==== September 22, 2013
==== Dimitri, Nora
==== Nora leads the way, Dimitri gives the tour.

Who Dimitri, Nora
What Nora leads the way, Dimitri gives the tour.
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Stores, Southern Weyr

dimitri6.jpg Nora7.png


Need requires this room be cleared, and cleared it is: hooks for glow-baskets line every neat row and aisle. Though the shelves are largely bare, some things are starting to trickle in — mostly dried meats and salted fish, in large quantities. Guess the weyr better get used to a low-carb diet.

Nora poked her head into the barracks, catching attention by the clearing of her throat and then pointing to a few candidate to come along with her. One by one they were given tasks, dropped off along the way with an order of some sort. 'Refold all of these.' 'Move that down there and clean behind it.' 'Mop all along here and around the side.' And then it was just Dimitri left to tag along, a tip of her head and the flash of wry smile probably meant as some kind of encouragement before she led him off through the kitchens and down to the stores. First things first, that barrel at the bottom of the stairs needs to move about a foot to the left so as to be entirely clear of the main path. She makes some hand gestures at it and this time smiles more sweetly to the candidate. Would he please? And she also begins to make a little small talk. "Do these stores make any sense to you? Have you been down here much?"

There's something slightly different about Dimitri today. In that he has not complained, not even in mutters or less-than-subtle sighs. He wasn't happy to be given orders, but he did follow along obediently enough, and didn't even wisecrack upon watching others being told to get to work. He's just in the middle of boredly picking something out from between his teeth, with a thumb hooked behind a molar, stretching one side of his mouth out when he is gestured at and asked a question. A blink and a simple "Nope," is all Nora gets in return before the performer-turned-candidate moves forward and down the stairs in a relatively cheerful hop-hop-hopping from foot to foot. As he swivels around and presses his back against the barrels and his heels against the floor, he can't help but glance ever so briefly toward— ooh, some dried meats hanging over there. But the short show of healthy appetite over with, he braces himself, then shoves himself and the barrel back and out of the way. "I hope you weren't counting on me showing you around. I mean, I could make some stuff up, but…" Languidly pulling away from the barrel again, he stretches his arms over his head, lets 'em drop on there, and yawns.

Somewhere between the barracks and here, Nora has no doubt discovered the certain loose liveliness that Dimitri has about him, evident in the bounce of his footballs down the stares, the press and pull of his weight with the barrel. But the assistant headwoman appears not to give all that much attention to any of it, glancing around the dimly lit cavern with eyes narrowed in concentration. She has complete faith that the shuffling sounds of heels and wood behind her could be nothing other than the barrel landing right where she wanted it, not even worth a glance to check. And yet, when he makes his offer, she slides an elfin grin over her shoulder, her glancing flicking over him speculatively. "Oh, let's hear it. Tell me all about the stores," she bids, her step already taking her off down one cluttered path while a swing of her fingers beckons him to follow.

Wait, what? Dimitri stands… stunned, for a moment, his eyes rolling over to land on Nora and that grin of hers. It seems to spark a smirk of his own, and there's something slightly eager in the way that his arms drop back down and he straightens, fingers curling in and out by his sides. "Well, you see, I do know one or two things. Little things. For instance." And off he goes, into the cluttered path with nigh perfect posture, one arm pressed against his stomach as though he were strolling over the well-polished floorboards of a stage and not through a messy store room. His tone of voice, too, clears, and gone are the rougher, Bitran traces it carried previously. "On your left," He even gestures at a shelf quite elegantly, leaving his arm outstretched while he raises his brows at his superior, "you'll see some excellently aged strips of flank meat. Quality stuff. Tastes just like herdbeast, but a little known fact is that…" His outstretched arm retracts so he can lift a hand to his face, next to his mouth, whispering as if someone may be listening. "All of the men Hannah… entertained while she was doing her proddy thing, the ones who disappeared?" Like this is common knowledge. He still can't fight back a grin, though. "There they are. And tasty at that."

"Oh, little things are my favorite," Nora sing-songs half to herself, an amused edge in her voice and nary a chance to catch the smirk that Dimitri wears, though perhaps she can hear it anyway as she strolls down the aisle. But with Dimitri getting into character behind her and his sudden change of diction, she does look back to make sure he's still the same person, her eyebrows lifted, pleased and possibly even impressed — though that could just be his wishful thinking. Meanwhile, she does slow, allowing him to give the tour even if she's the one who leads. And in the midst of it, she pulls a large, but light, empty basket from a lower shelf and, while he makes a show of whispering, presses it to him, a pointed finger and a dart of her eyes indicating a clear spot on the shelf overhead where it should go. Her lips are pursed, ready to hear this secret, and then a slow grin replaces the expression. "She must have a different idea of entertaining," Nora replies, the curl of her mouth deepening. And then her step sways off to continue past the hanging meat of Hannah's past lovers.

"It's entertaining enough to her." Dimitri replies readily, standing even taller still after a second or two passes and he hasn't yet been told off. Whaddya know. "She keeps the good bits to herself, you see." The basket taken without question, its contents examined with a quirk of a brow, and then placed (more or less!) where it was supposed to go. He's in a bit of a rush to point over yonder. "Down in that corner, on restdays, there's meetings of the higher ups where they take note on the finest of hides," He lowers his tone for just a moment, shooting Nora a 'knowing', half-lidded look, "all very down low, you know how it goes," back to his normal voice, as he strolls forth with his hands clasped behind his back, "on how many smiles Nika manages to put on people's faces that sevenday. If you watch carefully you'll notice there's one of them trailing her at all times, though she does make their lives a bit difficult when she goes streaking naked across the fields."

It's with a quick flash of teeth that Nora assures, "She's welcome to them." Keeping the good bits. "The stores are cluttered enough." Meanwhile, down in that corner? She lets her path lead them toward it, since he's so eager, though her gaze is off in another direction, narrowed again in some unrelated thought. She does lift a brow for those 'hides', though, looking back at Dimitri without stopping to linger in this corner hotbed of conspiracy. "Scandalous," is all he gets for the mention of Nika's naked dash, her smile too amused to be at all scandalized. "If you don't mind…" She points to a few jars that got left out on the floor. Dimitri can tend to those while he tells his tales. She can stand and watch. "So you think well of Nika, then?" she presumes. "Is that because of or despite the streaking?"

Warning, warning, ego inflating. It shows oh so easily in the way Dimitri's grin broadens, fueled by the way he's humoured. Yet at the same time, raised eyebrows and an occasional glance to Nora imply a hint of surprise. One would almost be led to think he hasn't been given the opportunity to speak of scandalous things before, real or fake. "Who doesn't!" Not a question, if his tone of voice is anything to go by. Once he reaches the jars and sinks to his haunches to pick one up, he adds offhandedly, "Streaking's far from a bad thing in my book, but hey, blame it on the Oldtimer blood." He wraps the fingers of one hand around a jar, bobbing it up and down for a moment as though to test its weight, before tossing it unceremoniously up in front of his face and catching it in his other hand, all while looking up at Nora. Then, back comes the Bitran to his words, as easily as it was lost, "Might've to change my mind if the likes'a Donner or the Headman pick up the habit, but y'know—" In the same breath he asks idly, sentence left unfinished, "Where do these go?"

Her arms folding neatly over her gray cardigan, Nora just smiles knowingly down at Dimitri's blooming grin, watching the swell of his satisfaction. And seeing how he is admittedly an Oldtimer, at least he won't be too excited to be so close to her bare calves as she waits while he abuses her trust with the jar. There's no sign that it bothers her to see him show off so dangerously, tossing it in the air. Her fingers lifts from her arm to sweep toward the shelves. "Anywhere that isn't the floor," she tells him. That's where they can go. As for their discussion, "I might have to agree," she'll reply with a bit of a frown as if they're speaking of something more serious than they are. "Though, in all honesty, I'm not sure I'm particularly impressed by anyone's desire to run around naked in public." A deep breath and a turn of her head and she's squinting toward a far wall. "It doesn't seem strange to you that all stores would move through the kitchens?" There's no segue, or perhaps it's just been lost amid Dimitri's storytime.

"A lot of things seem strange to me, around here." Anywhere that isn't the floor? Dimitri looks up. UP up. Like he might be able to put some on the ceiling. But alas, what with gravity working the way it usually does, he opts to swivel around on a heel to place two of the jars on a shelf, there. Not in any particular position, just plop, down. Done. "The way your food's handled? 'S the least'a my problems so long as it still tastes like food and I get to stuff some into my face every now and then. Food's not so hard, long as it doesn't spoil." Not that he knows anything about it, but hey, he can pretend. He kneels back down to press three more jars to his stomach with one arm, and rises with another in his free hand. "Now, alcohol-" … That was going to be a full sentence, really, but his thoughts appear to dwindle at the word reentering his ears after he's said it. The signs of confidence fall off his face all at once, eyebrows slanting sadly as his shoulders dip. The jars pressed to his stomach get an extra bit of pressure as he slumps, like he's HUGGING them in a dramatically demonstrative way, landing the properly held jar down onto the shelf with a sad little thud. "… Alcohol." Woe. WOE is the only word appropriately describing his tone of voice.

"But what of the things that aren't food?" Nora considers. "I'm looking for a good place to keep those old books from the library." And here, surrounded by jarred goods, this is not the place so the shift of her heeled shoes seems ready to move on to aisles and alcoves that are more tools than ingredients. "Moving tables and linens through the kitchens," she muses to herself, shaking her head instead of finishing the statement. But another glance over as Dimitri starts clinging to his jar puts a wry smile back on her face. "Is it so terrible to be a candidate? You can always change your mind, you know. If you'd rather curl up with a bottle." Or a jar. Her chin darts out to urge him to put it away so they can be moving on. "Not that I don't appreciate your help, of course." Very kind of him, really.

If Dimitri has any thoughts on the matter of things that aren't food (or, indeed, alcohol), he's not showing it. But… kind? He scoffs at this. It's not a mocking scoff, however, unable to be anything near properly disdainful what with the exaggerated sadness still clinging to his voice. A moment later, with the jars under his arms placed where its friends already stand, he clears his throat and turns to wander nonchalantly after Nora. He does so with his thumbs hooked into his pockets and a grin returned to his features. One that pulls more eagerly at one side of his face that the other, and not quite reaching his eyes. Despite the latter, he sounds perfectly merry again. The advantages of years of practise. "'Change my mind'? It's not like I was asked anything." Does he mind? His tone implies not. An amused breath of a chuckle even moreso. "They won't even let me near the Sands. You're talking to a drudge here. A drudge with a knot and a more comfortable place to sleep. Why'd you want books here? Seems a strange place what with grubby-fingered cooks running through."

It's with a rather concerned pout — her fine brows pulled inward and a seriousness in her gaze — that Nora looks at the candidate this time. Maybe her eyes are quick enough to catch the lack of light in his. Maybe they aren't. But either way, "It doesn't sound like you've had an easy time of it. Do you know… why?" she wonders, her interest honest. And it's this turn of topic, or of mood, that puts discussion of her search on the back burner. They might move on from the food stores to the rather more disorganized collections of clothing and housewares, but she doesn't make any particular comment on it. Instead she leaves space for Dimitri to explain his side of things and if she happens to take some vague note of their surroundings in the process, well, that's totally normal.

Honest or not, Dimitri treats the question he's asked like he does most things— much in passing. Of no consequence. "I'm just too amazing, it baffles and confuses!" His fists clench and teeth grit, in acts of passion for his alleged amount of just-plain-awesome, but his attention fails to stay in place — it's moving to a pile of clothing hanging halfway off a shelf. "I've nearly been eaten, been banished for a while, made to play a fool, drowned and brought back, and I think, next?" He reaches one hand to shove the pile of clothing back onto its shelf, and with the other to retrieve— a red ribbon! Which subsequently gets wrapped around his neck, and tied into a little bow in front. He beams brightly at Nora, and adds with the appropriate gesture of a hand by the side of his neck and jerking suddenly UPward as his head tilts to the side, "Next, they'll try to hang me." As if Nora wasn't technically part of the aforementioned 'they'.

If she's disappointed not to get any kind of real answer — no offense of course — Nora is at least a good sport about Dimitri's ever-shifting attention span and as he starts to lag to fiddle with those clothes, she turns on a heel to face him again, greeted by his dangling corpse hanging from a ribbon in his own hand. And so she pouts at him, because she's just that sympathetic. "Oh, poor thing. So misunderstood." Pout pout. And she steps forward with a delicate hand reaching to relieve him of his grip on the noose. And if so lucky, her light touch can set to sliding the ribbon behind his neck, making the ends even in the plain preparation of some handsome bow tying. "It's a wonder you've survived," she quips, her voice turning sly again, which, perhaps, says something about all that sympathy. "Perhaps I can help a little. Discreetly."

Sympathy, however fake or true, does not seem to hit quite all the way home — Dimitri just locks his eyes on Nora's as his grip on the ribbon slips. Still ever so full of himself. If nothing else, his smirk makes that clear enough. In complete contrast to her slyness, he stays loud and clear and chipper. Serious talks? What are those? "If you want to help, you might want to start with other candidates. Have you seen their faces lately? Pretty sure if there's one more egg touching, there might be vomit to clear up off the barracks, and I'm not doing that. Unless maybe it's Cerise, but y'know— I know she's good for favours." … A narrowing of his eyes and a sideways tilt of his head, however, shows curiosity has not completely left him. Discreet plans. They are almost always interesting plans.

Tug tug, slip slip, Nora works at the ribbon, until the ends line up just so and she can start to wrap and bend it about itself at Dimitri's throat. Her eyes stay mostly on her work, but there's still a little curl of a smile when he smirks like that, because she can hardly miss it, close as she's standing. And when he starts coming up with ways she might help, the assistant headwoman cocks an eyebrow for this trouble with the faces of his peers. "They're scared?" she guesses. "I always thought that was rather the purpose of egg touchings: to make them less scared to stand on the sands. Less likely to get accidentally torn to pieces by confused and hungry dragons." No one's scared about that, right? He can go ahead and be curious about her idea of discretion; with the upward tip of her chin, she lifts her glance to his as her fingers finish his lovely red bow with a light pull. "It sounds like they might need alcohol more than you." So perhaps that was the 'help' she was going to offer. Or maybe it's not that simple.

Oh, if only. There might be a twitch of eyebrows inching slightly higher at the mention of alcohol, and an ever so controlled breath inward and then slightly less controlled outward, in a huff that'll have to substitute a laugh. "Scared's one thing. Nearly biting off a tongue's another. If nothing else, half of them're going to be left with more fear for the dragons than the Thread, when it comes. If I didn't think my little sister'd be better off with one of those things," dragons? "I'd've down a bottle in front of one of the goldriders already." Implying that he does, at least, have a reason to stay - blood, and support. As well as someone like him can support a person, that is. And even then, he's made clear already he doesn't know how long he'll be able to, directly. His head tilts upward as he reaches for his own throat, to slide a finger or two over the bow. At least he doesn't pull at it. He shifts his weight from one leg to the next, inspecting Nora's face more closely all of a sudden, then promptly chuckles. "… I don't usually get to talk this much. You're not very good at this giving chores thing."

Mention of Cerise's circumstances leaves something a bit more thoughtful in Nora's eyes, picking over his face with quiet investigation. But then Dimitri lifts a hand to his bow and she opens her mouth, brows high as she 'ah ah ah' warns him not to mess with it too much. And so they can both move beyond their quieter consideration of one another as she spreads a wide and beaming smile onto her face. "Oh, I'm very good," she tells him with absolute confidence — it might even rival his own? And she turns aside to pull a stack of linens off the nearby shelf. "If you'd be a dear and bring these up to housekeeping. Actually, this whole rack needs to go up." And with a sweet, sweet smile and a slight sway of her weight she tacks on, "Please." So perhaps that can keep him busy for a while.

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