Who

Dinah, Harriet

What

Harriet and Dinah commiserate over chores. And The Tea Room's destruction.

None.

When

It is the eighty-second day of Spring and 75 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

Where

Kitchen Courtyard, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 06 Mar 2016 06:00

 

[[image/icon_defaults/harriet_default.jpg]], [[image/icon_defaults/dinah_default.jpg]]


igenkitchencourtyard.jpg

Kitchen Courtyard

The domestic space of the kitchen courtyard is small, dusty, slightly over-grown, and practical. The focal point of the stone courtyard is a large well found directly in the middle. Turns have worn the once angled bricks to soft, crumbling curves about the lip, and a bucket always slightly damp is tied, secure, and ready to use at the side. Though a broom has swept here since last you passed through, it would appear the wind-borne dust has merely been heaped under the cobble-cracking shrubs of a stubborn environment that grow ever upward. A few benches are scattered around, but the feel is not comfort, for this small slice of sky and wind are saved for a kitchen staff always on the move.


Early though it may be, the perfect Spring morning still makes its way into the small courtyard. Harriet, thin form enveloped in a very floury apron, is leaning against the wall next to the kitchen entry, face turned to the sunlight, eyes closed. It looks rather like a smoke break, if she were, well, smoking.

So early — so disgustingly early. Dinah slogs her way through the early morning chores of an apprentice, muttering unkind thing beneath her breath as the water bucket she's lugging along bangs against her shins for what feels like the millionth time. At first, Harriet goes unnoticed amid the curses and resentment; Dinah's got to get rid of this stupid bucket like right now, and doe so with the simple expedient of throwing it into a convenient corner before she wipes her forehead free of sweat.

Harriet isn't much of a cusser herself but she's certainly inured to it; the one gray eye she cracks open at Dinah is merely to register the girl's presence. And the bucket's. Once Dinah's rid herself of her burden, the skinny blonde offers her a weary and sympathetic, "Morning."

Dinah sends the bucket one last, long look of pure venom and hatred before Harriet's greeting yanks her attention away. "Hmmph." That's her greeting and she's sticking to it like glue. To the well she goes, working her once-soft skinny arms to get that bucket of water — why must it always be buckets! — up out of the well so that she might drink. Finally, there's some semblance of politeness poured into her along with the water, for the girl turns toward Harriet once more and raises her eyebrows. "You been rolling in flour?"

"Feels like it," Harriet replies with a nose crinkle, reminded of her current state and brushing at the front of the apron which accomplishes little except creating a cloud of flour which almost immediately blows right back on her. At least Dinah is probably spared. "What'd that bucket ever do to you?" A head-tilt indicates the one in the corner; the well bucket at least seems to be safe.

Oh, indeed Dinah is spared, because she stays well away from the flour-dusted Harriet and her ineffectual attempts to clean herself off. "Why?" The eternal question bursts out of her mouth as the dark-skinned girl run fingers through her hair. The bucket is eyed with some venom, still, Dinah's annoyance with it unabated by time. "Faugh. I've been carting that thing back and forth for an hour, because everyone else is too lazy to make sure the apprentice dorms has enough water."

Smart move. Harriet passes her wrist over her forehead, leaving yet more flour in its wake. "They've got me baking bread for the day. It's not my forte." A limp hand-flap towards the entrance to the kitchen's hellfires. "What are you apprenticing for?" Because that's what every bottom-of-the-rung worker needs; a delay in getting back to work.

"Me? Vintner… " Dinah admits dreamily, beginning to braid her hair into a thick rope. "What 'they' has you baking all the bread?" Squinting, Dinah looks Harriet over very carefully, taking in the floury apron most of all — though the white knot hasn't escaped her notice either. "Oh, wait, you're a candidate, aren't you? For that motley group of eggs on the Sands?"

Harriet's hand travels up towards that knot and scratches lightly at it, almost as though it's some sort of irritant, like a bugbite. "The cooks 'they'. Yes, I'm…one of those." The girl sounds resigned. "Vintner…" noting Dinah's dreamy inflection. "So all the work'll be worth it, right?" Is that a question for Dinah or for herself? After a moment she adds, in a furtive tone, "The eggs…do you know if dragon eggs always look…like that?"

"Oh, those eggs are much too much," Dinah tries to reassure, leaning forward a bit to eye Harriet sardonically. Her long fingers flick dismissively Sands-wards as the girl herself turns in that general direction. "Rhiscrath's eggs didn't look like that, you know." The very idea of work being worth anything is simply ignored — Dinah has yet to be convinced of that little bit of 'wisdom'. "I mean, who lays eggs like that? They're horrid." Her voice is dropped to a whisper, aghast at the sheer effrontery of a dragon laying such eggs as those.

Harriet gives the courtyard another glance, then nods. "Yes, I saw Rhiscorath's, but I haven't seen any others so I wasn't sure." She crosses her arms and rubs at her forearms as though she has a chill despite the sun streaming down. More flour wafts off, a bit like Pigpen. "I don't know if they're horrid, just…unsettling? I think we're supposed to go down there and touch them or something at some point."

"Good luck with that; they might eat you." Dinah's going to help with that chill, with all the sympathy she doesn't seem to possess. Settling one hip comfortably against the well, she cants her head to one side, again sizing Harriet up in all her glory. "I think they look rather scary, but that's just me."

"Thank you," Harriet answers with a wry twist of her lips, though she doesn't really seem to be falling for the 'the eggs will eat you' line. Unless you mean 'eat your soul' in which case, maybe. "Yes. 'Scary' I agree with." She crosses her arms regular-like and turns her head to listen at the kitchen door, is someone coming for her? Not quite yet. "The flight wrecked the Tea Room. My family wasn't best pleased."

Dinah nods sagely, herself amused by the lie. Eggs being what they are, it's unlikely they'd rise up to consume anyone. "Do you know Valar? He believed me, the dunce." Smirk. And then the boychild is utterly dismissed from further thought as Harriet confirms the rumor about the Tea Room. "Oh, I heard," Dinah moans, and there's genuine upset in her tone. "The Tea Room's lovely, and they had to go in there and wreck it — it's so uncouth, isn't it?" She throws up her hands in disgust. "This is why we can't have nice things!"

Harriet shakes her head; she does not know Valar but she shares Dinah's amusement at his gullibility, though less smirkily. "Weyrwoman Diem is a lovely person, but it was uncouth," the blonde agrees readily. "Everyone at the Pit was in an uproar. I don't understand why the dragonriders can't keep their business in here." She circles a hand to indicate here, weyr proper. Not the courtyard, hopefully.

"I think it should be up to them to repay your parents for the damages, and no excuses about flight emotion. The damage was still done, yes?" Dinah huffs, flipping her braid back over her shoulder as she sniffs haughtily. "Because you know they're going to wreck it again, should they decide to run up in there again." Perhaps Dinah's a little too enthusiastic about this plan of hers, getting all charged up for no reason. "Hmmph. Anyway, what do I know, I'm only an apprentice, and a girl into the bargain, eh?" She raise her eyebrows meaningfully at Harriet, and grins wickedly. "Anyway, I'd better go get that water and crap into the barracks… " Such is the life of an apprentice. The bucket's retrieved, filled, and prepared to be hauled. "Ugh, next time I'm making one of the boys carry this back."

"Not my parents, but I agree." Harriet straightens that bit out, sort of, and nods along at at least the first part of Dinah's diatribe. And she answers the eyebrows with her own sandy ones, yeah girl, she knows. "Should get back inside myself. Nice talking to you." With one last, useless brush of her apron she offers a wave to the dreadfully overworked apprentice and makes her way back into the infernal depths of the kitchens.

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