Aveshin, Thierry


In his just-been-searched excitement, Aveshin tries to claim Thierry's cot. Thierry doesn't appreciate that.


It is late afternoon of the sixteenth day of the fifth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr Candidate Barracks

OOC Date


aveshin_default.jpg thierry%2019.jpg

Candidate Barracks

Hopes, dreams, and fears are contained in these cramped quarters, full of small cots and smaller trunks; thin ragged curtains barely provide privacy between the bunks, shining patches in the material suggesting one too many mending attempts. The minimal floor space is kept clear of debris and personal possessions, wide enough for a single broad table often used for study in the art of dragon care. Here, too, humidity has gathered into high corners, running down the walls and creating a slightly unpleasant atmosphere of damp and mildew. Near the entrance, one cubby exists, large enough to contain a bit of luxury for an adult overseer of the candidates, and a desk — for once in reasonable shape — is set to the left of the entrance, conveniently placed for the monitoring of comings and goings.

The day's chores have just been wrapped up for most of the candidates, who are trickling back into the barracks in one, twos and small groups as they relax before the evening meal. Thierry comes back on his own, winding his way through the thronging hopefuls to his cot…only to find someone else's things, right there, right on top of his blanket. "The fuck." Dark eyes narrow as he looks to either side, trying to pick out who might own what's in the bag… and when there's no-one immediately obvious in sight, he sits down beside it and starts pulling things out, dropping them haphazardly onto his cot.

Aveshin has been…all over. Tired from getting up so early with Threadfall, and the excitement of the day, he wasn't paying quite enough attention in the tunnels. It takes him a bit longer than necessary to return from seeing N'ky to the infirmary, and when he finally does emerge into the barracks again, the healer is immersed in looking over his new knot. He has to stop short of the crowd of candidates milling about, looking up rather startled to find the lot of them there. "Oh! Excuse me." He has things to put away. Things that, as he makes his way back to the cot he left them on, are being dumped out. "Ah! So sorry, I didn't think this one was taken. If you could..not..do that?" It is a little hard to be polite with your stuff being dumped about, though he manages, before Aveshin starts to collect the items again. First aid kit…pants…

Thierry looks up at the apologetic blonde, brow furrowed into a frown. "This your shit?" A pair of undies are pulled out of the bag, and Thi holds them up for anyone who's looking to see. "You put your shit on my bed, huh? Oughta fucking ask." The pants are whipped towards Aveshin, aimed at his chest. "My bed. My shit." All those clothes he's just pulled out of the bag? His now, or so the possessively hovering hand says, anyway.

Aveshin's brows slowly raise, staring at the volatile candidate in a bit of surprise. "Why yes, they are my /things./" Not shit. His stuff is not in the realm of shit. "I was just brought in a bit ago and I do apologize. This cot looked unclaimed. I'll gladly move them. Unless you are /terribly/ keen on keeping my underthings for yourself. I'll leave the rest of the people here to speculate on why you'd want them." Possessive hand? The healer moves right on in to begin the collection, taking his kit in hand before holding the other out for the bag. "If you please? I've already had a long day and I would so rather not start my time here on the wrong foot."

Oh, smart, Aveshin. Thierry's eyes narrow at the clever comeback, and while he lets Aveshin grab his first aid kit, he doesn't let him get the rest - because he kicks up his feet and lies back on the cot, right on top of the scattered clothing. "Toldja. My cot, my shit. Getcha own stuff." He closes his eyes, settles his hands behind his head to prop it up, and sighs contentedly. Like a dragon atop his treasure hoard.

Aveshin's brows furrow faintly. Worry? Yes. There is concern there. "Someone really should explain to you the health hazards of living in your own filth. I'd be happy to educate you." There's a smile then, as the healer's head tip and he moves around the side of Thierry's cot. "For instance..getting my own stuff. Very well." Heave. Arms go right under the edge of the cot's matress, abruptly lifting and dumping the whole thing off the bed. "Oh dear..not on /your/ cot now at all." Of course…neither would Thierry.

Down Thierry tumbles! And when he gets up, he's fuming - because not only did Aveshin just dump him off his own cot, but he did it in front of half of the damned barracks, too. "The fuck you think you're doing?" Habit has him pushing up his sleeves, lip curled in a pissed-off snarl. "This is my fucking cot, greenstuff. Fuck off, before I come on over there and rearrange that pretty face."

A wary, watchful eye is given to Thierry through all the blustering and snarling. Though once he's not immediately charged, Aveshin relaxes somewhat. The polite smile returns, and he moves around to begin collecting /his/ things from the floor. Clothes, bag, one small book with a strap holding it closed. "What I think I'm doing is getting my things back. I did ask nicely, you know." He did! One by one, things are situated back into the sack they came in. "I do appreciate that you find me attractive, but I really wouldn't recommend trying..I think../think/ mind you, there are rules for that. I'm Aveshin, by the way. Introductions really should start with names instead of arguments."

"Fuck you." Thierry picks up the nearest item of Aveshin's clothing and tosses it at his face. Luckily it's nothing too hard - just a pair of balled-up socks. Finding himself now in quite the dilemma, Thierry isn't sure what to do next; civility of some degree is demanded by his current surroundings, and yet Aveshin has breached limits that would, in his world, demand action. Torn, Thierry simply stands and glowers, hands balled into fists by his sides.

Aveshin laughs a bit as he’s pelted with socks, lifting them in the air somewhat. “Thank you.” Yep, he’s eternally polite. He takes his things though, not moving too far. At least he leaves the space of a single cot between his and Thierry’s before looking around, checking all sides of the bed before he finally determines it is in fact /empty/. He sets his bag down then, and goes about the process of unpacking. Again. Because things have to be done a certain /way/. Each rumpled piece of clothing is taken out..and folded. Shirts in a pile, pants in a pile. “I can’t imagine a more hectic time to come in, I’m sure you’ve all been running around doing..things. What with the Fall this morning. Do they have us help out with that?”

Thierry watches Aveshin closely - though some poor kid who gets too close to him is snarled at, warned to get away with the threat of a slap if he stays too long. Everything taken out of the bag is eyed, knowledge gathered for use at a later date, no doubt. He shoves his mattress grumpily back onto his bed, flopping down heavily on the rumpled blanket. "I ain't listening to you," he replies to Aveshin's questions, staring straight up at the ceiling above him.

"Oh. That's too bad." Aveshin…doesn't sound put out at all. He doesn't even seem to mind folding each set of underthings. So what if a few of them look decidedly less masculine than others? That small book is taken out again and set aside, along with the first aid kit kept handy. "It certainly was a bit of chaos out at Igen River though. I'm a healer. Did I say that? Well I am. A lot to do before dawn even broke."

Thierry really tries hard to pretend like he isn't listening. "La la la la la fucking la," he half-sings in his smoky, not entirely out of tune voice, glaring straight up at the ceiling. He's not listening to you, Aveshin. Oh, but he is doing something for the Healer's benefit - one hand slips out from being a prop for his head, arm lolling out over the edge of his cot with his middle finger stuck proudly up at the new candidate.

Aveshin tips his head a bit to eye the one-fingered gesture, but continues on, anyway. He's the only other body around this side of the barracks! "Seems a dangerous profession, fighting Thread. Certainly nerve wracking just patching up the wounded. But at the same time…hm." He shrugs, letting that thought trail off. Nobody is listening anyway, after all. He gets up, moving to set his clothes in the trunk at the end of the cot, tugging the blankets straight again once he's up.

That one-fingered salute doesn't move in the slightest. Neither does the rest of Thierry either, really, save for the rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional twitch of his nose or lips as Aveshin continues talking. Not listening is easy. Another candidate, a guy around the same age, comes over to whisper something in hushed tones to Thierry, which makes the teen sit up and glower as the messenger runs off. "Oi. Chatsalot. Dinner's up." He swings his feet down off his cot, glaring over his shoulder at the newcomer. "You ain't welcome on my table."

Aveshin does watch this other candidate, offering the same smile as he passes. Though his gaze does shift to Thierry, looking mildly amused as he is in fact..spoken to. "Ah, yes. Well I should certainly think there's more than enough tables to go around." He'll happily plonk down and make friends with a few other random strangers. "Is it already dinner? Today has..flown."

With upwards of 90 candidates, there's certainly plenty of space. Thierry stands up, running disapproving eyes over Aveshin. "The fuck you so happy about, blondie? Fuck off with your sunshine." With his hands dug into his pockets and his shoulders hunched, Thierry stalks off down the aisle between the cots.

Add a New Comment