Glitter Me Seymour

Based on the Glitter Embargo TP & a challenge set forth by Xanadu SearchCo for candidates in their Winter '18 cycle:

After several day of dyeing salts with various coloured medicinal herbs, leaving them to dry then finally blending them into a colourful 'salt glitter' she inserted them into tissue packets that were then were carefully glued into several official looking scrolls that were delivered around pern by one green firelizard! One addressed to Weyrleader R'hyn and one to weyrwoman Risali. Upon unrolling the packets would tear and dump the salt glitter upon the recipient. Perhaps not the best smelling glitter bomb with a mix of tansy, redwort, and other herbs to make the colours!

It's been days since R'hyn's office was turned into a veritable sea of glitter. One would be lying if they said the weyrleader has relaxed - if anything, he's been jumpier than ever, the mere glint off the buckles of a weyrling's straps making him leap out of his skin and raise his hands to fend off potential beglittering attacks - but alas, life and more importantly work must go on.

On to R'hyn. In the library. With a candlestick.

Because you don't just empty an office of a metric butt-ton of glitter in a day. Rome, built in, etc.

And so it is that the weyrleader is found by said intrepid green firelizard, hunched over stacks of (blessfully sparkle-free) paperwork, trying to restore some semblance of normalcy to the calamity that has been weyr life since that stupid bill got passed he-doesn't-even-know-how. It isn't unusual to receive firelizards with various missives, so he doesn't even notice that the little green is unfamiliar to him; he merely retrieves the official-looking letter, 'pays' the critter in a morsel from a plate he's only allowed in these hallowed halls because he's the weyrleader and desperate times is desperate, and then sets it aside to be handled after he finishes this form.

Honestly, R'hyn. You're the worst at this anticipation game. Cue Jeopardy music.

Eventually, though, he gets to it, and the reaction is, surely, worth the wait. Long fingers pry open the seal, oblivious to the presence of the packet bound up inside until it tears, until homemade glitter pours across the surface of his beautiful clean paperwork. R'hyn makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and an unearthly shriek, making long-forgotten pterodactyls proud, and jerks it to one side to spare documents. It takes him entirely too long to realize that now, pretty multicolored sparkles are falling into his food, and if the last shriek was reminiscent of leather wings and sharp beaks, the second is much more akin to trumpeting trunks and ivory tusks. An elephant. R'hyn is bellowing like an elephant. Again he jerks the packet, this time in the direction of himself, and this time, well… well, actually, this time is almost anticlimactic.

He watches the remnants of the glitter empty to his lap with the dead-eyed stare of one whose soul has departed the mortal plane, gaze lifting towards the heavens as though beseeching the sky or the sun or the stone or the long-passed Mufasa-style spirit of Faranth herself to grant him the grace required to suffer this indignity.

And then the smell hits him.

"That's it!" So long, grace. The paper is crumpled viciously without ever having been read, even if even said anything at all. To his feet the weyrleader rises, hands lifted to the level of his shoulders in the universal expression of utter disgust. "I can't do it anymore. I can't. I won't. Don't you shush me, I'll shush you right on out of this weyr do not even try me," gets pointed at the one poor soul that dared try to hush R'hyn, though whether they're silenced by the toddler-esque tantrum or the sight of the man's lap veritably shimmering with scented rainbow hues, well… I will leave that up to you, dear reader. Either way, they go silent, and R'hyn returns to his tirade. "The next person to even breathe the word 'glitter' is getting banned from this weyr and if I ever find the owner of that flit I'll… I'll… tell them very firmly now not funny that was."

Ooh. Look out. We've got a badass over here.

"And then I'll ban them from ever setting foot in this weyr again." He points at a random person. "Make it so!" Said person glances around them and, finding nobody else nearby, points to themselves and mouths the word, 'Me?' But R'hyn is already too far gone to answer. Someone else is going to have to fetch his stuff and clean up the mess he's left behind, but it won't be hi— just kidding. R'hyn's too polite. His purposeful stride slows, he slinks back to shamefacedly gather his stuff, mumbling a low, "I need these," and then he leaves with a purposeful, attitudinal gait that can only mean deep, deep trouble if he ever finds the perp! Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

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