Merakh, Thierry


How d'you pull rank when you're both wearing the same knot?


It is midmorning of the nineteenth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr Caravan Grounds

OOC Date


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Caravan Grounds

Deep grooves in the hard packed earth criss-cross a large patch of denuded ground, bearing mute testament to the caravans that frequent this area. Despite the midden holes set back a ways from the main center of traffic, the air is sweet, redolent with the sagebrush that forms a loose perimeter around the flattened expanse. In what is as close to its center as the vague boundaries suggest, a stone ringed fire pit has been dug and surrounded with the odd log or two, ash overflowing from its darkly blackened core.

Another day, another guard stint. Today, in someone's neat handwriting, the roster prompted Thierry to go towards the Caravan Grounds, circle it once or twice to show face, and then slowly proceed into the Bazaar space. He would, it proclaimed, be met by another recruit for the double stint. Joy. When he arrives, however, there's not another guard visible, just a tall woman off to one side, streeeeetching a lithe, athletic body with such pleasure that her braid lashes like a feline's tail. Dark-haired, faintly tanned, and possessed of a mean set of curves, it's not immediately obvious that she's the guard in question. Not, understand, until she pulls on the jacket hanging over a nearby scrubby bush, closing it neatly so that the Guard-Recruit knot shows.

Sadly in Thierry's mind, Merakh couldn't be the guard he's assigned with at /all/, because she's lacking the anatomical requirements of such a position. He skulks up to the caravan ground with his shoulders hunched, one hand in his pocket and the other on the top of his nightstick, glower focused down on his boots, save for when a trader passes; she's pretty, and he raises his head to nod and attempt a half-smile. He's unfortunately got his back to Merakh when she dons her jacket; he's picked his spot for watch, and is already starting to light up a toke.

Such beautiful daydreams, absolutely shattered now. There was a response to the smile, of course, calm and small, but as he turns his back on her to light up she reaches to tap him on the shoulder. "Thierry, correct?" She wanders around to face the long walk, hands in her pockets, and tilts her head a little. "I'm Merakh, your partner for this stint. Shall we get going, or do you want to finish that first?" No negative words about the toke, see? Perhaps she's used to them. "I figure it'll just about take us an hour before we go into the Bazaar."

Thierry looks up, exhaling smoke from his nostrils as he looks with steady disdain at Merakh. "Huh?" He scrubs his hand under his nose, running his eyes down below Merakh's gaze, easily distracted by those /boobs/. Ooer. A few seconds of leering at them and he lifts his dark eyes to look at her again, giving his head a little shake. "Don't think so, lady. I'm not playing guard with someone who oughta be cooking my dinner. You go on, now." A pull on his toke has a soft stream of blue-grey smoke drifting hazily towards the older woman.

Her smile stretches, calm, and she lets him look his fill. Everyone deserves one chance: just one. "You wouldn't want to eat my cooking, Thierry," she mentions amiably. "However, I'll be happy to make you eat that toke instead, if you don't shape up right now. There are female guards now. The sooner you do that, the sooner we can walk the walk, the sooner you and I can be out of each other's way." One hand gestures towards the route they have to take. "Shall we?"

"Shoulda really spent more time trying to make it edible then, right?" Thierry pushes his luck. It's a bad habit. He rests his toke against the healing cut on his lip, holding it there while he rolls up his sleeves. Inhale. Exhale smoke. The toke's then captured between his fingers after one more drag, words coloured blue-grey as he speaks them. "You go run on and do your lady-guarding, bouncy. I've got a good spot /riiight/ here." And he's rooted to it, unmoving.

Bouncy? She seems to collecting pet names all over the show. Despite her distaste, she keeps her expression calm. The distaste is all in how she moves: she reaches out to flick the toke away with a flick of her fingers. "This is the way you guard? I don't want to think what might happen if you're needed on the other side of the grounds? The Bazaar? Hardly what I expected from the man that brought that slab of muscle in the other night." She reaches for his shoulder to push it into the correct direction: no grabbing yet, she's waiting for him to try and shrug her off to get hold of his wrist.

Thierry glowers down at his discarded toke, shrugging away from Marekh's touch and stepping back out of her way. "Oi. That's /mine/." The recruit crouches down to retrieve the still-glowing butt, flicking dust from the end of it before tucking it back in between his lips. "You?" He points at the woman in front of him. "Don't get to give me orders. /Recruit/." Equal rank, right? "You wanna go trotting about? Then fuck off about it." Holding up his hand, he walks his fingers through the air - trot on, little lady!

Marekh steps forward lazy, way into his space, enough to be uncomfortably close for standing up. Her boot comes down where the toke (and his fingers) would have been, and there's a thin smile. "Fair enough. I'll tell the captain you couldn't make your shift then. Good day, Thierry." The fingers wiggled at her, however, are caught and held for a second, long enough for him to realise the consequences. Then, apparently happily, she walks off.

Despite the threat, Thierry has the audacity to /smirk/ at Marekh. "I'm here, lady. I'm on duty, and there's witnesses to it an'all." Look, see? Over there. A small knot of people! "I'm not taking orders from no woman recruit. I've been in this uniform longer than you." He turns his head to the side, spitting on the ground, happy to watch her behind as she walks away. And when she's a good 10 metres or so away? He wolf-whistles.

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