Who

Therst, Nox, Frostana, cameo by Amania

What

Candidates gab in the barracks as the Hatching draws closer and closer. They're soon to be less one Candidate…

Bingo: Robes!

When

It is night of the seventh day of the first month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date 22 Sep 2017 07:00

 

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There are rules for everything. Like curfew. Speaking of… aren't there some folks conspicuously absent?


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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.

It is the sixty-seventh day of Summer and 115 degrees.


It is the evening time, work is done for the most part and it is almost lights out. Candidates are milling about, some are sleeping or writing home but for a few it is time to learn to sew. Therst is sitting on his bunk working on the robe he will half to wear for the hatching whenever that is to be. Seems like he isn't good at it as he keeps having to re-stitch the same spot over and over again.

Nox walks in, dragging his feet a bit. His curls are wet, so either he's been sweating a lot, or he just came from the baths or the ocean. It's probably the baths, judging by the bag of soapsand he's carrying. He pauses at Therst's bunk, leaning against the headboard. "Hey man." He greets, nodding towards the robe in his lap. "How's that going? I found a box of old ones the other day." He glances around the barracks. "Not sure if they've all been snatched up or not."

Frostana has spent plenty of time mending clothes. This isn't so different and the needles and thread are high quality, the cloth is clean and well made. Not fancy, but very nice by the young woman's reckoning. The lighting is not so good at her bunk, though, so the curly-haired Candidate moves from the now-familiar comfort of her bunk to a more well-lit common space. As the eggs grow harder and harder, nerves spiral up. She settles with a heavy exhalation near Therst's perch, angling toward the light and settling herself and her robe-in-the-making. "Therst." She wrinkles her nose, "Did you bathe?" She squints at him, sniffing faintly in his direction. She lifts a chin in greeting to Nox, eyes skinning wide. "That's not cheating?!" Dammit! She glowers at the robe in her lap.

Therst looks up at Nox and blinks before giving the Dolphineer a shake of his head and a rueful little grin "Never even heard of the box, serves me right for waiting though" He will again stab himself, but moving and cutting rocks makes for thick callous as well so he will just sigh as he holds up his hand where he stitched the fabric to himself. "There should of been a sewing class, or did I miss it having to do double PT?" He nods to Frostana saying "Maybe you can go snatch Everan's would serve him right."

"Why did you have to do double PT?" Nox squints at Therst. "I didn't hear about any extra classes. Maybe you could ask for some help." He peeks over to check out Frostana's tidy stitches. She seems good at it, right? "Hey," Nox doesn't call her 'Curly', maybe sensing the tension and not wanting to cause more nerves to be touched - at least not while she's holding an item that can draw blood. He smiles slightly at her exclamation. "Um. I don't think so? I heard some of the other riders did it before, and it was ok. Some of them still need to be worked on a bit." He glances briefly back at his bunk, where his robe lies waiting, and grimaces. "Although I'm sure the dragons won't care if they don't fit just right." He pauses to think about that. Or will they?

It is with considerably less enthusiasm that Frostana returns to her sewing. Frostana pinches a length of thread in her lips, managing to talk around it, "'ave you never had to mend anything?" Brows furrow, looking towards the young men. She squints off towards Everan's bunk. "No. Thank you." There might be a light shiver. She squints at the eye of the needle, one eye closed, attempting to thread it. She glances at Nox and Therst, brows lifted, curious about the double PT. "Yeah." She squints back at the needle attempting again. Two. Third time's the charm. Success! She takes a deep breath and slumps, sighing, freckled cheeks puffed out as she picks up the robe and resumes, "I'm pretty sure they don't care." Stated with all the certainty of the not-entirely-certain. "I mean, if it were a big deal, they'd make a rule about it." She shrugs, one-shouldered, "Right?" There are rules for everything. Like curfew. Speaking of… aren't there some folks conspicuously absent?

That last hour before lights out in the evening is the time where Candidates can rest, or in this case work on robes. Therst shrugs and pulls the needle and thread out of his hand, "Because while I have the endurance for longer running, I am not as fast as they would like me to be so I have to run extra" and that is why people haven't seen the red headed miner alot. To answer Frostana "I have mended things but it goes about as well as this." He can thread the needle well enough thanks to his fishing, but the sewing it self doesn't seem to come out quite right.

Nox shrugs a shoulder. "I sewed my robe last time, although I did have some help." He aims and tosses his bag of soapsand over onto his bunk, missing horrible. It plunks right in the middle of the floor. The young man groans and starts to heads over to grab it, but an inky bronze lurking under his bunk sweeps out, not unlike an escaped octopus, grabbing the bag in his talons and slinks back under, disappearing into shadow. Nox just blinks, shrugs, and adjusts his lean against the railing of Therst's bunk. "Ah, so they're making you run to get faster?" That makes sense to him. "Right." The last part, to Frosty. "And they wouldn't just have a box laying around. Z'bor didn't flinch when Yfana and I were going through them, so it must be ok."

It isn't uncommon for Amania to come slipping in five minutes before curfew. The more people are added to the barracks, the more claustrophobic she feels…and the more heat is added to the space, so lingering outside is often a far more attractive concept than sitting around on her bunk. Tonight, however, she appears with much more time to spare, her previous whereabouts made obvious by the old change of clothes and tucked under her arm and the towel piled atop her head, keeping damp hair off her shoulders. "Evening," she greets in a mildly drowsy drawl as she passes through the little gathering of those still working on robes on her way to her bunk. She glances upward, expecting to see her bunkmate…and finding the upper bed oddly empty. "Anyone seen Xanthee?" she asks, turning back after depositing her clothes on the end of her bunk.

Frostana considers Therst's answer with a head cocked, squinting. Hmmm. To Nox, she grouses, "Thanks for sharing, Nox." She squints around for Yfana to parcel out some of that gimlet glare. "It's worth it for the food." Frostana winces where she sits. She has been sore in occult places for the entirety of Candidacy. Frostana grunts at Amania, part greeting, part answer to her query. "Saw her head out an hour ago. She looked particularly…" Frostana straightens, casting her eyes up to the darkness of ceiling corners, "…determined?" She shrugs and glances at the Igenite before returning to her sewing.

DUN DUN DUNNNNHHHH!

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