I Ain't That Late

Writers: Devin, Yvonne
Date Posted: 6th December 2025

Characters: M'sar, Oselle
Description: Mesarian is late for chores and the Headwoman is having none of it.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 11, day 16 of Turn 12

"You're late." Oselle watched with pursed lips as the candidate Mesarian careened into the kitchens over half a candlemark later than he should have arrived. After several reports that the lad had been shirking his chores, the Headwoman herself had decided to meet him in front of the dishwashing station he was supposed to be at. And hadn't been. "Care to explain yourself?"

Aw, feck. The Headwoman. "Got a little. . . delayed." His expression was carefully neutral, but there was a slight gleam in his eyes.

She arched an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

He started coming up with a lie, but that had been a lot easier to do when he wasn't sticking around somewhere. "Had something important to do and lost track of time."

"Important such as...?"

"Assisting a dragonrider," he said with his best innocent smile. "Assisting dragonriders is part of our duty as weyrfolk, right ma'am?"

"Not when you're meant to be in the Kitchens," Oselle said sternly, the innocent smile clearly having no effect. "I have had several complaints about tardy behaviour. You are not exempt from your duties and your duties are not something you can put off simply because you do not feel like it or you forgot."

Stupid rules. Stupid chores. Stupid Headwoman breathing down his neck. "I ain't that late."

"Late is late," she told him. "This is your one and only warning from me. If you choose to continue to be late to your chores, then you won't Stand. A dragonrider must be able to adhere to a schedule. Do you understand me?"

Mesarian clenched his fist, thinking of the knife hidden under his trousers. Not that he wanted to stab her, just . . . brandish it a little. He felt better with a knife in his hand, and that fecking Weyrlingmaster had only let him keep one. Talon was lonely without his sharp, shiny friends. "Yeah," he muttered.

She narrowed her eyes a little, reading rebellion in the slouch of his shoulders and downturned mouth. "It is a privilege to be allowed on the Sands. Getting noticed by a dragon is only half of it. The other half, you must earn by demonstrating that you're worthy of consideration by the Weyrleaders as well. Here's your dishwashing station." She gestured to the empty basin and stack of dirty pots and pans behind her. "I'm assigning you an extra half candlemark of dishwashing per day for the next sevenday. _Don't_ be late."

He bit back a reply. He just had to make it to the Hatching. He just had to get his dragon, and then no one could ever take him away from here. This was nothing. He'd been through way worse than washing dishes and having to listen to an old wherry with a stick up her ass. Mesarian grabbed the nearest pot and stuck it in the soapy water.

She watched him for a moment to be sure that he'd actually start working, then left him to his own devices. Mesarin deserved watching. The eggs on the Sands and her dragonriders already flying Thread in Wings needed new dragonriders they could count on, and she was yet to be convinced that any of these unfortunate Holdless were fit to join them.

Last updated on the December 20th 2025

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I Ain't That Late