Who Leimna, Sygni, Vossrik, Xhanfyr
What Vossrik and Xhanfyr discover that doom comes in all shapes and sizes
When Spring-summer, Turn 2711
Where Living Cavern, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.
Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.

IS THAT LEIMNA, OR IS THAT TH'ERO (it's Leimna obviously, duh)? The she-candidate has currently exchanged her usually cheerful wardrobe for somber, dark tones - okay, black, she's wearing black. She's in a black tunic, and black pants, and she's sporting a black cape because THIS IS REASONABLE AND SHE IS THE WEYRLEADER-KING, all while having dyed her hair (temporarily) black. She's pinned her hair up short and curled it into Th'ero-esque waves, and she's even donning a fake mustache with a questionable beard that could have been stolen body-hair shavings but we will not delve too far into what she has all over her face. She's walking with a stalking-gait, looking CONVINCINGLY unamused with the entire world and doing her best to put on an air of Intimidating Authority. To Th'ero (her own) shrine she goes, standing for a moment to proudly take in That Which Shall Remain Forever, and then she grabs some random passerby. "You there, have exactly one thousand babies in my name. And name them… Th'ero. Then put one here, so the world will know what you have done in ode to me." Is she affecting a tone mimicking the weyrleader's? YES. YES SHE IS. Also, the passerby jerks away like they might get infected by crazy before scampering off. Leia? She giggles. To herself. Then clears her throat to chuckle because that's much more manly. "TH'ERO IS HERE!" she announces to the Living Caverns in that throaty voice, and then adds on, "TH'ERO WANTS A MUG OF KLAH." Somebody stop her, preferably before she gets to the serving tables.

Well, Vossrik WAS looking cheerful on his way to getting a… I dunno, a meal. One of the several he decimates daily in the eternal quest to fuel the fires of his repression. Oh, and look, it's one of the reasons for that particular personality trait. Leimna's latest emotional and criminally insane outburst reaches his ears before Voss himself reaches the light, and he jumps backwards to flatten himself against the wall, ninja-like. He makes no actual noise, but should one be close enough to see, they'd see his mouth ascribing the shapes of several repetitions of 'oh jeez'.

Brushing off the front of his tunic, Xhanfyr enters stage right, or rather from the direction of the bowl. He's not even paying attention to the happenings going on around him, clearly, because as he lifts his head and takes a gander of billowing black caps and women who think they are men he just stops in place and blinks. He really doesn't seem to care who might be wanting to get past him, around him, and they might need to go threw him for all the mobility that his feet now provide. Brown eyes shift, sliding towards where Vossrik has apparently flattened himself against the wall in an effort to blend himself one with the stone and then slowly they glide back to the impressionist. A few more blinks in rapid succession as brows drift ever so gently upwards towards his hairline. "What on Pern is that?" he mouths to the petrified boy becoming one with the wall, daring a few peeks back Leimna's way but done so in such a way that should she turn he can make it seem like the tables there off to his right were delightfully constructed and needed his very close and scrutinizing attention.

Leimna is not the only one rocking a new 'do. Though Sygni's is perhaps less dramatic of a change (and rather lacking in matching stubble, though whether that is an 'alas' or a 'thank Faranth,' I will leave up to you), it is a change nonetheless, long blonde locks swept towards the left while the right side has been shaved within centimeters of the skin. If it weren't for wrapped bandages on her right forearm, one might almost think it a choice rather than a necessity, though rumor has perhaps spread of the candidate's brush with CERTAIN DEATH in the form of an exploding firework. Or maybe it hasn't. Weyr gossip is weird like that. Who cares for actual NEWS? Regardless, Syg rocks the 'roughed-up degenerate' look as best she may, sleeves pushed up, standing as tall as a not-quite-five-foot frame allows, blue eyes swinging from the spectacle that is her younger cousin to Vossrik's fast-moving, wall-pressing figure as she sidles into the caverns proper. Cue dimples, and a devious look that lingers on the young man and his much more stable-seeming companion (LOOKIN' AT YOU, XHANFYR) before she maneuvers Leimna's way. That can't be good. "Th'ero, sir," is said much more snappily than she would ever greet actual weyrleadership, posture straight, a crisp salute offered with an added, "your ass is looking particularly fine today, sir." For the love of— "And don't look now, sir, but I think you have a growing gaggle of adoring fans. Sir." Linking her arm in Leia-Th'ero's, she rotates the once-redhead around to point right at Vossrik and Xhanfyr. RUN, BROS.

Oh, Sygni. Sweet Sygni. Lei'ero returns the mock salute with a stern-down-the-nose kind of look, and then continues looking unamused at her. "I do not believe I asked for the ass-report just yet, Sygni. That's always at -" Arms get hooked, Leia's attention shifts to the cowering wonder and Mr. Look-At-This-Table,-Isn't-It-Neat man-mer over there and she stifles a laugh because THAT WOULD BE UNPROFESSIONAL. This is when Leimna uses the arm-lock as leverage to (gently) slam her cousin chest-to-table and lean in tight against her back, arm twisted behind her with gentle pressure that looks more painful that it is. "Your new hair looks fantastic, lovely. I also have a thing for young women and tables if you couldn't tell - that's no candlestick, I'm very happy to see you." IS SHE? When she lets Syg up, she looks all SOMBER AND DISPLEASED and links arms again to head over to Xhan and pause. SIDE-EYE. "YOU THERE, CANDIDATE. Th'ero - that's me - demands you remove your clothes posthaste and entertain the ladies. Specifically this one." To which Sygni is handed off, and Lei'ero completes her stalk-gait to Vossrik. Then she leans against the wall with one arm above her head. Then she leans towards the candidate until she's pretty much breathing down his throat. "Th'ero likes your hair," she whispers, because that isn't at all creepy. And then she licks it. His hair I mean. Maybe this will clue him in to just who left a dead tunnelsnake on his cot this morning. "Meow," she breathes, and then she STALKS AWAY. "SYGNI. I demand a plate of bubblies. They are my favorite."

"Meep," is Vossrik's terrified response to Xhanfyr's query. "Beep." Paging Dr. Honeydew, Dr. Bunsen Honeydew. Maybe he can save Vossrik from the catlike grooming of his paralyzingly mental stalker/fellow candidate. "Xhaaaaan?" he finally manages to grate out, shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth from his head. "Remember what I said? About women? Did… did you see all of that? Was I not totally, completely right?"

There are…eyes…on him? Yes, yes there is. Slowly, oh so very stupidly slowly he lifts his gaze up off the table as Sygni's attention falls to him. Contact made. He is doomed. Somehow, someway, Xhanfyr manages to straighten out his spine but it takes about as much time as the girls take to turn around and focus on him in unison. Admittedly, his eyes do widen considerably now that there are two women involved, but hey, it is what it is. Looking between them both, he gapes in the most manly way possible, with absolutely no sound to show for it. Then Leimna is 'slamming' Sygni to the table and saying…things…to her companion…things that color him instantly a very distinct shade of scarlet. Now there was tension, lots and lots of tension and it freezes the lad in place perhaps forever. That's not even the worst of it either, because then Leimna is moving TOWARDS HIM in all her Th'ero themed…glory? Sure, why not. He can't take his eyes off her either, glued with the glue of the gorilla, and practically shaking like a leaf. A leaf, not on the wind, but still desperately clinging like the last crimson breath of fall to a bare branch. He makes a squeaking sound in response to her command, unable to flee, but maybe he might just be on the cusp of wetting himself. Maybe, but probably not. It's not terror that has him immoble and useless in the face of his friend's peril, but rather utter and complete embarrassment. Who is…this one? It's like Xhan's eyeballs are shaking in their sockets, wriggling around as they shift to where the handed off girl resides. Is she up against him? If so, then there is another squeak. That is all. Sorry about that Vossrik, bro.

Sygni takes that table-slam like a champ, letting loose a squealed, "Oh, Mister Th'ero, sir, you are so strong!" She even TREMBLES IN FEAR to round out the imag— oh no, wait, she's just laughing and trying really hard to suppress it, allowing shoulders to shake through silent giggles before she plasters on a brave face when she's allowed up, voice pitched to carry as she adds, "Though I heard you handcuffed that other girl. I am so disappointed." Do you want rumors? Because this. This is how you get RUMORS. She allows herself to be led, though, moving with utmost dignity, even when she's released into Xhanfyr's custody. Proximity. Whatever. Even if she wasn't up in Xhanfyr's space before, she certainly is now, ignoring a lance of pain as she slaps her injured hand to the wall next to the young man, doing literally everything but actually touching him. "Well, Slim? Go on. You heard your Weyrleader. Strip," she drawls, lips popping around her pronunciation of the 'p.' And when there's naught but a squeak, she leans back again, favoring him with a breathy sigh of, "Oh well. Maybe another time." Blue eyes roll over to Vossrik as her arm drops, dimpling savagely because yes that's a thing. "Beloved, you'd better hope the only thing you're right about is how wonderful women are and how grateful you are that they favor you with their presence." Or else, her sharky smile implies, but perhaps - just perhaps - she doesn't mean it, for the predatory expression flickers off like someone's flipped a switch, a docile expression that's almost sane dropping over the young woman's features as she turns her big blues up at Lei'ero again. "Anyways, this has been fun, but I came here because we're needed for a touching. Girls only," she adds in case the boys get ideas, favoring them with a wink before her arm loops through Leimna's again and she tugs her off through the caverns, ridiculous broody getup at all.

TIME FOR A TOUCHING? When Leimna is recaptured and informed of just what her cousin is doing there, she looks UNAMUSED at her. "Very good, Sygni. Th'ero loves omelets." And that's that. JUST LIKE THAT, she follows her cousin's lead, pausing only long enough to smile at both male candidates in a way that just might suggest somebody sane is under all that and laughing at the world's expense. Some women just want to watch the world burn. VAMOOSH.

There's a fleeing bunch of candidates, doodley do. Vossrik is stuck in place, though, frozen so as not to alert Leimna. Her vision is based on movement, after all, like some kind of hyper-sexual T-rex. "Meep. Xhanfyr. Heeeelp." Finally, they all leave, and he's free to run to get some water for himself and just guzzle the everloving crap out of it.

Nope, sorry Vossrik but Xhanfyr is absolutely no help at all in these sorts of matters. He can't even move when Syngi leans in and gets so close that he can smell not only her breath but whatever scent might cling to her hair as well. Not that he's doing a whole lot of breathing either, because that is definitely not a thing that he is doing, hooray for now being purple faced. He is not stripping as commanded, despite the emphasis that a certain someone might have put on her 'p' especially since he still has yet to even move. Well, other than those eyes which are still jiggling inside his skull. He doesn't do anything at all until the threat, I mean, the girls have vacated and only then does he take a great big gasp of air. Air, air is good. While his color doesn't shift back to normal just yet, he can at least get those feets-a-moving now and is quick to dart away from his place of fusion. "Are you okay?" he asks, ignoring the inflammedness of his features in order to make sure that his friend there hasn't wet himself or something.

Vossrik gulps down a cup of water, holding up a single finger as he tips back his long neck and drains the fluid. Then, finally, he manages to cough out: "Uck. Crazy lady wanna eat my skin." Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he sighs, coughs a few more times, then shakes his head. "I gotta go make sure she didn't leave anything terrifying under my pillow again. I'll be back." And thus, he departs.

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