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.