Who

Alecsei, Reilan, Sara, Thierry

What

Snottiness is as snottiness does: tempers are raised, germs are spread, teenagers succumb to mothering.

When

It is evening of the fourth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr Bazaar Sidestreet, Living Caverns

OOC Date

 

alecsei_default.jpg reilan_default.jpg sara_default.jpg thierry_default.jpg


Bazaar Sidestreet

No matter the time of day, the darkness here is almost absolute, adding a certain je ne sais quois that borders on the treacherous. Here and there, cobblestones have gone missing and leave holes that are perfect for snagging the feet of the unaware. The stench is also criminal, a mixture of urine, rotting meat, and other things best left unexamined in the heaps that pile up next to the back doors of certain of the bazaar establishments.


Twilight's gloom is deeper here in the shade of the bazaar's smaller streets, what little light there is left of the day barely reaching as far as the cobbled pathways between streets. The occasional glow basket breaks the darkness here and there, though there are barely enough to completely banish the shadows. Which is good, for Thierry and Reilan, who are leaning up against a wall in a shadier spot. Thierry has his elbow resting on Reilan's shoulder as they talk quietly; he's sniffing like a champion while his way through a toke in between coughing and hocking up gross stuff. He's clearly got a case of man-flu.

Which Reilan looks /so/ thrilled to be a part of. Really. He squirms away from Thierry whenever possible, putting just a bit more distance between himself and the snot that's dribbling out of Thierry's nose. Because really. Ew? "/That's/ gonna help so much.. Put that thing out before you start choking on it or something." The blonde's nose wrinkles slightly, even as he pushes away from the wall. "Do you at least want anything to eat?"

The sidestreets are always a haven for the really healthy people. Except… wait. No. Thierry hacking up doesn't seem to quite register as anything other than mildly disgusting for Alecsei as he enters the area via one of the smaller alleys. He casually glances in the direction of the other teens, eyes flickering over them as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Yep, the former sometime member of Igen Hold is minding his own business. Places to be, things to do. Diseases to NOT catch.

Thierry digs in his pocket to pull out a little bit of something, which he shoves into Reilan's hand. "Go buy shit, Worm. Buy me something hot." He's all bunged up and snotty as he talks, which ends in him reaching into his pocket for a pretty gross-looking handkerchief to blow his nose into. Looking up, he spots Alecsei - and nudges Reilan to draw his attention to the unfamiliar face, too. "Oi. You." Yes, he's talking to you, new boy! "Who're you?"

Reilan rolls his eyes somewhat, although they narrow just slightly on the /diseased/ Thierry. "I /offered/, you don't have to be rude about it." Still, the teenager does sigh slightly, looking quite ready to cross the small street into one of the many little shops that line the way. But then there are /distractions/, and his head tilts, peering the way Thierry has been nudging toward the other boy. He shakes his head just a little bit, calling out on his own a moment later. "He isn't /dying/, you won't die horribly if you answer."

Alec has kept a safe enough distance from the two strangers, so as he skirts them he keeps a good arms length or two away. Being addressed slows down the rapid clip of his walk and he looks more fully at both of them. It's a long, quiet stare that's followed by a casual shrug of his shoulders. Sounding borderline bored, "No one exciting." Thierry and his disease state are studied for an extra moment or so before he settles his attention onto Reilan. "Are you a healer?" He asks softly.

"I asked who you a—/ACHOO/!." The surly tone Thierry /started/ that in might have been a little more threatening, if he hadn't screwed it up with a sneeze. He groans as he rubs the back of his hand under his nose and over his mouth, followed by wiping it 'clean' on the rough fabric of his somewhat battered tunic. It's been through the mill a few times, what difference will bogeys make to it? "Don't recognise your face. Where you from?"

"Healer? Me? Of course not." Reilan laughs lightly, although he does turn to /push/ against Thierry's chest. A part not recently wiped with that snot. "You aren't intimidating with crap dripping out of everything in your face, Thierry. Give it a rest, mm?" There's simply a smile flickered at Alecsei then, a hand giving a dismissive wave as he finally crosses the small sidestreet to the vendors. "We aren't any of us /exciting/ folk, so that's not saying much at all. I'm Rei, that's Thierry… Excuse me a moment." The boy then turns, quietly paying for something or another from a vendor.

"Mhmm." Alecsei somewhat tolerantly agrees, "And I told you." Being 'no one exciting' seems to be a good enough answer from his perspective at least, to the question that Thierry has posed. "The Hold." The snotting and coughing teen once again loses his interest as he slips his attention back towards Reilan. "So, he could be dying. You don't actually know that he's not." He observes quietly, intent stare bouncing between the two. Jamming his hands deeply into the pocket of his jacket, he's come to a stop.

"Oi." Thierry hisses at Reilan for giving their names away so freely, swiping after him as the blonde goes to hopefully buy /food/. That leaves him to settle a narrow-eyed look on Alecsei. "You one've them freeloaders the Weyr dumped on us?" Insert big wet sniff here, plus gross coughing that ends with the teen spitting up something best left undescribed. He tosses what's left of his toke to the floor, and slips his hands into his pockets. "Gotta have a /proper/ job to fit in around here. Gotta have /friends/. Friends who'll /get/ you a proper job." His eyes run the length of Alecsei, appraising him. "You got /friends/, sunshine?"

Reilan may bring back food, but it's apparently for himself. It's /tea/ that gets shoved into Thierry's hands, with a bit of an eyeballing at the older boy. "Drink it." His fingers then gently brush away a few of the flaky crumbs from the pastry he bought for himself, taking a bite of it. "Oh for Faranth's sake../stop/ it already, Thi." The blonde boy returns to his spot leaning on the wall however, throwing another look sideways at Alecsi. "I suppose I don't /know/ that he's not, but I've seen a few sick people before to know a cold when I see one. But really, he'll start making up all sorts of silly names /for/ you if he can't have the real one…"

Direct, specific questions seem to fare better with the perhaps slightly awkward youth. "Yes." He drops his eyes to note the gunk Thierry just hacked up on the ground. Alecsei still doesn't seem necessarily impressed and his eyebrows lift upwards at the end, at the 'sunshine' bit. "Nope." He answers in the negative, voice still quietly unassuming. "I don't think you should be taking any chances. That looks dark, could be blood he's hacking up." He warns Reilan, sounding serious. As for being branded with silly nicknames, the tall boy shrugs. "There's worse."

"I'm not fucking /dying/," Thierry snaps - or attempts to, anyway. A blocked-up nose somewhat dampens his attempts to speak sharply. Neither is he on his best game, it would seem. "I just /feel/ like I'm dying." Whine, whine. "And what's your fucking name, anyway? He gave you ours. Spit it out." Dirty fingers reach for Reilan's pastry, attempting to pinch a piece from it. "You /want/ us as friends. Gonna open all sortsa doors for you. Right, Worm?"

Reilan keeps that pastry out of Thierry's reach, huffing. "See what I mean? /Names./" No, it's quite clear that Rei still isn't /fond/ of that particular version of his own. "This is for me, you wouldn't be able to taste it anyway." Another bite is taken of the pastry though, the teen quite enjoying it while flicking away his friend's hand. Shoo! Though his lips do curve upward a bit, watching the much taller boy with a nod. "Well /thank/ you for your concern. Really. And he's not /totally/ wrong. Knowing a few people can help if you need it. Although you're looking pretty much like you /don't/ need any helping out.. Leave him be, Thierry."

"If you feel like you're dying, you might be dying." Alecsei continues to insist calmly. He opens his jacket up, slipping a hand inside to take out a rolled up smoke and giving it a quick light from a match stashed away in there somewhere. Inhaling deeply, he arches an eyebrow. "He volunteered yours. I don't feel like giving you mine. You're not very nice. And you're probably going to be dead in a few days, so what's the point?" Is he being purposely infuriating? Blowing the smoke up and into the sky, "Sure. If they're the right people."

Oh, so Reilan won't let him have any of the pastry? Thierry clips the back of his head. "Fuck you." He's not happy with stupid /tea/! That Alecsei proves to be a smoker surprises him - and makes him smirk. They have something in /common/. "How the fuck d'you know we're not very nice? I'm a fucking /hero/, and he's a…" Thi looks at Rei, trying to think of something appropriate. "He's… Reilan." Shrugging, his attention turns back to Alecsei - just in time for him to sneeze. He doesn't cover his mouth. "You wanna be left out in the cold? Another fucking scrounger kicked outta the Hold? Your fucking choice, man. I could set my boys on you, give you a /proper/ welcome to the bazaar." He digs in his pocket for a toke, setting down his tea so he can light it. "Or y'can come and play nice with the people who /count/. Your choice, man."

Reilan winces slightly at the thwap to his head, moving just a bit further down the stretch of wall. "I don't think he meant the both of us, Thi." Reilan is perfectly nice, even if he doesn't share his baked goods! There's a small huff of noise that comes from the younger teen though, shaking his head as Thierry just..keeps at it. "Which boys might those be again?" At least he doesn't /totally/ call Thierry out on the bullshit he's spouting, but the look on his face certainly does. "Anyway, I work for the tunnelsnake fights if you ever want to stick your head in. Well…for the moment, anyway."

"You just hit him in the back of the head." Alecsei points out, as if that's all the proof he needs of what kind of person Thierry is. When the abused member of the pair lets that little hint slip out that there might not actually be a gang of people on call to beat him up, the teenager smirks. He also takes another long drag while settling an intent stare onto the hacking, dying Thierry. "I'll take my chances." Any insults about his station in life appear to fall on deaf ears, it's not as if he hasn't heard all of this before. If anyone knows he's holdless, it's him. "You're alright." This is to Reilan.

It's just that end of twilight that is a hair's breadth away from being night, which casts the sidestreets of the bazaar in deep shadow. Three teens stand together in the dark; one of which is coughing and sniffing sickly… and smacking the smallest of the three across the back of his blonde head. /Hard/. "Y'know what, Worm? Mebbe you /don't/ work at the ring any more. Mebbe you and your da just got /fired/." He blows smoke from his cigarette into the little blonde's face, before coughing and wheezing - smoking and colds do /not/ go together. The teen turns his head to hock up crap, spitting it viciously down onto the cobbled street. "You?" Hi, Alecsei. "Better watch your fuckin' back if you've not got me on your side."

Didn't Reilan /just/ tell Thierry not to be smoking while he's sick? Serves him right! Though that new smack to his head earns nearly a growl from the younger boy and an immediate glare. He doesn't lash out though. The teen simply pushes away from the wall again to distance himself from his friend. "Considering that I'm already planning on leaving, it doesn't matter much. And my father works for /your/ father, Thierry. Not for you. The guards don't run the fights." He lowers his lashes just a little bit, peering over his shoulder at the older boy..at least once he's out of /range/ anyway. There's a sigh, however, turning a quick look on Alecsi with a nod. "Having a cold makes everyone a bit cranky, I think."

Sara does her best to have the shop closed up before the sun goes down, but work had piled up for the Harper. She brushes the dust of her work from long skirts as she turns to lock the door behind her. Braids lay under a cloth coverning not unlike the ones worn by the Steen females. The door is locked with a click and Sara turns to the street to see who is there before stepping off.

Alec hunches his shoulders up briefly before laughing. Which is totally not the right reaction to have when someone has just threatened you. But it is what it is. "Ooooh, so scary." Except it doesn't seem like he's that afraid. At least not right now. The sound of a door being locked behind him catches his attention, he turns his head just enough to take note of Sara but not so much that he can't still see Thierry. "You should find better friends." He advises Reilan. "Just dump this one like a sack of dirty socks." He's very helpful. In his own quiet, insinuating sort of way.

"My father's /my/ father and I can tell him to fire your da's ass if I want." Thierry doesn't reach for Reilan when he steps out of range, but he does blow angry smoke his way - and has a phlegmy coughing fit as a result. The appearance of Sara on the street is noted, with dark eyes flicking up to run over her and a quick, sharp nod of hello. He sees you! His gaze centres on Alecsei, spitting at the ground between them. "Mebbe you and Worm would make the best of friends, yeah? G'wan, Worm. Go play with your new buddy. Take his pretty face away before I give him a /bazaar/ welcome." It's just… it's not happening for Thierry. Between the sniffles and the sneezes and the spitting, he's just not /feeling/ the threats.

Nobody is feeling the threats! Reilan does smile a little at Alec's suggestion though, giving a gentle shake of his head. "Maybe, but any pile of socks can be washed up and made to smell pretty again for a while." Maybe Thierry just needs a good scrubbing. He stuffs his hands in his pockets though, looking quickly over at the sound of doors and the locking. He watches Sara a moment though, at least offering a polite nod before he begins the trek down toward the main streets on his own. "I think I'll take a walk by /myself/ actually. It was nice to meet you…whoever you happen to be."

Alec sucks the rest of his smoke down, throwing the butt onto the ground and crushing it out with his boot. "Maybe some other time." He hikes the collar of his jacket up, shoves his hands back into the pockets and begins to move again. "Your choice." To wash that pile of socks that's Thierry, that is. It seems for him that it's time to be leaving also, he gives the other boys a lazy wave of one hand before he moves on. The sidestreet is dark and it's not long before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Sara has been a silent viewer in these last few moments of rolling vitriol. She shakes her head, long braids shifting under their covering. After so long walking these streets after dusk she feels little fear from them- especially after A'lory had taken Peaston to task so publicly. There were perks to being under weyr protection. Stepping forward from her shop's front step Sara's harper precise voice reaches out, "Young Thierry. When will you learn to actually make firends like a decent human being?"

After his last experience, Thierry won't be going to the baths to get scrubbed clean for a /long/ while, so whether Reilan's right or not will have to wait. When Alecsei leaves and Reilan's walking away, he watches the latter mopily, rubbing his hand under his snotty nose and stamping out his half-spent toke. He only wanted it because Alec had one! Thierry bends down to scoop up the cup of tea he set down earlier, nursing it between his hands to steal some warmth - and it seems he'd forgotten about Sara's presence, as he looks up and frowns sulkily at her. "I've /got/ friends," he replies thickly, his voice choked up with snottiness.

Dryness curls in Sara's voice as she looks the kid up and down, noting the sicky-look to his face. "Clearly. Friends who walk away from you when it looks like you are needing some help. Why don't you walk up to the weyr with me? We can see about getting you something better for you then that awful smoke of yours."

"Rei got me tea." So he didn't just… leave. Thierry looks down the alley where Reilan went, moistening his lips with his tongue. The suggestion of going to the Weyr makes his shoulders sink, but he's not got the will to fight. Maybe Alecsei was right. Maybe he /is/ dying! A huge hacking cough suggests as much; he groans as he spits once more, then he nods quietly at Sara. "They got stuff to fix me there? I don't like the Healers here."

"Tea from the bazaar." Sara's tone doesn't show she thinks much of the tea, "If it didn't come from Ravene's I doubt it will be helping you much." Stepping forward Sara pulls the covering from her head and wraps it around Thierry's shoulders. "Maybe not fix you right away, but at least help you back on your feet. And it is warmer." She'll gently put a hand on his back if he'll allow it, to begin to steer him up the hill.

Sick Thierry is a /kitten/ and can be led wherever there's the promise of something to kill his case of deadly manflu. The arguments took the last of his oomph away, and he's more than happy to huddle into Sara's scarf once he's tossed his tea away. "Thank you," he murmurs, hiding his hands in the fabric to keep them warm, too. Sara even gets a grateful smile as he looks down at her - and he's got the courtesy to turn his head away when he sneezes, too! "What tea? That one was alright. Just… cold. I let it go cold." He was too busy trying to look like a /man/.


Living Cavern

Dim light from hanging glow-globes cannot fully camouflage the ravages of time and neglect on Igen's busy living caverns, though hints of its former glory peek through in the decorative cuts to the cave's natural limestone and the high quality of dusty, tatty-ended tapestries. Here and there, skybroom tables — stained dark by wood finish and a decade of grime — sit in loose groups, flanked by wicker chairs with pointy, broken rattan that pokes out to invariably find unprotected skin. The seemingly randomly placed furniture, however, at closer inspection, forms a sort of cross-shape of negative space. At the northernmost walls and nooks of the caverns, a long buffet table with tarnished lazy susans hosts an array of finger-foods and pitchers for the interested, refilled occasionally by drudges that shuffle in from the curtained entrance to the south, beyond which lies the kitchens. To the east is a large arch leading outside and, across from that, to the west, a set of rattling doors that open to reveal the tunnels and stairs of the inner caverns themselves.


In her turns as a journeywoman Sara has seen plenty of "men". Usually they end up just like the teenager before her. It doesn't take much for her to guide the young man before her. Mentally she notes to make sure that her scarf goes straight to the laundry. No need to expose A'lory to whatever ailment the kid had caught. They step out of the cold and into the weyr's living caverns where Sara points Thierry over to a seat by the doorways. "Go have a seat and I'll grab you some things."

While certainly not his /natural/ habitat, even Thierry can appreciate the warmth of the Weyr's living caverns as he finds himself a seat in the spot Sara directs him to. Huddled up and miserable in his illness, he curls up in the chair, pulling the Harper's scarf more tightly round his shoulders and watching, warily, the Weyr world pass by. He's got an eye out for Sara's return, and when he spies her coming back, he's even got a twitchy little smile for her… which turns into a coughing fit. /Germs everywhere/.

A napkin is shoved in the direction of the bazaar-brat turned guard. "You'll want to keep your mouth covered as much as possible." Before the boy she sets down a steaming mug of something that smells slightly acidic, as well as an array of fruits. "Smell that as you drink it." She eyes him and produces another napkin from a pile to hand over to him. For that nose of course.

A nose that's possibly going to need a mountain of napkins. Thierry blows his nose into it, looking up at Sara with a grateful, if weak smile. "Thanks." With the blocked-up nose it's snotty and not clearly-spoken, but the sentiment is definitely there. He makes a grossly snotty noise as he breathes in through his nose, trying to inhale the steam from the mug, then turns his head to cough into the same napkin he's just used as a snot recepticle, pressing it up against his mouth. When he's done coughing and spluttering, he manages a slurp of the drink - and pulls a face. "What the fuck /is it/?"

"Delightful." Sara remarks over Thierry's ability to shoot liquid out of his face, the sarcasm overlaying the single word. More napkins are placed as she sits herself down across from the kid… and out of the line of fire for his sick-juice. "Language Thierry," she warns, arching an eyebrow skyward as she leans back in her chair. "Better not to ask. But it will help clear some of that gunk out… though you might find yourself coughing quite a bit. What have you been doing to put yourself in such a state? I wasn't aware the… guard," And on this there is a marked note of derision, Thierry might be aware of her own past with the guard from when the Harper had spent several weeks shut before Sara gathered the bribe needed to reopen it, "was so rigorous."

Thierry looks up at Sara in confusion; did he say something wrong? His nose wrinkles as he sniffs at the liquid again, this time breathing it in in less of a massive snot-blocked snort. It helps, a little - he doesn't cough a lung up, anyway. "'s'not the /Guard/ what did it," he says sulkily, taking another sip of the foul liquid and gagging at the taste of it. His own snot he can handle, but the medicine not so much! "Stupid /girls/ fault. They're all fucking evil." His dark eyes raise to look at Sara, and he shrugs. "'cept you. You're ok." You're mothering him; you're good, Sara! "And Sienna. She's alright. But the rest of them can go /die/." Teenaged drama, emphasised by man flu woes!

"Girls?" Sara settles her arms across her stomach, and stretches her legs out before her. "Were they turned off by your charming manners and gallant turn of phrase? Or was it the smell which caused them to grown horns all of a sudden?" Somehow she manages to get all of that out sounding actually interested in his response, almost like a teacher who is discussing how a child had done on their homework the night before.

Thierry rolls his eyes at the jab to his /fluffy/ personality and totally PG vocabulary. He grabs his hankie to blow his nose into it again, groaning like a man dying as he sets the snotrag back down. "I was only trying to have a /bath/," he grumbles, clearing his throat of the frog that seems to have taken up residence in it. "And they /swarmed/ in. Like… vtols, or something. All of them. /Every/-" ACHOO! - "girl in the /Weyr/." The sneeze residue under his nose and around his mouth is rubbed away with the back of his hand. "And they /turned/ on me. All I said is I think we oughta have /separate/ baths for, y'know, guys and girls."

Sara actually has to fight to keep a smile blooming on her face, and it is a close fought battle. A twitch of her lips might just escape harper training before Sara is able to smooth everything down again. "Turned on you? How so?"

"Like tunnelsnakes in the ring." Thierry sets his mug down to hold his hands up, claw-like, setting them against one another presumably like 'snakes fighting - complete with snarly-like noises that end up with him coughing. "Thought they were gonna /eat/ me or some shit. Betcha they're all /gay/. 'cept, er… the Weyrwoman." He looks around, as if the walls might have ears - and here in Weyr territory, they just /might/. His tone drops, and he leans towards Sara so she can hear. "I'm never going in them baths again. /Never/."

"Well." Sara's hands knit together as she continues to fight off a smile. "If most of them were from the weyr, there might just be a good chance of that. Things are a little…." She tilts her head sideways just slightly, braids falling over one shoulder as she considers the correct word to use, "flexible. If you spent less time sending creatures to die, perhaps you might learn more about the weyr itself."

"Pft. Don't matter how flexible shit is, they should'nt've done it. I only said what I thought. /And/ when they asked, too." Thierry shrugs, hunching over his mug to breathe in the last of its steam. "/My/ opinion's worth /twice/ what theirs is. Maybe even /more/." And now he's just being teen-sullen, glowering down into his drink as he sniffs mopily. "I've not worked the ring for /ages/, Sara. Stopped it when I got shoved into the guards. Don't have time for both, which pisses da off… but whatcha gonna do?"

"Women rarely actually want their questions answered honestly." Sara's voice is gentle, and she still manages to keep her grin from showing. Take that wisdom Thierry, hold it close. It will save you from heartbreak later one. "Your father has plenty of help without you. Rumor has it that you ticked off some very important people, I'm sure when he has decided to stop being disagreeable…" A pause, as Sara rolls her eyes just slightly- perhaps her opinion of his father? "will decide that your new occupation has merit."

Thierry wrinkles his nose at Sara, sniffing wetly and reaching for another napkin to blow into. Then he leans in closer to her, bringing those cold-germs right /there/, so that he can speak at a level that's just above a whisper. "I /like/ being a guard. Don't give a fuck what he says, so long's he lets me keep my room. Ma's tweaking him on that, I think." That confession makes him hunch back up in his chair, looking defensive now that he's spilt a little secret. "Don't like the stupid /girls/ I've gotta work with now. There's one recruit who tried giving me orders. Dunno who the fuck she thinks she is." He clearly doesn't think much of her. "But she's no fucking better ranked than /I/ am. I oughta rank /her/, since I've been there longer."

That does surprise Sara, his leaned forward confession. "Interesting." She chews on the thought as her eyes study the teenager before her in a new light. Abruptly, "You know. If you were looking to get out from under your father, I have a friend in the Terraces who might be willing to let you have some space. Her eldest son just joined a caravan, and no one else has moved in yet." The offer is made casually as Sara reaches out for the cup of juice she brought for herself.

Thierry shakes his head at the offer. "Nah. Gotta nice enough room at home. Mebbe I'll let Worm know, though? He sleeps in with me sometimes, but he ain't coming in after what he just did." He snorts, then coughs - forgetting all about the napkins as he turns his head to the side, spluttering wetly. "Mebbe if I get promoted, or something. I wanna be a /Captain/ before any've them fucking /women/ get more stripes. Or I'll just fuck on outta there, soon's I can. Da's expecting me to fuck up and get exiled or some shit, so I've gotta stick where I am and sorta… dunno. I dunno. Can't leave unless I'm /leaving/. That mad weyrwoman'll make sure of /that/." His rambling thoughts suggest confliction, possibly without him even knowing it as he sips on that noxious concoction again.

"You might try oh…" Sara twirls a braid upon one of her fingers, this time her upraised eyebrow actually taking on a more rather than less sardonic tilt. "a different turn of phrase when you talk about them. As for leaving…" This earns a rolled shoulder shrug. "There are always options for enterprising young men out there. I hear that the caravans might be looking for work."

"A different… turn of phrase?" The recruit scratches at his chin, scraping over the stubble that doesn't look like it's been trimmed in a few days. Maybe he's /serious/ about not going back to the baths. "Dunno what the shard else to call them. Mebbe there were good /girl/ guards back in /that/ time, but they got no place in there now. It's not a /girl's/ career, Sara. How the fuck are you meant to spar with a woman? Can't hit 'em, but they'll hit the fuck outta /you/. Unfair advantage. /And/ they've got the Weyrwoman in their corner. 's'not fair." He scrubs at his nose with his fingers, making it even redder than it already is. "Dunno if I fancy /caravan/ work. Can't be good now that there's thread."

"There were plenty of women back home," Sara gently remind's Thierry of her own oldtime roots, "who were perfectly willing to stay home and mind their cot holds." Another sip of her juice as she thinks about the second question that the boy had asked. "Well. If they are willing to put themselves in harms way… I believe you'll simply have to hit them. When it is proper of course. I am sure the weyrwoman would back you up for treating a woman recruit no differently than you would a male."

Thierry shakes his head after he's downed the last of his medicinal tea. "No way. There's some I /want/ to hit, but you can't hit a girl. Even when you're /sparring/." He shakes his head again, adamant. "If there's no women that wanna stay home and be good wives and make babies, then there's gonna be no people left on Pern. /Someone's/ gotta do it, they can't all be out there kicking arse and pretending to be men." He sets the empty mug down, leaving the fruit ignored. "That stuff was /gross/… but I feel a bit better." He's not hacking up icky stuff or snorting snot out any more, at least. "D'you want me to walk you back to the bazaar, Sara?"

"To each their own Thierry." Sara smiles, the pefect example. You don't see her staying at home raising children. Rising Sara begins to gather all of the napkins (by grabbing them with a clean one) as well as the rest of the food and mug onto the tray. "No, I'll send Kira to go see if maybe Eiseth would be willing to come get me, but thank you for the offer Theirry. You might want to hurry home though, they lace that," and she nods at the cup, "with fellis. You should be feeling that within the next half-mark or so." The tray is picked up and Sara turns to take it back to the kitchen. "Fair skies Thierry, I do hope you feel better."

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