The Hunt is On

OOC Time: Monday, November 8, 2010
Season (North Continent): It's currently late winter on the northern continent.
Weather: Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Current Location: Public Baths (#506J) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
L'ton and Cabrien

Public Baths(#506J)
Steam rises all about you, beading slightly on your skin and soothing it after the winds of the bowl. To one side is an alcove leading to the necessity chamber; across the way are hooks suitable for hanging clothing, and shelves that house fluffy towels as well as containers of sweetsand. The floor is of patterned ceramic 'tiles' that have been given a nubby finish for traction underfoot. Just look 'bowls' to examine Journeyman Brisara's special herbal mixtures.

To the southeast are three different pools, of varying heat; the topmost is the warmest, and as the water flows down, cooler water is added to each. The center portions are deep, while the rims are lined with comfortable benches of varying heights for people of various sizes and preferences.

The baths are at their usual peak of luxury: clean drying cloths in protective baskets, stone tiles salt-washed, and bowls of Brisara's oil trickling the scent of ginger throughout the chamber. L'ton has, did, reach the area before it was in particularly high demand but he did not make it far. The bronzerider has expired on the floor, upright by the solidness of a native-built rack. His socks are off and collar is loose. Make it partially expired. He is breathing, just asleep.

It's certainly a shock-worthy sight to enter upon, and one that makes Cabrien stand still just upon entering and spotting the man. What follows is a moment of calm panic (if there ever were such a thing) in which Cabrien drops his bag and moves quickly to L'ton's side. "Sir?" Kneeling and reaching out to lightly shake L'ton's shoulder, Cabrien again calls to him. "L'ton. Sir. Are you alright?" Clearly the man /is/, otherwise the entire weyr would have heard about it. But that knowledge does very little to dispel the oddity of the situation.

If it wasn't Cabrien waking L'ton up it would have been the woman elder located in the central pool. Either she would have kicked his bare foot or tripped and toppled over the rider's body. He wakes easily, no spasms of panic performed in that transition from relative unconsciousness to the reality of the mobile. "Just asleep, candidate." L'ton has no ire naturally found in the just roused. "Though I could have picked a better spot. I'm rather damp." He yawns fiercely, blue eyes forcibly shutting again, but this time they open more readily. "Thanks for the nudge. You don't know how many people think it nicer to just let me sleep. But then I'm that much later to wherever I need to be." It looks like another yawn's about to transpire but Li refuses.

"Uh. Sure." Cabrien steps back, and then back again until he's able to retrieve the bag he'd dropped near the entrance. "Woulda thought the bigger danger was fallin' into the pool but.. y'know." To each his own! Cabrien shrugs lightly, glances once at that elder woman in the pool, and proceeds to move to a neighboring one, still somewhat close to L'ton. "Is it anywhere important, sir? I could always run ahead and tell them you're on your way. Give you a chance to get into somethin' dry, at least."

"Nah, I'm not one of those nappers that twitches like a landed fish. Fortunately." It takes Ikaroth's rider to orient himself what task he was performing when he fell asleep and it looks like it was dismissing his clothing. "No that's, I'm good. I was only going to try and interrupt Madri's dinner anyway." In standing to go to the nearest pool still mostly clothed, he is neither short nor in any danger of knocking against ceilings. "Where were you Searched from?"

"Here, sir. By way of Ceruuth. I'm Cabrien." Cabrien continues watching L'ton cautiously, ready to pounce should the man somehow wind up unsteady and neck deep in a bath with an elderly lady. There's a beat, then, "Are you sure you're alright, sir? You look a little unsteady." Not that L'ton /does/, at least not to the point of being incapacitated, but it's not every Cabrien encounters someone falling asleep in the baths without actually being /in/ a bath.

L'ton snatches some warm water from the surface to cleanse his face. "Weyrbred? That's good to know, real good," after serving as an Assistant Weyrlingmaster by far the easiest adapters from candidate to weyrling are those farrowed at a Weyr. "I was only up before dawn en route to Boll, oversaw the purging of two Thread burrows, trained an alternate Wingsecond before supper, oiled two of Ikaroth's legs, and scared a candidate in the baths. Didn't eat since breakfast either. But could be worse." He could be U'rr. "What chores did they have you sweating over today anyhow?"

"That really all, sir?" Cabrien drawls, lightly amused. He proceeds to strip, shedding boots, trousers and shirt before slinking into the warm water to ease aching muscles. "Firestone duty, sir. Had the pleasure of tossing sacks, filling them and stacking them. Never am gonna get used to the smell, but it beats the latrines." He's belated a moment, if only to ease out a sigh as the knots in his back are loosened, but Cabrien soon says, "I'm not complaining, though. Know it's all part of things, here. Gets worse farther on we go too. Or so I've been told."

"Aye, that's all," Sirocco's Wingsecond is similarly grinning. The water applied to his face is working its magic. It's also running down his neck but one has to look on the bright side. "You might not get used to it, but in enough time you'll get something like a tolerance for it." A rider of fourteen Turns should know. "And as you said, it only gets more complicated. Are your parents riders? I'm trying to think if I know them…"

Cabrien sits up a little straighter, his expression slipping toward a neutral mask. "T'gul was, sir. I was born at the Hold. He raised me after I left there. Came back to settle things for him, after — after his last 'Fall." Where the man hadn't returned from *between*. Likely not one of the most well known blueriders, he was none the less Cabrien's idol. "We blended into the background, sir. Tried to keep out of the way, letting the folks who knew best lead the way."

L'ton is more drawn to the candidate. "You're T'gul's boy?" Perhaps not by blood but L'ton doesn't suit that distinction. "I knew him, used to be in Skywatch I think, or was it Stormrider? Well, not knew /personally/, but as two riders in the same Weyr we were bound in some ways. I'm sorry of his passing, he must have been good to you." The man still hovers by the pool though it looks like bathing is out of the question. He's staring at a point in space. "Let's hope his character will help you on the sands then."

Perhaps not by blood, but that distinction is none the less firm in Cabrien's mind. "I am, sir." With every fiber of his being, he declares that as proudly as one might declare themselves Lord Holder. "I've every hope it will too. I think he wanted it to be that way." Cabrien half smiles in recollection, before shaking free of the reverie to lean out of the pool enough to grab his satchel. "It's a bit of an odd question, sir, but I'd like to ask a favor." And indeed Cabrien looks a bit off about asking it, but he is none the less upfront. "Would you mind signing this for me? Be grateful if you don't ask what for or why for - I'd be hardpressed to come up with something near believable and would just as soon not lie." Cabrien holds out an old parchment, one with a good half dozen signatures already on it from local crafters and riders, to noteworthy residents.

L'ton is a man on repeat, continuously rubbing the notch of his top lip with two fingers very slowly. He's either deep in thought or about to about to succumb to sleep again. At the very least his eyelids aren't drooping. "I'll admit that's an odd request," trading glances between the sheet and Cabrien. "But you can have it. Must keep in practice after all," which is laughable because as a ranking figure he's applying his John Hancock to all manners of documents - most of which he'd rather not be. His four letters are blocky but connect in cursive fashion. The apostrophe is excessive. "I think that'll do. Maybe I'll go see what Madri has for dessert. It better taste something like roast porcine too. Well met there, Cabrien I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other. And if you see a little candidate with blond hair and he says 'want to see something'… don't." It's very likely his brother Pol.

Cabrien is very, so very serious as he takes that hide back and offers L'ton a grateful nod. The only betrayal is the twitch of his lips as he fights back a laugh at the warning regarding Pol. "Thank you sir. I'll take that into mind if he ever does. Clear skies."

L'ton has to take the time to stuff his feet back into damp socks and boots but he doesn't seem about to rail about it. "Clear skies," the man repeats though Cabrien is for now at home on the ground.

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