Who

Rocio, Cha'el

What

Rocio’s looking for some female advice and gets Cha’el instead. But it doesn’t come for free.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month of the sixth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, War Room

OOC Date 28 Jan 2016 22:00

 

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"Whatcha need, Mister Cha'el? Just say the word I'll hunt down and flay whatever ya need dead…"


war_room.jpg

War Room

Within this room there is a constant buzz, a low-pitched thrum of activity no matter the time of day — or night. Here are the records for the current leadership, and pertinent information for the time: inventories and star-charts, ledgers and tithe manifests and wing records. Such valuable information is kept twice-watched by two disparate forces: a guard at the door and the archivist at his table, and none quite sure which of the two is more dangerous.


The humidity is daunting today. Really, everywhere at Southern the air is thick and the heat does things to people — especially to one greenrider in particular. Rocio is a bit snuffly and sniffly with a sinus infection this morning and has taken up a spot on the floor to the immediate left of the council chamber's entryway. Sitting crosslegged with her back against the wall, she's working on a crossword puzzle while waiting for the meeting inside to finish. Aaany minute now and folks will be filing through the door in search of klah or a morning pastry from the library. "A seven letter word for happiness…?" Rocio mumbles and taps a writing utensil against her chin. "AHA." The guard stationed on the other side of the room glares in her direction after that little outburst. She pens in the answer: "Nnnniamyth." Yes, because that'll work.

Its several minutes longer before the sound of chairs scraping across rock, muted by closed doors, signals the meeting within the Council Room coming to a close. The doors open and a group of Jaguar riders are released with Cha’el following on their heels in brief conversation with a lanky blonde bronzerider. “Aye, then follow that up with-.” Piercing blue eyes land on the Lynx greenrider sitting on the floor to his left. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.” The Weyrsecond tells S’ig and turns his focus fully onto Rocio. “Fresh out of chairs this morning, greenrider?” Faint amusement exits in the roll of his baritone.

Of course it's a perfect time to sneeze right as a group of bronzeriders walk through. Nice. Rocio has just enough time to drop her writing utensil and crossword puzzle and reach for her handkerchief before letting fly. ACHOO. Blue eyes lift to look up at Cha'el and she pivots slightly from her seated position to peeeer into Southern's sacred room. "Hi, Mister Cha'el. Sir." Muffled, that. "Just tryin' to escape the heat." Kinda. Her free hand ticks a salute as she works on gathering her stuff and standing up. "Miss Bailey ain't in there is she?" Probably not since a whole slew of Jaguars just exited the room — and if the huntress were on her game, she'd be chasing a few as they head toward the library. But, sadly, she's distracted. With a final wipe underneath her nose, the hankie is then stuffed into her back trous pocket.

Rocio sneezes and, Cha’el sliiides back a half step. What? Ksenia will have his hide and his puddings if he brings germs home to their double serving of trouble in pigtails. While he knows the flame-haired goldrider isn’t in the council room he’s just exited from, the brownrider nonetheless leans back a touch and peers back inside. “Not unless she’s hiding under the table.” Ignore that slightly dirty grin. Ahem. Total male moment there. “I think she’s up at the Hold today. You might be able to catch Hannah, Ione or Clementine. I heard something about lunch at the Treble Clef.” And you can bet with that much gold clout concentrated in one place, he for one will be avoiding.

That little half step is noted and Rocio shakes her head a little. "Nah, I ain't contagious. Trust me." A hand gestures to the right side of her face. "Ever since I got my cheekbone broke a couple Turns ago, my sinuses ain't been right on the reeeaally hot and humid days." Which is, what? Every day at Southern? Seems like it. The crossword puzzle is rolled up and stuffed into her other back pocket after the writing utensil is slipped into the blonde bun atop her head. She'll probably forget it's there until she stabs herself in the hand when she attempts to take out her hair tie later on. "Anyway." Male moment flies right over her head. "I don't wanna bug all three of 'em…" Just Bailey. And now maybe Cha'el! "Where ya headed? The library? Need anymore books about kittens?" A bright smile is flashed at the Weyrsecond as Rocio lifts up onto tiptoes and then down again. Either she's really bored or she reeeaally needs to talk to someone-who-isn't-T'ral.

Going by the suspicious squint of eyes, Cha’el’s not all that convinced that Rocio is suffering from sinus problems and not the dreaded lurgy that’s reported to be going around. But he will offer a mildly believable, “Uh huh,” even while keeping his distance. A glance goes off in the direction of the library and then he gives a shake of head though there’s something that sparks in his eyes when she mentions books about kittens. “I might have a job for a clever huntress like you.” But wait, she already seems to be on a mission. “Anything I can help you with?”

There is a dreaded crud going about Southern (thanks Lisette~)… Maybe that's what Rocio has. It's hard to say since her sinuses always seem to flare up when it's super humid outside. Hmm. "Ooh, yeah? Ya need me to find somethin' for ya?" Kittens. Hopefully Cha'el is looking for a litter of kittens to bring home to Ksenia and the twins! And Rocio absolutely knows where to find some of the cuuutest cuddliest kitties at Southern, too. But, when the Weyrsecond inquires about her own mission, the greenrider lifts her shoulders into a shrug and glances back into the Council Chamber very briefly. "Uhm. Well." A quiet breath is exhaled through her nose. "Mister Cha'el, have you ever been called… I dunno. A 'pest'?"

First things first, Cha’el bypasses the ‘mission’ he has in mind for Rocio and concentrates on what has her seeking one of the goldriders. Having expected it to be something that relates to the duties that fall under the umbrella of the weyrwoman as a whole, the question she puts to him catches him by surprise. “Uh…” Arms fold across his chest and his brow crinkles in thought, saved from being a frown when his mouth twitches toward what could possibly be amusement. “If single-minded, stubborn, or bullheaded fall into the same category as pest then,” a roguish grin entirely free of apology peels free, “yes.” A pause in which his gaze narrows slightly, “Someone giving you a hard time, Rocio?”

"Nahhh, you ain't single-minded, stubborn, or bullheaded Mister Cha'el…" Rocio says with a cute smile. "Well. Ya might be a tiiiny," Index finger and thumb lift and press together to show an exact measurement. "Bit odd 'cause ya don't like kittens, but we don't hold it against ya." And when she says 'we' she means her. Hopefully that jest doesn't merit five laps around the bowl either — she might not be able to breathe through them with such a stuffed up nose. A hand lifts to scratch the side of her chin as she considers the question. "Not really. I mean, I ain't got many friends Mister Cha'el. And sometimes I might get too… clingy. Especially when I find someone I like to be around." Rocio looks thoughtful for a minute. "I guess I ain't sure when I'm buggin' someone." A beat, "In case ya hadn't noticed, I kinda lack… social cues." And I tend to become a barnacle. That, however, goes unsaid.

Rocio’s sweet discounting of his confessed flaws releases a rumbled chuckle to the air. Then again, that might have to do with the comment about his apparent dislike of felines. Cha’el will leave it up to her to decide because right now, he’s looking a little like someone has dropped sand in his shorts with how he shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. Definitely a conversation better suited to one of the goldriders. Rocio scratches at her chin and he unfolds an arm to rub at the nape of his neck. He says the first thing that pops into his head. “I thought girls like the clingy thing. You all even go to the latrines together.” A female ritual he’s never quite understood the reason for. “If this other girl,” he’s assuming here, “has a problem with your wanting to be…close to her-.” Cha’el stops, stares at the young greenrider for a couple of seconds and then squints his eyes, “This a friend-friend kinda thing or a more than friends kinda thing?”

"We kinda do." There's strength in numbers when going to the latrines together to gossip about single-minded, stubborn, and bullheaded boys. Rocio lifts her shoulders into a shrug and then clears her throat just a tad. "No, no. It ain't really girls I got problems with." Brace yourself, Cha'el. Consider all this boy-talk practice you're gonna thank Rocio for when your girls get to be teenagers! "Truthfully, I got more boyfriends than girlfriends. My best friend, Dione, is my only real girlfriend but sometimes I talk to Miss Bailey when Dione ain't around." And when the weyrwoman isn't available… it's apparently whoever walks out of the council chamber doors first. K'lir and K'ane dodged a bullet this time. "Anyway, I think I might've wore out my welcome with Mister T'ral a while back 'cause he said somethin' to me that made me think he's been talkin' to Rodric." Her dad.

See that frozen look Cha’el’s currently wearing? Yeah, that’s probably the same one he’s going to wear when it comes time for the Avians & Vtols talk with his girls. It’s probably fair to assume that when that day comes, there’ll be a sudden and desperate need for his attention elsewhere. But just now he’s sorta trapped. Aware that’s he inadvertently stumbled onto delicate female territory, the brawny Weyrsecond drops his chin to his chest and stares at the floor for a bit. He’s giving this deep THOUGHT, Rocio! Eventually, realizing he’s not going to be miraculously rescued by the sudden appearance of the named goldrider or bluerider, he makes a go of it with a carefully posed, “And what was it that wingleader T’ral had to say that has you thinking that?” Carefully he navigates this tricky minefield.

"Ya see, Mister T'ral kinda… knows stuff about me that most folks don't." Rocio says as she peers around Cha'el to make sure no one's standing close enough to hear. When the coast is clear, she purses her lips and wilts a little. "So, I kinda trust him more than other folks. And I… might sorta hang around him more than I oughta." Like that time she asked for help getting an arrow out of a tree during his lunch date… Or when they 'accidentally' got into nettles in the jungle together… Or that time when he found her drunk near the Weyr entrance in the rain after a horrible Threadfall… The list goes on. "He musta went to see Rodric 'cause he said somethin' about the east river bank." There's a story behind that. "And I'm just waitin' for Rodric to say somethin' the next time I see him…" Cha'el ought to know that cranky dad voice (he's probably used it on his twins already) all daughters get from their daddies when they need to be talked to. "So, I kinda feel like I'm bein' a huge pain in the… neck." Blue eyes lift up to Cha'el again and Rocio smiles sweetly yet sheepishly. "A pest. But I don't mean to be!"

He tries to keep up. Really he does. “So…” Cha’el rubs at the scruff darkening his jaw. “What you’re telling me is that T’ral’s trying to blackmail you through your father with this information he has on you, because you…want to be his friend?”

"No, no! He ain't blackmailin' me, Mister Cha'el. I just think Mister T'ral doesn't know what to do with me when I get like this, so he went to Rodric for advice." The next time Rocio asks Cha'el where Bailey is, he'll probably point and run in the opposite direction. The greenrider looks down at her hands and starts to pick at her fingernails in silence after such a confession is made. "Pretty sure Mister T'ral's patience is runnin' out. And I guess I'm just worried that I'mma have nobody in my life if I keep pushin' people to the edge." Was that a sniffle? Yes, but it was totally her allergies. "So, I dunno. I guess I'll just stick to my scoutin' duties for Lynx and mind my own business. 'Cause deep down I'm a hunter and we're kinda meant to be alone, ya know?" Maybe she really should have cornered K'lir for this conversation since he'd have the best chance to relate to her situation. Rocio doesn't make eye contact with Cha'el for what seems like a looong moment.

“Ah.” Just that one deep chested sound comes from Cha’el before he slips into contemplative silence. BAILEY, WHERE ARE YOU!? HANNAH? SOMEONE? Eventually, “I think understand.” A breath is inhaled and then exhaled slowly. “Way I see it, there’s a couple of things here that likely put T’ral in a hard position. One, he’s your wingleader and so he’s in a position of authority over you. That can make friendship with a wingrider tricky.” And he should know for he himself can count the number of true friends he has on one hand only. “Two, he’s weyrmated, so it’s not going to look right for a pretty young thing,” yes he has eyes, “such as yourself to be seen in his company too often.” Because as he has just so recently and painfully learned something innocent can quickly blow up in your face, the shrapnel cutting deeply. “Look, Rocio,” there’s a kindness to the brownrider’s baritone, “alone isn’t any good either and dead animals make for poor company.” There’s a short pause in which he gathers his thoughts. “Maybe what you need to do is arrange some kind of girly thing. Like one of those,” wait for it, “lingerie parties or a girly day up at the springs at the Hold with oils and shit.” Yes, Ksenia, he does actually listen when you speak.

Rocio continues to pick at her fingernails while Cha'el speaks and nods every once in awhile to let him know that she's listening. She really is. It's just a bit difficult to look him in the eye since this conversation touches upon a tender subject, one that very obviously has roots that twine deep down into what makes her, her. "Yessir." she says after Cha'el explains a few things. "So, I really can't be friends with folks who have weyrmates." A brief moment of panic flashes in light colored eyes as she quickly looks up at the Weyrsecond in all seriousness. "Sir, y'ain't gonna get in trouble for talkin' to me are ya?" The last thing she wants is for him to get into (more) hot water with Ksenia, so she takes a step back as if it'll help him out. "And I don't wanna get Mister T'ral in any trouble neither." Rocio purses her lips again and slides her hands into her trous pockets when she finally gets what Cha'el is talking about: leave T'ral alone. Cheeks tinge a fair shade of red when he mentions something about having a girls day, which then merits a half grin (sans eyeroll, because she really doesn't want to run laps~). "Mister Cha'el, sir. Do I look like a spa and oil and makeup kinda gal?" HA. "But… yeah. I think I know what you're sayin'."

There’s a ready chuckle for Rocio and a small shake of head for the little bit extra distance she puts between them. “Ksenia’s not an unreasonable woman.” He assures. She just has a problem with other women appearing in their weyr wearing his shirts. “When it comes to weyrmates, it’s all about trust. Some have earned a reason not to be trusted.” There’s a shrug on that note for he knows not if the dedicated wingleader of Lynx falls into such a category or not. Nor is it his place to comment thereon. Leaning toward the greenrider with a grin to mirror hers, Cha’el’s voice drops to something conspiratorial. “I’m not a spa and oil and makeup kinda gal either.” He leans away again with a wink. “Could be something simple like a bonfire and roasting marshmallows. You can’t make new friends if you don’t give them a chance to get to know you, right?”

True. Ksenia might not be unreasonable, but she probably can wield pointy things and run like a feline. Something that Rocio doesn't ever want to tangle with, ya know? "I know Mister T'ral is trustworthy." Especially with a bunch of secrets that are drunkenly slurred in the rain. "He ain't the problem. It's me." And her tendency to become a barnacle to those that she likes to hang out with. Straightening a bit when Cha'el leans toward her, she's makes direct eye contact with those blue eyes of his and can't help a dopey smile from happening. "Yeah?" She'd catch that wink and keep it in her pocket for the rest of her days if she could — it really does make her flutter on the inside! Then there's a proverbial record scratch and Rocio returns to reality shortly afterward. Ahem. "I s'pose you're right. A bonfire sounds like fun, or somethin' else kinda outdoorsy." Removing her hands from her pockets, Rocio hooks her thumbs into her belt loops and beams at Cha'el. "You're just fulla good ideas, ain't ya Sir?" Read: Cha'el is a pretty good Bailey-proxy!

“Mmmm.” The sound rumbles thoughtfully in the back of Cha’el’s throat. “My ma used to say the first step toward change, is the one we can make within ourselves.” A short smile follows that, slightly wry along the edges for he does truly understand. “I have them sometimes,” he goes on to say of good ideas and tosses out a cheesy waggle of brows. “But…they don’t come free.” This is where he swings the conversation back around to that ‘mission’ he has for Rocio. “Lucky for you, I have a way for you to pay back your debt.” With a harper’s flair does he intone these words, lending them an air of gravity. They Weyrsecond even goes so far as to fix the greenrider before him with a stern look.

Rocio fights back the urge to cling to Cha'el like lint (ie, hug him) after that brow waggle of his and immediately starts patting her pockets for knives. Shards! The guard took her weaponry at the door before she could venture into the War Room and anywhere near the sacred Council Chamber. "Whatcha need, Mister Cha'el? Just say the word I'll hunt down and flay whatever ya need dead…" After a few more pats, light colored brows furrow and she glances over at the guardsman on the other side of the room. "Just as soon as I get my stuff back." A beat, "Unleeeess ya need me to bring back somethin' alive." Like a kitten. Two kittens.

Had Rocio followed instinct (ie, hugged him), there may have been surprise but certainly not the sort of stiffboard-snarly reaction she might have gotten from say, a certain raven-haired Jaguar bronzerider. Watching with some amusement as Rocio pats herself down, Cha’el can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiastic response. “Alive.” He answers. “Very much alive.” A few moments, almost a full minute is allowed to go by before he adds, “I want a pair of kittens. Two. Fluffy. Females.” Yup. You heard him right. The man is FINALLY caving! Not…that his weyrmate has any idea about what he has up his sleeve.

After Cha'el draws out the suspense, pardon Rocio if she stares at him for about a minute in silence. Puuure silence. After ALL THIS TIME, is he finally asking her to find two fluffy kittens? Okay, so maybe the silence wasn't quite a minute long because she let's out a shrill, "EEeeeee!" and bounces up onto tiptoes again. That poor guardsman shoots them both another look that seems to say 'three strikes and you're outta here' right as Rocio ticks a sharp salute at Cha'el. "Yessir! Two of 'em. Fluffy." She reaches round for the crossword puzzle booklet in her back pocket and then pulls the writing utensil from her hair. "What colors? And where should I bring 'em?" Notes, she's taking 'em.

Instinctively, Cha’el jerks back when she lets out that squeal, eyes wide with a flash of worry streaking across his expression. Is she having some kind of fit? Should he call someone? Oh. No. Rocio’s just excited. Non-existent crisis averted! Women be weird. “Colours?” Looking a little nonplussed, he scratches at his head. “Uh. Regular colour, I guess.” Cats are so clearly not his thing. “You reckon you could have them in the next fortnight or so?”

Rocio scribbles down a few notes onto the sidelines of her crossword booklet and nods enthusiastically as Cha'el gives her details: two females, regular colors, fluffy. "Yessir! I'll have Niamyth tell Sikorth when we got 'em for ya. Should be soon." A toothy grin overtakes her expression as the greenrider quickly erases the answer she previously penciled into the puzzle. While a 'seven letter word for happiness' might certainly be Niamyth, a much more appropriate answer for the puzzle is: k-i-t-t-e-n-s. Rocio scrawls the new word into the designated line and then shuts the booklet knowingly. "I'll get right on it! If'n you'll excuse me, I think I know exactly where to look…" With this new distraction officially bestowed upon her, Rocio's mind is now focused on the task at hand instead of the trouble that was bothering her only a short while ago. That same urge to cling overpowers her better judgement this time and she does end up giving her Weyrsecond a hug — quickly! — before giving him a proper salute. "Thanks, Mister Cha'el!" And soon the huntress is bounding toward the guardsman to collect her things before she skedaddles into the library on a new mission.

Tilting forward on the balls of his feet a little, Cha’el peers at the new word Rocio writes into the little blocks of her puzzle. He’s about to suggest another word for happiness (f-r-i-e-n-d-s) when suddenly he finds the greenrider flinging her arms about him in a hug. “Uh.” Surprise is such that when she salutes, he completely forgets to send one back and instead is left staring after the young woman that bounds away. With a self-effacing chuckle and a shake of head, he too is soon on his way. “Faranth help me when the girls get to that age.” He may need the liquid reinforcement of an entire distillery close at hand.

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