Greed and Restraint (Kila!)

[Rii]

{desc=Sora/Tr'ayne}Sora hummed softly as she scraped and scrubbed at a stack of dirty pans. It was a rare time for her; although she wouldn’t have expressed herself as happy, she was content. She was getting her work done and she hadn’t been paired with anyone chattery. It was the brief lull between the end of breakfast and the start of lunch preparations, and that meant there weren’t so many of the weyrfolk around, either. Normally someone else would have pitched in on the stack of pans with her, but she’d volunteered to wash and dry them herself, thus ridding herself of having to make polite conversation.

So? Contentment reigned. Even her thoughts roamed on pleasant lines. A particular tune that she’d heard at the last Gather kept her company, and since no one was present to comment on her relative cheer, she let it vibrate quietly in her throat instead of keeping it safely in her head. Eggs were on the sands, and she’d made her peace with the thought of how messy it might get. She still hoped that no wher would find her suitable, just as much as she pessimistically wondered if any dragon could. Surely dragons found much better people to bond with than her.

Hmm. Extra-sticky patch on this pan. Sora looked to her left with a small, somewhat rueful smile. Prior to washing dishes, she’d helped transfer several pans’ worth of sweetrolls - pastries with a bit of jam baked in the middle - onto the cooling racks that spanned a section of countertop. Now she had the unenviable task of getting sticky, baked-on jam off of the pans. It would have been an intolerable task if she’d had to share it. (And yes, she was aware that most people would have considered it intolerable to not share it. Hooray for them, but she wasn’t them.) Instead, she picked up a tougher, harder sponge to start scouring it off, resuming the quietly hummed tune.

Nope, this one needed some soaking. So did that one, and two others she had left. Pouring a bit of hot, soapy water onto each, the holderborn candidate picked up a drying cloth and started to towel off the ones she’d already washed. By the time she’d tidied these up, the soaking ones would be ready. Sora did appreciate a job efficiently done. She’d be finished her chores and free to roam a bit until lunchtime, if everything went according to plan.

[Kila]

Summer, 6th Turn, 11th Pass

Hungry. But mine, it's nearly time for lunch,
Praerruth said, puzzled and exasperated. His did not feel hungry,
but yet he always was. When Tr'ayne was not physically hungry he had a
mental hunger. The BlueRider had been reading a particularly exciting
scroll, and all the vigorous learning had worked up his appetite.
You ate only a few hours ago, Praerruth reminded
him as he hopped off his chair and made for the door. He did not approve
of what he saw as unnecessary gluttony.

Praerruth, Tr'ayne said, rolling his eyes, You eat a whole
herdbeast a week. Would you really begrudge me a bubbly pie? The
Blue resettled his wings against his back carefully, taking care to keep
the defensiveness out of his voice. You eat a herdbeast's
weight worth of bubbly pies each week, Mine, and then another of
meatrolls. It is not good for you. Tr'ayne turned his belly away
from Praerruth angrily, feeling attacked. I do not eat a 'beast worth
of pies, he said self-consciously, making a mental note to find out
how much the creatures weighed. The word "fat" rang mockingly in his
head even though Praerruth had not said it. The truth hurt the
most.I'm going to get a snack, he grumbled, slamming shut his
door and leaving Praerruth with his disapproval.

His lifemate had succeeded in putting him in a rotten mood, not that it
was a difficult thing to do. He stormed down to the kitchens, scowling
as he went. Stupid dragon, stupid Weyr, stupid people. There was
occasionally a feeling of belonging, but everything was mostly like
before. They didn't get him. How could they? None of them were on his
level. And the more he was misunderstood, the more dislikable he acted.
So, he sought comfort in the things he enjoyed: scrolls and food. Though
they only perpetuated his dilemma (by keeping him fat and sedentary and
antisocial) he loved them nevertheless.

Tr'ayne moved like a storm cloud through the Hall but as covertly as
possible through the kitchens. He had been such a useless helper and
loud complainer as a candidate that he had a very bad reputation and
relationship among the drudges. He was known to try to sneak food as
well, which only served to aggravate them further. Today he was in luck,
however. He did not run into any kitchen drudges and followed his nose
to a steaming, untouched tray of sweetrolls. He smiled in anticipation,
snatching a napkin and beginning to fill it with the pastries. They
would be the perfect prelude to lunch, and so long as his sticky
fingers didn't give him away no one would be the wiser.

[Rii]

It seemed her rare contented mood was not destined to last. Even with her quiet humming, Sora was aware of someone else entering the kitchen. They were being quiet - well, sort of - but there wasn’t much clatter or bustle to conceal them. Him, she realized, catching a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. A plump, not particularly prepossessing him. Well, color her unimpressed, on top of being unImpressed to any color. This had the look of a clandestine kitchen raid, except that she already knew he was there.

Sedentary, overweight riders weren’t very good at being stealthy, but apparently working candidates were good at being invisible. Sora turned her head, observing him sneak up to the counter and break out a napkin. If he’d swiped one or two, she wouldn’t have said a word - sometimes people wanted a little treat or a snack, and that was alright. But he was seriously loading that napkin up. So close to midday, that struck her as a little ridiculous.

But what to do. She couldn’t see his rank knots from where she was standing - assuming he was even wearing them, some people didn’t bother - but she knew all of the candidates by face if not by name, and he definitely wasn’t one of them. And pretty much everyone at a Weyr outranked a candidate. That meant if she opened her mouth, she could very well end up in trouble. She hated getting in trouble if she could avoid it.

On the other hand, if this man consumed a pan full of sweetrolls, there’d be some disappointed people come lunchtime. Fine, conscience. You win this time. Setting a clean pan on the drying rack, the candidate wiped her hands off on her trousers before propping one on her hip. “Going to save some for the rest of the Weyr?” she inquired dryly. “It’s not that long until midday, you know.”

[Kila]

Tr'ayne jumped guiltily, heart in throat, when someone close by
spoke to him. Sharding first egg, he cursed inwardly, having
thought his heist a complete success. He peered around the counter and
saw a young girl looking at him accusingly, one hand placed cockily on
her hip. His eyes immediately went to her shoulders, looking for knots.
That was one aspect of the Weyr that he really liked. In just a glance
you could tell exactly where you stood in relation to a person. In
Tr'ayne's case it showed him who he could pick on and who he could not.
Generally. The knots he saw on Sona's shoulder signaled a great big
green light. Candidate.

Tr'ayne stood up straight and looked down at her contemptuously.
"What was that?" he asked in a patronizing tone. "You know you
can't speak to me like that." His Rider knots showed proudly on his
shirt. Had it been someone of consequence he would have lied and tried
to say that he was taking so many sweet rolls to share among other
people, but since he had challenged by someone below him he took up the
offensive. He was still in a bad mood from Praerruth's scolding and he
was itching to make someone else as miserable as him. Drawn up as he was
he looked almost intimidating. "Were you hoping to stand for this
hatching?" he inquired threateningly. He had absolutely no power
over that, but most candidates wouldn't know otherwise.

[Rii]

Shards and shells, it was a rider. Great. She was in trouble. “I was just saying they’re for the whole Weyr, sir. I’m sorry if you took offense to that.” Sora folded her arms defensively in front of her, her expression wary. Although after a couple of seasons at the Weyr she had sort of an idea of what to expect for behavior regarding candidacy, lessons, and chores, and what the candidatemasters chose to dole out as punishments, her interactions with the riders in general had been limited to said candidatemasters, plus a few others that she’d crossed paths with briefly. Those had been in social situations, reasonably short, safe social situations at that.

This was not safe. This was an angry person who ranked her. Her experience with people of higher standing said that if they were upset with you or had a complaint about you, you were going to lose in any disagreement before it started. He could probably go telling a completely false tale to the candidatemasters and they’d swallow it, and she’d have extra chores for sevendays. Or worse.

...Oh yes. Worse. Not stand for the Hatching? He can’t do that! ...can he? Sora felt a twist of anxiety in her gut. Maybe she’d been looking pessimistically at her chances at the Hatching, but she still wanted to stand for it because there was still a chance. She bit the inside of her lip and inhaled slowly, straightening her shoulders. If she was in trouble, she would face it like an adult, even if she felt like this trouble was flat injustice. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. You may report me to the candidatemasters if you wish.”

[Kila]

Tr'ayne practically crowed with delight when he saw the fear on
Sora's face. She stepped back and crossed her arms, suddenly on the
defensive. Which means the offense is mine. The BlueRider
frowned, though inside he was smiling. "Did the Candidate Masters not
tech you to respect your betters? That was a delicious idea. No
doubt they had, so they would probably not take kindly to hear of any of
their charges disregarding that lesson. He could tell them anything he
wanted to too. After all, who would take the word of a Candidate over a
Rider?

He could tell that the thought of being reported upset her; no doubt
thoughts of endless extra chores were parading through her head. Tr'ayne
could tell he had struck gold when he suggested that she might be barred
from standing for the hatching as a cause of her insolence. Her wordless
terror brought him to a new level of swagger and he popped one of the
sweet rolls into his mouth smugly.

The game was less fun when she squared her shoulders and decided to face
her fate bravely. It was oh so much better when they cowered and
sniffled. It he was wiser he would have taken what he had as a victory
and left with his spoils, but he had the upper hand so rarely that he
pushed on. He was not well known for accepting apologies well either.
"I will be sure to," he promised her threateningly, though he
probably actually wouldn't for all the effort it required. Tr'ayne like
the ring of her "yes sir" though. "I hope you enjoy scrubbing pots
and pans."

[Rii]

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t see your knots from where I was standing.” Not that it should have mattered, she thought sourly, if respect for your fellow people was a common thing rather than a rarity. But what did it matter? She wasn’t worth much, a candidate and a cotholder brat. Surely by now she was used to her position in life. Ever since she was just a child, she’d decided her only worth was in not causing trouble or fuss and getting her work done. Being dependable and preferably overlooked. Nothing person, but somehow it was still miserable to have someone make her feel like she was lower than dirt.

If it had been extra chores alone, she might have just bore it and made the bitterly insightful remarks that were her preference when she wanted someone to get offended and go away. Yes, he ranked her, but so did a lot of people who would have enjoyed the sweets he was now happily eating in her face. She’d been trying to be fair to everyone, and maybe it would have been worth spending a season washing pots and pans to give this puffed-up wherry the scathing assessment that he deserved. The threat of being barred from hatchings was much more effective. For that, she would bite her tongue and swallow every protest she might have made.

In spite of the fact that she had a strong suspicion that he was not just pulling rank, he was doing this specifically because he enjoyed it. Faranth knew she’d been picked on enough for various faults of hers to recognize when someone got their jollies from provoking unhappiness, fear, even anger out of others. Sora schooled her expression into the dull neutrality that helped make her boring enough to not torment. “Yes, sir.” Quietly emotionless. She might have to give him her respect, grudging as it was, but she wouldn’t give him even one more taste of her concern. “May I return to my duties?”

[Kila]

Sorry sir, yes sir; there they were again. Tr'ayne loved it.
Putting people down was the only was he could make himself feel
important, so that's exactly what he did. He could feel Praerruth's
disapproval radiating stronger and stronger from outside, but he
stubbornly pushed it aside, determined to enjoy his superiority while it
was still within his grasp. People didn't take the time to wonder why he
was so horrible, and he scorned the ones that did, pushing everyone
away. In lieu of positive attention, he fed off negative attention, such
as he had here.


The fun was quickly bleeding out of the situation, however. Sora's face
had become expressionless and none of the fear or misery that he had
elicited before were visible. Maybe that meant she was resigned, but she
was no real use to him if he couldn't get a rise out of her. "Yeah,
you can get back to them- for a good long while." He threw in one
last jab but calmed down when she was not provoked. Gathering up his
napkin loaded heavy with sweetrolls he waddled off, feeling quite
pleased with himself. By that time lunch was nigh, since the
confrontation had killed extra time. Remarking on his luck, Tr'ayne went
right to the Dining Hall. He could deal with Praerruth's disappointment
later.

[Rii]

Sora’s jaw clenched at the parting jab, her teeth grinding together. That… that bully. It was a sad thing, she decided acidly, when the people everyone looked up to as the protectors of Pern ensconced people like him, whose happiness derived from making other people unhappy. It wasn’t fair, and the unfairness twisted in her gut more with every passing second, no matter how many times she reminded herself that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter, just a candidate. Just a candidate, maybe never even more than a candidate. It didn’t stop the bitter feeling from welling up, but the mantra let her keep ahold of it.

She held it in, keeping silent, cool, and remote, until he’d cleared the kitchen. A long, deep breath was dragged in; slowwwwly she released it, making sure he wasn’t about to pop his head back in. Then the girl spun back to face the counter, and slammed her fist down on the cleared expanse in a rare, not entirely private display of frustration. She glared at the reduced spread of sweetrolls stormily, seething for a moment, then slowly, deliberately unclenched her fingers to cover her face.

No one important. No ambitions. Nothing person The one tender ambition she’d dared to foster, when Enciath peered onto the roof she’d been perched on to announce that she’d found her, Searched her, and she was more painfully aware than ever that it could be snatched from her at any moment, for possibly even a tiny infraction. This is why you don’t let yourself -want- things, Sora. You let your guard down, and people get to you, she reminded herself bitterly. It didn’t occur to her to go to a candidatemaster to get things straightened out. After that rider’s words, she had no doubt that they’d take his side. No, she’d handle this on her own. Like I do everything else.

Exhaling heavily, she lowered her hand and moved back to the sink, picking up the sponge again to continue washing up from the morning’s baking. Maybe she’d end up with more chores, but it didn’t matter. She’d do them, too, and she’d stay out of the way and out of trouble, and maybe she’d still get her chance to stand. She’d get through this, the way she always did.

But somehow, she couldn’t find that feeling of contentment anymore.