3/10/2002

09:45 PM

 

Healer Passage

This passage is the linkage from the main hold of Ista to the main Healer Hall.  Off to the side you can see the door to the infirmary, and that is where you need to go if you want the help of a healer.  Straight ahead you can see a light spilling in from the Great Hall of the Healer Hall.  The passage is well lit with glows that show how sparkling clean the hallway is.

You see Sheena and Jibril here.

Obvious exits:

Ista Great Hall     Infirmary     Healer Great Hall

 

P'rru marches officiously in from the great hall.

 

Kezzra walks with a light step, in from the great hall.

 

P'rru wanders in, beanie yanked off his head and coat shrugged from his shoulders. "I'll never get used to the change in climate. Tell me, love, why we live in the coldest place on Pern when we could be sunning ourselves silly here?" he asks Kezzra with a smile.

 

Mosiah seems to have found a rather comfortable position in leaning against a wall just outside the entrance to the infirmary. With back flush against the surface and arms crossed over his chest, he seems to be doing a perfect impression of one sleeping, while standing up -which would explain why his eyes are shut. Voices, faintly heard and not payed attention to.

 

"Because you only have so much you can take off when you're too warm." Kezzra says by way of random thought that should settle her weyrmates need for an answer. "Besides. You can always visit." So there. That work? She too slips out of her jacket to drap it over her arm.

 

P'rru chuckles down at his little cutie weyrmate, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Well that's true. You always have an answer for me.." aww look at that. Such a darlin' little couple..right? "So where's the infirmary...if Elehu and Kariel can't sort out just whats wrong with my daughter, surely someone -here- will be able to.." and thus, vision locks on Mosiah. "Hey you, lad, wakey wakey.." the brownrider will just snap his fingers at the healer. "What does the hall teach them nowadays?" it's a rhetorical question by the way.

 

Kylianna's eyes fix upon you -- they narrow! -- his mouth twists! -- you feel your clothes being mentally stripped off! It's... *the Leer*. And you know it's going to take more than a hot shower to get rid of /this/ soiled feeling.

 

Mosiah is currently nursing a little too much imbibed spirits at a dinner that finished not all that long ago. And so, when he cracks those lids to spy the man and woman before him, it is through a gaze that is a mite hazy. And all that finger snapping isn't helping matters any, "Is.. *hic*... Is there something I can help you with, hrmmmm?"

 

Kezzra just shakes her head. She may always have an answer, that doesn't mean they always make sence. Will Purr ever just take what Lark's told him and live with it? Probably not till he has to, and Kezz will just have to live with his madness, no.

 

P'rru gives Kezzra a look, and an eyeroll, induced by the drunkeness displayed by Mosiah. "Shells, it's true. There's no decent healers left. Look, love, he's as drunk as a trader! Skylark might very well have some deadly disease and these people are all flopping around chugging ale..." Unwrapping his arm from around his weyrmate, the brownrider pokes a finger at the centre of Mosiah's chest. "What's your name boy? I'm P'rru, this is Kezzra, and -we- need a real healer. If they exist..." Ok, so obviously the warm weather did nothing to improve his mood. It's been a bad week. "And will that dragon of mine just shut up for 2 seconds? Is that too much to ask?" Purr's heading for another flip-out. Perhaps he's the one that needs a healer? (Don't answer that!)

 

Kezzra lays a hand on the brownrider's shoulder. "Please P'rru." starrie starts with a sigh. "Lark is not going to die because you haven't talked to a healer." But then she isn't a healer, is she. So obviously her opinion isn't going to do anything for his mood.

 

Mosiah quirks an odd glance to P'rru. Not sloppy. Not aggravated. Just plain odd, and reeking a little bit from wine. And he only had two glasses. This is what happens when one is forced to go without for nearly six turns -if you don't count those few times on the sly. "Moe." No, that wasn't a burp, but his name. "If you are looking for a healer, there might be a couple of apprentices around." That are sober. "We just.. *hic*... we just had this dinner, see. And..." A hand waves in the direction of the hall, where if one were to look could see the remains of a rather fun and elaborate dinner party.

 

P'rru takes a breath. A deep breath. As if he's trying to force himself to act his age. No flipping out. Kezzra might kill him. "I know, Kezzra.." he says finally, glancing back at the starcrafter. "It's just...apprentices? Oh pish, posh, I wouldn't trust Dsalth to apprentices. No, I need a senior sort. Someone who isn't.." and here the brownrider sniffs at the healer and takes a step back with a grimace "...smelling like a vat of liquor..." Now he shakes his head, shoulders rolling. "Well, Moe, in your professional opinion should I bring my daughter here to see healers? Or should I simply take the healers to her?"

 

Mosiah seems to have lost most of the thread of the conversation. You know, just trying to focus. And when his gaze finally does clear up, it does lock upon P'rru with that last part. "Eh?" Astounding just how alert he is, isn't it? He lifts a finger, begging for just a moment of time. A few furious blinks, fisted hands rubs at his eyes, and then he is looking back to P'rru, "Alright. I'm sorry. What was your problem again?" He is trying is level best to get beyond the fledgling hold of the liquor.

 

Kezzra will just go and let P'rru tell his story, but she will inform the healer of more or less what's really going on. Whispering something about the rider's daughter being pregnant and him not accepting the idea. Yes, we all love P'rru, but he can over react sometimes.

 

P'rru sighs exageratedly slow. "You need some fresh air, boy.." he says impatiently. "Let's go outside and I'll try speaking more slowly for you.." Fresh air usually is enough of a slap in the face for this regular drinker of a rider. He can only hope it applies to Mosiah aswell. "It's about my daughter. And how the healers at the weyr don't seem to be finding a solution. So I've come here to find more..." He'll usher the journeypeople (yes a healer and a starcrafter) towards the doors now.

 

P'rru marches officiously to the Ista Great Hall.

 

Ista Hold Courtyard

  Built into the side of a hard granite cliff, Ista Hold looms dominantly to the west.  Windows pock the smooth surface of the cliff in neat rows until they get closer to the ground, where they begin to frame the great bronze doors leading into the Hold itself.  A sea breeze seems constantly in the air here as the ocean and the wharf lay but dragonlengths to the east.   Beaches are scattered to the north, recreational areas for the Hold's residents when not working.  

  It is a winter afternoon. 

Perched on a windowsill are eight firelizards.

Green Myrineth and Brown Dsalth are here.

P'rru is here.

Obvious exits:

Ista Hold Dock     Main Beach     Traders' Courtyard     Great Doors     Guard Office     Stables

You walk down a few steps into the courtyard.

 

Kezzra walks with a light step, down some steps which lead to the great doors and the Hold.

 

Mosiah trudges out after the rider, tripping over flagstones and air pockets and his own feet. Grace, he has not. And when touched with a little boisterous drinking after such a long drought... you have a slow Moe. He blinks after P'rru, squinting in the sun after the change from the darker hold. "Okay... you've got me out here. What is it?"

 

Kezzra will just leave the healer and rider to work this out now. Not really anything for her to say. Now is there. Silly Purr.

 

P'rru folds his arms across his chest. "Breathe in the fresh sea air, it'll clear your head...." he instructs in that practiced wingleader-tone of voice. "Ok my daughter, she's very ill, can't keep down any food and I think it's something she's caught from a trip to Paradise..I've heard people catching things from there...anyway neither weyrhealers can seem to make her better so I was hoping to find someone who did better at their studies than they had to cure her.." Thus is his problem. Dsalth meanwhile meanders over, tail pooling around Kezzra's feet, protectively. But he will take the time to regard this new person, cavernous nostrils flaring, neckridges bristling. "Yes, yes, Dsalth, do shut up for a minute.." Comes Purr's irritated answer.

 

Mailli walks in from the beach.

Mailli walks up a few small steps and passes into the Hold through the great doors.

Caitilin walks in from the beach.

Caitilin walks to the Traders' Courtyard.

 

Mosiah breathes in, breathes out. Breathes in, breathes out. And so the pattern goes. He continues to squint across to P'rru, eyes mere slits, "Never been to Paradise." Just a little bit of useless information to throw in there. "But I hear the weather is a lot like here." Never mind that it is hardly a pair of hours away by boat. "Well, if your daughter was bleeding traumatically from a cut to her stomach... or had just lost a limb, I could probably help you." Pleasant thought, neh? "But I'm not exactly the best one to ask about a diagnosis such as *hic* that." Wow. He actually sounded competent there -for a moment. And, unfortunately, most of those who would probably know about that sort of thing, are three sheets to the wind, and far worse than him.

 

Caitilin walks down some steps which lead to the great doors and the Hold.

Caitilin walks towards the beach.

Mailli walks down some steps which lead to the great doors and the Hold.

Mailli walks towards the beach.

 

Kezzra has gotten plently used to Dsalth being protective of her over the turns, but P'rru is just getting to be too much right now. "P'rru. Please. She's not deadly ill. The weyrhealers told you that and if you don't belive them, I don't think you're going to find the answer you're looking for." Sigh.

 

P'rru shakes his head slowly. "Kezzra, how do we know that??" comes his almost whined question. Things must be desperate. Dsalth stretches out his long neck (while still crowding Kezzra with the rest of his body mind you) and takes an even closer look at Mosiah. "I know, Dsalth, he's young and drunk, it's dampening the sparkle.." Whatever that means, the brownrider half-mutters it. "Alright Moe, if you can't help my daughter perhaps you show the lughead your hands...apparently he needs to see them" Le sigh. Defeated brownrider will just turn into translator for his dragon right now.

 

Mosiah has been looked at many times in his life. Some who admire his dashing good looks -and the dimples, can't forget those. Some who simply must get a closer look at just who said whatever outrageous statement. And some just because they felt like looking at him. So, being looked at by a dragon really isn't any big thing, especially when one's attention isn't upon some dragon, but on the rider. "Of course I'm young and drunk. I'm also... *hic*" He blinks at the request, completely loosing the previous line of thought. "My hands? What? These?" Hands pluck from out of the pockets of his trous, lifting up and palms-forward to P'rru. Oh. Wait. The dragon. "What?" Wait for it... *hic*

 

Kezzra eyes the rider. "He still thinks about sparkles?" she inquires, obviously a confusing bit of conversation if one doesn't know Dsalth..

 

Dsalth snuffles over Mosiah's hands, his tongue teasing out to linger over the skin. "Look, really, you can't make any judgement from here, can you?" Purr is full of bright ideas and goes on, as if oblivious to answering anything about why his dragon has a thing for hands. "We could just go back to the weyr, you could take a quick check of Skylark, and I'd bring you right home..." Dsalth begins to rumble, a deep gravelly sound from the pit of his stomach. "Yes, Kezzra, he's going on and on about how Moe here has sparkle and he wants to take him home.." Purr says quickly, not even realising what he's saying himself. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you could get your healer kit...or whatever it is you use to cure people of things, and it would only take a minute.." Competing with his rider's voice, the dragon begins to hum louder. Pay attention to him, dammit!

 

Mosiah seems to be hearing things. Yet one more of those flurry of blinks, this time followed by a hasty shake of his head. Now, that sort of action is not recommended when one is tipsy. Body tilts, slobbered hands breaking away from the dragon so he can gain his balance once more. "Is... is there a hum, or is that just me?" He winces at P'rru, "I'm really in no condition to risk any sort of diagnosis." Nor that brand new Journeyman knot. "But, if you insist...I wouldn't mind another trip to High Reaches." Yeah, he noticed the knot. "Pleasant place. *hic* Nice people. Fardling cold though." A breath before he continues, "Kit? What kit? I haven't got a..." And conveniently, his hand brushes the pack that is slung over his shoulder, "Well. Would you look at that. I think I've got mine with me."

 

Kezzra nods. "Oh.... So Moe here is sparkly today." She repeats for P'rru in hopes he might catch it. "P'rru, dearling..." Hint hint. Just pay attention to the sharding dragon already.

 

P'rru is prompted by his weyrmate to pay attention to his dragon. "What?" he says. Dsalth also swings his large head level with his rider's grunting and growling his side of the conversation. "Fine. He's coming alright, so we'll both be happy" Dsalth seems to nod and then, smugly, returns to whuffling around Mosiah. With a sigh, as if he's too impatient to have to do the spiel Purr asks the healer "Moe, Dsalth here thinks you'd be a good candidate. You have 'sparkle'- charisma, that touch of something special.." Though the rider does eyeroll, as if he's not sure of that himself. "..and thus, since your coming to see to my daughter's health, you might aswell stand for Chayath and Druseth's clutch. What say you to that, lad?"

 

Mosiah peeps across to P'rru. This peeping would involve squinty eyes, wrinkled nose, and a purse-lipped mouth. Arms fold before his chest, wet hands wiping nondescriptly upon his bare arms. You know, slobber. Healer cleanliness. Bad pairing. "Well, shells. Even I could have told you that. *hic* Charisma. Special... Sparkle. That's me. Although, I think my sparkle seems to have dulled a bit. You know, fuzzy." He really could go on and on upon this line of thought, but is thankfully distracted by that next question. "Again? Are you sure? Last time didn't go so well. I mean, I left there talking to sock puppets. Sock puppets, mind you. But if you and the dragon thinks so... Sure. Why not?"

 

Fihall walks in.

Lupulin blinks in from ::between::!

 

Kezzra just shakes her head. Takes Purr long enough for that. Can we ever guess how long it's going to take him to accept the fact about his daughter?

 

Fihall is looking awfuly muddy and decidedly tired as he waddles into the courtyard, one hand gracelessly rubbing his rump from his long ride on horseback. Why did he ever agree to be a messenger again? Fyria. That manipulative girl. Mmf. The titian haired boy is about to poke his head into the hall when he catches sight of P'rru. Sparing an envious glance at Dsalth. If only /he/ had a dragon to get from one place to another that didn't jostle his rump as a saddle tends to. He waggles his fingers at the Brown Rider, but lingers only a moment to grin his reguards to all present before continuing into the hall.

 

P'rru smiles over at Kezzra. Searching people does lift your mood. "Sock puppets? That would have been at Ista right? Oh no, son, our candidates are much better than Istan candidates...they are...not right in the head" He'll whisper that conspiratorially, even while Dsalth's tail unloops from around Kezzra and snakes towards the healer, ready to coil. His sparkle. His his his his. Don't you forget it. "Well come along then, climb aboard. Between with make your sparkle even more foggier.." and here the brownrider will chuckle in anticipation of the headache Mosiah will have soon enough. "Hello Fihall! Long way from home!" he calls out, distracted for a moment. "Come long, the faster we get you to the weyr, the sooner you can see to my girl.."

 

Fihall slips quietly up a few small steps and passes into the Hold through the great doors.

 

Mosiah might just need some help getting up on that dragon's back. Sure, he has ridden many of that kind. Once into the very depths of a Pernese hell... also known at High Reaches. Only to do so once more... "No, not Ista. High Reaches. Fairly sure it was High Reaches. Snow, right? But I think that insanity things is true for all candidates. I should ask one of the mindhealers if there ever *hic* was a study done on it." Musing trails off into the mumbles of the mildly inebriated. "Speaking of a girl...." Wasn't he supposed to have met up with one of the other newly frocked Journeymen, but it seems to be but a hazy hint on the fringes of his memory. "Sure. Dragon. Climb." And, he does so with as great a scrambling as can be possible.

 

P'rru raises his brows as he waits patiently to help Kezzra mount up aswell. "Aye it was High Reaches? Must have been before my time.." even though his time has been a long one already at the weyr. He'll just not admit to being friends with sock-puppet-folk. "Now if there's any reason you ever need to come back, during your stay, Dsalth will be more than willing to escort you anywhere. He'll be rambling about your sparkle for sevendays now.." yawn.

 

P'rru swings up to ease himself between defined neckridges

Kezzra swings up to ease herself between defined neckridges

 

With a helpful bolster from Dsalth's tail, you climb up to sit comfortable between geometric neckridges.

 

Dsalth [Ista Hold Courtyard]

Restrained strands of sorrel and khaki overlap the lithe body of this dragon in a regimental pattern undermined by escaping tendrils of amber. Near enough in shade to blend with the design, they curl against it, flickering against the sharp line of his jaw before escaping down the geometric line of his neckridges. Ancient pale primrose -- the hue of old, forgotten books - curls down his spine in a uniformed march towards the similarly stained wingbones. Heavy ginger drapes, wing membrane made more substantial by its darkness, an abandoned blazer carefully hung from the long length of his wings. Mustard floats over his tail, musty mist lifting towards haunches reinforced by the strength of rusty iron.

Thick straps of leather reach to caress sorrel hide beneath them, casting 'bout to slip about Dsalth's neck. Dark burgundy shines brightly, melding with deep chestnut hide below. Sweep of night colors engulfs new straps in seconds, curve-hugging leather retaining polished navy and slick midnight hues. Large buckles, glinting brightly for the entire world to see, shine of bright rays of sun, spreading thick pale moonbeams to engulf rest of evening tethers, adding last eerie touch to supple riding straps. Neat rows of heavy stitch stretch down full length of leather, ivory white of moon emerging from darkness only to be concealed by clouds once again. Flanking each shoulder is a finely sewn emblem, showing the dragon and rider as belonging to the Mudslide Wing and another decoration just below present the rank of Wingsecond. A pigeon has been fashioned of the finest silver, polished and cleaned,fit to be displayed on a dragon's wing badge.On the front of the mask, near the top, the word 'LaughCraft' is engraved in flowing script. Near the bottom, the words 'LaughCraft Mascot Dsalth' are engraved in the same flowing script.

Positioned between the precise lines of Dsalth's neckridges are P'rru and Kezzra.

Dsalth seems to be listening.

 

Mosiah absently pats the dragon with the palm of his hand, just managing to mount and actually sit astride the correct way. He should get points for that, at least. "Yeah. High Reaches. Good four... maybe five turns ago. Ages, actually. Almost a lifetime back. Stood on the sands, and kept standing there. Best thing that could have happened to me... well, besides meeting Dorla. Now, Dorla... she was something else. Enough to make a guy fall down to his knees and beg for-" Again, a distraction as he secures himself upon the dragon. "Yeah. I'll remember that. Nice Dsalth."

 

P'rru shakes his head, muttering something about "Children!" as he rechecks Mosiah's straps and then Kezzra's..not that she isn't perfectly capable of strapping herself in properly. With a happy bugle for the watchdragon, Dsalth tenses momentarily before launching skywards with a sweep of umber umbrella wings.

 

You take off.

Passage to HRW…

 

Central Bowl

Seven spindles brush the clouds -- quite literally -- overhead, a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half mile in both directions, and although sometimes a bit of a stretch, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece: carven, hand-worn and foothold-full, it gives a bit of centerpoint to the otherwise vast emptiness of the area.

To the north lie the hatching grounds and leadership weyrs, while the lows of herdbeasts mark the feeding pens to the northeast. A flurry of ever-present activity marks the living caverns to the west, and another time-traveled path the ground weyrs just adjacent to the southwest. Southeast, a glint of blue shows the lake, glittering and cold.

  It is a winter sunset.  Rukbat sets in a blaze of color, playing off the edge of the approaching front to the north. The air has begun to cool, and you can tell that if the front keeps approaching like it is, it will be bitterly cold by tonight.

To the north, you see a gold and a blue dragon.

To the southeast, you see a brown dragon.

Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are twenty-two firelizards.

Green Kelitath, green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, brown Revnath, bronze Telynth, bronze Rixesith, green Miravith, brown Sevareth, blue Jakith, green Yajisarath, green Estsanth, bronze Jhanath, blue Trydanth, blue Wiranth, and blue Catiminith are here.

You see a wagonmaster, Trey's Trumbling Wagon, The Wagon of Death; Doom; and Ultimate Destruction, Reijin, Thunder Wagon, Duncan's Trader Wagon, The Prancing Pony, Cervantes, Grey Shadow, Rhys' Bazaar Wagon, George Dubya bush, Items for Sale, Hanabi's Uncreatively Titled Wagon, and Hanabi's Order Board here.

Lylia and Auri are here.

Obvious exits:

Pens     Northern Bowl     Caverns     Ground Weyrs     Lakeside     Guards' HQ

 

Dsalth is smug as he cruises in, taking a dive from his exit from between straight to the bowl. Here him bugle. Him him roar. He's got presents!

 

Hynerian arches his neck, and peers around with his typical, postponed curiosity. 'Salth is glanced at. Oooh? Presents?

 

Mosiah grips rider, passanger, dragon... whatever will work best to keep ahold of. Moderately drunken reeling are nothing compared to a dragon in flight... and then the cold wash of between to clear a boys head dramatically. And now winter in High Reaches... and here he is in some frail thing best for Ista. Don't forget the thong sandals. *shiver-shiver* "I need a drink," or something along those lines are muttered.

 

P'rru swings down from his dragon, clapping the brown on the shoulder. "Here we are Moe, aren't you glad you agreed to this?" Purr is in a better mood now, obviously. Bceuase in his opinion, standing for a clutch comes second to the healer's real prupose...to wait on his daughter hand and foot. Awww, he's a good daddy. "Let me help you down..." is said, to both passengers.

 

Lylia likes presents. Especially tasty ones. The brownrider lurks in the bowl, giving a sunny beam at Dsalth. "Hey! Whatcha got there?" Drink? Hahaha. No drink for the dragonbait...

 

Kezzra smiles. "Go ahead Moe. It's just a little hop down." Yeah. She's not the drunk one and she's rather used to mounting and dismouning the brown, but then she's also shorter than most so that might make up for the difference. Maybe? Probably not, but still. "P'rru... why don't you find him a coat. It is rather chilly if you're dressed for Ista."

 

Mosiah has dismounted from just as many dragons as he has mounted. So, there is a pretty even chance that getting down will be done with as much aplomb as getting up was. But, you know... there is that male pride, and the fact that a drunk, even a moderate one, believes he can do anything. "Nope. I'll do it." Leg moves over, only to get caught. Straps. Forgot to take off the straps. Long fingers fumble before they are removed... and then Moe is removed from the dragon as he slides unceremoniously over the bulge of draconic shoulder and to the ground. Hey, at least he landed on his feet.

 

Under a watchful eye you ease yourself down Dsalth's broad shoulders and plant your feet firmly on the ground.

 

Auri hops up and down. "Oh, Ly, this one is /cute/." She waves from behind her brownrider friend, smiling brightly. "Hello you! Welcome to the 'Reaches!" Whee!

 

Lylia squints at Mosiah, a shadow of recognition flickering in the absinthe eyes. "Don't we know this one..." Toooo many candidates in clutches past. An appraising look is given to the healer. Hrm. "He /is/ cute. A little drunk, though, but I've never held that against anyone. Druseth might, though." And if he's standing for one of Dru's little 'uns, that could be bad. "I think you'll need some help," she giggles. Oye. Candidate. Such silly creatures.

 

From his seat between pinstriped, stately neckridges P'rru turns waving to both Lylia and Auri "Ladies! Come and see what we found in Ista!" he says, motioning them over. "Moe this is Lylia and Auri...and Kezzra's right, you need some clothing....there would have to be some in the barracks, eh?" He wouldn't know really. He doesn't hang out there. But Dsalth is still puffing and preening and acting like the best thing since sliced bread. "Love, I'll go and get him settled and be right back" is said in a low voice to his weyrmate, coupled with a kiss on the top of the head.

 

From her seat between pinstriped, stately neckridges Kezzra slips down from atop Dsalth, allowing Purr the plesure(?) of giving her a bit of help in so doing. Oh way bother with talking P'rru into getting the healer a jacket, she'kk just offer up her own and it's almost sure P'rru will find a new one for her. Right? "Here. It's too large for me anyhow. Should fit. Least it'll work for the time being." she comments idly as she slips out of her jacket to offer it up.

Dsalth watches with interest as Kezzra descends carefully

 

Mosiah is drunk. True. He is also cute. A sloppy grin is flashed to the females present, deepening dimples and far more dazzling than the hazy glow to his eyes. "Me? *hic* Need help? Not likely." A stumbled step forward. Fardling air pockets. Arms fan out to catch is balance once more, grin tremulous 'til he is standing upon firm ground once more. "Journeyman Mosiah at your service." *shiver-shudder* He glances back to the rider, "Think we could go in and get some mulled wine or something. Shardling well cold out here." He shakes his head to Kezzra, "Oh no. Not necessary. Just need some more alcohol." Uh-huh.

 

"Well, Journeyman Mosiah, I think you've had enough alcohol. P'rru, is he to be one of the pets?" And Lylia's eyes brighten. A journeyman for her collection of little candidates. Oh, that would be ever so nice. Much better than the useless apprentices of the lot. "Auri. This one looks fun." Evil beam.

 

P'rru waggles a finger at Moe. "Barracks first, then wine...or no wine at all. Lylia we don't let our candidates drink do we?" bah-link goes the brownrider towards clutchdaddy-rider. Whatever you want to label Lylia, really. "Yes, Dsalth thought he'd do well to stand, let's hope Druseth agrees?" Purr seems faintly amused and he ushers the drunken lad towards the doors. "Inside, boy, then you can play with the girls later..."

 

P'rru marches officiously to the Caverns.

Lylia walks to the Caverns.

Passage to barracks…

 

Candidate Barracks

Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy canvas curtains that function as a door:  relatively bare of ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest.  But it is the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively fresh rushes.

Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.

Resting atop the doorframe are thirty firelizards.

You see Name Board, Oliana's One-Ringed Orthanc, Mimi's Middle-Earth, Seilyn's Sauronly Servant, Fyria's Frodo-ish Futon, Tevya's Terrifulous Tower, Sikkyen's Sexay Strider Shanty, Sage Sackville's Shire of Schtuff, Miralwyn's Corner 'O' Mordor, Squaln's Sword of Elendil, Kirana's Krickety Kot of Kahazad-Dum, Valaquen's Cot, Lhana's Legolas Lovin' Lounge, Pidgery, Candidate Songbook, and Azia's Altar to Aragorn here.

You notice Miralwyn, Oliana, Squaln, Valaquen, Kirana, Azia, and Sage asleep here.

Sikkyen, Fyria, Tevya, Mimi, P'rru, and Lylia are here.

Obvious exits:

Caverns

 

"Nope, no wine for you. For a looong time, Journeyman Mosiah. Or candidate Mosiah, apparently." Mwah. Lylia just loves stripping down the rank. "Let's hope Druseth likes you, or you'll need those healing skills, he's so /sensitive/ about his eggs..." And the brownrider continues her chatter as she bounces into the barracks, casting a sharp glance around the room. No mischief afoot?

 

Mimi lies tummy-down on her cot, scribbling away madly into a small leather book. "Huh? Pen? What pen?" she asks, sparing a glance to Sikkyen. "Oh. That pen. I'm not exactly skilled when it comes to stuff like that...You might want to have Squally help you or something..." Really. Don't let Mimi try to build something. Mischief? Nahhh...Not right now, at least. Or not any /visible/ mischief.

 

Fyria is sitting quite calmly, quite /innocently/ on her cot with a journal-type book in her lap, stylus in one hand, and purposefully blocking out anything to do with 'pens'.  She looks up as footsteps announce the entrance of /people/ and she flashes a wave and grin.  "Heya Purr, Lylia...um...Journeyman," she says after a moment, peering at the knot. 

 

Sikkyen twitches oh-so-idly, and picks up a hide. Barefoot, barechested, he sneaks towards Miz, about to cause ultimate chaos.. And then, here comes The Crowds. "Oh, another victim?" Gauntlet'd arms cross, and Sikkyen gives the drunken candidate a sympathetic grin, before flopping down on the ground next to Miz's cot. Flop. Mischief? What mischief? "Sqa /should/ help. And Aziz." He ponders this for a long moment, and leans his head back against her cot, grey eyes peering at the newcomers.

 

Beware of brownriders that bring candidates! "The poor thing, Lylia, will never be able to touch wine again if he keeps this up" Purr mentions, entering the barracks and waving to those and sundrey. "Hello kids!"

 

Mosiah patters in after the others, the snow melting away from his thong sandaled feet. "No? How about some juice with a kick?" You know what kind of kick too, right? He turns doefull eyes onto Lylia, "Ohhhh.  Could you just say that once more? Journeyman Mosiah? I absolutely love the ring to it. Please?" Drunk. Cute. Cold. He makes quite the picture.

 

"/No/ wine for you, or alcohol, Jourrrrneyman Mosiah." Lylia practically purrs it, a little snicker as she wanders over to the back drawers, tossing a white knot at Mosiah. "Welcome to the fray." Again. "You lot keepin' out of trouble?"

 

Sikkyen stares dolefully at Lylia, before cracking his neck and looking innocent. "Trouble? What's that?" Grey eyes blink innocently. Yeah. Innocently and Sikkyen. Is that possible?

 

Fyria coughs, closing her journal rather innocently.  "Of course we are Lylia.  I'm appauled that you might think otherwise," she flutters innocently.  "Notice, the barracks are /not/ a mess?"

 

Mosiah pouts. Did we forget to mention that Moe is also cute when he pouts? "None? Fardles... you all are just as strict now as you were all those turns ago. If I have some on the sly, will you hold it against me?" Rhetorical question. Don't answer that. He doesn't wanna know the answer. Hazy gaze sweeps the room, drifting over those that are already there with the same loose focus that he seems to have been regarding the rest of the world this afternoon.

 

"Trouble?  Us?" Tevya asks, lifting gaze towards Mimi and Mosiah, before offering a grin.  "We're just..talking actually.  Getting ready for tommorow's chores..the usual." Shoulders are half lifted in a shrug as she then pushes herself into a sitting position on her cot, legs drawn up beside her as well.  And Mosiah is then given a half-wave and tilt of Tevya's head, "Welcome to the 'Reaches Mosiah."

 

Lylia glances about, wary, before taking a tentative sniff. "Still smells funny." Hmph. She wrinkles her nose, rolling her eyes at Sikkyen. "Trouble. The thing that seems to be in your very nature. All of you." Trust? Not for the candidates. A little snort as she leans against the wall next to the door, the toe of her boot scuffing against the floor. "Of course I will. Part of my job is to hold it against you." She's trained for that, after all.

 

P'rru sets about peering at the other candidate's while he has an excuse to be in their little sanctuary. "Right well, Moe, how about I come and get you tomorrow morning and you can check my daughter for me...I think for the rest of today you should just try...recovering.." with a wink, the brownrider replaces the orange beanie over his head. "I'd best get off and see to my family now. Lylia, you don't mind if I just search and run?"

 

An ebon lock falls past a piercing silver-hued eye; Sikkyen's lips curve into a smile filled with wry ironicies and coyness. "I'm injured that you even think that, Lylia," he says, placing a hand over his heart and mock-fainting. He hacks, and pulls his legs up underneath him, now working on his fingers. Popping, cracking, and carefully rubbing down the base of every last one of them, it's an obvious, annoying habit. Someone smack him.

 

"It shouldn't, considering It's..." and Fyria abruptly slaps her hand over her mouth, then morphs it into a feigned coughing fit.  Cough cough.  "Ahem..sorry 'bout that.." Hopefully, they won't notice It's absence.  She eyes Mosiah briefly, then finally says "Pick a cot, and wary any pockets of llama drool you might find."  Don't ask.  Mosiah will find out soon enough, she's sure.

 

"Everyone loves the llamas." Lylia gives a sharp nod, still with a bouncing, wary gaze. "And you'll play nice and help Mosiah settle in?" Play nice? Candidates? That'd be expecting too much... The rider still twitches, fingertips fidgeting against her thigh.

 

P'rru slips back out to the caverns.

 

Mosiah shoots a fuzzy glare at Lylia that is more trying to focus than anything. "I'll keep that in mind." Just wait 'til he wakes up tomorrow morning. On a cot, in a dorm, with a headache, and under the title of candidate. Journeyman knot barely gets a chance to rest on his shoulder before it is being plucked off. Ohhh! The humanity! "I'll just... sit down." And so, rear plops upon the first available cot, weather it be occupied or not.

 

Sikkyen smirks idly at Fyria. "We'll play nice, Lylia. Not like we're gonna take advantage of a drunk man." Ike critically glances at the Healer, before shaking his head. Eh. Pretty boy. No muscles t'all. Someday, they'll bring him someone with muscles. Someday. Springing lightly to his feet, the ex-'hand strides idylically towards his cot, collapsing into a heap and shuffling through his hides. Oh. Joy. Feed equations -- again.

 

"Promise.." Tevya's call may be slightly belated and maybe even a little too soft, but she does offer it none the less.  Mosiah is given yet another glance as he plops down into a cot, before Tevya says, "If you need more blankets and pillows and the likes, just feel free to borrow some from the cot next to you.  We dont mind sharing, do we?"

 

"Uh-huh. Tevya, I trust you marginally... The rest of you lot..." Lylia just snorts at Sikkyen, shaking her head as she shifts from foot-to-foot, drifting out the door with a couple mutters under her breath. A final call behind her is given. "And I'll be bringing more chore lists tomorrow!" Yay. This is why Lylia is popular, right?

 

Lylia slips back out to the caverns.

 

Sikkyen always manages to tick off the pretty girls. Will someone explain? No wonder he ended up with Trajan and not Yumi.. Not like he'd be complaining at the pre-Search arrangement. "We've got more Istans than Ista," he mutters under his breath. "..and more mouths to feed." His face picks up a scowl. "Fyria, was it you who pissed off whatshername and made it so that we couldn't eat?" They sneak stuff from the kitchens and eat outright, but still. It's kinda annoying. Twitch. "Well, I'm heading out for the stables. Gotta pick up something to eat or I'll starve, I swear." And with that, he shoulders his cloak and heads out, bare feet and all.

 

Fyria gives Lylia a half-wave as she leaves, turning to watch the newest CAndidate plop, literally, onto a cot.  "Well, I just hope he doesn't get winesick and vomit all over the place," she says, wrinkling her nose.  Fyria swings her feet up on to the cot, grabbing a pillow before sticking her tongue out at Ike.  "Well...she was just as drunk as this one, Ike.  I didn't even say anything horrid," and she drops it at that.  With a yawn, she waves at Tevya and Mims, stretching.  "I'm going to take a nap.  Wake me for dinner."

 

"Thank you?"  Tevya responds to Lylia, more or less puzzled.  Marginal trust?  Only marginal trust?  As the Rider leaves, Tevya will turn towards Fyria as she listens to her friends words.  "If I werent late for chores I would.." Tevya responds, rising quickly to her feet.  "Why I thought I had time to get this done I dont know.  But if I'm late again.."  The phrase abruptly cut off as Tevya shrugs into a jerkin and rakes a finger through her hair, "Wish me luck.  I'll need it.." And with that, Tevya is bounding out of the Barracks.

 

Message 35 of 35 on *Healers (#1178):

Date:     Sun Mar 10 23:27:57 2002 CST

From:     P'rru (#20871)

To:       *High Reaches (#3155) and *Healers (#1178)

Subject:  Drunken Moe with Sparkle!

 

P'rru and his weyrmate went to the healer hall to find a cure for his eldest daughter's sickness. Instead, he found Mosiah, drunk after celebrating his new promotion to Journeyman. Still, when taken outside to get some fresh air to clear his head, Mosiah was declared to be 'sparkley' by the rusty Dsalth.  So, the rider wanted Moe at HRW in his healering capacity, Dsalth wanted Moe at HRW to stand for the clutch and there was really no room for him to refuse. Cheer, cheer, because there's another candidate at the weyr! This one's cute, apt to drinking, and is very very sparkley (if you get past the smell). Be nice to him, otherwise Dsalth will be ordering 'people' from the dragon menu.

Purry P'rru

--------------------------