Mayte, Delaney, Thierry, Veresch


Candidates do some dishes. Some.


16th day of the 3rd month of the 12th Pass


Igen Weyr Kitchens

OOC Date


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Chaos and anomie reign in this hub of food production. It's not so much the smell, which varies from 'faintly edible' to 'coal', as the film of grease that adds a sheen to every surface and glues canine hair to the wall. The area is well set up, of course — it's a large kitchen with more than adequate counter space. There's plenty of room to get around, too, even with the centralized canine spit run dominating the center of the floor. The place is just, well, not 'up to code'. Several large stoves belch smoke that chars the blocked chimney's outer brick. Unidentifiable bits of food have been baked to the floors and ground in by the uncaring trod of drudge shoes. Even the sink is crusty, with it's constant tower of filthy dishes and lack of cleansing sand to be seen anywhere. Add in the bloodied smears on cutting boards and what you have is a monument to cross contamination.

It's technically post-dinner at Igen, and a line of white-knots file into the Kitchens to help with the post-dinnerly duties. Mayte's dark head is among them, looking at least not pleased with her assigned task, moving to the large, industrial sinks with only a grimace as sleeves are rolled up for the chore at hand. She eyes the towering stacks of dishes, cutlery, glasses, and serving plates and sighs. A look to her right, but no, there's no one next to her, the drying towel lying forlornly near a crude drying rack. Le sigh. Still, Mayte starts on the plates, scrubbing each and shifting it to the sink of semi-clear, steaming water to rinse for a little.

Mayte glances, then looks away, and there's Delaney, taking that spot next to her and grabbing the first plate out of the rinse to start drying. She might not look like a person who would jump right into chores, but there she goes, deft hands turning the plate quickly and wiping down, then setting off to one side to grab the next one. There isn't even a greeting, she's just doing it.

Mayte is cool with quiet. She does look over as Delaney appears next to her, nods once, and gets back to work. She can do silent work too. Dish, wash, rinse. Repeat. The silence lasts for all of two minutes before Mayte clears her throat. Brace yourself: "So. How're you finding the Candidate job?" Riveting dialogue. "Are you new to the Weyr? I'm Mayte." Short and choppy, too, "I'm usually a Vintner apprentice." Mayte falls silent again, somewhat expectant, but the shorter dish-doer doesn't watch Delaney's reaction, too intent on making sure the next dish doesn't slip out of her hand.

Thierry, thankfully /not/ on dishwashing duty - possibly for the good of the Weyr in general - can't help but notice his fellow candidates who have been given the sudsy task of washing down all those plates. He's in the kitchens on a far more pleasurable task: eating a sandwich. With it in hand and a gob that's full of bread-and filling deliciousness, he sidles up to the sinks, leaning in by Mayte. No words here, just a cheeky wink and a sandwich-stuffed smile as he watches and chews. Ah, girls doing /girl-work/.

It isn't that Delaney doesn't care that Mayte is there with her, it's just that there's work to do and she's doing that. When the other candidate is the first to strike up conversation all that happens is a small movement in the blonde girl's eyes when they shift to their corners, a sidelong glance given quickly and then she's focused back on her chore. "I don't know," is her answer; she doesn't even specify which question it's for. Luckily Thierry comes in to save her from having to try to navigate small talk and though she gives him a glare past Mayte, she doesn't say anything to him either.

Mayte can do quiet too. She just chooses not to now, especially since there's Thierry leering. Bowl, wash, rinse, cup, wash, rinse. "Well met." Response or no, the shorter girl continues on, "At least we're getting some good weather to do it in. I can't imagine," a curl of lip, "Doing some of those outdoor chores when there's sand trying to blow all around me." Oh look, Mayte's found a fork, thrusting it under-handedly into the sort-of-soapy water with gritted teeth. Definitely not looking at the boy Candidate over her other shoulder.

Having swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, Thierry leans to get a good look at Delaney. "Hey you." Smirk. "You're alright looking with clothes /on/, too." Then he turns his grin on Mayte, raising his sandwich halfway to his mouth as he gives her a 'sup bob of his head. "You scared of a little sand, precious? 'Course, you /could/ just leave men to do /men's/ work out in it. You girlies oughta stay outta it, right? Protect those pretty faces. Right, blondie?"

When Thierry talks to her, Delaney tenses with a clenched jaw. It's like she's biting down on her own rising anger. Futile, turns out, because while she can endure him for that first wave, the question at the end is more than enough for a tight, "Fuck you," all without missing a beat, passing her plate off to the drying rack with maybe a little more force than is absolutely necessary.

"No," Mayte replies flatly, "I'm tired of watching the sand destroying my grapes." The fork is clenched tightly in her hand, sparkling clean until she remembers it's there, and drops it into the rinsing sink. "Don't you have a chore to do? Like shifting the manure of your own ego?" Mayte starts in on the cutlery, focusing on spoons. Spoons can't be used as weapons, right? There's a particular bit of grime on this soup spoon that requires a bit more attention, then Delaney gets a look of surprised interest as the food particle comes free and Mayte hands it over to her basin's care.

Veresch is perhaps the only person that comes here voluntarily at times. For the moment, she enters through the doorway leading to the courtyard, with a thin jacket wrapped around her, and marks of tiredness on her face. There's a moment of silence as she ventures to the kitchen's equivalent of a hearth, then the pantry, and it's only when she's got a sweetroll in her hand that she turns to the trio of candidates. Her eyes flick from one to the other: Mayte, Delaney, Thierry, before she takes a bit of the roll. Still with the watching. Staaaaare.

"/Any/ time you want," Thierry replies to Delaney, winking and clicking his tongue at her. Mayte gets a grin of her own, and a tiny little finger-pat on her shoulder. Patpat. "Oughta worry more about sandy plums than /grapes/… not that /you'd/ have /that/ to worry about. Right, lady?" He takes another bite of his sandwich, watches that spoonwork for a moment or two… then straightens up from his counter-leaning post. "Gotta go shift that ego-shit." And off he goes!

"Feh," Delaney scoffs, not even bothering to give Thierry another look for all of his egging. She grabs Mayte's spoon and rinses, dries, sets off, with another glance at the girl next to her. She hasn't noticed Veresch yet, probably because she's staring down at her own hands for the most part.

A collection of spoons is taken up this time, scattered into the water. Mayte manages to evade most of Thierry's pat-pat to her shoulder, teeth gritting briefly. Fortunately, Thierry's taking off now, though Mayte doesn't turn to watch him leave. "Good riddance," she mutters quietly, "He'll be out there all night." A wry look over at Delaney and then Mayte turns a bit further, looking to where a drudge barks laughter, and spots Veresch, nodding a quick greeting to the younger girl. Mayte has to fish around for those spoons now, looking back into the water with disgust: "Oh, man, that's gross. What is in there?" In a word, grody.

"Hello Mayte." Veresch had had time enough to get over the vintner's search. "Hello… Delaney." Not so much there apparently, given the rill of laughter infecting her tone." She takes another bite of sweetroll and moseys forward to check out the situation. "Ew. Looks like you're bobbing for favours in pond-scum." Because really, that'd only make it better, right? Unlike the other candidate that leant up against a counter, she pulls herself on top of it with one even movement. "I'm not so sure 'Congratulations' are in order anymore, what with kitchen duty and all."

"He's an idiot," is Delaney's quick assessment; quick and dismissive, now that he's out of the room and no longer making her hackles go up. She's keeping up with Mayte so far, though those spoons might pose a challenge, her hands streaming water while she works. Short sleeves: good. There's a delay when Veresch greets her, a moment spent appraising the younger girl, and then she reluctantly says, "Hi," while shaking some excess drops free from a few of those utensils.

Mayte gives one last look of resignation at the water, looks up at a spot that isn't in the sink, and thrusts her hand in, fishing for spoons. She counts them under her breath, and emerges triumphantly with them all: "I'm definitely going to heat the water for the dishes next time I have this duty." EAch spoon gets a wipe, though not with the same care she gave the plates earlier. "It's good for…" think, Mayte, think, "Strengthening character and resolve." Delaney's affirmation gets a nod: "He really needs to… oh Shards, whatever. Get over himself." And onto newer topics: "Have you heard anything about learning to ride?" A look to Veresch: "You planning on helping?" Curt words, softened with a slightly lip-curling smile.

Veresch muffles her snickers on the last of the sweetroll, which has disappeared at an amazing pace. "Did you guys scrape most of the bits off before you've washed them?" Inquiring minds want to know. "And… you didn't heat the water up? How're you going to cut through the grease without scrubbing your fingers off then?" Her legs kick idly, and the snickering turns into a full-on grin, delivered teen-casual and filled with relish. "Maaaaaybe," she drawls out happily before Delaney's scanned again and the grin gentles: "Congratulations, Delaney," she mutters with a quick, diffident pat on the older girl's shoulder. "I bet Alecsei's glad."

"Ride? Ride what?" It's quite possible nothing at all comes to Delaney's mind as far as 'ride' is concerned; it's just also possible that entirely inappropriate things do too. A furrow pulls her eyebrows together while Veresch goes on, her mouth pressed into a thin line and even then it's hard to tell, is that annoyed? Frustrated? Or is she just thinking really hard about dishes. The thing to draw her out of that is that pat, which makes her twitch and then, slowly, give that girl an intense side-eye. "Would you? Bet?" She drops the spoons into a place where they can dry on their own and mutters, "I'm going to go grab a dry towel." That'll take her a little longer than might be necessary, too.

Sigh. Mayte doesn't roll her eyes, because that's a great way to lose new friends, but she sounds a little controlled in her reply of, "Runners!" Silly Delaney, but Mayte must tell Veresch: "Of course it was hot. At one point. To a certain degree." Shoulder shrug, "Next time, I'll do it myself and make sure it's steaming hot." A snide look at the water where suds battle it out against a thin film. The next victim of 'clean' is a steak-knife, and Mayte is a little too busy nodding to Delaney's intended search for a towel when something slips: "Ouch!" Mayte holds up her left hand, where a trickle of blood, mixing with dishwater rivulets, starts to descend from a reasonably shallow scrape on the back of her hand. "Son of a b…" She pauses before completing that word, and huffs: "I'd better get this disinfected at the Infirmary." Holding the cut tight against her darkly-pantsed thigh, Mayte offers, "Wanna come with, make sure I don't faint in the hall or something?" The Candidate isn't quite waiting for a response, making her way out through the crowds, creating enough of a path for Veresch to follow should she like.

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