Dish Return Policy ((Tirael))

[Maxodis]

The head cook was upset. It wasn't accurate to say she was angry; she was acting too sullen and passive for that. But at the same time, it wasn't accurate to say she was moody either. At any moment, something could go slightly wrong and inspire her to throw the nearest cooking implement. In the frenzy of the kitchens, no matter how accustomed its regulars were to dodging and diving around each other, someone was going to get whacked. The head cook ran a very strict, efficient operation. As such, she held a standard of near perfection to everything in her immediate grasp. Unfortunately, there were a number of things that went around outside her influence that were still crucial to keeping her operation smooth. One such example (and the source of her ire this afternoon) being food trays.

There were very few of the wooden food trays, even less since the dynamic duo Redin Outmir and Sleetfang had begun their extended stay at Redwall. It was not uncommon for the food trays in question to be returned cracked, splintered, and in some cases outright demolished. More often than not, the poor beast sent to fetch them would have to be medicated with an herbal tea laced with heavy sedatives to ease their trembling after the great ordeal of braving both moody vermin for the sake doing their job. It was shortly decided that the task of retrieving the trays would become Tirael's job. They were his charges anyway.

The issue was that it was no longer just Redin and Sleet that required to have their food brought to them. There was now a Pine Marten, and that mysterious dark-furred otter that also required the service. When these two new additions had been added, at first all the trays involved had made their way back to the kitchen. Of late, they had not.

The head cook was upset.

She'd made this abundantly clear when she proclaimed that she didn't see why it was so imperative that her precious food trays go out to such poor houseguests when they could be put to better use bringing food to the elderly who could not always make it down the stairs for all of their meals. She'd almost thrown a rather sharp-edged spatula after expressing herself, but managed to reign in her frustration. It was not the fault of her staff, nor was it Tirael's fault. But regardless of whose fault it was or wasn't, there were no food trays. There were at least sixteen missing, and the rest of the staff was busy with preparations for the afternoon lunch.

Well-informed of the gravity of his task, Rhyse went on his way. It was not far to the infirmary; merely a few staircases and long hallways. The lithe otter, once assured he would not be seen and scolded for his behavior, made the most of the trip. His worn sandals hit the worn sandstone in a series of staccato slaps as he dashed down empty hallways, and strained to take the stairs in bounds of three and four steps at a time. He was standing in front of the infirmary door before the head cook's words had ceased ringing in his ears, and without the slightest traces of being winded.

Bouncing lightly on the front of his footpaws, he reached up and knocked politely on the wooden door.

[Tirael]

Tirael wasn't panicked. This came as something of a shock to him, as he was quite used to being on the verge of mental breakdown in situations like this. Three guests were staying at the abbey because of him; all three were alienating the majority of the Abbeydwellers, whether by terrifying the placid or, in the case of the many veteran fighters that hadn't opted to live in Camp Willow, arousing great suspicion bordering on paranoia. A fourth, while there for his own reasons, had still made certain that the hapless otter was the one to 'let him in.'

In other words, the usual, but multiplied by four and with the added problem of broken furniture.

Perhaps it had simply overloaded him, though, because he no longer wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and curl up until it all went away. He was now simply resigned to the fact that such events followed him like a sadistic raincloud, constantly drenching him in weirdness in the eyes of his 'friends.' Most now avoided him almost as much as they did his guests, though they were less hesitant to gossip about him while he was around. While he no longer felt stressed to his limit, he was beginning to feel rather isolated. Only Tampa's urging had kept him from retreating into the infirmary at mealtimes. Well, that and the sudden shortage of trays.

That morning, Tirael had actually asked Hurrth if he could make extras. though he was certain the mole had signed something to his little nephew while he wasn't looking, the otter at least received assurance that new trays would be made to replace those destroyed by Sleet and Redin. Currently, he was trying to daub resin into several knife marks on Sleet's latest victim; a small pot of the stuff simmered next to him, and he was in the middle of his work when a knock sounded at the door.

"Uh...just a second!" he called, glancing about the room for a place to hide the damaged platter. If somebeast saw him treating this particular patient, it would be a perfect reminder of what he'd brought upon the Abbey; he'd lost enough friends. Depositing the tray into a linen cabinet, he rushed to the door, straightened his tunic, and tried to appear nonchalant.

"Oh, Rhyse," he said, mild surprise in his voice. He rarely saw the energetic Streamsurge outside the kitchens. "Um...do you need something?"

[Maxodis]

"Uh...just a second!"

Bounce bounce bounce. Rhyse watched a twisted knot in the wood of the infirmary door as it bobbed up and down. The wood wasn't actually moving of course, but if the otter focused his vision on that one point, the rest of the door blurred out enough that he could almost believe it. Tirael was certainly taking his time, what was he doing in there? He had just begun to run a mental list of possibilities when the door opened suddenly.

"Oh, Rhyse. Um...do you need something?"

His mind worked faster than his mouth did, and he happily with a cheery "Hi-llo!" Hardly a fraction of a second later, Rhyse's face twisted in confusion, followed with flashes of shock, horror, and finally, embarassment. Spanning scarcely a few seconds, he immediately hid his face in his paws in a belated hope to hide the rapid shifts of his expression. No more than a second after that, he caught on to the futility of his attempt. Time to start over.

"S-sorry, hi." he stuttered, still glowing with embarrassment. He took a steadying breath before beginning anew. "I um, I got a lil' bit ahead of myself there, haha..." He trailed off, averting his eyes. Way to sound like an idiot. The short otter wished desperately at that moment that he could slow himself down. He took another deep breath, mentally shaking off the poor start. As he exhaled, the buoyant grin reappeared, appearing as if the past 10 seconds hadn't just happened.

"Master Tirael," He started confidently, his burnt hazel eyes finding the healer's. "I understand that you must by very busy tending to the entire abbey's needs by yourself, but we need those food trays we've been sending to our guests back," Rhyse covered his mouth as he giggled softly "Or Laila will give you more creatures to attend to." The two otters were not too different in height, Tirael was only a few inches taller. Rhyse noted this without much thought; the little otter had long since become accustomed to being shorter than everyone else. Still, Rhyse had seen Tirael time and time again, but had never gotten the chance to talk with him, much less get close enough to note the slight difference in height.

Coming out of his brief thoughts, Rhyse leaned slightly to try to peer around Tirael. "There must be a lot of 'em, we're certainly short quite a few..." Still leaning, he glanced back up at Tirael. "Do you want help with them?"

[Tirael]

"Hi-llo!"

"...hi," Tirael replied much more slowly. He was distracted by Rhyse's face, which apparently couldn't decide what the proper look was for the occasion. He felt no small amount of sympathy, though, as the smaller otter buried his face in his paws; Tirael was no stranger to social awkwardness, though his was of a very different type than this. He offered Rhyse a knowing smile, as if to say that he felt his pain.

"S-sorry, hi." he stuttered, still glowing with embarrassment. He took a steadying breath before beginning anew. "I um, I got a lil' bit ahead of myself there, haha..."

Tirael remained silent; he figured it was best to respond only when Rhyse was content with what he'd said. Acknowledging his first attempt, however well-intentioned it could be, would ultimately be condescending at best. And as he wasn't sensing that the dishwasher wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, he didn't want to jeopardize his chance of having somebeast beside Tam to talk to.

"Master Tirael."

He had to suppress a cringe at that; being called "Master" made him uncomfortable, as did "Mister" and "Sir."

"I understand that you must by very busy tending to the entire abbey's needs by yourself, but we need those food trays we've been sending to our guests back..."

A slight twitch of the healer's face gave away the slew of fitting expletives that rattled through his head. He wasn't done fixing the trays that still had some life in them, and he didn't want to return them full of stab-marks. And he'd hoped to return them along with the new trays Hurrth had promised him. His best-laid plans were rapidly going south.

"Or Laila will give you more creatures to attend to."

His stomach did a somersault at that. He'd heard Laila had beaten Fogg at arm-wrestling, and there was no doubt that she could beat him senseless with one paw. When he'd treated Brend for a cold weeks before, the younger shrew had mentioned she'd mellowed out after the battle; apparently, rule over Kitchen-land had given her something new to be fatally passionate about.

Tirael began to seriously consider the merits of living alone in the forest, away from all this.

"There must be a lot of 'em, we're certainly short quite a few..." Still leaning, he glanced back up at Tirael. "Do you want help with them?"

Leaning in the same direction as Rhyse to block his view (though of what, he hadn't the slightest), Tirael asked, "What kind of help?" Unless Rhyse was some sort of wizard, he doubted he could do much to help other than repeat the healer's moderately successful fill-the-holes-with-resin technique and gaze helplessly at those trays beyond repair.

[Maxodis]

"What kind of help?"

Innately curious, Rhyse leaned to the other side of the doorway, peering around Tirael in an attempt to see the infirmary within. His brow furrowed slightly, there was nothing that seemed to be out of the ordinary. Standing on one footpaw, his other hovering a few inches above the floor as a counter-balance, the short otter face screwed up in confusion as he replied. "Well help carrying them of course... unless you had something else in mind?"

His curiosity got the best of him. Seeing ample opportunity, he grasped at it. Rhyse darted forward, brushing against Tirael as he squeezed his slim figure through the narrow space offered by the doorway. Now released unchecked into the infirmary, the little otter wasted no time in exploring the new environment. By the time Tirael began to react to Rhyse's abrupt intrusion, the latter was already halfway around the room.

The little otter was everywhere at once, his face unable to adequately express his glee. He took a great curiosity to thoroughly investigating new places. There was always more to learn, more to experience, and one could never tell what surprises were waiting to be uncovered. He conducted his rapid evaluation while taking great care to leave everything untouched. He resisted the mighty urge to lift lids of curiously shaped pots and open cabinets; such behavior was just rude, and an invasion of the healer's privacy. Still, he traced his paws lightly over the interesting assortment of items in the room.

All at once he froze. With his nose lifted in the air, he sniffed carefully, catching a peculiar scent. He couldn't readily identify it, but the smell reminded him of trees. Slowly turning, his expression shifting to one of pure confusion, he sniffed at the air again. "What's... what's that smell?"

[Tirael]

"Well help carrying them of course... unless you had something else in mind?"

"Oh, um, no, that's--" Tirael began to say, but cut off in surprise as Rhyse slipped past him and into the infirmary. Whirling about, he looked on in dismay as the dishwasher visually ransacked the place; at least he had the decency not to actually shuffle things around like a madman. More importantly, though, he didn't seem to find anything amiss. So I can still get out of this with my dignity intact, Tirael thought with relief. Good. The relief was short-lived, though, as Rhyse began sniffing in confusion.

"What's... what's that smell?"

Tirael wilted as he realized what the answer was himself. How could he explain away a boiling vat of resin? It wasn't useful medicinally, and there was no need for it in an infirmary. Sighing, he figured he may as well get the embarrassment over with. "It's resin," he admitted, taking the half-repaired tray out of the cabinet. "I was...filling in the holes." Setting the tray down on the counter, he stared dejectedly at the few knife-marks that remained unfilled; they stared back, as if to say Take that.

Way to look like a weirdo. Again.

[[Baaad.]]

[Maxodis]

"It's resin,"

Although it directly answered his question, the statement did little to alleviate Rhyse's confusion. He turned to face Tirael.

"I was...filling in the holes."

His eyes widening, Rhyse walked uncharacteristically slowly to Tirael, hesitating in front of the healer for a moment before picking up the abused food tray to examine it for himself. Sure enough, the otherwise solid surface of the tray's bottom was riddled with knife-marks. It almost looked as if the tray had been balanced on its side and used for target practice. Considering that most of the knife holes were clustered around the center, it probably had.

He placed the tray back on the counter as Tirael had. Rhyse watched the healer carefully. Tirael was avoiding his eyes, but why? Shame? "So you were filling in the holes with resin..." He said quietly, slowly drawing his pawpad over the series of jagged holes. Tirael shouldn't have to feel this way. Abruptly, Rhyse's sober expression was overtaken by one of energetic mischievousness. He took up the healer's paw in his own and tugged on it. "Let me help you! It might take a while to get through them all but it will be faster if we both work on it!" He began to bounce a little, his excitement growing. "I can keep a secret, no one has to know. And..." He stopped bouncing, covering his mouth with his other paw as he giggled again. "If Laila finds out I'll tell her it was my idea. She's less likely to kill me than she would be to kill you. Even if she tries, I can outrun her!" He placed both paws over Tir's and offered him an encouraging squeeze. "C'mon. Let's get these trays fixed."

[Tirael]

"So you were filling in the holes with resin..."

Tirael nodded, still keeping his eyes riveted hopelessly on the mutilated tray. Why did things like this happen to him? He must have done something to deserve it, but he couldn't figure out what that could possibly be. Perhaps the retribution that so many creatures seemed to avoid was using him as a surrogate. That was it; he was karma's consolation prize.

"Let me help you! It might take a while to get through them all but it will be faster if we both work on it!"

Visibly startled when Rhyse grabbed his paw, Tirael just stared at him, a mixture of confusion and surprise betrayed by his widened eyes. This was the last response he had expected; that the smaller otter would react positively instead of making some half-baked excuse and leaving had been a possibility quite foreign to him. Having been so certain of his predicted outcome, he couldn't quite process what was going on now, forcing his rather vapid staring to continue.

"I can keep a secret, no one has to know. And..." He stopped bouncing, covering his mouth with his other paw as he giggled again. "If Laila finds out I'll tell her it was my idea. She's less likely to kill me than she would be to kill you. Even if she tries, I can outrun her!"

Tirael shifted his gaze to Rhyse's paws holding his own. Never had any creature gone from being a stranger to making such intimate physical contact with him so quickly. It was both unnerving and oddly reassuring, and for a moment the healer couldn't tell which feeling was stronger. He chose the latter; warm paws and a comforting smile were better than being put off by the one creature that seemed to totally accept his situation.

"C'mon. Let's get these trays fixed."

"O-okay," he finally managed to murmur in response. Somewhat reluctantly, he let go of Rhyse's paws and took the rest of the salvageable trays out of a different cabinet. One or two others had also been used for target practice, but others apparently had become blunt weapons, as evidenced by cracks or splintering that no knife would have made.

"Thank you, Rhyse," he said softly after a short while. "I...thank you."

[Maxodis]

"O-okay,"

Rhyse watched as Tirael brought out the rest of the food trays. His eyes widened when he realized that almost all of them were in poor condition. He picked one up as the healer set them down, bringing it close to his face to better examine it. The tray in question was one that had been used as a weapon. The wood was roughed up somewhat and partially splintered, but what caught the otter's eye was the dark streak of red that was splashed along one corner. He quickly put that tray back down.

"Thank you, Rhyse," he said softly after a short while. "I...thank you."

He looked up sharply, taken aback at the quiet sincerity of Tirael's tone. He stared at the healer as his mouth tried to work. He made some small degree of success, hastily attempting to say 'Sure', and 'Anytime', and failing at both, instead uttering an unintelligible combination of the two before he managed to cover his mouth with his paws. His cheeks suddenly felt hot. "N-n-n-no problem," he managed, averting his eyes and quickly picking up another tray. He raised the solid wooden object to his face as he had before, completely obstructing his view of the healer as he attempted to assess the damage.

"So," He started quietly after a long moment. "Why... why do they damage all of the trays? Our... um.... visitors, I mean. I guess."

[Tirael]

Tirael stifled his amusement as Rhyse said something along the lines of "Shennytime." For whatever reason, the other otter was alternately quite confident and the far more uncomfortable one of the pair. Was he doing something unnerving? For a moment, he began to feel nervous himself. However, he realized that if he wasn't aware of what he was doing wrong, there was no way he could stop doing it. All he could do was act natural and hope that wasn't the problem.

"N-n-n-no problem."

After smiling at Rhyse for another second or so, Tirael resumed his work. It was difficult to get it neatly into the holes; it tended to stick together as he scooped it up, and dripped over the rest of the tray as he transferred it. Half the job was wiping off the excess resin before it stuck and formed bumps on the tray surface. Glad to have something to do, the otter focused carefully and reveled in the fact that talking was unnece--

"So."

Tirael glanced up.

"Why... why do they damage all of the trays? Our... um.... visitors, I mean. I guess."

"I don't know," he responded honestly. "The best I can say is that they've never had to care about others' possessions like that, and they're not starting now." Even when they're living here, turning everybeast against me... Realizing his paws were clenching, the healer took a deep breath and uncurled them. Getting upset wouldn't do him any good, and he definitely didn't want Rhyse seeing him angry--not when they were getting on so well.

[Maxodis]

"I don't know, the best I can say is that they've never had to care about others' possessions like that, and they're not starting now."

Rhyse remained quiet for a moment as he considered this. The entire premise did not make much sense to begin with; Why would they go out of their way to damage each and every food tray? He'd heard the disgruntled mutterings of others, whispers that it was only in the duo's nature to be destructive, being vermin. They could not be counted upon to act any better. Rhyse found this explanation to be equally inconceivable. How could a creature be solely destructive by nature? No one was born with the sole purpose of sewing chaos. It simply did not make any sense.

He stared intently at the food tray before him, studying the knife-holes like they formed letters that would appear if he studied them hard enough, letters that would spell out a clear and concise answer. No matter how hard he focused on the jagged gaps in the wood, no hidden letters sprung forth. He stifled a sigh, reaching for the boiling resin.

It did not take the otter long to discover that actually repairing the food trays was more difficult than it looked. Faring little better than the healer, Rhyse lapsed into a brief silence as he concentrated on the task. The further he progressed in his work, the more audible his noises of frustration became. Upon realizing he was softly growling as he worked the uncooperative substance into the wood, he chuckled subconsciously. “I wonder if they're trying to tell us something,” he murmured “Maybe they don't like the food. Or maybe they're allergic.” He paused, glancing up at Tirael. “They're up there by themselves all day every day, aren't they? No one ever goes to see them. Maybe they're lonely, or something?”

[Tirael]

“I wonder if they're trying to tell us something,” he murmured. “Maybe they don't like the food. Or maybe they're allergic.”

The thought so amused Tirael that he couldn't help smiling at it. It didn't seem likely that the pair's negative attitude came from them secretly having a food allergy; if there was something they didn't like, they weren't hesitant to complain when he stopped by--particularly Sleet, who seemed to be actively trying to find something wrong in everything around her. Redin was fairly reasonable as of late, but he wasn't the type to put up and shut up with something like that.

“They're up there by themselves all day every day, aren't they? No one ever goes to see them. Maybe they're lonely, or something?”

"Lonely?" Tirael said incredulously, staring at Rhyse in disbelief. Clearly, he didn't know what had been going on in that room. "They've driven away every creature that went up to help them. The only reason I still go up there is that I'm 'responsible' for them, and Sleet's made it clear she doesn't even want me there."

Realizing he'd gone off on Rhyse, Tirael wilted a bit, averting his eyes and speaking in an embarrassed mumble. "S-sorry...I...I don't know what to do. I feel trapped..."

[Maxodis]

"Lonely? They've driven away every creature that went up to help them. The only reason I still go up there is that I'm 'responsible' for them, and Sleet's made it clear she doesn't even want me there."

Rhyse flinched at Tirael's outburst, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. The healer was right, Rhyse had absolutely no idea what events had transpired outside the safe, protective realms of the kitchens and the gatehouse. His had been a genuine ignorance.

"S-sorry...I...I don't know what to do. I feel trapped..."

The smaller otter fell silent, idly poking at the slowly hardening resin he'd been in the process of working into a particularly long crack. He tried considering Tirael's options with what little he knew of the situation and found that he didn't have any answers either. He quietly suffered a sudden surge of frustration at his own inability to present an easy answer. Why did Tirael have to suffer the consequences of their guests alone? None of it made even the slightest bit of sense. "This is dumb..." He growled softly to himself before he set the food tray down with a sharp clatter.

"Hey," he said, leaning closer to Tirael "I'll tell you what we're gonna do. First, we're gonna finish fixing these trays so we can keep our hides. Then?" His eyes lit up with mischievous furor. "We're gonna go running. Better yet, we'll put together a race, or something! Something that you can do that'll help you escape your thoughts and this infirmary." He motioned to the slightly stale room in question around them. "It'll be good for you, you need to get out and do things. You need a break! You..." His voice had steadily grown louder with excitement as he spoke, reaching almost a shout before trailing off softly. "You don't need to feel that way."

Rhyse realized yet again that he was looking to deeply into Tirael's eyes, and feeling his face heat, quickly and clumsily grabbed at the tray he'd been working on. "But, um, first thing's first. These need fixing!"

[Tirael]

"This is dumb..."

Tirael just sighed in response. The situation was dumb, and yet he'd let himself get trapped in it. He was really the one at fault here; if he could have just protected himself two winters ago Sleet wouldn't have had to step in, and she wouldn't be here now, Redin in ever-unpredictable tow.

"Hey."

Glancing back up at Rhyse, Tirael couldn't help but smile at his plan. He didn't know how effective running would be at making him feel better (hadn't Skipp told him he needed to stop running from his problems?), but the innocent fervor with which his new friend was saying it was already doing the job quite effectively. At the very least, Rhyse was suggesting something at all; his family, while sympathetic, really hadn't offered much in the way of solutions.

"You don't need to feel that way."

Their eyes met, and the healer found himself staring at Rhyse with a feeling bordering on disbelief. He didn't understand how the smaller otter had so suddenly, and so easily, wormed his way into his life. Not that he was complaining, of course.

"But, um, first thing's first. These need fixing!"

"Right," Tirael replied somewhat cheerily, resuming his work. Having a plan, however odd, felt good. At least now, he wasn't just sitting alone and fretting helplessly about his situation. "Rhyse," he said after a moment. "Why haven't we ever talked before?"

[Maxodis]

"Rhyse, why haven't we ever talked before?"

The little otter shrugged, silently happy for the neutral change of topic. "Oh I dunno. Its probably 'cause I spend so much time in the kitchens, they always need help before and after meals." He chuckled softly as he dabbed at the crack he'd been working on with a resin-coated knife. "Not that I'm a cook or anything... between you and me, the thought of it scares me. I just clean dishes." The tray clunked as he tilted it to the side, trying to work the resin in deeper. "Its kinda funny. When you think of the kitchen, it almost never occurs that there's a dishroom that would be attached to it. Matter of fact, I sometimes think that the only reason creatures are aware that it exists is because they never run out of clean dishes."

Rhyse fell silent for a time as he evaluated his craftsmanship. It was clear that he wasn't particularly talented at the task, but still the tray looked to be in better shape than it had been before. Satisfied, the otter set the tray aside and picked up another. "I'm usually the only one back there, too. Unless of course, somebeast gets in trouble. Even then, they don't have to stay all that long. Its just... quiet, you know? Sort of my own little corner to quietly hide when I need to. Even though I spend much of my time down there, no one would ever think to look for me." He arched an eyebrow at Tirael, his wry grin growing. "That's my excuse. What's yours?"