A'lira, R'ku


R'ku's looking for fleece, A'lira's looking to gather a few baby supplies. Somehow, they manage to create disarray and exchange news.


It is sunrise of the first day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Stores, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 19 Mar 2018 05:00


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"Good luck and good searching, good sir." — R'ku



Only by sheer willpower has this room turned to the better in the last decade — for it once was an ominous room of discord and decay, but no more. Boxes and bins are everywhere, sorted in meticulous order. Glows hang from regular interval, the painstaking commodity of all fanatical storekeepers: light, to better see those who return items they got from Bin A into Bin B. Moisture collects in the air, a long-running war between those assigned to work these halls and the air itself — so far, the workers seem to be winning, but in the end, everyone dies.

It's early enough that the stores are fairly quiet, though not early enough to have them be completely overrun with early morning bustle. There's certainly activity, though. There's a bit of scraping of wood against stone, banging and other various noises coming from one particular section of the stores. Several crates and boxes have been pulled out and piled atop one another and R'ku is busy trying to extract something from deep within the layers of crates. Because apparently when you want something in the stores, it always turns out to be in the very very back behind all the newer shipments of items. Grunting with effort, R'ku drags out another crate and shoves it aside, adding to the scattered mess of crates around him. If he's not careful, he's going to end up blocking himself into a corner at this point.

It's apparently the time to dig about the place, for A'lira, too, finds himself in the place, wandering through the aisles until he reaches the section where R'ku is building himself a wall of the newer shipments. There's a moment of mischievous amusement as the brown rider considers trying to scare the bejesus out of his wingleader, but decides against it. Instead, he'll just casually post up nearby, fiddling with a bit of leather as he watches the man tunneling through the area like a determined badger. "Whatever you're lookin' for, I hope it's worth all this work, man."

Despite A'lira's intentions not to startle R'ku, he still manages it slightly. R'ku seems to forget that he's bent double and halfway underneath a shelf and begins to straighten up when he hears the brownrider's voice, only to have his head bang the underside of the shelf with a *thump*. "Faranth's toenails!" he swears, backing ungainly out of the miniature tunnel he's managed to excavate and finally straightening up fully once in open air, one hand massaging the back of his skull with a wince, "Thanks for that. I think I needed the wake-up call." He huffs out a breath, " Two things, actually." He casts a disparaging glance at the crates around him, "Somewhere there's a shipment of fleece. It apparently came in right at the end of winter and it didn't really need to be used lately .. so … " He grimaces, "Some of the Starcrafters instruments that get taken on some of the sweeps wit them are a bi delicate - I thought if I lined a special pouch with the fleece … " He seems to have forgotten what the 2nd thing is or deliberately doesn't mention it, as he starts to poke around the crates he's pulled out, "What are you after?"

Whoops! A'lira runs a hand over his face, trying to disguise the automatic reaction of a grin. Intended or not, startling people is funny. He's very mature, is A'lira. Once he's gotten himself under control, though, he offers an apology. "Sorry about that; are you all right?" Poor R'ku — his head must be killing him. He'll eye the crate, almost mistrustfully, then snort softly. Good thing he doesn't have to put all that back. "Oh, yeah — it's probably way in the back, because, you know, nobody ever needs that stuff, right?" He's not even going to comment on R'ku's not supplying a second reason. Not his bidness, really. "Me? A cradle and clothes for an infant, actually." He runs a hand over his own scalp — huh, about time for another shave, for it is stubbly, his scalp — and looks around, squinting. "I hadn't gotten to it til now." Darn infants need things, as he was tartly reminded by his mother recently.

R'ku blinks once or twice, straightening up from his crouched position over the nearest crate - thankfully this time he does not bump his head. He's got a thick skull, though, so all is probably well. "Infant?" he echoes before flashing one of his usual toothy grins, "I didn't realize congratulations are in order? Or is this for a relative?" Because he does not want to assume anything, even if A'lira is not the one potentially expecting. He pauses briefly to duck back under the shelf and back into the tiny excavation he's created. He starts to drag and pull at another crate, though he's close enough to still hear any answer from his Wingsecond.

A'lira shrugs affably. "Igraine is fostering a babe. Well, we both are, really — a young Trader girl's due soon, and she's a bit too young to mother a child as yet."

A noise of understanding comes from the miniature cave within the storage shelves amidst a few other grunts of effort as R'ku pulls out yet another crate. This one he lifts up and drops on top of another one that he's pulled out, "Sandals?" He sighs, seemingly resigned that he may not find the coveted fleece anytime soon. "Good for you about the fostering. Do you know when she's due?" He quickly scans the crates he's pulled out, "Not sure if any of this stuff is baby items, but you can check?"

What's up with the lack of labeling on these things? A'lira rolls his eyes at the complete disregard for time spent looking for things because of that lack and bends to inspect a crate thoughtfully, hoping he'll get lucky and not have to go digging forever like R'ku. "Thanks. And she's about seven months now, so maybe six weeks or so to go."

R'ku has already started back into his excavation, his voice echoing eerily from beneath the shelves, "Exciting! At least you have experience with taking care of babies, sort of, after Weyrlinghood." Because a baby dragon can produce a ton more poop than a baby ever could. R'ku makes a noise of elation and starts to drag-pull a crate out. This time the crate comes out first, though, due to the build-up of crates around the hole, said crate can't seem to get beyond the opening. Thus, R'ku finds himself in a bit of a pickle. "Uh." comes his uncertain voice from behind the crate, "A'lira? Little help?"

"Good point." A'lira laughs, casting aside his crate— for it is full of winter jackets and therefore of no use to him — and latching on to the one coming at him. "That, and I tended to be involved with pediatrics as a healer." Who knew that that early training would eventually stand him in good stead now? With a grunt, he pulls harder, and might end up on his ass with the crate threatening his junk. "Damn, how much did they put in here?" He asks, startled.

R'ku helps as best he can from his awkward position, pushing on the crate to provide leverage when A'lira pulls. Eventually, with a sigh of relief, R'ku is able to pop up into open air, "Saved from an early death trapped in the storage shelves." His voice is full of mock dramatics and he rumbles a laugh, "Yeah - it was pretty heavy. I don't think many people need that much fleece here." He glances around at the barricade of crates he has around him now, though, and sighs, "Where's a candidate when you need them?" It's all said in jest, of course. "And I think I saw some baby blankets in a box somewhere around here. If you need that."

"On the other side of the Weyr if they're smart." A'lira quips in amusement m, swinging a long leg over the crate so he can stop feeling like the thing will leap on him and crush his manhood in the most undignified way. "Oh, Faranth don't even think about joking about that!" A'lira recoils in mock horror. "I do not want your job, man!" He'd have to deal with Ch'ad the Ass even more, then. Does he want to crawl into that small dark space? Well, no, but he's been given his marching orders, so crawl in there he shall.

"Good luck and good searching, good sir," R'ku offers A'lira a winning, toothy grin as the man passes him to enter the excavated section of shelf, "It's a smaller box, at least!" With a bit more grunting and pushing, R'ku manages to open up a space between the many different discarded crates. And then he finally gets to the crate with the fleece, which seems to be jammed tightly closed. Foiled again! He starts to pat at his belt, considering what sort of implement he might be able to use to pry open the unwilling bounty of fleece. "Oh!" he suddenly remembers and calls back, "If you see any tea set stuff in there … I need some." Because apparently that may be the 2nd thing he was looking for. Though the majority of the stuff in this area seems to be fabric in nature - at least it's organized into general 'themes'.

It seems their womenfolk have decided to send them on impossible quests! A'lira does indeed find those blankets after some digging about back there among the echoes. "Hmm. No luck on the tea sets… do I even want to know why we have this?" He reappears with a pile of blankets and some mystery gadget — that kind of looks like a tire.

R'ku pauses with his belt knife pointed at the crate of fleece and just stares in silence for a few seconds at the tire thing in A'lira's hand. "What in shards is that?" he asks, breaking out into a burst of laughter, "Something to wear on your head?" Still chortling, he goes back to trying to pry open the crate of fleece. There's a lot of creaking noises as he levers the lid up sloooowly. "Guess I'll have to make a check for the tea stuff elsewhere. But at least it should be well-stocked and not all the way in the back." Because tea is a lot more used even in the summer.

"Who the hell knows." A'lira laughs, tossing the thing back into its dark hidey hole and beginning to shove a small disturbed item or two back into their little cave. The Crate R'ku is working on is such a stubborn beast that A'lira winces. "The hell, they glue it on?" He waves at the protesting lid. "Yeah probably."

R'ku finally manages to crack the crate's lid and gives a hum of happiness, "Finally! Probably wasn't even opened when they got the shipment." There's an obvious smell of old wool wafting from the box, as well as dust. Reaching in, he extracts a huge roll of fleece. Holding it up, he nods, "This should be enough to line a few good sized pouches, I think." His happy expression falters a little as he glances at the unholy mess that he's made of this section, "… shards. I have to clean this up, don't I?" Well - there does seem to be a candidate or two entering from the opposite end, though, and R'ku brightens, "Candidate! Do me a favor and tidy up this section, will do?" The candidate, a scrawny but lean and tall teenager, stares at R'ku with bug-eyed surprise before bobbing his head several times. He then remembers to salute and does so before moving over to the crates.

"How convenient was that?" A'lira laughs, thrilled that he's no longer going to feel compelled to help restore order after the tornado. As for the old-wool-and dust of a roll, he simply shrugs. "Could be." A'lira is one of those dudes who has no idea how to make those pouches— his head's too full of dragonhealer lore these days to learn more new things. Besides, with two nesting women in his weyr, he's hardly had time to breathe without being accosted by obe or the other for help with turning his once-pristine retreat into an oversized and colorful yurt for babies.

R'ku leaves the hapless candidate to his grunting and sweating over moving them any crates back into place. No regrets! He had to do enough of that as a candidate himself - time for payback. He flashes a grin back at A'lira as he tucks the wool under his arm and starts to wander down the lines of shelves to find the tea sets, which isn't too hard to find. "You don't know anything about tea services, do you? I've been meaning to get a nice one for the weyr for a while and I wanted to surprise Beris … " Which necessitates not asking the one person who may know anything about this so as not to spoil the surprise. He considers the various tea pots and such on display, "Maybe I ought to ask Xanthee - she used to work in te Tea Room, too." Plus she's a candidate - a bonus.

A'lira eyes R'ku with wry astonishment. "Really?" He chortles with glee. "Why would I? The service we have is Igraine's — all I know is I should never, ever brew anise tea in it. She hates that." Gor though Igraine be but small, she is ferocious, as the saying goes. He will happily leave the candidate to his work, heading for the tea aisle with R'ku without a backward look. "Xanthee is definitely your best option here."

R'ku stares in complete bafflement at the various options arrayed before him. Perhaps he thought he could just have an easy selection or there would be a very obvious choice to be had. "Shards - why are there so many?" he asks, astonished. Heaving a sigh, he lets his shoulders sag, "I'll definitely have to track down Xanthee. I'll never be able to pick the right ones. Probably best to try to catch her before the eggs hatch." He pauses for a moment, considering, "Probably going to be hatching soon, aren't they?" Add a deadline to his new errand.

Oh, dear, there seems to be way too many for this man. A'lira stares in baffled surprise. "What the actual hell?" Where is Xanthee when you need her? "Yeah, better put a move on — they're very near, H'rik tells me." How they know that, Al has yet to figure out, though.

R'ku heaves a sigh, "Well - at least I got the fleece." He adjusts said fleece under his arm before shaking his head in bewilderment again. "I'll have to see if I can find her later. I need to go arrange things with this fleece before drills start - see you in a few candlemarks?" He gives a raised hand as a wave to A'lira before starting to head off, "Hope the rest of the baby stuff is easier to find!" Plus there's candidates lingering around to corral into helping, at least.

“True, that.” A’lira agrees, heading away from the Stores and the mess they’ve left behind for those poor, poor candidates to deal with. In a few candlemarks, R’ku said — “Let the drills begin then, as you say.” As to the rest of the baby stuff, how fortunate is it that his mother has insisted on making or somehow procuring, as a grandmother’s right? With another salute, A’lira will absent himself, forgetting he’d intended to also find a crib in there. Oh, well; he’ll remember it soon enough. And probably commission something nicer from a woodworker anyway.

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