| Candidates doing chores |
[Aug. 3rd, 2006|12:56 pm] |
Draila makes her way over towards the firestone pit with an armload of empty sacks. Quietly the sacks are deposited for easy usage.
Kailai is currently up to her elbows in firestone, the last sack quickly being filled. Sweat streaks her face and her arms are dusty, so are her clothes, and her face has a streak of firestone dust across one cheek. But she's currently humming the duty song and has a huge smile on her face as she works.
Draila picks up one of the sacks and joins Kailai in the firestone pit, beginning to heft chunks of rock into the opened sack at her feet. Softly she greets "Hello Kailai, hard at work I see. Everything been going alright for you lately? Any problems with the other Candidates?"
Kailai shakes her head. "No, no problems. I've been working hard. But I had an idea, I'd like you to think about. I've done a lot of painting the past months, and I was hoping, that maybe, just maybe, sometime, I could do a painting of the candidate class? I know its a lot to ask with everything so busy around here, but I thought it might be a way to remember candidacy by."
Draila's smile warms as she ohs silently, giving the suggestion some consideration. "What an interesting idea.." Her soft murmur replies as another chuck of rock is tosses into the sack. She offers a quick shrug as she ponders out loud. "Perhaps even making a party of it? A pajama party when you're all relaxing from your labors of the day?" She bends to retrieve another chuck of stone and it follows the first. "It might be something you'll want to discuss with the others Kailai, and I'll give it some more thought as well."
Kailai takes one last whack, this time down low, and the head of the mallet falls off and goes skittering across the bowl. The mallet handle goes bonk and Kailai tumbles forward slightly. "Um... er... I guess I don't know my own strength." She says as she stares at the mallet's head and handle.
Draila pauses when the strange sound is unexpectedly heard. "What was..? She begins to softly ask as she straightens to look about. Catching sight of the mallet head skittering across the bowl makes her smile and shake her head as she softly informs the girl. "I believe you'll find a replacement for that in the storage caverns Kailai."
Vendelin comes around a pile of firestone, having heard the crack-skitter of a mallet's demise, and he stands with one hand on his hip, his face covered in dust except where he's wiped a streak partway clear on his forehead. A wry grin claims his face, white teeth gleaming against the darkness of the dust everywhere else. "Don't suppose we could do that on purpose to earn a water break," he calls, once it is noted that everyone seems all right, at least.
Kailai nods to Draila. "I"ll be back. That boulder is going to wish it had never been mined!" She exclaims with a wink before she heads for the shed.
Draila watches Kailai head off before turning to regard Vendelin for a moment. "No.." Her soft reply begins to his question between a round of giggles. ".. I don't think breaking mallets on purpose would be recommended. But if you really require a water break then go ahead. We do understand how demanding this chore can be for those not use to hard labor."
Vendelin stiffens, his posture taking on a more straight-backed bent. "No," he asserts, almost defensively but certainly more from some mal-inflated pride than from any lack of fatigue. "I'm used enough to hard labor. I can keep working." The skinny lad sniffs, accidentally sucking dust into his nose, and loses all shreds of his mock-dignity by sneezing loudly. "Uh, 'scuse me."
Draila's next round of giggles is lost as she picks up her mallet again and steps over to another large rock. The sound of stone crumbling with each hit, offering the male Candidate a moment to himself should he need it to recompose his male pride.
Vendelin snorts, then spits aside of the pile, that succeeding to recover some of what he's lost in terms of ego. Watching the woman with the wispy hair working, he shakes his head, taking a few steps closer to spy on her technique while keeping his posture all casual. "I don't mean to be impolite, m'am, but you're so small. Where do you keep your muscle?"
Draila pauses mid swing to look up again and blink quickly. "Par.. pardon me?" Her soft offer of a reply is given before she glances downwards to her practically hidden form in the oversized male clothes she wears and takes note of the layers of firestone dust she's managed to collect on them. "I.. I don't know.. I just kinda do what needs to be done and I guess over the passing of turns it just..well kinda happened.."
Vendelin's nod is imperceptible, and he moves around to a large piece of the mined substance and takes a few swings at it, huffing as a piece breaks successfully off before he replies. "I'd think, m'am, at your rank, there are more important tasks you'd be set to than firestone. I suppose I mean I'm surprised to see you out here doing this with us. And having little trouble at it. If I were a wise man, I'd find a hapless soul and bet them you could do it, and wouldn't they be surprised at the sight. Not meaning any rudeness, m'am."
Draila lowers her mallet's head to the ground then uses it as a lean as one freed hand lifts to wipe the beads of perspiration along her brow which results in the combining of moister and dust, leaving a streak. Her gaze lowers as well before she whispers with a shrug. "The weyr wouldn't ask its Candidates to do anything one of use would be willing to do as well Vendelin. I suppose yes, due the colour of Wynith's hide I've been given a form of rank, I could step back and let others perform this task.. but.. what sort of example would that be giving each of you?"
Vendelin is momentarily surprised, and perhaps even tickled as she recalls his name, though his face clouds as though cataloguing any improprieties he might've been associated with that would spur such learning. Masking the concern, he blinks away his startlement and nods. "'S a good way of teaching, by example, m'am. I can say there are any of a dozen weavers, tanners," Lest his bitterness be too associated, he widens that to include, "other craftsmasters, who would use the hands brought in to do the distasteful work, rather than seeing any need to share it."
Draila gives the Candidate's words some consideration before she speaks again in the same soft manner. "I suppose.. everyone is different.. be they Craftmaster.. laborer.. holder or rider. We each have our individual ways and perhaps its those differences that assist us when we gather.. meet or just interact with each other." Her shyness begins to build suddenly as if she's imparted a little too much of her inner thoughts so busys herself with the gathering of more firestone.
Vendelin's blue eyes watch the woman intently, eyes narrowing as she seems again prone to shyness. He leaves her to her work for a time, splitting the larger stones into smaller ones so they can be appropriately bagged, then pauses again to lean on the tool and catch his breath. "Differences, hunh," he laughs. "That's one way to put it. So, you're given the time to provide a good example to the candidates, which is admirable enough. But if you could be someplace else right now, where would it be? In the interest of learning about weyr structure, of course."
As the last of the broken stone is gathered and sacked, Draila shrugs noncommittally before her murmured reply is heard. "I'm duty bound to Wynith so my time rests there when I'm not directly organizing or supervising the Candidates running about. But I try to find a bit of enjoyment in anything I'm requested to do.." She pauses again and casts a look over her shoulder before asking. "What about you? What was your life like before you were whisked away from it and brought to Fort?"
Vendelin works on breaking his chosen chunk of stone into smaller bits in a similar fashion, though swing as he might, he's not as fast as she is. He smooths back his oily hair, succeeding only in streaking the blond mass with gritty dirt. "Nicely avoided," he praises, bemused. "I mean, what're your hobbies, if you're granted the time for any." Her look back causes him to look, too, suspicion natural in his nature. "Not what I was hoping it'd be," he briefly summarizes. "So it's good enough that it's different."
Draila puzzles over the male candidate's summery of his past then lifts an eyebrow over his counter question to her. "Why the interest in my off time? I suppose like others.. I spend it catching up on personal chores.. or taking time with friends to catch up on gossip.." From her shy stuttering of her reply its clearly evident she isn't as comfortable talking about herself right now.
Vendelin shrugs, dropping the subject immediately. "Wondered if riders get to enjoy a social life, or if it's all about work work work." Speaking of, he splits several more chunks of stone off, pushing one aside with his foot so it rolls far enough clear that he can wade back toward the large mound.
Draila ahs as the mallet is grasped again and she makes her way across the firestone pit to begin cracking another large rock. This at least allows her cheeks to cool once a sudden blush colours them. "I see. Then in answer to your question, yes we do have plenty of time for enjoying a social life.. if we so choose to." Lifting the mallet she angles it to strike along a flaw in the rock then steps back as chucks fall free.
"I said yes to that offer from Duerth's rider without even asking for all the details," Vendelin explains between swings of his own mallet. Once he turns over his palm, frowning at a rising callous, or perhaps a blister, though it seems to trouble him little as he returns to task. "I'd seen riders come by Weaver, and by the holds, though usually on an errand. It occured to me, if there's a chance I might be selected by one of those out there," a vague wave toward the direction of the hatching cavern, "I might as well know what I'm in for. What're the best parts of it, would you say?"
Draila crouches down to begin gathering the stone chuck to sack but pauses over one she discards immediately due its poor quality. Her words come softly and with ease as she replies while thus distracted. "The best part of impressing? For me.. and I hear its different again for everyone.. was the strength Wynith offered so freely. Her voice joining with mine.. making my own heard clearly for the first time. The complete and unwavering love she offers.. her support and friendship.. I can truly say.. I wouldn't be the person I am today had she found another.."
Vendelin levels a flat gaze Draila's way, not caught up in the sweet storytelling, though he tries at least to be polite. "That's, *cough* good. That you found her. Really." He considers further, clearly dismissing her as too nice to answer his question, though he posits it regardless, perhaps in a self-fulfilling prophecy. "And what're the worst?" Goading, "C'mon, you're not on parade here. You can tell the truth."
Due to her attention being given each chunk of stone, Draila misses the look sent her way and misses the fact that someone may be goading her as she simply answers the question in her direct yet soft spoken manner. "The worst is saying good bye to your dreams of a different future. Sometimes even friends will leave you as you begin a new leaf at the weyr. What you thought was common place and normal could be gone.. and the adjustment of learning the care and needs of a new lifemate can be overwhelming."
Vendelin listens to the lull of her soft voice, nearly missing her reply as others nearby take up the sound of mallet-against-stone. He leans down to be a little closer, resting his elbow on his knee and stretching his back, though stays clear of any personal space. "Did you have other dreams? For your future? I don't mean to pry, or to bring up uncomfortable things. I -- yeah. Remember having wanted a different future, but it didn't work out for me." Sour face.
Draila feels the closer presence of the Candidate and quickly stands with her arm load of stone to be carried over to an open sack. Her gaze centers on Vendelin as she nods slowly then smiles as she whispers. "Yes, I had dreams of another future. I don't think anyone really believes one day they will wake and find themselves living with a lifemate.." Then she hesitates as another thought occurs to her and makes her add just as softly. "Or if they do then they're not being truthful to themselves." She takes in that sour look and asks curiously. "I take it from your expression your dreams were cruelly dashed?"
Vendelin stands up and steps back as well, unnerved at having made her self-conscious. He bashes away at more of the firestone, using the hint of a faux pas to drive his energy for a moment. Between strikes, he catches his breath. "Yeah, don't know many who'd readily state that their dreams are of clearing dragon dung or running errands all their lives." At her last comment, he closes up, disliking being interpreted so easily. "I failed to earn a promotion of any sort. Though I grasp that the fault's clearly my own." Lest he be too far in the wallows of self-pity.
Draila inclines her head as she listens, her training perhaps, reading more to the words than what's being said. "It could have been fate stepping in Vendelin. There is always a possibility.. that your path doesn't lay with the weavers. I'm sure in time you'll find what course fits you best.." She offers softly in way of comforting him before her load is taken across the firestone pit and deposited into a fresh sack.
Vendelin murmurs, "Yeah," as Draila walks away, the youth aiming to comfort himself with similar thoughts. Instead, he bashes away irritatedly on more firestone, pausing as he notes he's opened the blister that had been forming on his hand. Wiping it against his pants, he continues to abuse the firestone until that mound is small pieces.
Draila dust off her hands by wiping them on her baggy trous which really doesn't help at all since they two are layered in firestone dust. Quiet sneezes overtake her before she's able to catch a fresh breath then glances up at the group working diligently in the pit. Slowly her words call out perhaps lost in the din of mallet hitting rock. ".. taking.. break. ..juice to.. throat. ..anyone else needing.. break.. good time.. now."
Vendelin hears the goldrider's words, though he doesn't cease hammering away at the stone. Rather, he intently works, his frustrations perhaps given identities in the chunks of rock as he batters away at them. |
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