January 19th 2005
Logged by Eshe
Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind… [look closer]
Eitanex and Desba are here.
Eitanex is still looking at the floor. He didn't even notice Desba setting her stuff down initially. "You're not listening. I didn't offer anything. You're prying. There's a sharding difference," he mutters.
Desba bites her bottom lip in concentration, "Offering to listen isn't prying, perhaps you aren't as intelligent as I gave you credit for. If you don't want to talk that's fine, but please be quiet so that I can do my work." Her eyes never lift from the hide as she speaks.
Eshe wanders in slowly from the inner caverns, a light smile on her face as she tightens her belt, checks that her knife is in place and then heads over to the hearth for a mug of klah. Eyes flicker around the caverns for a moment as she stands by the fire, pausing at Eitanex for a moment, shifting to Desba as she speaks and then the young woman goes to find a seat. To observe and listen.
"Perhaps /you/ aren't as intelligent," Eitanex mutters, this time almost under his breath. And keeps cleaning, knowing very well that he's being a prat.
Desba scowls at the boys words, or perhaps just in thought as she makes no move to repermand the boy as would normally be her course of action. Instead she continues to silently work.
Eshe leans back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other and her mug cradled between her hands as eyes flicker between the rider and the boy. She tilts her head at Eitanex's words, lifting an eyebrow along with one corner of her mouth. "Don't you think that spot's clean enough by now?" she asks of him, a finger pointing at the floor, "or are you planning on cleaning right through the rock?"
Eitanex finally looks up and his still-narrowed eyes make him look either threatening or dyspeptic. Either or. "Shards," he mutters, than stands up, taking both bucket and rag with him. His voice rises simultaneously. "I'm going to the sharding kitchen, 'cause at least the cooks know how to sharding not make sharding comments when someone's sharding trying to clean! Faranth!" And with his chin exaggeratedly in the air, he turns around and escapes to the kitchens. The speed of his footsteps rather spoils his attempt at dignity.
Eitanex goes home.
Desba, who wasn't having a good couple of days to begin with, is in a rather sour mood now that one of her first attempts at being sociable as come to a rather dissatisfactory ending.
Eshe chuckles under her breath, watching the boy go and shakes her head as the mug comes up to meet her lips. "Never seen a boy his age so eager to do his chores," she says, eyes glittering as she looks back to Desba, the smile disappearing as she notes the sour face on the rider. "I apologize, rider, if I interrupted something. I just thought he might want to move on to a different part of the floor.."
With a heavy sigh Desba looks up from her work for a second time this morning. "You interupted nothing, I am simply trying to do some work." She however sets her hides down and eyes the woman intently. "Desba is fine. Desba rider of Dyamith. I believe he is being punished for something or another." She takes a bite of the untouched meal before her.
Eshe tips her head in a nod toward the rider, smile resurfacing for a moment, "Eshe, of River Bend," she says and waves a hand around the caverns with a light shrug, "I don't suppose this is the best place to work, though, is it? Quite busy, most of the time?" Her eyes move to watch the entrance to the kitchens with a thoughtful expression, lips pursed a little, "yes, he didn't sound too pleased, did he?"
Desba draws her lips into a thin line, "The background noise isn't what bothers me." She lifts a brow as she makes her point, though in case her new found company isn't up to par when it comes to intelligence she adds, "It's people speaking to me directly that I find distracting." Get the point? But for now the work seems something that won't get done, so she straigthens in her chair and pulls her plate infront of her. "River Bend? Where is that?"
Marond arrives from deeper in the Weyr.
"Well, you'll have people talk to you if you answer them, won't you?" is Eshe's comeback and she also lifts a brow, slowly and ever so slightly. "But if it pleases you, Desba, rider of Dyamith, I will leave you be," she goes on and nods, getting out of her seat with a nod toward the rider to head for the sideboard to collect some breakfast.
"You'd rather I had ignored your statement? I was after all doing work when you spoke to me. Perhaps you should learn some manners." Desba sneers at the retreating woman, and with her day expotentinally getting worse, she picks up her charts yet again.
Marond has slunk in as his usual cheery self. A healer seems to be hovering off to his left, her hands wrapped firmly around a confiscated flask. Poster-child of the dour, Marond shoots an ugly look at this attendant who merely points to the tea in the Headman's grasp before returning her finger to his flask to indicate the terms to surrender. Muttering faintly, Marond gives a curt nod before plunging into the hubbub of the hub and attempting to come out from under his personal healer's attentions. Slipping into line in front of a gaggle of brats who's first instinct is to complain but is stamped out by one beady look from Marond and their nanny's shushing gesture. Let's see… eggs, toast, wherry strips, bourbo- tea, Desba. Desba? Oh, that snarky little voice could be picked out everywhere. Peering across the room to find the brownrider, something akin to a smile warps his features. Someone else in a bad mood? This day's getting better.
Eshe decides not to answer Desba's jab, but rather begins whistling a little tune through her teeth as she fills a bowl with cereal, a plate with a few sandwiches, slipping a redfruit into her pocket before turning to nearly bump into Marond. Eyes check his knot and brightens a little as she tilts her head at him, "Headman, just the man I wanted to see," she tells him and steps out of his way to let him at whatever he needs to get at, "do you think I could have a chat with you about a job?"
Who could miss Marond in a crowd? Certainly not Desba, and as the headman meets her eyes she slumps even farther down into her chair. And while she seems all the more unhappy to see the man she does wave at an open chair next to her, "Marond care too…" But her offer is interupted by /that/ one, and so she simply buries her head into her charts again for a moment before she smacks them against the table, the force of her blow making her glass titter dangerously before she sets it right with her other hand.
Marond levels a flat glance at Eshe as he goes through the process of brushing away the droplets that have covered his right wrist from nearly colliding with the female. "That depends on the sort of job your looking for…" Dusty words trail off into a quiet wheeze as he coughs- causing tea to smatter his cuff once again. "What's your name, child?" Bringing the plate to his lips, Marond begins yanking a piece of toast into his mouth by the teeth; blowing crumbs all over himself and potentially his company… he's hungry.
There's a hardening around Eshe's eyes at being called a child, but she bites it back with a nod toward Marond, trying not to look disgusted at his manners, "Eshe's my name and I'm looking to be a hunter. I have experience. And by the taste of this sandwich.." She takes a bite of the wherry sandwich on her plate, faking a grimace rather well as she goes on, ".. you could use someone to bring in fresh meat. I'd just like permission to use my bow and I can bring in more than just rabbits."
Desba bites back to urge to tell the girl what real hunting is. She simply watches the two, though a mild grin does spread a cross her face as she watches the disgusted reaction of the female to Marond's manners.
Marond twists a brow upwards at the spunky thing in front of him. "Careful, kid." Finishing his toast and running a hand lazily over his chin to clear the crumbs, Marond sizes the female. "We're still in the process of replenishing stores after winter, so as much as I'd like to apologize- well, I have no intention of apologizing for our meat's quality, actually." Smirking faintly he takes a sip of tea, winces, and sips again. Desba is to blame for this newest wave of forced health, and she is currently the recipient of a very irate glare as he chokes down the rest of his tea before returning his look to Eshe. "A hunter, you? What are you, fifteen?" Shrugging out of his slouched appearance and into one of credibility, the gangly Headman peers down his nose at the girl before nodding. "I'll speak with the guard captain, he'll want to talk to you himself, of course. As for your bow? No." Just like that? Well, no, not just like that. "No, you can't have permission to /have/ a bow in the Weyr, but if that's your method of choice for killing animals-" the look he gives Eshe conveys his doubt that this female ever had much of a mother figure. Despite Desba, Marond's pretty sure most women have feelings for small fuzzy creatures. "I'm sure you and the captain can work out something that wont pose a danger to my Weyr."
Desba smiles at the man's glare, her ackward unused smile, and it only continues to grow, "You're Weyr, Marond?" She can't help but interject here, "I believe you mean you're caverns, I'm quite sure Pyrene and M'nty would be happy here if you think differently however." Her smile turns into a teasing grin and she for the first time she finds herself in a good enough mood to eat.
Eshe grinds her teeth and takes a deep breath - through her nose, which proves to be a mistake - and stares back at Marond, eyes narrowing slightly, "eighteen, actually. And I've hunted since I was ten," she says, mentally attempting to keep her stomach under control. "If it'd reassure you, sir, I'd only string the bow outside the Weyr. I don't intend to shoot any dragons by mistake," she goes on and shoots a glance toward Desba, a tug at the corner of her mouth at the rider's comment, "in any case, I don't intend to get rid of that bow. Whether I can use it or not."
Marond glances towards Desba, projecting his raspy voice towards the girl. "Hey kiddo! Do me a favor? Don't speak." Now that Desba is guaranteed to remain silent for at least a minute, Marond peers at Eshe with a little snort. "Manners, child, manners. I told you, I'll talk to the captain." And as he's about to move towards Desba until an aide intercepts him. An accusatory finger is pointed at Desba before he nods once to Eshe and moves off after the young man come to fetch him.
Eshe snorts, jutting out her chin at Marond and turn defiantly away from him to find a seat, "talk to the Captain," she imitates the Headman in an unflattering way as she moves to take a seat, giving up too easily at trying to get anything out of the man. He'll make her lose her appetite anyway.
Marond exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.
