====September 24, 2013
====Alyei, Donner, Kalea, Prymelia, Alberon (NPC)
====Prymelia and Alberon wander into the kitchens to find Candidates doing chores, a greenrider after some mint tea, and a Herder with a lot of opinions.

Who Alyei, Donner, Kalea, Prymelia, Alberon (NPC)
What Prymelia and Alberon wander into the kitchens to find Candidates doing chores, a greenrider after some mint tea, and a Herder with a lot of opinions.
When 1 turn 1 month and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where Kitchens, Southern Weyr

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kitchens.jpg

Kitchens
Renowned, the culinary prowress of Southern, and suitable her kitchens to the task. A broad and airy sweep of room, it cannot help the sweat-drenching heat — though hearths are cleverly set within the ground itself to maximize efficiency. Big copper pots gleam along long tables, cooks hustling to and fro to prepare the necessary meals. There is never a candlemark the kitchens are left unstaffed: even in the wee hours of the night, bakers can be seen shaping loaves and mixing biscuits. For those who miss meals, a sideboard brims with leftovers that are easily transformed into portable potables, complete with sweet herbal tea and a large wheel of a soft, white, crumbly cheese.


With the recent decree coming down on high from Assistant Headwoman Nora, candidates have recently begun to scramble with renewed vigor and activity around the kitchens and storerooms. Organization seems to be the primary goal of today; at least organizing and cleaning out the nooks and crannies of the kitchen, and Donner and a stray handful of other candidates are here to perform their assigned duties. "Alright, four metal mixing bowls. Four wooden mixing bowls. Three spatul-Elron, are you writing this down?" Donner's Bollian tenor is coming from somewhere within the lower cabinets, that is, until he pops his head up from where he's crouched to send a withering look his companion's way. "Get the numbers right; alright? You said you could write, and spell-if it's not correct, she'll make us do it again. Now, threeee spatulas."

Kalea is in search of her usual morning goods. Though she's a bit late and the sideboard no longer holds the usual carafe of hot mint water. Luckily for her a young drudge recognizes her and scurries over. "I'll brew ye some mint if'n ye have time ta wait," the druge tells the greenrider while the girls' hands are busy preparing to do just that. "I'm in no hurry. Thanks," Kalea tells assures the girl and walks to lounge against the sideboard to wait. She surveys the chaos of the kitchens and notices that inventory seems to in process today.

It's hot. Hot she can handle. Hot she knows. But it's humid too. No one told her about the humidity or how her clothes and hair would stick to her after a mere few hours of offloading the few precious crates she'd brought with her from the somewhat dubious vessel calling itself a ship. A long way from home and completely turned around in unfamiliar surroundings, the rather disheveled redhead and the scowling older man accompanying her round a corner and…are hit with a blast of heat reminiscent of an Igen desert storm. "Flame me sideways!" The willowy young woman curses - "Language!" The ginger-haired scowly-monster growls then turns his pale-eyed stare to those occupying the kitchens. "This isn't the storage cavern." No. Really!? What a shock! Narrowing a -look- onto her older companion, Prymelia rolls her eyes. "What he means to say is, we're lost." Duh.

There are always going to be people in the kitchens who don't belong there. Alyei is one of them. Thankfully, she manages not to stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, some gentle-hearted baker has permitted her to stand at an otherwise unused counter and eat biscuits and bacon, keeping her out of the way while still "puttin' some meat on your bones, ya skinny girl," in the way that elderly women often react to hungry-looking girls. It's a good place for people-watching, and right now that involves spectating while the candidates suffer through their new chores, snickering to herself in between bites. It also gives her a good place to watch the people coming and going, the greenrider getting mint tea, the woman-and-her-companion looking lost. It's the latter she addresses, shoving a bite into her cheek and asking, "What're you looking for?"

"You lookin' for the stor-Ooft." Donner heard the question, even with his head stuck deep in the recesses of the cabinet, eagerly pulling back to answer the question only to crack the crown of his head against the lip of the cabinet door. His writing companion lets loose a tittering snicker, before turning back to his struggling hide work. "Shut up," Donner mutters, moving to his feet with a bit of a shake, but his focus is all on Prymelia and Alyei's question. "If it's the stores you're looking for, they're down the hallway, to the left. But not your first left; second left. Can't miss it." One hand goes up to rub the back of his head, and again bumping into his unwitting companion with an elbow nudge. "Wasn't it your job to keep the side table stocked too? Common'. The least you can do is be on top of things with riders present." It's funny really, coming from Donner; pot calling the kettle black and all. And with that, he's giving Kalea a sloppy salute. "Ma'am."

Kalea watches someone carry a basket of flaky biscuits toward her and leans to swipe one before the person can get past her. She tears off a hunk of the warm goodness and pops it into her mouth. Hopefully it'll help calm her roiling stomach a little. She watches everyone interact while she munches. Swallowing quickly when Donner salutes her. "Candidate," she acknowledges with a smile and tilt of her head. She is happily watching the commotion in the kitchens. Though she doesn't comment on the lost girl and companion. As they've already been directed where to find what they're looking for. She spares a grin for them though and a head bob for the girl munching at the empty station.

In the hustle and bustle of the busy kitchens, it's easy to overlook a young girl munching on treats in the corner. That is until, she directly addresses the newcomers drawing Alberon's disconcertingly direct gaze her way. "Storage caverns," the growly-monster gives in gruff reply. Blunt and sparing with his words is he. It's Prymelia that visibly winces when Donner cracks his skull on the cabinet. Blinking rapidly as he goes on to emerge from his hiding place with a set of directions, she maps them to memory, elegantly shaped brows rising when his poor companion finds himself on the receiving end of an elbow. The salute, sloppy or not is what swings the pair's attention the greenrider's way. Alberon stares, craggy features expressionless while Prym delivers a small acknowledging nod of sweat dampened head, intelligent hazel eyes doing a boot to head sweep over Kalea, then flick back to Donner. Candidate? That means…Prymelia swallows. "I also need a runner. Could you tell me where to find the stables?" That directed to Kalea when her gaze drifts back to her.

It's on the tip of Alyei's (crumb-coated) tongue to answer the growly-monster when Donner supplies the information instead, and she tosses her head in the vague direction that he's indicated, lifting her brows at Alberon in an 'answer your question?' kinda way. Less - well, really, no sympathy registers for the way the candidate whacks his brains on the cupboard, since she's somewhere between taking another bite and nodding to answer Kalea's nod. Also, she has to immediately pounce on the mention of runners by asking a blunt, "Whaddaya need one for?" It's muffled on account of she has half a bite in her mouth when she asks, in too much of a hurry to be bothered with swallowing or anything first.

Yeah, that crack to the head is going to leave a mark; Donner is still nursing his head, hand rubbing tenderly into his skull. While still occupied with his head, he still manages to give Prymelia a perplexed look, amused even, at her request for a runner. "They don't just give them away here, you know. If that's what you're getting at." He snorts; more amused than anything, as he gives a long side glance to the other candidate's hide work, before turning back to the women. "If that were the case, I'd have way more than these clothes on my back." He pulls at the hemline of his tunic for emphasis. "Anyway, are you new? I'm Donner by the way. And that's a greenrider," he points to Kalea with a suddenly blank look, "And that's, well I don't know who you are either." His finger moves to point Alyei's way with a furrow of eyebrows. "But clearly she knows more about runners than me. I'm just a candidate-Guess salutes for all of you then." And then he does so, all awkward as can be.

The biscuit is doing a decent job of making Kalea feel better while she waits for her tea. Though she's going to have to nab another one soon as all that's left in her hands is crumbs at the moment. She dusts those onto the floor and turns to quirk a brow at Prymelia. "Sure thing," she says with a nod of her head, "They're outside the weyr entrance down the road a bit from the tavern. Can't miss 'em." She is a tad curious herself as to why the woman is seeking the stables. Though she is saved having to ask when Alyei's crumb spitting beats her to it. Donner receives an amused look when he fails to come up with her name. She hadn't been at all positive of his either though she's seen most of the Candidates around at some point or other, she's hard pressed to remember names. "Kalea rider of Ryadranth, Lynx Wing. Well met everyone."

Alyei's query earns her a scowl from the broad shouldered man with the ginger hair standing up every which way. One that silently says, 'Mind ya own business'. Catching that look being sent the teen's way the willowy redhead leans in toward him and utters a low hiss of words near his ear that if overheard go along the lines of, 'Be nice.' Oh look. Now Prym's the target of the next furrowed scowl of doom. She ignores it and fits the biscuit-munching teen with a flicker of a smile. "My wagon," she replies. The wagon she doesn't have. Yet. Minor detail. Ahem. Donner's quip sees Prym's smile teetering toward a smirk but before she can give life to the sarky comment that forms on her lips, Alberon beats her to it. "We were planning on stealing one," he delivers dryly. A joke? Did the growly-monster just attempt humor? Prym is not amused. Instead she flings the older man a look so scorching it's a wonder he's not burned to ash on the spot. "He's kidding," Prym states with a long-suffering sigh. "I have marks. I want to buy one." And then another set of directions are being given and introductions are being made. "Thank you," is accompanied by a quick smile before the names offered are repeated and a hand touches to her chest then flicks at her companion. "Prymelia and this is my uncle, Alberon. We're traders out of Igen Weyr. Well met."

Under other circumstances, Alyei and Alberon might be besties, what with all the scowling they could do together and the baleful looks they could exchange. Also, the unfunny attempts at humor, since his 'joke' is met with hers, though she mumbles hers at a bite of bacon instead of the scary guy: "Hope you were planning on getting your knees broke, then." She takes a bite, which precludes her from answering Donner, and keeps her from doing more than widening her eyes at Kalea in something like panic - why would she tell them where the runners were?! Covering her mouth with her fingers, trying not to be totally grossly rude anyway, she points out, "You might wanna bigger animal for pulling a wagon, an ox or something." (Or whatever oxen are called on Pern.)

"Last time I stole something, I was being tied to the back of a dragon and flown here." Donner imparts this wisdom matter-of-factly, like it isn't weird at all to be kicked out and dropped off in the southern wilds. "So, unless you're interested in that scenario, I probably wouldn't steal one. Borrowing one probably wouldn't hurt though." He takes a moment to lean his elbows back against the tabletop, with a curious tilt of his head Prymelia's way. "Are you excursing into the wild? That's my plan once I'm done with candidacy; hitch a ride with the traders and get my own plot of land!" He sounds, well he sounds convinced to say the least. Momentarily, his concentration breaks, and he's leaning back over Elon's shoulder with a snort. "You spelled bowl wrong, dude. B-o-w-l. If you add an E, it spells a completely different word."

Besties indeed if not for the thirty odd turn age gap. Daughter maybe? Perhaps. But what woman would lump herself with such a grumpy old sod long enough to make that feasible? None so far apparently. As it is, Alyei's comment, mumbled as it is, has Alberon baring his teeth in what is meant to be a grin but probably appears more as a scarily shaped grimace. "I like this one," he stage-whispers to his niece. "Big on muscle, short on brains," Prym answers Alyei's notation. A comment she's been known to make about some men. No wonder she's still on the market. What Donner comes back with is enough to draw a husky chuckle from the willowy redhead. Apparently she is in no way shocked by such a confession, which might have one wondering about the circumstances that now put her on Southern soil. "The trick is to not get caught, Donner love." Cue the mischievous wink followed shortly by an interested arch of mahogany brow. "And if you impress?" She tosses the query at him without answering the one he'd put to her. It's Alberon that catches the spelling correction a thick smirk curling about a mouth framed with red stubble.

Alyei's not out for being liked, clearly, since Alberon's approval gets him one more ever-so-intimidating frown from the girl, who helpfully supplies to the topic of excursions, "And then die of firehead and get eaten by scavengers." Having added her grim post-script to Donner's well-laid plans, she makes a face at Prymelia - talking about how to get away with committing a crime! - and shuffles around the side of the kitchen to get some milk for washing down her bacon-and-biscuits. Suuuuure, she could shove off about now, but when there are confessed horse-thieves hanging around, she'd rather keep her suspicious little eyes on them.

"Ah, well. Igen is a little more on the up and up about their inventory, let me tell you. But-" he points a finger up into the air with emphasis. "I'm reformed. No more stealing for me. Not after being punched in the face." Maybe that'll assuage Alyei's fears, but probably not. Prymelia's wink doesn't go unnoticed, even if it's a feigned flirt, it's a flirt nonetheless, and Donner's back straightens just a tad, chest puffed out, shoulders squared; he meets the trader's question with a wry lopsided smirk. "Oh, me? I'm not going to impress. They picked me to pad the Candidate group. I'm as talentless as they come; I'd wait until after the hatching and I'd hitch a ride with you lot. It'll be fun!" He waves Alyei off with a snort. "Oh come on. It's not that bad out in the wild."

That 'intimidating' frown coming from Alyei along with her dire warnings has Alberon about -melting- internally. How utterly adorable! If adorable were a word that had a home in his vocabulary that is. Piercing blue eyes latch to the girl and the ginger-haired trader tilts his head to one side in much the same way one might eye a puppy up for adoption. Can he keep her? Can he? Can he? But then she starts to edge away and so his attention slips back to his niece. "You gonna keep flapping your gums all day or can we stow the goods and see a man about a runner sometime before I'm old and grey?" Alberon's grumble shimmers unanswered on the heavy heat of the kitchens for Donner has said the one word guaranteed to immediately capture Prym's attention. Igen. "You're…from Igen?" Wistfulness with a chord of something unnamed flickers across her expression before it's quickly stowed away and lips quirk about a smirk. "Talent? You think it takes talent to impress? Given some of the boofheads I've come across, I'd say its more good luck than anything else but I tell you what, if you're still footloose and fancy-free once those eggs crack open, then you're welcome to hitch a ride with me." Alberon -glares-!!

From over the pitcher of milk, from across a half-poured glass, Alyei argues, "If it's not that bad out in the wild, why is everyone in here?" Lifting her milk-receptacles, she indicates the bigger 'here,' not just the immediate surroundings of the kitchens but, y'know, the greater 'here' of the Weyr. Mind, they've already moved on to talking about their post-hatching plans, but she still thinks she's got a good point, and she punctuates it with a big ol' drink of milk, so there. Wiping her mouth, she also reiterates, "And unless you're pulling a buggy, you're gonna need more than one runner. One runner won't pull a wagon full of goods." It's hard to be sixteen and know everything sometimes, it really is.

Donner's first real acknowledgement of Prymelia's uncle comes when he's encouraging her to leave. Oh, well he doesn't like that. "Oh, come off it. She's making connections here! Those stables aren't going anywhere!" He's then shaking his head with a wave of his hand. "Oh no, not Igen. I was just stationed there for a short amount of time before being kicked out. I'm from Southern Boll originally. Kind of like living here, only people are far wealthier than here." Alyei's question is met with an eyeroll, a 'duh' response to what he deems a silly question. "Because people like DRAGONS, that's why. And because they don't want to take the risk of what they might find in the jungle." There's a wistful glimmer in the candidate's eyes; clearly, he's seeking the thrill of adventure. "Oh, well count me in then. I'll wager a quarter-mark with you that I'll be on the back of the wagon by the time you set off."

Now it's Prym whose attention Alyei captures with her pearls of wisdom. Rather than shoot them down out of hand, the willowy redhead, tips a faintly amused smile her way. "Aye, I am well aware of how many runners it takes to haul a wagon but one will do for now." Because, well, she doesn't actually have a wagon yet. But the girl doesn't need to know that. "Are you of trader stock?" Hazel eyes closely scrutinize the teen for if there are other caravans in the area, she needs to know about them. Alberon in the meantime has started to shift restlessly from foot to foot, eager to be away and back out in the open again. Until the skinny little squirt with the puppy eyes dares to question him. Shaggy ginger brows hike way up high and then drop down low over hard blue eyes with an almost audible -thunk-. "What did you say?" He growls, stalking a step closer in much the same manner a Rottweiler tracks a rabbit its intent on grabbing by the scruff of the neck and shaking. "Uncle!" Prymelia quickly inserts herself across the heavyset man's path, a slender hand planting to his broad chest with long tapered fingers splayed. "I think perhaps you should go and see about storage for our crates, don't you?" For a few moments longer icy eyes remain latched intently to Donner and then they drop to the slender redhead. Brooding silence and then with a grunt, Alberon takes a step back, flicks the candidate another -look- and turning on his heel stalks off in the direction of the storage caverns. Crises averted, Prym exhales a sigh and turns an apologetic look to those who had witnessed her uncle's quick flare of temper. "Sorry. He's usually friendlier." Right and wild felines are just misunderstood furballs. "He's still trying to get his landlegs under him after having been at sea all that time."

What they might find in the jungle - "Like firehead and scavengers that eat dead bodies." If Alyei's expression could be distilled into words, it'd probably sound something like 'booyah.' She never does get around to answering about her heritage before Alberon gets all glowery toward Donner and makes his departure, and she passes the time between their exchange by taking another big drink, eyeing Prymelia over the top of her glass until the last of the big guy's footsteps echoes out of the room and the woman's making excuses for him. Excuses that have her adding, "Friendly's overrated anyway. Better to be smart. And not invite admitted thieves to come traveling with you." She shoots Donner a look and then finishes off her milk, wipes her mouth, and nods her farethewells.

Oh, if Donner had a mark for every time he pissed someone off, he'd be rich. Alberon's deteriorating mood, and subsequent stalk towards Donner causes the teen to skitter around the cabinets, trying to place some reasonable distance between him and the trader. "Woah, woah. No harm done. It was a joke!" He throws his hands up in deference, flashing a toothy smile to both of the traders for good measure. He watches the man stalk out the door, exhaling with an audible wheeze, "You'd be surprised how often this happens. I tend to rub people the wrong way, but if you want to chock it up to bein' seasick, by all means." Elon, this whole time, has been fairly silent, but he's nudging his fellow candidate, motioning back to his list with a pointed glare. "Well, better get back to-you know. It's was nice to meet you too!" This last part is called out to a retreating Alyei, and he swings around to open up another cabinet to count inventory. "And REFORMED THEIF, DON'T FORGET THAT."

Although mistrustful by nature herself, Alyei's accusation flung at Donner before she leaves, sits ill with Prymelia. Lifting her chin, a challenging light enters hazel eyes. "Rather the thief you know than the thief you don't," she retorts, taking note that the teen hadn't answered her question about her roots. Attention fits back to the lanky lad and a rueful grin, a rarely seen thing, attaches to her lips. Rocking forward on her toes, she leans slightly toward Donner her next delivered in a conspiratorial tone, "He's just pissed because he got chosen to babysit me instead of being given the Benden route to head up." Like she needs a babysitter. She's twenty one for Faranth's sake! Moving on. "I should let you get on with your work," a barbed look is Elron's to nurse, "and go after my uncle before he scares half the population to death." There's a short pause and then a cautious smile is given to Donner, "Thank you for the welcome and good luck with…you know…" A slender hand lifts and flickers fingers in the direction of his candidate's knot. With that she turns in a swirl of faded blue skirts and slips off in the direction Mr Grumpy had stalked.

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