[Maitrey] Chielyth likes Maitrey, so now he's not a harper any more.
RL Date: 9/30/09
IC Date: 11/23/20 --Through a complicated series of "me forgetting to email my log home" and "getting back my old (new) computer at work," I don't have this whole log, so I just stole Kai's. :) All that was missed were a few poses of Tilin and Xhonya fixing the fence, Maitrey not helping them (and ironically mocking them for being candidates). I'm also linking to B'kaiv's log of Chielyth and Khameth because it's cute as hell.
Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr
There is a little more grass in this section of the bowl than at the center, though this can be attributed to the lake that's not too far off and not to any improvement to the sandy soil. More weyrs can be seen high along the mountain walls to either side, though there are none in the massive earthworks that spill down the southernmost section of the volcanically created valley.
The sandy lake shore is further to the southwest, creating a vast half-crescent that contains the blue-green waters of the lake proper. More to the west would be the feeding grounds that contain the animals designated for being consumed by both dragons and humans alike. Off toward the distant northeast would be the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.
Rather than get out of the mud, Xhonya loses her hold on her boot and almost loses her balance all together. Were it not for Tilin's hold on her arm, she'd put her sock down right into the mud again. Instead she stands on one foot looking bemused and leans down to pull on her boots with her hands instead. "Thanks for trying," she murmurs to Tilin and tells Maitrey after a grunt of effort, "The harper here might be a little better suited, I'm a one-trick pony myself." The three teenagers are near the feeding grounds. The storm has obviously taken out a few of the bracers on the fence, and the candidates are trying to fix them.
Tilin nods a little to Xhonya, a little appologetically, "Sorry." He steps back to where he was working, pulling another hanging piece off the fence, tossing it to the pile. To Maitrey he says, "I had to learn some basics about working with wood back home, what with all the docks and ships around, and then at the Hall, there was the basic lessons before we got to the more advanced instrument-crafting. Combined, I think I know what I'm doing. Don't have to be a woodcrafter to fix a fence."
While those two plug away, Maitrey's just here to observe, it would seem. Leaning his elbow on a perfectly good upper rung of the fence-- after giving it a quick, experimental nudge with his shoulder to be sure it holds-- he watches Tilin and Xhonya with perfect comfort for his useless voyeurism. "You obviously took those lessons a lot more seriously than I did, Tilin. I wonder, if you two aren't able to fix it, what happens?" That seems like an honest question, not quite as baiting as it might be if it weren't for the knit of brows.
B'kaiv heads across the bowl to the feeding grounds, shoulder sans knot and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. Perhaps he's another Candidate, come to join the work party? He stops about a length from the others, frowning at the three, then drops his head like a bull and slogs closer. "One a' you Maitrey?" he demands, looking from one boy to the other, then drops Xhonya a nod and a friendly enough, "Hey."
Xhonya gets her boot unstuck after one last good pull and holds it up with a triumphant grin. Jamming her foot back into it and giving her ankle a few twists to get her heel settled in properly before mincing away from the treacherous mud puddle. "Be sent home in disgrace, probably!" responds the girl more brightly than those words deserve. B'kaiv's arrival is noticed as she's returning to help Tilin and her face lights up. "Kai! You're free!"
Tilin grins and nods to Maitrey, "Well, I love making instruments. Working the wood is a big part of that." He shakes his head to Xhonya then, "Naw, don't think so. We'd just probably have to find someone who could help us find out how, and keep working until it's done." He looks up to the new arrival then, and indicates Maitrey.
"That's ominous, isn't it," Maitrey mumbles toward his elbow at the utterance of his name, specifically after he's had a moment to glance over B'kaiv's way. Whatever more he might have had to say about the fence and the appropriateness of the two people assigned to it... He pushes his hand down against the fence, leaving off his elbow, and uses that leverage to turn slightly toward the greenrider; "I'm Maitrey, sir." Please don't hit me.
"Yeah," Kai agrees to Xhonya with a rueful little smile and a shrug. "Apologized, an' they couldn't do no more t' me." He's looking at Tilin when the Candidate motions to Maitrey, and gives the older harper a once-over before looking back at the younger. "Huh. Thanks." Then to Maitrey, "Heard as you were th' one t' go to for paper. That right? Or'd they set me on a wherry chase?"
Xhonya just smirks at Tilin and picks up one of the new two-by-fours, and true to Maitrey's observation, it's bigger than her. Settling it on her shoulder, she takes it over to one of the open spots and sets it down again. She wraps an arm around it, using it for support while she leans her hip into the fence itself. "Apology, that's it? Huh. Where's Chielyth?" Yep, she can cheerfully distract the greenrider from his mysterious paper mission if she wants because it means she doesn't have to work on the fence too hard just yet.
Tilin looks curiously to Kai and Maitrey at the mention of paper, but he gets back to work, still working on clearing away the broken pieces of wood, deciding what needs replacing and what can stay. Once he's a certain distance along the fence, he moves to get one of the new pieces of wood as well, though in his case more just sliding it where he needs it for the moment.
Catching his scarf, lovely knitted blue thing, off a snag on the fence, Maitrey lets the fidget proceed to smooth down the fringe on the end of it. "I'm afraid you may have been led somewhat astray, sir. I have some paper, I occasionally know where to get more paper, but I'm not necessarily a go-to person for paper." He would have to be without his sketchbook this one time, huh? "Did you have some paper in particular in mind?" A glance goes to Xhonya for her additions, like he'd be happy to pass the conversation off to her at any time.
B'kaiv says, "She's, uh," like he's wondering why she's asking a knotless nobody about a dragon, or else isn't perfectly aware of where said dragon is at any moment of the day. "Tryin' t' - tryin/g/ t' get Eribith t' play with her," and a vague wave over one shoulder. He continues to watch Tilin a moment more, before apparently deciding to let the silent candidate work in peace. Besides, Maitrey's asked him a difficult question, one that requires him to scrub a hand over his hair. "Uh... I dunno? Somethin' - something pretty. I got t' write a note t' somebody. Asked Majawin, an' he said as t' ask you."
Through stellar deductive reasoning, Xhonya must realize that today, she is not Maitrey's savior from awkward situations -- sorry dear. Letting the board lean up against the fence she goes to hunt down her hammer and the box of nails. "Hey, uh -- Tilin, right? I think if one of us holds these boards and the other hammers, we'll probably get through pretty quick, huh?"
Tilin speaks up now, "I have some spare sheets in the barracks. I was working on writing my aunt a letter earlier, had some left over. If you want, I can go run and get them, sir, it wouldn't take long." Then he looks back to Xhonya, grinning some, "Yeah, good point."
The bearer of bad news; "Well, I can probably find someone who can find someone who can get you some pretty paper, but mine is generally of the plain-white variety, I'm sorry to say. The Weyrwoman had an array of paper a few days ago," Maitrey answers, that last coming with an obvious just-remembered quality. His hand opens toward Tilin then, there-you-go; "Your good luck to happen upon a pair of harpers, sir. If you don't mind plain-white, I'm happy to lend some." /Lend./
B'kaiv's face falls, poor receiver of bad news. "Shells." Again he looks between the two - well, three, though Xhonya hasn't said anything about paper and she's only really included because she's near Tilin. "I was hopin' for somethin' pretty. /Shells/." Swearing at himself, then, with that grimace, and he carefully repeats his last few words, enunciating each ending phenome before ending with, "White ain't what I'm thinkin' - thinking about, but thanks. Guess I could talk t' the Weyrwoman." Then, as if only now realizing that some of these people aren't standing around for fun, asks, "What're you doing?" including Maitrey in the 'you all'.
Xhonya gives B'kaiv a funny look and turns her face pointedly towards the broken fence and back to him again. "We're doing our chores," Tilin seems to be included in that we but not Maitrey because she tacks on, "And Maitrey is being my muse." A beam is given to the older harper and then back to the fence. There's a reason she isn't commenting on paper, she spends a very small amount of time with it. "I didn't even know paper came in anything but white."
Tilin nods to B'kaiv, and says, "Yeah, I don't know where to get any of the fancier types of paper. Sorry, sir." He looks to Xhonya then and grins, "Oh, it comes in all types. Plain white's the most common, though, yeah."
Slowly, like he's not entirely sure he wants to commit to this venture, Maitrey says, "I could make you something pretty? Depending on how many sheets of it you want, that is." Xhonya gets one of those you're-not-helping looks that he attempts to essay under cover of looking down to pick some imagined lint off of his scarf. "It might not be exactly what you're after, but plain-white with a border? With a faint print on it? I can do those things with materials on hand."
B'kaiv echoes blankly, "Chores? --Muse?" with a look to Maitrey like he's supposed to clear all this up. Tilin gets the briefest of grimaces and a, "It's Kai. B'kaiv. Don't got t' call me sir," before returning to the lintless Maitrey. "Uh... I guess? I only got t' write a letter. Short letter," holding thumb and forefinger only a few inches apart. "Can you draw on it, maybe? Couple beer bottles in th' corner?"
Xhonya tries to raspberry Maitrey with just her eyes -- which sort of looks like she's sucking on a lemon -- and tries to get Tilin's attention back to come hammer the beam into place. "Here, I'm used to heavy things, I'll hold, you hammer, deal?" An eyebrow quirks once her back is turned on B'kaiv the minute he mentions beer bottles but hey, she's not going to connect the dots in front of the boys. "Of course, chores. Candidate chores." She takes pleasure in saying that so non-chalantly, too.
Tilin looks back to Xhonya, and blinks, "Oh! Right." He moves to get hammer and nails, stepping back over to Xhonya. He nods quickly to what Xhonya says to Kai, grinning a little, and adds, "And Maitrey's just here to chat, I think."
"Kai," Maitrey repeats with a nod, filing that away like he has every intention of using it. Except for, "I can accommodate a few beer bottles in the corner of the page, sir. I'm afraid you managed to catch me without my sketchbook," marvel of marvels, "but I could send you something later today, if it's not an immediate issue? If you don't mind it in colored pencil rather than paint, that is." As to what he's doing here, the chat has him clarifying as if importantly, "/I/ am just here to get some fresh air. So quickly they forget what it's like being a harper and not a candidate."
"It don't. I ain't," Kai starts before rubbing a hand over his mouth and only nodding at Maitrey. "Sure. Pencils is fine - I can catch you another time, maybe, show you what I got in mind?" Xhonya's big news goes straight over his distracted head - at least, he only gives her and Tilin a sort of nod, his attention plainly elsewhere. "Good. --Actually," to Maitrey again, "Can we go now? How much is it gonna cost? Paper 'bout so big?" He holds up thumb-and-forefingers again, making a square perhaps five by five.
Xhonya gives Tilin a little grin and offers the hammer to him. "Hey, don't sweat it. I know, it's easy to get distracted." Over her shoulder she quasi-pouts at the rider and harper. Beefcake Hunk is steeling Pen-Is-Mightier, and it's just her luck. "So much for eye-candy," she whispers cheerfully to Tilin and rolls her eyes upwards briefly with a silly grin on her mouth.
Tilin just laughs a bit at Maitrey's comment, and says, "I haven't forgotten. It's not that much different, I just have more chores to do now. My father still sent me a new song to learn, he's just giving me more time to learn it." He hammers the first nail in, and then adds, more to Xhonya this time, "I think maybe he's trying to make sure I don't let my skills decay while I'm doing all this other work. Not that I would." He starts on the second nail.
"For one sheet of paper, sir?" Maitrey blinks a few times like the question manages to take him utterly by surprise, like he needs to contemplate his scarf for inspiration. "We're really only talking about ten minutes of work and one sheet of paper. We can call it a sample of the wares. If you like it, you'll come back for more or tell a friend to do so, perhaps." The 'now' question is almost as surprising as the 'how much' question was, and he pushes off the fence with a shrug that leads into his steps. "Certainly. Loathe as I am to interrupt my busy afternoon of doing nothing..." Why he thinks B'kaiv is the kind of person to be receptive to bland humor is a mystery, but there he goes, steps leading off toward the bowl.
B'kaiv ohs at Maitrey for 'sampling the wares', glances at the other two and gives them a still-distracted nod. He doesn't call a farewell, though, probably not wanting to interrupt them further. As he follows the younger man he shakes his head every few steps, like he's trying to get water out of his ear.
The trek across the bowl is nothing to speak of. Flat bowl, nothing to look at, not much to say, either, since Maitrey mostly keeps himself to the task of walking. It's not until the tunnel to the inner caverns, not the one that cuts through the lower caverns, is reached that he offers, "If you prefer, you can wait in the commons or the living cavern? My roommate and I have a quiet understanding about letting people into our domicile." A few more steps, a short pause, and he adds, "That is to say, we don't."
B'kaiv isn't exactly a cheery conversationalist either, though at least he's stopped trying to shed intangible water from his ears. He's switched over to given the younger man occasional bemused looks instead - though even they don't last for more than twenty yards or so. By the time Maitrey says anything he's concentrating on walking as well, not talking to himself or any of those other slightly disturbing things some riders are prone to doing. "Uh, either. --What's a domicile? And, uh... I'll wait there." Hand swings up, finger points to one of the little nooks where someone's placed two chairs and a teeny cafe table.
Maitrey's unfazed by the looks. 'Cause, really, teenage harper-pornographer. He's suffered plenty of them. "Ah, it's just an unnecessarily fancy word for home, really," he explains, managing not to make it sound like B'kaiv's at all stupid for asking. Comes with all that teaching-little-kids, probably. "Excellent," to wait-there. "I'll be right back." And he hooks through the dormitory, a quick right into one of the rooms, long enough to rummage around for his gear (sounds more impressive than it is).
"Oh," the greenrider says, but not like he's actually planning on using the word later. Maybe he's just pleased he doesn't have to hit the harper. When Maitrey returns Kai's taken the rightmost chair and shoved the other back, waits with elbows on table and one heel jigging into the floor as he watches people pass by. "Don't suppose you brung ink, or nothing? T' write with?"
It's a struggle, keeping that grin from getting too broad, but Maitrey manages to keep it down to a mellow smirk that wraps up with a clearing of his throat. "I'm sure I could come up with some, sir," he answers amusedly, setting his knapsack on the edge of the table, a few loose sheets of semi-decent paper next to them-- better than his sketchbook stuff, not so fine as to be /costly/. "Will green bottles work? For the beer, that is. And should they have any markings? Stamps? A label?"
B'kaiv says, "Good," apparently unaware that there's anything amusing whatsoever. Maitrey's unloading of things has him squinting again, and he reaches out for (but doesn't touch) the paper. "Uh. Yeah. Green's fine. Guess you can't draw clear or nothin', huh?" With another uncertain glance. "Could you maybe put 'Nigel' on th' label? It don't got t' be big, or nothin'," he repeats, and reiterates the rough desired size of the finished product. "How long you been here, anyway? Ain't never seen you around. 'Course, don't spend much time with no harpers, 'cept Majawin."
Maitrey's pages, scraps of them, certainly aren't full-blown scrolls, and-- of the three-- one is a pretty rough estimate of B'kaiv's desired pretty-rough-estimate, so it's that one he slides in front of the chair that he proceeds to drop into. "Nigel it is. I could approximate clear if you'd rather, but green might be a little more eye-catching. Bluish glass, amber beer, beige paper..." He makes a face, shakes his head, and remembers to find ink-and-pen in his sack before setting to the task of decorating paper. For B'kaiv. Which has to be acknowledged as funny, by the way. Absent, keeping up conversation; "Not so long. Just over three months, if I'm doing the math right. Yourself? Your accent gives you away as not being a local."
"Just make it look pretty," Kai decides with the certainty of a man secure in the knowledge that someone else knows what the heck they're doing and he, therefore, doesn't have to. He claims the pen in a stranglehold but doesn't open the ink - safer, probably - and watches instead as Maitrey sets to work. "Almost two turns. An' I ain't. From this waystation near t' Othana Hold. You heard of it? Majawin got me workin' - /shells/. /Working/ on it." When he remembers, he manages not to sound like he's talking around a mouthful of marbles.
And, with the certainty of a man secure in the knowledge that he knows what the heck he's doing, at least in this instance, Maitrey answers, "Of course." The actual task of outlining the bottles is all but mechanic, one standing upright, bottle-cap at its base, still more than half full, another tipped over on its side next to and partially behind it, just a thin bit of liquid left along the bottom of it. "That wasn't meant to imply it was thick and unintelligible, sir, only that it was an accent. I've certainly heard worse. Diction is..." His hand wobbles with sympathetic wishy-washiness.
B'kaiv may not be certain of all those words, but context helps a lot as he watches, fascinated. "Yeah, I hate diction too." But it doesn't help enough. "Look, I got a question for you, if it ain't gonna bother you none." Not that it -should-, with all the other questions he's been throwing out there, but at least he's trying?
Maitrey glances over, lifting his eyes but not his head; realizing the audience with that quick look, he turns the paper just enough that his hand won't keep obscuring the work from view. All told, it should take up a small portion of the bottom-corner of the page, imposed over the top a quickly-added bordering square that he tosses in with the first of the colored pencils, a nice, dark sienna. "There's the possibility it will bother me, but not the likelihood, sir." Not so easily ruffled, this one. "Ask away. If it bothers me, I'll just pack up and huff off."
B'kaiv tap-taps one end of the pen against the table, spins it awkwardly and tap-taps the other. "Yeah, well." For all his curiosity, he's really more interested in the sketching, watching with admiration. "That looks real good." Which Maitrey already knew, thank you. "And, uh." Glance up to the bent head, out to the hall, back to the table, pen still tap-tapping away. "Chielyth - mean, know you ain't met her or nothin', but she's all kinda of excited an' I think she wants you t' stand f'r the clutch."
"Thank you. Seven years later, I would hope I've got bottle-shaped down," Maitrey answers with quiet humor, casually flattered but not exactly floored with his own skills when it comes to the easy geometric shapes. He's just putting away sienna, taking out a nice bottle-green, when that question hits him. "That's not technically a question," which isn't technically an answer. Clearing his throat, taking a breath, he goes on making pretty colors on paper, damn focused for a second, certainly not to /dither/ over a whole 'want to change your life, kid?' issue.
B'kaiv frowns: it wasn't? before the confusion settles into a more dangerous scowl. Good thing the Harper's looking at the paper, and not up at him. The, "You know what I mean," really can't be called anything but a growl, however. But since Maitrey is going to be a pedant about it, "You wanna Stand?" There. Just gloss over the fact that there's a distinct undertone of threat in that offer.
Aren't 'harper' and 'pedant' pretty much synonymous? "I do," Maitrey begins, definitely begins, that's not actually a one-hundred-percent certainty yet, based on the hedging tone. Green. Green green green, look how pretty it makes the bottles, look how he leaves what would be the labels blank to exchange green for beige and add a filigreed ~Nigel~ to each of the two bottles. "I do," he adds again after a spell of intent silence. "I do. I would. Thank you." Bracketing the paper with spread fingers, he spins it so the bottom, decorated corner is toward B'kaiv; quick-and-dirty but good-enough?
Tap tap, tap-tap-tap, and the pen sounds nothing - nothing! - like bones breaking. Kai exhales sharply and sags back into the chair, carefully sets the pen down and even manages a crooked smile that doesn't promise violence when the Harper finally looks up. "Good. An'," catching sight of the paper, eyebrows up, "/Good/. /Real/ good. That's... that's just right." One eye narrowed, he looks at the Harper. "You wanna go meet Chielyth, or what? I wanna write th' note, an' then I guess we got t' move you t' th' barracks, an' all."
"Is it expected? That is, should go meet Chielyth?" This would be Maitrey stepping outside his /nineteen years/ of comfort-zone. Which would be the reason he better make sure he puts his pencils back all perfect and nice, fingers drumming over them once they're re-cased, nervously possessive. "Perhaps for the sake of irony, I think I had better write a few letters, actually. Fortunately, I have extras." He means pens-and-ink, presumably, as that's what he's looking squarely at during the remark.
B'kaiv says, "Shells, I dunno," and gives the hall another uncertain look. "Guess so. Mean, met Mecaith when I got Searched, but there was these other people around an' he weren't sure it was me. But Chielyth been poking at me, an' you been th' only one around. Green eyes," he adds, to answer 'how does he know she means -me-', and taps at the side of his own hazel. "I ain't never done this before."
Hah! "Neither have I," comes after that quick laugh, while Maitrey puts his pencils into his bag, the unused pages slid in alongside those. "Which leaves us in a real blind-leading-the-blind state, doesn't it?" Strap slipped over his shoulder, he fidgets with it until it lays flat across his chest-- the fidgeting will stop eventually, yes, shortly after the "have you lost your mind?!!!" letters stop coming. Speaking of; "I'll go write my letters, sir, and let you finish yours. I'm reasonably sure I know where the candidate barracks are. Map. So I think I can handle that on my own. And we can hope for the meeting-of-Chielyth at some point when I'm not quite as off-kilter?"
The greenrider sorta-kinda almost smiles at the joke, or at least what passes for his good humor has returned. "Yeah, I guess. A'right, if you know where th' barracks is, I'll go... Guess I'll go tell th' Headwoman or somebody. You wanna go flying sometime, you just got t' let me know." A pause. "You ever /been/ flying?" He picks up the pen again, but the cap remains firmly on. So far.
"I've been flown places, yes, but flying for the sake of flying, sir?" Maitrey shakes his head, one eye squinted in a dubious expression of his thoughts on that matter; is that something people actually /do/? "I will definitely let you know if that particular itch ever needs scratching." On his feet, a step or two taken away from the table, and he stops to look back with sudden decision. "I would like to meet Chielyth, though. Not immediately. I have some... digesting to do. But some time." Another, "Thank you."
"It's fun," Kai says, like he's not sure why he has to reassure somebody on this point. "--Yeah. Yeah. It's a... a lot. You got any questions, you can ask me. Or shells, pretty much any rider. You're welcome." After another second, after glance down and a dismayed look up, he hurriedly uncaps both pen and ink. "Gimme a sec, and you can take this with you." Not waiting for an answer, he starts to scrawl out a short missive.
Maitrey, brow-twitching amusedly; "Many questions. Many. I'll get them all sorted out, itemized, if you will, and spare us both the bubbling, confused mass of them." Gimme-a-sec, which he can do, returning close enough that he can drum his fingers on the back of his vacated chair, wait there to collect the missive-- and presumably to figure out exactly where he's supposed to be taking it once it's finished. Then to write his own letters, to pack up his stuff, and to move in with /girls/, which might make it all worthwhile in the end.
It's a short little note, even if the scrawl takes concentration to decipher: Dear Su, I hope you are real happy. Congrashulashuns. B'kaiv and Chielyth. Kai waves off the offer of delivery, instead capping the pen and nodding contentedly at his misspelled note before handing the utensils back to their proper owner. A minute or so to let the ink dry and he and the letter head off, back to the bowl, presumably to do some flying for flying's sake.
Oh good, Maitrey doesn't have to deliver them, just get his pen back. Which is good! Because he may technically be a candidate now and not a harper, but there's no way he could not red-pen Kai's spelling, sorry.
IC Date: 11/23/20 --Through a complicated series of "me forgetting to email my log home" and "getting back my old (new) computer at work," I don't have this whole log, so I just stole Kai's. :) All that was missed were a few poses of Tilin and Xhonya fixing the fence, Maitrey not helping them (and ironically mocking them for being candidates). I'm also linking to B'kaiv's log of Chielyth and Khameth because it's cute as hell.
Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr
There is a little more grass in this section of the bowl than at the center, though this can be attributed to the lake that's not too far off and not to any improvement to the sandy soil. More weyrs can be seen high along the mountain walls to either side, though there are none in the massive earthworks that spill down the southernmost section of the volcanically created valley.
The sandy lake shore is further to the southwest, creating a vast half-crescent that contains the blue-green waters of the lake proper. More to the west would be the feeding grounds that contain the animals designated for being consumed by both dragons and humans alike. Off toward the distant northeast would be the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.
Rather than get out of the mud, Xhonya loses her hold on her boot and almost loses her balance all together. Were it not for Tilin's hold on her arm, she'd put her sock down right into the mud again. Instead she stands on one foot looking bemused and leans down to pull on her boots with her hands instead. "Thanks for trying," she murmurs to Tilin and tells Maitrey after a grunt of effort, "The harper here might be a little better suited, I'm a one-trick pony myself." The three teenagers are near the feeding grounds. The storm has obviously taken out a few of the bracers on the fence, and the candidates are trying to fix them.
Tilin nods a little to Xhonya, a little appologetically, "Sorry." He steps back to where he was working, pulling another hanging piece off the fence, tossing it to the pile. To Maitrey he says, "I had to learn some basics about working with wood back home, what with all the docks and ships around, and then at the Hall, there was the basic lessons before we got to the more advanced instrument-crafting. Combined, I think I know what I'm doing. Don't have to be a woodcrafter to fix a fence."
While those two plug away, Maitrey's just here to observe, it would seem. Leaning his elbow on a perfectly good upper rung of the fence-- after giving it a quick, experimental nudge with his shoulder to be sure it holds-- he watches Tilin and Xhonya with perfect comfort for his useless voyeurism. "You obviously took those lessons a lot more seriously than I did, Tilin. I wonder, if you two aren't able to fix it, what happens?" That seems like an honest question, not quite as baiting as it might be if it weren't for the knit of brows.
B'kaiv heads across the bowl to the feeding grounds, shoulder sans knot and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. Perhaps he's another Candidate, come to join the work party? He stops about a length from the others, frowning at the three, then drops his head like a bull and slogs closer. "One a' you Maitrey?" he demands, looking from one boy to the other, then drops Xhonya a nod and a friendly enough, "Hey."
Xhonya gets her boot unstuck after one last good pull and holds it up with a triumphant grin. Jamming her foot back into it and giving her ankle a few twists to get her heel settled in properly before mincing away from the treacherous mud puddle. "Be sent home in disgrace, probably!" responds the girl more brightly than those words deserve. B'kaiv's arrival is noticed as she's returning to help Tilin and her face lights up. "Kai! You're free!"
Tilin grins and nods to Maitrey, "Well, I love making instruments. Working the wood is a big part of that." He shakes his head to Xhonya then, "Naw, don't think so. We'd just probably have to find someone who could help us find out how, and keep working until it's done." He looks up to the new arrival then, and indicates Maitrey.
"That's ominous, isn't it," Maitrey mumbles toward his elbow at the utterance of his name, specifically after he's had a moment to glance over B'kaiv's way. Whatever more he might have had to say about the fence and the appropriateness of the two people assigned to it... He pushes his hand down against the fence, leaving off his elbow, and uses that leverage to turn slightly toward the greenrider; "I'm Maitrey, sir." Please don't hit me.
"Yeah," Kai agrees to Xhonya with a rueful little smile and a shrug. "Apologized, an' they couldn't do no more t' me." He's looking at Tilin when the Candidate motions to Maitrey, and gives the older harper a once-over before looking back at the younger. "Huh. Thanks." Then to Maitrey, "Heard as you were th' one t' go to for paper. That right? Or'd they set me on a wherry chase?"
Xhonya just smirks at Tilin and picks up one of the new two-by-fours, and true to Maitrey's observation, it's bigger than her. Settling it on her shoulder, she takes it over to one of the open spots and sets it down again. She wraps an arm around it, using it for support while she leans her hip into the fence itself. "Apology, that's it? Huh. Where's Chielyth?" Yep, she can cheerfully distract the greenrider from his mysterious paper mission if she wants because it means she doesn't have to work on the fence too hard just yet.
Tilin looks curiously to Kai and Maitrey at the mention of paper, but he gets back to work, still working on clearing away the broken pieces of wood, deciding what needs replacing and what can stay. Once he's a certain distance along the fence, he moves to get one of the new pieces of wood as well, though in his case more just sliding it where he needs it for the moment.
Catching his scarf, lovely knitted blue thing, off a snag on the fence, Maitrey lets the fidget proceed to smooth down the fringe on the end of it. "I'm afraid you may have been led somewhat astray, sir. I have some paper, I occasionally know where to get more paper, but I'm not necessarily a go-to person for paper." He would have to be without his sketchbook this one time, huh? "Did you have some paper in particular in mind?" A glance goes to Xhonya for her additions, like he'd be happy to pass the conversation off to her at any time.
B'kaiv says, "She's, uh," like he's wondering why she's asking a knotless nobody about a dragon, or else isn't perfectly aware of where said dragon is at any moment of the day. "Tryin' t' - tryin/g/ t' get Eribith t' play with her," and a vague wave over one shoulder. He continues to watch Tilin a moment more, before apparently deciding to let the silent candidate work in peace. Besides, Maitrey's asked him a difficult question, one that requires him to scrub a hand over his hair. "Uh... I dunno? Somethin' - something pretty. I got t' write a note t' somebody. Asked Majawin, an' he said as t' ask you."
Through stellar deductive reasoning, Xhonya must realize that today, she is not Maitrey's savior from awkward situations -- sorry dear. Letting the board lean up against the fence she goes to hunt down her hammer and the box of nails. "Hey, uh -- Tilin, right? I think if one of us holds these boards and the other hammers, we'll probably get through pretty quick, huh?"
Tilin speaks up now, "I have some spare sheets in the barracks. I was working on writing my aunt a letter earlier, had some left over. If you want, I can go run and get them, sir, it wouldn't take long." Then he looks back to Xhonya, grinning some, "Yeah, good point."
The bearer of bad news; "Well, I can probably find someone who can find someone who can get you some pretty paper, but mine is generally of the plain-white variety, I'm sorry to say. The Weyrwoman had an array of paper a few days ago," Maitrey answers, that last coming with an obvious just-remembered quality. His hand opens toward Tilin then, there-you-go; "Your good luck to happen upon a pair of harpers, sir. If you don't mind plain-white, I'm happy to lend some." /Lend./
B'kaiv's face falls, poor receiver of bad news. "Shells." Again he looks between the two - well, three, though Xhonya hasn't said anything about paper and she's only really included because she's near Tilin. "I was hopin' for somethin' pretty. /Shells/." Swearing at himself, then, with that grimace, and he carefully repeats his last few words, enunciating each ending phenome before ending with, "White ain't what I'm thinkin' - thinking about, but thanks. Guess I could talk t' the Weyrwoman." Then, as if only now realizing that some of these people aren't standing around for fun, asks, "What're you doing?" including Maitrey in the 'you all'.
Xhonya gives B'kaiv a funny look and turns her face pointedly towards the broken fence and back to him again. "We're doing our chores," Tilin seems to be included in that we but not Maitrey because she tacks on, "And Maitrey is being my muse." A beam is given to the older harper and then back to the fence. There's a reason she isn't commenting on paper, she spends a very small amount of time with it. "I didn't even know paper came in anything but white."
Tilin nods to B'kaiv, and says, "Yeah, I don't know where to get any of the fancier types of paper. Sorry, sir." He looks to Xhonya then and grins, "Oh, it comes in all types. Plain white's the most common, though, yeah."
Slowly, like he's not entirely sure he wants to commit to this venture, Maitrey says, "I could make you something pretty? Depending on how many sheets of it you want, that is." Xhonya gets one of those you're-not-helping looks that he attempts to essay under cover of looking down to pick some imagined lint off of his scarf. "It might not be exactly what you're after, but plain-white with a border? With a faint print on it? I can do those things with materials on hand."
B'kaiv echoes blankly, "Chores? --Muse?" with a look to Maitrey like he's supposed to clear all this up. Tilin gets the briefest of grimaces and a, "It's Kai. B'kaiv. Don't got t' call me sir," before returning to the lintless Maitrey. "Uh... I guess? I only got t' write a letter. Short letter," holding thumb and forefinger only a few inches apart. "Can you draw on it, maybe? Couple beer bottles in th' corner?"
Xhonya tries to raspberry Maitrey with just her eyes -- which sort of looks like she's sucking on a lemon -- and tries to get Tilin's attention back to come hammer the beam into place. "Here, I'm used to heavy things, I'll hold, you hammer, deal?" An eyebrow quirks once her back is turned on B'kaiv the minute he mentions beer bottles but hey, she's not going to connect the dots in front of the boys. "Of course, chores. Candidate chores." She takes pleasure in saying that so non-chalantly, too.
Tilin looks back to Xhonya, and blinks, "Oh! Right." He moves to get hammer and nails, stepping back over to Xhonya. He nods quickly to what Xhonya says to Kai, grinning a little, and adds, "And Maitrey's just here to chat, I think."
"Kai," Maitrey repeats with a nod, filing that away like he has every intention of using it. Except for, "I can accommodate a few beer bottles in the corner of the page, sir. I'm afraid you managed to catch me without my sketchbook," marvel of marvels, "but I could send you something later today, if it's not an immediate issue? If you don't mind it in colored pencil rather than paint, that is." As to what he's doing here, the chat has him clarifying as if importantly, "/I/ am just here to get some fresh air. So quickly they forget what it's like being a harper and not a candidate."
"It don't. I ain't," Kai starts before rubbing a hand over his mouth and only nodding at Maitrey. "Sure. Pencils is fine - I can catch you another time, maybe, show you what I got in mind?" Xhonya's big news goes straight over his distracted head - at least, he only gives her and Tilin a sort of nod, his attention plainly elsewhere. "Good. --Actually," to Maitrey again, "Can we go now? How much is it gonna cost? Paper 'bout so big?" He holds up thumb-and-forefingers again, making a square perhaps five by five.
Xhonya gives Tilin a little grin and offers the hammer to him. "Hey, don't sweat it. I know, it's easy to get distracted." Over her shoulder she quasi-pouts at the rider and harper. Beefcake Hunk is steeling Pen-Is-Mightier, and it's just her luck. "So much for eye-candy," she whispers cheerfully to Tilin and rolls her eyes upwards briefly with a silly grin on her mouth.
Tilin just laughs a bit at Maitrey's comment, and says, "I haven't forgotten. It's not that much different, I just have more chores to do now. My father still sent me a new song to learn, he's just giving me more time to learn it." He hammers the first nail in, and then adds, more to Xhonya this time, "I think maybe he's trying to make sure I don't let my skills decay while I'm doing all this other work. Not that I would." He starts on the second nail.
"For one sheet of paper, sir?" Maitrey blinks a few times like the question manages to take him utterly by surprise, like he needs to contemplate his scarf for inspiration. "We're really only talking about ten minutes of work and one sheet of paper. We can call it a sample of the wares. If you like it, you'll come back for more or tell a friend to do so, perhaps." The 'now' question is almost as surprising as the 'how much' question was, and he pushes off the fence with a shrug that leads into his steps. "Certainly. Loathe as I am to interrupt my busy afternoon of doing nothing..." Why he thinks B'kaiv is the kind of person to be receptive to bland humor is a mystery, but there he goes, steps leading off toward the bowl.
B'kaiv ohs at Maitrey for 'sampling the wares', glances at the other two and gives them a still-distracted nod. He doesn't call a farewell, though, probably not wanting to interrupt them further. As he follows the younger man he shakes his head every few steps, like he's trying to get water out of his ear.
The trek across the bowl is nothing to speak of. Flat bowl, nothing to look at, not much to say, either, since Maitrey mostly keeps himself to the task of walking. It's not until the tunnel to the inner caverns, not the one that cuts through the lower caverns, is reached that he offers, "If you prefer, you can wait in the commons or the living cavern? My roommate and I have a quiet understanding about letting people into our domicile." A few more steps, a short pause, and he adds, "That is to say, we don't."
B'kaiv isn't exactly a cheery conversationalist either, though at least he's stopped trying to shed intangible water from his ears. He's switched over to given the younger man occasional bemused looks instead - though even they don't last for more than twenty yards or so. By the time Maitrey says anything he's concentrating on walking as well, not talking to himself or any of those other slightly disturbing things some riders are prone to doing. "Uh, either. --What's a domicile? And, uh... I'll wait there." Hand swings up, finger points to one of the little nooks where someone's placed two chairs and a teeny cafe table.
Maitrey's unfazed by the looks. 'Cause, really, teenage harper-pornographer. He's suffered plenty of them. "Ah, it's just an unnecessarily fancy word for home, really," he explains, managing not to make it sound like B'kaiv's at all stupid for asking. Comes with all that teaching-little-kids, probably. "Excellent," to wait-there. "I'll be right back." And he hooks through the dormitory, a quick right into one of the rooms, long enough to rummage around for his gear (sounds more impressive than it is).
"Oh," the greenrider says, but not like he's actually planning on using the word later. Maybe he's just pleased he doesn't have to hit the harper. When Maitrey returns Kai's taken the rightmost chair and shoved the other back, waits with elbows on table and one heel jigging into the floor as he watches people pass by. "Don't suppose you brung ink, or nothing? T' write with?"
It's a struggle, keeping that grin from getting too broad, but Maitrey manages to keep it down to a mellow smirk that wraps up with a clearing of his throat. "I'm sure I could come up with some, sir," he answers amusedly, setting his knapsack on the edge of the table, a few loose sheets of semi-decent paper next to them-- better than his sketchbook stuff, not so fine as to be /costly/. "Will green bottles work? For the beer, that is. And should they have any markings? Stamps? A label?"
B'kaiv says, "Good," apparently unaware that there's anything amusing whatsoever. Maitrey's unloading of things has him squinting again, and he reaches out for (but doesn't touch) the paper. "Uh. Yeah. Green's fine. Guess you can't draw clear or nothin', huh?" With another uncertain glance. "Could you maybe put 'Nigel' on th' label? It don't got t' be big, or nothin'," he repeats, and reiterates the rough desired size of the finished product. "How long you been here, anyway? Ain't never seen you around. 'Course, don't spend much time with no harpers, 'cept Majawin."
Maitrey's pages, scraps of them, certainly aren't full-blown scrolls, and-- of the three-- one is a pretty rough estimate of B'kaiv's desired pretty-rough-estimate, so it's that one he slides in front of the chair that he proceeds to drop into. "Nigel it is. I could approximate clear if you'd rather, but green might be a little more eye-catching. Bluish glass, amber beer, beige paper..." He makes a face, shakes his head, and remembers to find ink-and-pen in his sack before setting to the task of decorating paper. For B'kaiv. Which has to be acknowledged as funny, by the way. Absent, keeping up conversation; "Not so long. Just over three months, if I'm doing the math right. Yourself? Your accent gives you away as not being a local."
"Just make it look pretty," Kai decides with the certainty of a man secure in the knowledge that someone else knows what the heck they're doing and he, therefore, doesn't have to. He claims the pen in a stranglehold but doesn't open the ink - safer, probably - and watches instead as Maitrey sets to work. "Almost two turns. An' I ain't. From this waystation near t' Othana Hold. You heard of it? Majawin got me workin' - /shells/. /Working/ on it." When he remembers, he manages not to sound like he's talking around a mouthful of marbles.
And, with the certainty of a man secure in the knowledge that he knows what the heck he's doing, at least in this instance, Maitrey answers, "Of course." The actual task of outlining the bottles is all but mechanic, one standing upright, bottle-cap at its base, still more than half full, another tipped over on its side next to and partially behind it, just a thin bit of liquid left along the bottom of it. "That wasn't meant to imply it was thick and unintelligible, sir, only that it was an accent. I've certainly heard worse. Diction is..." His hand wobbles with sympathetic wishy-washiness.
B'kaiv may not be certain of all those words, but context helps a lot as he watches, fascinated. "Yeah, I hate diction too." But it doesn't help enough. "Look, I got a question for you, if it ain't gonna bother you none." Not that it -should-, with all the other questions he's been throwing out there, but at least he's trying?
Maitrey glances over, lifting his eyes but not his head; realizing the audience with that quick look, he turns the paper just enough that his hand won't keep obscuring the work from view. All told, it should take up a small portion of the bottom-corner of the page, imposed over the top a quickly-added bordering square that he tosses in with the first of the colored pencils, a nice, dark sienna. "There's the possibility it will bother me, but not the likelihood, sir." Not so easily ruffled, this one. "Ask away. If it bothers me, I'll just pack up and huff off."
B'kaiv tap-taps one end of the pen against the table, spins it awkwardly and tap-taps the other. "Yeah, well." For all his curiosity, he's really more interested in the sketching, watching with admiration. "That looks real good." Which Maitrey already knew, thank you. "And, uh." Glance up to the bent head, out to the hall, back to the table, pen still tap-tapping away. "Chielyth - mean, know you ain't met her or nothin', but she's all kinda of excited an' I think she wants you t' stand f'r the clutch."
"Thank you. Seven years later, I would hope I've got bottle-shaped down," Maitrey answers with quiet humor, casually flattered but not exactly floored with his own skills when it comes to the easy geometric shapes. He's just putting away sienna, taking out a nice bottle-green, when that question hits him. "That's not technically a question," which isn't technically an answer. Clearing his throat, taking a breath, he goes on making pretty colors on paper, damn focused for a second, certainly not to /dither/ over a whole 'want to change your life, kid?' issue.
B'kaiv frowns: it wasn't? before the confusion settles into a more dangerous scowl. Good thing the Harper's looking at the paper, and not up at him. The, "You know what I mean," really can't be called anything but a growl, however. But since Maitrey is going to be a pedant about it, "You wanna Stand?" There. Just gloss over the fact that there's a distinct undertone of threat in that offer.
Aren't 'harper' and 'pedant' pretty much synonymous? "I do," Maitrey begins, definitely begins, that's not actually a one-hundred-percent certainty yet, based on the hedging tone. Green. Green green green, look how pretty it makes the bottles, look how he leaves what would be the labels blank to exchange green for beige and add a filigreed ~Nigel~ to each of the two bottles. "I do," he adds again after a spell of intent silence. "I do. I would. Thank you." Bracketing the paper with spread fingers, he spins it so the bottom, decorated corner is toward B'kaiv; quick-and-dirty but good-enough?
Tap tap, tap-tap-tap, and the pen sounds nothing - nothing! - like bones breaking. Kai exhales sharply and sags back into the chair, carefully sets the pen down and even manages a crooked smile that doesn't promise violence when the Harper finally looks up. "Good. An'," catching sight of the paper, eyebrows up, "/Good/. /Real/ good. That's... that's just right." One eye narrowed, he looks at the Harper. "You wanna go meet Chielyth, or what? I wanna write th' note, an' then I guess we got t' move you t' th' barracks, an' all."
"Is it expected? That is, should go meet Chielyth?" This would be Maitrey stepping outside his /nineteen years/ of comfort-zone. Which would be the reason he better make sure he puts his pencils back all perfect and nice, fingers drumming over them once they're re-cased, nervously possessive. "Perhaps for the sake of irony, I think I had better write a few letters, actually. Fortunately, I have extras." He means pens-and-ink, presumably, as that's what he's looking squarely at during the remark.
B'kaiv says, "Shells, I dunno," and gives the hall another uncertain look. "Guess so. Mean, met Mecaith when I got Searched, but there was these other people around an' he weren't sure it was me. But Chielyth been poking at me, an' you been th' only one around. Green eyes," he adds, to answer 'how does he know she means -me-', and taps at the side of his own hazel. "I ain't never done this before."
Hah! "Neither have I," comes after that quick laugh, while Maitrey puts his pencils into his bag, the unused pages slid in alongside those. "Which leaves us in a real blind-leading-the-blind state, doesn't it?" Strap slipped over his shoulder, he fidgets with it until it lays flat across his chest-- the fidgeting will stop eventually, yes, shortly after the "have you lost your mind?!!!" letters stop coming. Speaking of; "I'll go write my letters, sir, and let you finish yours. I'm reasonably sure I know where the candidate barracks are. Map. So I think I can handle that on my own. And we can hope for the meeting-of-Chielyth at some point when I'm not quite as off-kilter?"
The greenrider sorta-kinda almost smiles at the joke, or at least what passes for his good humor has returned. "Yeah, I guess. A'right, if you know where th' barracks is, I'll go... Guess I'll go tell th' Headwoman or somebody. You wanna go flying sometime, you just got t' let me know." A pause. "You ever /been/ flying?" He picks up the pen again, but the cap remains firmly on. So far.
"I've been flown places, yes, but flying for the sake of flying, sir?" Maitrey shakes his head, one eye squinted in a dubious expression of his thoughts on that matter; is that something people actually /do/? "I will definitely let you know if that particular itch ever needs scratching." On his feet, a step or two taken away from the table, and he stops to look back with sudden decision. "I would like to meet Chielyth, though. Not immediately. I have some... digesting to do. But some time." Another, "Thank you."
"It's fun," Kai says, like he's not sure why he has to reassure somebody on this point. "--Yeah. Yeah. It's a... a lot. You got any questions, you can ask me. Or shells, pretty much any rider. You're welcome." After another second, after glance down and a dismayed look up, he hurriedly uncaps both pen and ink. "Gimme a sec, and you can take this with you." Not waiting for an answer, he starts to scrawl out a short missive.
Maitrey, brow-twitching amusedly; "Many questions. Many. I'll get them all sorted out, itemized, if you will, and spare us both the bubbling, confused mass of them." Gimme-a-sec, which he can do, returning close enough that he can drum his fingers on the back of his vacated chair, wait there to collect the missive-- and presumably to figure out exactly where he's supposed to be taking it once it's finished. Then to write his own letters, to pack up his stuff, and to move in with /girls/, which might make it all worthwhile in the end.
It's a short little note, even if the scrawl takes concentration to decipher: Dear Su, I hope you are real happy. Congrashulashuns. B'kaiv and Chielyth. Kai waves off the offer of delivery, instead capping the pen and nodding contentedly at his misspelled note before handing the utensils back to their proper owner. A minute or so to let the ink dry and he and the letter head off, back to the bowl, presumably to do some flying for flying's sake.
Oh good, Maitrey doesn't have to deliver them, just get his pen back. Which is good! Because he may technically be a candidate now and not a harper, but there's no way he could not red-pen Kai's spelling, sorry.