Who Doktah, Leimna, Vossrik
What Everyone is interested in Vossrik's junk.
When Spring-summer, Turn 2711
Where Candidate Barracks, 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.

Doktah returns from the hatching caverns. Apparently, she was one of the lucky ones who got to be part of the first batch to go out and touch the eggs. Evidently it was pretty hot out there, judging by how sweaty and messy she looks. Tired, too, judging by how she walks in and more or less just flops down onto her cot.

Vossrik positively flings himself into the room, his hair still damply clinging to his forehead in fresh-washed ringlets and all pink and clean. His satchel gets heaved onto his cot, and his comfy shirt whipped over his head as he grabs blindly at a nicer one in his storage. The shirt still hangs off of his head as his Tasmanian Devilish clothing exchange is stopped by Doktah's entrance. "Awwwwww, maaaaan, did I miss the egg touching?" It's just straight up whining he's doing here. Petulant as BALLS. "Shiiiit I KNEW the baths being empty was too good to be true."

"They're going to take another group over later." Doktah says without bothering to lift her face up off her pillow. Maybe she says that, anyways. The pillow makes it a little hard to hear. After a moment she at least bothers flipping over onto her back, looking over at Vossrik. "You'll get to do it soon enough. Just be careful. One of the girls got hurt." Frown. "… Why do you care whether the baths are empty or not?" Smooth subject change.

"Because then nobody sits on my lap and crushes my weiner into my abdomen?" points out the rather beleaguered Smith/Candidate. Clearly Vossrik's a bit more relaxed around his fellows, though, and that's good! Yay! He even laughs a little. "Sorry. At first it was 'cause I don't like bein' looked at when I'm all nude, and it's still totally true, but it's… nice. You get time for your thoughts and stuff, and it's all steamy and warm and relaxing. I'm uh… like don't tell no one but I'm a little stressy and uptight sometimes. ANYWAY, who got hurt? Are they alright now? And… how did they get hurt with big, like, eggs? Did they uh… feel a thing that was… not cool?"

Doktah raises an eyebrow slightly at the beleagured Vossrik. "Was that a remark about my weight?" There is no correct answer to that question. "… I think everyone knows you get stress… stressy, as you say." Doktah is as tactful as ever. She shakes her head a little at the question about the injury. "Passed out from the heat. Hit her head." She answers. "So make sure you're hydrated and get out of there if you start feeling faint."

WHIPLASH! "Wait, what?!" Vossrik blurts, boggling intelligently, shirt still dangling from his head. "Dok, you are about as big around as my leg. You're, like, wee. Nah, it's just, y'know, on the outside, and … it was mostly a joke 'cause Rulayn caught it at a bad angle. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad or summat." Thinking briefly, he tosses the nicer shirt back and re-dons the tatty tee. "Thanks for the input though. How'd it go for you? Didja see anything cool or however it works?"

"I was not trying to have contact with your genitals, so I wouldn't know anything about what happened with you and Rulayn." Doktah's diplomacy continues. "I was just trying to be friendly." Of course. The whole weight topic just earns a shrug. "It doesn't concern me. I don't think I need to worry about my appearance overmuch while I'm here." Another shrug at the last question. "It was… well, I only touched half of them. Didn't want to risk staying out too long. But the ones I touched were… mostly pleasant. Some of them dragged up unpleasant memories. Not intentionally, I think. They're just curious."

"I know. I know. It's fine. I'm just, y'know. Jumpy. And it was kinda unexpected. You're a cool chick, Doktah. I'm glad to have metcha." Flumphing on his cot, Vossrik pulls his knees up to chest and offers a smile. "Curious? That's cool, though. It's good it was a better experience for you than whatever happened in Igen. Are they getting all hard yet? I found out they're all soft at first and then get stone-like in the heat!" Thanks for your obvious wisdom, Voss.

"Wouldn't you be curious?" Doktah says with a little shrug. "I mean, they're much more intelligent than human infants. They understand language. Yet they're trapped there, inside those shells. Wouldn't you want to learn everything you could about the world outside?" The comment about the eggs hardening earns a confused blink. "I thought I told you that? But, yes. It's true. The shells have gotten firmer. I think the heat helps."

"Oh yeah, that WAS you. Huh!" Vossrik gets all pursed-lip thinky, then nods. "Yup, totally you, my bad. Makes sense since you're kinda smarter than almost everyone. Anyway, that is SO neat. So they talk to you and stuff but also … make you … feel a thing?" There's a squeaky protest as he shifts his sitting position slightly so he can raise an arm to scratch at his head. "I don't know how dragons talk to people, to be real. Or if it's talking or more like… yeah no I got nothin'."

"Dragons' method of communicating is poorly understood from a technical perspective. Or at least it's poorly understood by me." Doktah says with a little frown. "Which makes it difficult for me to explain exactly what the experience is like. I think the best thing to do is just dive in. It can be unsettling, but not entirely. You will understand better afterwards."

Vossrik nods slowly, thoughtfully. "I hope I get the chance, soon. It sounds really neat, y'know? Huh. Is it, um, anything like those awesome lil firelizards you got? You said they let you know when they're hungry or worried or somethin'."

"Similar, but it's on a much more intense sort of scale." Doktah says, lazily rolling onto her side. "The firelizards can give you bursts of… emotion, I suppose. Enough to know how they feel. The dragons deal in words, memories… it's more complex." She sighs, rubbing at her brow. "I need water."

"You want me to go getcha some?" asks Vossrik, pushing himself up off of his cot and springing to his feet. "You kinda look like you're 'bout to fall over or somethin' yourself."

"Yes please." Doktah murmurs. Apparently, for all she complains about the terrible cold of Fort Weyr, she also doesn't handle the heat of the hatching sands very well. What a complainer.

Awww, poor lil Techie. Vossrik ambles towards a corner sink (of which there totally is one), giving Doktah a pat on the shoulder as he passes. The excitement of filling a glass of water for her commences, too exciting to actually go through with describing, and he returns, handing it over. "Drink it slowly. Don't want you to get a sore stomach, after all. So like… did Nyalle's queen watch you guys the entire time? Was it all intimidating? Dragons are cool and everything," Yes, thank you again for your astute observations, Voss, "But sheesh, I hear the queens get all possessive and shit."

Doktah has worked her way back onto her back by the time Vossrik returns with the water. She lazily sits up enough to take a few sips. "Ah." Much better. "Thank you… anyways, yes, she did. Nothing's more important to a gold dragon than her eggs. She watches very, very closely the entire time. But just be gentle, respectful, and don't make any sudden moves. You'll be fine." How reassuring.

"Do you gotta, like, salute her or something? Bow? Curtsey? I can't bow for nothin'," he laughs, shaking his head and returning to his seat with a grunt. "Can't even imagine dealing with having one of them gold dragons, or a bronze, and the flights and everything. If already the whole Weyr 'n stuff gotta feel.. y'know. Though it explains why my parents used to kick my brother and I out the house and lock the door." Vossrik clears his throat and snickers. "Just the whole idea about dragons is so, whoa, crazy to me. Especially here."

"Bowing is traditional. I'd stick with bowing." Doktah answers. She looks like she's recovering now. The water must be helping. "So you've never actually been around for a gold flight?" She asks, arching an eyebrow. The further comments make her more curious. "Are you uncomfortable with sex, then? It seems like a lot of holdborn people are."

"Iiiii…" WAY more ellipses are thrown in to Vossrik's pause, squeaky little things that brush the upper registers of human hearing. "Well, it's not… there's… I mean…" A flush crawls its way all the way to his hairline. "Y'know, I was a CRAFTER. And we… I mean, I don't know. Just never, y'know. With the stuff. Had the chance. Don't rightly know I'm ready or, y'know." Man, his cuticles must be REALLY interesting, all them raggedy bits and whatnot, because he is staring at his hands SO hard.

Doktah just looks quite baffled by Vossrik's response to this. She shrugs, now sitting up properly. "I was a crafter myself, but I suppose it's different when you spend most of your life in weyrs." She sighs a little, finishing her water and flopping back down on her cot. "Don't worry. You haven't been missing much, in my limited experience."

Apparently Vossrik's just gonna plunge on here. "I mean it's not like I ain't thought about it but, I mean, I always got a lotta stuff to do and crafty stuff to, y'know, craft. And here we're just not s'posed to, which, fine by me, I already think all sorts too much. Girls are confusing as it stands, but metal? Welding? That stuff? I GET that. It's people in general, really, that totally, like, pow, I have no idea about."

"Believe me, I fully understand where you're coming from." Doktah says, looking up at the ceiling with a little frown. "I have a much easier time understanding machinery than girls. But sex? Sex can be approached the same as any other mechanical, repetitive task." What a romantic. "One just has to take a systematic approach." She sighs and shrugs. "What am I talking about? I'm the last person to give advice on that."

Discomfiture dissipates some as Vossrik breaks down in giggles. "I am pretty sure," he manages to eke out, "That it is s'posed to be a little better than that, or there wouldn't be so many babies. Maybe someday when my first reaction to bein' in a room with a cute girl isn't to jump behind a chair or, y'know, run out of the baths with a towel over my dingus."

"… I can't help but note, following that comment, that you have not jumped behind a chair." Doktah remarks dryly. Is she just trying to fluster the boy to amuse herself now? If so, she does that dry, flat delivery thing really well. "It's not as if any of us have the option right now, anyways. For obvious reasons."

DINGUS. The word DINGUS gets a rise out of somebody, and that somebody is Leimna. She was in her cot (or under it, whatever), but suddenly she peeks out from beneath it, looking upside down at Vossrik and Doktah - WHEREVER THEY ARE. SHE SEES YOU. Give her a moment, and she kickkickkick scoots her way out into the open, pulls herself up as if BEING BIRTHED FROM BENEATH A COT IS THE MOST NATURAL THING IN THE WORLD, and then she pounces. She moves with a stalk towards Vossrik and then crouches down beside him, eye level with his — "Well go on, then." SQUINT. "Show us your dingus. General rule of thumb: the appearance of the dingus sets the mood for the thing." LEAN. Grey eyes flicker up, and then backwards towards Doktah. That smile of hers might be space-worthily unaware, but there's something much too cunning beneath so much faux faraway-ness. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Vossrik snorts. "Yeah, well, I did all of that before. Got it out of the way and GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Annnnnd he's backing up against the wall, kicking and squealing out his shock in a flurry of furs and shirts that fall from his rapidly stripped bed to Leimna's feet. "NO! Would EVERYONE stop being so INTERESTED in my JUNK! I am a DUDE not a piece of MEAT! Sweet SHIT is it something in the WATER!"

Doktah looks surprisingly nonplussed by the sudden bizarre emergence of Leimna from within the depths of her cot. Then again, it seems like she has a remarkable ability to take things in stride. Even when she really shouldn't. "Actually, I'm not usually a fan of the dingus. I'm more for the… what's the colloquial female equivalent for 'dingus'? 'Dinga'? I don't think I've ever heard that one." She shrugs and looks back to Vossrik. She takes his reaction in an understated way, blinkjng at him a few times before looking back to Leimna. "I don't think he's going to show you his dingus." Observant.

Leimna watches Vossrik backpedal and there is a flurry of flying clothes and you would think she would be startled, but she's not. She doesn't cower when he yells and questions the quality of PERFECTLY GOOD FORTIAN WATER. No, instead she tilts her head to one side with quiet attentiveness while listening to Doktah speak. Dinga? Well. When you combine 'Meat' and 'Woman', you get a… "Meat purse," she breathes for the woman's benefit, and then she Sadako from the Ring's her way up onto his cot one all fours, crawling towards him. "Love glove, tuber glove," really, she could go all night. And then she's RIGHT THERE BESIDE HIM, LEANING ON THE WALL WITH A SMILE. A smile that can only be described as wolfish. "Am I forgetting any?" she asks after Doktah, and then she leans just a little closer to Vossrik. "You haven't done The Thing?" A pause, and then she flickers her attention back towards Dok. "I don't think he's done The Thing."

"Meat purse?" That makes Doktah furrow her brow and frown. "No, I don't like the sound of that. It sounds… unappealing." And 'dingus' does sound appealing? Well, nevermind that. "… I think I'll just stick to medical terms. The alternatives are all… bad." Simple and to the point. She gives Vossrik an almost pitying sort of look as Leimna goes in for the kill. It's like watching a nature documentary that's about to turn bloody. Not a good friend.

Vossrik? He says NOTHING. However, his expression says about a hundred different things: giant eyes, lips pressed into a thin white line, back becoming One with the Wall. His eyebrows dance up and down, then do the wave, then knit together. Finally he manages to squeak out, "M…meat purse? Tuber… glove? You better not be a Healer, lady."

"I am a healer," Leimna intones with somber seriousness. And then she just remains, like some awkward, evil, UNINVITED cot guest (which she is). One, two, three moments pass with her BREATHING DOWN VOSSRIK'S NECK, and then Leia smiles. "I think maybe you need to drink some more of the water." And AWAY SHE GOES. She hops off of Vossrik's cot, lands on her feet with a dainty, dancer's pose, holds it for all of three seconds, and then relaxes with a smile at Doktah. "And after he's had his fill and is curious about his tunnelsnake, you should teach him how to wield it." She's at her own cot now, looking back and forth between the two, and then she breathes, "Well, bye bye then." AND DOWN SHE GOES. Onto the floor, SHIMMYING AWAY BACK UNDER HER COT, RETURNING LIKE SOME KIND OF CHILDHOOD NIGHTMARE FROM WHENCE SHE CAME. Maybe you should avoid words like 'Dingus' and 'Dingina', lest you invoke the oddness that is Leia again.

Well, that was educational. Doktah looks a little puzzled by that last bit of instruction from Leimna. "Again, not an expert or appreciator of… tunnelsnakes. I'm sure we can find someone more qualified." Doktah watches her retreat back into the cot, then looks back to Vossrik, puzzled. "Was that her flirting with you? I cannot tell."

Were this a cartoon, Vossrik would be holding up a small sign reading 'halp'. "Ummmmm… Dok?" He finally asks, once Samara returns to the well, "Did that… did that just happen?" His voice has dropped to a whisper that he hides behind one hand, his other pointing to Leimna's retreating crab-form. "I don't even know what that was. Or what SHE is."

"I believe she was flirting with you." Doktah says, assessing the situation as she eyes Leimna's cot. "My understanding is many people engage in bizarre behavior to attempt to secure romantic attention. I would suggest… well. I don't know what to suggest. Do you find her attractive?"

"Doktah… she just crawled under her own cot like a fuckin' crab or spinner or something." Vossrik's voice is as reasonable as can be expected of someone who just had ALL THAT HAPPEN. "The number one, NUMBER ONE advice I have been given by my older dude cousins is as follows: Never, ever stick your dick in crazy. That? Was the craziest thing I have EVER SEEN."

"Well, you have to weigh the pros and cons." Doktah says with a little shrug. "On the con side, you do have some signs of extreme aberrant behavior and total disregard for social norms. On the pro side… she has red hair. I've been told many find that attractive." A truly objective and measured assessment.

A head pops in the door, though shadow obscures the identity (mostly so that SOMEONE, not naming any vosnames, doesn't have to come up with a Who). "Hey, kids! Egg touching time! Who wants to go touch EGGS!" Vossrik? He's forgotten COMPLETELY about Leimna at this point: "Ooh! Me me me! Meeeee!" Yeah, well, he is still a teenager.

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