Who

Vosji, Onari, Zavyr

What

Vosji wants a sandwich. Onari and Zavyr provide entertainment.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr - Kitchens

OOC Date 22 Jan 2017 07:00

 

11.png onari_default.jpg zavyr_blueshirt.png

igenkitchens.jpg

Igen Weyr - Kitchens

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.


The lunch rush is finally beginning to wane, but the stressors that accompany a high-volume food production place that is often taken for granted (like, how the hell does all that food get out there, eh?), wears on nerves. Zavyr, who gets up with the rest of the Candidates, attends a PT that once was a walk in the proverbial park for her, but now is work given how grief and recovering from injuries has stolen both strength and endurance, and then reports for a duty that often lasts until late in the evening, is the current object of one of the kitchen assistant's wrath. The Candidate is sweeping up a pile of broken shards, while being berated by the portly assistant, who evidently woke on the wrong side of his bed too: "And the third time this seven, you've dropped stuff. I'm going to start a tally, because by the time you're done with the Candidacy, you're going to be owing the weyr a full new set of dishes! I think tomorrow you ought to be reporting to the stables, and maybe do some work where you can't break anything, and you're not getting to hob-nob with all those bronzeriders, eh? What, you think some bronze is going to -"

Some people never really eat in the living caverns with the group. Some people prefer to prepare their own meals. One of those such people is Vosji, Assistant Weyrlingmaster and veteran sandwich-maker; she is innocently and innocuously entering the kitchens to prepare to make said odd-hour sandwich when she overhears someone yelling at one of her charges. There are a lot of them, and she may not be able to keep all of their names straight, but anyone with a white knot becomes her problem; making accusations of them, and potentially untoward comments, gets her attention. And her ire. And her oh-so-honorable dragon's ire. "You probably," she says, suddenly standing with her full height over the kitchen assistant who is undoubtedly at least a few inches shy of Vosji, "Don't want to finish that sentence. It sounded potentially as if it were laden with the sort of innuendo one should not attach to candidates. Dishes will be replaced. All right?" is turned on Zavyr, with a smile that asks of the candidate's relative comfort.

The Candidate, only slightly less bone-thin than last time Vosji encountered him, stands to study the Assistant, just prior to Vosji's stepping in. The lad's hair is still long, but still tied severely back under a skullcap that lets quite a bit of shorter front bangs fall over his features. But the pale eyes watch the Assistant through Vosji's upbraiding of him. Full on. I Am Watching You. Then he'll nod to Vosji, before remembering the salute, and kneel to collect the dustpan and sweep the damaged goods into it, before dumping them with a clatter into the bin. "I'm doing just dandy, rider-ma'am." Zavyr returns, doing one more sweep over the area and one more collecting of the fragments, "And he's right on one account. I'd take bets that I won't Impress a bronze dragon." The expression he tosses over to the Assistant's back, as that one has moved sharply away from the AWLM, can only be described as a 'smirk'. "All's well, ma'am. Thank you." The lizards that normally accompany Zavyr are likely all inside the cavern, trying to scam folks out of their food. "Did you need anything?"

"Good," is all Vosji says, though she recalls well enough why this one probably won't be Impressing a bronze. Or thinks she does. The entire thing was impressively surreal, and not her place to comment on! "No one should be speaking to you that harshly, though if I find out things are being damaged intentionally the first person to be harsh will be myself." She is not one who dismisses rank or file or duty; she may be kind to candidates, but she will not tell them to call her by her name or wave off salutes. Those things are there for a reason. "And I only came in because I wanted something to eat, figured I may as well check in on how you're faring while I'm putting my food together. Care to chop a tomato?" Because it's apparently safer for Zavyr to have big knives than dishes.

"I can chop a tomato." Zavyr admits, and shakes his head to her other words, "This place is… Nothing. No worries. Compared to where I came from, ma'am. You're the rider that was with Divale, last seven, yes?" Zavyr did not apply a nickname to Vosji; ergo, she cannot recall the woman's name, either. But he'll make use of his thin frame to slide by burlier cooks to fetch a tomato, then a knife. In a moment of clear space, the knife is flipped up, experimentally, then caught by the handle. Twice. With an excess of ease, before Zavyr tilts attention and knife to the tomato. He's two slices in, before someone hands Zavyr a cutting board, and the lad looks at the item curiously, then back at the kitchen aide who helpfully hisses, "Cut on that." Oh! Zavyr transfers all parts of the tomato to the top of the cutting board and commences the activity - Yes, Zavyr is Igen Weyr's version of 'wilding', evidently. "There is, in case you missed it, ma'am, an entire sideboard of food out there." A shrug diffidently indicates the direction of the Living Cavern.

That's Vosji, all right; all she says is "Yes," though, before she's watching the performance with an impressed little smile. Clearly she made the right call here in asking Zavyr to cut things. "You could make salad and sandwich preparation into performance art," she muses, "And I'm not entirely sure that would even be a bad idea. Why have they got you doing dishes, character building?" Someone else might have said that with sarcasm but Vosji is definitely not joking. " — Oh, yes, I know, I prefer to do my own prep. Eat in my weyr and not steal from the public. Sort of thing."

Even in winter, there must be ice, because drinks do not keep themselves cold even now. So it is that Onari emerges from the passage to the cellars and cold storage in a coat and gloves, a block of ice clamped solidly in a pair of ice tongs. "Make way!" she calls ahead, sidling through the kitchen bustle with her burden and hoping to Faranth she doesn't bump anyone. It's not pleasant to get thumped with such a big, heavy thing…but it'd would also be a pain to have it jostled free of her grip to shatter all over the floor. She's soon skimming past a couple of food-choppers (or so she assumes). "Ice coming through! Pardon me… Zavyr. Hello!" This uttered with a slight grunt as she successfully hefts the ice into a waiting bucket. "I thought I'd seen you in the barracks but I wasn't sure. Your hair is longer." Hence her uncertainty. "Good afternoon, assistant weyrlingmaster," is offered to Vosji with a nod, but no salute with her hands still occupied. There may not be enough room in here for such formalities, anyway.

The too-thin youth chuckles, with a shake of his head even as he leans closer to the table he'd used to cut, "Oh, I don't think anyone around here believes I have too little character, ma'am." To whit, Zavyr spies Onari's difficulty with expected protocol and sticks the knife, tip in, into the cutting board and salutes Vosji again. "That," Zavyr intones in a confidential manner, "Was from Onari, because her hands are full. GOT YOUR BACK, ONARI!" The Zavyr of this round of Candidacy is very different from the subdued, quiet version of Zavyr that merely seemed to occupy the barracks, rather than live in them. Of course, Zavyr has been avoiding the barracks and the people in them, but those who know of the Fool from the Bazaar or the former Underground, are much more familiar with this side of the pale-cast youth, than the one that Stood before. Then Zavyr slides the blade under the tomatoes and uses the knife to transfer the slices to Vosji's plate. "I suspect that the reasons is that I spend less time in the kitchen, when I do dishes and table washing, than if I were doing prep work." Again, a slight smile plays about the youth's lips. "Onari got the short end of the stick, eh? Working inside because it's cold and they still have her doing the cold stuff. So." It could be worse! "What else, then, ma'am?" This, to Vosji, before Zavyr yields the knife.

Vosji forgives Onari the lack of salute due to the lack of hands. That is a PERFECTLY good reason and does not construe any sort of insubordination for her to kvetch about to Diem. "Thank you, Reika candidate whose name has honestly slipped my mind at the moment," she tells Onari honestly, with a self-deprecating sort of smile. She may not be able to keep names straight but that doesn't mean she likes that aspect of herself. "Thank you for your hard work with the ice lifting. Hm." With Zavyr doing the work, Vosji has to think more about what she wants on that sandwich. "There's some spiced smoked meat floating around here somewhere …" A bronze firelizard curled up on a shelf squawks, Vosji immediately corrects; "No, Bo, I don't think you are going to be allowed to look for it. Or eat it."

Onari is certainly a bit surprised by this less subdued aspect of Zavyr, but appreciative, given the quick grin and chuckle that follows the other Candidate's salute. "Much appreciated," she says, another little grunt following as she dislodges the tongs from the ice. "And I don't mind, really. It's not much different from hauling crates in the cold." Which is what she'd been doing before Diem snapped her up again. Taking up a nearby ice pick, she starts to chip away at the block. She forgives Vosji the omission of her name despite Zavyr having voiced it a few times. It's a bit noisy in here, after all. "Onari, ma'am," she offers, smirking at the wishful firelizard on the shelf. "When did you join the weyrlingstaff? I don't remember you from last time."

One of the assistants who is only stirring a vat of bubbling sauce, points another youth toward the back shelves, and that lad reaches to collect a pile of the meat with hands that had just been engaged in removing the internal organs of chickens. Another kitchen assistant corrects that with a quick flick of a towel, then finds a serving fork, to convey some of the spiced meat over to Vosji. Zavyr, figuring that the knife is done, pulls it out of the wood and draws over to wash both items, though he has to wait in the jostling line for a shot at the water and soap. It's a moment or two to keep him occupied and quiet.

Somewhere, S'rae feels all the sympathy for Onari after having to mop cold storage, like, 3 times during his candidacy.

Onari randomly thinks about bringing S'rae a caprine for old time's sake. Which would really be bringing Wovocyth a caprine at this point.

Timing. Vosji actually has to think about this one. The correct answer is, "The day after Zsaviranth clutched," but has the technicality of, "Though I was given the knot when I first arrived here. My transfer was for that reason — putting a seasoned assistant weyrlingmaster from a different weyr in, exchanging teaching methods, et cetera. But by the time Ista figured out which of us was going, there were no eggs, so I rode in Arroyo for a little while first." And made Th'bek annoyed that he couldn't put her in line for a Wingsecond position; he will probably never forgive her. "I'll remember you, now. Onari. I think I've heard it enough times, I'm just the worse of the pair with names." The way that people are just making food happen for her has Vosji staring a little bit. Igen's kitchen is full of a lot more impressive service than Ista's.

Onari hits a sweet spot in the block that shears off a whole chunk…but unfortunately sprays a bunch of frigid water and ice powder into her face. She flinches to a stop, her face screwed up against the chill, before blinking her eyes back open and sputtering a little bit. Sighing, she draws a glove-clad wrist over her face before regaining her focus on Vosji and giving her a chagrinned smile. "Thank you, ma'am. Though you do have me at a disadvantage." She could just say assistant weyrlingmaster all the time, but considering it's a shared title, it might create confusion. Her gaze flicks to Zavyr, a corner of her mouth quirking upward with a memory. "Do you still juggle when no one's looking?" She means the dishware and utensils, of course…but saying that aloud would likely not be helpful right about now.

"Oh, I still juggle. Just haven't… For a while." Zavyr intones, finally getting a hold of a rag someone else drops, and sliding it over knife and board. "Probably start again soon. Just trying to keep busy right now, is all." To Vosji, Zavyr inquires, "Your dragon remembers names better than you do? I heard dragons are pretty forgetful. Though I don't think Lukoith is." She won't vouch for Sajkiath, though. "And Onari and I both Stood for the last clutch." That Zavyr is telling Vosji may be some commentary on the Candidate's opinion of Vosji's native intelligence, or not. "Second round for me. Second for you, Onari, or third?"

Vosji really isn't good with the name thing, is she. She's also managed to forget giving hers. "Of course, my apologies! I'm Vosji. Iskanzivoth's, and he's the name-remembering one of the duo, yes. His memory's certainly a lot better than the average blue's, especially when it comes to things that involve keeping track of young dragons. Which extends to their human options." Iskanzivoth is also better at basic math than Vosji is, but that's not important right now. "Kitchen performances might go over well, you never know."

"I can understand why they'd want to have you around, in that case," Onari says after her explanation about Iskanzivoth…though she may be able to see it more for the dragon than the rider. Not that she can judge too harshly just yet, and Vosji seems personable enough. To Zavyr, she replies, "Just my second. I'm glad to have the first one under my belt; it's making things seems a lot smoother. I haven't had as much trouble-" At that moment, a bellow of her title and name comes from somewhere down the passage, drawing a swift frown and then a rounding of worried eyes. "Oh, bollocks…excuse me!" And with that, she gets moving as quickly as possible and disappears back from whence she came, assuming that she's committed some mortal sin such as leaving the door to cold storage open.

The assistant cook who was haranging Zavyr prior to Vosji's arrival sends a 'Faranth Help Us' look ceilingward, and looks hopefully toward the door, to see if the Big Boss, who is currently absent on some errand, might miraculously arrive and save all the hardworking innocent cooks from losing digits or limbs due to any demonstration of Zavyr's abilities, or lack thereof. But the lad mercifully does not immediately act on the AWLM's suggestion, instead chuckling, "'Human Options'." Those two words are plucked out of the entirety of Vosji's narrative, and considered, "I make a motion that we change the name 'Candidates' to 'Human Options'. I think that is perhaps a much more descriptive term." With Onari's abrupt departure, Zavyr leans back and watches the other go, with a 'Fare thee well, good Lady!'.

Vosji hasn't gotten a chance to actually teach anything yet, so it is entirely fair that Onari has no judgement on her either way. She gives herself credit for pushing Iskanzivoth into the role he's been molded to. She got lucky that he took to it like fish to water, so to speak. "That's what he would say, though I'm not sure he's actually said it." Rider and dragon for so long it's unclear whose speech patterns have become whose over time; she was only a child when she Impressed. "It's certainly not inaccurate. Good luck, Onari!" The parting candidate's name, properly used.

"Human Option. I am a 'human option'." Zavyr tries on the phrase for size. "'Hello, my name is Zavyr, and I am a human option, which is far better than being an optional human, which is my usual case. So I have merely reversed my title in brief betterment of my condition. Or rather, Divale has. Human Option. Yes. Perfect." Really, Zavyr's amusement is somewhat contagious; no doubt future summons to the kitchen will be prefaced by 'HUMAN OPTION ZAVYR' - at least the later night ones, when fewer full-fledged ranked persons will be around to object. "Which would make the riders 'Opted humans', correct? Or 'Co-opted humans?' Oh yes. Marvelous dragon, yours, for such a sense of honesty. My best to your unpronouncably-named blue dragon, ma'am."

Iskanzivoth would so approve of the kitchen staff taking what he'd started and rolling with it. Vosji might, too, but she'll try to keep that under wraps. It's undignified and inappropriate. "I believe co-opted is right, yes," she says with a press of her lips into a thin smile. Thin because it's downplayed, rather than not amused. "That would certainly be how I would see it, love him as I do. There is often a quiet debate over who is in charge here." THe idea that his name is difficult to pronounce may also amuse her, and she has to ask: "Iskanzivoth? Do you find that more difficult than … Zsaviranth, Kataskiath, Khetanaxeroth? I think Southern Weyr has a gold named Niatskivhiath," and the miracle there is that Vosji didn't screw any of those up! Maybe in part because Iskanzivoth isn't as simple as she thinks it is.

Such an admission from the AWLM feeds right into Zavyr's private reservations about dragons, and about who is running what show. "No, I think that if fair is fair, dragons who shorten their humans' names - Epherem to R'em, for example - have no right what-so-ever having names more than two syllables. Ma'am." Zavyr returns. "But perhaps that's a way of their winnowing down who they'd want to Impress - if a 'human option' can't manage to memorize these insanely long and largely unpronounceable names, they are indeed an 'optional human'." With that, and drying his hands, Zavyr sketches a bow to the AWLM. "If a dragon were to be fool enough to locate me out there on the sands, we can only hope that they have sanely stuck to one syllable. 'Ith'. 'Oath', 'Uth'. Because I simply am not bright enough to remember the rest of them, indeed." And his player is running down his 'copy/paste' keys, and stops reading after the second syllable anyway, so it's the 'K-dragon' of R'der.

"Mine," Vosji confesses with some amusement, "Was Ulavosjia. Most people think Iskanzivoth did me a favor." In making that train wreck shorter, that is. "Considering his name is shorter than mine was, I had no room to complain, but that also might be what is biasing me. I have known some dragons with very short names, so perhaps your Yith is out there somewhere." It's a nice name, Yith. Simple and flowing. "However, if you really can't tell who is in control between the dragon and the rider, their Weyrlingmasters failed them. I may yield to his desires a lot, but that doesn't really mean he gets to do whatever he wants. Don't let him tell you otherwise."

"Really, ma'am. I'm here because Divale asked me to be here. Before that, last time, I was paying back a favor and had to make it to Hatching. But there's no Yith out there, for me, and this time I'm not going to pretend otherwise and get my heart broken. I have…" He considers as he moves toward the doorway, collecting an empty dish tray, "I have become much more efficient at finding ways to break my heart, and I'm pretty much done with that, too. Figure… Make Divale happy. Maybe make it to the Hatching again," because there's no favor payback riding on Zavyr's keeping the knot, "Maybe meet some new people. Maybe get past my recent history so I can feel like I can breathe again, and then I'll go find some part of Pern from which I am not already banned and go get myself banned there, too. But I'm glad you're here. Never sat well with me, that they accelerated Divale and Moanna and S'rae's group." He glances out toward the Living Cavern, "Lost one of the kids already. And another got too spooked to fight, during a Threadfall." This from a youth who looks a bit like a 16 turn old lad." He shakes his head, looking back at Vosji, "They should be Searching the oldest Candidates they can. Physically mature. Emotionally mature. Not these kids who come right out of happy homes where they've never had to lift a finger. But." Zavyr grins again and half-bows, "No one asked me. There, bluerider, AWLM, ma'am, is your unsolicited advice from an Optional Human."

"Which I appreciate," Vosji, who impressed at thirteen, says sincerely. "If anyone feels as if they cannot speak to the leadership of this Weyr, at any level, there is something wrong — perhaps speaking directly to the Weyrwoman is overstepping, but there should be someone who listens. And I do agree, as I've seen the damage Impressing young can do," except not to her, right? "We don't always get a choice, exactly. Dragons find whoever they want, though some younger candidates never make it to the sands — they are, for some reason or another, found unfit. Usually due to lack of maturity, and for safety's sake, are asked to return later. The acceleration …" Pursed lips again, from Vosji. "That was a matter of urgency. I can understand the choice." No opinion given one way or the other if she approves of the choice.

With a glance over to the kitchen help, to see if he is about to be harried out, Zavyr stalls for another few moments to speak to this woman. "Don't forget your sandwich, ma'am." Advised, a caution half-grinned, "And I am sure what you say is the ideal, and perhaps that is the situation here - being able to speak with Weyr leadership. But it changes. And people are people, and far as I can tell, there's quite some…Gems," the word is used with arid dryness, "Among riders, as there are amoung the rest of the humans. And some fine people - like Onari - left to stand." He shakes his head and shrugs. "I have to wonder if the dragons are the same in that way." He shrugs. "But. Nice to meet you again, ma'am. And you enjoy your sandwich, and if you're looking for me… Here I am. Oh-" Zavyr considers and asks. "Last time I was here - as a Human Option - I never had a chance to touch the eggs. Do you know if they're doing that this time. You folks are doing that? I… I did want to do that. But even I am not willing to piss off a gold dragon for it. And Lukoith - I wouldn't get him in trouble with her, either."

There's a look of confused disapproval that crosses Vosji's face briefly, temporarily, at the end of one of Zavyr's comments. While half her attention is now on her sandwich, she tilts her head a little, listening to something her dragon is saying or relaying and generally seeming unimpressed. "If you never touched the eggs," she says softly, "That is probably a substantial part of the reason you didn't Impress. I'm sure you will get a chance this time; Zsaviranth and Lukoith both seem like very reasonable parents." They let Iskanzivoth hover all the time and bring them takeout, after all. "Unfortunately, a dragon's choice isn't the beauty many people think it is. Being a dragonrider doesn't make a person better or worse, or more or less capable. It just means they're what that particular dragon wanted." Not every dragon is a dragon-level genius, so: yes, the dragons can be the same way. "I'll get you on the sands soon," beat, hesitation, determination, "Zavyr." Yes. "Thank you for the sandwich."

The lad shifts the ray to under one arm and sends another salute to the woman, before a nod, "I was told that it shouldn't matter. Prefer to think that. There was a 2 to 1 ratio of Candidates, and the dragons all walked right by me. And Onari. And 35 other folks. But I heard them talking about it. And I'd like to do it. Just to say I had." He shrugs, "At a Weyr, wearing the knot. All that. Have a good evening, ma'am. And I'll slice a tomato for you whenever you want." He steps out then, sullying into the traffic and then across it, toward the tables with so many empty dishes stacked all over. With luck, they'll have everything cleared and cleaned by dinner!

Add a New Comment