The best part of waking up, is... klah? [open]

[pocketowl]

There were some life skills that one necessarily picked up by surviving the Apocalypse. Some were to be expected: a heightened awareness of noise and smell, the ability to find the single stone shelter on an otherwise bare plan, these could be counted on to develop, natural selection willing. What no one ever told you was that after Turns of being chased by zombies, walking till you had worn your feet to nubs, half-drowned in raging oceans, survived the day that the whole sky fell down, and hadn't had a bath in what smelled like months... was that you would forever after make the best sharding klah this side of the continent. After so long without proper ingredients or proper equipment or the proper time to craft edible things, one learned how to make do with what one had. At this point, she suspected that she could have made a decent bubbly pie out of two wet sticks and half a trundlebug. Instead, with the proper equipment in her hands, she was working what looked--and smelled--like small magic in the Weyr's kitchen.

Aithbhre felt that it was somewhere between very late at night and very early in the morning, although the absence of other folk may simply have been because there were so few around. With a dozen-odd dragonriders and maybe three, four times as many weyrfolk as that (by her best reckoning), perhaps for once she had found a bubble of silence in the middle of the day. It was hard to keep time when it felt like days since you had gone up for fresh air and sunlight. All that there was to keep the time was the prodding heel in the small of your back that meant that this shift was yours to work. Hard to keep track of that, even, for an unscrupulous drudge or kitchenwoman might wake you up for your shift early and arrive back to their shift late. It was not in her nature to suspect such treatment or mind it if she did suspect, for a kitchen at all, safe and warm and full of sharp spice was a Faranth-given blessing. And there was a simple pleasantness to being in the kitchens with no one around to pester or berate you.

Aithbre rolled the klah bark in neat circles in the middle of her pan, letting the heat of the fire roast it until it popped and crackled before adding it to a larger pot over the fire, already half-full of boiling water. She gave the pot a quick jiggle, breathing in the smell of cinnamon less for the joy that it would give and more for knowing how long it would take to brew. Not so very long. This would be a strong batch, good for anyone awake at such an hour, if her time-keeping were accurate. One task flowing smoothly into another, she began kneading and rolling out a sticky, buttery dough meant for meatrolls. There was an efficiency to her movements that bespoke many Turns of having done this same repetitive task, of knowing when a dough has been handled just enough, of exactly how much meat to tuck into each pocket and with what deftness of fingers.

Not that all of the meat ended up in its respective roll. A pair of wandering firelizards had espied her and were slowly creeping along the table, begging with loving pink eyes while she was looking and stalking belly-flat when they thought she wasn't. Expressionless, she made two small scoops of the crumbled, gristly herdbeast flesh, doling out one each to the flits. She watched placidly as the two crowed their delight, making a mess of themselves and their half of the table in their ravenous glee. Not to worry--she would let them have their fun and clean before anyone would think to notice the mess, or why it was that a little bit of food had gone to waste, although they'd like as not have stolen it if she hadn't made a gift of it first. Now she only had to hope that their greed was as large as their bellies, for she'd have trouble on her hands if every flit in the Weyr knew there were free handouts from a certain drudge.

The distinctive scent of brewing klah filled the room and outside hallway. It was a good morning to be awake, if it was morning at all.

[bre]

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Callisto and Gambit were infinitely proud at having convince this girl who was not theirs to give them food, radiating their pleasure and pride as they crowed and gobbled. They ate with gusto, Callisto shuffling off to the side to keep what she had grabbed away from the nasty brown she only pretended to like. She didn't trust him in the slightest. He deserved all the sass she gave him in her little firelizard mind. Used to the green flitter's temperament, Gambit ate in peace, making an absolutely mess of himself. It was more fun that way and he could not deny that he enjoyed some good fun when it came down to it. While Callisto was more than greedy enough to keep their treat a secret, Gambit was more open about what was happening, alerting a certain individual quite close to their hearts that they had been fed. Away in her bed, Jubilee blinked awake.

It was early morning. Very early morning. The candidate's body protested her rising at that hour, but her mind did not and she rolled out of bed quickly. She knew something had awaken her, something other than duty, but it took her a moment to identify that it was her flitters up to no good. They should have known better, after months of starving at sea. They may have been hungry, but they should have behaved. Shaking her head, she shoved boots onto her feet and shuffled out of the candidates' barrack as quietly as she could, making every effort not to wake anyone in the rooms next to hers. The air outside was cold and her cheeks flushed a ruddy red color as she stepped out, but she just continued along, shuffling against the wind that blew through threw the Weyr. She focused on tracing her way to where her errant pets were.

Jubilee smelled klah. Fresh klah. After all eternity, she could still identify that scent, drifting out from the Weyr's kitchens. This Weyr's kitchens. It had always been a different Weyr's kitchens before that day, a named Weyr's kitchen. She ambled her way down the hall and then stepped into the room. Sure enough, there was Callisto and Gambit, licking the remnants of herdbeasts off their muzzles and still as greedy and ravenous as ever despite their unjust snack. Whistling sharply, the candidate gained their attention. An obedient if annoyingly bemused brown, Gambit immediately fluttered over and lazed across her shoulder, perfectly reclined. Callisto just bared her teeth in a snarl, claws grating against the wood of the table where she stood. "I was going to feed you both anyway;" Jubilee informed the green directly, voice quite mild and tolerant, not angry at all.

Letting the small flitter be bratty as was her nature, the candidate gave the drudge who had given into her flitters' demand an apologetic, appreciative nod. She didn't know the girl, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. Eventually, she was sure that she would know everyone, but she couldn't even yet list off most of the weyrfolk she had dealt with. She ambled across the space to the hearth where a pot of klah was brewing. She didn't know if it was done, but she didn't particularly care. Fetching a cup for herself, more than able to get it without help, she poured herself some of the steaming liquid. It warmed her hands quickly, but she let it cool a little before she took a drink. While it still scalded her tongue mildly, the klah had an enlivening effect on her and she straightened after her drink. Her hand rose from her side to give Gambit's neck an affectionate scratch.

After a brief survey of the room, Jubilee's eyes settled on the drudge again. There wasn't anyone else to look at and the girl's work caught her attention. "Do you need any help?" It wasn't so much as question as an inquiry she was using to gather information. If this drudge who she did not know and really needed to learn the name of said she didn't need help but seemed to have plenty left to do anyway, Jubilee would say she had kitchen chores or some such thing and help despite that. If the drudge replied in the affirmative, that was that. She'd have something to do. "I'm Jubilee. This is Gambit and that, over there, is Callisto." With that, she took care of the issue of names. She also shot her green flitter a look. With an ever so charming snort, the lithe, little beast rose up and came over to join Gambit, curling tightly around her neck.

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[pocketowl]

Aithbhre spared the firelizards a quick glance every few minutes, just to make sure that neither of them was choking. The noises that the green was making made choking seem like a very potential hazard. But countless Turns of natural selection seemed to be working in Callisto and Gambit's favor--and the drudge's too, for firelizard resuscitation was no easy or safe task.

Her shoulders stiffened for the shortest of seconds at the unexpected voice behind her. Caught red-handed... no, caught meaty-tabled, even worse. Aithbhre looked up from the pair of firelizards and looked the girl over for what must have felt like too long a time. It was clear that she was sizing her up, taking a mental measurement to figure out the whys and hows of her. As her eyes roved Jubilee her hands continued about their work, as if they had done this same task enough times that it was no longer necessary to give conscious thought to what she was doing. Funny, the things that got committed to muscle memory... not hefting a weapon, or defending oneself from zombie or Thread, but making rolls. Her eyes followed the girl from the doorway to the pot of klah, although she had the good grace to turn her head back to her work, so that she was looking at Jubilee through her peripheral vision. It was still an unnerving sort of thing to do, if this girl was the easily-unnerved sort.

Ah, names were given. Callisto, Gambit, Jubilee. Aithbhre committed each to memory by setting her gaze to them--bratty green, easy-going brown--before finally moving back to Jubilee, locking eyes with her. It was fairly clear from her expression that she was trying to remember how one was supposed to respond to such an introduction. It felt like a long time since she had carried out this ritual of friendly greeting. It was taking considerable thought to remember the steps to what was supposed to be an easy dance. And then there were the particulars of it, the connotative nuances between, "My name is," and "I am called," and "I am." In the end she could only think to mirror the same phrases of speech that she had been given.

"I am Aithbhre," she said back, her gaze finally falling back to the work in her hands. When had she made a dozen more rolls? She had not been aware. There was an unused quality to her voice, something not-quite-right with the perfectly measured and enunciated syllables and the lack of feeling behind them, as if it were possible to speak with no inflection of emotion behind the words. To be neither friendly or unfriendly. She thought out her next few sentences very carefully, for this was to be the longest thought she had completed aloud in so long, she wanted it to be exactly as it should be.

"I do not need help," she finally settled on, having made another dozen rolls in the meantime. "But," she continued, leaving a pause so that she did not confuse her intentions, "there is no time at which I can not use help." There, surely that had done it. Letting it be known that she could always manage on her own, but leaving open the opportunity of helping if this girl, this Jubilee, so chose. She struggled for another long interval with the possibility of saying more words, trying to figure out if she was cluttering up the room too much with her speaking, weighing the benefits of being specific and helpful with the negatives of having to use her voice, of coming off as bossy or demeaning, of tens of variables that most people would not have given a second thought to.

"...More klah can be made, and more rolls. The table wants for cleaning, but the fault of that is my own and you need not feel responsible for what is my own fault in doing." Aithbhre let out a soft breath of relief, her throat feeling itchy and her head swimming a little from the exchange. Had it always been so hard to be near people who spoke with her, as opposed to speaking to or at her? She could not remember. Time was a funny thing these days, or so it seemed.

[bre]

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The other girl spoke awkwardly; Jubilee wouldn't have been able to match the formalities unless she'd tried very hard. She got the meaning of what the drudge said, but she wasn't sure how to respond in kind. In truth, she didn't see the point. That wasn't how you spoke. No one spoke like that if they had any sense. It wasn't practical. Maybe there could have been a reason to speak so blandly in days long past, but the end of the world called for truth to be issued with each word. Lies had been shattered, left broken on the floor. There were no fairy tales. There were no scary stories, aside from the ones that occurred everyday. She didn't see the point of speaking without passion or emotion. In that day and age, everyone needed a little fury. Everyone needed to be able to fight and scream until the pain subsided enough to keep going. Sorrow and hurt had to be used.

In the end, Jubilee settled for manners, hoping to put the other girl at ease. "It's nice to meet ya', Aithbhre." Her voice was made of gentle waves edged with toughness. She was young, but she knew how to speak. Even though she couldn't talk like Aithbhre, she could get what she needed to say said. Her voice showed experience, expressing some harsh sort of knowledge that was softened with wisdom. Her face was not expressive, her boyish appearance making it difficult to show what little femininity she retained. She didn't really mind. It was her voice and her actions that showed what she needed to show. She was no dancer and she certainly wasn't a singer, but she was strong and she was stubborn. When she needed to speak, she would speak and her voice could not be squashed. She hadn't survived to live in silence. She had survived to keep going.

When Aithbhre listed what needed to be done, Jubilee smiled. She didn't love work, but having something do would make her feel productive and she was happy to help. "I'll clean the tables. Gambit can help me;" she said with a bit of a grin. The brown shot her a look, not appearing to quite believe what she was saying, and Callisto skittered off, disappearing to seek shelter from the possibility of such degrading work. It wasn't like the candidate had thought she would help. Fetching a couple of rags, she passed Aithbhre and went to the tables. They were looking a bit grimy. They could use a good scrubbing. She started cleaning them and Gambit helped, pushing rags about when she switched to a new spot or decided to use a different bit of cloth. He wasn't exactly very focused or interested in the job, but he was helpful in his own charming way.

Every so often, Jubilee would look up at Aithbhre as she started to work. She felt a motherly need to mettle in the other girl's life. She found herself sympathetic to the pitiful, odd creature in front of her and she wanted to help. That was always what she wanted to do, for better or for worse. She wanted to help. This little kitchen drudge was her new duckling, a new baby to push into line until she could spread her wings and fly. That was how she worked. Her eyes would always settle on the shy ones. She'd always end up standing next to the person she felt needed support, even if they didn't want it to be her. She watched Aithbhre for a few moments, using glances while she diligently scrubbed. Then she decided how to proceed. Talking never hurt. "How're ya' doing today? Life going good?" She posed the questions gently, as if she wasn't prying.

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[pocketowl]

This girl's voice was a peculiar sort of comfort, one that Aithbhre was at a loss to accept. Not the syrup-thick brogue of drudges--a language that she herself had once known but had somehow lost, like an old skin that no longer fit--or the cold-sharp-highs of well-bred holdfolk, but something more akin to the way that the traders had spoken to one another. Concise and strong and full of inflection, a necessity for times when voices could not be raised, for fear of spooking the runnerbeasts. The drudge furrowed her brow very slightly as she worked, picking through the clockwork of her own cognition, trying to identify what it was that she was feeling and what that meant and how she ought to be dealing and reacting to the complicated paths running through her own head. It felt as though there were some little beast tucked away in the deepest part of her chest; it was normally a quiet thing, save at nighttime when sometimes it would writhe and be heavy and white metal hot and she would wake with tears in her eyes or the quietest of screams trapped in her throat. Jubilee's voice was provoking that creature, only just the tiniest stirring. It was most troublesome.

Aithbhre abandoned the rolls to proof in favor of fussing over the klah. She thought briefly of pouring a small cup for herself, a welcome mental distraction from pulling apart her own rudimentary emotions by keeping her mind occupied in weighing the implications of taking something without permission against the possibility that finding someone to ask permission of would make her an annoyance. It took only a half second to come to conclusion, for she was quick at these weighings-of-things. She put the thought of it out of her head. It was not her's to take and she would not seek out and pester someone about what was a want and not a need. There were very few things that she truly needed, and even those she would put off seeking for as long as possible. Little wonder that she was still all bones and angles.

She watched Jubilee and Gambit as they worked, making no effort to be sneaky in her voyeurism. She just wanted to watch and understand, even if just to see the spaces in which her help might be useful. Perhaps it would feel odd to the other girl, to be watched so closely but with such trusting, open eyes. Not many Pernese carried themselves without wariness and those that did were usually dimglows or idiots or children. Aithbhre had been mistaken for such more than once, and her attentive, unguarded gazes were as much a part of that as her odd speech and stretches of awkward silence. If she sensed such trains of thought in Jubilee she hid her reactions to them well; hid any reaction at all completely, in fact. Other than a tense flicker of eyelids when Jubilee spoke at her, it would be easy to assume that nothing was going on at all between the girl's ears, much less the constant grinding, weighing, processing of possibilities.

It was a difficult question, this, "how are you doing how is life," idea. She was, life was. What other modifiers could there be? She was somewhere between warm and cold, there was something in her that might be hunger or thirst, but these were not answers to "how are you." Easier if she had been asked "what are you," for there was no end of answers to that, girl and drudge and not-cold-not-warm, it encompassed all of those things. But how was she? how was life? She had no answers stored away for these, and the expectation to answer loomed larger the longer that she put off speaking. It was truly distressing, and Aithbhre angled her body away with a sharp movement, busying herself with putting one set of rolls away to bake and removing another from the fire, their contents still bubbling out of corners.

She slid the tray onto the tabletop and backed away a few paces, as if she were likely to catch an elbow on it and burn herself if she got too near. But it was Jubilee that she felt as if she might burn herself on. The beast in her chest, she could feel it breathing, and she could not understand that it was memory and the emotions all tangled up in them. She had buried such ideas too long ago to so easily unearth or classify them. She made words to fill the silence and to cut off that part of herself that was so distressed and confused by the whole ordeal.

"The table is much better, thank you. Those rolls should be safe to eat in a minute. Is there anything else that you need of me?"

[bre]

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Jubilee continued to work. To her, the work was beneath the talk, a fact of life but an inconsequential one. Work was something that occurred, but it did not shape her, not that sort of work. There was important work, of course, the work of guiding and the work of learning, but scrubbing a table was a simple task, one that would do little harm if left undone. Of course, it was not in her nature to leave things undone. It was in her nature to do, which was why it was so simple to complete the task in front of her, talking or listening, each in turn, as was headed. There was nothing she could not balance, no tasks that couldn't be done at the same time. She guided Gambit with little thought, keeping her eyes mostly on the girl across the room. She did not mind being watched. Any glance from Aithbhre was returned with a small, omnipresent smile and a kind look in her soft brown eyes.

When Aithbhre did not immediately answer her question, Jubilee let it be. It was easy to just continue to work and let the minutes tick off on a distant clock. She was a patient girl. Her siblings had taught her patience from the very start and the ending fall had refined the skill. She knew patience within reason, and she knew that the skittish drudge in front of her could use a great deal of patience. However, though her patience did not end when Aithbhre turned away, Jubilee did sigh. She turned her eyes down to her work, scrubbing furiously at the wood beneath her cloth. Gambit noticed, but let her be. The hairless girl, her head topped in nothing but peach fuzz, was not upset. She was simply thinking. Despite the negative reaction her concern had elicited, she was not about to give up on helping Aithbhre grow and prosper. No, no, she was going to make sure that the drudge girl got a better life and a little hope. Wouldn't be easy, she was sure, but it would be worthwhile. It would be right. Not necessarily just, but right.

Aithbhre spoke, out of the blue, and Jubilee blinked, eyes still down towards the table. Then she raised her head and the same kindly smile lay on her lips as before, no surprise or judgment in her expression. The only thing her face harbored was a bit of grim and dirt. The question was saddening and awkward for Jubilee, but she did not let that show. There was simply a knowing gleam in her eyes, a light that set them apart. That was the only thing that set them apart, in Jubilee's mind, though she knew that Aithbhre though she was so much better than a drudge. While a candidate then, and the daughter of a solid family before, Jubilee was not a prideful creature in any respect. Demanding on occasion, sure; confident, no doubt, but not egocentric or egotistical. The only difference between her and Aithbhre was attitude. Perhaps their ranks were different, if one truly looked at them, but rank didn't matter, not in their Pern, so that didn't matter.

"No, I don't need anything;" Jubilee assured the drudge, voice soft. It was as if she was trying to sooth a frightened runner, which, in many ways, she was. The principles were much the same, though she didn't know it. She had always liked people more than animals. It hurt too much to cling animals those days. Wasn't practical. Gambit and Callisto were enough for her in the way of pets. "And it wasn't any trouble;" Jubilee added, nodding her head towards the table. Until the other girl had come over, she had still been working, scrubbing the surface beyond the point of reason. Actually, she believed it within the realm of reason still. She couldn't see her reflection in it or anything like that. It had simply been very close to leaving that realm. Dropping his rag, Gambit came bounding over. He tilted his head at Aithbhre and offered her a long trill as way of conversing.

"I should probably go. Got chores and all;" Jubilee spoke easily, words strung together in a sensible fashion. She wasn't making chatter. She wasn't lying. She was making conversation, and it was pure and simple. Picking up Gambit's rag as well as her own, she moved to put them away. He hopped up onto her arm and then scrambled up on to her shoulder so he could accompany her, causing her to chuckle low under her breath. It took her only a moment to drop the rags where they belong. Then she turned and faced Aithbhre again, hands on her hips. "I'll see you around though." The knowing look came into her eyes again, a look harsh enough for practicality but gentle enough for the same as well. Before she left, though, she snatched up a roll and grinned in simple delight. Then she dipped her head as way of offering an open ended farewell and was off with Gambit.

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