And [at any price]
WHO: Taikrin and Saliqa
WHERE: Living Cavern, HRW
WHAT: Holder girl and girl convict meet over planning, and clash over duty.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
The first day of a new turn doesn't seem to have brought any change in the routine for the convicts of the High Reaches. They all appear to be enjoying the latter half of a late evening meal at their accustomed table by the entrance to the cavern. From the general silence and looks of exhaustion, they've been hard at work all day; even the ones who might have been kept up late by the sounds of revelry from the Turnday party. Taikrin is one of those who appear rather more exhausted: dark smudges that aren't just dirt mar her undereye area, and her head is propped up on her fist as she picks at the remains of her dinner. "... dunno, Gannar," is the address to the inmate who is customarily at her side. "Think they're just rumors, someone putting us on. You know how these types are."
Whatever 'these types' are, the short girl strutting into the caverns is likely one of them, or at least somehow relatable. Yet Saliqa is looking a touch harried on her own this evening. It's nothing to match the convicts, whom she approaches with single-minded focus, but it's more than can be said for her usually strict appearance. As if she senses this lack of primness radiating out, she pauses just short of the convicted group and pats her hair down, smoothes the front line of her vest, and then rests them on her skirts. Wide eyes cast about, fishing for the familiar face among all those others ones stoutly ignoring her -- what do they care about some girl, they're tired and hungry and disgruntled.
"Bet they just want t'see if they can get us t'turn on each other or something." Taikrin is gesticulating now with a half of a breadstick, which she stabs at her dining companion to emphasize her point. "I bet--" She breaks off abruptly as Ganner clears his throat, rolling his eyes towards Saliqa. Turning in her seat, Taikrin's expression becomes guarded as she locks her gaze on the other girl. "Speaking of..." she mutters half under her breath. Sitting up a bit straight, Taikrin tilts her short-cropped head towards the girl, then gives a sharp jerk in a gesture that might be intended to invite Saliqa down to the far end of the table. Maybe.
Saliqa interprets the gesture generously, allowing her to heed it and maneuver her way to where the two more familiar convicts are seated. Kneading her fingers into her skirts, she eventually rolls them up to reveal dainty pointed shoes, but also so she can pick her way narrowly between rows of benches without getting caught up on anything too untoward. Upon reaching Taikrin and companion, she relaxes the posture as she now stand at the end of the table where gestured, and it secures them a bit of privacy. Vaguely. "Good evening," she greets, with a bob of the head, "I hope I'm not interrupting."
Taikrin's gaze meets Ganner's, and for a moment they share a not-terribly-friendly smirk. By the Saliqa reaches the end of the table, though, Taikrin's expression is once more decidedly neutral. "'Evening," she allows in return. The breadstick half is dumped back with the other scraps of food with a flick of her hand to remove crumbs. "Nah, just finished up, really. Was wondering if you were gonna show up." Suddenly her eyes widen, the neutrality of her gaze dissolving into interest. "Hey, maybe you heard!" Voice dropping, she leans a bit close to Saliqa. "You know who's puttin' it about that one of that lot," head is jerked towards the other convicts, "... tried to sneak themselves in and pretend t'be a candidate?"
Though oblivious to any looks, Saliqa doesn't appear exactly naive as to the nature of those she's standing amongst; the dainty little picture she paints there in her upscale fabrics and her clean hands folded so chastely is markedly lacking in her narrowed eyes. There's a tiny bit of distress between her eyebrows. Aware of this also, she passes a hand lazily across her temple as if to dispel an itch. "Here I am," she responds, cut off before more, and squinting her gaze further the wider the other female's gets. If she leans in to indulge the new tone, it's barely for half an inch, and it's a bend at the waist, like a doll. "Try to sneak in? That isn't the story I heard, but I don't trust stories. Anyway, don't see the point." Even as the beacon of white on her shoulder airs her new status.
Taikrin snorts derisivly, pulling back with a quick shake of the head. "Lots of points to it, maybe. Depends on who's tellin' the story, and who they're tellin' it to." Dark eyes narrow as she studies Saliqa's face, though her expression is more one of consideration than malice. "Me and Ganner, we're trying t'figure out what the angle is. S'always an angle, this sort of story." Elbow rests once more upon the table, her fist this time propping up her temple as Taikrin leans upon it wearily. "What was it you all heard?"
"Stories get people in trouble," opines the girl pointedly, Saliqa not caring for that snort, either. "And that's an angle, too." Her eyes sweep the rest of the area, catching no other ones looking her way on the journey. Thus cleared, she lifts her skirts a second time in order to step over the width of the unoccupied end-table bench and flop herself down with some weight that doesn't quite reflect the ladylike way she got herself there. "Anyway, I'm fairly certain the most popular one of the moment is that he was scoping the cavern for a massive ambush on the candidates later in the season. It involved slit throats, which I find not only a horrid topic to bring into company, but highly unlikely. However, as you are my convict source, why don't you tell me."
"Well, of course. We all got an angle." Taikrin shows her teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Tryin' t'make sure this fun little bit of news don't lead to trouble fer us. Well, me and Ganner, anyways. Ain't nothing good comes of people like y-- uh, them, causin' people like me trouble. 'Specially when we can't do nothin' about it." Well, that sounds somewhat ominous. Still, she follows Saliqa's story with interest, her gaze intent as she picks out the salient points. "Ambush. Slit throats. Yer story's more, uh, interesting. When didja hear it? /We/ heard he was just pretendin' t'be one so he could try to steal a dragon egg." Eyes roll again-- even Taikrin doesn't believe that one.
Saliqa works her next words around in her mouth, her teeth around the inside of her cheek. "I heard it in the quarters," she finally imparts, "They have young girls in there already," and if a young girl is saying 'young'... "They're pretty scared. I'm fairly certain they're more worried about themselves than any eggs... well, the ones not squawking about the gold." By clamping her mouth shut, she can swallow up the groaning sigh, but her eyes roll off to the side rebelliously. The mood must linger, because there's something wry and almost downright forward about the way she eyeballs the convict next. "Also, isn't 'doing something about it' how some of you ended up in this position? So. Would you like to say anything /else/ about people like me?" An arch of an eyebrow; she lays it out like a gambler. A newbie gambler. But she stills gives the air that she can walk away any moment and somehow it'll be Taikrin's loss.
Taikrin's brows draw together in consternation, her disapproval apparent as she jerks upright. "Ain't right, tellin' stories to stir that sort up. They cause the worst sort of trouble, with their crying and their drama. By lunch tomorrow, betcha a smith-mark they're gonna be saying they already WAS ambushed." Saliqa's apparent confidence provokes a likewise reaction in Taikrin. A faint grin is forced upon her somewhat dirty features, and she lowers her head once more to rest upon her fist. "Weeeell, you could say that. Ain't known for takin' it lying down, that's fer sure. Folks like /you/ are the type that gets honest folk like /me/ lynched on a hunch." Taikrin has no problem rising to the bait, though she seems more amused than anything else. "Betcha didn't come all the way down here t'share the gossip, though. Wanting t'know what I found out, are ya?"
Saliqa's missing the frothy mug o'ale part of this big man in Hall act, so she lacks any kind of follow-up without anything to swig as punctuation. "Doing things on hunches isn't respectable," she comments, a bit more herself, "I don't care for hunches like I don't care for stories." Which is used in placement of answering what may or may not be bet on about her. Parting her hands, she uses both to tuck away loose strands of black hair, then she scoots forward on the bench, elbows on table. Trying to be conspiratorial with a convict for her is probably coming off more like an apprentice attempting to order his first alcohol. If she gets points for trying is up to her company. "I am, please. I've already, optimistically, informed the harpers."
Taikrin doesn't give more than a half-shrug in response to all the talk of hunches and stories. "What's respectable ain't got much t'do with what keeps yer hide from getting holes poked in it. Girl'd be smart t'keep up with the news of a place." But the advice -- if it is advice -- is mildly given. Taikrin is far more interested in watching Saliqa's performance. The grin remains, accompanied now by a cocked eyebrow. "Well, if you've told the harpers, guess I /have/ t'tell you now." There's a sardonic emphasis on 'harpers'. "So, some of the older boys, lifers, like--" Taikrin lifts her head from her hand just long enough to indicate in the general direction of an extremly rough-looking set of men apparently in their forties, "They thought you was making some kind of setup. So, I worked a little bit of an angle, see." The words are drawn out, Taikrin's enjoyment for the suspense obvious.
The shoulders drop out of that pose as Saliqa rears back in unhappy consideration. "Some kind of setup? Oh, yes, well... I suppose ma'am Addiene mentioned something of the sort as well. Hmmmph. If some of the 'older boys'," her tone goes toe-to-toe with Taikrin's over 'harpers', "don't feel like gracing us with their company, they certainly can stay out in the yard and be suspicious all they like." A haughty sniff. But the edge of a closer inspection shows the vulnerability underneath-- shows the girl who is emotionally invested in this going well. "Alright, though, you worked an angle." In an attempt to not sound too eager, she molds the sentence into permission for Taikrin to continue.
"Their way of thinkin', you know, ain't too clear no more." Because, of course, Taikrin is a bastion of rationality. "They thought maybe, might be you was lookin' t'impress one of us. Maybe you was love sick over one, maybe like Shigor, there. All set t'hand him over t'you, too." She gestures to a rakishly handsome younger inmate a half dozen seats down, who is made perhaps somewhat less attractive by the permanent sneer that twists his lips. "So I thought maybe, better they think somethin' else before you find yerself a present in yer cot one day." Taikrin's smile twists a bit tighter, though her expression otherwise is all innocence. "So I told 'em you owed me. Payoff. Figured, maybe safer fer you that way." She pauses, then, eyebrows raising dramatically. "Unless, hey, maybe you /do/ got a thing fer Shigor. Never did say why you were so keen on this party, thing."
"E-Excuse me?" It's the politest way for Saliqa to get to gape at the comments before made without the requirement of swear words. Rather than insinuate someone's craziness, she prefers to tip her head back and to the side to suggest she may have heard wrong. Obediently, there is a shifting of glance to that particular convict, whatever his name, but she's soon back on Taikrin with a loosened jaw and those wide eyes blinking. "They thought-- they thought I had it /sweet/ on one of them? That's--!" Whatever that is, we may never find out. But she's got half a mind to explain it to those older boys, because, palms on the edge of the table, she shoots right up out of her seat. Then she's thumped right down again. "Ohh, slander. Fantastic. Everyone will take me seriously /now/. It's just... it's just a goodwill gesture. You all need to fulfill their punishments, but us using ill treatment is like dumping klah on a burn. It's /supposed/ to be about accepting society again."
Taikrin doesn't laugh at Saliqa's outburst, though it's a near thing: her lips twitch with effort to suppress the more blatant displays of mirth. "Hey, hey, don't you take it personal none. That crew, it's all about getting some t--, uh, gettin' some. Figure everyone else's gotta be same as them. Pretty girl like you? Phff, wildest dreams, them." Taikrin stretches upwards rather smugly, accompanied by the sound of several vertebrae cracking. "Anyways, better this way. Explains you sittin' here with me and all. Though you might wanna look less happy about it." The last is added with a conspiratorial whisper and a glimpse of a faux-serious expression. Saliqa's explanation puts a bit of a damper on Taikrin's enthusiasm, though. Her voice grows suddenly heated, pride apparently stung. "Goodwill, eh? Accepting society like, what, charity? Like we was the one that said t'shells with society?"
Yeah, Saliqa looks mighty happy. If happy is a wrinkled nose of distaste and the hint of down-turned lower lip of sulking. So very happy. "Yes, goodwill. And I feel that would be pretty straight-forward. You must've broken some rule of conduct or of general humane behavior to be brought in in the first place." Her hands frame out just short of that 'duh' gesture, then she slaps the palms back onto the surface. The common sense has calmed her, even as its riled Taikrin. "And, anyway, it isn't charity. Everyone deserves a break once in a while. By the way, I feel I have to bring it up, because you've done it several times now-- that teasing you do, about the flowers and the pretty and such? You might spin a more convincing story if you pulled it on someone actually, you know..."
"Broken a rule of conduct..?" Taikrin echoes, mimicking Saliqa's inflections with only moderate success. "Broken a rule-- girl, I would /love/ t'spend a day in the Pern you come from." Her voice rises in pitch incredulously, though still modulated softly enough to not draw negative attention from the others at the table. "Doin' what we had to do, most of us. Some of us, yeah, whatever--" The more sociopathic of the convict set are dismissed with a snort. "-- but me? Ganner? Your rules don't want me, and I don't want them." The heat in her voice fades, some, as she continues, though her posture contains none of her previously indolent repose. "Break, yeah, sure. Don't catch too many of those. Still don't know what y'think yer doin', but. Ain't gonna so no to a break. 'Specially if it means-- well. It's good." Taikrin can do no more than blink as Saliqa finishes, disbelief scrawled across her face. "Girl, have you /seen/ the lot I been hanging with, last few turns?" Indeed, Taikrin with all her scars appears relatively undamaged compared to the roughened countenences of the other few female convicts. "Y'look pretty soft 'n delicate to me." The last is said with another snort, her voice more matter-of-fact than teasing, now.
Saliqa appears to thrive off the matter-of-fact more than that previous tone. "Of course I've seen them. But I haven't had to live the way you have, so, yes, I may be soft and delicate-- because I'm a lady-- but I've been around my own lot long enough to know I'm all," her hands mark the walls of an invisible square, "where I should be," and then roll out in an arc that is an almost humorous depiction of a woman's generous supply. "Not that I'm not cheating a litt--" The tongue darts out, wetting her lips in a semblance of distraction over her slip-up. She pushes on, even physically nudging the table, with extra insistence because of it. "And, I'm very sorry to have to disagree, but /no/, you /wouldn't/ love to spend a day because, as you just clearly said, you don't want the rules. Well, rules /are/ my world. I live by my solemn bounds of duty," she even forms a fist and thumps it enthusiastically against her chest, over her heart, "I have no idea what them wanting a person means, but it sounds a bit untrue."
"Are you really-- did you just-- you are /one/ piece of work, girl." Taikrin remains incredulous, eyes rolling in disbelief at Saliqa's pantomime. "Don't think I /do/ want t'spend a day in your world, if it's always this full of crazy. Maybe do you some good t'spend a day in mine, though." A derisive sound is made in her throat: "Hmph. Flat chest, crime against humanity, that. You think /that/'s what that lot," again, the gang of older criminals is indicated, "--that lot's thinkin' about when they're lookin' at you?" Irritated, now, she adds, "And what the flaming ashes are solemn bounds of duty?"
Fast as a snake, Saliqa hands darts off the table and to herself. She presses them defensively against her stomach in a retreat that doesn't want to admit it is one. "I think that lot is thinking I'm a floofy, flouncy bit of good-for-nothing who looks down on them and deserves to be taken down a peg. I think that's what you think, too. The chest bit, if you must know, was, as they told me, for the Weyr and their loose sense of propriety. Wouldn't want to /encourage/ any of it." She sucks in a breath under those poised fingers, "And duty is what we're all expected to do. Duty to our homes, our family, our eventual husbands and children." Unbidden and self-conscious, one of those hands creeps up to her shoulders, to that treacherous strand of white. Eyebrows drop. So does the hand. Gaze lifts. A challenge, "And I /could/ do a day in the mines."
"Well." Taikrin doesn't seem much inclined to argue with that interpretation, though it does mollify her irritation somewhat. "'Least yer honest about it." Head is shaken, though, disbelief still apparent on her face. "Y'got a wacked sense of duty, though. Where's yer duty to yerself? Nobody's gonna look out for you. Not yer Hold. Not that husband and the herd of brats. You really wouldn't last even one day, in a mine. I don't mean this soft job here, neither." A hand is waved dismissively at the Weyr and its relative luxury. "And I don't only mean crackin' rock and hauling coal, neither, though..." Brows furrow as she studies Saliqa's hands and arms. "... don't think you'd like that part much either." Her voice lowers ominously, and she once more subtly indicates some of the more hardened criminals. "I mean, what you think a soft girl like you's gonna do when a guy like him corners you in a tunnel? Yer duty ain't gonna help you none when /he/ does his duty on /you/. Yer society and yer 'rules of conduct' don't mean nothin' underground."
"Staying true to these things /is/ my duty to myself. My duty to fulfilling my role to the best of my ability," And this you won't hear Saliqa wavering on in the least bit. Despite the set-backs in the conversations, she lays this one out plainly, without judgment, because it's the most basic truth. To her. The draw of eyebrows and posturing jut-out of the chin returns when she comes under examination. Long sisal sleeves cover her arms, but those posed hands are clear for inspection. Her nails are short, possibly bitten, but clean. In fact, her hands seem rather... glistening, all told, and the reason could have something to do with the red that's slowly fading out of them, the forming toughness around blisters. She's worked, but recently. "You're wrong," her voice also lowers, but solemn and strong, even as she swallows visibly over the imagined scenario, "They mean /more/ underground. That's when it matters the most, when you've nothing else, when you're the only one. If I abandon my principles for the likes of /him/, then I am weak." A beat-- a sullen beat. "And I oppose to you using the word 'duty' in that manner."
"You ain't answered my question," Taikrin contests. "You gonna let him do whatever he wants to you, do--" And here, her a somewhat nasty grin does appear on her face. "Do his /duty/ t'you, maybe kill you?" There's special emphasis on that word, Taikrin attempting to drive her point home. "All yer pretty words are nice, but when that man comes to take you away, right then, they're not gonna keep you breathin' one more day. Ain't nothin' weak about stayin' alive. Doin' what you gotta do t'keep moving." And likewise Taikrin won't budge an inch on this point. Her jaw sets stubbornly, gaze sharp. "You try tellin' me otherwise now, sure. Like I said, y'won't make a day in my world. Not like that."
"And I'm not /going/ to answer it, because it's rude." Saliqa informs her with a little toss of her head. Those tight elbows relax, shoulders dropping. Even the agitated lines of her face smooth the longer she regards Taikrin after the next few words. Though they've hit an impasse of non-flexible viewpoints, that doesn't seem to much stop her. "Well, there's everything weak about it. When you're the one losing. Being alive doesn't mean you're not weak. I'm sure you've met plenty of examples of that. Since you're here, saying these things, that probably means you've already stomped on someone like me who was supposedly all softer than you. I mean, you /are/ calling it 'your world'," scoffing, as she picks herself up, sets a leg over the bench, "I may come to physical harm in that place, but, I assure you, that doesn't mean it would break me."
"The weak get stepped on, used up, hung out, then they die. S'what happens if y'can't protect yerself. Some of these guys, couple'a short steps from dead." Taikrin doesn't indicate anybody in particular; her focus is intent on Saliqa. "Some of these guys done stuff what'd curl yer blood t'stay alive." A pause, then: "Some of 'em just fer fun. Ain't nobody pushes them around, though. Nobody. That's strong. Ain't too nice, though." Her lips once more curve upwards sardonically. "Me, I do what I gotta do. Nobody's gonna give me nothin', so I take it if I gotta." She blinks, suddenly, her entire demeaner shifting into outright disbelief. "Why'm I even arguing it with a girl like you! Ain't never gonna believe it 'till ya see it." As the momentary realization passes, her voice lowers once more, and she grudgingly admits: "Stay in yer world, girl. Hope y'ain't never have t'come inta mine."
Straddled over the bench like it's the very line which separates their two existences, Saliqa listens with great patience. Only once do her eyes stray from the convict, and that moment is a simple flicker to the ceiling as she pieces a thought together. Her lapse in concentration occurs over the reuse of the word 'strong' and her clear debate with lips with work to and 'fro. "There's a difference between being strong and being a bully," she decides upon, plucking at her clothes to continue the movement to get to the other side of the seat-- away from Taikrin. The rest is all absorbed with a face she keeps straight in a practiced manner. It isn't until the admittance that she actually colors herself bemused. "I would hope so, too, except..." Eyes down and timid-- until they lift and are bright with spirit. "Then how would I get to know you?" Which is how she chooses to end this debate, what with the casual turn and strut off to where she started.
Taikrin is left flatfooted, obviously unprepared for Saliqa's final statement. Her jaw hangs open, lips twitching for words that don't appear to want to come. "Y-- I-- wh--" Real words are only managed after Saliqa has gotten more than a few paces away, and even then it's only a baffled murmur of, "Girl really /is/ cracked..." A snicker comes from over her shoulder-- apparently Ganner has been paying attention in his silent way after all. "Shove off!" And just like that, Taikrin is returned to her normally callous self once more, with a not-so-gentle punch to Ganner's shoulder for emphasis.
WHERE: Living Cavern, HRW
WHAT: Holder girl and girl convict meet over planning, and clash over duty.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
The first day of a new turn doesn't seem to have brought any change in the routine for the convicts of the High Reaches. They all appear to be enjoying the latter half of a late evening meal at their accustomed table by the entrance to the cavern. From the general silence and looks of exhaustion, they've been hard at work all day; even the ones who might have been kept up late by the sounds of revelry from the Turnday party. Taikrin is one of those who appear rather more exhausted: dark smudges that aren't just dirt mar her undereye area, and her head is propped up on her fist as she picks at the remains of her dinner. "... dunno, Gannar," is the address to the inmate who is customarily at her side. "Think they're just rumors, someone putting us on. You know how these types are."
Whatever 'these types' are, the short girl strutting into the caverns is likely one of them, or at least somehow relatable. Yet Saliqa is looking a touch harried on her own this evening. It's nothing to match the convicts, whom she approaches with single-minded focus, but it's more than can be said for her usually strict appearance. As if she senses this lack of primness radiating out, she pauses just short of the convicted group and pats her hair down, smoothes the front line of her vest, and then rests them on her skirts. Wide eyes cast about, fishing for the familiar face among all those others ones stoutly ignoring her -- what do they care about some girl, they're tired and hungry and disgruntled.
"Bet they just want t'see if they can get us t'turn on each other or something." Taikrin is gesticulating now with a half of a breadstick, which she stabs at her dining companion to emphasize her point. "I bet--" She breaks off abruptly as Ganner clears his throat, rolling his eyes towards Saliqa. Turning in her seat, Taikrin's expression becomes guarded as she locks her gaze on the other girl. "Speaking of..." she mutters half under her breath. Sitting up a bit straight, Taikrin tilts her short-cropped head towards the girl, then gives a sharp jerk in a gesture that might be intended to invite Saliqa down to the far end of the table. Maybe.
Saliqa interprets the gesture generously, allowing her to heed it and maneuver her way to where the two more familiar convicts are seated. Kneading her fingers into her skirts, she eventually rolls them up to reveal dainty pointed shoes, but also so she can pick her way narrowly between rows of benches without getting caught up on anything too untoward. Upon reaching Taikrin and companion, she relaxes the posture as she now stand at the end of the table where gestured, and it secures them a bit of privacy. Vaguely. "Good evening," she greets, with a bob of the head, "I hope I'm not interrupting."
Taikrin's gaze meets Ganner's, and for a moment they share a not-terribly-friendly smirk. By the Saliqa reaches the end of the table, though, Taikrin's expression is once more decidedly neutral. "'Evening," she allows in return. The breadstick half is dumped back with the other scraps of food with a flick of her hand to remove crumbs. "Nah, just finished up, really. Was wondering if you were gonna show up." Suddenly her eyes widen, the neutrality of her gaze dissolving into interest. "Hey, maybe you heard!" Voice dropping, she leans a bit close to Saliqa. "You know who's puttin' it about that one of that lot," head is jerked towards the other convicts, "... tried to sneak themselves in and pretend t'be a candidate?"
Though oblivious to any looks, Saliqa doesn't appear exactly naive as to the nature of those she's standing amongst; the dainty little picture she paints there in her upscale fabrics and her clean hands folded so chastely is markedly lacking in her narrowed eyes. There's a tiny bit of distress between her eyebrows. Aware of this also, she passes a hand lazily across her temple as if to dispel an itch. "Here I am," she responds, cut off before more, and squinting her gaze further the wider the other female's gets. If she leans in to indulge the new tone, it's barely for half an inch, and it's a bend at the waist, like a doll. "Try to sneak in? That isn't the story I heard, but I don't trust stories. Anyway, don't see the point." Even as the beacon of white on her shoulder airs her new status.
Taikrin snorts derisivly, pulling back with a quick shake of the head. "Lots of points to it, maybe. Depends on who's tellin' the story, and who they're tellin' it to." Dark eyes narrow as she studies Saliqa's face, though her expression is more one of consideration than malice. "Me and Ganner, we're trying t'figure out what the angle is. S'always an angle, this sort of story." Elbow rests once more upon the table, her fist this time propping up her temple as Taikrin leans upon it wearily. "What was it you all heard?"
"Stories get people in trouble," opines the girl pointedly, Saliqa not caring for that snort, either. "And that's an angle, too." Her eyes sweep the rest of the area, catching no other ones looking her way on the journey. Thus cleared, she lifts her skirts a second time in order to step over the width of the unoccupied end-table bench and flop herself down with some weight that doesn't quite reflect the ladylike way she got herself there. "Anyway, I'm fairly certain the most popular one of the moment is that he was scoping the cavern for a massive ambush on the candidates later in the season. It involved slit throats, which I find not only a horrid topic to bring into company, but highly unlikely. However, as you are my convict source, why don't you tell me."
"Well, of course. We all got an angle." Taikrin shows her teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Tryin' t'make sure this fun little bit of news don't lead to trouble fer us. Well, me and Ganner, anyways. Ain't nothing good comes of people like y-- uh, them, causin' people like me trouble. 'Specially when we can't do nothin' about it." Well, that sounds somewhat ominous. Still, she follows Saliqa's story with interest, her gaze intent as she picks out the salient points. "Ambush. Slit throats. Yer story's more, uh, interesting. When didja hear it? /We/ heard he was just pretendin' t'be one so he could try to steal a dragon egg." Eyes roll again-- even Taikrin doesn't believe that one.
Saliqa works her next words around in her mouth, her teeth around the inside of her cheek. "I heard it in the quarters," she finally imparts, "They have young girls in there already," and if a young girl is saying 'young'... "They're pretty scared. I'm fairly certain they're more worried about themselves than any eggs... well, the ones not squawking about the gold." By clamping her mouth shut, she can swallow up the groaning sigh, but her eyes roll off to the side rebelliously. The mood must linger, because there's something wry and almost downright forward about the way she eyeballs the convict next. "Also, isn't 'doing something about it' how some of you ended up in this position? So. Would you like to say anything /else/ about people like me?" An arch of an eyebrow; she lays it out like a gambler. A newbie gambler. But she stills gives the air that she can walk away any moment and somehow it'll be Taikrin's loss.
Taikrin's brows draw together in consternation, her disapproval apparent as she jerks upright. "Ain't right, tellin' stories to stir that sort up. They cause the worst sort of trouble, with their crying and their drama. By lunch tomorrow, betcha a smith-mark they're gonna be saying they already WAS ambushed." Saliqa's apparent confidence provokes a likewise reaction in Taikrin. A faint grin is forced upon her somewhat dirty features, and she lowers her head once more to rest upon her fist. "Weeeell, you could say that. Ain't known for takin' it lying down, that's fer sure. Folks like /you/ are the type that gets honest folk like /me/ lynched on a hunch." Taikrin has no problem rising to the bait, though she seems more amused than anything else. "Betcha didn't come all the way down here t'share the gossip, though. Wanting t'know what I found out, are ya?"
Saliqa's missing the frothy mug o'ale part of this big man in Hall act, so she lacks any kind of follow-up without anything to swig as punctuation. "Doing things on hunches isn't respectable," she comments, a bit more herself, "I don't care for hunches like I don't care for stories." Which is used in placement of answering what may or may not be bet on about her. Parting her hands, she uses both to tuck away loose strands of black hair, then she scoots forward on the bench, elbows on table. Trying to be conspiratorial with a convict for her is probably coming off more like an apprentice attempting to order his first alcohol. If she gets points for trying is up to her company. "I am, please. I've already, optimistically, informed the harpers."
Taikrin doesn't give more than a half-shrug in response to all the talk of hunches and stories. "What's respectable ain't got much t'do with what keeps yer hide from getting holes poked in it. Girl'd be smart t'keep up with the news of a place." But the advice -- if it is advice -- is mildly given. Taikrin is far more interested in watching Saliqa's performance. The grin remains, accompanied now by a cocked eyebrow. "Well, if you've told the harpers, guess I /have/ t'tell you now." There's a sardonic emphasis on 'harpers'. "So, some of the older boys, lifers, like--" Taikrin lifts her head from her hand just long enough to indicate in the general direction of an extremly rough-looking set of men apparently in their forties, "They thought you was making some kind of setup. So, I worked a little bit of an angle, see." The words are drawn out, Taikrin's enjoyment for the suspense obvious.
The shoulders drop out of that pose as Saliqa rears back in unhappy consideration. "Some kind of setup? Oh, yes, well... I suppose ma'am Addiene mentioned something of the sort as well. Hmmmph. If some of the 'older boys'," her tone goes toe-to-toe with Taikrin's over 'harpers', "don't feel like gracing us with their company, they certainly can stay out in the yard and be suspicious all they like." A haughty sniff. But the edge of a closer inspection shows the vulnerability underneath-- shows the girl who is emotionally invested in this going well. "Alright, though, you worked an angle." In an attempt to not sound too eager, she molds the sentence into permission for Taikrin to continue.
"Their way of thinkin', you know, ain't too clear no more." Because, of course, Taikrin is a bastion of rationality. "They thought maybe, might be you was lookin' t'impress one of us. Maybe you was love sick over one, maybe like Shigor, there. All set t'hand him over t'you, too." She gestures to a rakishly handsome younger inmate a half dozen seats down, who is made perhaps somewhat less attractive by the permanent sneer that twists his lips. "So I thought maybe, better they think somethin' else before you find yerself a present in yer cot one day." Taikrin's smile twists a bit tighter, though her expression otherwise is all innocence. "So I told 'em you owed me. Payoff. Figured, maybe safer fer you that way." She pauses, then, eyebrows raising dramatically. "Unless, hey, maybe you /do/ got a thing fer Shigor. Never did say why you were so keen on this party, thing."
"E-Excuse me?" It's the politest way for Saliqa to get to gape at the comments before made without the requirement of swear words. Rather than insinuate someone's craziness, she prefers to tip her head back and to the side to suggest she may have heard wrong. Obediently, there is a shifting of glance to that particular convict, whatever his name, but she's soon back on Taikrin with a loosened jaw and those wide eyes blinking. "They thought-- they thought I had it /sweet/ on one of them? That's--!" Whatever that is, we may never find out. But she's got half a mind to explain it to those older boys, because, palms on the edge of the table, she shoots right up out of her seat. Then she's thumped right down again. "Ohh, slander. Fantastic. Everyone will take me seriously /now/. It's just... it's just a goodwill gesture. You all need to fulfill their punishments, but us using ill treatment is like dumping klah on a burn. It's /supposed/ to be about accepting society again."
Taikrin doesn't laugh at Saliqa's outburst, though it's a near thing: her lips twitch with effort to suppress the more blatant displays of mirth. "Hey, hey, don't you take it personal none. That crew, it's all about getting some t--, uh, gettin' some. Figure everyone else's gotta be same as them. Pretty girl like you? Phff, wildest dreams, them." Taikrin stretches upwards rather smugly, accompanied by the sound of several vertebrae cracking. "Anyways, better this way. Explains you sittin' here with me and all. Though you might wanna look less happy about it." The last is added with a conspiratorial whisper and a glimpse of a faux-serious expression. Saliqa's explanation puts a bit of a damper on Taikrin's enthusiasm, though. Her voice grows suddenly heated, pride apparently stung. "Goodwill, eh? Accepting society like, what, charity? Like we was the one that said t'shells with society?"
Yeah, Saliqa looks mighty happy. If happy is a wrinkled nose of distaste and the hint of down-turned lower lip of sulking. So very happy. "Yes, goodwill. And I feel that would be pretty straight-forward. You must've broken some rule of conduct or of general humane behavior to be brought in in the first place." Her hands frame out just short of that 'duh' gesture, then she slaps the palms back onto the surface. The common sense has calmed her, even as its riled Taikrin. "And, anyway, it isn't charity. Everyone deserves a break once in a while. By the way, I feel I have to bring it up, because you've done it several times now-- that teasing you do, about the flowers and the pretty and such? You might spin a more convincing story if you pulled it on someone actually, you know..."
"Broken a rule of conduct..?" Taikrin echoes, mimicking Saliqa's inflections with only moderate success. "Broken a rule-- girl, I would /love/ t'spend a day in the Pern you come from." Her voice rises in pitch incredulously, though still modulated softly enough to not draw negative attention from the others at the table. "Doin' what we had to do, most of us. Some of us, yeah, whatever--" The more sociopathic of the convict set are dismissed with a snort. "-- but me? Ganner? Your rules don't want me, and I don't want them." The heat in her voice fades, some, as she continues, though her posture contains none of her previously indolent repose. "Break, yeah, sure. Don't catch too many of those. Still don't know what y'think yer doin', but. Ain't gonna so no to a break. 'Specially if it means-- well. It's good." Taikrin can do no more than blink as Saliqa finishes, disbelief scrawled across her face. "Girl, have you /seen/ the lot I been hanging with, last few turns?" Indeed, Taikrin with all her scars appears relatively undamaged compared to the roughened countenences of the other few female convicts. "Y'look pretty soft 'n delicate to me." The last is said with another snort, her voice more matter-of-fact than teasing, now.
Saliqa appears to thrive off the matter-of-fact more than that previous tone. "Of course I've seen them. But I haven't had to live the way you have, so, yes, I may be soft and delicate-- because I'm a lady-- but I've been around my own lot long enough to know I'm all," her hands mark the walls of an invisible square, "where I should be," and then roll out in an arc that is an almost humorous depiction of a woman's generous supply. "Not that I'm not cheating a litt--" The tongue darts out, wetting her lips in a semblance of distraction over her slip-up. She pushes on, even physically nudging the table, with extra insistence because of it. "And, I'm very sorry to have to disagree, but /no/, you /wouldn't/ love to spend a day because, as you just clearly said, you don't want the rules. Well, rules /are/ my world. I live by my solemn bounds of duty," she even forms a fist and thumps it enthusiastically against her chest, over her heart, "I have no idea what them wanting a person means, but it sounds a bit untrue."
"Are you really-- did you just-- you are /one/ piece of work, girl." Taikrin remains incredulous, eyes rolling in disbelief at Saliqa's pantomime. "Don't think I /do/ want t'spend a day in your world, if it's always this full of crazy. Maybe do you some good t'spend a day in mine, though." A derisive sound is made in her throat: "Hmph. Flat chest, crime against humanity, that. You think /that/'s what that lot," again, the gang of older criminals is indicated, "--that lot's thinkin' about when they're lookin' at you?" Irritated, now, she adds, "And what the flaming ashes are solemn bounds of duty?"
Fast as a snake, Saliqa hands darts off the table and to herself. She presses them defensively against her stomach in a retreat that doesn't want to admit it is one. "I think that lot is thinking I'm a floofy, flouncy bit of good-for-nothing who looks down on them and deserves to be taken down a peg. I think that's what you think, too. The chest bit, if you must know, was, as they told me, for the Weyr and their loose sense of propriety. Wouldn't want to /encourage/ any of it." She sucks in a breath under those poised fingers, "And duty is what we're all expected to do. Duty to our homes, our family, our eventual husbands and children." Unbidden and self-conscious, one of those hands creeps up to her shoulders, to that treacherous strand of white. Eyebrows drop. So does the hand. Gaze lifts. A challenge, "And I /could/ do a day in the mines."
"Well." Taikrin doesn't seem much inclined to argue with that interpretation, though it does mollify her irritation somewhat. "'Least yer honest about it." Head is shaken, though, disbelief still apparent on her face. "Y'got a wacked sense of duty, though. Where's yer duty to yerself? Nobody's gonna look out for you. Not yer Hold. Not that husband and the herd of brats. You really wouldn't last even one day, in a mine. I don't mean this soft job here, neither." A hand is waved dismissively at the Weyr and its relative luxury. "And I don't only mean crackin' rock and hauling coal, neither, though..." Brows furrow as she studies Saliqa's hands and arms. "... don't think you'd like that part much either." Her voice lowers ominously, and she once more subtly indicates some of the more hardened criminals. "I mean, what you think a soft girl like you's gonna do when a guy like him corners you in a tunnel? Yer duty ain't gonna help you none when /he/ does his duty on /you/. Yer society and yer 'rules of conduct' don't mean nothin' underground."
"Staying true to these things /is/ my duty to myself. My duty to fulfilling my role to the best of my ability," And this you won't hear Saliqa wavering on in the least bit. Despite the set-backs in the conversations, she lays this one out plainly, without judgment, because it's the most basic truth. To her. The draw of eyebrows and posturing jut-out of the chin returns when she comes under examination. Long sisal sleeves cover her arms, but those posed hands are clear for inspection. Her nails are short, possibly bitten, but clean. In fact, her hands seem rather... glistening, all told, and the reason could have something to do with the red that's slowly fading out of them, the forming toughness around blisters. She's worked, but recently. "You're wrong," her voice also lowers, but solemn and strong, even as she swallows visibly over the imagined scenario, "They mean /more/ underground. That's when it matters the most, when you've nothing else, when you're the only one. If I abandon my principles for the likes of /him/, then I am weak." A beat-- a sullen beat. "And I oppose to you using the word 'duty' in that manner."
"You ain't answered my question," Taikrin contests. "You gonna let him do whatever he wants to you, do--" And here, her a somewhat nasty grin does appear on her face. "Do his /duty/ t'you, maybe kill you?" There's special emphasis on that word, Taikrin attempting to drive her point home. "All yer pretty words are nice, but when that man comes to take you away, right then, they're not gonna keep you breathin' one more day. Ain't nothin' weak about stayin' alive. Doin' what you gotta do t'keep moving." And likewise Taikrin won't budge an inch on this point. Her jaw sets stubbornly, gaze sharp. "You try tellin' me otherwise now, sure. Like I said, y'won't make a day in my world. Not like that."
"And I'm not /going/ to answer it, because it's rude." Saliqa informs her with a little toss of her head. Those tight elbows relax, shoulders dropping. Even the agitated lines of her face smooth the longer she regards Taikrin after the next few words. Though they've hit an impasse of non-flexible viewpoints, that doesn't seem to much stop her. "Well, there's everything weak about it. When you're the one losing. Being alive doesn't mean you're not weak. I'm sure you've met plenty of examples of that. Since you're here, saying these things, that probably means you've already stomped on someone like me who was supposedly all softer than you. I mean, you /are/ calling it 'your world'," scoffing, as she picks herself up, sets a leg over the bench, "I may come to physical harm in that place, but, I assure you, that doesn't mean it would break me."
"The weak get stepped on, used up, hung out, then they die. S'what happens if y'can't protect yerself. Some of these guys, couple'a short steps from dead." Taikrin doesn't indicate anybody in particular; her focus is intent on Saliqa. "Some of these guys done stuff what'd curl yer blood t'stay alive." A pause, then: "Some of 'em just fer fun. Ain't nobody pushes them around, though. Nobody. That's strong. Ain't too nice, though." Her lips once more curve upwards sardonically. "Me, I do what I gotta do. Nobody's gonna give me nothin', so I take it if I gotta." She blinks, suddenly, her entire demeaner shifting into outright disbelief. "Why'm I even arguing it with a girl like you! Ain't never gonna believe it 'till ya see it." As the momentary realization passes, her voice lowers once more, and she grudgingly admits: "Stay in yer world, girl. Hope y'ain't never have t'come inta mine."
Straddled over the bench like it's the very line which separates their two existences, Saliqa listens with great patience. Only once do her eyes stray from the convict, and that moment is a simple flicker to the ceiling as she pieces a thought together. Her lapse in concentration occurs over the reuse of the word 'strong' and her clear debate with lips with work to and 'fro. "There's a difference between being strong and being a bully," she decides upon, plucking at her clothes to continue the movement to get to the other side of the seat-- away from Taikrin. The rest is all absorbed with a face she keeps straight in a practiced manner. It isn't until the admittance that she actually colors herself bemused. "I would hope so, too, except..." Eyes down and timid-- until they lift and are bright with spirit. "Then how would I get to know you?" Which is how she chooses to end this debate, what with the casual turn and strut off to where she started.
Taikrin is left flatfooted, obviously unprepared for Saliqa's final statement. Her jaw hangs open, lips twitching for words that don't appear to want to come. "Y-- I-- wh--" Real words are only managed after Saliqa has gotten more than a few paces away, and even then it's only a baffled murmur of, "Girl really /is/ cracked..." A snicker comes from over her shoulder-- apparently Ganner has been paying attention in his silent way after all. "Shove off!" And just like that, Taikrin is returned to her normally callous self once more, with a not-so-gentle punch to Ganner's shoulder for emphasis.