From the sands, Striding onto the sands, M'lan's looking for ... someone. Ah. There she is. Lifting a hand to Peyth and Teyrth, the bronze rider nods to Sanna, stating as he heads deeper into the dearthless boundaries of the heated sands, "Ah, there you are. I was looking for you, Sanna," he says-- as if she could be anywhere else. Always good to keep up appearances in spite of the likelihood of her not being pleased to be stuck where she is. Glancing towards the galleries, he waves a hand to those within, the greeting casual. He's just ... like that.
N'cion walks in and pauses at the entrance, looking around and taking a deep, deep breath. It's time to wallow in nostalgia. "Ahhh...I remember happy happy times." Pause. "Okay, maybe not /that/ happy." Don't mind him, he's mumbling to himself. He strolls over to the edge of the sands, leaning on the railing. Meanwhile, a green draconic body slides gracefully onto the ledges above, here to feast her aesthetic senses.
Perrie climbs up the stairs from the entrance.
Blane is slinking hurriedly from row to row, his back bent as he stoops low to inspect every little mar that vaguely resembles a mark scraped into the ground. "Stingy crowds...You'd think..." short bits of his muttering are barely noticable, though the occasional curses that follow as he pokes at something unpleasant are noticably easier to hear.
Perrie is looking pale -- literally -- flour dusting her face and clothes, dusting her dark hair. As she half-runs, half leaps up the stairs, flecks escape, leaving a trail of white in the air. "...you'd think they'd like help in the kitchens, I mean, honestly, but nooooooo..." Blade isn't the only one muttering, Perrie continuing her one-sided conversation with herself as she ducks in, only to skid to a halt. Now-white lashes dip down in a blink. "Hey, you? Lost something?"
From the sands, Ah, the acoustics of the hatching cavern. Sanna's out on the sands, just where she might be expected to be. She's lounging on a large beach chair she's had some poor soul carry out there, her attitude that of one extremely displeased with her current situation. While Teyrth lounges, all contentment, her rider fixes the Weyrleader with a mild glare. "Where else would I be?" She's watching those in the galleries with detached interest, her glare concluded.
From the sands, "Oh, I don't know. You *could* be taking a quick bath." That much, at least, is allowed, after all. Shrugging his shoulders, he turns, hearing a voice, and waves casually towards those in the galleries again. "Hello there, Perrie." If he's disturbed by Sanna's glare, it's not immediately obvious.
From the sands, And yes, that was M'lan.
N'cion waves a hand. "Hiya, Sanna. How're the sands? Need a blanket or anything?" he inquires innocently. Hey, she's trapped on the sands, he can afford to twit her a bit. He eyes Perrie's entrance with trepidation, edging...upwind. "Ah. Hello there...Perrie." he recalls the name after a moment's thought. He catches sight of Blane out of the corner of his eye. "Oh. Joy. Nose-picker. It's Sanitary night here today, isn't it..." he mutters, just a tad...loudly.
Blane jerks upright as he's addressed, immediately groaning and throwing his hands to his lower back as it pops rather loudly. "Lose something? Not exactly." Even as he turns, his eyes begin to flicker all over Perrie's form, only occasionally veering anxiously back towards those out on the sands before fixing coldly on N'cion and moaning in the most dramatic tone he can muster, "As if you've never been drunk before! Spare a poor man his dignity!"
From the sands, Sanna eyes Blane for a moment, and tries out her latest range of hard-done-by sniffs. "I'm fine." A smile goes to N'cion - after all, anyone who's still talking to her after getting half their beard shaved off must be some sort of friend. Perrie is examined with a quirk of her lips, but not commented upon. Yet. And so back to M'lan. "Do you need me to do something? I don't do records and things while I'm on teh sands. I don't."
Perrie waves down at the sands, sending floury specks flying. "Hi, M'lannie!" Interesting choice of nickname. "If the cookie asks, you haven't seen me, right?" Blane gets a shake of the head, before Perrie abruptly shrugs and ignores him. Best not to ask. N'cion gets a greeting, too. "Hi, you." Perrie doesn't come up with a name, but quickly moves on. "Hi-to-you, Sanna! They feeding you properly down there?"
N'cion stands up straight, commanding every inch of lofty height he can. "I can, indeed, claim that I have never been drunk before." he says pompously. "Drink is the root of many evils." he says didactically. A green head lifts from the ledges up above and stares down curiously at Perrie. "Yes, it is a person. It's female, or so I have been led to believe." he answers up at Amnerith. Shrugging apologetically at Perrie, he holds up his hands helplessly. "Sorry, Amnerith is a rather...excessively nosy dragon. She wants to know why you're so dirty." He's either a friend of Sanna's, or a masochist. Or still plotting revenge. "I found some of the hides you've been stashing, Sanna. The headwoman is Looking for You." he says in as close to an ominous tone of voice as he can manage.
From the sands, "I wasn't going to be making you do any hidework; that'd be impossible at the moment. Most of the hides are rather missing, wonder how that happened." M'lan's light voice is markedly innocent, before his expression becomes slightly wry. He glances up at the galleries and winces, asking, "'M'lannie'?" to Perrie, and says, "Just M'lan. Please." He's a bit stiff, you see. His voice calls up to N'cion, "She's dirty because she won't take a bath," the man says, before adding, "Ah, she's looking for them, too?" M'lan was, you see. Sigh.
From the sands, Sanna's expression turns from hard-done-by to butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth in the blinking of an eyelid. Perrie's floury eyelid, even. "Records? Can't imagine. I try to stay away from them as far as possible, myself. Wonder where they've gone..." And then, perhaps sensing it's safer, she moves on from that topic, raising her voice to address Amnerith. "She's dirty because she doesn't wash, and she's white because she had a run-in with the kitchens. You should try and get your head in there, and then you'll see what they're like." She concludes with a smug little smile to N'cion. A 'There, deal with that' sort of smile. IF Sanna's going to be unhappy ont eh sands, everyone else is going to suffer too.
Perrie makes a face at N'cion, commenting: "Or at least, the root of many hangovers." White eyebrows lift, Perrie returning the stare. "If you think this is dirty, you should've seen me before." M'lan is the recipient of an elegantly poked out tounge. "I wash, now. This isn't dirt, it's just flour. So there." She pauses. "Well, flour and salt. And perhaps some sugar. I think I added some ground klah-stuff, but that ended up on the floor, not on me." N'cion is glanced at again, Perrie grining to show teeth that match the flour. "I was learning to cook. Or trying to. But before my Bubbly And Klah Soup The Second was ready, the cookie chased me out. Again." Perrie sniffs, only to breathe in some of the powder and messily sneeze. Foot is stamped impatiently once she's recovered, Sanna glared down at. "I do wash now. See? No smell. Excepting flour smell. But still, no smell. It took a week of scrubbing, but no smell!" Perrie pauses, before repeating it once more, spelling it out. "So. I. Don't. Smell." I get the feeling she doesn't smell anymore.
N'cion throws up his hands. "I think it's becoming a Weyrwide hobby. Hunting for hides. Even some of the kidlets are getting into it." Better than Easter Eggs. "Um." Eyebrows twitch. "I think I'm going to Xanadu to eat tonight." he comments to nobody in particular after hearing about... "Bubbly and Klah...Soup?? Uhhh...all right." Insert nonplussed and slightly exasperated expression here as he turns to face Perrie. "Amnerith wants you to bathe. Now. And she wants to watch to make sure you get /squeaky/ clean. Her words, not mine." He adopts that slightly sardonic and helpless tone used by people the world over forced to be the one to talk and relay the wishes of someone else.
From the sands, "Somehow," M'lan says to Sanna, "I don't totally trust N'cion." His voice, however, does carry-- it's designed to. "Do you think he wants to see Perrie bare? If so, there might be some hope for him yet, don't you think?" The bronze rider's voice is contemplative. Really, it is!
From the sands, Sanna immediately falls into line, nodding gravely. "I think he does. I think he's making up what Amnerith says, in order to get her clothes off. Shocking conduct. Although no less than I expect, of course, from a man with facial hair." There's a certain glint in the weyrwoman's eye, although she's managing to arrange her features more or less seriously.
Perrie looks at N'cion, expression almost hurt, eyes wide. "Don't you want to try it? It's my own, original creation. Even I haven't tried it yet." Amnerith gets an astonished look, jaw dropping. "What? Why? I don't smell, and I think squeaky is kind of annoying, don't you? I like my voice the way it is--" More is about to be said, before M'lan gets a look that's quickly transfered to N'cion. "WHAT?" The capital letters say it all; her tone of voice is full of shock. "You're lucky I don't have a pair of gloves to slap you with!" Arms cross, Perrie giving her best glare to the poor guy.
N'cion sputters incoherently, blushing from hairline to...well...hairline. "I said /Amnerith/ wanted to watch! Facial hair has nothing to do with it!" he gets out, posture becoming rather set and rigid. "I am going to be far, far--What do you /mean/, I'm going to be helping??!!" That last exclamation is directed incredulously at a dragon that is, by all appearances, innocently examaning her talons. "I don't--I didn't--I mean--" he chokes. "I'm sorry--I swear...they...I...they're just...she. Her. Them...I'm not trying--" Just hold on Perrie, he'll get out a coherent sentence to you someday soon.
From the sands, "See?" M'lan looks pleased as he nods at Sanna, gesturing to the galleries. "I /told/ you. I think he's faking all that. He wants to help." The man's voice is light, as he says this, crossing his arms. He calls out to Perrie, "Between the legs, Perrie. Between the legs." Ahem. Poor, poor Menace.
From the sands, Sanna tut-tuts audibly, shaking her head. "Menace, I thought more of you. Really." Teyrth is disinterested, snaking her neck out to nose a little sand over one egg, as her rider rises from her chair to cross the sands, peering up to the galleries. "Don't trust him for a second, Perrie! Ask him what his real intentions are!"
"Watch?" Perrie repeats the word, expression turning even more white under the flour. "Why you little -- that's sick, sick!" Perrie begins to slowly walk towards N'cion, voice rising with each step. "Using your lifemate for an excuse." Step. "That's the worst sort of trick, on an innocent girl." Step. "And /HELPING/? I telll you now, I wouldn't let you within a fifty draognlenght radius of me." Step. "If it weren't for the fact that your lifemate wouldn't like it, I would trip certain body parts with a knife. I'll between the legs you!" Not that she has a knife. Although, she did always say she wanted to be a healer and cut people up, if it wasn't for the blood. Following Sanna's prompts like the innocent little girl that she is, she pokes a finger at Menace. "Admit it! What's your real intensions are?"
"I do /not/!" Menace sputters. "Why won't anybody believe me?" He cringes, putting some distance between him and Perrie. "Would you two quit it down there?! I've never ever even thought such unbecoming thoughts in my life!!" Which, sadly, is probably true. "Believe me! It's not my idea! It's Amnerith's! You can go up there and talk with her yourself! She'll tell you! She'd better." he adds in a slightly threatening tone while glancing up at his dragon. "You and your twisted sense of humor." Now it's uncertain exactly /who/ he's talking to. "Meep." Excuse him as he puts something between his /crotch/ and Perrie. Hands, benches, that sort of thing. "I have no intentions! It's all Amnerith's fault! She's the one who wants to see you naked, not me!"
From the sands, "Uh-huh." M'lan's voice emerges from the sands as he stands there, casually walking up and leaning against the wall leading to the galleries themselves. Resting against it, the man says to Perrie, "Do you really think his lifemate wants to see a *female* naked?" He shakes his head, "N'cion, even *you* could think of a better excuse than that," the bronze rider teasingly chides, watching as the poor green rider retreats in haste.
From the sands, Sanna snorts, waving a hand up at N'cion in dismissal. "You're the one who raised the word 'naked' in this conversation, Menace. /And/ you're the one with your hands on your... anyway." With a toss of her head, Sanna turns to M'lan, shooting him a smile. "Nest'll be back in a minute, but I'm going to let everyone entertain Teyrth and Peyth, while I get clean. I'll be back before you know it." And with a beaming smile, she's of.
V'len comes up the stairs to the gallery, just in time to hear... that. "Well, Yevgeth wondered at first why us humans bothered with clothing at all, but.. well, think how dull it would be if everyone were naked all the time! No excuse to wear beautiful clothing?" But as he catches more of the jist of the conversation... and where N'cion has his hands, he raises a brow. "You'd rather see a male naked then?"
G'aela strides into the galleries, apparently at the wrong time, as she overhears Menacion's words. Voice whispers, yet is audible. "Your lifemate desires to see a human without the protection of clothing?" Audible and long-winded, that is. And then Gabby hears M'lan's words, and her face reddens even /more/ as she "ohh"s. "Menace, honestly--I thought the females of our clutch would have taught you to think better... You had better hide before I tell Isryn and Taire how you are insulting the honor of this poor lady."
Perrie shakes her head, with a glance towards M'lan. "You're right. Why would a dragon want to see me naked? Or clean? Or --" Perrie turns back to Menace, grinding her teeth noisily. "Of all the --" Perrie whips around, to denounce N'cion in a loud, ringing tone. "He not only wants to see me naked, but according to him, he wants to /help/. Or at least, his dragon wants him to help. Anyone heard of such a thing?!"
"It's not about the nakedness! It's about the bathing! Clean! Squeaky!" Menace sputters. "No! You misunderstand! I...I...Arrgh! I don't want to see /anyone/ naked! Nobody! Nobody!" You know, castration would make Menace's life a whole lot easier. "I'd rather claw my own eyes out than see any of you naked!" He gestures frantically at Amnerith. "Her idea! /Her/! She wants me to help! She's just obsessed with being fastidious! She's mean that way! I wasn't insulting anybody's honor."
From the sands, Blinking, M'lan says as an aside to G'aela and Perrie, "Listen to that. He'd rather *claw out his eyes* than see you naked." He shakes his head, "That's rather excessive, don't you think? He must think rather little of you," the man says with a slow sigh. "Perhaps you should talk to him about that?"
V'len might even look a bit disappointed. "Oh. So you're saying instead that you think Perrie here is dirty?" He turns to look, top to bottom. "Not that bad. I think you're not being very nice, N'cion. Either that, or your dragon isn't being very nice. Has Amnerith even seen Perrie to know?" And then V'len leans an elbow on the railing to bend down to agree with M'lan. "Somehow, I don't think he realizes what he's missing." A little flex there?
>> Calevath bespeaks Amnerith with: Calevath thinks, << My lifemate inquires why you are so obsessed about seeing this young maiden without her outer hide. >> <<
Perrie snorts, lips pressing together before she spits out her words. Not literally. "What does it mean to her if I'm clean or not? I've never met a dragon who cared if I was clean or not before! People, yes, especially when I smelt, but I don't smell anymore!" M'lan isn't helping; now her face is red underneath all her floury layer. "So now you don't want me? You think I'm ugly? You'd rather see someone else naked now!"
>> I bespoke Calevath with: Amnerith studies her talons again. << Naked? He's quite mistaken. He's partially right; it is a bit of a slight gaffe there. I'm afraid he hasn't learned quite the fine art of diplomacy. >> she sighs. << I merely want to see her clean. Though I do think white suits her well, don't you? Though the flour really has to go, it just doesn't blend. >> <<
G'aela plops down on a bench, elbow on her leg and chin in our hand. "Perrie, correct?" she questions the poor woman. "I have never heard of such a thing from N'cion, no, but I should not be surprised. They always say it is the quiet ones." Which probably says something for G'aela. *cough* Eyes turn up to M'lan's words, and she chuckles and shakes her head. "I am not surprised by that expression of his sentiments, sir." The assistant weyrlingmaster grins toward V'len before sniffing toward Perrie. "Small? I sense no smell... Oh, N'cion..." She breaks into a giggle. "Can you not even understand your lifemate? Why don't you express her true wishes, if you can ascertain them as have me and mine. The bath can come later."
"Amnerith likes to make people over! It's not my fault! I don't know why she picked you!" Menace protests. "Wait. I do know! Ha! I know! I know!" he crows. "You! You're coming with me! Right now!" He points at Perrie. "She doesn't want you getting the nice, clean white clothing dirty! So you better take a bath before putting on your uniform!"
Perrie rolls her eyes at all the strange riders. "Get to the point already? I don't wear a uniform, I'm just a resident." Perrie is beginning to cool -- It's hard to keep being indignantly angry for such a long time -- and is instead lapsing into confusion. "So, your dragon, wants you to wash me, to /help/ wash me, so that I don't get white things dirty? I'm white already, anyway. And I like my clothes. They might be a little stained, and have a slight smell, but they're nice, aren't they -- and I'm especially not taking them off anytime soon."
From the sands, "I think," M'lan says ironically to Perrie from his place down on the sands, "You're more than that, now. And you'd better accept, or when Sanna comes back, I'll tell *her* that you turned it down. And you don't want that." Everyone knows a Sanna scorned is a scary thing indeed. "So. You, Perrie, are going to Stand, which means you get to be a Candidate and do what we all say. Isn't that extraordinary?" the man says in a droll voice. He adds-- just to make it official that she was asked, "Aren't you?"
Fashion questions? V'len's there. "Well, actually, you're wearing autumn colors, and you're more of a winter," he starts, regarding Perrie. "I'd try something in cherry red, or maybe a turquoise. But whatever you wear, black should be your basic, I believe. Yes... you really ought to try wearing something with black in it. Perhaps we can recommend... well, yes, M'lan! Fort candidacy uniforms!"
"You, ma'am." Menace says with an immense air of smug, gleeful satisfaction. "Are now a Candidate. See? See? I didn't want to see you naked, just in white! You've been Searched. Take /that/. Now go take a bath and report to the Candidate barracks." Amnerith adds a hum of agreement. Hell hath no fury like a Sanna scorned?
G'aela sends an amused grin toward the weyrlingmaster before rubbing her forehead. "You do wear one now... not a resident any more..." She whistles ever-so-innocently as she trots down the stone rows to peer closer at the eggs. The woman giggles softly at M'lan's explanation before raising an eyebrow at V'len. "What color am I?" comes her query before she bites her lip. "I thought the candidacy uniform was drab with drab... Congratulations, Perrie, if you accept and feel it is a sentiment worth congratulations."
Perrie seems more concerned with fashion than standing. "Really? Turquoise?" Perrie asks, before blinking. Oh yeah. "What?" Menace is stared up, head tilted to one side, voice hesitent. "Are you absolutely, entirely sure that you dont' want to see me naked?" There's a pause, before Perrie shudders. "Hey, I don't suppose that you'd consider giving me a lift to somewhere where Sanna couldn't get at me? Guess not. I'd better accpt then... if you're /sure/? No nakedness, just knotiness and then bath?"
From the sands, "Exactly," M'lan says to Perrie with a chuckle. "There you go then. You know where. We'll send folks down to give you the chore list, later." The man's voice is amused. "So hop to it." Yes. He said 'hop to it'.
"Yes. No. Maybe. Wait. Can I not answer that?" Menace says in a dazzling display of decisiveness. "You're a Candidate. It would not be appropriate for me to answer questions like that." he takes refuge behind the rules. Convenient. "You'll probably have to get naked to take a bath, but nobody will be watching. Especially not me." he offers.
"This clutch is one quarter Yevgeth ichor, I'm sure she will stand," V'len comments confidently. "And yes. Try turquoise. Maybe as an accent. And you, G'aela? You're an autumn. Perhaps you can use Perrie's old clothes." He takes another look. "Perhaps not. Well, I see my work is done here. Two more people with more defined fashion sense. It does me good to know that the world is a much better place aesthetically because of me." And with that, he waves, turning and heading back down the gallery stairs again.
Perrie blinks down at M'kan. "Hop? You want me to hop? Crazy riders." Menace gets one last look, brow creasing. "So, now you don't like me, but don't want to tell me so -- oh, I give up." Hands are thrown up, as Perrie literally begins to hop towards the stairs, only to give up and run the last couple of metres, still muttering about riders. Weird creatures.
G'aela beams toward V'len before looking toward Perrie. "So long as she does not dress in... tight-fighting attire, for I am not comfortable in such clothing. Thank you for your help!" Yes, G'aela, intelligent yet the one resident of the weyr who thinks that V'len is all he says he is. "I had best flee. Farewell!"
