Silent Indignation - Tithe Counting

[Kitari]

Of all of the possible tasks...this was surely a direct attack. Treylis, who the dragonriders knew very well to be the son of a Lord Holder, found himself standing in a poorly lit storage room overflowing with crates stuffed full of fruit, grains, and a variety of other food items. These were, of course, the tithes delivered from the Holds to the Weyr: the results of a season of labour, dutiful farmers encouraging the growth of their crops to feed family and Hold, snatched by the greedy dragonriders who had marched back into Pern as if they deserved and owned the world.

Now, to be forced to count the very stores likely stolen from his own Hold, as he had been, simply added greater insult to injury. Treylis had been livid upon seeing the 'Chore List' for the first time, but the watchful eyes of the Weyrfolk had prevented him from any recent escape attempts. Thus, the day he had long dreaded finally arrived, and the Lordling stood in the doorway, unwilling to enter and begin. He must always be on time, even for events he detested, for that was only proper of a future Lord Holder. The Weyr may try to defeat him, but Treylis would not lose those core values that made him who he was.

It was no consolation that the young man would be joined by another candidate, for he had little interest in bothering to 'make friends'. Treylis was here for the time, it was true, but he did not intend to stay in the Weyr forever. At his first opportunity, he would be gone. He saw little point in staying for the Hatching; stolen for political reasons, there was really no chance he would Impress. The young man staunchly believed that his 'Search' had been entirely made up.

The task could not be prolonged any longer. Treylis urged his limbs out of their rigid state, fighting every step into the room. It seemed like a betrayal to his Hold to partake in this at all, but it couldn't be helped. He could do more for his Hold by playing along until an opportunity to escape arose. Then, he could return home and tell his Father of all he had witnessed. All strongholds had weaknesses...

[D'gellin]

Fallen kicked moodily at the wall beside him, dark eyes glaring up at the chore list with disdain. Now the Weyr was just trying to tick him off. He turned away, burrowing his hands in his pockets. Of all the chores to get stuck with, it had to be counting tithes. It had to be tallying the hard-earned labor of good holder folks' work. His rebel blood boiled indignantly at the very notion. This was the first of many reasons why he loathed Araelen and all its leeching inhabitants. For his part, he'd been taking note of every resource he'd been forced to use in the Weyr, and planned to pay it back in full to its rightful owners, somehow. His fasting hadn't gone unnoticed either; it showed in his slimming body and shallow face. The almost jovial robust form had long been abandoned in favor of rebellion in the only way he could at the moment. As if to remind the young man of his martyrdom, his stomach rumbled plaintively in protest. Vaguely he considered that his protesting was only hurting himself, but it had more to do with pride than action.

The Weyr was growing at an obnoxious pace; parasitic and unwanted in Fallen's eyes. So when he finally saw the amassed tithe he was more disgusted than surprised by the wealth acquired. He sucked in a breath of indignation and a few choice swear-words, eyes narrowing at the room piled high with precious stores. "Leeches." He murmured, his dark mood making the word sound like a curse. For all their talk he'd still seen no sign of the protection Araelen had promised. Thread no longer fell. And thus Fallen was certain this was all some sort of elaborate scam.

He hadn't even realized another person was in the room until the movement caught his distracted eyes. He quirked a brow at the Lordling, unable to place a name to the face. He hadn't exactly made use of his easy conversation skills since coming here. A Trader didn't profit when anchored to one place after all. It didn't help that he was loath to share any company with the people he thought of as his adversaries. But he at least recognized Treylis as a candidate, so he reasoned that the other young man must be here for the same torture. “Shall we?” He voice at length, tone flat and eyes livid with repressed fury as he gestured toward the reserves. Allowing the Weyr bully him around was beginning to wane on his relatively low supply of patience.

[Kitari]

It was with reluctant hands that Treylis had begun to lift redfruits out of a crate, one-by-one, keeping a running tally in his head. He set each of them down neatly on a ruck sack laid on the floor and would replace them all, just as carefully, once the task was completed. How he longed to curl his hands into fists, though, and crush the soft fruit! If they could not nourish the men who had grown them, they would be better rotting in the ground. However, the young man had already found himself on a 'list' of sorts, which meant that the Weyrfolk were watching him, and this display of devience would only serve to increase the number of watchful eyes.

It was then that he was startled by a dark mutter behind him. 'Leeches.' Treylis fumbled for a moment, nearly dropping the redfruit, but managed to recover quickly. He turned guilty eyes on the newcomer, as if his thoughts had been overheard, and was relieved to note that it was a candidate rather than a supervisor. Not that candidates could be trusted any more...there were likely rats among them. But that word, spat out like a fruit found rotten, suggested that the other young man was far from a Loyal rat. Treylis would have been suspicious, had the other candidate not looked at him with sudden startlement, obviously surprised to realize there was a person in the room.

Treylis studied the young man for a moment, aware that he was likely receiving the same study, and nodded shortly when the query was made. After all, with the dozen or so redfruits laid out on the ruck sack, it was evident that he had begun already. He turned cautiously back to his work, though eyeing the other candidate out of the corner of his eye. "I'm making a pile, over there," he gestured to the corner where a single redfruit lay, "for fruits that are rotting. They have sat down here so long, with all of the other plenties the Weyr has to consume, that some of them have begun to spoil."

It was a test, of course. Treylis wished to determine whether or not the young man was of a like mind on this Weyr matter, or whether the muttered statement before had been unrelated to the scene in the store room. "I'm Treylis, by the way," he added, deciding to depart from titles for now. He didn't wish to frighten the other candidate from being perfectly candid with him. He extended a hand briefly, dark eyes watching for the other's reaction.

[D'gellin]

Fallen rolled his neck, cracking out the tensity in his shoulders before joining the other candidate. The last thing he needed was a twitching muscle on top of everything else. His mouth formed a thin line as Treylis spoke, outlining what had already been accomplished in Fallen's absence. But his teeth clenched audibly at the notion of the fruit, left untouched in the store of so many supplies, becoming spoiled. For a brief moment it occurred it him that Treylis' hinted bias could have been a trap. And more cautious minds might have treated the thought with more concern. But Fallen didn't fall on the wary spectrum by any means. And his quick temper didn't help either. He absently brushed his short blond hair off his forehead, appraising Treylis with dark glinting eyes. The other candidate was a fair actor but if anyone could recognize hidden frustration it was Fallen.

"I don't suppose fruit is the only thing spoiling around here." He commented at length, picking up one of the crated red-fruits with forcibly sedated hands. He owed it to the holders not to destroy their hard work on an angry whim. He glanced around, finding another rucksack to start his own tally, so as not to confuse Treylis' current count.

When Treylis introduced himself, Fallen nodded, firmly shaking the offered hand. "You can call me Fallen." He replied with just a shadow of a smile. Weather they were of similar minds had yet to be factually discerned, but in the case that Treylis were a little Loyalist, the suggested grin could have been mistaken for mockery.

"So, Treylis, what brings you to Araelen?" He asked flippantly as he returned to his own tally, bitter grin still playing at his lips. Two could play at beating around the bush.