[Log] Quality Time
Who: I'daur, Talien
When: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 11
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
What: I'daur and Talien spend quality time together.
It's a relatively early morning, and I'daur is already in the barracks, eyeing the room from the doorway. There are a few items left scattered around, and there's a good bit of dust and excess straw scattered around still since the last class graduated. With a sigh, he moves to get to work, heading toward the first set of cot and couch to start picking up the handful of items forgotten under it.
Talien's word has been given, and it sees her to the barracks on time and dressed to work. Though she's not entirely pleased with having to be where she is (and the constant flickering of her eyes over the entire room evidences such), she remains rooted at the threshold, her arms crossed in a tight lock over her chest. For now, she doesn't announce her presence.
Leaning down to pick up a couple of papers is not a pleasant task for I'daur; getting up is even less so, and he grimaces--until he notices someone else there. He looks at Talien for a couple of seconds, then crumples up the hides and moves to throw them into the garbage can he's thoughtfully set at the front of the room. "You can start picking up the big stuff first. Most of it's just trash, anyway. We'll sweep up after."
"What is all of this, anyways?" Talien asks, not moving from her perch. She watches I'daur now, more than the room. Her lips quirk into a thoughtful frown as he moves, and if it looks like she might be compassionate to his plight it's more than likely just a trick of the light.
"They leave stuff in here sometimes," I'daur notes, "after they move out." A shrug. "Don't usually get around until picking it all up until time for next class. You goin' to just stand there and watch or keep up your end of the deal here?" For his part, he moves back to make sure there's nothing else hiding under that cot, and moves on to the next. He keeps his expression firmly neutral now, suppressing any more grimaces.
Talien watches I'daur again, and when his back is to her, she moves into the cavern with only a faint trace of discomfort. She lingers between two cots, looking at one and then the other, "Was his..." Stopping, Talien bites her bottom lip and stoops to retrieve whatever is left beneath the leftmost cot.
"That one," I'daur points, glancing up briefly to point out one particular cot. He does not look at Talien, though he looks at that cot for a minute before he bends back down to continue cleaning, slow and methodical.
Talien, most pointedly, doesn't look at the cot. And she bites her lip again, too. Roughly crumpling the papers she uncovers from the cot, she stuffs them against her stomach and stands. Her grimace is a fairly decent impression of I'daur's, and the little hobble she approaches the bin with couldn't be more accurate.
Straightening again, with another handful for the trash can, I'daur has a very good view of Talien mocking him, and his lips purse before he follows. "You learn fast," is all he says, gruffly, as he turns back.
Talien's hand rests on the lip of the bin, and she turns to look at I'daur for his statement. She -almost- looks guilty too, but the emotion is fleeting. Walking back to the cot, she kneels on the other side. There's no grimace, no hobble. No I'daur imitations, "Mom always said it was my best skill. And she said Rian's was that he was born smart. Never had to worry about either of us." The last is a grump, twisted sarcastically to-boot.
"My mother," says I'daur idly, as he continues with the clean-up along one rots of cots and couches, "always worried. Three boys--she knew there was /something/ she oughta be worried about, even if she didn't know what."
"Of course," Talien pleasantly remarks over the noise of crumpling paper and softer grumping, "If you were my son, I'd worry too. You know drinking is really bad for you? Never mind it makes you do stupid things and get people killed... it like, rots your teeth and stuff too." With all the air of a newly promoted Healer, Talien adds, "It makes you stink too."
"Didn't drink, back then," remarks I'daur with a shrug, pulling several odds and ends out from under the cot and then using the bed to lever himself back to his feet. "You a healer now 'r something?"
"Yeah," Talien replies, shooting a scowl over her shoulder, "I've got my knot in my pocket and everything." Her lips pull into a frown and she stands, again. The grimace is real this time - a knee pops - though there's no hobble as she deposits her next armload into the bins. "You really should make /them/ do this. It's their mess."
"Well, good for you," says I'daur on the subject of that knot. A few more moments of silence, then: "I make sure they take most of it, everything they want, but seems like, there's always something that slips through, a paper or a sock or something, and they just pile up, somehow."
Talien, chock full of wisdom on a sundry of things, says, "It's because you don't make sure they do it right. There - ew!" Her shriek is girlish, and the start backwards has her bumping into the neighboring cot, "That's - ew!" Her eyes, wide with equal parts disgust and revulsion, stare at a pile of molding /something/ that is either moving or disintegrating.
"What?" I'daur says, jerking around at the screaming and wincing more pronouncedly at the movement, one hand sliding to his leg as he twists wrong. He's quick to shuffle over to Talien's side, however, and eye the mess on the floor. "Oh, for Faranth's sake," he mutters as, unbothered, he leans down to scoop it up.
There's all sorts of fun noises coming from Talien now. Dry gagging, little gasps of breath and the dry bristling of the cot as she rolls onto it and /stares/ at I'daur. "Oh, you are *so* disgusting," she sees fit to inform him, "That's just - I'm going to get sick."
I'daur doesn't seem too bothered, though, as he moves to trash the... thing. He dusts his hands off, brushing them against his pants before he moves to continue. "Be sick outside--I'm not picking /that/ up," he tells Talien briefly.
Talien regards I'daur with that ever wavering, wholly nauseous look. "You just touched -that-. I think puke is the least of your worries." It's a delicate sniff that follows, and a far more delicate easing off the couch. With an exceeding amount of wariness, she glances toward the cot, "I don't think I want to see what's under there."
"D'you want me to?" asks I'daur, still not phased. "There's a broom somewhere in the training room, if you'll start that."
"Yeah," Talien's nose and forehead wrinkles and she chooses the far side of the cot to walk on, "That was just so disgusting. /Almost/ as disgusting as you just picking it up like it was.. not that disgusting," Talien, failing in an appropriate comparison, tosses the last over her shoulder as she heads down the main aisle.
"Uh-huh," says I'daur. "You work with weyrlings, you run into worse things." While she goes to find and fetch the broom, he continues checking the last few cots for other items. When he's gathered enough to be satisfied, he turns to go throw them away, too, unhurried.
Talien is a long time in returning. Long enough that she should have /rightfully/ returned some time ago. And yet she hasn't. I'daur, though, should be use to getting ditched by now.
I'daur, in the meantime, goes back to check again, making sure they've picked up the big pieces of trash. Busy work, while he waits, and doesn't go after Talien, preferring to loiter instead.
Another good amount of time passes before Talien finally makes her way back into the barracks. A coat is carried in hand. A very old, very faded coat. Talien's eyes are on it as she walks, and not her path. The broom she'd been sent to fetch has since been forgotten, and when Talien lifts her attention from the coat to I'daur, it might be obvious why.
When Talien's footsteps return, I'daur straightens, braces his leg again, and turns to look at her, and stops. He studies that coat in silence, lips pursing as he looks at it and then Talien herself. He says nothing, only leans to perch on the edge of the nearest bed.
Talien looks back at the coat when it's obvious I'daur isn't going to say anything. A patch on the front is touched, and her lips quirk into a sad smile. She explains but once. "He was upset when it tore... and it was my fault. I stole something of his and he chased me to get it back. He sat on me until I promised I'd patch it up, good as new." Which was quite some time ago, for all that the patch is barely hanging on. Abruptly, Talien dumps the coat on the end of the bed and turns, moving back toward the storage closet. "That gooey stuff is gone, right?"
I'daur says nothing, just watches a moment longer and finally stands back up without an answer. He finally nods once, but in reply to the latter answer. "Yes," he says simply. "I think I got everything big up."
"There were big things?" Talien asks, reemerging with a broom and several streaks of dust and grime where there were none previously. Her approach of the weyrlingmaster once more finds her imitating his walk, in as much that she does so with a more obvious exaggeration. Clearly an attempt at getting under the man's skin.
"The bigger things, anyway," I'daur amends. He stays where he is, though he steps to one side to get out of her way. He adds, noting her walk, "You were better the first time." He turns and starts shuffling toward the training room.
"Bigger." Flat, Talien glances down at the cot before swiping experimentally beneath it with the broom. It yields no dissintigrating piles of -anything-, and so she ventures a little closer for a second swipe. "What happened?" Is her next question, and as usual, there's little tact behind it.
I'daur pauses, glancing back at Talien. "What happened with what?" he asks her, warily.
"Your leg," Talien replies, succinct for once.
"Thread," says I'daur then, simply. "Last 'Fall, got caught up in a bad patch, me and Zunaeth."
"Oh," A few half-hearted sweeping motions proceed Talien's next question of, "Did you drink a lot before that or just after?"
I'daur shrugs. "Some, sure," he answers. "Maybe not so much. It was a long time ago."
Talien asks, "Why do you drink, then? I can't figure it out. It's disgusting and it makes you do stupid things." Like slapping the Senior Weyrwoman.
I'daur hesitates. "It's complicated," he finally replies, turning back to continue on to the training room. "I'm going to get started in here. Lemme know if you need anything."
Talien trails after him, sweeping as she goes. It's not her work she watches, though, but the weyrlingmaster's back. "I'm smart. I can understand complicated," Sweep. "Or, I can just start guessing and you can tell me when I'm right."
"You can try," says I'daur, shrugging as he continues on, not stopping this time.
"Ok," Talien, frowning thoughtfully at the floor, hazards, "You're just a really grumpy person and the only way you ever feel happy is by drinking. Or you do it 'cause you're not very smart, or you do it because you feel bad about all the people you've killed... or maybe you do it because you're mad about something or someone," Her pause is innocent seeming, the brief smile curling her lips isn't, "Maybe you're just upset 'cause you can't have sex. So you drink. Riders say that helps. When you lose a flight or something, if you get yourself drunk it's not so bad."
"Oh, you /are/ smart," drawls I'daur, unphased. "You cut right through to the heart of me."
"I am," Talien says, quite proud, "I bet I can guess who it is you want, too. Because," Planting the end of the broom against the ground, she declares, "I'm smart like that."
"Really," says I'daur as he leads the way to the room and pauses to look over it idly, scanning for something to start cleaning. It's not much encouragement, but she'll probably find enough in it, still.
"Really," Talien agrees, now leaning on the broom, "Bronzeriders-" And there's a disdainful little lilt in her voice, a scrunch of her nose and a narrowing of her eyes, "Always want the goldrider. And I bet you want Satiet, don't you? It's why you were all upset when what's his name couldn't finish the flight, and why you were so mean when we were talking."
"Nope," says I'daur, shaking his head once. "Not that it's any of your business. Reason the flight got to me is because it's a flight. They all do that." A long pause. Finally: "Don't really want anybody, if you got to know. I drink because... it's what I do."
"Right, and I sweep because it's what I do," Talien replies, visibly and audibly smug, "If you quit drinking you might have a shot. But..." One tiny shoulder lifts into a shrug as Talien pulls away from the broom and puts her back to the bronzerider to resume sweeping.
"Satiet's a drinking buddy," is I'daur's note on /that/. It's his turn to smirk a little smugly.
"I don't like her very much," Talien says to I'daur next, ignoring his smugness for sake of maintaining her delusion, "She got me drunk and, well, I don't care what anyone says. There's something wrong with that."
"She didn't get you drunk," I'daur points out. "Less she sat on you and poured it right down your throat. Nobody to blame for that but yourself."
"Not so," Talien denies, shooting a look at I'daur, "She never told me there was... stuff in that klah. And she let me drink it too. It's not right."
I'daur shrugs. "Well, then. You should have known better'n to take something from her," he tells her. He moves to sit down in his desk rather than getting to more cleaning, rubbing his leg idly again. "You'll know better now, though, won't you?"
Because I'daur sits, Talien sits. And because I'daur rubs his leg, Talien rubs hers. "Yeah. I'll know better," she says unconvincingly, "-if you'd just apologize and get things over with, I wouldn't have to stay here."
"I'm sorry your brother died," I'daur says finally, looking at Talien as she mimics him. "But I'm not going to spend my life blaming myself for something that just... happens."
"Not good enough." Talien says, setting the broom aside and standing. One corner of her mouth quirks into a tiny frown, and she glances to the jacket she'd abandoned. "I have other chores I have to do now." She wants to leave, but doesn't yet move.
"All right," says I'daur, nodding once. "Go on, then." He doesn't move, either, to get back to work or to see her out or anything.
"Ok." Talien hesitates, for all of a moment, and then retrieves the jacket and slips it over her arm before hurrying out the entrance.