she is shaking her head as she leaves.

Pyrene goes home.

Micail has apparantly been completely abandoned by the missing
shoe. Le sigh. He gets back up again in order to /flop/ on his cot, then
just peeks at Nissa once Pyrene leaves. "Oh..um..I'm Micail." Hurrah for
introductions. He sits up though after a moment so he can lean forward,
voice lowering. The walls have /ears/ you know. "So..um..who was that?"
Alas, he knows no names of people yet!