==== October 13th, 2013
==== Cerise, Yulena, Daycen, Taralde
==== Morning in the Candidate dorms.

Who Cerise, Yulena, Daycen, Taralde
What Morning in the Candidate dorms.
When Early morning, 11 months and 29 days until the 12th Pass
Where Southern Weyr

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Candidate Barracks
Perhaps the safest place in the weyr, these barracks: the stonework here is old, perhaps as old as the weyr is itself, for the uncanny cleanliness of ancient stonecutters marks neat corners and perfect arches. Richly-lit by glowlight, tapestries reflect scenes of yore from the walls - dragons flaming, holders farming, and one particularly well-made that depicts the impression of a dark-haired girl to a light-toned gold dragonet, dripping and fierce. The barracks themselves are open-air, with not even a curtain to divide the space of male from female. Bunk-bed style cots line each wall, hammocks strung along the middle for those unfortunate enough to lack the privacy that an adjoining wall brings. There are privies in the back and locker-style item storage in the front, and one especially large table next to a book-case filled with basic Harper texts.

There are some aspects of Weyr life that Cerise has adapted to easily- the concept (or lack thereof) of modesty being one of them. Her schedule's the same each morning: awaken early, go for a run on the beach, or a swim if the weather's suitable, then hit the baths on the way back and return to the barracks before breakfast. She arrives to the barracks in a towel and sandals. "It's fuckin' hot out there!" she complains loudly- you know, just in case anyone was still sleeping- before proceeding to the bunk she shares with Yulena to begin the ordeal of pulling a comb through her wet mop of curly hair and debating clothing choices for the day.

Yulena was entirely NOT asleep, because she's got klah. Sitting cross-legged on her bunk, she peers down at Cerise, "Really?" As if today is somehow special and different from the past few weeks. "I don't know if I'd rather do kitchen duty or work outside," she muses quietly in that situation. Slurp de klah. "Was it better in the water?" Ooh look, Yulena's trying to be normal this morning!

"The water was incredible," Cerise has to admit. "You need to get up early and skip the klah, come swimming with me sometime." This recommendation is accompanied by the ex-performer reaching up to make a grab for Yulena's foot, intending to tweak her bare toes. Whether she succeeds or not, she then turns from tormenting her fellow candidate to pulling out necessary items- a comb, another towel for her hair, a skirt and sleeveless shirt for the day's labors… "I've got laundry today, I might die."

Skipping the klah. Oh, Cerise, your skills as an entertainer shine through: "Swimming before klah?" Yulena shakes her head, "I'd drown or something." The tweaking of her toes gets a little eep and a small grin, but kindly Yulena does not 'accidently' spill her beverage on Cerise's clean hair. She might threaten it, though. "Eugh, laundry, in this weather?" The face the ex-cook pulls shows her utter sympathy, and then the relief of not having to do it herself, "Good luck with that," and not fainting. "I'd rather stick to being outside where it's…" What, less humid? A cooler breeze? "Fresher."

Taralde isn't wholly comfortable with how comfortable everyone is. Forget how progressive his ideas and ideals are, he is a Nowtimer. Dancing is one thing… He smiles warmly at Cerise, but his eyes only flicker at her. For waking up early, well, he's been an Apprentice for Turns. So, he's up. He's mostly obscured by a snowy fall of fabric draped over his legs and spread out onto his rack. He chimes in, "Agreed. Outside for me. Kitchen's too stuffy. And the laundry…" Yulena may note, if she's someone to keep track of such things, she's never seen Taralde with klah. Ever. He works intently on the fabric, warning, "You might die." He grins.

In this sort of weather, modesty is fated to die a quick death. Whipping the towel off is probably the last time today Cerise will feel genuinely cool, so she's in no special hurry to get the clothes back on. Even with an audience nearby. "I wouldn't let you drown, silly. I always feel better after a swim," she says as she shakes out her light linen shift. She is reluctant to pull it on over her head but she has to get dressed at some point. Sigh. On it goes, arms waving high as she shimmies it down over curves shrunken by constant exercise. "I don't think there's a decent chore left, with all of this humidity."

Yulena gives the little shrug of 'who knows what happens when someone doesn't give me klah first thing in the morning'. "I hear that the new cobbler is a big swimmer," and then Yulena pauses, "Well, that he likes to swim a lot. Have you seen him out there?" Yulena does shudder slightly at the humidity, "And just imagine, come winter, it'll be cold and rainy," having acclimated to the temperature somewhat, "And we'll all be missing these summer days. I wonder if it's as warm when you go up on a dragon as down here." And a sip of klah disappears into Yulena.

Taralde is SO sewing right now. Just sewing. He watches Cerise out of the corner of his eye. This is all, you know. Normal. Eventually anyway. "Ow." Damn. Needle stick. He sucks on his finger. "Sffimig if good." He inspects his finger and shakes his hand out, stinging throb in time with his heart, he cocks his head, "If we Impress, what will we barter with if all the chores are terrible?" He used to be quite a chore-broker at the Hall.

"Big guy, no hair? I think so." The skirt is next, stepped into and situated at her waist, secured with a drawstring. Cerise reaches for her comb after that because her own hair is going to take forever to fix. Taking a seat on the edge of her bunk, she grabs a hank of it and begins combing the ends, working from the bottom up to pick loose the tangles. "Do the weyrlings get stuck with chores too? I thought they were too busy with their dragons," she muses. "I'd love to see a dragon in the laundry. You could get them stomping in four tubs at once, aye? It'd go so fast."

Yulena looks over at Taralde's plaint of 'ow' and nods, "Those needles' 'll do that to you. Slippery bastards." The needles, she means. The subject of post-Impression chores gets a curious blink, "I think after Impression, most of our chores will revolve around our dragons," she says thoughtfully. Cerise's confirmation of the new Weaver dude gets a satisfied nod, and then Yulena's off and fantasizing about how to get a dragon into the laundry: "You'd have to lift off the roof, or somehow have them ::between:: in there… And have a small dragon, too…" Yulena has her klah-bark-made thinking cap on.

Daycen was trying to catch just the last possible few minutes of sleep. But all the -talk- and chatter. Can't people be anti-social like he is? Grumbling (someone is not a morning person… still), he pulls his pillow over his head and makes a grumbly grunting sound from beneath it.

Taralde winces and leans down to peer at Daycen. "Morning, Starshine," he says quietly. He grins and pitches his voice lower. "Yeah, weyrlings get back to chores later." He ties off a knot and grins triumphantly. "And done!" He slithers off the rack and tries on his robe. It's a circle with a hole in the top. Basically a floor length poncho. With no armholes. He's noting this, hands tenting the sheet like a ghost. "OoooOoo."

"Maybe move the laundry out into the bowl, get a bunch of dragons doing it at once," Cerise remarks, enthusiastically leaping into speculating the logistics with Yulena. "Not sure the delicates could survive their talons though…hey, wake up! S'breakfast soon." Combing is put on pause so she can fire a pillow over at Daycen's bunk, though with Taralde jumping down and in the way, her aim is way, way off. "…speaking of laundry. That looks horrible." Insult? Noooo, really, she's amused.

"Can't it be a girl sleeping above me. You know, a pretty face in the morning instead a'you." Daycen teases, using his pillow to try and shield his eyes from peering Taralde. "Is that your candidate robe?" There's a sudden -expression- on his face. You know the one. The 'OH SHIT I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED MINE' look. He's up a whole lot faster than one might think possible given his grumping, so he can rummage in his locker. Also, *flail* Pillows!!

And that is why Yulena doesn't mind sleeping above Cerise, "Ohhh, good call. Maybe we'd have to do the delicates ourselves, but that's still a darn sight less than the whole thing." Taralde's… over-sized pillow-case thing gets a critical eye from Yulena, "I like what you've done there. Except for the arms. You sort of need those." Hey, man, Yulena worked the kitchens, not the fashion district, "And what if a big wind comes along? It'd carry you off if you're not careful." Daycen's change of expression and subsequent panic gets an unbidden 'snrk' from Yulena that she tries to hide in her klah.

Taralde listens to the laundry plans. "We could make special foot paddles for the dragons feet, so they don't have to touch the clothes at all!" He's totally joking, imagining a great bronze staring with disdain at a contraption fixed to its deadly claws. No way. Then - pillow! He catches it with a hug of white fabric, no hands. He shove-throws it back at Cerise. "Let's see yours then!" He flushes having already seen hers today. He holds his face steady, hoping they don't note the entendre. He chortles at Daycen and gets out of the way. He gets the needle and pins a spot where his arms should poke through, then shrug out of his overgrown poncho and hops up onto his bunk to keep working.

"Carry him off or flash all of the hatchlings, terrorize them the way they've terrorized us," Cerise jokes before bam! Pillow to the face! Or almost, as she gets a hand up in time to mostly block it. Tossing it aside, she directs her best superior nose in the air look at Taralde- acting! Brilliant! Thank you!- before directing herself to her clothes press. "If you haven't done yours yet, Dayc, you might want to just fine one that needs mending, aye? There's a few left over still, I think, from last hatching." And then she's pulling out her own robe, which is of course tailored to perfect in a way that emphasizes the figure and leaves the calves and arms bare. Tah dah! Fashion!

From his perch, now resumed, Taralde grins at Yulena and down at Those Below. He inclines his head at Cerise, "Lovely," and then a look at Yulena. "Yes, I think you were working on it right when I got here. In the galleries overlooking the Sands."

"Ah-hah! I knew it. My father sent down his candidate robe in the last care package. Apparently he stood once, and never told me. Whether it fits or not… another story entirely." Daycen just opened the package now, yes. Because he's a dude. And what dude needs care packages? He did read the note that came with it though. Because, nerd. And now he can turn to face everyone again. "Too late to go back to sleep, isn't it."

Two robes finished on one side, and a poncho and donated robe on the other side? You know what that means. "The girls are winning," Cerise asides to Yulena, with a wink. Her robe is neatly folded and put away before she resumes hair-brushing. As her curls start to dry, they're taking on a decidedly fluffy appearance, much time will be needed to tame them.

Yulena nods over at Taralde, "That's right," she remembers, "You were playing your instrument." Daycen's declaration gets a curious look over-and-down, "Your dad's old robe? Have you…" hesitant tone, "washed it? You don't know what could be crawling in it!" Le ew. Cerise's calculation gets a thoughtful, not-quite victorious look and then Yulena is entirely enthralled with Cerise's hair, her hand reaching forward, Yulena leaning out slightly, to gently pat the drying curls, and watches in fascination as they spring back. "Pretty," is her evaluation.

Daycen looks at the robe, and then over at Yulena. And then the robe. "My father is capable of having something laundered before sending it to me. Here, wanna smell to make sure?" Hopefully it -is- washed, cause Dayce tries to hold it right up to her face for a good whiff. And then there is also the fascination of watching curls dry. he just ind of runs a hand through his hair a few times, rubs back and forth, and voila. "Well, if we can use em from the last candidates and sew them up, I don't see why not." Now he's -worried-. Thanks Taralde!

Well, if Yulena's gonna go get all friendly that way, Cerise is just going to pass up a second comb so she can get to work. Dual-prong attack! Or something. "I know you aren't mocking my accent there, laddy, and me knowing where you sleep," she comments for Taralde's benefit. That was likely a threat but she's distracted midway through by Daycen getting all up in their bunk's bidness with that robe of his. For this, he earns a poke in the belly with the comb she still has a grip on. "Some folk like new. Bad luck, I guess, to wear a robe someone failed in, aye?"

Whoa, whoa, first there were pretty curls and now there's this white smelly thing in her face! Yulena pulls back and glares at Daycen, nodding in approval at Cerise's attack. "Ew!" she tells Daycen, whether it does stink or not. "That is repugnant! I don't know where that's been, washed or not!" Get it off, get it offffff! oh, it's off. Yulena's still frowning at Daycen, "Better watch it or I'll… I'll… I'll water your klah!" Take THAT, you fiend!

Taralde's eyes flash at Cerise's threat. An invitation? Surely not. That way lies madness. He laughs at Daycen's foray and Yulena's indignance. A sudden pre-nostalgic pang resonates in his belly. He hopes that, after the Hatching they'd all still be there. "Failed?" He grows philosophical, he'd given himself over to the idea of Standing and Impressing, but come the day… what would it feel like to be left Standing. Shame. Relief. Shame at relief. It would feel like failure. But was it? "Is it failure not to be right for a thing?"

"Some folk can like new all they want. I can't imagine that statistically speaking there is any difference in who impresses based on the new or oldness of their candidate robe. Or whether anyone has impressed in it or not." Daycen drawls, sounding every inch the nerdboy he was when first being herded into the barracks. Yulena at least gets a dimpled smile and he pulls the robe back to himself. "You'll water my klah. Taralde, did you -hear- that threat?" He clutches at his heart, feigning a sorrowful expression. And, then crumples back into his bunk when the comb-sword is all poked into his stomach.

Taralde nswers Daycen simply, "Never really developed a taste for the stuff." So yeah, no teeth for him. He grins at Yulena's threat and at Daycen's drama.

Cerise can only shrug at talk of failure and statistics and what not. "Weyrfolk are superstitious." Like she isn't. Ha! Snorting follows at the boys' clowning around, then she puts her head down and gets back to work untangling. "Mine's new cuz the regular ones look like shit on a person. No idea why they think hatchlings need to see us in sackcloth, but I'll be hung before I walk out in front of an audience wearing a sack."

With that threat, Yulena is navigating her way to the floor, without stepping on Cerise or spilling her klah, "Ahem. If you'll excuse me, I have to go… talk with the kitchen staff today." A tongue gets stuck out at Daycen, and Yulena, still clothed in her night-clothes, goes racing off to gossip with Brel of the Kitchens, warning her about the stinky Daycen and his old, stinky robe. So HAH!

Daycen looks amused, as Yulena dashes off. But otherwise, he stops his clowning around and actually inspects the old robe for tears or places that need to be patched up. "I think it's because we're all supposed to -look- alike so that the dragons don't get confused by colors and whatnot. They can focus on finding the mind that matches." That's one of many rumors, at least. "The sackcloth part - shells if I know. Sackcloth is easier to make?"

Taralde chuckles at Yulena's back. He sighs down at his robe, "This is rubbish. I wonder if there's time to order one from the Weaver." He'll be picking up his clothes… today in fact! He shrugs at the robe discussion, "Sack cloth is cheap, too. Itchy though. Hot as it'll be, I wouldn't add itchy to the equation." He nods at Cerise, "True enough. We are a superstitious lot." He hops down and puts on his robe again. Complete with arm holes. Now, what to do about the flashing… that wouldn't do at all. He shrugs out of the robe, folds it carefully and puts it away. "Join me for breakfast?" he extends an arm towards the exit. Daycen, Cerise, anyone else in earshot.

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