Fort Weyr - Candidate Barracks
Carved from a natural bubble in the volcanic stone, this cavern has room enough to hold around two dozen occupants in comfort. Set into one of the long walls is a natural hearth area, not as large as some but more then enough to warm the cavern. Before it lays an old, well-worn rug that's colors have faded over turns of being un cared for. Mismatched chairs, an old couch, and a few randomly placed floor pillows finish up the sitting type area where candidates can relax after a long day of chores. Along the walls are stationed sets of cots and clothes presses with curtains dividing them for privacy, each made up to the standards of the Weyrwoman. The left hand row of cots is made up with coverlets of brown and trimmed in black for male candidates, while the right hand row is made up with a lighter brown coverlet that's trimmed in white for the female candidates. Above, the soft white light from electric lamps cast down during waking hours, while basket of emergency glows are stored in corners around the cavern for use during power outages.

After a day of scrubbing the floors of the lower caverns and peeling tubers in the kitchens, you'd think Senira would be taking this time to relax and take a break, but instead she is the very picture of industry, seated primly on her cot while she attempts to mend the old candidate robe that she'll be expected to wear to the impending hatching. As clumsy as Senira is on her feet she's even worse with a needle. "Ouch!" she hisses under her breath as she pricks a finger (for the umpteenth time, judging by the small pink spots dotting the robe's hem).

There have been chores, of course, but Haristal has a tendency to never quite seem like he's done doing them. It's not that he doesn't do them, either, just that sitting idle is not one of his, admittedly few, skills. Right now he's sitting on the edge of his cot, conveniently facing Senira's direction, while he restlessly studies the pages of an open book. The other candidate's pained sound makes him glance up, though, and watch her instead. Much easier to understand that than written words.

Senira sticks the most recently-pricked finger in her mouth, quickly, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Icy-blue eyes lift and catch her fellow candidate, her eyes flickering back and forth from his face to the book he holds. Her cheeks flush crimson as she mutters a sheepish "Sorry, I hope I'm not disturbing you. This isn't exactly my forte…" And as proof of that she manages to tangle white thread around her fingers and knick herself once more with the needle all while only trying to set the robe down on the cot beside her. Sigh.

Lucy spends a lot of time in the kitchens, being so familiar with them already, and from there she arrives. It's pretty obvious because of the floofy flour-spattered apron she's pulling off as she walks into the barracks. She heads straight for her cot, flumping the apron down and herself on top of it. "Oof," she exclaims generally as a small cloud of flour rises up around her.

There's no judgment in Haristal's face, though he's not entirely neutral. A hint of concern is furrowed into his brows. "Not disturbing anything. You okay?" His eyes are drawn to Lucy as she walks to her cot, but it's important enough that Senira ask his question that he returns his expectant attention to her.

"Oh, fine, fine," Senira answers, waving a hand nonchalantly to prove it. "I'd never have made it this far if these stupid needles actually /hurt/." And here she gestures toward her abandoned candidate's robe, a full two inches of which has been shoddily re-hemmed. The Weavercraft is clearly not her calling. As another candidate enters the barracks, Senira waves in greeting, and can't help but giggle at the cloud of flour that surrounds Lucy. "Busy day in the kitchens?"

Lucy bounces back up almost as quickly as she bounced down, grasping the edge of her cot and leaning forward. Fortunately she's not too far off from Senira's. "Same old, same old. Gonna sneak back in there in an hour and steal back some cookies though. Shards, I should be working on my robe too. I can't sew either, pretty rich for coming from a family of Weavers."

Haristal nods his head slowly at Senira's answer, eyeing her robe for just a moment before looking over at Lucy again, evidently taking the former's claims at face value. "Do you need to sew?" He sounds uncertain about this prospect and maybe a little confused, too. "Don't we get to pick outta robes that're already made?"

Gabriela looks weighed down slightly as she meanders into the dorms. The usual messenger bag is slung across her body to the left, while a gitar rides her right shoulder. She spies the knot of Candidates milling about and smiles softly in greeting. Careful not to intrude as she approaches her bunk and deftly slips the gitar off her shoulder to set it next to her bunk.

Senira giggles again at Lucy, pleased to not be the only failed seamstress. "If it makes you feel any better, I come from a family of Vintners but my craft expertise starts with 'pouring' and ends with 'drinking.'" And only occasionally spilling wine or ale everywhere. At Haristal's comments Senira's eyes widen to near-saucer proportions. "I'd hate to think of having to sew the whole robe! No, we pick from already made robes, but most of them need mending. And if you happen to be too tall," like certain barmaids-turned-candidate, ahem, "You'll probably have to pick a too-large robe and adjust the hem." She stands and holds the robe up next to her body to demonstarte. Sure enough, except for the two inches she's managed to complete, the rest of the robe pools about her feet. "This one must have been meant for a giant, originally." Gabriela's entrance is noted with a shy smile and a nod in greeting.

Lucy leans even further forward so she can rummage under her cot, hauling out her own scrap of white cloth. "Or if you're short, you have to hem it up. And this one has a massive hole in….well, I guess I'll decide if it's the front or the back once I fix it." She sticks a hand through the hole and wiggles her fingers to demonstrate its unfortunate placement before offering a flick of a wave (throught he robe, even) to Gabriela.

The robe is eyed suspiciously by Haristal as Senira stands up to show the length off. He gives Lucy a similar look as she demonstrates the hole in her own. His frown suggests that he's still confused, but he only nods his head again in a way that must be learned through having to do it pretty often. People who aren't very bright just learn to accept what other people tell them even when it doesn't make sense.

Robes appear to be the topic of the day and Gabriela is more than a little nervous about the alterations she has done with hers. Okay let's face it she totally took hers apart and is remaking the darn thing. Checking that the instrument is out of the way she settles on her bunk and crosses her legs beneath her. "I've had to alter mine quite a lot turns out.." She tugs the white cloth out of her bag and shakes it out. "Well I guess more than a lot." The once robe has turned into sort of a gown yet not quite. The sleeves are definitely missing and the waist has been taken in drastically. Though she is a rather short woman and bony.

"This one doesn't need much mending, at least," Senira notes, holding the robe out in front of her. She glances back at Haristal, her gaze traveling from his head to his feet— sizing him up. "Hey, maybe you're tall enough that this one wouldn't need to be re-hemmed, after all." She nods her head, apparently motioning for him to stand up, trying to simultaneously walk toward him while holding the robe up to gauge its length. It ends poorly— on the first step she puts a slippered foot down on the trailing edge of the robe and trips. Too clumsy to re-gather her bearings, Senira simply falls face-first toward the floor. Thankfully she is clumsy enough to be used to falling and catches herself with her hands, avoiding serious injury. From her new vantage point on the floor, Senira glances over at Gabriela's robe and gives an appreciative 'oooh!' "That's too lovely to be just a robe!"

The book is set aside so Haristal can start to rise to his feet. He's not fast enough to react when Senira actually starts to fall, but he does start to lunge in her direction to help her, regardless. He'll just have to settle for helping her up, if she allows it. "You sure you're okay?" He might be a little harder to convince this time around. "I was just going to grab something that covers everything important. Is that not okay?"

Gabriela is entirely shy of the sleeveless, narrow wasted could be called a robe. Along the neckline the standard stitching gives way to a simple geometric design not requiring a lot of extra thread. But at least she's admitted to altering her own to no end finally. No need to hide what she's up to anymore. The fabric is quickly bundled into her lap as Senira takes a tumble. "Are you alright?!" That looked like it would sting some. Leaning over to peer at the woman in concern she smiles. "You really like it? I'm afraid I've changed it too much and I'll get into trouble or something." Since Haristal is offering to pick her up off the floor, Gabby sits up to smile at him. "Well you want the thing to fit I thought. So it doesn't get caught in dragonet talons. At least this is what I was told. Take it with a grain of salt."

"Fine, fine." Senira waves off her fellow candidates' concern. She does take Haristal's proferred hand which she uses to rise shakily, unsteadily to her feet. She idly brushes off whatever dust her clothes have gathered from the floor and retrieves the dropped robe. She flashes a bright, thankful smile at Haristal, then has the temerity to blush. Senira may be clumsy as all get-out and used to trips and falls but at least she's still a little embarassed by them. "Thanks," is offered shyly to her fellow candidate and would-be rescuer. "Your robe is lovely! You might get in trouble, though, in the sense that /everybody/ will want one!" she insists to Gabby, then nods along as she explains the need for well-fitting robes. "My brother stood for a clutch once, and he said the robes had to be long enough to protect your legs from the dragonets." She makes a put-upon face. "He's probably just having me on, though."

Beyrl meanders into the candidate barracks, from the training complex.
Beyrl has arrived.

Lucy quirks a dubious brow at Gabriela's robe, not seeming to want one. "After all that work, hope a baby dragon doesn't rip that up," she comments, shoving her own robe back into the depths beneath her bunk where it belongs, thus missing Senira's fall, though it's easy enough to figure out what happened when she re-emerges. Haristal looks like he's got it though, so after Senira confirms her all-rightness and is back on her feet, Lucy teases Haristal lightly, "Were you going to go out there in a loincloth or something?"

Since he's not exactly fashion forward, or a girl, Haristal doesn't seem to have much of an opinion on Gabriela's robe. He offers a brief smile for it and all once Senira is on her feet, and then he's distracted by, well, more robe stuff. "Uh. I don't think a robe will help you much if a dragon's gonna claw at you. Don't you wanna be able to move enough to get out of the way? Your legs'll get wrapped up." He might be simple, but this seems like common sense even to him. "A loincloth?" He doesn't get the joke. If it's a joke at all.

Gabriela folds her robe back up and sticks it under her pillow. "I don't much care if it gets torn up. Only going to wear it once anyway right?" Right?! Because surely she won't be expected to actually do this again if nothing happens out there. "I have this obsession with looking presentable is all." She shrugs her shoulders and smiles sweetly. "Comes from Turns of expectation I think." She goes quiet listening to the others for a few while she digs around in her pack. Not finding what she's looking for she pulls things out and looks again. Nothing. "I don't think so I'd heard something of that sort too from others talking. I've tried to pay attention to those who have done this before hoping for a clue." So far she barely has one. "I left my dang thread! I'll be back!" Throwing things hastily back in her pack, she abandons her cot and hustles back out the door.

Gabriela has disconnected

Senira laughs aloud, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she does so—perhaps the most demure she will ever possibly be. "Wearing a loincloth on the sands would certainly make it easy to move on the sands," she admits, silvery eyes twinkling with merriment at the very idea. She flashes another, gentler smile at Haristal and explains: "A loincloth would cover only the…. /most/ important parts."

"It's like underwear," Lucy offers as her own explanation, untying her boots, pulling them off and clunking them back under the cot along with the poor beleaguered robe. "I don't know what would be better though, mobility or the extra layer."

Haristal doesn't seem sure whether it's him she's laughing at or not, but he doesn't seem to take it very personally either way. "I know what it is," he'll allow. He's not that dumb. "I just dunno why I'd wear one on the sands. And I don't see how that bit of fabric will help anything except to keep your bits covered. If claws go through it anything like a knife does, anyway." Of which he's presumably had some sort of experience.

Beyrl wanders in, some chores for him went too long. He slides over to his bed and rather ungracefully flops down upon it. King jumps down onto the bed, scrambles up onto the pillow to claim it as his own, and curls up.

It's more the image of candidates wearing loincloths on the sands that's making Senira giggle. She stops her laughter to flash a sly smile at Haristal. "It /would/ serve the purpose of pleasing many of the ladies of the weyr," she admits as she gives him another one of those sizing-up looks. She ends with a wink to show she's kidding—or is she? It's not exactly subtle. It seems that Senira's clumsiness is not limited to the realm of the physical. Beyrl's entrance is noted with a wave and a nod in greeting. "Evenin'."

"So…perhaps a metal loincloth? Covers and protects?" It's hard to tell if Lucy's yanking chains or indulging in some light brainstorming; whatever she's about, it's delivered completely dead-pan. Oh good, Beyrl wasn't kidnapped. Lucy tosses him a wave.

Beyrl tilts his head in the direction of the others, and offers a smile rather tired. "Good evening, ladies fair and Haristal. A conversation most interesting I seem to have fallen amoungst." he notes, proping himself up against the back of his bed.

Subtlety would probably just be lost on Haristal so the lack of it suits him well enough. "You think they'd like it? I don't think they'd let me just cause some ladies might like it." Duh, Haristal. "Metal," he repeats, glancing at Lucy. "Leather would probably work just fine. They use it for firelizard things," he gestures at his shoulder to suggest the guards people wear to protect themselves from the claws of perching lizards. A nod is offered Beryl.

"A metal loincloth?" Dark eyebrows raise at the very idea, and though Senira is not half as good at dead-panning as Lucy, she is able to fake a thoughtful expression as she wonders aloud, "Does the Smithcraft already produce such an item?" An amused smile is flashed Beyrl's way and she admits, "We're discussing the importance of candidate fashions, of course." Her expression becomes suddenly serious as she addresses Haristal: "Everyone. Would. Like it." A certain barmaid-turned-candidate apparently would.

"I suppose leather would do," Lucy says thoughtfully with a little eyebrow-waggle at Senira, who seems like someone who would be keen on the idea. There's perhaps a very faint but not entirely unkind roll of grey-green eyes at Beyrl's reference to ladies fair, and she seconds Senira. "Is your robe finished yet? Or will you be wearing a metal loincloth on the Sands?"

"Everyone is a lot of people." Haristal seems a little dubious that so many people would, in fact, like him in a loincloth, but he's not going to argue. One can only imagine he's not very good at it. "You'd probably cook in metal on the sands," he points out about the tougher loincloth, clearly not enjoying the idea of, uh, certain parts of himself being cooked like that.

Senira is only going to embarrass herself if she keeps trying to convince Haristal that loincloths are definitely the future of fashion, which she seems to realize as she gives an audible clearing of her throat. "Yes, well, if my brother is to be believed, we'll be cooking on the sands no matter what. Though metal is definitely not going to help." She smiles and nods at Lucy, "I think she's got the right of it with leather."

Beyrl says "Metal dost scorch skin when heated in the furnace of a midday sun upon scorching sands." he mentions, agreeing with Haristal, and giving the other a respectful nod in return. He then gives Senira a warm smile back, then considers. "Preference from an asthetic standpoint, or a functional one? Though this current I believe is one of a rather personal taste, of the bias of the girls.""

"To be fair, leather was his idea," Lucy says with a chin tilt towards Haristal. "But I'll just be wearing the bedsheet, thank you." She sighs, then reaches for the robe so recently stuffed under the bed. "I guess I should work on it instead of just talking about it."

The ex-trader offers an unconscious smile to Senira before it's turned toward Beyrl and Lucy. "Maybe I should find a robe that'll work for me. Didn't know we were supposed to have one already. Where do I, uh, find one of them?" Haristal glances further along the barracks, then out the door, evidently planning on doing it just as soon as someone points him in the right direction.

"Aesthetic concerns are of the greatest import," Senira notes to Beyrl, trying to sound as dire and serious as possible, but she's not half as good as Lucy at being dead-pan. Senira returns Haristal's smile, nodding her head toward to door, "They have a whole bunch in the stores. I can show you, if you'd like?" She is just barely subtle enough to avoid full-on eyelash-batting. She gathers up her overlong robe, adding, "I should look through them again, anyway. Maybe they'll have one that's long enough without being /too/ long. The rate I've been going I won't have this dumb thing" here she shakes her robe with vehemence"even half-hemmed by the time the eggs hatch." She flashes a grin at Lucy, "Good luck with yours, sorry I can't be of any help. Maybe Gabby would be game for a sewing lesson sometime soon, though."

"I think I'll pass. Thanks though," Lucy tells Senira with a smile, then curls up in her bunk with robe and needle in hand. By bedtime, a few inches of the hem is done…and about as bloodstained as the other girl's.

Beyrl gives a nod of agreement in Senira's direction. "I am under the agreement this is very true." He pulls out his own robe. The legs are neatly hemmed, with small images of eggs sewn along each edge, and the outlines of a dragon on either sleeve.

"That'd be great," says Haristal with some measure of enthusiasm. He probably didn't expect quite that level of help and he's going to appreciate the heck out of it in his own little simple way. "I can help you look. Think we can find stuff with two— four eyes." Hey, he can count. Imagine that!

Senira waves to Lucy and Beyrl, then flashes a positively beatific smile up at Haristal. "Thanks!" She offers a hand, ready to lead the way to the stores.

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