Winter has fully arrived in Igen, and the day's more chilly temperatures proves it in otherwise spectacular weather. While many make themselves busy outside, midday brings the bustling of weyrfolk and visitors alike through the cavernous halls of the Weyr. Voices echo about the vaulted ceilings and limestone walls, quieting only slightly as they fall down the conjoining, twisting, turning hallways beyond. A group of six candidates have just returned from some sort of structured activity – they're sweaty, mostly grumbling quietly between themselves, and fully intent on returning to the barracks even as they have to push past those loitering in its doorway. Kaelige loiters too, but not in the doorway. Multiple crevasses provide alcoves along the elegant corridor, and he sits reclined in one of them, one boot up on the thinnly cushioned seat, one hanging. His hood is drawn low over his face, and while there is a scroll in hand, it's awfully hard to discern if the young man is reading or sleeping.

There are a few tasks that always seem to fall to Candidates. One of those is mucking out stables. There will be more mucking of stables, and if Impression happens, that will become mucking out dragon couches for a lot of Weyrlings, but right now it's just the mess left behind by regular ol' runnerbeasts. That's still pretty formidable… but it's not foreign, not to Zetali, the Apprentice Harper wearing the pretty white knot. Her whole family were herders, so it was only a matter of time until that past came back to haunt her. So it was that she'd set off with the group now returning, and she'd set to the task with a fatalistic shrug and a quiet hope of getting the work done sooner rather than later. Quickness didn't much help. At least there'd been something of a breeze to make the task a little more tolerable. Hot in spite of the chill, dusty, and thoroughly reeking, Zetali trudges at the heat of the group back toward the barracks, intent on at the very least a change of clothes before the next round of tasks. Her blue firelizard perches in its usual spot of her hood, swept back from her face, the little firelizard's tail hanging forward over the shoulder that doesn't bear the knot. …Come to think of it, that knot will probably need to be washed, too… ugh. "I smell like Keroon," the apprentice harper sighs, resignedly. "If I wanted to smell like this, I would have stayed there."

Sweaty and much happy to return towards the barracks. Getting to spend time with the candidates he actually knows was a relief. Until the task of mucking. And it needed to be explained a bit, because Jaune hasn't had that sort of experience. Not until now. Yet another job that makes you sweaty, and then STINKY on top of it. So he has let the brisk winter air sap the heat carried in his body during their return, by divesting himself of his leather jerkin. Down hallways, until he spots a face he recognizes. Wait. Isn't that… No. "Zetali. Wasn't the man who made fun of us at the feeding grounds?"

If he was sleeping, he isn't anymore. A stirring of slight motion leads to a hand adjusting the cloth that covers his eyes. Too-light gaze become starkly evident despite the angle and shadows and out-of-the-way spot he's chosen. The white cord is just as stark, just as grossly obvious against his semi-black ensemble, though it is looped around his belt at his hip rather than on his shoulder. "You do smell, lass." Kaelige adds for necessary confirmation. That Bitran accent in his gravel-touched tones is a little slow, as if he was just roused from sleep. Wasn't he supposed to be out in those stables too? Or somewhere? The scroll, now forgotten – or probably forgotten much earlier – in his lap can faintly be made out to say 'History of Ig—' if one tries hard enough to look. "But it could be overlooked, I'm sure. Now now, I wouldn't say made fun of." The smirk is callous, crooked and mischievious amidst the scruff of his face, "I would say.. that I was being quite helpful."

Shaking frazzled hair out of her face, Zetali squints as Jaune draws her attention away from trudging one foot in front of the other. Her mouth pulls slightly to one side, as though not entirely certain what the consequences or ramifications of Kaelige wearing a white knot might be. That's a puzzler. She looks over her shoulder back the way the tired and filthy group had come, and then back to Kaelige, as though trying to figure whether this is some elabourate jest or not, looks at Jaune, and then to Kaelige; when he makes his Patently Obvious Observation, she smiles so brightly and winningly that it has to be some kind of red flag. That smile holds even through his sleep-foggy accent and his smug superiority. "Hey. Jaune," she says, pleasantly. Wuh-oh. Danger, Will Jaune-son.

It takes awhile, but in the prolonged, curious moment raised by the red-flag-smile of Zetali, Kaelige's raised leg is let to fall to the ground, bringing him and his impecablely arrogant lazy nonchalance to sit more upright. A gloved hand is placed on his chest, his head tilted slightly as if to bow, though his eerie stare doesn't exactly drop from Jaune, "Why, thank you." Whatever sincerity was supposed to be there is churned into something far less-so by the amusement ladened heavy in it. Forarms rest on thighs as he settles there, "It's only a matter of time before we'll get to know each other so well in our.. ah.. new home."

The longer this arrogant twit prattles on, the longer Zetali is being kept from the baths, where the other lucky Candidates have already abandoned herself and Jaune. Huh. Fair-weather friends. Acquaintances. Something. The harper apprentice folds her arms in a single quick, almost angry motion that's completely at odds with the easy smile still on her face. She is, at this point, ignoring Jaune, who is no help whatsoever with his amazing powers of perception. He might also recognise that Zetali is bristling, even if she does cover it well enough that nearby passers-by aren't staring. "What do you want?" This is direct at Kaelige, so even and level that she's got to be masking annoyance. "You're already cutting into what little time I have to clean up before whatever's next."

There was a bath happening soon. But…Jaune waits until he can have it mostly to himself. So staying behind and finagling out whatever Kaelige has planned is quite worth it. Because Kaelige seems like the sort of fellow to start things that need to be headed off. "So. He is a candidate then. I am sure it'll be fine. They have people to make sure we aren't being ridiculous and what not." This is disconcerting. Zetali does many things to him, tease, hang out and what not. But never ignore. He'll step away, to move around Zetali back towards where the bathing happens. Not invited to this it seems.

Kaelige chuckles quietly, a sound that arises from his chest but comes as barely more than a breathy thing. "What's wrong, sweet? Too many old memories for the day?" A gentle sort of prod at what she'd already implied, a pause let to sit between it and the next, "There are many things which fit into that category." He says more plainly in response to what it is he wants, almost thoughtfully considering the subject, though tone still skewed by the rogue's drly sarcastic manner, "But," this, a bit more dramatic as he spreads his arms in a sort-of shrug, "I could offer you some.. mm.. advice, assistance, if you so desired, in regards to—" a hand motions slightly in her general direction casually, indicating the general mess the chores had left behind. "You'll have to come find me in a better spot than this, though. It's not information meant for the masses, of course." An odd offer, and although directed Zetali, it doesn't follow long after Jaune's comment on 'ridiculous' things being controlled. His gaze follows the younger man as he starts to skirt around Zetali, though there's no effort to stop him.

"Shut up." The order is soft and the harper apprentice keeps her arms folded, and that smile turns hard and cold as the wind outside. It's an expression less of amusement, and more of one making a serious effort to keep their temper in check. "I am not your sweet, I have only one memory of meeting you once and I would sooner forget it, and I have no interest in any of your advice, assistance, or your arrogance," she snarls, low, jabbing an accusatory forefinger at the… whatever-he-is. She hasn't yet worked out what Kaelige actually does around here, other than skulk and cultivate an air of suspicion, hanging about in dark corners. Jaune might recognise at this point that Zetali is honest-to-Faranth angry; the tension in her shoulders is visible even through the thick, protective clothing she favours; the little blue firelizard in her hood shifts restively, hissing; his tiny head pokes out of the hood, multifaceted eyes whirling red-orange as he picks up on his mistress' anger. Zetali ignores the little creature hissing at her ear; her eyes are locked squarely on Kaelige. "It is entirely possible that we both wear the white knot, but how you managed to lay hands on one, I don't know. And I don't care. I have no interest in associating with you. I don't want to 'get to know you.' Are we clear?" She's still bristling. The firelizard is lashing his tiny tail and the vanes of his wings rattle, even if Zetali is straight-backed and stone-faced. Jaune can at least see she's bristling through the actions of her firelizard.

That is plenty to cease Jaune's retreat from the premises. No need to vamoosh when you get a front row seat to a veritable tongue-scathing. Jaune has the opposite reaction of someone getting yelled at. Well, near opposite. Which isn't difficult to do when you aren't the one being yelled at. Because he isn't. Perhaps the long, long long long day of mucking has shortened the disconnect between thought and voice because Jaune just blinks out confusion at her anger. And murmurs oh so audibly. "Goodness, you're pretty." Because thats Jaune. Jaune likes angry women. This event proves that Zetali doesn't dislike him, because he has never had THAT particular wrathful snarl of a grump tantrum aimed at him.

The more resistance, the more Kaelige seems.. interested? Or at, least, the more intense that look becomes. There's more to hide when there's more walls, more defense. Or he's simply hit a nerve. Either way, it only makes it better. Chilly ice-blue eyes watch her, not interruptive, not pressing more than the pressure that comes from the hardness inborn in his shady character. What he isn't, though, is apologetic or shameful. The smirk doesn't fade, his poise doesn't change. Eventually, that gaze narrows faintly, and it's difficult to tell if it's in humor or fed curiosity, or both. "Are you so sure." He asks without inflection, not needing an answer. Not really desiring one. "We're in this for awhile together. It would be a shame to be strangers." Now he stands, slowly unfolding himself with a careful intention born into each subtle, unhurried motion. The step forward he takes almost looks like he'd approach her, though he's not quite within swinging distance. Whatever he was about to say is paused by Jaune's comment, an annoyance flickered so-briefly discernable over otherwise heavily controlled shadow-laced features. Then, to Zetali, "If your curiosity is enough, come to the stores some evening after meal time." Jaune is not dis-included though that feint of expression may be indicative of a number of things that will be left unsaid, for now, in light of the heatedness in Zetali's direction. Did curiosity not kill the feline, afterall, no matter how bristled? Kael would leave it at that, though, and turn to pass by her, full intending to melt into the masses coursing through the passageways.

That insufferable layabout takes another step. Zetali tenses up enough to look like she might take that shot; hands closing into fists white-knuckled, nails biting into her palms… but with a conscious effort of will, she releases them, lips pressed into a thin line and face nearly white. No matter how angry she is, it isn't worth it. No matter how satisfying it would be, she would never risk her chance at Impression. Not unless he truly hit a serious nerve, although he certainly seems determined to find one. Maybe it's just a lack of personal chemistry, or his mannerisms, but he's as repulsive to her as the idea of Thread is to the average dragon. She stares, eyes hard, as he steps around her and blends into the crowd beyond. In the folds of her hood, Sforzando is still thrashing his wings, although aside from hissing, he's curiously silent. Zetali stands too straight, her stare too hard, as though willing herself to pick Kaelige out of the crowd… he's gone, now, but she still stares after him. If looks could kill, she might never have to worry about him again. It might take Jaune reminding her that he's there to snap her out of her quiet anger.

A very interesting invitation. Jaune tucks that away in his mind for later. Maybe he is the adventuresome sort. To go wandering around storerooms to get a pie in the face by Kaelige. Is that something in the man's wheelhouse? Jaune lets Zetali fight her own battles for the moment, and doesn't even burden Kaelige with a look when he turns to leave finally. A whisper in his mind of someone, then a gold firelizard thumps almost silently into his shoulder and curls talons in. Ooo. Thats why Jaune wears a jerkin. A visible wince at it before he reachs out to pat the outside of her hand. "Zetali. Hey. We should go get clean before whatever we have assigned this eveing." Probably for the best that someone didn't hear a random admission. If women start talking it'll turn out that everyone will know that Jaune thinks everyone is pretty.

Left staring after Kaelige, Zetali looks for all the world like she's just waiting for the order to lunge after him and knock a few of his teeth out, but she holds her position, standing so stiffly upright that it almost looks uncomfortable. Her hands are back into fists again, knuckles white. Her nostrils flare, as though she were imagining some clever retort now that he's gone. And when her hand is suddenly touched, she turns on her heel with a snarl, fist halfway upraised—before she realises who did it, checking herself and turning her pivot into a graceful, hurried step back. No, no hitting Jaune. She might enjoy hassling him, but she doesn't actually hate him. Her lips are still pressed thin, although she arches a brow sharply. She looks angry, but only in the fading manner of someone still gathering their composure. Eventually she blows out a breath in a snort. "Who needs him?" She even flicks a long-fingered hand dismissively. Silence follows as she falls into step beside Jaune, beckoning with a hand for him to come with her, because washing off the day sounds pretty great after that fouled note. "I'm all for that. Come on. Maybe the group before us is finished, so we ought to have the place to ourselves." If she had any modesty before being asked to Stand, it curled up and died after living in a barracks environment with so many other Candidates. She huffs a breath, irritably. "I don't know what it is about him, but I don't like him," she mutters, before shaking her head as though dismissing the topic with finality. Sea-green eyes flick sidelong to Jaune. "Just what was that supposed to mean, back there, anyway?" Uh oh. Busted.

A yelling woman might cow the man, venom and viciousness alike enough to make him slump. But a raised fist rolls his shoulders back and eases his feet apart. Vintners might have to break up drunken squabbles on occasion. Or Jaune just might be the youngest male of his siblings. Relegated to hair-braiding and such. "I think it's because he isn't doing it on accident. Being off-putting and abrasive is something of a character trait to some people. They do it without thinking. His is planned and methodical. He upsets you because he wants to upset you." He'll ease aside and submit to an ear nuzzling from his newly arrived firelizard before stepping away to follow after her. Of course she heard. Even in the midst of her yelling. "Just an observation. Nothing deeper than that. I wouldn't dream of prodding at you like someone else might." Thats good. Tell her you were just being casual, so casual.

"Something's not right with him." Zetali's voice is a growl, made all the more threatening by how naturally husky her tone is, but it's (thankfully) not directed at Jaune. At her hood, Sforzando fusses and settles his wings, vanes rattling and tail lashing fastidiously back into place. His eyes are still the orangey red of one disturbed, but at least he's stopped hissing. She reaches up to soothe the little creature, gently running a forefinger over the tiny, wedge-shaped head. "He's playing some kind of a game; I'm not so naive as to miss that. But I don't know what it is, and that bothers me." She frowns, glancing back down the hallway where Kaelige vanished into the crowd. "I don't know why, but the thought of that wretch Impressing to a dragon… it bothers me. The dragons choose us, but… I have to wonder why they'd choose somebody like him. I can't help but feel like he's dangerous." She shakes her head, grumbling under her breath, before glancing back to him when he gives his oh-so-casual reply. She doesn't say anything; she just stares at him for a long, long moment, long enough that it might actually get uncomfortable for someone as easily flustered as Jaune. "'Just an observation.' That's an awfully specific observation," she finally points out blandly. Because hassling Jaune is amusing.

"I would assume such a dragon would know what they were getting into. We aren't that fortunate. We don't know what we're getting into." There is a quiet sort of tension to Jaune's set of shoulders now. Because of course his mouth is getting into hot water. Or steamy water. Depending. (Yes, steamy. Because bathing is occuring very soon.). "Well, it was a very noticeable thing to observe. Do you think I'm wrong?" A conversational flail, a social riposte like the world has not seen before! Since. Probably this morning. It wasn't that deft. Make her answer questions instead of ask them! His gold takes note of Sforzando. Reaching up onto the top of Jaune's head and crooning oh so delightfully at the blue.

"I assume the dragons know what they're getting into, in every case, or they wouldn't ask somebody like him to Stand." Zetali can only lift her shoulders in a shrug of tired resignation. "I'm a little surprised he was asked, and half wonder if he blackmailed somebody into it or something. It seems like the kind of thing he'd do, what with his habit of brooding in the shadows and being an insufferable arrogant… thing." She's so annoyed she can't even think of an appropriate insult, so she settles for shoving her hands into the wide sleeves of her dress, folding her arms as she stalks down the corridor. At her hood, Sforzando perks his head up, craning his little head this way and that on his spindly little neck to get a better look at the gold. He squawks, but tentatively, as though feeling out to see whether she's going to bite his head off like the last gold he met almost did. Zetali idly runs a finger down the tail hanging in front of her shoulder. "I won't argue with that, though. I have absolutely no idea what I'm getting into, that's for certain." She glances sidelong when Jaune delivers his glorious conversational floundering. And she actually snickers at him. "Oh, don't look so panicky. I think it was sweet, even if we're under the same strictures as Apprentices… well," she adds, with a cat-like smile, "maybe I'll keep that in mind, if we both have the good fortune to Impress, eh?" The statement isn't a serious one; it's clearly meant just to tease him. Because teasing Jaune is a national pasttime in Igen, isn't it?!

Hold-born know that this is a bit to get used to. Jaune is walking again at a normal pace and shaking it off. Or shaking off the sharp talons that knead into his hair. That is not soothing. Those are sharp. Be careful. It takes him awhile to work through what she is saying. All the same sort of things. "I mean. This is better. I wasn't going to walk, and those with hold sensibilities weren't willing to marry their daughters off to me without prospects. I have even already seen it here." Karysha, oh your splash of cold water. He is her friend, and his hand lifts to settle between the blades of her shoulder and rub back and forth comfortingly. Even if they are both still super gross. "It was very spur of the moment. There was only a very few of us. We touched about two or three eggs before we got shuffled away." The sudden stop halts his feet and he edges in front of her to stand between her and the hatching grounds. "Zetali. You are an enormously beautiful young woman. Whether you impress or not. Someone is going to be willing to drag themselves through thread and coals to attempt to win your hand. Honest."

The harper apprentice shrugs and contents herself with trudging down the hall; having nothing to carry, she finds herself idly wishing her dress had pockets to slip her hands into. Instead, she settles for playing with the delicate blue tail hanging forward over her shoulder, smiling a little distractedly at Sforzando's muted but happy little squawk at being paid attention to. The smile fades at the topic of conversation. "That's understandable enough. I've been an apprentice long enough that nobody's exactly falling over themselves to ask for my hand, either. Maybe it's for the best if we both Impress, huh? Fighting Thread is pretty grisly stuff, from everything I've heard, but at least it's some kind of future prospect." She shrugs again, although Sforzando has to catch himself at the sudden movement; she reaches up without thinking to steady him, and maybe it's heartening that she doesn't slap Jaune's hand away from its comforting pat. "Too bad. Well, maybe I'll be coming back from my chores the next time they decide to do that. I really want to see them up close," she adds, wistfully. "Even if just to look and not touch. They're beautiful—" Suddenly there is a Jaune in front of her, causing her to blink owlishly. She didn't even see him move to block her path. What? And now it's a Jaune saying silly things. "What—" There is a brief disconnect between her brain and her ears in which she flat-out doesn't process what's being said to her, and when it does, she just blinks owlishly some more. "Oh. You're sweet, Jaune, but it doesn't really matter. If I Impress, it's not going to matter because… well… because Weyr," and here she gestures nebulously, "and if I don't, it's not going to matter because I'm still going to be an Apprentice. Until I can satisfy those stuffed-shirts at the tables… I'm going to be stuck as I am." Her expression twists briefly, as though she'd tasted something sour. "Takes so fardling long to gather up the materials for every attempt, too. That stuff doesn't come easily. Took me months and tremendous effort, last time. I'll get there, eventually, but each time I try… it's frustrating. It's as frustrating as not being able to walk the tables, because you try so hard, you put everything you have into it… only to be told it's not good enough."

"I've been apprentice quite awhile too. At least you get a chance. I am sure nobody expects me to craft anything worthy of walking here. Igen isn't known for its wheat for brewing, or its fruit for ciders. Or Grapes." The Gold Bella undulates forward towards Zetali and then leaps the gap to settle upon her shoulder and nose into the blue's flank. Something that would piss off a certain bronze firelizard that has been eyeballing her for a long time. Jaune shakes his head slow at her response. Like that. How dare she. "It does matter. You should know that. I have a few marks, if I impress and you don't…Oh, bother that. Whatever combination occurs. We can go down to Southern Weyr and we will find you the best wood we possibly can and bring back enough of it for several tries." Because Jaune is a fixer and a problem-solver for his friends. "I had been trying to walk for an entire turn at Benden and I finally got so mad…But that doesn't help anyone. If anyone is going to impress, it will be you." Her hands are grasped once more and squeezed tight like before. Then released. "Lets go get clean. Okay?"

Yipe, there is a little gold thing blurring for her shoulder. Zetali instinctively flinches away from the movement at the corner of her vision, but not so much that she can't check herself and let the little gold land on her shoulder. She turns to watch, but not as intently as Sforzando. He sits up a straighter and even puffs himself out a little, not quite preening, but suddenly filled with little firelizard joy at being noticed and not chased. His crooning is awkward and a little too forceful, because he doesn't do subtle, but he looks happy and his eyes reflect it in their whirling blue-green. Zetali, however, looks a little crestfallen at his comments on walking the tables. He's right. Deserts aren't where one usually finds choice grapes, fruits, or wheat. Her dismay is more for him, though, at having no real future. "Don't waste your marks. I can get them for free with enough bartering; it's how I managed to do it the last time." Zetali grins. "It just takes time." The good cheer fades from her expression. "But stop talking like you don't matter, either. There's no reason why you couldn't Impress. Or, who knows? Maybe we'll both Impress. Dragons are fickle from what I'm to understand; nobody knows why they Impress one person and look over another. So the way I see it, everybody on the sands has an equal chance. Including me. Including you," she adds, poking him sharply in the shoulder. "So don't give me any of that dragonwaste." Again the smile comes back; sunny, rather than feline. "Yeah. Let's go get clean. I'm sick of smelling like Keroon. If I wanted to smell like Keroon, I'd've stayed there, yeah?"