Daenerys, Edlsesa, Fergus, Miel, Ziniel


Miel wanders to the cellars and is soon joined by not one but four Candidates…


It is sunrise of the tenth day of the fourth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Cellars, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 20 Feb 2018 05:00





Order at last, here in the cellar: foodstuffs in their proper places, floors cleaned and shelves organized: all the pots, pans, and flatware are properly hung on the walls and stored on their shelves, gleaming with careful cleaning. To one side of the cavern, there is a large outcropping of smoothed rock, permanently stained red: the place where all meat goes to be portioned for cooking. The air is cool and crisp and almost free of humidity and moisture, an astringent tang of salt and herbs hanging heavy in the air.

Sunrise can be a beautiful thing! And with the Weyr just beginning to stir into activity, one greenrider figured a little early-morning stroll wouldn’t be a half bad idea. It could also be that Miel’s looking for any excuse to stretch out sore, strained muscles as her pregnancy advances. With the promise of a sunny day to be had, she’ll venture down to the cellars for now as she waits for night’s chill to burn off. Humming a quiet tune to herself, she’ll begin to browse the various shelves and make mental notation of various items that she may need to requisition soon enough.

Speaking of requisitions, a certain Candidate might need a fuzzy blanket or two to enhance the comfort of his cot. And so, in the early hours before the Weyr gets jumping, Daenerys gets a head start and slinks down to the cellars to see what he can see in the way of blankets. And spots a greenrider in the room. Huh. Another early bird. "Oh, hello," He greets, smiling a little.

Most riders are early birds, whether they desire to be or not! “Hello,” Miel chimes back oh-so cheerfully while in the same breath giving Daenerys a once-over — and there’s the knot. “Candidate. Couldn’t sleep or just eager to start your day?” she muses with a little knowing smile. Barracks life is tough! Especially if one is used to their own quarters.

Dead in the black, she's busted him! Daenerys picks at his knot in the way of a self conscious teenager, despite his age. He's gotten used to not having a Weyr-related knot. "That I am, Rider. A Candidate who couldn't sleep. So many people in one room…" He trails off with a shrug. "I rather miss having an entire yurt to myself." And then all his sisters are there with him!

“You’ll get use to it… or at least adjust enough to adapt for most nights,” Miel reassures and will continue her browsing in slow, measured steps. She’s got all the time in the world — or so she makes it seem. “I’m Miel, by the way. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths before?” Given the amount of names and faces that have passed by her in her lifetime, that she remembers any is impressive!

Daenerys cringes inwardly at the idea of adjusting to All The People up in his grill, but will casually browse right along with Miel as if he does this all the time. He plucks at a bit of fabric, which brings forth the reminder: "Weren't we just looking at fabric?" Daenerys asks, amused. "I got the crimson one. I'm Daenerys, the Zingari trader."

Miel snaps her fingers, “That’s right! So you ended up splurging after all, huh? That crimson fabric was gorgeous. Won’t find anything quite like it here!” Because most of the fabrics and textiles in this room are for tougher work and necessary for day-to-day life. Craning her head a bit, she’ll spy something on the shelf above and, taking a small step back, points to it. “Would you be so kind as to reach that for me? I’d try, but I’d probably have some irate commentary from a few nosey minds.” She taps the side of her forehead to indicate Ivaenth… though the true culprit is Kaisylaith.

Barely out of bed, barely awake, and barely funtional before her first cup of klah in the morning, Edlsesa has been sent to the stores by one of the weyr seamstresses for some blue cotton fabric. She rubs her eyes as she makes her way through the stores, still blinking away the morning blurriness from her eyes. Harpers weren't expected up quite this early, so the candidate schedule has been something that's taking getting used to. How had her father done this daily? Erikkhan had always been up before or at the crack of dawn, something about the light being best for painting shortly after. She hears muffled voices and slows, not wanting to come upon some private interaction. But she recognizes one of the voices. "Daen?" She asks sleepily as she makes her way into the section he and Miel occupy.

"I did!" And no guilt whatever about it, either; it's paid off for him to look stunning in red. Daenerys grins at Miel in amusement for her dragon's nosiness. He's heard that one a few times. He will reach down the required item for Miel without a second thought. "This?" He offers it to her. But wait, what's this? "Sesa? You're up early too, huh?"

“That!” Miel confirms with a grin, already reaching for it once Daen has lowered it enough. “Thank you. Now I can be spared lectures and have a little more piece to myself this morning!” As to what is inside? Difficult to say, but it looks like more folded cloth. Old blankets, maybe? Or leftover fabrics from other projects to be rescued for smaller ones! Edlsesa’s arrival is met with a smile and a curious look for the newcomer. “Good morning to you as well, Candidate!”

Edlsesa blinks as she realizes that the second voice belongs to a rider. Used to this from apprenticeship, she salutes the rider through her sleepy fog. "Good morning ma'am." To Daen she shakes her head. "Hard to sleep when other people are up and shifting around about you, I miss living at home already." She chuckles jokingly and shakes her head, pushing a hand through her ebony hair. She should have braided it. Oh well. Too late now. "I got snagged right out of the barracks this morning, have either of you seen a stack of blue cotton fabric anywhere? A Weyr Seamstress seems to need it this morning." Fetching things. It's what candidates do.

Edlsesa blinks as she realizes that the second voice belongs to a rider. Used to this from apprenticeship, she salutes the rider through her sleepy fog. "Good morning ma'am." To Daen she shakes her head. "Hard to sleep when other people are up and shifting around about you, I miss living at home already." She chuckles jokingly and shakes her head, pushing a hand through her ebony hair. She should have braided it. Oh well. Too late now. "I got snagged right out of the barracks this morning, have either of you seen a stack of blue cotton fabric anywhere? A Weyr Seamstress seems to need it this morning." Fetching things. It's what candidates do.

Daenerys chuckles. "Faranth spare us more lectures." Those things can be murderous! Oh, he's very curious about what's in the package, but doesn't ask: what if it's lady stuff? "Ha I know right?" He asks of Edlsesa. "And the snores! Kaneka is the worst." Rather like a foghorn, that guy.

Miel returns the salute almost by pure habit it’s so ingrained now as a response. “As I told Daenerys just seconds ago, you’ll get used to it. Or adapt enough that you won’t go completely mad!” She chuckles at this, before grimacing in sympathy. “Try making them roll over on their sides. Works sometimes.” Or they’re just doomed all together! “Blue cotton? Hmm. Might want to try the row down there?” Fingers point to a few rows of shelves not far from where they are now. “This is all scrap.” She nudges the container full of various bundles and folded pieces.

Edlsesa nods. "I'll have a lok then, thanks." As to the snoring, Sesa shrugs. "You should hear Kanriel at night, I don't think anything could out-snore my brother." And it's true, Kanriel could fell buildings with the sonic boom of his snores. Not really. But it sure sounds that way. Sesa moves to the shelving indicated and begins looking through the different fabrics and textiles. Lavendar, white, baby pink, floral, thick cotton sheets….nope, not here. She moves a bit further down the shelving. Her organization bug kicks in and the seeming randomness of the fabric stores begins to bug her. "They really should get someone to organize all of this…" She mutters out loud unwittingly. Be careul what you wish or Sesa.

Daenerys nods sagely to the rolling advice. He's resorted to kicking Kaneka's cot — it seems to work, only Daenerys' foot has been getting sore. Too bad he can't do anything more drastic, like dumping the lad clean out of his cot. Edlsesa is given a meaningful squint. Don't go volunteering the candidates for the job! "They'll get round to it." He assures.

Speaking of snoring, there's likely been a new addition to the cacophony of snoring in the barracks since last night and he's wandering in right now. Fergus sidles into the cellars and pauses in the doorway, looking rather unsure of where to proceed from here. It probably took him this long to find the cellars - new Weyr, new surroundings, probably a lot of getting lost in the first few days. He pauses to scratch idly at his rather epicly bushy beard, eyes narrowing in thought as he peers along the shelves. Eventually he spots what he's after, from the looks of it, considering his narrowed focus on something at the very top shelf. He gives a grunt of annoyance. "Of course. The top shelf," he grumbles. He may be brawny and muscular, though he's barely over 5 feet tall. Time to look for a ladder.

TOO LATE! “Well, that is a chore for you lot. Usually reserved for days where the weather isn’t so bad.” Miel points out. “But if you’re eager to volunteer?” It’s false sweetness! And a TRAP! The greenrider has been at this as an AWLM for too long; she’s at that stage where she enjoys teasing the poor Candidates just for her amusement. And lo, a third! “Another one of you! Shards, are you all being sent this way?” Maybe she really should just put word in with the Headwoman! As for Fergus’ dilemma, the greenrider straightens and sets aside her container. “Ladder in the corner,” she offers helpfully. “I’d offer but…” A hand pats her rounded belly. Sure, she’s the second tallest here! “And it’s always top shelf or out of reach, by the way. Uncanny law down here.” Or just bad luck!

After more than a few moments of searching, Edlsesa finds the blue cloth she was sent to fetch, buried under a random batch of floral textiles. Success! She carefully removes it from under the other pile and shakes it out before draping it over her arm and moving back towards the others. She too would help Fergus, but she's shorter than he is, by a whole inch, which does make all the difference. "I would gladly volunteer to organize down here, after I deliver this, of course." They'd loved having Sesa around in the archives for this exact reason, her OCD for order is a thing people. Really, it is.

Fergus grunts in response to Miel's words, the noise sort of a non-verbal version of resignation to this horrible task. He starts towards the indicated ladder and easily pics the thing up - there's a bonus for being strong even if you're not tall. "Probably asked me to get it because they knew it's on teh top shelf," he rumbles in his deep voice, the faintest hint of amusement filtering into it. He might be grinning, too, though it's hard to tell from behind that giant beard of his. He does nod in thanks to Miel as he passes her and starts to set up the ladder beneath the item he wants.

Too late, indeed; Daenerys heaves a sigh of remorse for the lost hope that they would not be setting the place to rights, then shrugs. Candidates make convenient drudges, after all. And somhiw, he's a little smug, even, that he's still the tallest one in the room; he'll enjoy it wjile it lasts. Fergus is given the hint of a grin for his sally. "Yeah probably. Always fun to make the short ones have to climb about…" Daen has never done such a thing, innocent that he is!

“You could still help,” Miel offers to Sesa, by pointing at the base of the ladder Fergus is about to setup. “Always nice to know someone’s holding that in place!” Because you never know! “And cracked skulls or broken bones from falls are… generally frowned upon. You Candidates are a team now… more or less! When the real chores start pouring in, you’ll find that doing it as a group is better than alone.” She offers it more as take-away advice than lecture; if there’s one thing Miel is, is that she’s the slightly more laid back of the AWLM team. And everyone’s ‘mom’. It’s a role she settles to easily and while the Candidates go about their various tasks, she will fade to the side and observe. Someone’s got to “watch” them, right?

Edlsesa nods and bows her head to Miel. "Of course ma'am." And she'll assist in holding Fergus' lader for him, until he's done. "Be right back!" She says before dashing out the door to deliver the cloth she'd been sent for. And tracking down her seamstress might take a few, because that woman moves about like an avian in migration.

Fergus climbs up to near the top rung of the ladder in order to be able to reach the box he's after - because of course he does. Thankfully Edlsesa's holding of the ladder is timeley, as it's a bit awkward climbing down with a box clutched to your chest. Once he's safley on firm ground, he grunts in relief, moving to set the box down at his feet. "Well. That's one down," he rumbles, eyes crinkling slightly in amusement, "Hope the other isn't up there, too." He straightens, glancing sidelong to Daen, "You looking for something, too?" Because maybe they need the same thing or something. And Daen is taller.

Daenerys is looking for blankets — poking about in the middlemost section of the cellars. When Fergus puts his question out there, Daenerys looks around at the shorter man. Yeah, just an extra blanket. Something up there you can't reach?" He's inclined to be helpful this time, because it just has to be extremely annoying to have to climb a wall, basically, to get at anything. The man's beard, though, is a thing of beauty — probably hot as hell in Igen's heat. "I'll get it if you want."

Ziniel makes her way into the cellars after exhuasting her search for enough white cloth in the stores. Never too early to start work on one's hatching shift especially when one has so much to do in the day. Best to leave oneself plenty of time to work on such a thing. Mention of blankets has Ziniel looking over towards Daenerys and Fergus, "If you wouldn't mind, could you get me one as well please?" Ziniel asks as she starts her search at the opposite end of the room. Cloth? Cloth? Cloth? Is she going to have to go to the cloth corridor?

Fergus grunts an unsure reply to Daenarys, his pale blue eyes scanning the shelves, "Not sure where the other thing is yet. We'll see." He eyes the blankets that Daen is poking through and grunts again, this time in a questioning sort of way, "Seems a bit warm for blankets." But maybe Fergus just has so much hair on every inch of his body that everything seems excessively warm to him. He's going to seriously be uncomfortable on the sands. "Need help getting one out without knocking all of them off the shelf?" Because Ziniel just asked for another one, too.

Daenerys is one of those fortunates who is practically hairless, bar his luxuriant mane and yhe hint of scruff about chin and jaw; more comfort is always better for him! "Ah, I just like extra padding about." He eyes the shelving with a critical eye, then shrugs. "Well if you need help…" Better to tackle it and get it out of the way. He nods to Ziniel abd offers her first choice of the stack he's unearthed.

Ziniel moves over to look at the blankets. One is selected, and set aside before she turns to watch the other two candidates, "Anything I can help with?" and why not, after all they're going to be working together for a while right?

Fergus rolls his broad shouldres in a languid sort of shrug, which he pairs with another one of his eloquent grunts. "You two are from here, right? I've only been here a day." he deigns to add to his initial grunt for the benefit of those who may not understand the language of grunting. Digging into his belt pouch, he pulls out a scrap of parchment and squints at it, "Need to find a jar of buttons. Black." He glances up and looks blankly at the rows and rows of shelves, not sure where to start looking.

"May I?" Ziniel asks as she extends a hand towards the button. Maybe she can get one of her firelizards to search among the harder to reach areas?

"Yup." Daenerys has known no other home, really; he'd been so young for the jump forward it makes little sense to consider the mere four Turns of his old life as particularly relevant to most things. "Wait, I think I saw some buttons over there…" And off he slinks to find them, just at the end of his long reach. "Here you go." Off he hands them to Fergus before he claims a particularly floofy red blanket abd makes off wirh it. "I'll be back." Preferably after a long catnap with his new blanket.

Fergus scratches idly at a sideburn before extending the scrap of parchment to Ziniel with a grunt, "Seems they only want black. And a certain size." It's all mysterious to Fergus why such things might matter. But then Daenerys finds the buttons and such things are moot now, "Thanks." He accepts the jar, rattling it slightly, "Hope this is enough."

"Well," Ziniel blinks at how quickly Daenerys finds the item, "Oh, uhm. I was born here?" she sounds like she's not sure how to explain things, "My mother's an Oldtimer with the Chadey caravan," which probably means nothing to Fergus, "The heat's not so bad. It's all the sand that gets kicked up during sandstorms that's the challenge," well look at Zini being all helpfully vague.

Fergus makes a noise that might indicate displeasure at the thought of sand being kicked up. Or maybe it's the thought of the heat. It's difficult to tell with Fergus, considering his giant beard and rather flat tone of voice. "I'm from Lemos. Was stationed at Southern," he notes in a basso rumble, "Lot more damp there." He pauses an adds in a sort of wistful tone, "And more trees." He misses the trees.

Ziniel nods, "It's dryer here, even out where I grew up it wasn't so dry," Ziniel says. Trees for her are a nearly foreign concept, "I don't think I'd like living in Southern," she's heard stories after all. Mind, Ziniel can't verify those stories but she has heard them. At some point she'll get around to introducing herself. Maybe? There are times the girl can be a little forgetful, and it seems this may be one of those times.

Fergus grunts in acknowledgement, inclining his head in a sort of semi nod, "Not for everyone. Very moist." Not everyone enjoys being moist or even the word moist, after all. Stooping slightly, he bends and picks up the box he had gotten down from the top shelf earlier and balances the jar of buttons on top. "Got to get these to where they're going," he rumbles with a bob of his head to Ziniel, "See you later." Because, as candidates, they'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Even if they still don't know each other's names yet. And with that, Fergus ambles out of the room.

A blink is given before Ziniel gathers the blanket, and decides she'll have to look some place else for the cloth she's going to need. With everything in hand, Ziniel heads back towards the barracks to put them away.

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