==== September 19, 2013
==== C'ren, Daycen, Dimitri, Renalde, Sytin
==== Numbers are crunched while someone's manliness comes into question. What will the formula equate to?

Who C'ren, Daycen, Dimitri, Renalde, Sytin
What Numbers are crunched while someone's manliness comes into question. What will the formula equate to?
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr - Nighthearth

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Nighthearth
A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.


Though the lunch rush is over, a few stragglers hang on over their papers or mugs of klah. Drudges float through the caverns and clean up after the mess that is inevitably left after the craze subsides. One such straggler is up to his eyeballs in numbers and strange symbols, hunched over a book and occasionally scratching out something on a worksheet. The black-haired Candidate has some company: a baby blue firelizard sits on Sytin's head, splayed out spread eagle and watching the boy work with half-lidded eyes, whirling a shade of blue-green. On the whole the Candidate seems lost in his schooling.

Just passing through is the headman, on his way elsewhere in the weyr, but seeing the youngling tucked over his work has Renalde's steps changing course. Boots click on the floor as he moves closer, looking over the child's head. "Math hum?"

Daycen is sort of a straggler; but mostly because it took him extra time to do his chores. Rather then looking perturbed by it, he just looks tired and kind of in a daze. Candidate Standard Time still has not settled in yet. So he automatons towards the klah pot first. And then he'll get food. "Afternoon, sir. Fellow white-knot bearer." he offers, trying not to speak only in grunts.

"Mmnnheeahh…" There is a loveseat, in one corner of the room, with sometihng making NOISE on it. It is Dimitri, who's been sauntering through the Weyr doing chores for several days in a row now. At least… until he found this couch, and just sort of collapsed in it. Legs hanging off the side like they don't wish to be part of this BREAK and his face pressed down into a seat, warping his face as he naps with his mouth open. Or wakes up with his mouth open, rather, pressing both hands onto his closed eyed. BBhhh LIGHT. People talking. Go 'way. "Bbbhh."

"Hmm?" Sytin glances up from his work and peers at Renalde for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Math." He sets the pebble back on his book to hold it open and reaches for his klah, taking a sip and absently stroking the blue 'lizard on his head. "Harpers said I should keep learning this stuff. I'm trying to figure out how it helps with raising a baby dragon or being a good rider." Daycen gets a glance as he comes up to the table. "Oh, hey." A beat, squint and then: "Daycen." He said that right, didn't he? Dimitri's grumblings haven't reached the former Smith's notice yet.

From a pouch, Renalde pulls a square of dried meat which he offers to the little firelizard as he inspects the work in front of the boy. "Your mistake is here," Leaning over Sytin's shoulder the Headman taps one finger on the sheet in the offending place. He offers no particular opinion on the value of math. To the other boy who greets them Renalde nods once.

Daycen gives Sytin a nod of acknowledgement, glancing over towards he and his work while his 'pleasefaranthhelpmewakeup' items are gathered up and he ambles over towards a chair. It's only once he's sitting down that he leans over and pokes Dimitri's shoulder. You know, like the other boy is some strange new thing that you don't really want to touch but just HAVE to. In this case, it's to wake him up. "Math. I'm more geometry, or I'd help."

Loveseat. So comfortable. But there's too much talking, and then there is a POKE. Upon which Dimitri cuuurls up not unlike how a dead spider might retract its limbs, and prepares to roll over. The only problem is the loveseat really being far too small for that sort of thing, and so the next thing that happens is not him rolling over but him rolling OFF, with a flail of arms and legs and an utterly masculinity-lacking yelp as he lands on his side. And flails one more time just for good measure— KICK kick bap BAP.

Zhiros cracks open first one eyelid and then the other as the jerky comes out, letting out a little chirr of delight as he opens his maw and tugs the tidbit from the Headman's hand, making adorable noises while chewing it up. Sytin grins at the blue, eyes glancing upwards at him. "Flying stomachs indeed," he teases lovingly. "Can't wait for him to try firestone." Renalde's finger diverts his attention and he glances down where he's pointing and squints, frowning and trying to work it out in his head for a moment. "Oh." He gets out his pen knife and starts scrapping away the writing with small, deft movements. "I see now." Flicks continue and Daycen is tossed a bit of an appreciative smile. "S'all right. I can manage most of it on my own." Dimitri gets a quirked eyebrow, an "uhm" and a little blink. Zhiros meanwhile has settled back down into a state of somnolence, his morsel consumed. Scrape scrape scrape.

The little blue gets a ghost of a smile from the Headman as he straightens up. "Time and patience will have it come easily enough," Renalde says glancing over the rest of the paper quickly for any other mistakes. "Try doing less of this in your head, and mark down every step separatly rather then trying to do several at once. It makes it easier to spot the mistakes." And now for that sound behind him. Renalde turns to look down at the mass of not-quite-manhood on the floor and sighs just a little. Of course it is Dimitri. Who else?

Daycen is vaguely apologetic for the mess that he's just initiated. Said mess being the Dimitr-limb-tangle on the floor. But then, he's also amused. And the corners of his lips twitch upward just a little before he brings his mug up to his lips to imbibe of caffeine and hide the smirk. "Cute firelizard." he comments, finally. "Dimitri, just get up already. Get klah. Wake up. Before the Headman has a drudge carry you off and dump you in a vat of cold water."

A few blinks later and Dimitri is awake… more or less, graaabbing for the loveseat to drag himself back up. Like somehow gravity's a little harsher on him than anyone else in the room. But halfway through e changes his mind, and grabs for one of Daycen's arms instead, in SWIPES. C'mere. "Headman can't do anything. I'm on a BREAK. I was in the stables all day, barely had time t'nearly drown myself in the baths 'fore… coming here and… actually I think I was supposed to be doing something." Upon twisting around and finding Sytin and Renalde there, he WAVES a free hand as though he hadn't just been talking about one of them, a fake-as-can-be smile on his face. At least he's still too sleepygroggy for a 'witty' comment.

"Why is everyone always telling me to show my work?" Sytin mumbles this more to himself than at any particular person and certainly not Renalde. No long speeches, kthxbai. He does finish scraping away the errors and starts fresh, working the problem out with deft, neat strokes. Clearly someone taught him the value of ink and quill early on. "Thank you for your feedback, sir," is such much more audibly, just in case the Headman were thinking of doing horrible things to him. He's not ungrateful, honest! Zhiros is a little chirring bundle of sleepy flit snores, still perched quite soundly on the Candidate's head. Daycen and Dimitri drama kind of draws the former Smith's attention away from his work. "Oh, don't dump him in cold water, Daycen. He'll lose what little manhood he's got left." And there goes the mouth again. His wits are awake at least! Dimitri gets just a little wave and a playful grin before the quill is at work again.

Renalde crosses his arms and simply looks at Dimitri. Sytin's jibe at the other boy gets a slight raised eyebrow. "Clearly, you are in much need of more of the stable Dimitri. Break or none, I am sure that the weyr will only profit more from your labour then your idleness here."

Oh, so there is revelry afoot! Into this revelry and teasing comes one lone mountain boy, unaccompanied, for once, by his winged shadow, and thus free to loot and pillage the nighthearth's ready foodstuffs — but wait, there are people in his way. There is mumbling and grumbling from deep within the chest of C'ren, and narrow-eyed glares gifted liberally about. Why must all this Weyr be full of people? And yet, he's hungry. And so, he sallies forth anyway, in spite of himself, neatly avoiding touching anybody.

Sytin's burn happens right in the midst of a gulpful of liquid. Liquid that is almost sprayed out when it registers just what the youngest in the room said. There is much coughing and wheezing as Daycen tries to compose himself. But he does it! Eventually. He'll still help Dimitri get his bearings though and then guide him towards a separate seat with a nudge. There will be no cuddling today. None! "Wow." That's all he can think of to say. Before C'ren walks in. He gets a raising of the mug in half-saluted greeting.

Dimitri allows himself to be guided away just fine, though he DOES make a point of half-collapsing against Daycen, presumably while his sleepiness is still in the process of leaving him. But after a brief and awkward-looking fumble, he pushes himself away and— doesn't sit, actually. Because Sytin's said a thing. And Dimitri… just laughs, hands slipping oh so casually into his pockets. The laugh is not loud, but somehow it still manages to travel, perhaps by sheer force of how annoying its owner is perceived to be. It's a sound that lingers right in the middle of mockery and genuine amusement. "Oh, listen to this one!" His eyebrows shoot up, before he turns to face Sytin properly. "He's good. Ellen teach you that one? I feel like I've heard it before, somewhere." This does not come out laced with sarcasm, but almost pleasant in its thoughtfulness. He lifts a hand in order to… - from the looks of it maybe attempt to rub one side of his face CLEAR OFF. As for the Headman, he gets IGNORED. At least… if you don't count the fact that the performer-turned-candidate starts moving slowly away, toward the exit.

Hooray, for a change Sytin's mouth didn't get him into enormous trouble! The Smith looks quietly smug about this triumph as more numbers and symbols make their way onto paper. Oh, and Dimitri's in trouble. Amber eyes dart to watch the spectacle unfolding over by the loveseat, trying not to be too obvious about it. The incoming bronzerider doesn't have his attention for the moment, though that's largely a combination of his back being turned to the entrance and Daycen spraying out a large quantity of liquid. The boy stifles a giggle at the event, biting his lower lip for a moment to sober. Fortunately the humor of the statement is not lost on its victim and the former Smith offers Dimitri a wry grin and a soft chuckle. "I ne'er heard it before, no." Maybe great minds think alike? "Maybe I just got lucky?" Quill has paused in its scratching, at least momentarily.

Dimitri gets a slow headshake from the Headman. He mutters something quietly to himself. To Sytin, "I wasn't aware that any of the candidates had baby firelizards. I'll make the child that brings up the tray for the weyrlings also brings something for your little one in the evening." The entering weyrling gets a nod, and Renalde is striding back the way he had come in the start. He pauses, just a breath away from mr. least favorite person EVER, and softly says something.

Daycen is all restless and awkward now. He doesn't do well with all the fumbling and Dimitri just being way too close for comfort. Nor does he notice anything amiss. Because once the always in trouble candidate is standing up, the nerdcrafter candidate has his bowl of spicy wherry stew in hand and is gobbling that down as if he didn't just spray klah everywhere. Quiet Daycen now.

C'ren has food — and an unexpected show to go along with his meal. Somehow this doesn't seem quite right, but he'll sit down at a decent distance from the roughhousing group and begin to eat, hunching over his food like some kind of feral dog.

Something is amiss, Daycen. And Dimitri knows exactly what it is, but he's clearly too busy yaaawning as wide as he can, without a hand in front of his mouth, to be concerned with anything trivial like that. It is interrupted only by Renalde's whisper, which is… promptly sneered at. An expression that manifests to quickly to be fabricated, and not one of disgust but… confusion? Perhaps Renalde has outsmarted him with the wittiest insult he's heard yet. Hm. A second later, though, his hands leave his pockets and he STRETCHES his arms out over his head as he leaves the room in lazy strides. "If I'm worked to death by the end of the sevenday!" He starts in an overly dramatic wail, though once more forcing a grin onto his face all the same, wide and marred with utter contentment, "… Well. Someone buy the Weyr a round of something strong in celebration, for me." Aand out he goes.

Glancing up at the Headman, Sytin looks a little sheepish. "He was kind of an accident. Never owned one before, didn't know we could ask for food. I've just been feeding him from my plate." He does look grateful to Renalde for the consideration though. "I'm sure Zhiros will enjoy fresh meat much more." The blue gives a sleepy chirr as he gets another unconscious stroke from the Candidate. Now that the Headman is moving away from the crowd and back to, well, wherever he goes when he's not needed — a charging station, maybe? — the former Apprentice's gaze wanders and finally lands on the feral bronzerider with a bit of a pause. There's a mixture of fascination and apprehension on Sytin's features as C'ren devours his meal and it is with great effort the boy tears his gaze away, returning to his studies. Look. Numbers. Math. Think about the math, not the teeth and biting! Dimitri's exit is almost missed for his sheer focus, but the parting request to buy a round on him causes the boy to look up and shoot off a wave at Dim's departure. Probably wouldn't be much help with his math anyway. Deadglow.

The words reach back from the Headman as he also exits, "I am sure I could arrange more than a drink in celebration, a full weyr party perhaps with the weyrwomen in the lead and ending with a romp on your grave."

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