- Introduction
- Wehlim/Cabrien Search
- Boys in the Barracks
- Chores gone awry
- Baked Zity Gets Searched
- Questions for the Records
- The Hunt is on
- Games afoot
- Merci's mercy
- Sands of Time
- Kitchen Mischief
- Eek! Fishes
- Yoink!
- Sands alive!
- Boot Scooting
- Under where?
- Hairy situation
- Tell The Tooth
- Hidden Room #1
- Hidden Room #2
- Transparency
- Inked Wherries
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Wehlim and Cabrien get tortured by U'rr and Ceruuth and end up Candidates
OOC Time: Monday October 11th, 2010. 10:08:58 PM.
Season (North Continent): Late fall.
Weather: It is fall.
Current Location: Main Living Cavern (#551) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Wehlim and Cabrien
Main Living Cavern (#551J)
Grey stone arches a vast vault overhead, details of the ceiling all but disappearing in the shadows cast by warm, human-height glowsconces and the night hearth's flames; tapestries texture the smooth walls, looking down upon the raised dais, the expanse of tables, the flagstones left cleared for impromptu dancing.
A single broad archway, its carved pattern worn soft with time and passersby's touch, leads west into the bowl; two more, narrower but just as tall, give access to the bustle of living caverns in the south. Predominant looms the builders' masterpiece: the imposing staircase that twines up along the northern wall, leading to the weyr's huge kitchens.
Vintner Harry busies himself behind the 'bar'; nearby hangs the day's 'menu'.
You see White Egg Seven and Doom Salad here.
Wehlim and Cabrien are here.
Another shrug. "Depends on how you prepare them. They can be good for traveling if I make'm for that." Wehlim reaches up, scratching a finger behind his ear, then looks back down to his meal. He's just about eaten all he can really stomach at the moment, so he puts his spoon down, and as he talks, lightly taps a finger against the side of the plate. "What do you mean? Feelin what?" he was fairly knew to the Weyr, to this environment in its entirety. He wasn't sure what to feel about it, or what he might be missing.
"It. Here. Fort." Cabrien shrugs and sits back upright, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "Kinda gets you like that." As though Fort were a terrible infection, and Wehlim the newest victim. "Anyways…" Shaking his head, Cabrien again switches topics, "Rather just get the good stuff. Never liked those other things."
If there was a time for trumpets and fanfare, it would be right the moment U'rr in his leather-clad glory steps into the Living Caverns with his gaggle of Harpers (yes, they travel in a gaggle) trailing behind, bearing hides and chatting into the carefully listening Weyrleader's ear. But there aren't any convenient trumpets around. "I appreciate everyone's effort on this front, now I will meet with each one of you later." And with that the Harpers scatter to do their Harpery things, some even moving to play some mealtime music or something. And then the brownrider moves to the bar to procure some red wine.
"Gets to me?" Wehlim must be dense because he still doesn't understand what the other means, and it takes him even longer to catch on because soon he's distracted by U'rr's entrance. Though there are no trumpets, his presence makes its self easily known. Wehlim's never seen so many Harpers in one sitting, except for perhaps recent festivities. He frowns for a moment, then hunches a little lower in his seat, letting Cabrien overshadow his presence there. He clears his throat, looking back down to his stew. "Tuber chips are good stuff. But.. yeah.. I..I'll get you something good, promise. I'll have it bundled together by tomorrow." Which meant he'd either work on it tonight or tomorrow morning.
Cabrien doesn't exactly ignore Wehlim, but with U'rr's arrival he sits upright all nice and proper like to watch the Weyrleader's progress. The Harpers garner a little less attention, which is still more than Wehlim gets at current. But when the procession breaks and U'rr goes off to the bar, Cabrien switches his attention back to Wehlim. "Morning'd be better if you don't mind. Gonna head out then so I'll stop by on my way through." A slow beat later, "You could come. If you want. Wouldn't mind the company."
U'rr has a glass of wine and the light music that has started in the caverns causes the typically solemn brownrider to lightly waltz-step across the floor in the direction of the Leadership Table. But something catches his attention, and that seems to be Cabrien and Wehlim, bringing U'rr to their table with a polite nod, "Good day Residents. I do believe we were superficially introduced the previous evening at the Event in the Promenade. I am U'rr, your Weyrleader." He even salutes his wine glass in greeting.
A nod is given towards the bit about wanting the food ready in the morning, which meant Wehlim would certainly be up most of the night getting everything prepared, though there's no complaint, just simple acceptance. Surprise registers at the last bit though, and his brows tighten for a moment as he glances towards Cabrien, mouth opening to ask a question, but taking a bit too long to actually come out with it. By the time he reasons things out, the surprise fades and he ohs, giving a nod. "So I can help get your stuff together and load it and stuff. Yeah, that'd be alright. I don't mind helping." All of that goes out of mind and out of existance the moment he sees that particular intimidating man from the other night waltzing, yes waltzing, across the cavern and then shifting in their direction. Wehlim would happily melt into the shadows under the table right then and there, but that's not exactly an option. "H..H..hey." Pause. Clear throat, shift uneasily. "Evenin, W..Weyrleader, sir."
Cabrien is as helpless to duty and propriety when it comes to U'rr as he is when it comes to Imogen. Which is why he salutes U'rr in return and greets him with a respectful, "Good evening, sir. I'm Cabrien." Of no one special and no particular rank, as much is made clear by the lack of a title following. "That's Wehlim," Cabrien supplies for the other. A measured pause brings, "Would you like to join us, sir?"
"There is no need to introduce yourself to me, I have already read your files. I'll admit that I only briefly skimmed over the documentation." Yes, you have files and documentation and U'rr has it buried somewhere. The Weyrleader's piercing blue eyes first fall on Wehlim, "You appear to have difficulty fully enunciating, I would suggest you practice your diction. I can suggest an excellent Harper who specializes in speech communication." With all of that said, the brownrider's face doesn't seem to even twitch from its bland expression. With a nod given to Cabrien, the man lowers himself easily into a chair, "I hope that this evening finds you two well."
Problems with dictations indeed, and things only get worse as the Weyrleader goes into greater detail about his problems and methods on fixing said failings. Wehlim's skin goes a little red and he swallows as he nods a little too quickly, the fingers of the hand next to his plate ticking against the table. He doesn't open his mouth again, at least not so soon after his disgrace. Instead, he glances fleetingly up towards U'rr, then to Cabrien, as though waiting to take his cue from the older boy. It would make sense, as Cabrien, at least in Wehlim's view, has absolutely no trouble addressing the Big Dogs of the Weyr. His half eaten, green stew stuff, an off the menu meal he'd prepared himself, slowly grows cold.
Make no mistake. Cabrien is dumbfounded that there is an actual file on him. Though to his credit it doesn't show. Not in expression or tone, for there's hardly a beat skipped as he says, "Of course, sir." He settles back a little in his seat, watching Wehlim carefully as U'rr pronounces his shortcomings, and then just as quickly saying, "Yes, sir. Just making plans for tomorrow. Wehlim is helping me with a few things."
U'rr takes a long sip of the wine as he listens to Cabrien, nodding carefully as he settles the glass down. "Ah, I see, well hopefully your plans include … touching me…" Wait what? He hasn't even had that much to drink, but it seems as soon as he said it those critical blues go unfocused and the brownrider goes silent, "… I mean, I hope that you have productive plans. No use wasting precious time." Yep, he's covered his butt but there is some redness slowly crawling up his neck.
Feeling a bit relieved that Cabrien's taken up the reigns of the conversation and plans on holding on to them, Wehlim's just going to silently go along with whatever the older boy says, agreeing with it because that's the safe thing. And thankfully in this case, true. All of that is put on the backburner though come U'rr's little..freudian slip. The ratty looking boy's eyes bug out, so wide the whites are very clearly visible and he remains fixed in that position for several long seconds, even as U'rr continues on as though nothing was said.
Cabrien never heard anything about touching anyone. "Productive, yes sir." He looks away from U'rr, politely giving the man time to recuperate. "Due to travel back home… back to the Hold, sir. I need to get my things." He reaches for the last of his meal, briefly rubbing the redfruit against his stomach before taking a generous bite out of it. He tries, rather discretely too, to send a little non verbal cue to Wehlim that the bug-eyed expression is probably going to get him into trouble.
U'rr coughs into his fist idly, "Err… excuse me." And to clear up his throat the brownrider finishes off the rest of that glass of wine, which just adds an additional red tinge to his already blushing face. "Ah, the Hold. Hopefully you have fully cleared your absence with the Headwoman, it would be most unsuitable if your absence causes issues with the productivity of the Weyr." The brownrider's eyes then lightly travel over to Wehlim and his eyes fade a moment while he mumbles something semi-coherent but it definitely sounds like 'You look delicious'.
Its something that hadn't even crossed Wehlim's mind, but right now he's still stuck on the /other/ tidbits of conversation that seem to have snuck into U'rr's vocabulary without the Weyrleader's notice. Oh wait, there's a distinct red tinge to the man's skin. Wehlim coughs as Cabrien sends him that cue (or perhaps that's a choked off cry) and he sits up a little straighter. "Right!" He winces a little at his outburst, which hopefully wasn't related to the looking delicious 'compliment', and raises a hand to his throat, rubbing and clearing it at the same time. Damn frog. "I m..mean s..sorry, sir. I'll g..get permission. Www..w.." He deflates a little, struggling to get past the almost crippling letter before switching tracks completely. "Not gonna go till she sssays I can." He looks quickly to Cabrien. Help him out?
"Sir," Cabrien assures the rider, "I'll be back within two days at most. Worked extra today and the day before to cover for the days I'll be gone. Delivering a message too, so I'm hoping…" He trails off when it becomes clear he's talking to air or might just as well be for all that U'rr's mind seemed to be elsewhere. Wehlim's look gains a small to-and-from shake of Cabrien's head. Translation: You're totally on your own, dude!
"Speak clearly, Resident." U'rr says firmly as he stares at the man, lifting up his wine glass to suggest it needs to be refilled. A drudge reluctantly comes and fills the glass and the Weyrleader looks between the pair of them, "Good. I hope that your trip is then productive and — No Ceruuth!" And there goes the brownrider, breaking the unwritten rule of not speaking aloud to your lifemate. Outside the cavern there is a high-pitched whistle followed by a loud vibration, if one were outside the caverns they'd see a brown dragon whistling and jumping up and down outside the door, "I… uh… would suggest not leaving through the cavern exit to the bowl anytime soon. Ceruuth wants to taste you."
Well this presents a pretty conundrum. Rarely before has Wehlim ever wanted to both dissolve into a puddle of goo /and/ run out of the room screaming his head off. At least, not at the same time. Cabrien might find the boy's presence a source of discomfort for all the fact that at some point in all of this strangeness, he's actually scooted closer to him. Big brother protection needed or not, he's got no real friends to shelter him should U'rr really flip his wig and try taking a bite out of him. "I..I…I" Because that doesn't sound like aye-aye-aye at all. He gives up on trying to say 'I'm trying' and looks quickly towards the exit to the cavern at that eardrum-splitting whistle. Not being fluent in a dragon's needs and wants as of yet, he seems to take U'rr's warning to heart. "He wouldn't really do that would he?" Strangely articulate when it comes to matters of being chomped on by dragons it seems, though his voice is hushed.
Cabrien's attention ping-pongs between U'rr and Ceruuth, landing at last on the whistling, jumping brown. "Noted, sir." Stated slowly and almost amusedly. Almost. Cabrien looks back to Wehlim, likely checking to see that the other hasn't suddenly stopped breathing or anything else that's equally counter productive. The younger boy's query draws a soft snort, but it's not his place to answer and so he simply takes another bite out of his redfruit.
U'rr lightly rolls his shoulders into a shallow shrug as he looks to Wehlim, "My Ceruuth believes that every person tastes a little different and in order to test his hypothesis he tries to taste every person I encounter. He seems exceptionally fascinated in you two." Then the brownrider pauses to take another casual drink from his wine glass, "Although I find it is much easier to just submit to Ceruuth's urges rather than fight them, he will probably wait outside the caverns for a few hours." Well, actually Ceruuth is completely impatient today and instead there is a rumble of something happening outside before a fawn-dappled dragon head emerges through the doorway, bearing satyr horns and releasing an awfully loud tweet that echoes in the caverns. Residents nearby the doorway start to scream and dash off in various directions.
"Taste, n..not bite." Wehlim tries to clarify that, even as he hears those strange noises coming from the entrance of the caverns, the door no longer the protective barrier it'd once been when Ceruuth's head barges through. There's another weird sound, closer to U'rr and Cabrien. Chipping wood. More accurately, Wehlim's fingernails seek to grind themselves into the table's edge. If his eyes were wide at U'rr's random outbursts, now they're set to pop out right out should someone bap the back of his fool head. Another thick swallow. "Oookay…" he drawls out. He looks to Cabrien in a manner that questions 'Is this normal?'
Cabrien still manages to look nonplused, though with Ceruuth's antics it's not an easy thing to manage. Especially come that brown head (and the subsequent tweet) entering the cavern. "Suggest you don't run," Cabrien asides to Wehlim in something of an undertone. In a slightly louder tone he says, "The lavender is not my fault, sir. One of the girls in the baths thought, well, it wasn't my idea." He shifts in his seat as though getting ready to stand. Wehlim's drawl, and that look garner another moment of study before he says, "I'm gonna go introduce myself. 'cause I don't wanna get trampled when I leave tomorrow." He looks to U'rr for permission before even attempting to do so.
U'rr seems very unphased about the whole entrance of Ceruuth's head into the caverns, mostly because the dragon gave his human counterpart a little warning beforehand, "Normally he would lick his targets, but he is quite unpredictable." U'rr just finishes off the rest of the wine as Ceruuth's eyes whirl quickly as he attempts to get a good look at Cabrien and Wehlim. The rider nods toward Cabrien, "It would probably be ideal to introduce yourself now, although you might want to tuck your hands in your pockets… they can get stuck between his teeth and one less finger equates to less productivity." The brown starts to purr quietly and then releases his rather lengthy tongue.
Wehlim isn't quite so quick to jump up. He still had stew to finish off, after all. And then there was cleaning up his plate, followed by Cabrien's, followed by perhaps refilling U'rr's wine glass. There simply wasn't enough time to go over there and lose a productive finger to a dragonic tooth. He watches the other boy's motions warily before finally sighing and stiffly pushing up from the table. As he gets closer, he slows briefly to a stop, staring at that enormous tongue. "Faranth.." A quick look at Cabrien and his bold approach of the dragon steels Wehlim and the boy continues forward. His hands are tucked very firmly into his pockets.
With permission given, Cabrien does approach Ceruuth. En route he crosses both arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms. He pauses once he's within range, lingering behind just long enough to quietly assure Wehlim, "They're not all like this. You'll be alright." Rather than going first, Cabe sneaks a hand out from under his arm and promptly offers up Wehlim for examination before stepping up to the other side of the boy.
No other dragon is like Ceruuth, most have some sense of control. The satyr brown whistles lowly toward Cabrien and Wehlim and starts to open his mouth, which seems full of drool that drips slowly on the ground. "Ceruuth… no eating. I can assure you these are not wherries no matter how much they may look like one." Ceruuth obeys his lifemate and proceeds to extend his tongue in the general direction of Wehlim's face, followed by Cabrien's. U'rr finishes up his wine and leans back in his chair, "… Ceruuth enjoys to torture his food prior to eating them, I have seen him break the legs of a Herdbeast and watch them stumble before he eats them." The brownrider seems all too casual about this situation.
Wehlim wasn't intending on going first. He wasn't even sure he -wanted- to go, he was simply following to see the creepy sight. He's rewarded with a great, yawning mouth full of teeth and dripping drool. The boy can't help the gag reflex that comes next, what with the less then pleasant meat-eating smell of dragonic breath that washes over him, and the tongue that suddenly bathes his face. A shudder passes down the tense boy's spine (yes, he has one of those), and after fighting down bile inspired by nerves and scent, he mutters. "Thanks." He glances over his shoulder towards U'rr at the Weyrleader's all to helpful explanation. "Really.. thanks tons.." He says under his breath, looking back to Ceruuth. So far, it's not /so/ bad. Disgusting, sure, but he's still alive.
Cabrien's self control is evident because there's not so much as a flinch or grimace as he's examined by Ceruuth and the brown's tongue. Not even U'rr's remark gets to him, for he offers an easy-going rejoinder. "Thank you for the warning, sir." Pleasant. Best remain so, on the off chance it improves the likelihood that Ceruuth won't think of them as dinner on two legs.
U'rr gags a little to himself, obviously his lifemate is /sharing/ the newfound flavors of the weyr and the brownrider doesn't normally enjoy licking people. "Ceruuth appreciates the opportunity." U'rr sets his wine glass on the table and then rises from the seat, "And interestingly enough, the primary flavor he finds in common with you two he can only describe as 'Candidate'. While I am not sure his tastebuds can properly identify such a flavor, I do believe his comment has an alternate meaning." Then Ceruuth, satisfied with just a taste begins to withdraw his head from the cavern… only to get jammed in the doorway, "And I believe I warned you Ceruuth that such a situation /could/ occur. I will retrieve the drudges to find some animal grease and help remove your head." Poor drudges. "But now the important issue on hand is for me to request that you two Stand for Ceruuth and Eviyath's Clutch as Candidates? Do you accept my offer?" He pauses to let the thought sink it, "And while I /hate/ to threaten, Ceruuth does not take denial very well and… well… his head is still within biting distance."
Wehlim is still in recovery as U'rr continues to talk, which is why he's raising his slightly greasy sleeve (it happened in the kitchens!) to rub the stinky slob off his face, trying hard to just -not- think about it. He hesitates, blinking and slowly lowering his arm. "I.." He swallows, looking back to Ceruuth and indeed finding the dragon well and good stuck. There had to be a back way out of this place, and that might be the only sane path to take, but Wehlim's not the most levelheaded person at the Weyr. He looks to Cabrien, once again unfailingly taking his lead from the older boy. In the end though, he looks to U'rr and quickly nods. "I ac..ac..ac.." Pause. "Yeah, okay, s..sure." U'rr and his harper pals are going to have a hard time breaking this boy of his horrible speech flaws.
"Sir?" Cabrien's conflicted between giving U'rr the whole of his attention, and watching the good-and-stuck Ceruuth. The later end of the Weyrleader's statement is what finds Cabrien shaking free of his momentary stupor, and turning to step back toward the table. All nice and proper like, he intones, "I'm honored, sir. I accept." He's coated in Ceruuth slobber still, no doubt, but he doesn't quite wipe it away. "Thank you."
"You /should/ feel honored." U'rr says casually as he watches a trio of drudges with a bucket of grease begin to work on the wriggling brown. "Now, while my lifemate is removed from the doorway, I should escort both of you to the barracks, where you'll be staying…" And with that, without waiting for the pair, U'rr turns and walks swiftly toward the barracks.
Wehlim and Cabrien run into a conversational brick wall
OOC Time: Saturday, October 16th, 2010.
Season (North Continent): Late fall.
Weather: It is fall.
Current Location: Candidate Barracks (#816) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Wehlim and Cabrien
Candidate Barracks (#816J)
This is a large room with row after row of 'cots' for the Candidates of Fort Weyr's Hatchings to sleep on during their stay at Fort Weyr. Depending on the time of day and 'year' this room oscillates between an utter disaster and a prim and properly kept room. The residents of this room are always on the lookout for sudden headwoman or dragonrider appearances, scattering to clean up the major messes when someone indeed manifests.
Near the curtain, against the wall, is a large bulletin board and, underneath it, a slate with the list of current 'occupants'. There's also a 'chores' list, and a life-sized cutout of a suitably-dressed 'example' candidate.
Wehlim and Cabrien are here.
The candidate barracks are no where near filled at this point, but having lived in the residents' barracks for a time, and in crowded quarters before that, has left Wehlim almost oblivious to the comings and goings of other occupants. As such, he doesn't even look up at Cabrien's entrance. He does, however, release a soft, frustrated sigh before he shoves the hides away and falls back onto his pillow, pressing his palms against his hide sockets.
Cabrien enters the barracks, and in following with his daily routine is fresh from the baths. He's also munching on the sliced sections of redfruit. In passing Wehlim's cot, the hides are given a glance and that tensed fist a moments longer study before both are dismissed when he settles down on the edge of his cot. More chewing ensues as he continues to watch Wehlim.
Assuming Wehlim has eye sockets and not hide sockets… Cabrien watches this, before saying, "Harper training." Beat. "Reading, right?" He finishes off the last of his redfruit before leaning forward to take the topmost hide off the stack and prop it on his lap.
"That's 'cause it is until you learn it. It's not that hard." Cabrien puts the hide back onto the pile with the others, then reaches to untie his boots. "Can't give up 'cause you won't ever learn. Then you'll be dumb." Clearly dumb was no way to be. "Start easy. Forget the ballads. Start really easy. Your name 'n the name of stuff you use. Cot. Boot. Shirt. Stuff like that."
"They already think I'm dumb. What's the point." Not really question so much as a statement that there was none. It didn't help that whenever he felt pressured or was around someone of significance that he dissolved into mumbles and stutters, something that he truly couldn't help yet. He gives one good kick, sending the hides scooting across the bed and plopping to the ground with a heavy thud. "Wasn't trying ballads. That's the simple stuff. I think." It was hard for him to tell. "Know sorta how to write my name." Mostly because he'd seen it written enough by now that he knows the general appearance. The squiggles and squirms that eventually got around to representing 'him'.
"Are you?" Cabrien asks, "'cause if you are then don't bother. If you aren't…. show'm." He watches the hides go scooting and again shakes his head. "Kinda sorta isn't 'know how to'. Just keep at it and you'll get it. Or the Harpers'll catch you kickin' their hides and they'll tan yours and it won't be a problem." Win-win.
"I don't know. Don't think so." But Wehlim hadn't exactly been taught enough to know one way or another. It didn't make him dumb necessarily, but it certainly didn't make him smart. "I can't teach myself. I don't know what's right and wrong. Can't tell just by looking at it what it's supposed to mean." not without someone helping him out with it. For now though, "I'll worry 'bout it in the morning." He rolls over onto his side and regards Cabrien. "Notice all the harpers that hang out with the Weyrleader? And now there's a buncha harper candidates." Which was weird in and of it's self.
"Leader business isn't our business," Cabrien intones as he pushes his boots under his cot, swings his legs up and lays down with his arms crossed behind his head. It's his rather upfront way of saying he didn't care why certain things were how they were. The leaders said that's how they were and so that's how they are. "Harpers'll teach you. Ask 'em. It's what they do best. Study… be patient and you'll get it."
Wehlim, by now, is more then used to Cabrien's heroworship of anyone with a halfway decent knot, so that's not the part that phases him. "You really aren't curious about all of that? i mean.. They're really odd too. They don't like talking to no one but themselves." Or at least, that was the impression the boy had gotten. He rolls back over onto his back and stares up at the half-shadowed ceiling high over head. "It don't mean it's something we can't wonder about, just cause the leader's involved."
"Means we don't question it. Don't talk 'bout it. It's not our business." Cabrien is adamant on that, even to the point of lifting his head to look pointedly at Wehlim. "Whatever he's doin', he's doin' it for the weyr." Presumably to the benefit of said weyr. "You learn anything… it oughta be that."
Wehlim rolls his eyes. Oh yes, Cabrien's stick was too far up to be budged. He should make a point of remembering that fact. "I'm not questioning it just to talk about it. I was just curious. Don't know who tall you all that bullcrap anyway. People question leaders all the time." So, Wehlim comes out of his shell a little, and Cabrien tries everything he can to shove him right back in. Too bad it doesn't work that way.
"I don't." Cabrien may have a stick up his arse, firmly lodged or otherwise, but he at least sticks to his guns. "You wanna last in here… be a good rider, you gotta learn not to. They're called leaders for a reason." He's not preachy so much as matter-of-fact, in that what he believed has thus far served him quite well.
Oh, he was quite preachy! As far as Wehlim was concerned. The younger boy snorts quietly. "I don't think its like that at all. Besides, I ain't a rider, and neither are you. And wonderin about things isn't a bad thing, s'long as you don't get caught." That's the one thing Worm had learned while in the hole. Stay unseen, unnoticed. Sure, obey, but only do what needed to be done in order to avoid notice. Excellence could be just as deadly as slovenliness. "You ain't got no thoughts for yourself, do you?" Meaning, he didn't use his own judgment in things. He simply followed, blindly obedient..
"Maybe not. But I know my place 'n I'm good with it." Cabrien remains nonplussed by his lack of original thought and blind obedience. Comfortable. He's comfortable with it and has no desire to lose that comfort. "Wondering 'bout it puts ideas in your head. Ideas lead to actions, actions lead to trouble. You're caught." He looks over to Wehlim again, "Do what you want. I ain't gonna let you drag me down no hole."
Wehlim listens to all that Cabrien says and in the end just releases a grunt, twisting back around till he's laying down with his back to the older boy. Such is how he would choose to remain.
Cabrien tries to delegate some of the girly duties to Suian who won't have anything to do with it. Quaptyziel is witness to the bad idea.
OOC Time: Tuesday, October 26th, 2010.
Season (North Continent): Mid-Winter.
Weather: It is mid-winter.
Current Location: Game Room (#14272) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Cabrien, Suian, Quaptyziel
Game Room (#14272J)
Distractions abound in the quirky underworld of the gameroom: checkers, dragonchess, parcheesi and Neratian stones compete for table space with tea-pots and klah mugs. Where the walls are not claimed by dart-boards, people have tacked up sketches, paintings, and the occasional needlepoint depicting scenes from around the Pern. Drinking is discouraged here (though encouraged upstairs), and a variety of curtains and moveable partitions allow guests to reformat the room on a regular basis. Baskets of scraps, knitting, leather and odd-socks allow people to keep busy and useful when not actively gaming.
It's sometime after his encounter with Eleni. Cabrien is still present, though has at last finished the bulk of his task. So he's now eating an actual meal as opposed to snacks. He's at the part where he's mopping up loose stew gravy with a thick chunk of bread. He eats quickly and methodolically, his eyes kept solely upon his meal.
Wrapped snugly in a serviceable, brown sweater, Suian still has a spot of dust on her nose and a smudge on the knee of her trousers, but save for those and the slightly messy 'tail she's pulled her hair into— unbraided, for a change —she's otherwise clean and presentable, finishing munching on something wrapped in a napkin as she rounds the doorway to the game room. Mouth pinching from content into a moue of distaste upon espying Cabrien, she's careful to head to the opposite side of the cavern, plopping down near one of the crafting baskets to frown doubtfully at a half-skein of yarn and a few knitting needles. Is it worth the trouble?
Cabrien is happily, blissfully ignorant of Suian up until he finishes his meal. It's when he's in the process of setting that scraped clean dish aside that he spies the frowning woman. He's a moment more before saying, "Got a whole bundle of socks here that you can sew since you got the time." As in: she had more of a right to than him.
Suian's chin lifts to give Cabrien a brief, icy stare. "Sew them yourself, " she retorts calmly, "or is that something you've managed to avoid thus far? I can assure you it isn't a terribly challenging task." Never mind that she isn't much good at it herself. With a little sniff, she rummages through the knitting supplies before emerging empty-handed, opting instead to crinkle her napkin into as tiny of a ball as she can manage.
"Funny." Deadpan, Cabrien says, "Seriously. The socks need to be sewed. I got all the one's matched up that were supposed to be but a lot of them have holes. Lady in the laundry said they had to be sewed." He begins gathering that pile into his arms, "It won't take you long. They're mostly small holes."
"A little sewing won't kill you, " replies Suian, raising an eyebrow at the other candidate. "If she told you to sew them, you should sew them. If the holes are really that small, then it won't take you all that long either, would it?" Bit by bit, that empty napkin is starting to shred in her hands.
"I don't sew." Cabrien again looks at Suian as if she were slow, and having an extremely hard time grasping the concept of her sewing the socks herself. "She said they had to be sewed, not that I had to. You're a candidate too so…. sew them." With all those socks in hand, he approaches Suian. "I thought you guys liked sewing anyways. What's the big deal?"
Quaptyziel sneaks his way into game room, and switches out the klah pitcher for a fresh one. He ducks back out, to return the emoty one to the kitchens, and then returns, giving a stretch. "Sewing? What's wrong with sewing?" He asks, as he hears Cabrien, and he nods to Eleni. "Evening ma'am." He greets.
Suian huffs an impatient breath as Cabrien approaches, folding her arms across her waist. "You're a candidate too, " she repeats for good measure, willful. "And despite what you apparently think, you don't have sufficient pull to order others around like bilgers on some fisher's boat. Besides, how are you going to survive being a weyrling if you can't do something simple like fix a couple of socks? I hear there's sewing involved there, too."
Cabrien's expression turns taunting. "You sound like a Harper." A beat, then, "I'll deal with it if I get there. 'till now, you're here and these socks need to be sewn. So sew them." He has the audacity to try and dump them in her lap, "And I'm not ordering. I'm delegating. That's something we get to do as weyrlings too." Quaptyziel gets a nod and a shrug, "Nothing? Just not somethin' I do."
Quaptyziel raises an eyebrow, and frowns. "She's right, though, you shouldn't be ordering her to sew them, when it's not her chore." He says, and moves to sit down nearby. "It wouldn't hurt you to learn it, I know how to sew." He admits, and he's not any less manly. "Other then being ordered about, how are you, Suian?" He asks her.
Getting to her feet in short order once those socks head toward her lap hopefully sends most of them to the floor instead, along with whatever might have remained of Suian's previously good mood. "And you, " she answers slowly, "sound like an arrogant little boy. I see why the girls flock to you. You have such a winning personality." Quaptyziel doesn't exactly get a smile, but the look he gets for his remarks is considerably softer than the ones she's been giving Cabrien. "Just fair, " she says with a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm finished for the day. Can't complain about that at all."
Cabrien steps back when those socks go tumbling, but doesn't even attempt to pick them up. Or give Quap anything more than an unimpressed frown. It extends to Suian as Cabrien shrugs and returns back to pile the remaining socks into the once empty basket.
Quaptyziel shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm finished for the day as well. They wanted me to change out the klah pot in here, and that was it." He admits, and eyes Cabrien. "Don't you know that you could in trouble, if you try passing your chore onto somebody else?" He asks the other boy. "Yeah, I'm doing well too, glad to have chores indoors, considering the weather." He replies to Suian, with a chuckle.
"A hardy boat sustains in all weathers, " Suian murmurs, seemingly undisturbed by Cabrien's subsequent frown. She's smoothing out what's left of the crumpled napkin, changing her motions from frenetic picking to smooth folds. Casually, "Would you like help with getting those back into the basket?"
"Not some slacker," Cabrien says placidly. "I did my part. Not my problem if she doesn't do hers." Whatever he so assumed was her part. He pauses though, at her offer. To which he says, "Not your problem now. I'll go find someone else to sew 'em. One of the other girls back in the barracks." He takes his half-full basket to where those paired socks are laying on the ground and proceeds to put them all back into the basket. Once he's finished there's an all-encompassing nod to Suian and Quap alike before he turns and sets off toward the barracks.
Zity eats flower. Zity is very happy. Merci is not happy… at all. Merci punishes Zity's brothers by making her a candidate.
Dark Corridor (#6643LJ)
This rather dreary corridor leads to some of the various storage caverns that hold the Weyrs huge food resources. Glowbaskets dot the walls at intervals; not really close enough to provide all-around illumination, leaving strange-shaped shadowed areas between the pools of dim light.
With the bitter cold wind of Fortian winter howling outside, it's no wonder most souls can be found inside. Be it their weyrs, or huddled near the fires of the living cavern, folks are doing their best to stay warm. Even Merci is buckled and zipped up in her heavy riding leathers, though she is currently poking around the mostly deserted storage caverns. Under both arms are the two gaudiest, cheapest-looking vases one could ever hope to ever unsee. Clenched between her teeth, is a bag of dried meats, likely pilfered. Someone's raiding the caverns of Fort Weyr!
There's a rummaging and a rustling further back in the storage caverns, and a swish-swish-swish of fabric against stone. It takes a moment for the walking pile of clothing to appear, and by then it's too late. The jacketmonster is out for bloo- no, wait, it's just Ikty. And he's bundled in so many layers, he might as well be sporting an entire wardrobe. Indeed, the lad is having some difficulty moving, though it's perhaps more what he's carrying than what he;s wearing, slow steps accompanied by the trailing end of a huge blanket. The thing is an armload and a half for the gangly teen, and riddled with holes besides, but he doesn't appear to mind. There's an, "Oh-" as he spots Merci, and a quickly added, "Ma'am," the boy's head bobbing ever so slightly behind the blanketpile he's carrying.
Here a Zity, there a Zity… Well, mostly here and there. The girl just sort of emerges from the meat storage cavern, having been hanging out in the colder cavern apparently. She is also carrying some snacks, though the sweet rocks likely didn't come from where they store the meats. She doesn't wear all too much to protect her from the cold, only a too big jacket over her raggedy clothes. Her glassy eyes are wandering all around the storage caverns, as if searching for something and completely passing over the rummaging brownrider. They do stop for her brother though, and a wide grin splits her face. "Iky, Iky, is that an Iky?" she singsongs out, complete with a giggle and a skip. Here's a /baked/ Zity, more like it, seeing that she's all bright eyed and hasn't yet stopped giggling. Someone finally ate that flower.
Quaptyziel is bundled up in layers, though not as much as his twin, aparently, or else he's more flaxible. He's carrying a basket of covered glows in his hands. "Oh, uh, ma'am." He says, as he spots Merci. He sets down the basket carefully, and looks around. "Uh, have you seen any glows that need replacing down here in storage?" He asks, though now that his hands are free, he'll wave to Ikty, and Zity. "Hey guys." He says.
Merci freezes for a moment at the sound of movement, though the leather of her jacket creaks as the muscles beneath them soon relax. Placing down the bright, eye-searing vases, she pulls the pouch of meats from her mouth to turn and look over the walking fabric-pile. "…" A grunt is given in greeting, one of the stolen snacks taken out and gnawed on viciously. She's not moving, likely waiting for Iktyziel to pass, when more of them pop up! Quap she recognizes, and so he gets a stern stare, inspecting the candidate before she relaxes. Likely not to make a clean getaway with her nabbed items, she instead turns the attentio on Ielyzity, "S'wrong with that one?" A firm point directly at the girl.
Iktyziel comes to a stop, peering over the big bundle of blanket, and wrinkling his nose at his sister. "Zit.." the lad replies in kind, though the giggling and subsequent /skip/ have him staring at her rather suspiciously, "What's wrong with you?" nearly echoing Merci. His gaze is drawn, briefly, to those colorful vases, eyebrows going up at the sight of them, although the boy, perhaps wisely, makes no comment. Instead, there is a nod in greeting for his twin, Ikt offering Quap a quiet, "Hey," and then shaking his head, "I haven't seen any so far. I didn't get to the caverns further back, the other day,," added with a glance down the aisles of shelves.
Ielyzity stops just short of Iktyziel and his blanket pile, tugging at home of them. "I have absolutely /no/ idea what you are talking about," she says with a lazy grin. Seeing that she completely ignored her most hated nickname, something is likely wrong. Her head finally whips around, red hair flying, as she notices Merci as if for the first time. Her nose does a funny impression of a bunny, twitching as she eyes the pouch of meat snacks the woman has. Food! Giving Quap a lazy wave, it's towards the brownrider that she shuffles to next. "I'm fine, perfectly fine," she says slowly. "And would be even better if I can get some of that," she says it in her best sweet voice, batting big eyes and all. Not to mention hiding her own sweets behind her back while begging for the woman's. She's not trading.
Quaptyziel blinks at Ielyzity as well. "Did you eat too many sweets, or something?" He asks the girl, with a bit of concern.. glancing at Ikty, and Merci as well. "Oh, alright, guess I'll have to check them then, if they haven't be3en replaced. They told me there was a bunch of them out." He admits, and looks back to Ielyzity. "Zity, you're not acting fine, this isn't like you." He says, and watches his sister, and turns to peer at her sweets for a moment.
Merci crosses her arms, pouch 'o meat clutched closed with a fist as her jaws get to gnawing that tough jerky. She keeps her mouth closed and her eyes on the tiny freckled thing approaching her. "So, I take it this is yers?" Eyes glance at Ielyzity first, then bounce to her older brothers, thick brows lowering in disapproval at their lack of responsibility. Arms drop to her sides, only to have a hand come up and move to grab the girl's jaw in a caloused finger hold. Grasping that young chin between index and thumb, Merci will lower herself and gaze into her face. "…" Another glance is sent to her older siblings, this look holding a growing flame of anger. "What've you been eatin', Freckle?" It's a low growl that carries the scent of herdbeast. Something about her behavior is familiar.
Iktyziel turns back from he aisles and continues to eye his sister suspiciously, vague frown for the girl as he states a rather flat, "You're acting strange." It's definitely accusatory, the lad likely having noticed the lack of response to the nickname. He takes a step back, attempting to get his armful of blanketpile away from the girl's reach while muttering, "You're definitely not fine." He'll agree with his brother, though the concern is replaced by a flicker of wariness as Merci starts asking questions. Ikt looks like he'd rather be off replacing glows too, right about now.
"I've only had a /little/ bit of sweets, Quappy. Honest," Ielyzity sings out to her other brother, shaking the bag she has before tucking it quickly back behind her. No one saw where she is keeping them! She is giggling again as she looks from the older woman back towards her brothers. "She called me an it. She thinks I'm an it. I think that's mean." And yet Zity is giggling all the while. It eventually stops, eyes having trouble focusing as her chin is grabbed and she is forced to keep her eyes away from Iktyziel and onto the brownrider. "I haven't been eating your snacks. That's what I /haven't/ been eating. I'd love to have some of it. It smells /wonderful/." A large smile stretches across her face, nose twitching at the smell of the herdbeast again. And yet that close, she can't help it, crossing her eyes and sucking in her cheeks to make a face at the brownrider.
The girl's reaction and her lack of manners certainly don't sit well with this brownrider, oh no. In fact, she'll release Ielyzity's face with a look of disgust, straightening up to clap a strong grip on her shoulder. "You." Poor Iktyziel is honed in on, as his brother is off being a good candidate and replacing glows. "You let 'er get like this?" 'Freckle' will get a shake, meant to empathize just how out of it the young girl is. The lack of straight answers earns another snarl, and a bit of a squeeze from Merci's grip on her shoulder. "You been eatin' any /flowers/, girl?" Depending on her answer, someone is going to get the blonde beaten out of him.
Iktyziel just stares at his sister, as if trying to figure out what's gotten into her. Merci's question has him furrowing his brows, the boy lifting his chin with a quiet, "I didn't, ma'am. I don't know where the nannies looking after her are." After all, he's a candidate too. But when flowers are mentioned, Ikt's eyes widen, the lad blurting out at his sister, "I can't believe you ate /anything/ that guy gave you."
If only Merci knew that the lack of manners were likely one of the few normal things that Zity is doing. And oh, this has just gotten so much better! She is grinning wide enough that her face will likely be hurting later. "Oh yes, he did, he's such a /bad/ older brother," she says with lots of nodding in agreement to the woman, making a tsk tsk sound and trying to glare at her brother. It's hard to do, howevever, with her giggling and grinning. The shake cuts her off abruptly, eyes glancing up to the older woman. "Flowers?" There's a muffled snort as she tries to suppress her laughter. "I *snicker* I don't know about flowers *snort*. But maybe I can remember with some *giggle* of your snacks." She whips around to put a finger to her mouth and a wet 'SHH' to come out at Iktyziel. "I dunno what you're talking about! That guy was very very nice. He gave me snacks," she adds to Merci with a pout. Then she lets loose the giggles. Who wouldn't be laughing when people are talking about eating flowers?
Quaptyziel is back! Just in time to hear of his little sister aparently eating flowers. "I didn't let her get like this either." He says, concerned, wondering where the nannies were that look out for her. He blinks at Ikty though. "Wait wait, /what/ guy gave her stuff?" Why yes, he is peering at you little brother. "Why'd you let her take it, if you didn't think she should be eating it?"
Merci struggles to keep her hold on the girl. It isn't that Ielyzity is struggling, it's just that the girl is acting too similar to a certain someone. Reflexes dictate that bad things should happen to the giggly, smiling girl, but luckily the woman is able to restrain herself. The muscles in her cheek are a'twitchin', though. Dark gaze snaps back up to Iktyziel, and she'll storm closer, big boots thumping on the ground until she's invading the boy's personal space. Quaptyziel is likely familiar, as she does her best to loom at both of them, equally. "Guy. Blonde? …As useless as he is obnoxious?" Merci demands answers, dragging Freckle along with her as she looks from one boy to the other. And then the giggly girl gets another shake, "Shardin' idiot… Ain't anyone taught you any sense?" Those growls have turned to near roars as the brownrider is /not/ happy.
Iktyziel just looks disgusted, though more at his sister than anything else. "I didn't let her take it," is shrugged at Quap, "And I don't know where the nannies looking after her are, but I can stop by the nursery and ask them to send someone for her. You'd better take her to the infirmary, if you're done," though he's ooking less concerned about the giggling girl and more concerned about the looming brownrider there. After all, he's been standing here with that armful of blanket. Someone's probably waiting for him to deliver it. The growly Merci is blinked at, albeit a bit sideways since Ikty kind of has to peer over the blanketpile. He nods at the woman's description of the man, confirming it with a, "Yes, ma'am. He was blonde."
Quaptyziel eeps at the looming rider, and he straightens up. "I-I don't know! I never even seen the man." He sats, honestly, and looks to Ikty, evidently big brothers been left in the dark about this. "Uh, right, I should take her to the infirmary." He says in agreement, but then Merci's grabbing Ielyzity, and shaking her, and, yeah, angry rider, he's not about to get between them yet.
Ielyzity stumbles along after Merci, almost tripping over feet that didn't want to move. They were happy standing back there! "Why's everyone so grumpy? Don't be grumpy Iky, Quappy," she coos at her brothers, and then towards the brownrider though there's no name to go with the latter. "And I am /soo/ old enough not to be hanging around with silly nannies, you know. Silly stupid brothers." She lifts a finger and waggles it over at Iktyziel, making sure to raise it high enough so that he can see it over the blanket pile. Her laughing is now directed at the woman's growling and angry faces. Tugging at Merci's arm, Zity adds, "He gave me noothing, everything is fiiine. I'm fiine. Everyone's just being so /silly/. Relax and have fun!" There's a short pause before she adds, "Canni have some of your snacks?" Because she is just not giving up on that.
Quaptyziel eeps at the looming rider, and he straightens up. "I-I don't know! I never even seen the man." He sats, honestly, and looks to Ikty, evidently big brothers been left in the dark about this. "Uh, right, I should take her to the infirmary." He says in agreement, but then Merci's grabbing Ielyzity, and shaking her, and, yeah, angry rider, he's not about to get between them yet. "We're grumpy, because you're acting strange." He answers Zity. "I don't think you should be having anything else, until the healers check you over."
Once Iktyziel confirms the woman's suspicions, Merci lets loose a string of curses foul enough to burn the ears of seacrafters everywhere. The tirade eventually ends, and the rider rounds on Ielyzity, "NO. Y'can't have any of my shardin' snacks!" The true culprit isn't present, and so the three younguns will have to deal with her fury. Iktyziel will at least know who to balme. Disgusted, Merci shoves the girl towards her eldest brother, as he doesn't have blankets preventing him from getting a decent hold. "Nannies." It's nearly spat out, "With all th'greens and bronzers in this weyr, they got enough brats t'look after. This," A finger is jabbed at the girl, "Is /yer/ problem. I don't want her outta yer sights." Talk of the Infirmary has her snorting, "She'll be fine, this time. Take 'er to th'Candidate barracks instead." She continues to loom, bristling, "If a white knot's what it's gonna take for you two t'keep a leash on that one…" The beast has spoken.
Iktyziel makes an even grumpier face! He just eyes those waggling fingers, nodding agreement with Quap about the healers. The cursing rider has Ikt's eyebrows rising somewhat, though he's soon wrinkling his nose even more. Really, the lad looks as if he'd prefer latrine duty to /this/, but doesn't protest.
Ielyzity attempts her best to mimic some of Merci's own curses, though she likely didn't even catch more than a few words at the end. Those that she did manage to catch are repeated in that singsong voice of hers, and then grinning up at the woman with big admiring eyes. Except soon enough her attention is on to something else, like pouting at the woman for lack of snacks. She lets it go. For now. It's easier to laugh at the woman's fury, anyway. "Wow, hey! Aw, she doesn't like me," she says with a sniffle, tripping into Quaptyziel and wobbling unsteadily for a moment. "I told you I ain't needing any nannies or silly, silly brothers. They're all busy anyway being… being…" Well, that really cuts off her laughing, the words penetrating her foggy brain. "Can I get some snacks to go with the knot too?"
Quaptyziel blinks at Merci for a moment, and winces. "Yes ma'am." He says, he's the older brother, it was his responsibility anyway. Her erks as Ielyzity trips into him, and he goes to help steady her. "Nah, I think she doesn't like the guy who gave whatever it was to you." And neither does Quap to be right frank. he grimaces at the cursing, and then eyes Zity. He's not a happy brother either. "You'd had enough snacks already, come on, we'll take you to the barracks, and you can lie down." Or something.
Merci finally takes a few steps back, retreating to the company of those viciously ugly vases. She doesn't take her eyes off the trio, opening up her pouch and shoving another chunk of jerky into her mouth. A nod is given as Quaptyziel seems to finally show some responsibility. Iktyziel is eyed, and there's a low murmur of, "Shouldn't you be gettin' those to someone, Candidate?" With Freckle the Flower Eater taken care of, the rider stoops low to hoist the pottery up into her arms, pouch once again clenched between her teeth. One last stern look is given to them all, before the woman gives a grunt and lumbers back out towards the cold where her lifemate is waiting. Hopefully all that excitement is enough of a distraction- should there be any question as to the whereabouts of two gaudy vases.
Iktyziel is going to stay nehind his blanketpile, and attempt not to make a face, thoug hthe grimace that's thratening definitely tugs atr his features. He stifles a groan, but gives Quap a look, likely to make sure the older brother has the sister in hand, before Ikt is heading out of the storage cavern with the blanket, mumbling a, "Yes ma'am."
Ielyzity finally decides it would be better to stay quiet and watch the others depart or go along where ever it is they are going. "She's /funny/," she tells her brothers with that familiar giggle, eyes following after Merci. No comments made on the woman's ugly choice in vases, or the lack of sharing her jerky. It has already been forgotten, and Zity's got her own pouch of sweet rocks, which she ifnally opens and pops a piece into her mouth. "I bet you two got in trouble." Giggle. "And now we're all together again! You"re all going to get into so much trouble I bet." Zity isn't going to make it easy on her candidate brothers, either. She hugs her brother's arm and looks up to him with her big green eyes. "To the barracks!" And she'll hum the entire way there, too.
Quaptyziel erps at the stern look, and then sighs as he's basically abandoned with the high sister. He looks to Zity. "Give me that." He says, and will try, and snatch the pouch from her. "To the barracks." He says, and will head out of the storage room, helping Zity to the barracks.
Ielyzity, Iktyziel, and Quaptyziel answer a few questions for Nomi.
Records Room (#653J)
This ancient room contains a treasure trove of records and information in varying states of decay and preservation. Lined with tomes dating from the 9th pass and wherhide scrolls so old and faded they look ready to crumble, this room exudes an air of awe to those who come here only infrequently.
In the middle is a comparatively new desk, with two comfortable chairs padded in russet with a few gold threads winding through. A replenished glowbasket sits atop the desk, pushed to the side a little by the Records currently being worked on.
A large set of winding stairs lead upwards to the senior queen's weyr, whilst a small door connects this room to the Fort's council chambers.
Fort's record rooms are occasionally busy but tonight there is only Nomi and her attending firelizards holding court at one of the larger tables. There is a stack of hides on her left, and a stack of hides on her right, and a thin sheaf of real paper in the middle upon which she is tapping with a thin-tipped stylus. She will look up at the Candidates as they enter, from one to the other, and back again. "Ietyzilt?" A battered old bronze raises his head from the back of her chair and churrls softlly. "I mean I think that's who I sent for. Witt's penmanship leaves something to the imagination." She grins at both of them in some semblance of welcome. "And yet here are two of you." Nomi adds a light laugh to her grin. "Make that three of you. Come in, come in."
"Owowow," that's what Ielyzity says just after she enters the records room, quick to dark inside. Most likely because finding her destination meant she can remove the blue demon from her shirt front and plop him on the nearest shelf. The blue firelizarad bristles and lets out a hiss, but Zity's attention is already turned. "Yep, that's me. Well, Ielyzity, or Zity." She gives the area a look about as if searching for the reason they were there and it takes a good long moment for her to remember manners. Dusting off that corner of her brain, she finally snaps a salute and stutters out a "Ma'am" that sounds like a foreign word coming from this young redheaded girl.
Iktyziel is not far behind his sister, EYEING that blue firelizard with utmost suspicion when it gets to hissing. He gives is a wary look, and keeps his distance, also peering around, as much out of curiosity as nervousness, the lad briefly catching his lower lip between his teeth, and then glancing sidelong at Ielzity. "Uh.." the question, and the name Nomi reads off, have him looking.. perhaps a little sheepish. "I'm Iktyziel, ma'am." Yep. He manages his own little salute, quickly tucking his hands behind him.
Quaptyziel is not far behind his siblings, though he's bringing up the rear. How'd he get dragged into this? Who knows, but he's here. There's an answering hiss from the little bronze on his shoulder. "Hush!" He says, and will plop the little demon on a shelf too, they can be demons together, or something. "Uh, I'm Quaptyziel, ma'am." He adds his own name to those given. "Um, Quap for short." He adds, with a grin.
Nomi focuses on SheWhoSpeaksFirst. The little weyrwoman never grew out of her own freckles and red hair, though the hair at least has darkened and deepened a bloody, broody black that forms stylish curls around her slim features. "Ielyzity… okay, and you spell that how, exactly?" She waves a hand towards one of two empty chairs. "Sit. Please." The taller Candidate then becomes the focus of her scrutiny. "Iktyziel… obviously related? You'll have to spell that for me as well." She waves him to the other empty chair while her old bronze keeps watch on the new little firelizards as if he could will them to behave. That leaves yet another red-capped Candidate. If Nomi were a man, she'd be doing some sums in her head and trying to remember whose furs she'd been in about sixteen turns ago. "Quaptyziel right? Q.u.a.p.t.i.z.e.a.l? You'll have to bring a chair over… not the one with the green on it. She's cranky." Obviously all three are bid sit and be welcome. "I can do all three of you at once, if that's okay with you?"
The blue firelizards sees you too, Iktyziel. His wing claws push him to the edge of the shelf so that he can tilt his head at an awkward angle at him and hiss some more. And then his brother is there… Joy. Hiss. Eyes darting around, Ielyzity's focus doesn't stay long on the weyrwoman at all, half-distracted as she is. "I-E-L-Y-Z-I-T-Y!" she chirps out and rather proud of knowing her letters, immediately jumping to the first empty chair there before any of her brothers can reach it first, plopping down with a wide grin. "They're both my older brothers," she notes. "At least, I'm certain Quap is…" Forget that the two of them were twins, right? Her eyes finally snap to perfect attention onto the older woman, focusing on her. "We're not in trouble for anything, are we?"
Iktyziel gives his twin a slight head-bob when Quap arrives, Ikt looking immediately less nervous now that his brother's there. He moves to take the indicated seat, dropping down and glancing about again. The hissing blue is given another wary look, though Ikt is quickly turning back to Nomi, replying with an obedient, "I-K-T-Y-Z-I-E-L." And then nodding, "Bluerider Ty'ziel is our father." There's another sidelong glance at his sister, the lad adding under his breath, "I often wish I weren't," to Iel's comment about her being certain only one of them is her brother. No great love for his little sister, apparently, Ikt however renewing the semi-nervous nibbling of his lower lip at the question of whether they're in trouble.
"Q-U-A-P-T-Y-Z-I-E-L" Quap will answer, though Nomi wasn't that far off. He'll nod to his siblings as well. "Yeah, I'm the oldest of the three of us, though we have an older brother." He admits, and goes to find a seat somewhere, to pull it over, and sit down. He does shoot his siblings a look though, at the whole acknowledging thing. Crimson ignores his brother, and peers at the humans, with whirling eyes. "Uh, yeah, did we do something wrong?" Did Zity, and Ikty doing something? It wasn't the flowers again, was it?
Nomi answers Iktyziel first. "Oh no, nothing like that. I'm interviewing Candidates, for the records. I like to know where you come from, what your skills and talents are, how you're enjoying your time at Fort Weyr — obviously you three do not know much else? No matter, I'm building a tome of statistics to see if Fort does better searching within its own weyrwalls, or without. Hopefully I'll get to interview you as Weyrlings too, one day, or weyrfolk if dragons don't like red hair." Nomi obviously has no worries about putting ridiculous notions in their heads. "I.e.l.y.z.i.t.y. Got it. And you're fourteen turns old?" She grins at Ikty. "Ty'ziel. Of course. He's not the one that used to wear bright pink leathers is he?" She'll write Iktyziel's name down, as he spells it for her. Bren the diplomat is left to keep watch on the flits, though Jago curls further under the table in hopes of going unnoticed, despite the hunter-green tail tapping against her chair's leg. Her human, the Nomi, writes Quap down properly as well and assesses all three of them from shortest to tallest, her attention finally coming back down the ladder to Zity. "Unless there is something you've done wrong? I can yell, if you'd like. I'm out of practice, but if I wake Sidijith up she can help. I'm told together we've got a pretty good glare." Sidijith loves flowers. Looooves them. Sometimes more than Nomi and occasionally more than Xanth.
Ielyzity lovingly sticks her tongue out at Iktyziel, even if she did start it anyway. "Mom's down in the kitchens," she adds, in case Nomi needed to know that too, and just for the fact that she wanted to tell the weyrwoman some useful information too. She leans back in her chair, ignoring the tangled mess of her hair except to occasionally blow it out from her eyes. "Must be some really big records. How long have you been doing it? Any useful information that you got from it?" She looks from one brother to the next and finally to the weyrwoman. "The Weyrleader's got red hair too," she points out, ever the chatty girl as she grins widely and stares at Nomi with wide curious green eyes. And then her best innocent look takes over, batting her eyes and all. "Me? Nope, never done anything wrong in my life. No need to waste time yelling."
Iktyziel nods agreement with Quap, murmuring a, "Bluerider Y'ziel," at the mention of an older brother. And he probably had an equally strange name, too. Ahem. Iktyziel will just have to /hope/ it didn't involve those flowers. Though he does give Ielzity a vaguely suspicious look. And a brief, if childish, tongue-out in return. Thbbt. Turning his attention back to Nomi, Iktyziel ohs, and then settls back in the chair. "Um.. we were all born here.. at Fort," the lad attempting to be helpful, though the mention of search has him biting down o nhis lower lip again, with a glance at his twin, and a quietly commented, "Some of the holders.. don't seem as if they are ever going to get used to living here." And the mention of pink leathers has the boy's cheeks turning a similar shade, the lad stammering out a, "N- no. Not that I know of, ma'am." Then again, it isn't as if Ty'ziel has all that much contact with his various offspring. For all Ikt knows, he /could/ be. As for yelling, Iel's claim of innocence elcits a soft snort, though Ikt isn't apparently going to say anything there.
Quaptyziel oohss, and nods. "Oh, well, we've gbeen to Fort hold, and other places, sometimes Y'ziel takes us with him when he gets sent places." He admits. Whether the blue rider had permission to take his little siblings with him is debatable, he was ccertainly quick to abandon them once they got there, though. Or atleast he did before they all got searched. Darn it, he's got nobody to dump there for the day anymore. He leans back in his seat as he listens, and his eyes widen a bit.. "Oh no no, we haven't done anything." That he knows of anyway. "Yeah, no need for yelling." He adds. "We're not related to the Weyrleader, honest." He says, remembering Eleni thinking he was related to U'rr. Clearly there's too many red heads around here. Or maybe not enough. "Yeah, I still remeember one holder girls freak out cause we were bathing without clothes."
Nomi likes the kitchens but is generally banned from them. "Fort's cooks are better than most, that is for certain. I like food." Waifish to the point of bony, Nomi's love of food does nothing to round out her slight frame. She tilts up her freckled cheeks, "Perhaps we're all related, somewhere in the past. My family's from Gar, mostly. Not so far from Fort." She talks of nothing, to put them at their ease, hoping they'll open up about their own lives. "No yelling then." A grin takes her from Zity to Ikty. "Nomi, please. Save the ma'am for the Weyrwoman." Its amazing how people can capitalize the word with their voice, as Nomi does. "So you're all from Fort - know your letters then? Numbers?" She nods back to Zity, "If you're good with a stylus I'll put you on the roster to help me collate all this data and see if we can find a pattern that might help us make Search more efficient." To Quap, "Fort Hold is always interesting, as are the Crafthalls there. You've never been tapped to the Crafts?" She asks all of them, of course, still ferretting out information as she can in case it comes in handy later. "I was a Holder girl myself, before Search. Bathing was the last of my problems when new to the Weyr."
"Mom makes some mean bubblies," Ielyzity says with a proud beaming face. Obviously she likes those bubblies a lot, too. "I think I've got 'nough brothers and sisters and whatnots. No time to start wondering if the Weyrleader— U'rr right? is our long lost cousin or something." Apparently formal names make Zity's mouth dry up, or maybe she's just allergic to manners. She scoots to the edge of her seat, putting her hands to either side of her and leans forward, eager to share as well if only to outdo her siblings. "Dunno why Hold people worry so much either. How else are they gonna bathe? And they've all /seen/ the same thing anyway." She giggles, tilting her head from side to side. "Oh." There goes her curiosity. "Letters— well, yeah, I know them. Numbers… not so much." That proud bubble she had earlier is popped, reluctant to admit. "Iky knows 'em better! And he's got good writing skills too." Throw her brother to the work instead! That works. Shrugging a shoulder to the craft question, she rocks back into the chair and crosses her arms. "Ain't been interested in any Crafts. And leave Fort Weyr?"
Iktyziel glances at his twin, but since Quap seems willing to talk about their various adventures outside the weyr, the lad nods quiet agreement, "Yeah, Y'ziel takes us to different places sometimes. He likes to check up on us," though whether that information is at all relevant to anything, who knows. "We probably have relatives all over the place," the lad shrugs a little, the mention of that hilder girl having him supress a grimace. "I still don't know what her problem was," he mumbles, though apparently feels the need to add, "The other one was alright, though." And he absently chews on his lower lip, as if thinking something over. There's a headtilt as he listens to Nomi, the lad at least relaxing a little more, "Our mom is Quiktala," since no one seems to have mentioned it yet, the boy adding, "But we're all fostered now." Weyrbrats, ahoy. As for letters and numbers, Ikty gives his sister another sidelong look, though he does tell admit quietly, "I know my letters and numbers." As for crafts, Iktyziel shrugs a little, mumbling, "I don;t think I could leave the weyr." And be leave, he likely means 'want', as there's a barely suppressed grimace for that. Holds are baffling and strange, yep.
"I'm a good writter, and good at marth, and letters as well." Quaptyziel says. "I don't know why they are either, I'm still wondering how you're supposed to get clean if you're covered up in your clothes." He says to Zity, and then looks back to Nomi. "I know how to sew, as well." He admits, ands tilts his head. "I don't know, never thought about crafts, though it could be an option, for if I don't find my lifemate." He says. "Ikty's better at cooking." He points out. "As for leaving, guess if I /had/ to, I would." Not that he'd really want to, though crafting could be interesting. He nods to Ikty. "True, most of them didn't seem to care." He says, meaning the holders.
Nomi jots down this and that, content here at the end of day to do an informal information gathering with these three Fortians who were born about the same time Sidijith hatched. She'll keep them talking, long past the candle-mark allotted to each Candidate, and eventually get most of the details about who they are, what they want, and who they might want to be one day down on her little paper… or papers, one for each. Her writing is miniscule and tidy, just like the rest of her. Eventually its Bren that reaches out a clawed back leg and pokes her in the back of the neck. Jago, roused at the same time to some internal clock shared with her fair-mate lifts up her triangular head and chirrups quietly — food? Perhaps they are merely picking up vibes from the little bits of firelizard attached to the Candidates… well, two out of three of them. "I'm glad to know you attend classes, Iktyziel. I'd rather all our Weyrfolk do, including Candidates. If nothing else we can send some of them home with more skill than they arrived, no?" Nomi is quite a fan of hard work and study, she spent what was left of her childhood being crammed full of everything Fort Weyr, Healer Hall, and Harper Hall thought she'd need know to become Fort's youngest Weyrwoman ever, with Liette's tenuous hold on reality troubling everyone and there being no other Juniors in the time before Thread. Anyway, enough about Nomi. But she does wrap up the interviews. "You can get back to the kitchens under that green glowlight, by the way. The password is 'spork' at the green door, to get into the stores." As if they wouldn't already know that. "I think you're little bits are hungry. Good to see Candidates impress firelizards. They'll come in handy, that's for certain." She has faith even Iky will impress something. "Goodnight, Reds."
Ielyzity generally has more questions to give than answers, with the occasional — alright, a lot— of teasing tossed to her brothers. It's not long before the interview has her bouncing in her seat to get up and out, glancing occasionally to the hissing blue on the shelf. Taking the excuse, she hops off the chair and grins at the weyrwoman. "Thanks, Nomi," she says, eager to rush out and find some mischief to do— or food. With a wave, she's already scooping up said firelizard and heading in the direction of the kitchens, if only to leave her brothers behind in case the weyrwoman needed anything else. "Night!" she calls over her shoulder, before leaving.
Quaptyziel snorts. "Yeah, he attends classes when he's not skipping them." He remarks, and nods to the Weyrwoman. "Thank you ma'am." He says, nodding to her, as he gets up. "I hope so, maybe when he gets older." He says about the firelizards, and goes to scoop up his own little terror, who is hissing, either from hunger, or just annoyance. He'll slip out as well, taking the shortcut pointed out.
Cabrien gets L'ton's signature without resorting to trickery.
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.
Cabrien and Quaptyziel team up to poach the dartboard from the Game Room.
OOC Time: Monday, November 8, 2010
Season (North Continent): Late winter.
Weather: Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Current Location: Game Room (#14272J) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Quaptyziel and Cabrien
Game Room (#14272J)
Distractions abound in the quirky underworld of the gameroom: checkers, dragonchess, parcheesi and Neratian stones compete for table space with tea-pots and klah mugs. Where the walls are not claimed by dart-boards, people have tacked up sketches, paintings, and the occasional needlepoint depicting scenes from around the Pern. Drinking is discouraged here (though encouraged upstairs), and a variety of curtains and moveable partitions allow guests to reformat the room on a regular basis. Baskets of scraps, knitting, leather and odd-socks allow people to keep busy and useful when not actively gaming.
It's late evening or thereabouts, with a majority of the weyr having settled on in for the evening. Tonight's adventure features none other than Cabrien acting as lookout and Quaptyziel acting as cohort. The more serious of the two Candidates positions himself behind the dartboard and Quap so as to try and at least obscure what his other half might be up to. Also, it provides him with plausible deniability. If he can't /see/ Quap steal the dartboard, he won't feel pressured to go and report the malfeasance.
It's fortunately that for this time of night, the game room is all but deserted, unguarded, just begging to have things pilfered. Quaptyzieel had crept his way into the game room with Cabrien, and over to the target. Looks like some gamers may be missing their favorite game for a while. He glances at Cabrien, and nods to him, he trusts him to keep an eye out, not that anybody should be in here at this time. He creeps up to the darboard hanging on the wall. He glances around again, before he works the board down off the hook it's hung on, for Faranth knows how long. He's quiet as possible about it. He bites his lip, before he gets it off, and hook, and quickly lowers it down into his arms to keep hold of it. "Got it." He whispers quietly to Cab.
Cabrien clears his throat and holds out a bag to Quaptyziel, one sufficiently large enough to hide the dartboard. "Hurry up. We gotta stash it 'fore someone sees us." Cabrien most definitely would die of shame if he was caught, after all. Once the dartboard is dropped into the bag, Cabe promptly passes it over to Quap, then sets off for the hallway, "I got an idea 'bout where we can stash it, too. Don't think anyone'd look here." Here, there. The point being: he's now on the run.
Quaptyziel will certainly take the bag, and stashes the board into it. "Right, right." He says, and closes up the ba, bnefore he follows after the other boy, carrying the bag with him. "Yeah, we wouldn't want the other team getting their hands on our prize." He grins, and heads into the hallway as well, looking around to make sure they won't be spotted, though they did have a cover story of what they were doing, if they were caught. "I'll take your word for it." He says.
… our intrepid theives steal off to a Super Secret Location so as not to have their plunder discovered, or worse yet — stolen! And so, safely ensconced within their loot headquarters, their story continues:
An indeterminate time later, they arrive at the location. The secret location. Cabrien forgoes standing watch to lead Quaptyziel deeper into the room, past various items of no real particular interest or importance. "We'll stash it here for now. Doubt anyone'll ever come this far in looking for it, and if they do, I doubt they're gonna find it." He reaches out for the bag from Quaptyziel, settling it into the bottom of a worn looking box, before piling items atop it. Said box is then nudged out of sight, sunk onto the lowest shelf of a shelving unit situated in one rather obscure little corner. "Think we oughta spread stuff out, just in case. Maybe find a new spot for the next thing."
Quaptyziel is sure to memorize the way to get to the location, as best he can, incase he's not working with Cabrien on the next bigg thing. There's five in the team after all. He takes note of various items as well, though he looks back to Cabrien as he speaks. "Alright." He says, and watches the other candidate stash the bag, and board. "Yeah." He says, and looks around the room to see if there's any other places that would be good to stash the next item.
"You gonna go for something else, then?" Cabrien asks as he finishes arranging things just so. "'cause honestly, half that stuff ain't safe to go for… 'least ain't somethin' I'm willin' to try and get." Cabrien looks to see if Quaptyziel understood, or at the very least agreed with him. Then again, Cabe was quite possibly the only rank-whipped candidate in the bunch.
Quaptyziel hmms. "I don't know yet, I might try." He admits. "Maybe work with somebody else, again." You know, as back up, keep watch, etc. "Why? You're not going to try for anymore?" He asks him, confused. "I think some of them are doablle, if done carefully." Some of them couldn't be that hard, they'll just have to be sneaky like they were tonight.
"Be awful careful if I do." Cabrien says. He continues to regard their 'stash', before shaking his head. "T'gul'd either be pissed or proud. Kinda figure more on pissed 'cause he liked a good game of darts." He glances back to Quaptyziel with a crooked grin. "Anyways… be sure'n hide them good if you do. No sense in goin' through all that hard work for nothing." He steps away from the corner, closer to Quaptyziel, "You ready to head back?"
Quaptyziel nods to Cabrien. "Yeah, same here, and have an excuse for if we get caught." He grins. "I'm sure he won't be the only one, the darts seemed to be rather popular to play." He himself had taken part in several games. "Roght, hide them well, I'll try to remember this spot for hiding them, this is a pretty good place." He says, and looks around again, before nodding. "Yeah, better get back, before somebody notices us missing." He says, and will start back, the way they came.
Cabrien meets Merci, sticks his foot in his mouth but is shown mercy.
OOC Time: Tuesday, November 9th, 2010.
Season (North Continent): Late winter.
Weather: The vault of sky is still, empty, freezing cold.
Current Location: Center of Fort Weyr's Bowl (#971J) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Merci and Cabrien
Center of Fort Weyr's Bowl (#971J)
Grey volcanic cliffs tower neckbreakingly steep to all sides of this gigantic ovoid that is Fort's Bowl, creating a vast haven— stretching over three thousand feet to the northeast and to the southwest— from the full impact of the cutting mountain winds. To the northeast, dominating the rest of the mountain range, looms the immensity of Tooth Crag; to the southwest, beyond the lake, the crumpled rim reminds of a catastrophe from ages past.
The airspace above is comparatively crowded, whether by wings or singletons; likewise, the packed earth and rock that grounds the Bowl sees virtually constant activity, particularly just to the east where the living caverns lie. Along the northern curve yawns the hatching grounds, and the lingering reek of blood on the western breeze is a tell-tale pointer to the feeding pens.
It is a winter afternoon. The vault of sky is still, empty, freezing cold.
Mid-afternoon brings an often anticipated, much needed break for most of the Weyr's Candidates. Cabrien is no exception to this rule. Though his lunch isn't taken inside so much as outside as he sets off toward the garden area. He looks as he always looks: deep in thought and dead-set on doing whatever it is that he's decided to do. A heavy jacket is worn to ward off some of the days chill, though the Candidate's ears and nose are still a bright shade of red.
Merci is without her lifemate today, a rarity that leaves the woman with a sour aura. Her stride is quick, hands curled into lazy fists as the woman lumbers to a far point of the bowl. There's a well sized structure that seems to be her destination, a decently sized pelt stretched out to catch what pathetic rays of sun are possible in such chilly conditions. The candidate crosses her vision, and she gives a firm grunt of greeting but not much else. The weyr is shardin' full of white knots now. Nevermind that some of that was her doing.
Oh if it were any other day, Cabrien might just return that nod and keep on walking. But it is not. And the Candidate has an agenda. An ongoing agenda that is something out of his nature, but enjoyed for just that very reason. So he alters his path to move toward the woman and that stretched-out pelt, the last of his meal finished off mere moments before he joins the woman. "Ma'am. Congratulations. Late as they are." His gaze switches to the pelt, his assessment rather droll. "Hope the cold doesn't hurt it any. Looks like a nice one."
"Thank you." As distracted as she seems, Merci's murmur is genuine in it's gratitude. Bent over the stretched out pelt, she smooths a gloved hand over the long, mottled fur. Faintly exotic, certainly not from around Fort. A grunt is given, and Merci straightens up to inspect Cabrien with half-lidded eyes. "Don't much care… S'feline. Just didn't wanna waste such big game." There's a pause as the rider allows the candidate to look over her handywork, dark eyes continuing to watch him with a fairly dull expression.
Cabrien knows enough to appreciate the exotic pelt, though having never really been his particular brew… it's a passing appreciation. "Wouldn't ever wanna cross paths with anythin' that big. Kinda like pickin' a fight you know you're gonna lose." He looks over to Merci, the beginnings of a smirk in place, but as with anything else the expression never quite seems to make it all the way to his face. "It's yours?" Not asked by way of technical ownership, so much as with an implied 'did you stake the beast'.
"N' yeah. Me n' Talimoth." Though hunting with a dragon hardly seems fair, surely the deceased creatures agree. "This'n is mine, yeah. Y'can tell 'cause it ain't ripped t'shreds like when Tali takes one down." There's the first variation in her tone since beginning to speak, fondness creeping in at the mention of her dragon. Still, the brownrider inspects Cabrien, a phantom of a smirk appearing on her own scarred lips. "What's your name, boy?"
The faintest shadow of doubt creeps over Cabrien's expression. "You got three of 'em?" You as in girl you and not singular 'you'. He is not veiled when it comes to /some/ things. He none the less accepts it because, quite frankly, Merci was a dragonrider and who was he to question it? "Cabrien," Offered on the heels of that headshake, his gaze slipping back to Merci, "Grew up here, mostly. Sort of remember you too."
Merci keeps her gaze steady, though those dark brows lower considerably. Stony gaze just got stonier. "Three." She grunts, head tilting to look up at the slightly taller lad. "I been huntin' bigger things since before yer 'glows' dropped, boy." His name is taken into consideration, another once-over given to the candidate before she gives a grunt. "Can't say th'same. All you runts look alike." Though he's not much of a child now, this doesn't seem to change her opinion. "S'pose th'white knot helps."
Cabrien again /nearly/ looks amused. Not surprised so much as amused. "Didn't know you were interested in my glows, ma'am." A skip-beat later, "T'gul's— the one that looked after me. Been a while since I been back." He looks back to the hide, reaching out to run his fingers over the surface before noting, "Think everyone knows you, though, ma'am. If not from the flight, then from… reputation."
"You wish, Runt." Merci rumbles, not so easily coaxed into mirth, though quick to respond. "T'gul." She sounds the name out, clearly trying to poke and prod at the seemingly hundreds of riders she has come across. When she's unable to produce a face, her shoulders jerk up in a careless shrug. The flight causes her lips to finally curl up into a triumphant smirk, scar made thinner by the stretching skin. "There are worse things t'be known for." Though a snort quickly follows, "Reputation?"
There's a soft note of amusement that /might/ be a snort. But that'd be rude so it can't be a snort, can it? "You're… ballsy. Ain't afraid to push boundaries. That sort of thing." Which when delivered with that certain lack of awe behind it, makes it seem more of a bad thing to be than a good thing. But it's again not intended to be purposefully rude, so much as a slip of Cabrien's mind that it might come off as such. "The type of girl that can take down three fairly large felines…" A shrug almost identical to Merci's surfaces.
Merci arches a brow, crossed arms tensing some, though staying tightly wrapped, one over the other. "S'far as I can tell, ain't no boundaries I've been pushin'." There's the pitiful squeak of leather as her grip on the fabric of her jacket tightens ever so slightly. "Girl." This time, the rider does laugh, low and gutteral as it may sound. There has to have been some throat damage for the woman to gain a perpetual husk. "Y'still got milk on yer breath, n' you're callin' me a girl." With an inhale, that smirk grows, "I'm a dragonrider first, n' a /woman/ second, Runt."
Nonplussed, Cabrien says, "Had milk for lunch, ma'am." He steps back a little respectfully, as though of making a point that he was being respectful. "Point understood, though. Won't be disrespecting a dragonrider." Too solemn, too serious is he about that. He regards her evenly thereafter, as though waiting to either be dismissed, condemned or welcomed back into conversation.
What bristling Merci has begun is slow to smooth out, and while that smirk remains it doesn't quite make it to her eyes. They're still forged from hard obsidian, though her brows are no longer casting the shadow of displeasure over them. She makes no comment about Cabrien's respectful retreat, instead turning away to inspect the feline fur. When the tension around the stocky woman finally eases, she grunts, "Y'want this?" A thumb is jerked towards the pelt, lips once again flat, neutral expression returning.
"Ma'am. It's a beautiful pelt. I'd be a fool to say no." Cabrien glances back at it, then says, "Couldn't ever afford something like it, though." There's no shame there, only up front truthfulness. But the temptation is present enough for Cabrien to say, "I'd be glad to do chores for it though. If you're willing to barter."
Merci dismisses his words with a snort, clearly not giving a damn if she's rude or not. "I don't want, 'r need nothin' for it. Was gonna give it to someone, but don't even know if they like furs." Another shrug, clearly not caring enough to do any research on the person in question. Turning to face him once again, she murmurs, "Consider it a reminder of what a woman c'n do." A sloppy 'lesson' wrapped up in a conveniant way to get the sharding thing out of her hands.
"Ma'am." Cabrien accepts the offer with a ready nod, and a fading smile. "I'm well reminded." If still stuck in his ways. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, kicking at the ground in a brief, rare display of unease. "Be obliged if you'd allow me to at least do something," He says at last, "Say it's candidate chores if it makes you feel any better. Maybe you'll let me do your laundry." He poses it as something of a joke. Because he's a man and men didn't do laundry, see.
"Stubborn." Merci growls under her breath, reaching up to begin unfastening the pelt from being stretched out. The fur is felt once more, and still she seems genuinely unimpressed with it. So she'll offer it to the boy, upper lip curling in mild annoyance. "Fine. Laundry. I'll drop my things off next mornin', along with what I wore when I skinned the feline." Hope Cabrien isn't squeemish. Then again, something tells the rider that if he is, it likely won't effect his sense of duty.
Cabrien takes the fur, "Done deal, ma'am. I'll get it to you by evening." He steps back, "Oughta be getting back to chores now. Appreciate the fur… " A moderately respectful tip of his head follows, before he turns a slow circle and starts back toward the weyr proper.
Merci is unable to shoo him off, as the candidate is quick to get back to his chores. Another huff leaves the woman, before she takes the rest of the structure down. "Runts're gettin' mouthier with every shardin' clutch." That'll be the brownrider's crotchety mutter, heard by none as the temperature begins to drop. Soon, she is venturing for the warmth of the weyr.
Ielyzity, Iktyziel and Trill steal sands, and one does a face plant.
It's currently late winter on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 14 days into the 10th Pass. It is evening at Fort Weyr. Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Characters: Trill, Iktyziel, Ielyzity
Summary: Faceplants and sand steals.
Hatching Grounds' Entrance (#878J)
High-arching, grandiose: sound echoes and re-echoes within the curvilinear lines of this tunnel. Heat rolls off the sands beyond, assaulting the senses as soon as one enters; that innermost cavern beckons like a beacon: bright, sparkling, teasing with a few scattered fool's gold grains. The showy galleries reach high above, accessible by sweeping staircases that twine along twin marble pillars; intricately carved depictions face the walls in bas relief, contours smoothed by time and passersby's touch. One sculpture in particular draws the eye, more lustrous than the rest: a hatching dragonet, it bears the signs of turns upon turns of sweaty, loving palms brushing across its muzzle, in the hopes that it will bring rumored-of good luck.
Obvious exits:
Bowl SAnds STairs
You walk northeastward across the huge cavern, easily a quarter the size of Fort Weyr's immense bowl.
Trillian jauntily strolls across the bowl, the cold air condensing around her breath as she whistles. A bucket is swinging at her side and a small scooping. Contraption? Uhoh. She kneels at the edge of the hatching sands, contemplating, and getting an eyefull of that queen who is likely patrolling her hood.
Iktyziel is.. lurking about. He usually is, someplace or another, though the boy appears to have been on his way out of the galleries when the whistling catches his attention. He idly turns around to follow, hands tucked deep into jacket pockets. He pads after Trillian, like a short, red-headed shadow. Doot dee doo.. nothing to see here.
Two scoopers are better than one, right? It's Ielyzity's scooper of course, though it looks more like a little shovel she stole from a gardener from inside the Weyr, seeing that they're not using it in this kind of weather. "It's not like we're doing anything /wrong/?" she says as she comes up behind Trillian, not really being subtle about it. She glances from the bucket the other girl has to the dragons on the Sands, warily.
Trillian kneels on the edges of the sands and sets up her little..crane..pully thing. She looks around warily, "We're not allowed on the sands. Logically,I think it is because the queen might think we might hurt her eggs. Or lick them.." she scans the skies for the egg licking Ceruuth as she places the bucket to her right. "We should get this done fast before people ask questions. If they do ask though." she lowers her voice, "I will tell them I need a counterweight for my snow launcher. Or a sandbag for under my bedpost, since it is wobbly."
Iktyziel hangs back, watching the girls, and just maybe keeping a lookout. He's without scooper, alas, but he'll helpfully answer Ielzity, "I guess some dragons get really upset when there are people near their eggs. Since there hasn't been a clutch in turns.." he looks out over the hatching sands, "At least we can see them now." Because only getting to hear the rumors and with guards posted and everything ..might have been a little unnerving. Trillian's answer for her excuses for being there earns a browraise, Ikt commenting, "Those are ..some interesting reasons." Yep.
Ielyzity glances over her shoulder towards her brother, narrowing her eyes at his lack of putting himself out in the danger zone. "Not like the fat Queens can really get to us fast enough before we're out of here. We're /far/ from the eggs." She squats down near Trillian, eyes glancing back and forth from the dragons to the bucket, trying to scoop. Unfortunately the constant glances means she misses the bucket quite a few times. "Could just say we're getting sand cause my firelizard laid an egg." Forget that her firelizard is a blue and a baby. Said firelizard is, at the moment, tangled in her red hair and staring at Iktyziel. No hissing at least.
Trillian stops winding her scooping device a bit and ponders, "I believe that if a queen wanted to get us, the sheer length of her legs and her size, and her ability to fly above us would mean we would die quickly. Gizzards all over the place. Quite messy." And back to scooping. "That would be a valid excuse, Iely, I do think. If they do not accept my excuses."
Iktyziel has no scooper! Besides, how long does it take to fill one bucket? "You cold just scoop it up with the bucket," he suggests, seeing how many time Zit is missing the thing. He nods at the excuse of the firelizard egg, though, saying, "Or maybe we found some eggs- oh hey.." eyes widening with sudden idea! "Hey Zit, do you think you could tunnelsnake eggs down in the caverns? You're always hunting those things. You could say they're firelizard eggs, maybe paint them up.. stick them in the bucket." And incidentally, give anyone who tries to /steal/ the busket, a nasty surprise when the things hatch. Ahem. Ikty will just IGNoRE the blue terror in Iel's hair. He's busy watching for riders anyways. "Yeah.. she's probably right," he does agree with Trillian, "Unless we could run into some place small enough."
"Well, she won't go /that/ far from her eggs, right?" Ielyzity points out with her eyes on the dragons for a long moment, as if expecting to put their theories to the test. "The second she moves, we throw the bucket and split up. Can't get all of us. Hopefully she'll go for the bigger target first." And there's a not-so-subtle pointed look over her shoulder at her older brother, but her evil grin turns brighter at his idea instead. "Hey! I like that! And I bet I could watch where they go and find a nest, instead of just snaring the sharding buggers." Insert cackle. "Might be too small for firelizard eggs but a perfect excuse to keep the bucket 'round! Whatcha think Trillian?" She doesn't have the bucket, but she's stubbornly still scooping with her little shovel. And this time she's purposely missing, if only to make her brother sweat some more.
Trillian is almost finished scooping up the sand to the bucket. "I ..don't know." she says contemplatively, shuddering when Iktyziel mentions tunnelsnakes, "Those things make me shudder. Their fangs alone.." Let it be known that Trill has a fear of snakes. "We need to hide the bucket well so that the others won't steal it. Where should we put it?" A thought, "Maybe under my bed? I have many items under there, hard to distinguish what is what."
Iktyziel shrugs, "She might not, but I'll bet she'd be willing to send other dragons after us." The dragons there are eyed as well, though the lad doesn't seem so much worried about them as anyone /else/ who might be wandering by. There are more than a few looks over his shulder as he stands watch. "Hopefully she'll go for the annoying one first," Ikt counters, with a pointed look at Zit, nodding about the tunnelsnakes, "Maybe.." for being too small. He hasn't exactly spend enough time around 'snake eggs to be able to make an accurate comparison.
As for where to hide it, Iktyziel contemplates, "Near our stuff might be easy to look through, though. Hmm.." the lad pondering while he continues to glance around, "Perhaps somewhere in the storage caverns? Put it far in the back behind a bunch of things, and no one would be able to find it." Including them, if they're not careful.
Ielyzity sticks her tongue out at Iktyziel but quickly forgets what it was all about. "I still like the 'snakes idea." She just sprinkles sand on the top of the bucket, since Trillian is really the one that filled the bucket in the most. "Tunnelsnakes aren't all that bad." Pause. "When they're dead. Dead tunnelsnakes makes people really really happy, and gives me marks," she goes on, smirking to herself. "Gonna need a good guard if it's somewhere easily found like under beds or in the barracks." She sinks the shovel into the sand, leaving it there this time. She bobs her head to the idea of the storage cavern, adding no other ideas of her own. "I wonder where /they/ are gonna hide their stuff. So much easier to steal from them instead." Her green eyes stare hard at the dragons, body tensed and ready to jump and run out of there. Just in case.
Trillian stands, filling the bucket with just a little bit more sand on the top. And then, she tries to grab it, raising her arm, and proclaiming, "NO snakes. To the storage cav-!" but she takes one step and falls flat on her face /into/ the hatching sands, shreiking and jumping up to wipe the scorching hot grains off her cheek. Especially the cut that was recently inflicted by her flying stomach. "Faaranth..that smarts" she exclaims, wincing.
Iktyziel resists the urge to stick his tongue out, wrinkling his nose at his sister instead. "We could boil the eggs, to keep them from hatching," he suggests to Trillian, "It isn't as if we're going to need the sand afterward. We can just throw it out." Stinky rotten eggs mught be just as good a deterrent against stealing, really. "Dead tunnelsnakes are better than live ones," Ikty will agree with that, at least. "We should-" he begins, but then Trillian is doing a faceplant in the sands and he rushes forward, offering a hand up with a, "Trill! Are you alright?"
Ielyzity gives the sand on the top of the bucket a pat while she makes a face at Iktyziel's new suggestion. "And have the /smell/ lead the other team to our hiding spot? No way! Live ones will work, cause if someone stumbles on it they'll just think it's someone's firelizards. Or something." Then again, who can resist stealing firelizard eggs then if there was no angry gold guarding them? Zity is about to stand up after Trillian, but when the other girl topples over, Zity breaks out into loud laughter. She sits heavily on the ground, watching Trillian get up. "Oh— shells that's— hahaha— sorry!" Snortgiggles escape her, but no sympathy. Anyway, that's what her brother is there for. It takes a little bit, but finally she clamps a hand over her mouth and swivels her eyes to the dragons, expecting to find them ready to eat her now.
"A bit charred, but I think I'll live," Trill utters faintly, with one of those 'not crying, but it still smarts' tears in her eyes. Bending over, she quickly shoves the rest of the sand in the bucket and nods, "Let us go, I think if I grab some snow and put it on my cheek, it will help things." And off she goes. Hopefully they'll follow.
Iktyziel shrugs, "So stick some more eggs in other places around the storage cavern." Make the whole place smell awful! Okay.. maybe not. "I don't think it'll smell until the shells break," the boy shrugs again, having never spent all that much time around rotten eggs, either. Ahem. "/Zit/," he mutters as she starts laughing, and making noise, the boy tossing a glance at the dragons, and making a shush at his sister. Nose wrinkled up, he heads off after Trillian, saying, "Good idea," and hurrying his steps.
"Sounds stupid to me," Ielyzity say about her brother's recent ideas. She probably just really likes the thought of hatching their own tunnelsnakes. Makes business easier, right? She doesn't need to be told twice, scrambling out of the sand and back onto her feet, shaking off sand as she goes. "Wait for me!" she squeaks out. She's certainly terrified now more than before of being eaten by the clutchparents, glancing over her shoulder once before running after the other two.
Ielyzity and Trill steal a ladle from the kitchens while avoiding El Groucho the cook
It's currently late winter on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 17 days into the 10th Pass. It is afternoon at Fort Weyr. The vault of sky is still empty, freezing cold.
Characters: Trill, Ielyzity
Summary: Stealing a ladle from the kitchens while avoiding El Groucho the cook
Kitchen (#529J)
A complex array of scents suffuses this mammoth cavern, lightened by the trace of fresh breeze that passes through the vents from the Bowl. The smooth stone walls have been whitewashed to a tall man's reach, and along that line stretches a knotwork design painted in bright hues reminiscent of Fort Hold's Great Hall — and from there soars the elaborate vault that is the ceiling.
All this expanse of cavern is seemingly constantly in motion, thanks to the hordes that work here; hearths built into the base of natural chimneys run all along the walls of the kitchen while in the center stand areas for cutting and preparing meals, all fairly smothered in activity. Drudges scurry past on their innumerable duties, while the head cook Grizelda stalks about tasting this, adding spices to that, and looking perennially dissatisfied even with this splendid array of food. A broad tunnel leading to a complex of 'storage' rooms lies to the east, while to the south is the opening to the great staircase and the rest of the caverns.
Obvious exits:
Stairs
Ielyzity comes up the imposing flight of stairs.
For once Ielyzity isn't in the kitchens looking for her next bubbly pie that early afternoon. She's there /working/, judging by the scowl on face and her arms up in suds as she tries to get rid of some of the tougher stains on the pots and pans piled up beside her. Throwing the occasional glare towards the smug cooks, likely some that knew her from before. "This is impossible," she hisses more to herself, pulling out a pot from the water with a dark burnt ring and a rag she's using to scrub.
Trillian is also working. Le sigh. She's at the sink next to Iely but instead of pots, is washing some bowls and plates. "Sometimes I wish there could be a heavy duty soap," she offers, "But I am not sure how to concoct one. Maybe a healer would know? I also wonder what it is people are /eating/ that gets so black and crusted like this." She wrinkles her nose as another load is thrown into her sink and some droplets splash her cheek.
Ielyzity tilts the pan so that Trillian can see the stain better. "I think it's bad cooks, not bad food." And Zity makes sure to say this loud enough for her voice to carry to the nearby cooks, earning several glares in return. "Would Healers know 'bout stuff for pans, though? Maybe the Smiths might have something. We can just toss 'em in the forge and make new ones. Sharding pain." Scrubscrub. She tries to scratch at some of it with her nails, making a face. "And it's boring too. You're into making stuff. Bet you can get out of chores if you make them something to get this stuff off." She shoves the pan back into the water, ignoring it for another one to clean.
Trillian peers at the pan and grabs a knife, sticking it in there tentatively. "It doesn't even come off with a knife? Well I suppose Smiths could make a new pot, especially out of an old pot, but it would save effort if the old ones lasted longer." A grouchy older cook leans over and snatches the knife from Trill's hands, "If ye can't use it right, ye can't use it at all," he mutters, depositing it into yet another sink. After he is not within earshot, Trill mutters, "I wonder if he sat on a knife and that is why his disposition leaves some too be desired." She rolls her eyes. Suddenly another load is dumped in her area, just full of utensils, plates and ladles. *gasp*.
"Haven't tried a knife," admits Ielyzity, wincing at the sound of metal scraping against metal. She shakes off some suds from her hands, eyeing the cook that took away the knife and sticking her tongue out at his back. "Or maybe he thinks us candidates will rebel against the cooks cause their food is that awful. You know, I wonder if they're trying to poison us, less candidates to worry about you know?" Unfortunately, Zity doesn't care about being nice enough to keep her voice down, only when she is mumbling about all the scrubbing. She pauses in her scrubbing, eyes locked on the new load in Trillian's sink. "So… cleaning… bet they have to toss out a lot of stuff at the end of the day cause they're impossible to clean. Right?"
Trillian laughs, "The food tends to go up and down in quality. Odds are it just depends on who is on duty that day, I think. Or if they are training new staff." Scrub scrub. She too eyes the ladle, but says nothing for the time being, as El groucho comes back and frowns, watching them closely before moving off to attend a roast. "I think they do have to toss out alot of stuff at the end of the day." Her eyes glimmer with ideas and possibilities. Plotting is afoot. Mwa haha.
Ielyzity ponders those words for a few moments before she bobs her head in agreement. "That could be it. Mom bakes, and her stuff is usually really good." She waves a sud-soaked hand in the general direction of the ovens, even if there is no woman over there currently. "So I know the pies and rolls are always really good, it's just this gunk." And she emphasizes gunk right as the grouchy cook returns, flashing her best Weyrbrat grin at him. She scoots a bit closer to Trillian, as if to reach for another rag near the girl. "You're tall. Tucking it into your pants under your shirt… You can easily hide something that they're /bound/ to toss out," she notes, actually managing to keep her voice down.
"THE PIES AND ROLLS are always good," Trill says, in overly loud tones, eliciting headshakes from El Groucho. But thankfully he moves off to bring something out to the caverns and is not within earshot. In the meantime, Trill fishes out a small hammer from her pants pocket and 'washes' it with one rather battered ladle, sufficiently bending the handle a bit. El Groucho comes back just in time for Trill to hold up said ladle, it is obviously junk now. A scowl, "Missy, get /out/ of my kitchens!" he utters with a booming voice, massaging his temples. Oh those candidates. Trill wastes no time in grabbing her hammer, the ladle and running the heck /out/ of there.
"/Always/ good," Ielyzity agrees with Trillian nice and loud, sticking her best big cheesy grin towards the man. Likely that earns her a total of zero brownie points, still. "What are you doing?" she asks, staring at the hammer when it emerges, all wide-eyed and curious. When the handle is bent, she has to stifle a giggle and leap away when grouchyman returns. "Hey, don't leave me here alone!" she calls after Trillian. She would attempt an escape as well, except the cooks watching over her give her a look and she is forced to stay behind to finish washing up. A soggy Zity will go looking for Trillian shortly after quick-scrubbing the rest of her pots and pans, likely doing an awful job at it too.
Iktyziel and Kiaran end up with fishes.
The Beach!
This thin strip of cozy sand lines the southwestern rim of the Weyr, leading from the cave-in northward almost to the fence of the feeding pens, where the lake carves out some water for the herdbeasts. Cliff to one side, water to the other, there's no direct Bowl access other than by air or through the lake itself; thus, particularly in colder weather, it's often a good, quiet place to think. In warmer weather, however, relaxing (and drying off) on the beach proves to be a delightful pastime, serenaded by the assorted bugles and splashes of dragonkin revelling in the lake. At the end opposite the herdbeasts, the sand becomes a little grassy, with even a clump here and there. Some interpid weyrfolk have chipped out handholds in the rock, where cliff meets water, angling up and up again above the lake.
It is a winter sunset. The vault of sky is still, empty, freezing cold.
It. Is. COLD. Brrr. Iktyziel, bundled up like some kind of pillow, is perched on a boulder that sits right up against the cliff face, the rock partway into the water and making an ideal spot to watch the sun go down. It also makes a handy fishing spot. The las has a rod and hooks, and plenty of line as he perches there, tugging his jacket closer and huddling down, while nibbling idly on the bait. Which just happen to be bits sliced herdbeast, likely pilfered from the kitchens. The boy's red hair is tucked away under a knitted hat, and the scarf around his shoulders is a matching grey, like the rest of his clothing, which is a bit too big and terribly drab. Not that it matters much as he sits there, occasionally wiggling the line.
Kiaran is likewise very bundled. There's a thick, woolen scarf around his neck, wrapped tight right up to his nose and over his hat in the back. He's walking carefully like he might slip and fall at any moment, whether there is a patch of ice or not. Iktyziel is spotted, and Kiaran heads in his direction. "I, uh, I'm supposed to help you. Do we have to use bugs?" There's quite the worried tone of voice there.
Iktyziel is busy concentrating on the water, which isn't all that demanding a thing, really. But he does start just a little when Kiaran speaks, glancing over and then grinning a an, "Oh, hey." Scooting further down the boulder, he shakes his head, "Nah, I don't think we'd find a lot of bugs at this time of year, anyway. I took some of the meat they were slicing for sandwiches," indicating the half-empty bowl beside him. "Want some? It's pretty good. The fishes don't seem too interested, though," turning back to the lake, the boy's brow wrinkles slightly, "I've been here so long, I think my foot's fallen asleep." However long he's been sitting there, he has no fish to show for it. Yet.
Kiaran eyes the meat for a moment. "That's better than bugs, at least." Kiaran notes taking just the tiniest bit to nibble on. After all, it was suggested. "I was told to come help you. But I don't think I've ever fished." He notes with a shrug of thick coated shoulders.
"A lot better than bugs," Iktyziel agrees, grinning over at Kiaran for a moment, "I just wish I'd brought some klah. It's freezing out here." The boy tucks his legs under him, and huddles down in his jacket. At least, being over-sized, it covers a lot more of him. "I haven't really fished much, either," Ikty admits, with a slight shrug, "As far as I can tell, you just hook some bait to the end of the line, and toss it out into the water," a pause, "..and then wait." He wiggles his pole a bit, causing the bait already in the water to jiggle about. "I thought I had a few biting earlier, but.. the line broke." Alas.
Kiaran stares out at the water. "That sounds really cold. Maybe the fish all froze and died in the water." Kiaran suggests, finishing his nibbling and tucking gloved hands under his armpits. "Maybe that's not what you're supposed to do then. If you haven't caught anything. I wish I had a book."
Iktyziel gives Kiaran a funny look there, for a second, but then shrugs, "If they did, we're sitting out here for nothing." Still, he can't argue about the cold, breath steaming somewhat as he puffs out his cheeks and huddles into his jacket some more. "I wish we could just go steal some fish from the kitchens and say we caught them," he counters, "Why don't you grab a pole and try it? It might work better with two."
"That wouldn't be honest, though. We'd be lieing." And that would be bad in Kiaran world. "What are we going to do with the fish if they're out there? We can't keep them in the barracks. It would be insanely nasty and disgusting." The teen shudders, but doesn't even reach for one of the fishing poles.
Iktyziel shrugs, apparently not caring about the lying part. He shrugs again at the question of what they're going to do with them, likely not knowing himself. He'll stay there fishing till five fish are caught, though, since he really has no help to speak of. When the line finally does bob with a nibble, that one gets pulled in, and left to flop about up the beach.
"Eek!" That's really the sound that Kiaran makes as that fish starts to flop about on the beach. "It's not dead!" He'll back away quickly staring at the little animal in horror. And really, that's the same pattern that follows for the next four fish. Ikty will catch them, and Kiaran will whimper about them. It's an odd form of teamwork.
.
Cabrien and Quaptyziel strike again. This time it's boots.
OOC Time: Tuesday, November 9th, 2010
Season (North Continent): Late winter.
Weather: The vault of sky is still, empty, freezing cold.
Current Location: Public Baths (#506J) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Quaptyziel 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.
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 cold days turned into an even colder night. It's no wonder that people have been drawn tto the warm bathing pools, like an insect to fire. Quaptyziel has been drawn here as well, though for entirely different reasons, and he's certainly over dressed for somebody taking a bath. He'll peek around the entrance to the cavern, and looks to Cabrien, the watchdog again, before he creeps his way into the cavern, hoping the current residents don't spot him through the steam rising.
Fortunately most of the residents are harmless. Too tired to care much what one creeping figure is doing. Cabrien again does act the part of look-out, lingering near enough the entrance to give Quaptyziel a good seven second head start before he pushes further into the baths. It'd be one hapless resident sequestered off toward a pool in the back that becomes his focus, and with a small clearing of his throat to garner Quaptyziel's attention, Cab seeks to indicate as much. Boots lie at the ready; ripe and just waiting to be plucked. Cabrien begins stripping as he heads toward that pool, taking his time so as to allow Quap time to get into position.
Quaptyziel will strip as well, as he goes, may as well play the part, even if there is only one resident. He looks in the area indicated, and nods to Cabrien, as he heads that way, staying atleast in his shorts, at the moment. He glances at the resident who looks content enough to be lounging back in his seat, with his eyes closed, like no care in the world.
Cabrien purposefully steps between the lounging resident and Quaptyziel, leaving Quap in clear view and range of those boots. He slips into the water with a suffering little sigh. "Evening," is offered - and unreturned but for the resident grunting and mumbling something about candidates and rudeness and won't you shut-ups. Cab is ever so polite in doing just that, keeping in place to keep the man from noticing his boots are soon to be MIA. For a short while, at least, because he soon asks: "Mind getting me that soapsand over there?" Over there requiring the man to reach and twist, again further helping take his attention away from those prized boots.
Quaptyziel looks at the resident, and bblinks a moment, before raising an eyebrow. Boy, that guy must of had a rough day to be in that mood, or else he likes his privacy. He eyes the man, trying to put a name top the face, but his minds not bringing one up. He'll look around at any other occupants of tjhe cavern, to see if they're looking this way, but they seem to be minding their own business. Candidates hanging around after a day of chores wasn't that unusual, after all. He'll creep up to the boots, and carefully remove, amd set aside the guys socks that had been haphazardly flopped on the foot wear. No dropping them, as that makes noise, he'll set them down, before he picks up the boots. Now comes the tricky part, of sneaking back out.
Cabrien remains a solid 'wall'… tall enough to pull of playing one, and chatty enough to keep the resident from really being able to pay much attention to Quaptyziel. To be sure if it came right on down to it, Cabrien would play rodeo-clown to give Quap time to escape with those boots. Fortunately it's not yet needed as once the resident hands off the soapsand to Cabrien he slips back down into the water with his eyes closed - perhaps hoping Cabrien will take a hint and leave him in peace.
Quaptyziel will pluck up the boots, and eye the residdent, and other occupants, before he turns, and proceeds to creep out of the cavern. He walks out of the cavern acting 'natural', until he's clear, and then he's hurrying off with his bootnapped prize. He heads down the hall, eventually into the secret location, after checking noone was following, he'll slip inside to stash the stolen boots. He looks for a place to stash them, that's not already taken by another object they've gotten.
It'll be a good while later that Cabrien exits the baths and heads straight for the barracks, the resident having lounged longer than he and so all too likely to be upset with someone /else/ upon discovering his missing boots.
Quap steals sand, with Wehlim watching
OOC Time: Wednesday, November 10th, 2010
Season (North Continent): Late winter.
Weather: Hazy clouds warm the sky.
Current Location: Hatching Grounds' Entrance (#878J) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Quaptyziel and Wehlim
It's evening in Fort, and with Rukbat's rays diminishing, most folks are either in the caverns having dinner, or in their own quarters, getting ready to turn in. Quaptyziel's slipped out of the caverns, after dinner. He's bundled up for the cold as he heads across the bowl, toward the hatching grounds, which is deserted, atleast in terms of humans.
Well.. not entirely deserted. Wehlim is present, high up in the stands, working on sewing something that's big together. There's a box next to him, holding supplies that he's been using, as well as being a carrying case for the item on his lap. A long stretch of white cloth that's strangely not candidate robes. He's taking a break from the kitchens, and is finished with his candidate chores, and had something else pressing to complete.
Quaptyziel is carrying something with him too, as he goes. A bucket that he got from the stores, as well as something to scoop stuff with. Only he's not after snow, but sand. First though, he'll set down his tools, before he moves his way up into the galleries, to check to see if they're really deserted. Only to find…another candidate. "Oh, hey Wehlim." He greets, with a grin. "Working on your robe?"
Wehlim looks up and its with an initially wary regard that he greets Quaptyziel. A few seconds pass, and that regard passes, changing into something a little more easy going. "Oh.. Hey. No, not my robes." He looks down at the white cloth as he speaks. Indeed, it's too thick and of the wrong material to make a good robe, and despite the fact that he's very tall for his age, it's likewise just way too much for him. He's sewing up the big gashes that marr it in certain parts, but Quaptyziel's entrance puts that job aside. "This is for.. you know.. I'll tell you later. Maybe you can help with it." He grins a little. Then that grin fades and he shrugs. "Or not." The last time he asked someone to help with it.. The reception left him cold. He clears his throat. "So, what're you here for? Eggs or..?" And yes, he does mean 'that' particular or.
Quaptyziel raises an eyebrow, and eyes the object in question, trying to see what it is. "Well, I could help if you want." He says. "Or…not if you don't." He adds, and moves to sit down for a moment. "Oh here to look at the eggs, while it's quiet." He says, and eyes the sands below. "I had another plan, though, since the place is rather deserted." He admits. Good time for mischief, yes, and he'll eye the clutch parents for a moment.
Wehlim shrugs his shoulders. "It involves making paste dyes. Or sewing." He stops there, allowing his eyes to trail back towards the sands for a moment, at the clutch parents. Not all four of which are present at this exact moment, though he's not for sure which are present, not yet well enough acquainted with the beasts to recognize their colors and what not. He glances back to Quaptyziel and then grins, perhaps a bit too mischieviously for his own good. "Oh? Yeah.. it /is/ rather quiet here. I haven't seen anyone in at least half a candlemark. Cept the dragons."
Quaptyziel isn't sure which ones are out there at the moment either, but some missing could mean they'll be returning at any moment, which would be disasterous. Least for Quap. "Paste eyes? Are you making some sort of doll?" He asks, and eyes the object again for a moment. He grins, maybe the other boy was catching on to his plan. "Yeah, just like I was hoping." He grins, and drops to a whisper. "I was hoping top borrow some of their bedding, if you get my meaning." He says, obviously meaning the hatching sand.
Wehlim actually giggles, then catches himself, grunts and clears his throat with a shake of his head. All in one gesture, at that. "Uh.. No, paste.. Dyes." He says making sure to pronounce the 'D' clearly. He glances towards the sands again before grinning and starting to roll up the bedding as he says very quietly, as though there were a million ears around the mostly empty cavern to hear, "I'll help you. Lemme put this up. W..we gotta hurry though." Because yes, a dragon waking up, looking their way, or returning would all be quite bad.
Quaptyziel ohs! "Dyes, right, well, I could still help I guess, though I've never made paste dyes." He says, a bit embarassed from having misheard him, maybe it was all the whispering. Whispering's good, dragons seem to have pretty good hearing after all, and who knows, could be firelizards hidden in here somewhere. He looks to the sands, and nods, giving a grin. "I already got a bucket, and something to scoop with." He says. "Do you want to scoop, or keep watch?" He asks, after all, better to have a warning of incoming dragons, then none at all, right?
Wehlim pushes the rolled cloth into the box and stands up, picking up the box as he answers in equally hushed tones, because there's absolutely nothing suspicious about two whispering candidates in the galleries all alone. "I'll keep watch, you get to scoop." Mostly because Wehlim's got the box to carry and after the sand is nabbed he doesn't want to have to run back up to get it, so he's taking it with him now. He makes a point of walking next to Quap if the other should set the pace down the stairs so that he can share a bit of information as to why he needed the dyes. It, and the cloth that he's been working on, have to do with creating something of a mural with the intentions of getting five separate dragons, coincidentally of different colors (coughcough), to make their mark upon it. A keepsake, truly! The dyes were the sort created from berries and other similar ingrediants, of course, those that he could get from working in the kitchens as often as they do, but would be thicker then normal dye. Thus, a paste that could be pressed into the cloth to make it's mark rather then having to use expensive paints or other methods.
Quaptyziel nods. "Sounds good." Quaps's been the snatcher rather then the watcher for a while, so it's nothing new. He heads back down the stairs with the other candidate, listening to his explination of what the dyes, and cloth were for. "Oh, I like that idea." He says, no, nothing suspicious about whispering candidates at all. "I'll definitely help, but as I said, you'll have to show me how to make the dyes." Sewing he can do, dyeing? Not so much. "Might be cool to hang up in the barracks too, after the hunt, a neat keepsake." He grins, and approaches his equipment sitting against one of the walls, though out of sight of the sands.
Wehlim has to hold the box a little out to the side as he moves down the steps so as not to miss one and stumble. Very bad form to fall down a flight of stairs and break one's bones so close to both the hatching.. and the hatching sands. Ironic maybe, but not practical. The boy comes to a stop as they get nearer to the sands entrance, and it's here that he starts to feel those flutterings of nervousness in his gut. At least he wouldn't be the one to actually walk out there and pilfer 'bedding'. He nods quickly. "I can show you. I'll get the materials tonight. I figure we probably don't wanna do it in the kitchens. They.. they normally don't like candidates in there much." Unless you were dropping off dirty dishes or sweeping. Wehlim's connections with the cooking staff were finally paying off! He nods. "It'd be real cool to hang up, yeah. I'm making a background for it to make it more steady and make it stand out." He falls quiet at that point though, watching as Quap moves over to the bucket and scoop. He moves a bit so he has a clear view of the tunnel entrance. The warning.. wouldn't be much, but it'd be there.
Quaptyziel would try and catch him if he fell, he really would, falling down stairs would be disasterous after all. "I wonder iof both of the clutches will hatch at once, or seperate times." He says, looking to a sands for a moment. After all, the 'clutches' were laid with sevendays between them. "Oh, sounds nice, I can definitely help." He grins, and nods. "Well, hmm, we can maybe use the game room, or something?" He suggests, trying to be helpful. He'll fall silent, however, as he goes pick up his bucket, and scoop, and creep over to the edge of the sands. Close enough to get sand, but not to be on them too much. He'll quickly, but quietly, scoop the sand into the bucket until it's full. Once done he'll straighten up, and tuck the scoop into a pocket, before he picks up the, now much heavier, bucket of sand, and start out of the tunnel with his burden. "Thanks for keeping watch Wehlim. Better then my original plan, to use my firelizard as watch." He grins, because they all know how handy those critters are. He'll make his way out of the cavern, as discreetly as he can, to stash his burden.
And the pair headed out, the sand getting stashed.
Trill and Iktyziel steal boots
OOC Time: Wednesday, November 10th, 2010
Characters: Trillian, Iktyziel
Summary: The hunt is inspiring more kleptomaniacal tendencies; Trill and Ikty steal some boots from the baths.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 21 days into the 10th Pass. It is afternoon at Fort Weyr, and hazy clouds warm the sky.
Public Baths (Part Deux) (Promenade) (#13713J)
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.
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.
Obvious exits:
Balcony
Little clouds of steam waft about the cavern, the pools relatively empty at the moment, though more than a few weyrfolk are lingering about, scrubbing away or simply relaxing in the warm water. One of those lurking by the entry to the cavern is Iktyziel, the candidate barefoot and dressed only in light pants and loose shirt. He has a towel over his shoulder, though while idly moving toward the sweetsand, his eyes flick this way and that, roaming the cavern and taking note of its occupants. He spends a little time dallying by the shelf picking out a soapsand jar, briefly catching his lower lip between his teeth before plucking one up.
Trillian makes her way into the bathing cavern, looking quite the bit pouty. She quickly undresses and slides into the medium hot pool, sighing and laying there like a limp noodle. Murderous bronze firelizard is nowhere to be seen for the moment. She scrubs up her hair, giving herself a new sudsy do. After rinsing a few times, she folds her hands over one rocky ledge, resting her chin on them contemplatively. She does not spot her fellow candidate just yet.
Iktyziel doesn't notice the other candidate at first, piking a bench to plop down on.. with more than a few discarded clothes and things. Whose are they? Who knows! But Ikty quickly undresses, leaving his own things there and slipping into a pool, having spotted Trillian and bobbing his head toward her with a, "Hey." The lad takes a little longer look at her sudsy hair, then grins a bit, "Lots of tough chores today?" Had he noticed the pouty? Possibly. The jar of soapsand is set near the edge of the pool, the boy tugging off the lid and taking a handful to scrub with. "I've been stuck in and around the kitchens for most of the sevenday." His gaze, though, continues to flick around the cavern. Hmm.
Trillian momentarily brightens on seeing Ikty. "Oh, hello, Ikty." But then her disposition darkens again and she lowers her voice, "I was lucky enough to run into Eleni while I was testing out some noise making using a wine glass. But then the cook took it away and I couldn't get the-" she whispers "You know.". Or an item marked by her dragon, and I actually offended her.." She sighs. "Logically, I did not think it would be offensive to ask for a dragon to chew on something but apparently it was, or borrowing spit. Something…"
Iktyziel scoots over, his own voice lowering with an, "Aww, really?" grin faltering a bit, "How were you testing out noisemaking? Maybe we could.." Though he trails off, apparently failing at thinking of a suggestion, brows furrowing somewhat. Eyes brighten, however, at that last part, "What about collecting stepped-on snow from the bowl? Or.. sending a firelizard to pick up something on one of the herdbeasts one of them ate from?" Full of ideas is the short little redhead. "I was thinking.. just now," and his head gives a little jerk to where he left his clothes, beside someone else's.. including a pair of boots. Ahem. "I ought to be hurrying back to the kitchen in a minute. I guess I won't have time to dry off properly or tie my laces." But didn't the lad come in barefoot? Tsk tsk.
Trillian perks, those are good ideas, "That sounds like a good idea. But we'd need someone who has a trained firelizard. And that isn't me." A pause, "Oh, well I made noises on some flutes I borrowed from a Harper and I put water in a wine glass and rubbed my finger on the top. /That/ was the only thing that worked. But that cook." She scowls, "Took it back from me." She notices the headnod and her eyes dart over, and back at him. She nods. "Mm yes. So steamy in here, I can barely see my hands wrinkle." She nods, "Yea, you should hurry back, I can help you lace up, if you think it'll save time."
Trillian perks, those are good ideas, "That sounds like a good idea. But we'd need someone who has a trained firelizard. And that isn't me." A pause, "Oh, well I made noises on some flutes I borrowed from a Harper and I put water in a wine glass and rubbed my finger on the top. /That/ was the only thing that worked..uh to calm Voor down and make him respond to me. But that cook." She scowls, "Took it back from me." She notices the headnod and her eyes dart over, and back at him. She nods. "Mm yes. So steamy in here, I can barely see my hands wrinkle." She nods, "Yea, you should hurry back, I can help you lace up, if you think it'll save time."
OOC: Trillian says "repose! cause she didnt finish her thought XD"
At the reminder of the other candidate's firelizard, Iktyziel glances around, almost warily. That thing was scary! Ahem. "Maybe we ould sneak into the feeding grounds or.." pausing to onsider, "We could get two at once. The herdbeast doesn't have to be alive for its hair, right?" There's an awfully thoughtful look, Ikt suggesting, "My brother Y'ziel is a bluerider. I'll bet he and his dragon would be fine with it if we asked, too." He hopes, at any rate. The boy 'ohs' at Trillian's explanation of the noisemaking, "I guess the ooks an be kind of.." he doesn't finish the sentance, but his expression says it all, really. "Sure," Ikty nods about the help, and then dunks himself, mostly scrubbed clean by now. He scoots out of the pool for his towel, idly wandering back to the benh with an eyedart left and right. Hopefully, whoever those boots belong to, isn't about to leave anytime soon, or looking thattaway.
Trillian nods, "Eleni did not seem to be happy that U'rr brought us the eggs. She wanted to drown his gold so she didn't make more. I hope she doesn't actually do that though. Jynx is a scary gold." Quite. Her eyes widen, "Well no, the herdbeast doesn't have to be alive but it just has to be, or have been aggressive," she says in hushed tones. Holding out her hands, she makes as if she is ready to lace said boots, hopefully nobody is watching. Thankfully, it is busy enough in the baths that they are not noticed at the moment.
Iktyziel is towelled off and into his lothes in a heartbeat, having brought very little with him anyway, He idly slips his feet into the boots, plopping down on the benh as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Casually, he begins to lace one up. Doot dee doot. They're a bit big, but then, the rest of his clothes look like hand-me-downs, and a tab big anyway. "I think I know when Y'ziel and Xeth will be at the feeding grounds, later this sevenday," said conversationally. Just ignore the quick eyedart left and right, or the fact that he ties his finger to the boot the first time. Eheh. The lad leaves his hair damp, not bothering to dry that with the towel. Boots first, damp hair later.
Trillian nods, "I would like to meet your brother. I haven't seen a blue dragon up close before." LAME! These are the lines folks. She helps him lace his other boot as he works on the first one. And then she's done. "Where do you have chores later? I have work in the laundry caverns." She grimaces, "They apparently want me to remain wet all day, so it seems." Wet and pruny apparently. She bundles up her hair in a towel and reaches for another one. Her special one which looks a bit more washed than usual. Maybe that's why they keep making her do laundry.
Trill and Iktyziel steal U'rr's and Merci's underthings, and Quapy's pants.
OOC Time: Wednesday, November 10th, 2010
Characters: Trillian, Iktyziel
Summary: The hunt is inspiring more kleptomaniacal tendencies; Trill and Ikty go laundry diving and emerge with U'rr's underwear, Merci's bra, and Quaptyziel's pants.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 22 days into the 10th Pass. It is sunset at Fort Weyr. Hazy clouds warm the sky.
Laundry Caverns(Promenade) (#13713J)
This small side cavern is filled with clothes, tubs, and sudsy pools of hot water. Piles and piles of dirty laundry lie about, heaped here and there, while rope criss-crosses the clearer areas, for hanging things up to dry. The steady drip attests to that, this place always a little humid, even when not filled with drudges and weyrfolk scrub-scrubbing away. Baskets line the walls, along with shelves of various brushes and other cleaning supplies.
Iktyziel is here.
Obvious exits:
Balcony
Whether or not Trill is damp from working the laundry caverns or damp because she just came from a bath, is not for certain. But she's up to her elbows in sudsy water and is scrubbing a huuuuge pair of polka dotted pantaloons. "Who wears underwear like this?" She grumbles. "I don't even know anybody of this size in the weyr." She holds up the pair to the light, stretching them out until a laundry drudge taps her on the shoulder, coughing a bit. Trill squeaks and submerges the items once more.
"One of the old aunties; it has to be," a short red-headded lad comments. Iktyziel is lurking! Again. "Or maybe someone has.. really interesting hobbies," is said more wryly as he sneaks into the laundry room, idly wandering over towards the other candidate as casually as he can. He's smile all innocently to that drudge too. Just look at those big, soulful hazel eyes and that cherubi little face. Isn't he precious? Pr possibly plotting something. Ahem. Hands tucked behind him, he peeks at the laundry around Trillian, voice lowering when he comes decently close, "So.. have you found anything else interesting in here?" pasing after a moment to think before adding a little louder, "I think I lost my left sock somewhere. Maybe you ould help me find it."
Trillian snorts, "I have seen some very fat old aunties." And another load of laundry is dumped into her tub. "I feel like people are purchasing more and more clothes lately. Or there is an explosion of residents," Trill remarks, "Because the laundry seems to get more each time I'm in here. Although, I tend to recognize some items. Like that-" she points, "That is Imogen's trousers." And very attractive they are, those trousers.
"You might be right," Ikt nods slowly, eyeing the surrounding laundry, "Or maybe they just keep getting them dirtier than usual?" He doesn't know, though the sheer amount of clothing is given a rather.. suspiious look, "I'm going to have to be in here later this sevenday," nose wrinkling a bit, "Dish washing was bad enough." His hands might still be all pruny! Chances are, the lad never managed to defeat that one dirty pot, either. He glanes over at the indicated pants, eyebrows rising a little, "Huh, I thought I saw Quap's and Zit's in here somewhere." Pants, he means, likely.
Trillian hrms, "Well with it being winter, I think everyone was wearing /more/ clothes. Odds are, perhaps more layers mean more washing hmm?" She tosses aside the pantaloons and starts working on a heavy sweater, possibly made of llama hair, or heavy wool. "I do not like these things, too prickly." She mutters, twiddling her fingres around one brown sudsy sleeve. Meanwhile, a male laundry drudge enters the caverns with a large basket, hefting it onto its own table. Bending over it, he starts sorting. Another drudge approaches, "Stuck with the weyrleader's laundry this time hm?" The first replies, "Yes. Always a joy." The second drudge starts, "Makes you-" The first finishes, "Fold them just so and wash them in their own tub. Yes."
Iktyziel nods, "Yeah, there are definitely more layers." And as he looks around the various laundry piles, there's a slight grimace, "Why couldn't the golds have risen in the spring, instead?" Just to make laundry chores easier! Still, he turns back when she comments on the sweater, Ikt peering over Trillian's shoulder, "Those smell strange when wet, too," wrinkling his nose, whether or not he can smell the thing. "I'll bet whovever that belongs to won't even notice the difference between clean and dir.." trailing off as he hears the talk of the weyrleader's laundry. Eyes dart in that direction briefly, before he turns to Trillian with raised brows, a silent question there.
Question answered with Trillian nodding her head and gesturing slightly with her shoulder towards said drudge. She fishes out the dripping nasty sweater and makes her way over to laundry drudge who is currently folding and sorting the weyrleader's vests. And making another pile of unmentionables. "Excuse me, sir?" Trill asks, drawing it out until Ikty can hopefully get over there. "Can you tell me the best way to wash one of these sweaters? Beacause I feel like, it is more logical to wash them more gently and with special soap. They are ..so very thick and hairy.." she flips the sleeve infront of said drudge's face a few times. The drudge staares, looking over at her and temporarily not at the clothes pile. "I see you in here all the time, you seriously don't know how to wash a sweater?"
As soon as the other candidate heads over, Iktyziel begins a-wandering towards the undies, head moving back and forth as if searching the various laundry piles. "Mm.. left sock.. left sock.. where ould it be?" is mumbled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he can SEE the target. Wandering.. wandering.. ooover thisaway. He'll just carually stretch a little while not at all looking at the undies and.. SWIPE. Target aquired! And gets pocketed very quickly. There's an eye-dart around to make sure no one was looking as he just continues on his way. And then he spots something ELSE. "Oh, hey, my stuff. I can take these back to the barraks sine they're clean," offered oh so politely to the drudge currently hauling the lot. He'll just nab a couple of pairs of pants, and then wander off toward the exit. Doot dee doo. Stealthy Ikty-thief is stealthy!
As Ikty grabs the unmentionables, Trillian looks embarassed, "Oh uh, I.. you're right. Nevermind." She says apologetically, to the laundry drudge going back to her own tub. Scrubba scrubba, nothing to seee here. Except more crusty shorts from some stablehand or something. Ewwww. Trillian wrinkles her nose. "I shudder to think what they have done to /get/ these that dirty." She offers as laundry drudge #1 goes back to folding the items. In his annoyance at a useless question, he forgot to count how many of each item he was folding. Oh well.
With so many drudges coming and going, who's to notie one more, a plump little woman babbling on about the stuff in her basket. That gets plopped on a table not too far from the entrane with a, "Hmph! Would think that brownrider would have more than this. Half a load is that Merci's, and from this whole sevenday." There are indeed very few clothes in there, though whether the rest have already een washed already, who knows. Ikt, upon hearing this, pauses just outside the laundry room, brow rising, as hazel eyes flick to Trillian. That drudge dumps out the laundry into a dirty-clothes pile and moves along, a-sorting the clean stuff on a nearby table, la la la..
Trillian heard that too and looks over to Ikty quickly. Thankfully the dirty laundry pile is nearby where Trill has her station, so she just walks over and grabs a big handfull, "I'll take those," she offers, throwing them into her tub and scrubbing vigorously. With her back to everyone, you can't tell that she is bringing items to the surface, one by one until she finds a bra in particular. She takes one hand out of the water to seemingly scratch an itch on her other arm by using her other sleeve. A sleeve that as it falls back down to her wrist, is used as a bra storage device. Quickly shoving her sleeve back up to her elbow, she resumes her duties. MWa ha ha.
Iktyziel spots Trillian snagging the dirty laundry, and gives her a little head-bob. Good luck! Though he isn't close enough to spot the bra-snatching. He'll just have to hope she manages to nab it while he makes off with the pilfered pants - of both sorts!
Trill and Iktyziel get hair from a herdbeast and a dragon chewed bone.
OOC Time: Wednesday, November 10th, 2010
Characters: Trillian, Iktyziel, Y'ziel
Summary: Trill and Ikty grab some herdbeast hair and a bone chewed by a blue dragon.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent.The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 22 days into the 10th Pass. It is evening at Fort Weyr, hazy clouds warm the sky.
You head into the feeding pens, and into a raucous cloud of dust and herdbeast stench.
Feeding Pens (#528J)
The feeding pens of Fort Weyr contain various herds of well-tended herdbeasts and clipped wherries, many eyeing you with definite caution. Against the rim of the bowl, sturdy shelters provide refuge from the weather; separate pens nearby provide space for breeding or, more rarely, ill animals to be cared for away from the main herd. A heavy fence surrounds the whole conglomeration, wandering a little way into the Weyr lake to provide water for the animals. Often, a proddy dragon terrorizes the beasts, feeding before taking 'flight' to taunt her chasers.
The weyrling barracks lie to the northeast, and the center bowl to the east.
It is a spring evening. Hazy clouds warm the sky.
You see Orlaith and Ikaroth here.
Iktyziel is here.
Obvious exits:
Center Bowl Weyrling Area
Winter's grip on Fort Weyr has been lessening, the evening a little less chill than previous ones, and a sky clear of clouds. As Rukbat sneaks beneath the horizon, a lone blue makes his way to the feeding grounds, his rider still clad in leathers from riding sweeps or somesuch thing. Y'ziel could be the picture of his father, bluerider Ty'ziel, except the young man has more freckles and fewer lines around his eyes. And his lifemate, likewise, carries fewer scars than an older dragon might, though he still bears one across the left flank, some unfortunate mishap from his weyrling days, perhaps. Lurking near the pens, bundled against what longering old there is, is a very similar-looking redhead, much shorter than his blueriding brother and with signifiantly more freckles. Iktyziel sees the pair land not far off, and he moves from his spot by the gance to jog over with a grin, hand raised with a, "Hey!" in greeting.
Trillian jogs across the bowl with a satchel and a rope. As she approaches the pens, she calls out, "Ikty! Ikty, I have the-" And when she sees the blue dragon approaching, she abruptly stops talking. "Oh," she says, rather out of breath, as she closes the distance between tehm "The rope. You know, they told us to repair that fence part over there?" There may or may not be a loose fence post that needs to be tied up.
Winter's grip on Fort Weyr has been lessening, the evening a little less chill than previous ones, and a sky clear of clouds. As Rukbat sneaks beneath the horizon, a lone blue makes his way to the feeding grounds, his rider still clad in leathers from riding sweeps or somesuch thing. Y'ziel could be the picture of his father, bluerider Ty'ziel, except the young man has more freckles and fewer lines around his eyes. And his lifemate, likewise, carries fewer scars than an older dragon might, though he still bears one across the left flank, some unfortunate mishap from his weyrling days, perhaps. Lurking near the pens, bundled against what longering old there is, is a very similar-looking redhead, much shorter than his blueriding brother and with signifiantly more freckles. Iktyziel sees the pair land not far off, and he moves from his spot by the gance to jog over with a grin, hand raised with a, "Hey!" in greeting.
Iktyziel slows, half-turning at the sound of his name, blinking a moment at the rope and satchel the other candidate is carrying. He raises a hand, though, with a slight smile and a, "Trill!" called back in greeting. He'll just agree about the fences, whether or not they really need repairing, glancing over with a nod of his head, "Oh.. yeah. Oh, hey, Trillian, this is my brother, Y'ziel. He's the bluerider I was telling you about." The sound of voices has Y'ziel and Xeth turning as well, the rider tilting his head ever so slightly, but with a warm smile for Ikt, "Hey kiddo, how's candidacy treating you?" hand raised briefly in acknowlegement of Trillian too, asking, "He's been telling you only good things, I hope?" after hearing that last part.
Trillian grins at Ikty, and then looks over at his cute older brother. "…hello." she says after a small pause, offering a small smile. Aww does somebody have a crush? Maybe. "Well met Y'ziel. I'm Trill-" she stops, "Well you know that. Anyway." She scuffs her feet, shoving her satchel behind her back quickly. "Oh, the fence.." she says belatedly, fishing out the rope, making her way over to the loose post and starting to wrap it around.
Iktyziel grins at his brother, "Yeah, it's just as tough as you said it would be. I guess it's dinner time, huh?" with a nod toward the pens." Y'ziel chuckles a soft, "It's worth it, though," with a pat for his lifemate, and a nod at his brother's comment about dinnertime, "Mm, for him, anyway." Xeth just whuffs out a warm breath at his rider's little brother before moving toward the pens, clearly more interested in the beasts than the humans just now. The brothers glance over at Trillian when she heads over to the fence, Ikt making to follow after a moment with a, "I bet he's pretty hungry, if you guys are getting bak this late," the boy's hazel eyes roaming the feeding pens. He spies an especially mean-looking herdbeast that's stamping its foot and making grunty noises as anything nearby. Aha, that'll do! A hand is raised to point at it, "That one looks like it's be pretty delicious, wouldn't it? Big and filling, right?" and if he idly moved to try to nudge Trillian in the side with an elbow, he's just hecking the fences, yep.
Trillian sees that herdbeast, "I believe the more vigorous animals are more physically optimal. Yes." She is grunting a little and tying that rope, pulling it to try to keep the post shut. "Ikty, can you push the wood together while I tie it? It keep slipping." Splinters, OWWW! "How many herdbeasts does yours usually eat in one sitting, sir?" That's to Y'ziel.
The suggestion of one partiular herdbeast has Y'ziel shrugging a, "Huh? I.. guess so?" though Xeth seems rather more agreeable to the notion of physically optimal noms. A few wingbeats take him above the herd, sending the lot scattering, while he piks out one - the one Ikty pointed out - and drops into it with a -crack- and a CHOMP. That bit, Ikty quickly looks away from. Mm, dragon nommage. Iktyziel instead nods to Trillian, moving to help by leaning his weight where directed. "Like this?" he asks, with a sympathetic wince at the sight of splinters. "I could try to find some gloves for the next one?" he suggests, though his eyes keep flicking distractedly to the beasts roaming about. Y'ziel, on the other hand, seems unaffeted by the gore out there, answering Trillian with an off-hand, "Mm, usually one or two, although it depends. Sometimes he'll take down a large one and then just a wherry."
Trillian winces as the blue brings down the herdbeast, so she stares down at her splintery fingers. And then up and over at Ikty, "I believe that would be optimal." She holds up her index finger and alas, there is a long splinter in there. But thankfully she removes that one with her teeth. "The eat wherries too? Interesting. Well my guess is they'd prefer herdbeasts because they are more filling. How often does he need to eat?"
Iktyziel gives Trillian a sympatheti look, supressing another wince for the teeth-removal of the splinter. "I can also get you some redwort and a bandage from the infirmary," he offers, apparently about as fond of the sight of human blood as herdbeast's. Out in the pen, Xeth is making short work of the herdbeast, and after a time, all that is left will be bones and hide and unappetizing bits. "Mhm," Y'ziel nods to Trillian, the rider apparently missing the bit with the splinters as he watches his lifemate, "Wherries, fish, herdbeast.. Hmm, about once a sevenday or so," the rider glancing briefly at the candidates, though sine they're working, he lets them be.
As the blue eats, hunks of flesh and hair are flying everywhere. And, as a few chunks of hair fly towards the fence, Trill steps on one with her shoe and inches it over to where she can grab it. But how to grab it and not be too obvious, she drops a length of rope on her foot. "Oops!" she says, stooping over to grab the rope and the chunk of hair. VICTORY! And then back to Y'ziel, "That's not bad." She strokes her chin thoughtfully. And then she casts a few shifty eye glances towards the bones that are starting to appear and are being chewed by the blue, elbowing Ikty just a little bit as she does so.
Iktyziel is busy trying /not/ to notice all the flying chunks off herdbeast, the lad wrinkling his nose a bit when he catches sight of that Trillian is doing, though he does nod when she elbows him. There's a glance at his brother, but Y'ziel is not really paying attention to the two of them. Leaning down as if to adjust something on the fence, the lad tells Trillian in a low voie, "As soon as they leave, we can sneak over," his own eyes darting to the dragon-nommed critter. Eventually, Xeth does eat his fill, and go for a wherry after, the latter taken down and practically swallowed right up, before he and Y'ziel as turning to go. The bluerider raises a hand, with a slight smile for his brother and a, "Good luck with candidacy, kiddo. Don't forget, it;s worth all it in the end! It was nie meeting you," that last said with a faint nod to Trillian before dragon and rider are departing, leaving the candidates to their fence-repairs.
Trillian nods and waves as Y'ziel takes his leave. She ties the last knot on the rope on the fence and turns to Iktyziel, "Shall we?" She raises her eyebrows, gesturing to the bones and hooves and whatever else is left. "Which part should we get? Something he had his teeth on directly, I think."
Iktyziel raises a hand in farewell yo Y'ziel, though he appears to be paying less attention to his older brother's words and more to the pens at the moment. "Right," he gives Trillian a nod, and as soon as the blueriding pair are out of sight, he'll slip through the fence, sneakily, to the other side. "Maybe a piece of bone or.. something like that?" not too keen on actually digging through a mostly-eaten herdbeast. Yet he glanes back over his shoulder, and then, looking around to make sure no one else - dragon or otherwise - is about, he begins padding across the pen toward the munched-on critter.
Trillian nods, "Just get a bone. Hurry, I need to get back to the laundry caverns." Do they ever let her out? One would wonder. She wipes her hand on her pants cause it has some herdbeast goo on it by now. Ewwww.
Iktyziel hurries! It's just a quick dart fro mthe fence to the bits left by the dragon, the boy stooping before sooting back. And a good thing too! In the dark, the herdbeasts are all jittery, expecially after just having seen one of their strongest downed by a dragon. So the bronze passing overhead sends the creatures into a bit of a mild pani, stomping about the pen, and more than a few zoom dangerously lose as they pass the lurking candidate. "/Crud/," Ikt mutters, dashing through the fence and then promptly collapsing against the other side. "Shells, that was close," he grumbles, glaning back to glare a moment at the still-frightened animals. "Alright, got it, in any case," and he'll hold up a fragment of.. not so lean bone, indiating one side and saying, "That probably counts as teeth marks, too." He shoves away from the fence with a nod to Trillian, "Did you get the hair?" starting bac ktowards the caverns with an, "Ick, I feel as if I need another bath after this." Which might not be a bad idea, all things considered.
Trillian points to her pocket. "Right here." She stares as Ikty runs towards the bones, and then stares across the bowl. People might seeeee and wonder why they are up to their elbows in herdbeast guts! Those crazy candies.
Trill gets an item signed by L'ton and 2 dragon marked items.
OOC Time: Thursday, November 11th, 2010
Characters: Trillian, L'ton, Ikaroth, Jill, Arcath
Summary: Trill gets L'ton's signature and two items marked by dragons, is bespoken by a dragon for the first time, and is assigned to be Jill's helper for the day.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 24 days into the 10th Pass. It is midmorning at Fort Weyr, and the sky is clear and fresh, the winds strong.
Center of Fort Weyr's Bowl (#971J)
Grey volcanic cliffs tower neckbreakingly steep to all sides of this gigantic ovoid that is Fort's Bowl, creating a vast haven stretching over three thousand feet to the northeast and to the southwest from the full impact of the cutting mountain winds. To the northeast, dominating the rest of the mountain range, looms the immensity of Tooth Crag; to the southwest, beyond the lake, the crumpled rim reminds of a catastrophe from ages past.
The airspace above is comparatively crowded, whether by wings or singletons; likewise, the packed earth and rock that grounds the Bowl sees virtually constant activity, particularly just to the east where the living caverns lie. Along the northern curve yawns the hatching grounds, and the lingering reek of blood on the western breeze is a tell-tale pointer to the feeding pens.
It is a spring midmorning. The sky is clear and fresh, the winds strong.
You see Shark here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Area Northern Curve Eastern Curve Feeding Pens Lake Garden
Over at the feeding pens, L'ton swings down from his lifemate Ikaroth's neck.
Over at the feeding pens, L'ton exits to the east, dodging a wherry as he makes his way out to the bowl.
L'ton emerges from the feeding pens.
With such strong winds on this early spring midmorning, it is a wonder that Trill's light frame isn't carried off into the skies. But no, she's jogging through the bowl with a packet of something under one arm. Her typical pale blue jacket and trous are supplemented by a rather ridiculously fluffy knit scarf with blue, brown and green stripes wrapped around her nose and mouth, and a matching floppy hat. Always fashionable.
Any day before a Fall is alive with preparations and schemes of readiness. Jill, at Sirocco's helm, has her 'seconds, L'ton and K'lora, as almost all the other Wing contingnents reviewing strategies for what will be a tricky sermon of Thread due to changes in the weather. Dragons of all colors but golds litter the Bowl and it's L'ton's big boy, Ikaroth, who halts Trillian's jog by getting square in her way.
Well that is enough to make Trill stop in her tracks. Stop and salute, and look a bit nervously up at Ikaroth. First his leg and then the rest of him, which she needs to take a few steps back to see. "Hello, sir." She squeaks out, and looks over to L'ton as well, "Sirs." She sort of freezes, wondering what the bronze and/or his lifemate will do next.
"…But there aren't any yielding fields up there of any kind, are there? They stopped grazing when M'lantir was Weyrleader because of the lack of forage." L'ton, contesting the coverage of an area he thinks to be largely barren, is too engrossed with the discussion to address what his life-mate is interfering with. Ikaroth doesn't act like he's impeding the candidate in the slightest, the slow whirl of great opal eyes looking elsewhere. But we know better.
You sense Ikaroth bespeaks you directly with » A door opens and a giant fits through with no explanation of the logic of fitting. Air leaks in after him, a stolid rush of singular presence. « You run. Why? » «
Now, this is the first time a dragon has ever bespoken the girl. Cue jaw drop and eye widen. Trill shakes her head and puts her palm to the side of it. "What. You. You?!" She gapes up at Ikaroth, not finding the right words. "Um. Yes. Hello…" she undoes the packet of hides under her arm and reads down the list, "Ikaroth. You are L'ton's bronze Ikaroth? " nervous laugh. "I am running," a pause as she regains some of her mental faculties, "Because I was sent on an errand. And as a candidate I have to do what they tell me to do." She adds, "Or else. I..need to get a signature from your lifemate and a clawprint from you, er. Sir. If..that's okay..sir?" How does one address a dragon? Sir might be okay. Maybe.
You sense Ikaroth bespeaks you directly with » Ikaroth expands in this place Trillian calls home, hold widening as weak memories are pushed out of existence to make room. She may not even remember she ever forgot them. « Yes, I allow L'ton to ride me as mine. Why would candidates do as they're told when I do not even do that. » His mind voice is based on L'ton's improper tenor but Ikaroth's way with words fractures from his rider's. « You should instead go get a wherry and eat with Irajath. That is what I would do. » «
L'ton holds his peace while Jill and K'lora, each his senior by a matter of many Turns and practical experience, talk of the merits, or lack there of, of the alpine land Thread will soon hover over.
Trillian scratches her head, "But, I think it is most logical to allow a dragon to eat what it has killed. That's what I would do. I think dragons enjoy raw foods more, and I would not want to interrupt their eating experience. " She bites her lip, "I have been told to get signatures from every wingleader and wing second, and talon prints from their dragons if possible and I need to talk to Sirocco wing. I believe it is an exercise to get to know the riders of the weyr. Would you be amenable, sir to touching this little bit of ink I have here and touching your claw to a hide for me? I..would be more than happy to assist you in.." What could she assist a dragon in.. "Washing or, helping oil, or helping with riding straps. Anything you might need sir." Trillian adds "In return."
Over at the feeding pens, Ikaroth exits to the east, dodging a wherry as he makes his way out to the bowl.
Ikaroth emerges from the feeding pens.
Ikaroth, paying lax attention to his wings, has them spilled and has their main spars indifferrently touching the damp ground. The multi-shaded bronze hasn't the dexterity to manipulate his claw and apply ink to it - that will be Trillian's appointment. He can, however, administer the appropriate claw, and an inappropriate one, to the hide on the ground, piercing it easily and driving it into the ground. L'ton excuses himself from the conference to walk steadily over to his troublesome life-mate and a candidate. "What's he got you doing?" Blame instantly affixes to the bronze.
Trillian detaches a container of ink from her belt and cautiously approaches the bronze, "Thank you sir." She calls up to him, and then hunches over, patting his foreleg and smearing ink all over his first digit. "All ready," she calls out, placing the hide on the ground so that Ikaroth can stab or smear it with his claw. As L'ton comes over, she smiles, "L'ton, sir. Ah, I was tasked with getting signatures of all wingleaders and wingseconds and dragon talon prints, to help me get to know the riders of the weyr. Ikaroth is a very nice gentleman and has agreed to give me his talon print. Would you be amenable to signing this other hide here?" She holds out a quill and another hide from her stack.
"You're getting signatures too?" L'ton's face bares mild surprise. "You working with another candidate named Cabrien by chance?" L'ton would be a lawyer's nightmare as he publishes his signature on Trillian's sheet. As for Ikaroth's, "allow me." As the beast raises his foot Li pulls the dismantled hide off it. Two holes and sticky dirt now distinguish it. "Is it still any good to you?"
Trillian looks quite delighted, "Oh thank you. Yes, well it was a candidate task. And we just have to sort of do what we're told you know." She nods and collects the hide back from L'ton, and also collect the one from his dragon as well. "Yes, it is quite workable, thank you very much Ikaroth." She bows to the dragon. Lawyer's nightmare indeed. Mwa ha ha. "I see you are very busy with wing talks, I do not want to interrupt, that is.." she scans her list, "Wingleader Jill, over there yes? I will need her signature and print as well if possible but, I can come back later if that is better."
L'ton brushes the dirt transferred from hide to hand off on his riding breeches. "Penyn's staff assigns the strangest things. I think her mind's getting soft, but don't tell anyone." At least the trite observation doesn't originate with him alone. "Jill is…" he takes in the Wingleader's status, dressing down a bluerider for something. "She might oblige you, but she's, beware of her. She flies her own way," a metaphor to indicate the brownrider's rogue-like status. Ikaroth comes out of Trillian's mind, links snapped, all but one or two which he will monitor the candidate with for a while longer. The girl's inexperience with such phenomena will disguise the bronze's partial residence - until the time he pushes a synapse too far, brings past memories to life anew Trill thought long gone.
Trillian nods, "I have often thought of some of the assignments as being illogical. /BUT/!" She gets a gleeful look in her cobalt blue orbs, "Penyn has been very kind and has taught me much about flaming units. So I do not really mind if I have to do other things that seem odd." That girl, she loves her fire and her machines. As Ikaroth exits Trill's mind, she notices, but is more focused on Jill over yonder. "Well I will have to try and find out I suppose, " She muses, "Should I go over and approach her then?" Always concerned about being polite.
L'ton no longer tries hiding his flaming red ears, the victim of a cool spring breeze and a hat that should have been blocking it. "Stay here. I'll go and see what I can do. She's partial to me." Because he is her leetle L'tonikins. "Mostly." Said bronzerider adds with some thought. Progress is made for Sirocco's Wingleader and L'ton tries hailing her.
Arcath backwings and touches the ground with his rear feet first and then his front. Jill, currently between two brown neck ridges, begins to unhitch herself from the riding straps before removing her helmet in the process. Her auburn colored hair remains in a loose bun while a few wisps are at the wind's mercy. Securing the helmet to a strap so it does not fall to the ground, she surveys the area for a brief moment before swinging one leg over to meet the other. Arcath lifts his front right leg to assist her departure and she lands with a graceful thud of her boots. L'ton is immediately noticed, but the young lady with him goes unrecognized. She stares at them for a brief moment until her dragon pulls her attention back to a patch of dry hide. A much more pressing matter. "Yes, yes. I see it." she says quietly to her bond.
Trillian nods, smiling a little as she does notice those red ears amidst his dark hair. But she does not comment on it. "That sounds like a logical approach," she muses. "Thank you very much, L'ton. Very kind of you." She adjusts her floppy hat as it had started to droop over her eyes. Best keep those free and clear for eye contact, and keep the forehead clear for saluting. Can't be too careful.
L'ton rolls a shoulder up to knock a bit of feeling up to one of said ears. During the lapse after Jill and Arcath have returned from Sirocco Headquarters, her Wingsecond snatches the opportunity for Jill's attentions. "There's a candidate there, forgot to get her name, but she's there with Ika-, or was," the bronze having took off to sun outside the Weyr. "She's there with the long scarf and wants to speak with you if you have the time. K'lora and I can continuing berating F'jorn for you." He smiles effortlessly.
C'leb pages: Not really XD
Greeting L'ton, again, with a heaved sigh, Arcath remains crouched down so that Jill can examine a patch of dry hide on his foreleg. "Oil. First thing after Sirocco business, I promise." she says to the brown. Reaching inside her jacket, a few hides are removed and she looks up at her bond, silently thanking him for acting as a barrier between her and the gusts of wind sweeping across the bowl. "Here." Thrusting the hides at L'ton, she looks him in the eye and then clears her throat. "Take a look at these formations tonight. I want you and K'lora to come up with new ones before the sevenday closes. I also want your notes on yesterday's morning drills. For comparison. And /why/ would a candidate need to speak with me." That last bit is stated rather than asked.
Trillian nods, taking a few steps over to where L'ton has approached Jill. She smiles over at the wingleader, saluting. "Hello, ma'am. Yes, I need to speak with you. A moment of your time, but," she pauses nervously, "Only if you do have a moment. I understand that wing tasks are far more important than what I need to speak with you about." Probably. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and adjusts her scarf, it was starting to slip off her shoulders.
L'ton knows how to act fast. He had to learn nimbleness. Hides are captured and held in his arms then sorted to a point where his hand can grab them securely. "New ones by then?" There's a two day limit. Puffed under his breath, "so much for Skywatch's poker game. Yes ma'am, they'll be done. The report too. And as for the candidate, ask Penyn." Who will then deny she gave any such orders and think it's the riders have gone soft in the head. The hides are lifted to Jill to announce they'll be completed as ordered and he goes off to pin down the antique greenrider known as K'lora.
"Where's your /hat/, L'ton? Do you want your ears to fall off? This biting wind is enough to lop off any uncovered extremity." Jill says with the concern of a mother rather than wingleader. "Get one by morning, or you'll be running laps!" is then hollered after him. Good thing he started walking away before she could really get to scolding him. And Trillian's immediate presence causes her to stare, blankly, at the young candidate. Then just as suddenly as the girl arrived, Jill's expression lightens and her brows rise. "Oh, so /you're/ the volunteer Penyn sent to me! Good, good." Whirling on a dime, Jill strides over to Arcath's front side. "Come on, follow me. Move your feet, girl!"
Trillian blinks, but rolls with it. "Ah, sure, I am available to help, ma'am. All I need is your signature on this hide sheet and a talon imprint from your lifemate, if your lifemate is amenable. I've been tasked with collecting signatures from the wingleaders and wing seconds and talon imprints in ink on hides, to get to know the riders of the weyr better." A pause as she takes the steps over to Arcath's front side, "What do you need me to do, I am ready and willing." She may regret this.
Standing directly in front of Arcath, Jill motions for the brown dragon to lower his large, wedge shaped head. As he does, she side steps to make a little more room. "Stand aside, girl, don't need you to get squashed." Motioning for Trillian to side step, too, Jill folds her arms in front of her soon afterward. Arcath lowers his head so that the bottom of his jaw is resting right on the ground. His faceted eye focuses on the candidate and he snorts loudly. Jill rolls her eyes. "Stop, love, she's soon to be your little helper." Turning to Trillian, she eyes the girl up and down. "What did you say your name was?"
Trillian takes a step back to make room for the brown's head. She inhales, "I've never been this close to a dragon's face before." Really? I guess so. She takes in all the little lines and shapes about his face with interest, and then jumps as he snorts. "Why is he snorting, did I do something wrong?" A pause, "Oh, my name is Trillian. Of Fort Hold. Well met Wingleader Jill, ma'am. Would you like me to salute? I can do that if you would like."
"Well, Trillian," Jill says in an icy tone. "Whenever Fort Weyr has a batch of candidates, I put in for someone to volunteer to help me for one day." The girl gets another scrutinizing glance. "For the life of me, I don't know /why/ you're dressed in those clothes. But, it's too late now." Reaching over to pat Arcath on the tip of his nose, the brown opens his mouth wide to reveal many sharp, craggy teeth. "This is your assignment until dinner time. Start cleaning. Don't forget to pick out the bones stuck in the back, there. See? Waaaay in the back." Pointing inside the brown's massive mouth, she peers down at the teeth near his throat.
Trillian nods and rolls up her sleeves. "So you would like me to." She peers within the brown's mouth, wrinkling her nose. "He won't bite my arm off accidently? Is there..something I can use to prop his mouth open? Or, well I suppose you can just tell him to please keep his mouth open?" Alas, there is probably no dental floss on Pern. "Hmmm…." she says, trying to figure out whether she should use her hands or invent something to do the job.
Jill folds her arms in front of her again and looks at the girl with a bemused expression on her face. "Reach right in there and pull out that bone wedged between his teeth. See?" Point. "Right there. You don't have to get /in/ his mouth, just reach. Use your arm's length and grab that bone that's stuck up in there. Then pull. Hard." Arcath's mouth remains open and the saliva that's developing ought to be enough incentive to move quickly. "Step to, girl! I can't promise his mouth will remain open for much longer…"
Trillian nods, "All..right.." she's not too certain of this. But she rolls up her sleeves even further, and reaches in with one hand, grabbing and yanking, while dragon spit goes down her arm. "URGHHH.." she grunts, trying to remove it. "It is stuck in there very hard." she remarks, "If I use both hands, will I hurt him?"
"Arcath's been scored by Thread in the past and he endures the icy depths of *between* on a daily basis. Nothing /you/ do will cause him any harm." Jill says matter-of-fact like. "Use both hands to get a good grip and yank that bone shard out of there! You like dripping with dragon saliva, girl? I'm sure his breath doesn't smell like a basket of redfruit either." Observing from a few steps away, Jill looks up at Arcath as his eye whirls quickly with blue-green hues, depicting his complacent mood. A slight smirk tugs at a corner of her mouth and she returns her attention to Trillian.
Trillian gulps, "I am trying to..hold..my breath.." she exhales. OOPS. Grimacing, she shoves her other hand in there. Yanking, squirming and grunting, she braces both legs on the side of his jaw and pullls, and pulls, and pulls, and with a mighty POP, the boneshard comes out, knocking her flat on her behind. "OOOOF!" she yells, now sitting on the dirt, but holding up the bone, triumphantly. "I got it!"
Clapping both her hands slowly, Jill looks down at the girl sitting on the cold ground. Arcath finally closes his mouth and rumbles a soft 'thank you' and begins to walk toward Ikaroth and the other Sirocco dragons at the far end of the bowl. "Well, I ought to give you some credit. Every other candidate in the past took one look at Arcath's teeth and ran in the opposite direction." Waving her hand at the bone shard, Jill flicks her gaze between it and Trillian. "You can keep that." The scarf around her neck is then loosened slightly as she turns in the opposite direction, heading toward the ground office of the Weyrlingmaster. "Carry on." is then called over her shoulder. Choosing to ignore the request for her signature, she picks up her pace and shoves both hands in her jacket pockets as she does. There's no doubt that /she'll/ be recognized by the candidate in the future.
Trillian stands and salutes, slapping some dragon spit onto her face. EWWWW. "Thank you ma'am! I need to be getting back to my other chores now I think." Signature is momentarily forgotten, she grabs onto that bone shard and retreats back across the bowl. Bath and chores first, other items later.
Trill and Ikty find a hidden room.
OOC Date: 11/12/10
Characters: Trill, Iktyziel
Summary: Trill and Ikty find a hidden room.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent.The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns and 1 month into the 10th Pass. It is midmorning at Fort Weyr, the sky is clear and fresh and the winds are strong.
The Beach! (#532J)
This thin strip of cozy sand lines the southwestern rim of the Weyr, leading from the cave-in northward almost to the fence of the feeding pens, where the lake carves out some water for the herdbeasts. Cliff to one side, water to the other, there's no direct Bowl access other than by air or through the lake itself; thus, particularly in colder weather, it's often a good, quiet place to think. In warmer weather, however, relaxing (and drying off) on the beach proves to be a delightful pastime, serenaded by the assorted bugles and splashes of dragonkin revelling in the lake. At the end opposite the herdbeasts, the sand becomes a little grassy, with even a clump here and there. Some interpid weyrfolk have chipped out handholds in the rock, where cliff meets water, angling up and up again above the lake.
It is a spring midmorning. The sky is clear and fresh, the winds strong.
You see Hadamarth, Bo, Alyx, Tauroth, and Kaijuth here.
Obvious exits:
Lake
Iktyziel wades out of the lake.
Trillian is sitting on the beach, playing with her snow-apult. And a very fussy bronze firelizard. Except it is no longer full of snow, there is a large covered bowl of meat sitting right next to it. Voor snarls and jumps and is scrabbling in Trill's hair when she loads up a large chunk of meat in the meat a pult and sails it across the lake. FWOOOOOSH. Voor shoots up into the air and goes after it.
Iktyziel is bundled, as usual, an untidy mess of red hair sticking up atop the layers of scarves, gloves, and other assorted clothing. The lad is looking especially cheerful, humming tunelessly as he wanders. Spotting Trillian and her contraption over there, a hand raises to call a, "Hey," to her, the boy wandering over with a curious headtilt for the meat there. "You're.. working on training him?" is asked, somewhat dubiously, while he watches the path of the flying meat, "That would be rather good for a food fight." Not that the Ikt is planning to start one anytime soon. Ahem.
Voor retrieves the meat and starts gnawing on it a few feet away from his humanpet. Trill nods, looking quite tired. "Working on it. Its not so much training as I can get him to chase anything that is bloody. But also, I found that making noises from a wineglass works to calm him a little. Not that i know when I'll get another opportunity to try it." She loads another chunk of meat but it seems that the trajectory of the catapult is a bit off so that it plunks into the water. Fail. She tries again, restringing it a bit but this time it is over extending, and the meat flies into an odd indentation into the cliffs right above the lake. "What? Where did that one go?" Trill says, confused. Voor follows and is soon out of sight in the cliff's side.
Iktyziel wrinkles his nose a little at the meat-gnawy Voor, "Perhaps you should only feed him when he behaves? It might make him less.." pausing to ponder there, "..likely to tear up your things." Or Trillian's face, possibly. "There may be wine glasses in the storage caverns," the boy continues thoughtfully, "Or at leeast something similar enough? I could help you look, if you'd like." The next two chunks of flying meat are watched with a tugging grin, "It would definitely be useful in a food fight." Oh yes, unsubtle hinting there, ahem. He does blink at the disappearing meat, though, eyebrows sneaking upward, "I think it went up there," pointing and moving closer to the cliff face, thoughts of pelting meat at people momentarily forgotten.
Trillian stands up. "Yes, but a food fight is an illogical waste of food. I am fine with snow flinging because it is not an extremely useful item." She offers, brushing off her pants legs from the sand that had been hiding there. A pause, as she surveys the cliffside, "I kind of want to see what's up there." She mentions, going to a part of the beach that is closest to where there are apparent hand holds in the cliff. "Come with me!" She gestures, meat flinging momentarily forgotten.
"Snow is useful," Iktyziel protests quietly, though the lad is slightly distracted as he catches sight of those handholds in the rock. Eyebrows sneak up further, as Iky starts forward with an, "Oh, hey.. look at this." There's a bob of his head for Trillian, "Yeah, me too," following after the other candidate, "I wonder who made these.. My brother used to tell me not to go poking around in places like this," though the red-head's slight grin makes it fairly obvious he isn't taking /that/ warning seriously.
Sandy Ledge
Set high enough off the beach to make jumping dangerous, one could make a brave 'leap' into the lake instead. The waters here have been cleared of rocks and debris, but cliff jumping always has its dangers.
The view, however, is splendid, with the curve of the lake spreading out toward bowl and distant caverns and caves. There is little protection from the sun or weather, but a few natural alcoves provide some nice warm and sandy nests the firelizards have taken a liking to.
Though not too large, the ledge provides enough room for humans to catch some sun, and someone has strung a hammock up between two metal rings set solidly into the wall.
Obvious exits:
Beach Leap
Iktyziel clambers up from the beach.
Trillian is suitably impressed by the view from the ledge and the hammock. "You know, I wouldn't mind sitting here for a while. I'm on lunch break anyway." She remarks, watching Voor roll around on the floor with his piece of meat. Such an odd little thing. "I do not know who made the hand holds, possibly other candidates or riders who wanted to hide out for a while," she says, leaning against a rocky outcropping and closing her eyes, while the warm rays of Rukbat shine on her pale skin.
Iktyziel climbs up slowly, plopping down right on the edge when he gets to the ledge, and letting his feet hang over. "It is pretty nice up here," he nods, leaning back a bt on his hands and admiring the view. "This is a good place to hide out," is said with a careful look around, "I don't have anymore chores today. I was supposed to help out in the storage caverns, but they let me go early because everything was already organized on the shelves they were moving." He has to grin a little there, the cheerful written all over his expression, "I guess I know where to go the next time I need to escape the nannies." Though he has to pause, thinking this over, "I guess it wouldn't be as nice if the weather weren't sunny, though."
Iktyziel and Kiaran make pretty art.
Chamber
Protected from the winds outside, this high-ceilinged grotto offers an escape from the cacophony beyond, while letting the weyrfolk keep goings on outside in sight. Its walls are smooth, a perfect canvas for the graffiti that decorates it, and it boasts no furniture but for the gently undulating floor and a scattering of fuzzy sandfilled sacks upon which to sit. It is a favorite 'secret' haunt of young weyrfolk seeking a private quiet escape, klah and snacks in hand.
Iktyziel is one of those intrepid weyrbrats who's always poking his nose into the dark and lonely corners of the Fort Weyr. Today is no exception, with an early release from chores and bright sunshine up above, the lad is walking across the bowl, and not-quite sneaking past the weyrling area. He's likely recruited a fellow candidate or three, though how many have managed to slip out of chores or otherwise have a free afternoon remains to be seen. In any case, the red-headed boy is carrying a bucket of thick black liquid, with several brushes soaking in it. It's to one of the few clear areas of the wall he goes, grinning a bit at this or that section of graffiti. Setting the bucket down, he steps back, rolling up his sleeves and regarding that wall with a rather thoughtful expression.
Kiaran grew up in the weyr as well. And Kiaran had reason to learn as many little hidey holes as possible. After all, he wasn't the most popular of kids. Or the one that is likely to get invited along to graffiti a section of wall. No, he's looking for a hidey hole right now. The candidate is all bundled up for the cold, but he's using one hand to try to wipe away a tear before it freezes on his cheek.
Iktyziel ponders the wall. The wall, alas, is inanimate, and it's too much to hope that it ponders back. Indeed, the worn surface has cracks and the faded remnants of past weyrbrat masterpieces, though the current section is rather worse off than most. Still, Iktyziel seems to have chosen that bit for his little project. He's turning to one of the sand-filled sacks to drop a drab-looking scarf and hat when he spots Kiaran, and there's a somewhat awkward pause, Ikt's brows sneaking upward for a moment when he spies the other candidate. It's only a second before a faint nod is offered in greeting, and a cheerful-enough, "Oh, hey." The items of clothing are deposited on the sack, left to drape as Ikty tugs his jacket a little more snugly.
Kiaran straightens up as he spots Ikty. "Oh, uh, I didn't think anyone would be back here." Kiaran states, tugging his jacket close about him. There are a few more sniffs, but no more tears. The candidate seems to be trying to hide the fact there ever were any, despite the red around his eyes. "What're you doing?"
Iktyziel shrugs a bit, tilting his head to indicate the bucket and the wall, "I've been meaning to come out here for awhile, but haven't had the time, since getting searched. I was going to fix up one of the pictures I'd done when I was littler," waving vaguely at one section of wall that appears to be a big blue smudge, "..but it's been covered already." He doesn't sound bothered by this, instead half-turning to the clearer section he'd been eyeing, "So, I'm going to make a new one. Maybe a big dragon or something.." There's another semi-awkward pause, the lad rubbing the back of his neck at the other's sniffing there. He hesitates a moment before asking, "..You alright?" Observant Ikty is observant. Kind of.
Kiaran stares over at it. "That looks like a blob." He notes before eyeing the clear section. "A dragon would be fitting. Or maybe pictures of all the many chores we have to do." That even seems to cheer him up a bit before Kiaran looks over and hesitates. "I'm fine." He says by wrote before adding, "My mother made me have lunch with her."
Iktyziel has to grin a bit, "Yeah. It /used/ to be a big blue dragon. Quap and I were trying to draw Y'ziel's blue, back when he was a weyrling." Alas, with all the weyrbrats in Fort, having something like that remain untouched, especially out here, would have been very unlikely. There's a nose-wrinkle for the suggestion of painting their chores, Ikt glancing back at the wall, "Most of those are.. kind of boring. I know someone drew a big latrine on here once. It was pretty funny." Hazel eyes flick from one graffiti'd image to another, though apparently he fails to find said painting, "I guess.. it's been drawn over or washed away by now." Another shrug, and the lad is moving forward to the bucket, asking Kiaran over his shoulder, "Want to help? I'll bet we could do a decent dragon." He pauses once again, giving the other candidate a brief headtilt, "..Your mother?" curious perhaps, despite himself.
Kiaran moves forward. It appears that graffiti isn't something too worrying to him, at least here. "I'll help. I'm actually not bad at drawing." Kiaran states taking one of those paintbrushes in hand before sighing. "Kedia. She's a greenrider. I disappoint her by breathing."
Iktyziel picks up a paint brush with a long handle, and wanders over to the wall, seemingly uncaring for the little drip-drip of black paint that splatters on the floor as he moves. "Oh?" he glances at Kiaran briefly, "Want to start with the head, then?" Ikt scoots over a little, raising the paint brush to the wall, "I could do the wings." He makes a long, sweeping arc across a large section of wall, the line curving as it goes. There is a quieter, "Oh," at Kiaran's explanation there, and another glance at his fellow candidate, "Maybe you'll impress? I'll bet she'd be happy for that?" Optimism, Ikty has it. "My father's a bluerider. Ty'ziel," pausing with a bit of a grin, "He's to blame him for all the weird names in my family, but I haven't talked to him in half a turn, at least," the lad moving to make more lines along the wall, the pinion's of some imaginary dragon's outstretched wing.
Kiaran moves up towards where the head should be. Perfectionism and obsession with details can be good every once in awhile. Like now. His brush strokes are small and careful, creating neat lines. "I don't see my dad much either." Kiaran admits. "But mother feels the need to make herself known. I keep hoping one day I'll just disappoint her enough that she'll stop talking to me altogether." He pauses a moment to dip just the very tip of the brush back in the paint. "I don't think I'll impress. I bet you will, though."
Iktyziel continues with the lines, hand steady despite the cold. He's far less careful than Kiaran, though, paint dripping to the ground as he leans down to dip his brush again. "That's pretty good," the redhead comments, eyebrows lifting at the other candidate's work thus far, perhaps bit impressed with the care being taken. "You could tell her to shove off?" Iktyziel suggests, possibly half-joking, "You're fostered, right? My brother and I were, as soon as we were old enough. My mother is a crafter.. She doesn't really have time for children. Her or anyone else in my family," said off-hand, and matter-of-factly. He shrugs a little, "If you don't think you will, why bother with candidacy?" it's said lightly, with a slight smile, "I don't know. I think Quap might, but I'm.. kind of worried I won't." Eyebrows draw together a little, the boy catching his lower lip between his teeth as he begins the lines for the wing membranes, mumbling a softer, "I hope we both do, though."
"I- I don't think I could tell anyone to shove off! Especially not her." Kiaran says with a shudder as he continues to work. Tiny strokes add in facets to the eye before he continues on. "I was fostered, with my sisters. But mom still took a big interest in us. Saw us a lot." From his tone? Not a good thing. "Well, Merci asked me to stand. So I had to say yes. Then afterward, I'll go back and be a scribe again." He looks over to Ikty for a moment, brush paused. "I think you will. You're outgoing. People like you. Dragons will like you."
"Why not?" Iktyziel half turns to grin a bit at Kiaran, "I've told my older brother, Y'ziel, to shove off plenty of times, when he keeps going on about how Quap and I should behave better." A slight shrug has the boy returning to the drawing, connecting the lines for the creature's wing membranes. One or two come out a little wobbly, but in all, it's more or less recognizable as a dragon's wing. "I sort wish.. my dad had taken an interest sometimes. It would have been nice to know him more," Ikt moves to the wing joints, glancing at Kiaran's work there, and attempting to add a similar amount of detail, though he's rather less successful. There's an, "Oh," about Merci, though, Ikty nodding, "I guess I'd have had to say yes, too. Imogen is the one that asked me to stand, after a blue said I smelled good," wrinkling his nose at that, though he does stop a moment to ask, "What are you going to do if you /do/ impress? I mean.. you wouldn't be able to go back to being a scribe like that." There's then a touch of pink on the lad's cheeks, Iktyziel rubbing the back of his neck with a, "..You really think so?" head tilting slightly before he shrugs, "Lots of riders aren't outgoing. In any case," and there's a bit of a smile for the other candidate, "no one can really tell. You've just as much a chance of impressing as I do. Who knows how the dragons choose."
"Well, I couldn't have told Imogen no either. She's really nice. It would have made her sad." Kiaran moves back for more paint, dipping just the very end of the brush in again. His work is slow, but exacting. "I don't like making people mad at me. It makes my insides all knot up and just feels horrible. So I try not to as best I can." Even if it means not standing up for himself. The head is finished with a final line and he moves down to work on a body. "I won't. And if I do? I guess I'll have to learn how do to it."
Iktyziel starts work on the back wing, attempting to be more careful as he makes the next few lines. "She is really nice," the boy agrees about Imogen, "At the time, she was helping me take something up to Y'ziel's ledge." There's a small, brief grin on his face, though he manages not to snicker as he leans down to dip his brush again. He pauses a moment to glance back at Kiaran, saying quietly, "I guess.. that is a good reason not to. It's not fun when people are mad at me either," brushing his fingers back through his hair, "I seem to get in trouble anyway, though." Given Ikty's tendency toward mischief and sneakery, however, that might be unsurprising. "Just be sure you're prepared to go through weyrlinghood, if you stand," Iktyziel cautions, though his voice is light, less serious and more teasing, "My brother said it was a lot of work, a lot worse than candidacy. And a lot of clean up, too." Baby dragons are messy, after all.
"But you wouldn't get in trouble if you didn't do things to get yourself in trouble." Kiaran points out. It's probably a rather odd time to do so as he's adding to the graffiti in the room. "Then people wouldn't be mad." His brush halts in position again for a moment before he adds. "I don't mind working hard. I'm good at working hard." If not being good at working quickly. He won't even mention the mess element.
Iktyziel hunches his shoulders just slightly, sheepish expression flickering over is face, "True.." Ahem. He moves down from the wings to the shoulders and back of the dragon, attempting to make it proportional to the head Kiaran has already drawn. One wing might be a bit oversized in comparison to the other, alas. "I guess I kind of deserve all the sock-mending duty," he has to grin a little, "It did come in handy, though, knowing how to sew. I'nigo's pants are almost done.. and my robe too." Glancing briefly at Kiaran, he asks, "Do you think they're going to bother checking how well it's sewn? I know they want us to make them ourselves, but.. some of us can't." As for working hard, Iktyziel nods, getting a little lazy with his brush strokes as he begins on the tail. There's a bit of a kink about halfway down, where he doesn't quite manage to have the lines meet up evenly.
Kiaran winces as he sees that kink form, but he's not speaking about it, working to make the body mesh. "I think they'll be most worried that it's sewn well enough that it won't fall off. Because if it all came unstitched on the sands it would be very embarrassing." Kiaran notes before he adds. "My robe isn't finished yet. I'm still working on it. You don't think the eggs will hatch too quickly do you? I'd hate to have an unhemmed robe for it."
Iktyziel leans down to dip the brush again, drops of paint landing on the ground as he attempts to finish the tail. The brush strokes become more whimsical, the boy making it overly long and all kinds of loopy. "I suppose so," he grins somewhat, "It would be funny, though, if someone's robe fell off on the sands," a soft snicker for that. "Although.. I guess it would be pretty bad, too. With all the people that will be there," he shakes his head a little, "I don't think I'd be able to show my face in Fort again, if that happened to me." Even so, there's a definite upward tug of amusement at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know.." he ponders the upcoming hatching with a bit of a head tilt, "It's been a long time since the last one, and I barely remember it. I think we have a lot of time, though." There is a pause, and then an added, "..I don't think they'll be checking for hems. At least.. I hope not."
"I'd feel bad for them. If their robe did. Because they would have to be beyond mortified with all those people staring at them. It will be bad enough to have all those people watching us in the first place." Kiaran states adding one more stroke before he steps back to look at the dragon. "Without a proper hem it won't be a neat, fully-finished robe."
With one final stroke, Iktyziel adds the last line to the tip of the tail, stepping back as well to admire their work. It's likely very clear which areas the redhead has worked on, slightly wobbly lines and oversized tail and wing. But still! On the whole, it's definitely a painting of a dragon. "Not bad," he states with pleased smile, "Hopefully, it will still be here by the time the eggs hatch. If we impress, when we're weyrlings, we can finish it with the colors of our dragons. What do you think?" Colors? Well, if they impress different colors, it might be a rather interesting-looking dragon. Cough. "I guess I'd feel bad for them too," he does add, though there's still the dimmest flicker of mirth in his eyes. "At least, from the galleries, we'll all look alike? I mean, it's pretty far. And we'll all be wearing the same things." As for the hem, Ikt ponders a moment, "Mm, I suppose it is better to have it all finished and neat. Still, it seems like a lot of extra work."
Kiaran looks over to Ikty for a moment more before he nods. "Right. So we'll come back after the hatching and paint it the color you impress." There is at least humor to his tone there. "I should be getting back to my chores. I don't want to get in trouble for shirking!"
"/We/ impress," Iktyziel states, with a bit of a grin for Kiaran, "And you'll see. You can never tell. Only the dragons know." He'll at least attempt optimism there, moving to collect the brushes and bucket. "I've got the afternoon off. I should probably go finish I'nigo's pants," making something of a face for that, "See you later!" He raises a hand in farewell to the other candidate, heading to where he left his scarf and gloves.
.
Trill steals a glass from Eleni.
OOC Date: 11/12/10
Characters: Trillian
Summary: Trill feels more guilty and bad than with the other items, but she obtains something from a weyrwoman's chambers.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent. The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns, 1 month, and 1 day into the 10th Pass. It is afternoon at Fort Weyr, the sky is clear and fresh, and the winds are strong.
Eviyath's Weyr
Smooth walls stretch upward in the broad, organic arc only solid stone can support. They meet in a kind of cathedral ceiling that blends and magnifies little noises into a melodic susurrus. Even empty, it's the kind of place that talks to itself.
An uncurtained entrance leads into a smaller, kidney-shaped chamber and its tiny, priceless bath. Reflected glowlight capers on the ceiling, and the cool, soapy smell of the water perfumes the rest of the cavern. In one dim corner of the main chamber a canopy of crazy-quilt patchwork over the double bed mitigates the agoraphobia of living in a cavern. It glimmers with patches of cranberry satin, brown velveteen, and bronze taffeta and adds to the chaos of quilts on the mattress.
Long shelves hold a riot of pottery, books, and soft embroidered things, and a mural rises up the walls, sort of a multimedia bloom of paint and ceramic tiles in oceanic colors. The books and hides on the big round table and the laundry hung on the mismatched chairs prove this place is occupied. A thick green vine, propped up with withes, probes into the darkness of the cavern from the ledge.
Obvious exits:
Ledge
Sneak sneak sneak. Sneak sneak sneak. In hushed tones, a female voice is heard as she enters the sacred chambers of a weyrwoman. "I don't know why she wouldn't be amenable to loaning us a glass for just one day," Trill mutters to herself, "But as long as I'm careful and return it as soon as possible, I don't think there'll be an issue with it." She cautiously takes a peek in and finds nobody home. Most excellent. She attempts stealth as she examines the area for likely locations. All at once, she becomes aware of an aged wood cabinet with glass panes, highlighting the weyrwoman's most treasured possessions. Namely, cut-crystal decanters, wine glasses, and liqueur glasses, that look very expensive..and delicate. "Mm.." the girl hesitates, jiggling the cabinet handle until it opens. "I hope I bought enough padding.." She unearths from her satchel a small box, which is wrapped in, what else, her treasured towel. "I'm sorry, Eleni." She frowns, grabbing a small liquer glass and scooting the larger glasses slightly to the right to hopefully hide its absence from view for a few days. Glass is wrapped tightly and carefully with her towel and placed in the box, which is tied shut with a rope and hidden back in her satchel. And the girl sneaks out once more, hopefully unnoticed.
Trill and Arelle borrow some children's artwork.
OOC Date: 11/16/10
Summary: Arelle is some kind of Pernese Mary Poppins, and assists Trill in obtaining three sets of handprints from Madri's triplets.
It's currently early spring on the northern continent.The Starsmiths say it is 12 Turns, 1 month, and 17 days into the 10th Pass. It is afternoon at Fort Weyr. The sky is clear and fresh, the winds strong.
Creche (#3224J)
There are two busy rooms here. The first, a large, brightly colored playroom, is filled with toys, small, soft rugs, and child-sized tables and chairs. Another section of the room has small beds which are able to be pulled out for sleeping at night. The second room, separated from the other by a thick hanging, is the infants' sleeping room. This is pretty obvious, as there are two rows of baby beds, several rocking chairs, and many, many stuffed animals around. Both rooms are usually overseen by a nanny or two, though there are those moments when an unsuspecting parent is called into duty for a while.
Obvious exits:
Out
Arelle has arrived.
After speaking with the nanny on duty briefly, Arelle slips towards the large playroom where most of the children are, and claps her hands to get their attention. "Alright children, it's time to play a game. Who wants to get dirty?" she offers as enticement, knowing how much the children like to get dirty.
Trillian is also there, trying to get a little boy to put his pants on. Did someone say dirty? Some food is already splattered in her hair and she looks a bit frazzled. But, the second Arelle comes in the room, the little boy, Noden, starts to behave. Because Arelle is like Mary Poppins or somebody with the magic touch. "Me Me Me!" he jumps up and down, and is sufficiently distracted enough to allow the candidate to get his pants back on. And it seems that the chorus of other children (including the trio of Thamir, Tamari and Tamidra) agrees with him.
Arelle laughs, sharing a brief look of commiseration with Trillian, remembering how hard it used to be for her to help the younger children. "Well then the first thing we're going to do is get out the paints and get our hands alllll sticky with it to draw pictures. But here's the fun part - you're all going to sign your picture with your handprint since most of you can't write your names yet. Does that sound like fun?" she asks as she heads towards where the paints and spare hides are stored.
Trillian gives a sly look to Arelle, "Ah I love drawing pictures with handprintS" she emphasizes the S. "I'm going to make mine blue!" She proclaims, arranging some little chairs around the tables so that the kids can sit down and make themselves an art station. A few chairs have been turned over on their sides and some stacked in odd ways. Those rambunctious kids.
Arelle winks briefly at Trillian and sets out the paints for the kids. "Now just remember to share the colors. If you're really good while you draw your pictures even, we won't make you help clean up after, you'll get to go play after you're cleaned up. Can you do that?" coerce them to behave with the promise of more play-time later without having to clean - every child's dream.
Trillian makes sure every kid has a scrap of hide to draw on and grins while listening to Arelly Poppins, the miracle nanny. And as the kids begin to draw, she walks about, looking at what each is drawing, and offering help if it is needed, "I think you should draw flamethrow-" but a stern look from one of the nannies has her changing what she's saying. "A flower. Yes, more logical for a young person. Or a fingerroot." And then she reaches the area where the triplets are sitting, asking each one, "What are you drawing?" Each gets a different answer, "A flower!" Says Tamari, "Elsveth!" says Tamidra, and "A tunnelsnake!" says Thamir.
"Oh, such wonderful drawings you're all doing, children! That fish jumping out of the lake is excellent!" Arelle compliments as she stops by one of the older children, wishing she could remember the girl's name. Her eyes keep a look-out over the children to ensure that they aren't making too much of a mess since she'll have to clean it up, but it seems they're all behaving, quite intent on their drawings. Some of the younger ones are extra messy, but that's to be expected. "We may have to see if the cooks have any special treats for so many talented artists!"
Trillian agrees with Arelle, "Oh yes, I very much like this one of a herdbeast." She points to another child's drawing, only to get a scowl, "That's my daddy's dragon!" says the little boy. "Oh, right," Trill offers, somewhat embarrased. Approaching Arelle, she asks,"So we should put these drawings up on the wall in a place of honor, right?" She would assume.
Arelle hides a laugh with a cough, which she covers with her hand and nods to Trillian's question. "Absolutely. Such wonderful works of art definitely need to be displayed. we can take care of that after we clean up." she glances towards the entrance to the playroom where the head nanny is standing. "Okay children, finish up your drawings and get them signed. Its almost time to go outside to play."
The children are only too glad to finish up and run outside to play. And while they are out there, Trill and Arelle make the area spotless and hang up all the drawings. All but three from the triplets, which are stored in a secret and safe place. They won't be noticed for a little while because the kids are playing and then brought inside for sweet snackages. That and there are so many drawings, that it is easy enough to not notice a few missing.