Who Ibreily, Leimna, Rulayn
What Rulayn returns to the Barracks. Crazy people are crazy.
When Summer, Turn 2711.
Where Fort Weyr - Candidate Barracks

filename.tld filename.tld roo5


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.


It had been a few nights since the most successful birthday bash of all time, and after Rulayn's retirement to the Infirmary for further 'observation', she had finally been given the all-clear to return to the Barracks. No longer sporting a bandage, and with the bruise upon her forehead gradually fading (and now resembling a dark splodge, like dirt), Rulayn had made the best effort she could to comb her hair into a manner which would hide the injury and spare her some humiliation on her return. And so, one late evening, from the Bowl she trudges in, still dressed in the same yellow dress as before with a few items of clothing folded in her grasp. She looks a little happier to be back amongst familiar faces, but doesn't hide her attempt to scoot past Leimna's cot in a hurry to reach her own. Once there, clothes are laid out and the girl starts to rumage around for her sleeping attire.

IT CAME FROM… Voss' cot? He won't mind, right? HE WILL NOT MIND, and Leimna is currently NOT IN HERS, but in Voss'. So, while Roo tries to avoid the plague that is Leimna, she cannot escape. "That's a pretty dress, Roo." At least her voice is at normal decibels. Apparently Leimna decided to skip the gifts of death today and is attempting to gift herself. Somehow. Is that a bow on her head? Faranth. "Your hair looks pretty." Breathe. "AND YOU MISSED THE FIREWORKS." FLOP, ROLLLLL, up into the air her legs go, kicking. She is in a shirt. Just a shirt. Voss, she stole your shirt. Kill her. But at least there's no Th'ero get up (RIP Voss beard). "They were amazing. Are you feeling any better?"

Rulayn almost does a double-take at the voice that comes from the side of the room sporting the men's cots. And then of course, there's Leimna. Why did Rulayn expect otherwise? Turning back at the bow-wearing crazy person, the young woman gives the other a long, hard stare. "It would have been nicer if I had the chance to dance in it." And she doesn't remark about the hair. She'd rather not have any attention put towards what it's concealing, after all. When Leimna cranks the volume up though, Roo winces just a little. Ow, her ears. "I'm fine. I could hear the fireworks from the infirmary anyway. Tiye told me they were very pretty." And then it's back to undressing, as both arms come free of the dress and the young woman shimmies her near-skeletal body out of the fabric. "I see you and Vossrik had a good night." It's an assumption, but it's quickly followed by a much colder comment. "You could get kicked out for that, y'know."

Ibreily is. Covered from snoot to tootsies in dirt, and she looks like she could not possibly be any happier about it. The wrinkly pup following at her heels is considerably cleaner, somehow, but Ibby is just gross. She probably ought to have showered on the way back in, but that doesn't seem to occur to the harper. "Fixed the problem!" The candidate declares, apropos of nothing, but she does dangle a gnarly and terrifying looking bundle of roots with foot-long thorns sticking out of it like it's a head she won fair and square in a duel. "Got you a present, Leia." The muddy tangle gets tossed in the general direction of poor Voss's cot, before she's making a beline for Sygni's. This calls for the heavy-duty de-mudding, and the other girl has a better cleaner. The pup makes her way over to their cot, sprawling on her pillow and staring dolefully in Roo's general direction. "Kicked out?" She's got no context on the last, but Ibby grins anyways, sharply, over her shoulder towards the other candidate. "What's life if you don't take risks?" The harper-candidate turns back to her task, sorting through Syg's stuff absentmindedly.

Rulayn's ire, while duly noted, doesn't at all seem to bother Leimna. In fact, she smile, affecting Doe Eyes that say, 'Whatever do you mean?' as she agrees with, "Th'ero would have danced with you. Pity you couldn't stay long enough for him to ask you." And then… wickedness. "Only if you get caught." The sly little smile she gives the girl hints at nothing, but Vossrik is innocent in all of this truly so Leia doesn't leave her in the dark for long. "And anyway, mind out of the gutter, Rulayn. Candidates can't have sex." She feigns sounding scandalized right as BAM. IBREILY. There's a squeak of DELIGHT as the bundle of roots HITS VOSS' BED AND SPREADS FILTH and she GRABS IT WITH HER HANDS and looks it over. "Ibby, you shouldn't have. Oh, this is going to the shrine." A pause, and blue eyes watch Ibby make her way over to Syg's cot. She doesn't try to stop her. She enjoys it. "No life at all. Rulayn here seems to think that my handsome red fruit and I have done the wibbly wobbly hip dance. Now that somebody suspects, do you think we should do it anyway?" TROUBLE. THIS ONE IS TROUBLE.

Eyes roll and Rulayn returns to her doings. The dress is discarded and a fresh, plain-coloured gown is slipped over her head covering down to her knees. Dirty clothes are then gathered, and unceremoniously dumped at the end of her cot. She'll clean up later. "I don't want to dance with someone who's pretending to be the Weyrleader." She mutters, trudging over to the curtain that seperates the cots and provides privacy. With a glance to Ibreily's entrance, and the flinging of muddy roots, Rulayn heaves a long sigh. "Can't you just be -normal-? Either of you?" It's accompanied by a look that's practically pleading. "I want to actually make it to the Sands alive, and right now I feel like I'm going to end up on a one-way trip to the Infirmary again."

"I thought you'd like it." Ibby cheshire-grins but doesn't turn around — she's on a mission, huffing and muttering vaguely about hoarders. Honestly. Why can't Syg just keep the things she knows are gonna be filched right out in plain sight. "Well," The harper turns, pausing her search to treat the question like it's a real one. "Depends on their definitions, doesn't it? They don't define anything terribly clearly. There's no 'you can do this, not this' list." She points out reasonably, but her eyes are bright, twinkling. The pleading look directed at her by Rulayn gets a distinctly blank one from Ibby; it lasts a few beats before she's laughing, tossing non-existant hair. "What's the fun in that? Shells, it'd be awful." She's laughing away the genuine horror showing in wide, maybe a little frightened eyes. Normal. PERISH THE THOUGHT. "Well, if it's a one-way trip you won't be worrying about it any more." Philosophically, the harper points out, going for encouraging if the tentative smile is anything to go by. Good at encouraging? Mmmaybe not. Then, more serious: "Dragons aren't normal and they're not safe. If you can't roll with it now, how will you deal if your dragon is — well — different? In a storm, flying above the Weyr when you can't see a thing? If you can't think in chaos how will you *between* safely? If something happens and you have to think quickly or." Ibby presses her lips together and turns back to her search, quiet for a long moment. Eventually she huffs something like a laugh, tossing a grin over her shoulder. "You should see a turnover celebration 'round ours. You ain't seen nothin' yet." Ah, bless. She thinks that actually helps, probably.

"Listen," Leimna drawls, as if she's actually going to impart some knowledge on Rulayn (spoiler alert: SHE'S NOT), "nobody has stopped me which tells me that Th'ero clearly needs a body double and so I will run the weyr for him when he finds himself too lost in his perfect assets with his probably perfect family doing probably perfect things and laughing in secret - because can we all just admit that we know the man is probably hysterical and kinky behind closed doors - and so I will continue with this duty." A pause, and then blue eyes go to Ibby, bright with mischief as she breathes out, "I love it. Do you think we can make it particularly gruesome-er looking and gift it to Th'ero? Do you think Dad will yell really loud if we convince him we need a ride up to the Weyrleader's ledge and then run?" And then laughter. It's not just Ibby that laughs at the plea for them to be 'normal', because Leimna is joining in it too, falling back on Voss' cot as her hands come around her middle and she breathes out a breathy, "Normal!" Faranth. The poor lass has not met the family the Trifecta comes from, has she? Ibreily preaches, Leia gives fingerguns that say, 'I AGREE', and then she's rolling back onto her stomach with legs in the air again, smiling at Roo. "Life is too short and too unexpectedly unpredictable to waste any of it being normal. There are plenty enough normal people. Maybe you should try doing something you find absolutely ridiculous and you'll realize why we do - and why we don't care when people don't like it." Which might be a subtle hint at something, but Leia's all pleasant smiles.

Rulayn sighs. Reasoning with the pair was an uphill battle and Rulayn grasps the curtain to her cot, ready to pull it around and seal herself off from the cackling, grinning pair. "It's not hard to -just behave-." Rulayn points out, gesturing to Leimna. "I've been getting dirty looks because of what SHE did. I'm being blamed for her mistakes, even when I tried to stop her!" The explanation of being Th'ero doesn't sit well with the girl at all and she just shakes her head, even moreso to Ibreily's previous attempt to gauge Rulayn's reaction as a rider. "A dragon that's as crazy as you two wouldn't pick me. And if that's what they're all like, I'd rather go without." She scowls, turning the tables on the cheshire girl. "What if you're the one trying to fly *between* and you're goofing around? You'll end up stuck there and it'll be your own fault." But of course, no message is going to go through to the pair, is it? Rulayn is done with trying. "Having to sit here and listen to you both is ridiculous." And promptly the curtain is drawn across Rulayn's cot area and the sounds inside imply the girl is going to bed. Thankfully, with earplugs.

"You don't get a choice. That's what you signed up for. People Impress dragons they don't get along with all the time." Ibreily is serious now, for all that she's still rummaging through a chest that isn't hers. The harper isn't laughing, but she's also not shouting or raising cain; the other Candidate wants serious, and she's got it. Well. Sort of. By the time Ibby turns back around with her — well, it's Sygni's, but — jar of cleaner finally found, Roo's got her curtain pulled back and is in bed. Ibby blinks, shooting a vaguely confused look on Leimna's direction. It passes, however, with a shrug of what-can-you-do kind of nonchalance. "Leia, do you think if you pictured a mountain made out of redfruit and herb trees, you would be able to get there?" Drily, the harper-candidate ventures, grabbing another, smaller jar for good measure. "Come on. You have got to moisturize or you'll wrinkle before you're thirty, with all that glue on your face." She insists, grabbing the bathrobe folded on the end of her cot and making dried-on-muddy way back out of the barracks.

It's not that reasoning with the two is an uphill battle, it's just that the two have seen their fair share of horrors and have chosen to live. Rulayn's accusations may not draw any sort of reaction from Leimna outside of a muted expression, but those eyes shift to Ibreily, guarded. So Rulayn doesn't like her; she will certainly not be the first or the last person that Leia's encountered with misgivings and prejudices about her or her (ARGUABLE HILARIOUS - to her) sense of humor. The thing is, Leimna has Sygni and Ibby in her corner and, in a world full of people, those are two of the only people she really needs. Being snubbed, being rejected, it might still sting, but it's fleeting and temporary and Leimna is aware that it doesn't matter. "Maybe." And then Roo is retreating with one last scathing remark and Ibby is talking about moisturizer and Leia moves to follow her, pausing at Rulayn's cot. "I'm sorry you feel that way," she breathes, but it will likely go unheard. Because earplugs. And then she's gone to join Ibby. BLESSED QUIET. HALLELUJAH.


Add a New Comment