9/18/2002
11:30
PM
Logfile
from Taire.
Lower
Caverns
Apertures
that lead off to other parts of the weyr stand stark relief against the mica
flecked walls. The cavern is a cozy and
comfortable place for weyrfolk to gather with its random arrangement of tables,
looms and workbenches. Children play
here under the watchful eye of mothers and aunties, their giggles and screeches
a pleasant mix with the sounds of idle drudge gossip.
You see
Ruby here.
Naven
and Keliana are here.
Obvious
exits:
Baths Candidate Barracks Living Cavern Crafters' Hallway
Residents' Hallway Offices
Naven
just woke up, and the unfocused sleep-blurred eyes state the fact
obviously. He's not lazy, he's... well,
yes, he's lazy. But look at his hair! Despite having recently awoken, it is
brushed and set into the usual impeccable braid. As he makes his way inside, he waipes at his eyes with the back
of his hands, trying to focus. An
auntie in the corner sidles up to him and offers a ragcloth, and from her gesturing
it seems he's to waipe down the tables.
Poor kid -- all he can do at this point is nod in agreement, and as the
auntie returns to where she was before, he looks blankly at the indicated
tables.
Keliana
stands at a table seated to the brim with residents and 'Riders, each one
talking at the same and gesturing repeatedly to the lass. "Oy, yeah, o'er
here-" "No! That'uns mine you twit-" "'Ey! Shaddup y'two!
That one's /mine/ anyway-" But eventually, Keli gets the mugs of klah,
glasses of wine and the various other things scattered on her tray out to them.
Then one of them gestures vaguely for her to leave off again, and she does so,
her brows knit together and her looking overall a bit frazzled.
A
drudge in dirty rags, hair hanging about his face coated with grease and grime
sidles up to Naven and grins exposing half rotted teeth. Letting out a rasping
chuckle he eyes the young man with a glint of amusement in his eye,
"Terrible ain't it? Havin' to work day in an' day out?" Another rasping
haha and he's back to sweeping the bit of floor he was engaged in before
speaking to Naven.
Taire
seems to be off in a little world all her own as she patters through the
caverns, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a bundle of sweetsticks in the
others. Still chewing away upon her latest bite, the greenrider makes it to a
cushy seat before just plopping into it. She blinks owlishly at the commotion
off to the side. *chew-chew-chew*
Naven
does wake up as he is addressed, giving the drudge a dazed nod as he finally
blinks away the remaining sleep from his eyes.
He focuses on the room and, muttering something about the incessant work
and not being able to eat when he wakes up and how he's going to starve and his
skin's going to stick to his bones, he reaches a table and vigorously wipes it
down, ignoring the remarks of those seated at it. He notices Keli after a few wipes, offering the frazzled
candidate a quick wave. That attention
then lingers on Taire and the sweetsticks.
He stops short of drooling, but instead trots off to another table to
get them done quickly so he can eat.
Yum. Food.
The
table group is still rumbling loudly in their own little section, loud guffaws
and occasional spatters of arguments swell, only to quiet down again after a
moment. Keliana has made her way away from their line of sight as quickly as
her pattering feet could take her without breaking a brisk, if frantic, walk.
Making it back to where she was she leans against the back of a chair, mumbling
something unintelligible save for the occasional light swear or something
obviously describing those at the table in a less-than-flattering way. She
catches the wave and replies with a weak one of her own, not noticing the
proximity of Taire immediately.
Taire
drops the bundle of sweetstick onto her lap as she continues to patron that
sandwich -a rather thick and nearly overflowing creation that it is. My, this
girl sure does know how to put away the food now, doesn't she? Free hand comes
up to dab at the corner of her lips, that are immediately licked with her
tongue. Her sweetsticks are eyed from afar, for all she notices, but it is
Keliana's vocabulary that garner's her attention. "If'n you referred to
them as 'tuber-brained gits, I might have actually laughed."
M'an
heads out of the living cavern.
The
drudge looks slightly miffed at Naven's seeming dismissle of him. Hmph,
candidate types too good to talk to the poor overworked drudges. Well, he's not
given up yet. "Whassa matter? Don' git enough teh eat?" The drudge
scoffs at the young man and pulls skin off his thin arms to demonstrate an
obvious lack of daily food.
An
obviously well-fed member of the Weyr appears just then, a bronzerider with a
towel tucked under his arm and a whistle on his lips. The tune and his steps
freeze in mid-passage, eyebrows jutting yupwards as he stumbles onto the scene.
"Hawho - what have we here?" The question is quite genialy put.
Naven
finishes wiping down the next table, moving strategically to where Taire's
at. He's about to continue the work
before he's attention is diverted by the drudge. He offers the man an apologetic smile, holding the rag between
his hands as he converses and slowly inches closer to Taire's sweetsticks. "Ah, so sorry. I jus' wanna get this done so I can eat
something for breakfast. I'm not much
of a talker in the morning, y'see and... sorry." With a shrug, he gestures to the next table, and begins to wipe
it. The newest entry gets the briefest
of nods -- he's too busy wiping and eyeing the candy.
Taire
plucks off her riding boots and brings her feet up onto the cushy seat that she
is doing her best to lounge negligently upon. Mmmmmmm. Comfort. People to
watch. A good sandwich and sweetsticks as a chaser. Can it get much better?
Another bit of sandwich is popped into her mouth, equally puffing out her
cheeks. "Hey, M'an." Maybe that is what she said, or at least that is
the intention around the full mouth.
Keliana
swivels to turn to Taire. Whups. Badmouthing certain members of the Weyr in
plain hearing of another. Intelligent, Keli, really smart. Really. "B-uh,
I-uh, Hmm." She blinks a few times. "I was just-- You see I was going
too-- I didn't mean-- Uhh." Blink. She takes her broom in hand and swishes
it about the floor rapidly a few times. "Just sweeping, see?" Halo.
M'an
shoots a grin and a sketch of a salute towards Taire. He finds a convenient
wall to lean against, deciding to postpone the pleasure of his morning soak for
a chance at prodding Candidates. "It's hard to belive some of these toungue-tied
wherrywitted kids will be suave and sophisticated riders some day," he
comments to the other rider, shaking his head.
"Suave
and sophisticated. Right," Naven
scoffs quietly with a bemused smirk after overhearing M'an's remark. After all, he's close enough. And those riders harassing Keliana were
hardly suave /or/ sophisticated. Well,
neither was her response, but Naven doesn't hold that against a fellow
candidate. All he does is work work
work, then as he reaches the end of this table, frowns and looks at Taire
pleadingly. No, he doesn't mind
degrading himself like this. "Uh,
can I have one of those?" he inquires, pointing to her pile of
sweetsticks. "Please?" Beam.
He remembers manners.
Occasionally.
Taire
quirks a skeptical glance at M'an, "Riders are suave and
sophisticated?" Well, Taire would like to think she is, but has little
hope for most of the riders that she would think she knows rather well. She
looks from the 'insulting' Keliana on to the vaguely-familiar Naven. "I
don't see it." Them being suave or them impressing? Hard to tell.
*munch-munch-munch* And it is in the middle of all this chewing that she is
addressed by one of those white-knotted candidates. Naven. A final chew and
swallow, before she is blinking absently back to him, "One of what?"
Grovel.
Keliana
turns to cast eyes at M'an. For the love tiny Hatchlings, someone give her a
break here. She refrains her withering look and turns back to jam her
broomfibers onto the ground, sweeping angrily. "I haven't seen too much
suave or sophisticated, yet." Quietly, however and she glances up with
sparklingly innocent eyes-- anyone vaguely reminded of a non-declawed kitten
here? -- before looking back down. Her? Say something less than sugary? Never.
She leans against her broomhandle and watches Naven plead. Hmm, interesting.
"You
need to get out more then, Taire." M'an's lips purse as he, too, eyes the
sweetsticks, but the sight of Naven preparing to kiss Taire's metaphorical
boots makes him decide that it's just too risky a proposition. After all, she
could say no. "They seem to beg well, though."
Humiliation? Oh sure.
Naven doesn't seem to mind at all, and groveling beats having to work
this soon after getting up. Ego pushed
aside, he goes for the full histrionic emulation, collapsing to his knees
beside her, and both hands held together in supplication. He's making a scene, knows it, and probably
staining the reputation of this candidate class. Or maybe just his. Not
that he cares. "Could you possibly
give a sweetstick to a poor, starving young candidate, who hasn't had anything
to eat /all day/?" Cue batting
eyelashes. "And if you could spare
more than one, I'll cook something special just for you next time I'm doing
kitchen duty." Sparkle. Of course, no one has to know of his
culinary skills. Or lack thereof. They haven't reached the Weyr yet. Naven is duly ignoring the fact that this is
the girl that hit him - for no reason, he still holds - a few sevendays
ago. The smile, offered to Taire, is
then shot at M'an. See: he's being
nice. It almost looks honest.
Taire
places on protective hand upon that bundle of about a half-dozen sweetsticks.
These are the only things that get her through sweeps. Granted, she doesn't
have to do sweeps today, or tomorrow, so she can always snag more from her
stash later. Hand lifts up to tuck a wayward lock behind her ear as she simply
watches dearest Naven prostrate himself before her. Ohhhhh. What is this warm
and glimmery feeling she is getting at this sight? The teenager licks her lips
as she peers rather blankly down at him. Granted, the girl comes from
trader-stock, so she isn't going to let a couple of sweetsticks go for free. Of
course, she has also been feeling rather awkward the last couple of sevendays.
Its the combination that leads her to say the next few words. "Okay. I
think I'll keep you. Deal." And so, a pair of sweetsticks are offered to
him. Hrm.
Kyra
ducks out of the Candidate barracks.
M'an
raises his eyeberows is n disbelief. "Two?" The surprise in his voice
is asccusatory. "Not one, but two? Just for a little groveling and
promises of a meal? You don
As Kyra
walks in she looks around, then to Keli, "How come I always get excluded
from the party list, hmm?" she smiles and waves at all. "Two what?"
she doesn't mind butting into the conversation at all.
M'an
says, "You don't even know if he can cookl for beans." Shaking his
hsead in that sage manner older riders have, he sighs deeply,. "I can't
believe you let him get away with that."
Keliana
watches Naven with interested eyes. Hmm, he'll bend to your will for a few
sweetsticks, eh? She places that in memory for future use. That's a /very/
handy little tidbit, that is. Glancing towards Kyra, she raises one hand in
defense. "Hey, this is far from a party." She's sweeping, for
Faranth's sake. She glances towards M'an and proceeds to do a bit more of just
that. He seems like one to assign many more if the job at hand isn't done
'properly' . . . there are enough of those as it is.
"Keep...
me?" The young boy squeaks,
falling from his kneeling position to his behind with a startled yelp. "You don't mean that literally, right? You just want my cooking?" Yes, Naven's gullible and needs to be
sure. Riders are sneaky folk, and if
you miss out on their underlying nuances, you might be in deep trouble. Nav's naive, not dumb. He watches the two sweetsticks hungrily,
then, considering all he went through to get them, he takes the pair and
promptly sticks one in his mouth.
"You won't regret it," he says in a muffled voice, not
bothering to pull the sweetstick from his mouth. Yeah, he'll do just about anything for some sweetS. Keep that in mind indeed. Kyra's entrance goes unnoticed, he basking
the joy of candy.
Taire
blinks back to M'an, arching her dark eyebrows at him. "No. I get more
then just a meal. I get him." Isn't that what she said? She has always
wanted her own candidate. For her very own. "And I'll give him more
sweetsticks if he behaves well." Like her own little pet canine, only
bipedal and wearing a candidate's knot. Of course, now with Naven taking the
sweetsticks and has put them in his mouth it is a done deal. Trader's law.
Kyra
stares at Naven eating away at the sweetsticks. She pulls away to listen to
what Taire is saying. Hmm, she definatly missed something.... Well, might as
well find out what it is, "Ok, what did I miss???" she looks about
curiously.
M'an
sighs heravily. "Enjoy 'im while you got 'im then, because you just might
have to give him up if he Impresses." Pushing away from the wall, he
starts to continue oin his way. "Of course, if he doesn't, I don't think
you should have to give him up... missed a spot, lass." One finger points
to the far corner of the cavern, waggling insistantly at Keliana.
Keliana
turns towards Kyra and waves a hushing hand towards her. "Shh. I want to
hear this." She watches the controversy between ownership of one Candidate
Naven. Hmm. This'll make quite a story when she gets a chance to put it all
together for some interested ear . . . or at least something to hold him up for
if she ever has the need. "Eh?" She glances over to M'an, and barely
stifles the dirty look. Instead, she wanders over and sweeps the spot over
diligently, mumbling a 'Thanks' as she stalk-sweeps back towards the haggling
pair-- though the haggling seems a bit one-sided.
M'an
moves on, looking excessively pleased with himself. He'll rest easier, knowing
that that little corner of the Weyr is a little cleaner.
M'an
pauses, then pushes into the baths.
So she
did mean it. "You can't keep
me," he whines, looking up but not bothering to move from his position on
the floor. He doesn't even pop the
sweetstick from his mouth, so his words come out a tad blurred. "That's not possible. I can run away, you know." And hide in a tight little niche where even
her dragon can't get at him. Ha. "She can't do that, can she?" he
then inquires of M'an, the the rest of the room. And it's /Taire/. She's a
brat. He doesn't want to belong to
someone who still has cooties. Or
something. M'an's words cause him to
shudder. "How long is this
supposed to last?" he finally asks, first sweetstick eaten and the second
waggled between fingers. It's his
fault, you know. Silly weakness. Of
course, with the promise of more sweets with good behavior, he doesn't really
mind as much as he should.
Kyra
sits down at a nearby table, all the air that was in her lungs coming out of
her nose with a small *whuff*. She grumbles to herself, resting her chin in
both hands, elbows propped up on the table. Lost and confused, she sits back to
watch. Maybe if she watches for long enough she will understand /something/...
She looks back to Naven, and then stares blankly at the wall in front of her
for a moment. Lost... so utterly lost.......
Taire
blinks after M'lan, shrugging her shoulders, "Oh, I'll put him to good
use. I mean, sure, sweetsticks are kinda a heavy price to pay, but it might be
worth it in the long run." Personally, she was rather entertaining the
idea of having Keliana be her pet candidate. That girl has a fine mouth on her.
Admirable. Eventually, her attention is drawn back down to her new pet.
"Hrm? Yes, I can. You agreed. You took the sweetsticks. A deal is a deal,
and you needn't try to whine to the other riders, because you belong to /me/
now." A sigh, "Well, I suppose until the hatching, okay? How is that?
After then, you are free."
Keliana
is busy putting together all of the pieces of the puzzle, after edging suitably
back towards the scene under the absent facade of sweeping, and suddenly
something dawns upon her as she revises the first edition of the story.
"Hey," She calls over to Taire before she thinks twice about it.
"You're Taire, right? T'is what he called you?" She shoves a thumb
towards where M'an dissapeared to. Ponder. Hmm, maybe this would be better said
later, to let this haggling be finished . . . but too late now. Her and her
big, admirable mouth.
Naven
blinks, "So I don't need to Impress to be free of you?" That's a relief. Now he doesn't have to scout for sure-fire impressing strategies
-- you know, the ones his gullible self would be bound to follow: go onto the
sands with no sandals, flash the galleries for luck, flash the dragonets for
more luck .. that kind of thing. He
sticks the second sweetstick into his mouth, "I suppose it can't be that
bad. I just have to deal with you when
I'm not doing chores?" He
hopes. Women are dangerous. Taire proves that point. As Keliana draws near, he grins, pushing
himself up from the floor to plunk himself down onto a seat. Maybe she can take his place. Maybe.
Kyra
can't take it anymore. She yawns and stands up, stretching out her arms.
"Well, I'm going to bed. I'll find out what this is all about later."
She's almost talking to herself, but why talk loudly when nobody's listening.
She waves, but she expects it to go un-noticed. She's to tired to be her normal
optomistic self. She only has the energy for a pessimistic atitude. She walks
back to the barracks.
Kyra
goes home.
Taire
plucks up another of the sticks from her lap and plucks it into her mouth.
Tongue works the think over so that the end is just peeping from the corner of
her lips. It is so much easier to talk that way. Naven will get the hang of it.
Autumnal-irised eyes are drawn up to Keliana as her name is spoken, "Yeah?
Why?" And this greenrider is a very agreeable sort. Not at all anal about
rules or anything of that sort. She just likes her creature comforts -like a
candidate to be the gopher for her. Always wanted one of those. Maybe she will
even share him with Gabby. Or C'ra. The greenrider blinks up as another of the
candidates flutters off -didn't even notice that one. Its a plague of white
knots around here anymore.
Take
his place? Nuh uh. Yes, she's more adorable. And yes, they /should/ make
mass-produced miniatures of her because of aforementioned adorable-ness. But
no. She's keeping the rights to her body to herself, thank you very much.
Keliana again regrets her speaking to Taire at that precise moment. "Oh.
Well, Shoshana wants you to visit the Hold more, she said. That's all."
She twists her foot on the stone floor and shifts the broom about the ground
absently. But yes, it's Shoshana's sister! How they came from the same gene
pool, she'll never know. Odd.
Qualerik
ducks out of the Candidate barracks.
Taire
blinks owlishly at Keliana for the longest moment, and then it is like the
glowbasket was opened. "Shoshana? /My/ Shoshana?" Seems like this
teenager claims ownerships of a few peeps. "Oh yeah, I'll have to visit my
big sis." Yes, Sho was one of the smarter and more sensible members of the
family, even if she didn't take to the trader-life like this girl did.
"How is she looking? Everyone treating her well? And her tapestries?"
Maybe she should just go visit sis.
Qualerik
leaves the barracks, hair brushing tool of some sort in hand. Scary? Ah, but
he's using it in a creative way. Indeed, the lad is carefully brushing upwards
against his mullet-in-training to frizz it here and there, and then proceeding
to twist the brush until everything is neatly... matted. And is, apparently,
rather involved in this activity, to the point that all he offers in greeting
to people would be, "Heya, bubblies run free, and how are you?"
Really, that's not much. Really.
Sylvan ducks
out of the Candidate barracks.
Keliana
cants her head slightly, an amused smirk on her face while Taire gushes.
"Oh, yes. She insisted I tell you when she saw I was coming up here . . .
she was with me at the time. She's good, I would think, though I didn't see her
much down at Xanadu." She /was/ half a world away. Tsk tsk, you couldn't
even visit your own sister a leap away at the Hold? Tut. "Sho's a great
gal, honestly. If you see her, could you tell her to come up here and visit?"
She turns on fawn eyes. You can't say no. Really. Then eyes go to Qualerik.
That hairstyle is . . . horrendous. She's close to gagging, honestly. Her eyes
are nearly bugging.
Taire
pulls the sweetstick from between her lips with a *pop*, as she peers over to
Keliana from her very cushy chair. Mmmmm. Cushy. "No, she is posted at
Fort Hold now and, yes, I really should bring her over here for a bit. We have
/so/ much catching up to do and..." And the girl just goes vaguely into
her own little mind workings. It takes Qualerik to cause the teenager to blink
back to the here and now. Sweetstick waggles in Qual's direction. "Want
some hair beads?" Just a suggestion.
Qualerik
eyes the sweetstick a moment, getting a downright goofy grin oon his face, and
offering a non-chalant shrug halfway through twisting himself up a certain
chunk of hair. "Beads?" is questioned, a grimace gracing his features
momentarily. "I dunno, I don't think that's quite 'me'. Sounds sorta...
girly, doesn't it?" A pause here, during which not only does he think, but
also raises an eyebrow Kelianawards (he's a talented boy). "What colours
do you have?" Though that part's directed at Taire, if off-handedly and
without much eye contact.
Sylvan
sneaks out the barracks. Well, it isn't sneaking. It's more like a slow creak
of a walk, of a hand pressed to her back and expression somewhat... pained.
Well, not pained in the sense that there is some malady; no, it's more of
wondering just how in the world did she get talked into this again? Well, she
did the the garden that she was swindled into taking care of. She just didn't
expect working in it... so soon. Or all this work, period. How did her
relatives /take/ this toil. She doesn't get it. She does pause at the
conversation nearby, however, enough that piqued interest brings her closer to
listen.
Gawk.
Gape. Goggle. Oh. . . sweet sky above. That's disgusting. Really, with a few
snips and a new tunic . . . maybe a little off of his brows, hmm, and just a
little here and there . . . He could be presentable. But at this moment Keliana
seems to be nearly swooning with shock. How could someone do that . . .
/voluntarily/? She doesn't mind that he's looking at her. He needs help.
Honestly now. She glances towards Taire and gives her a pained look. How could
she /help/ him?
Taire
shoves the stick back into her mouth before bringing a hand over to delve into
her dark locks. It is a moment later when she is pulling out a long braid, that
is completely covered with beads, both metallic and colored. "It doesn't have
to be girly. Do a couple of strands with some dark blue or maybe an orange, and
there you go." Her grin goes wry, "I've got all kinds. Bone, wood,
stone, shell, copper, silver, even gold and a couple of beads from
crystal." She could go on and on and on, but thankfully doesn't.
"Interested?" As she speaks, her attention is drawn to the slinking
Sylvan like a vtol to a sweet.
Qualerik
shifts from one foot to the other, finally deciding that a wiggle his imperfect
eyebrows would be the best course of action to take with Keliana. Then
attentions return to Taire- more precisely, her hair- and he inspects this new
focal point with a rather keen interest. "They're not too bad... But the
thing is, I don't /do/ braids. It's.. Un-natural. I mean, beads are good, but
braids are so... /Designed/!" Cue the faint grin for the hypocrisy of that
statement.
Designed?
Unnatural? What in the world are these discussing? Not noting that she has
immediately become prey, Sylvan comes to a halt near the trio, standing up a
touch straighter in company. Still, her gaze is drawn to what has caused the
debate, arched brows rising just a touch at collection of baubles and trinkets
that are esconsced within the rider's hair. "Interesting. I've never seen
anything like it." Not that there is too much individuality between the
candidates... unless sloppiness counts. "Well, it's not /bad/," she
notes, before sliding her hands into her pockets. "Not at all, I
think."
Taire
continues to just peer at Qualerik for the longest moment. "Then might I
suggest a couple of carefully placed twigs?" A breath, and then she rolls
her eyes before unfolding from the depths of the seat to place stockinged feet
on the ground. Ohhhh, shard it. "Where did that boy take himself off to?"
Naven. Naturally, her pet candidate would be gone when she needs him to lace
her boots up for her. Typical. The remaining three sweetsticks from her bundle
are set on the arm of her chair as she bends over to pull on her boots once
more. "Used to have my hair down to my arse. Completely done up in nothing
but braids with beads on 'em. But, it just don't work when you ride a dragon.
Hurts like nothing when you gotta tuck it all under your helmet or stick them
in the back of your jacket. So, I cut it 'n left the one. I suppose it all has
to do with your own style. But, I've got plenty if'n any of you wanna borrow
them." Well, anything but the expensive metal ones.
Keliana
eyes the braid in Taire's hair, doing an inventory pretty much reflexively.
Hmm. Not /bad/, but please don't offer it to Qualerik. She just might have a
chance of talking him into /some/ sense. Turning and offering Sylvan a pained
smile as he enters. This Qualerik fellow goes against everything she was
taught. It's what you get for hanging about Weaver too long. But just then the
rowdy table in the corner seems to be hollering something sounding /somewhat/
like her name, so without a backwards glance (in which one would've spotted the
horror) she slaps her broom to a wall and slinks into the shadows and into the
Barracks as fast as she can pump her legs.
Qualerik
casts a particularly formal glance towards Taire's arse, then directs such
gazes back towards her hair, and offers an appreciative whistle. "Wow,
that's quite a ways," is added for extra emphasis. "Maybe you could
even do my hair for me, if you have ideas for twigs?" is offered in the
sweetest of voices. "I mean, really, it'd be fun! We could even do a
slumber party, if you sleep in the barracks, 'cause I dunno if I'm allowed out
of 'em at night..." A slow roll of his shoulder in a half-shrug, and
Sylvan is shot a curious look. "Do /you/ know if we're allowed stuff like
that? Shards, feel so oppressed, really I do..."
Sylvan
wonders herself if such a thing would even be allowed after a while. Intriguing
as it is, she'll allow her hair to remain in the sloppy ponytail where it is
right now. "Well, it makes sense, I think." Glance up at Qualerik's
statement, the young woman gives nothing but a slow shrug. She isn't quite sure
herself.... she just got here. "Twigs though would be a little harsh.
Maybe wooden beads... no, wait, they're too expensive." How she knows....
well, it's common knowledge, right? .... Right. "Who were you looking for
again, ma'am?" Maybe they ducked into the barracks... it certainly does
make a good hiding spot, at times.
Taire
seems to consider this for a moment as she laces up her boots. "Sleep in
the barracks again?" Ohhhhhh. That might actually be fun. Just like old
times. "We used to sleep in the galleries when the snow started blowing
'cause quite a few of my 'mates and I were from Xanadu. Got right cold for us
southerners." But the idea of playing with candidate's hair, gossiping,
having a giant slumber party does seem to tickle her fancy. A most pleasant smile
around the end of the sweetstick that is poking from the corner of her mouth as
she ties the lace and then moves to stand. Hungry. Again. Seems to be happening
a lot lately. Wierdest cravings too. Mmmmm. Maybe a sandwich with pumpernickel
bread with cheese, shaved ham, and fried tuber chips. Maybe. She glances to the
vaguely familiar Sylvan before popping a finger at Qualerik, "He wants a
/natural/ look. Nothing more natural than twigs, but I've got wood carved beads
too." A sigh, "And if either of you two see that boy," not that
he is all that much far away from her in age, "'tell him to be sure to
have mulled cider 'n one of those pastries with the frosting drizzled on top
ready for me tomorrow morning. Oh, and a plate of bacon and eggs, maybe some
toast too. No wait.. forget the bacon."
"They
let you sleep in the galleries?" Qualerik coughs, nearly dropping the hair
brush (probabyl would have too, if it wasn't for the fact that the thing is
still tangled in his half-curled hair. "Apparently not all the horror
stories are true. There is still hope, benches still breathe, let's move right
along." A clearing of his throat, eyes focusing briefly on his feet, and
then back into the bounciness we go. (Boing.) "I still think it'd be neat.
Maybe if we found a way to sorta tangle the littler strands into big fat
strands and stick beads on the end to hold 'em down? It wouldn't be neat, but
it wouldn't be impossible either. And then I can be pretty." A pause, and
eyelashes are batted, especially towards fellow candidate. "Make that
pretti/er/."
...
They're probably going to have to cut that hairbrush out. Sylvan can see it
now. In fact, her mouth opens to comment upon it, before it flops wider at the
mention of sleeping in the galleries. However, shock is soon replaced by
questions, at least of an easy answering sort. "Did anyone mind if you
stayed there? Did you take blankets?" Perhaps she's gotten too used to
Xanadu; it is a touch chilly, and the thoughts of sleeping in warmth again is a
comforting thought. Brows lift, however, at the food mentioned... weird
cravings? Yes, Sylvan would certainly place it under that, though she at least
declines to say so aloud. "I'll let him know if I do." See him, that
is, that he's in trouble. Wait until she sees the 'boy'. Ahem. And luckily,
someone has a book, taken out, scribbled in quietly, before wondering,
"What sort of eggs?" Scrambled, over easy, burnt? Ahem.
"Prettier?" There's a glance up to Qualerik, before she finally
notes, "Uhm... not until you get that brush out." Remember that
thing?
Taire
grins wryly at Qual, "Aye, that could be possible." And rather
entertaining not only to see, but watch actually happen to his hair.
Sweetsticks are tucked into the pocket of her trous, half poking out as she
makes a move towards the main cavern, and from there to the kitchen. "Oh,
most of the horror stories are true. Well, parts of them are. All them stories
have at least one grain of truth to them, especially the ones about the
dragonets savaging candidates on the sands." Her class talked about that
quite often. "Aye, right 'tween the benches with blankets 'n everything.
Nice and toasty warm. As for eggs... uh, on second thought, forget those
too." The very idea makes her turn a little green about the gills -that is
if this greenrider had gills. And, with that, and not anything else in a way of
a farewell, she is scampering out.