Fort Weyr - Storage Room
This room is filled with shelves, crates and boxes of dried goods, material, and other necessities of weyr life. The shelves are kept neat and tidy at all times and the floor has been swept clean recently. Occasionally a candidate or fosterling can be found in here cleaning and tidying, or checking for signs of tunnel snake or other pest infestations.

There is always something to clean down here, and Hazelon has been tapped to do such cleaning. He kneels on the floor eyeing what can only be the carcass of some kind of pest. A cloth in his hands is there to help him scoop up the creature to be disposed of.

Oh, delightful! Dead things. That is exactly what Inri wants to walk in on, when there's already dust in her hair; she's wearing high-heeled boots most likely to avoid stepping on those things, and holding a clipboard. Sure, there are computerized records, but that's just not really … her style; Fort's goldriders stick to old-fashioned. Old-fashioned ish, it's still paper and not hide. "Okay," she says to probably-herself, "just need to check on the seed for — eurgh, that looks awful, you poor thing," rapidly changes direction so she's talking to Hazelon instead.

Easily spooked is Hazelon, especially when his attention is fully placed upon the task at hand. Namely picking that thing up without touching it. The jumpyness is just enough for him to miss the thing with the rag and actually end up touching it. But that's not important, "Sorry ma'am."

"For what?" Inri's eyebrow raise is at least relatively friendly, not skeptical or judgmental; most of it is at the touching-dead-thing part, anyway. "Doing your job, cleaning up a mess? Nothing to be sorry for." In turns past, she might've immediately said to call her by her first name, but in the time since Dtirae stepped down and Nyalle stepped up, she's trying out a bit of 'ma'am' not being immediately repulsive. "Who stuck you with this job anyway?"

When the woman calls back his attention to what he should be doing, Hazelon looks down to find his hand right on the pest. He winces just slightly and moves the rag over it so that he can scoop it up in it and have it safely out-of-view. "I just needed to be done," he'll shrug just slightly as he wraps the creature up tightly to prevent it from falling out again. "so I was told to do it ma'am."

"I hope your usual job isn't 'clean up dead things,'" Inri muses, giving it a final sickened look before pulling something out of one of her pockets and offering it to him — a wrapped hard candy, it turns out. "Try this, it might help with the — scent, if there's been one bothering you."

(Ginger candy, for the record.)

"It's a little of everything ma'am," His voice is soft as he actually moves to put the dead thing behind him, and out f sight. When the candy is produced he'll look at it, a bit awkwardly, and shift in place. "I, um, probably shouldn't ma'am, since my hands aren't clean."

"Unwrap it when they are, then," Inri urges, because really, one needs something nice after that particular experience. "And I hope that's an interesting job that sometimes yields, you know, better than this? Stores cleaning isn't a bad job, we usually keep it quite nice in here — there are no candidates right now so it fell on your shoulders, I suppose. Unless you were one? A candidate, I mean — not one of mine, but I do lose track sometimes."

All the words, Hazelon will just stand there mute, not completly sure what to do with all of them as they was through him. "No, um, I mean, someone has to do it." The candy is eyed once again, and he shifts the dead creature over to one hand and reaches out for it, though with just the tips of his fingers.

That's Inri for you. Lots of words. She is not one for silences; she is definitely one for filling them as rapidly and easily as possible. "Sure. Doesn't always have to be you, though — and usually the terrible jobs go to candidates. I still don't remember you, though, I try not to forget names — what's yours? I'm Inri," she says, starts to extend her hand and then doesn't, with a self-conscious laugh.

The candy is tucked into a pocket, maybe later, or maybe he'll just let it's dirtied surface go somewhere less pleasant. There's a moment of panic there when she begins to reach out her hand, she isn't going to… but no. The skittish teenager lets out a relieved breath when she puts her hand away. "Um, it's Hazelon ma'am."

No, she got there. Thankfully. Inri is actually smarter than she looks! And smarter than she acts a good deal of the time, too. "Hazelon," she pronounces carefully, committing the sound to memory and hopefully not letting it slip again. "Nice to meet you; unfortunate circumstances though it may be. Want to help me with something that's a bit less — gruesome? Though you'll need to clean your hands, first. And it's still boring. Just less dead."

Hazelon squishes the thing a bit in his hand, the sound of the squelch enough to be heard. He winces slightly, "Don't mind borin' ma'am, just let me be gettin' rid of this, and lettin' the staff know where I'll be."

"… yes." No complaints from Inri, who definitely made a face. One that was incredibly undignified, and she tried to mask it quickly, but it was most certainly there. "That sounds prudent. I'll be right here." Hoping not to see any more dead anything, or even any living pests; a bronze firelizard blinks in from between to settle across her shoulders, perhaps as added protection. "You can tell Talica, or Zhirayr, or whoever you run into that I just need some help moving things about is all! Won't take long."

Moving things, Hazelon can do moving things! The second Inri is done speaking though, he takes off- not quite running, but for sure not a walk. He disappears up the stairs swiftly enough anyway, the sound of his footfalls gone. When he does return though, probably much more quickly than one would expect (he probably ran most of the way), he comes with hands being air dried after a scrubbing.

And Inri is climbing a shelf, of course. Trying to get a box she absolutely cannot reach down to a level where she can. "These," she calls, with no sense of discomfort from the fact she's scaled a shelving unit and isn't she a weyrwoman and shouldn't she get someone else to do that, "are all full of summerweight fabrics and they need to be over there —" her free hand gets waved toward another shelving unit far closer to the door. "Not heavy, just bulky. And a bit high up!"

Hazelon will pause in that doorway, long enough to stare for a moment at the weyrwoman with her feet up off the ground. But just for a second though, because she's calling out to him. This time he does run the few steps to her side, reaching upwards to take the box from her, "Um, ma'am… are you sure that's safe? I could get you a stool…" Please don't fall and break yourself ma'am.

"Oh, it's sturdy," Inri promises, "I did this all the time when I was a candidate, and a few times since, though I wouldn't recommend it to anyone twice my size." She's slender-built and quick on her feet, at least; if the shelf falls over, Inri will go uninjured. "Though if you'd rather climb and pass things down to me to move, instead, I don't mind," Inri adds as she passes over box the first. "I was just getting tired of — sometimes if a thing needs doing you just need to do it, you know, and it is much easier for me to put together a reliable budget when I see things."

See, all the words again. Hazelon is stuck between a rock and hard place as he tries to decide which would be worse, the woman falling and hurting herself, or her having to do more work. The battle might play a bit upon his face as his brow wrinkles with worry as that box is moved to where the woman has pointed out.

Which brings — silence. And consternation, for Inri, who doesn't like silence; if her companion is not going to talk, the answer is simply that she is going to talk more, to herself or to the firelizard who has repositioned himself on top of the shelf. "A lot of this was pretty expensive, too, which makes it a real shame that it's all, you know, in a corner getting dusty. And it makes it difficult to inventory properly in order to," She trails off as she passes Hazelon another couple of boxes, because whatever the end of the sentence actually was? Not actually as important as moving the boxes. That, or she forgot what it was.

Hazelon allows his arms to be piled, and then overpiled with boxes. He actually opens his mouth once to ask if maybe he could go, but then she's continuing to talk, and so his jaw snaps shut as another box is added to his pile. He juggles them carefully in his arms, her comment about them being expensive only making him more uneasy about the size of his load. But wait, there is a break in the talking. "I'll just be takin' these ma'am," And he scoots away over in the direction of not-in-piling-distance to deliver the boxes where they go.

It takes Inri a minute to realize that wasn't intuitive; that, in fact, he was waiting for her to say it was okay to move. "Oh," she starts, after a minute of letting that sit in, "you don't need to — you can move them one at a time, don't worry about being overburdened! I can wait here, I won't fall or anything." She's actually gotten very good at balancing on that shelf, as it turns out.

"Just didn't want to let anything fall," Hazelon manages to get out, his voice way too quiet against her chipper chatter. It takes him a moment to arrange those boxes just so, before he's moving back over to the woman, wary about getting right behind her. "Just… would rather not see you be fallin' ma'am. You can never tell what might happen…"

"I promise you, don't worry about me, I do this all the time." No wonder Talica can't really stand Inri; she gets on with her better than she did Dtirae, and Nyalle is probably a dream to the Headwoman, but goldriders climbing on shelving units. To make inventory easier. Needless to say the next gold Impression will be trained under Nyalle and will probably be a lot more mild-mannered than Inri and — well, Jajen is a case of her own. She's careful to at least just offer the lad one box this time, and then wait. "You're just a generic caverns worker, don't have any specialized job? 'cause this place could use someone in here all day." It's not an offer, it's an observation.

"Aye ma'am, just doin' whatever they ask me to." The wait is appriciated, and Hazelon actually smiles with thanks at not having to choose between dropping and not dropping things. He is able to be more careful how it sets it down, before heading back for another. "If you're thinkin' maybe I could be good at it," is his rather noncommittal response. "Suppose it wouldn't be too bad to not be running around as much," though he adds swiftly, looking up at the weyrwoman with concern, just in case she should misunderstand, "I don't mind what I'm doin' right now."

"Most people like to specialize eventually." This is the first time they've spoken, so Inri hasn't been prying outrageously into his motivations, or asking about his past, or even a casual 'where you from,' which comes from most people, and yet she tends to handle that sort of information delicately. Just because it can be; because for a while she wouldn't answer that question. "So it might be something to do, think about what you might want to do when you decide you want to settle on — doing something." And here's another box! "Though you seem young enough to stand, still, I guess candidacy is something most weyr residents of a certain age do." Another thing she never quite acclimated to, having only tried the once.

"I… hadn't thought about it ma'am." Hazelon continues to work as he talks, the box stack slowly growing larger as he carefully places them where they ought to go. "Don't want to be a bother, still grateful the weyr took me in." He doesn't comment on the chances at candidacy, having not actually considered the idea.

"They — we — do that. Did it for me too. Of course there's nothing wrong with not having a dragon; I wasn't planning on it either, it just seems like the rite of passage. Stand at least once. Pretty sure that's why I did, too — that and Velokraeth was persuasive." He kept looking at her. That is clearly what Inri calls persuasive. "You clearly earn your keep. These are about done, though, just this last one," and here it is, "do please give yourself a break after."

Hazelon will have to chew on this bit of information- has anyone ever come out and said it just like that? "I'll think about it ma'am." The last box is placed where it ought to go and he looks up at the woman hanging off of the shelves. "Are ye sure you aaren't needing any help ma'am?" Like getting down without getting hurt?

"Fine! Completely fine!" Inri chirps, and proves her point by jumping off the shelves — though, no doubt, she stays in the stores a few more hours yet, even as her company is gone. Hopefully, to enjoy his ginger candy. It really clears out the worst of that dead-thing smell in your nasal passages.