Who

Rhiannon Niklaas Drex & Moira

What

What goes up in flames must then be cleaned by cheap slave labor. Thank Faranth there are candidates about.

When

It is late night of the tenth day of the fourth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Latrines

OOC Date 26 Feb 2017 06:00

 

drex_default.jpg moira_default.jpg 32.png rhiannon_default.jpg

Black Rock Seahold is a place where you go if you want to get stabbed.


latrines.jpg

Latrines

Spotless and clean, the toilets shine with the glow of units well-worn from the numerous backsides of residents of Southern. The left half is for skirts, the right for pants, and there is a little protest petition tacked up under that skirt sign… something about discrimination, with a Serval rider's name prominently displayed.


Latrines
Spotless and clean, the toilets shine with the glow of units well-worn from the numerous backsides of residents of Southern. The left half is for skirts, the right for pants, and there is a little protest petition tacked up under that skirt sign… something about discrimination, with a Serval rider's name prominently displayed.
Niklaas is here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns

Time is stretchy like a rubber band: it feels so short and yet so long with middling moments in between. The skies darken, but Candidates aren't done yet! Nope! Latrines must be cleaned of their soot (they recently burned down) and it smells pretty rank in here, but Candidates are somewhat free labor. So here's a group, working to put to rights what's mysteriously gone wrong. Nik is among them; he is the brute strength. Hauling debris out as other chisel and clean the burned structures and clean soot off of the stone walls. It's not terribly awesome. It even sucks. But not a peep is heard other than some muttering in the back. Welcome to the Candidate-life!

Oh hey! Rhiannon was here when that happened! Kind of. She left before finding out what actually happened. She got knotted and slapped on the haunch and sent off to join this work party, any rate. So here she is. "Um," she ventures as she tromps closer, "I think I'm supposed to help?" She twists her blonde braid in one hand and looks for whoever appears to be in charge, staring at the details of the burning with one half fascination, one half disgust.

Niklaas is kind of in charge? Not really in charge but given his former guard training, he's been given the responsibility of ensuring everyone has a place. "Oh." Beat. He sets down a poo-crusted broken latrine bowl. "Right. Um. New here?" General inquiry with a dash of curiosity, but he's gentleman enough to not voice immediate questions. "So, maybe help out with hauling out the trash? Cause everyone on the walls is good for now." A good ol' boy grin settles in place. "Niklaas." If he were a seasoning salt shaker he'd be a dash of country, a dash of rash young man, and a good helping of gentleman. "Everyone's pretty friendly, so don't hesitate to ask if you've got questions! Drudges are taking this pile out." The trash pile.

"Yeah," Rhiannon says to the state of her newness. Awkward limbed and awkward faced. "Rhiannon," she says, since she doesn't think 'Niklaas' is a code word for anything… though weirder things right? "What /happened/ here?" she does ask, though, as she pulls on gloves that have seen many turns of wear and turns towards the trash heap. She lingers for a moment, sorting items without some of the hystronics others of her gender would at the nature of the work.

Niklaas can appreciate a girl who isn't afraid to get right into the work. So he tips his fingers as he would if he were wearing a hat, and grins. "Welcome, Rhiannon." Then he's depositing his shitty (literally) debris and going in for more. On his way past her, he says with a verbal shrug. "Dunno. No one does. It happened during the clutching party." Maybe it's one of those terrible mysteries where someone dies. Who knows. "No one knows if someone did it? Or if something caught on fire? So far, no one's admitted to it." He isn't old enough to fully disguise the "omg I want to know" in his voice though. Boys will be boys, after all.

"I think I was here for it. Did it have something to do with those.. on fire desserts?" The beastcrafter-turned-candidate wrinkles her nose at something she finds, pushes it with her boot over towards the Big Stuff pile. She finds her place by putting stuff in other peoples' arms that are going outward. "This place seems really weird." She's an awkward person Niklaas just wait. "Maybe we could figure out what happened!" This is a FANTASTIC idea. Really!!

"It could have," Niklaas allows with another shrug, this one visibly given. "But from the latrines? I mean…" He casts doubt on
that with just that last lingering thought. "It does?" He halts and gives her a thoughtful look. "Where are you from?" Oh hey. What. Solve a mystery?! "I'm in. I've got some guard connections still, but beware of the Weyrlingmaster." With exaggerated gestures, he shakes his fist. Either A'idan likes to hit people or he likes to, uh, well. Ahem. "My guess is one of two things, something really bad happened. Or someone was trying to get it on in the baths and managed to hit a fart pocket." He even manages to say that with a straight face.

"You never know!" crows the awkward-angled young beastcrafter. "Maybe some girl got left at the party and brought in one to eat in a bathroom stall." This sounds awfully specific Rhiannon. "Or maybe it was a guy. What side is burnt worse?" She peers toward a corner. "Which way was the mens side?" She couldn't tell you, having never been here before. "Oh. From Keroon. Little hold you've never heard of. And Igen Weyr I guess." She reaches up to scratch her face, then realizes halfway hand-up what her hands are covered with and lowers them again. "Weyrlingmaster?" she prompts, sliding a look toward that shaking fist. Then her face screws up as she tries to figure out how getting it on in a fart pocket could burn the weyr down. It looks more and more awkward with more and more face-scrunch and more and more horse teeth showing.

"Maybe." Nik eyes Rhiannon, a look between confusion and thoughtful crossing his features. "I don't know. It's all over burnt. Maybe the baths is burnt worse?" He's not exactly taking stock and those fixing the baths are proper smith crafters. Not Candidates, who get the shit work, literally. "A'idan. Who isn't happy when people get Searched." True story, and it even sounds like there's a story there, but that's not for now! When he realizes what she's thinking on, he turns read and turns away. "Gotta keep working!" he states. So obviously.

"How can you burn the /baths/?" Rhiannon asks, her voice bewildered. She finishes stacking up a bunch of bad lids into the arms of some poor kid candidate and turns back around. Her face is more normal this time. "Why isn't he happy when people get Searched?" She's going to spend her entire time here at Southern super confused, isn't she?

"You got me," Nik shrugs. He's going to spend most of his time shrugging with Rhiannon around, he can already TELL. Tennis shrug shoulder. Ahem. "But it happened. The baths, at least, didn't have much to burn down… just it's unusable right now. Although, I think they're close." He hauls more crappy crap and finally pauses. Dusting off his hands, Niklaas eyes Rhiannon. "I don't know. He decked some guy who searched someone. I thought Candidates were… a good thing? Then I got a knot after I helped one of the assistants help her bleeding brother to the infirmary." The pair are standing amid a pile of broken crap. People are scrubbing the walls and cleaning up the burnt stuff. Nik is hauling it out of the latrines for drudges to haul away to the actual trash heap. It's evening…ish, and the hallways aren't that crowded!

Rhiannon could put Nik to work doing things other than shrugging, but she's super awkward and Niklaas is waaaaaayy out of her league. And they are candidates. That's something too. Did she just start blushing? She started blushing. For no reason. Just the power of her mind. Nothing to see here, doot de doot… but then she blurts out, "What's with everyone hitting people?!" when he says what he does. "Divale hit /the weyrsecond/ before I left. The weyrsecond! Who does that?!" Divale. Just in case Nik was wondering. She makes a very flaily motion with her arms. "I thought candidates were a good thing too but now I'm wondering." She picks up a big shard of a toilet bowl and sets it gingerly into the arms of the next trash mover. "Be careful, that's sharp," horse-teethed-girl admonishes before he goes.

And into this mess comes a trio of soaking wet, muddy individuals. A pair of younth flank a man, all who stop short at the visial chaos. Clearly they are inturrupting something. But they are also soaking, dripping, freezing, and adding thier own little puddles of mud and wet to the mess. The man looks over the scene with a clear disapproval and a hand runs through wet hair in an attept to prevent it from distorting the scene before them. The drudges skirt around the trio and after another moment's silence Drex raises a hand to the two white knots, waving his own newly-aquired knot, "Do you take questions?" Because whatever they were talking about didn't take precidence in his world.

Nik is oblivious to her thoughts and might catch her blushing, but he's a good boy at heart. SEE the gentleman. Smiths escape the baths just in time to skirt the wet, muddy people. Too bad for them, the baths still be broke! "It's in the air." His answer is so deadpan he sounds serious. "Or in the food. I don't know. People are crazy." So succinct is this assessment but so sincerely given! Then Drex draws his attention and he gives an easy half-smile that gives off an 'aw shucks' demeanor. "Sure thing. Whatcha need?" White knot, eyed; adding, "Welcome to the flock."

Rhiannon turns to squint at the newest candidates. It's weird to think she's not the newest! It shows on her face. "You guys look like you could use some towels," she says, sympathetically but also probably with an undercurrent of unwitting asshole since there are zero towels in sight. Great reminder there Rhiannon. She seems content to leave Nik engaging the scowly one.

The scowly one continues to scowl. How can one not scowl surrounded by mess-ness? And this mess-ness was almost infectious to thought process. Drex's eyes remain locked on Niklaas in an attempt to not let the terror of this room get to him quite yet, "Are there guards? As in, how watched and how much freedom do these-" The white knot is waved again with distaste, "-give?" The pair of youth with him offer smiles to Rhiannon, nodding helpfully that yes, new and in need of towels! And food maybe? A glance might be thrown toward Drex, but neither boy speaks up, instead wide eyes scan the world around them. This was possibly the first time out of Black Rock for either of these boys and circumstances aside, the weyr promised to feed them! Imagine that! Food! For Free!

"There are no towels," Niklaas helpfully adds, too. "I'm a guard…" he starts, trailing off when it seems the question is about who's going to be the safest than who's going to be watching if they break the rules. Break the rules. "We have rules," Niklaas answers slowly, squinting at Drex. "That we should," read: need, "to follow." He glances at Rhiannon and then deeper into the latrines. "You aren't - you don't want to be a Candidate?" Ignore his good ol' country boy surprise here. He's got a lil' bit of bumpkin in him. Nik's eyes fall on Drex and then to his friends. Color him suspicious.

"Yeah, no towels here. Where are people bathing now?" Rhiannon addresses the question to Nik, because he seems to have every answer ever. She frowns at the direction of Drex' questioning, though, her gaze re-evaluating as she looks over the three with the eyes of a beastcrafter checking the conformation and sickliness of a few head of cattle. Her gaze ping-pongs between the two men and then she steps in a little closer. "I'd shake your hand but," she waves a shitty glove around as if to say why that wouldn't be a good thing. "I'm Rhiannon. This is Niklaas. And you are?" Her smile displays an equine amount of teeth, in a reassuring pack-beast sort of way.

As Niklass's proffession is revealed, Drex grows visablly more tense. His stance straightens, but he takes a step back, like a canine unsure if now was the time to be hostile or run. "Hmmm." The sound is non-commital and flat. Rules would be taken as they arose. A guard is a fellow Canidate? Drex has no luck what so ever. "Until about an hour ago, that was not the plan, no." Admittably, Drex wouldn't mind the prestige and power a Dragon would bring. But that would require having a Dragon. And being here at this place. The weyr was a personal hell to say the least. Eyes move to Rhiannon as her name is spoken and flicker over her before returning to Nik. Now was not the time to run, "Drex." A hand motions toward the youth with him, "Fealt and Vurns. We're from Black Rock." Now was not the time to run. Now was the time to get dry and food, dealing with the new realities of living with a guard again and with a new set of rules would have to be dealt with later.

A little set: Candidates working in the latrines, taking down soot and burned things (like latrine pots). Smiths and other official folks fixing the baths. A few (like Nik and Rhiannon) are hauling out the debris torn down from the ones inside. Drex and Co arrived, wet and muddy!

No one particularly wants to be in this area of the Weyr, but Moira looks almost happy to be here. The young woman is smiling as she sashays her way into the latrines, surveying the wreckage therein with a little furrow to her brow that may put a damper on her smile, but doesn't seem to diminish that inherent joy. "Well, this is a mess," she states to no one in particular, but she doesn't stand there idle for long. "Not everyone says yes to being a candidate because they want to be a dragonrider," she tosses out helpfully as she catches the tail end of part of the conversation, slipping into the growing pack of candidates with ease. "Now, where can I help?"

"The ocean? Stream? I do it down at the river." Niklaas might be many things, but stinky isn't one of them. No overwhelming man-musk (aka, armpit odor) here. He eyes Drex, but not with any kind of suspicion other than when he tenses. His brows lift and he offers a crooked smile and makes a sound before turning and resuming his work. "Well met," he answers, to all three of them. "Black Rock? You don't say?" He turns to Rhiannon, "Black Rock Seahold is a place where you go if you want to get stabbed." Truefax. The newcomer is eyed - notably for her cheerfulness as well as her comment - and he snaps his fingers. "The dirt girl!" That's where he knows Moira. "Well why would anyone say yes if they didn't want to be - to Impress?" The thought boggles his mind.

"Well-met, Drex." Rhiannon's voice has gone a little more soothing than normal. Is this her skittish animal voice? Damn right it is. "I don't think any of us plan our lives. But I think getting dry and warm is probably a good start." She gestures with a small amount of command to Fealt and Vurns. "I'll take you guys in to the headwoman. Get you some food. You look skinny." Like she's one to talk, all elbows and poor-man's (poor lady's?) six pack. Her eyes flick to Niklaas for a moment, then to Drex, and she leaves them to it, pulling her gloves off and then gesturing clean-handed for the other two to follow her out. She'll just smile awkwardly at Moira as she goes. "Have fun," she stage-whispers before disappearing back into the, er, bowels of the weyr.

"Black Rock is also where you would go if you want a job on a ship and can't afford a wagon to Southern Barrier." Drex's tone remains cool, some general loyalty to the SeaHold demanded some level of defense. As the two youth skitter off after Rhiannon, Drex remains where he is, they'd be fine and certianly could do with some fattening up. The new smiley girl is survayed neutrally, it was true, having a Dragon was a terrifying prospect. "Some might accept Search if they don't think there is any other option." As for the mess, the puddle at Drex's feet continues to grow with the steady drip, drip, drip, of his clothing, "This place seems to beyond Help." He meant more than just this room, but saying so when he just got here might not be a good move. Rules and Messes and Guards. Yep, Southern hadn't changed.

Moira perks up a little (is that possible?) when Drex mentions ships and Black Rock. Maybe she's jumping to conclusions, but this is Southern, and now she's eyeing the young man with newfound interest. So many curious people around these parts. Niklaas gets a grin. "That's me, the dirt girl." It should probably be more insulting than it is to her. "That," what Drex said, "or they know it's the right thing to do. If a searchrider says you have what it takes to protect your home, isn't it sort of your duty to say yes, whether or not you're sure you want it? You at least have to try." Even if the place is beyond help, Moira will find herself some gloves and get to work. It wouldn't be the first time she dealt with poo, after all, if there are any remainders to be had — there's no better fertilizer.

"I've never been there," Niklaas allows, watching Rhiannon exit the stage long enough to smirk over her 'skinny' comment. Then he's drawn back by Drex's answer and the former guard shrugs, dumping his stuff into a pile with all the other garbage. "Don't judge a place before you've lived there," he admonishes with a frown. "I think if your heart's not in it then it might be bad to do it. Since - from what I've seen - those guys almost kill themselves up there. Kinda need a little more conviction." Opinionated, Nik.

"Conviction? Duty?" Drex looks between the two. Are they real? Whatever planet they were from, Drex hadn't been there yet. "Sure." The word is slow and unconvinced, "Sure, something like that." Lies, but Drex is not about to try and rationalize his veiw of the situation to this pair he just met. Especially not while freezing, wet, and surrounded by Mess. "People accept Search and that is that. Dragons need bonds. Whatever thier reasons for it doesn't matter." Granted, perhaps someone would find out he was Searched and kick him out again, wouldn't that be fun? Drex did expect to make it to the Sands, but for now he was here. Unhappily as it might be, "What the hell happened in here anyway?"

"The way I understand it, at least a good part of your heart will be in it after you impress whether your intend it or not." There's a carefree sort of shrug from the girl which belies whatever conflict to which she may be admitting. "Besides, I believe in doing the right thing. If that means nearly dying, then so be it." It's conviction, of a sort. Whatever the gardener may truly be feeling, it's hidden beneath an easy smile as she starts to haul debris. Moira can only shrug in response to Drex's question. "I don't really know, but it was terrible. All of this black smoke, and the smell…" It's still lingering, no doubt, but it can't possibly be as bad as it was that first day.

Niklaas stares long at Drex. For all his good-natured behavior, he is a guard and a fairly successful one at that. He holds his tongue until Moira answers and instead disappears to go and get another round of trash. When he returns with an armful, Nik chimes in with, "Fire and destruction. No one knows for sure what happened." He leaves the topic of why people accept search for where it lie. "But I'm sure the reasons behind it will be hunted down." Assessing Drex's state, he adds, "But for now, you could flag down one of the headwomen for a towel or you can join us in hauling out the burned shit-covered crap." Such awesome choices!

"That's a nice thought, but I'd rather not die before my time." The ex-pirate shifts under Niklaas's gaze, meets it, then looks away. Every nerve screaming to do SOMETHING. "Hmm, in that case I think I'll leave you two it." Given the choices, remaining in wet clothing after the cold of Between sounded a tab more suicidal than coming back to the weyr in the first place. Now was the time for running away. Furthur battle of wills and gathering of information could happen later. The white knot is waved at the two vaguely before Drex turns to leave. He pauses in the doorway without looking back, "Well met, both of you. I suspect we will be seeing a lot of eachother in the coming weeks." Perhaps?

So many pirates around these parts, it's almost becoming commonplace. Moira certainly doesn't bat an eyelash as she watches the exchange between the two men. She may not be a guard, but even she can tell that there's something shifty about that new recruit. But who doesn't love a good mystery? "We should do some investigation," she agrees, whether or not that was Niklaas' intention. "If we're helping to clean and such, we should really have a better idea of what happened." In other words, she's incredibly curious and will probably be poking her nose into things whether or not it's a good idea. As Drex chooses exiting over hauling shit-covered remains, Moira lifts one glove-covered hand to say goodbye. "Well met, I look forward to seeing you again!" She picks up the next item, hauling it toward wherever they're leaving all of this crap. "Come on, Guardsman, let's make a name for ourselves." Hopefully as the Weyr's most industrious candidates, and not because they reek of burned shit. Either way, they've got pounds and pounds of crap to haul before they sleep.

Add a New Comment