Who: Some candidates and the Weyrleader
What: Just read.
When: 6/13/08



Candidate's Barracks
The barracks have been given a overhaul, this much is apparent when one first walks into the room. The smell of fresh wood hangs heavy in the air. The cots have been repaired, and lots of new furniture is scattered about. And what isn't new, has visible signs of articulate care, new furniture has been added, and there's a small lounge in one of the corners for candidates to relax in when they don't want to be outside. Various tapestries litter the walls, depicting various events. Candidates standing on the sands before eggs, weyrlings with their dragons, dragons taking flight against thread as it falls from the skies. A crisp, new shade of paint clings to the clean walls of the large, rectangular room. The floor is swept clear of any debris while rows of cots line the outer walls covered with various sized tapestries. Each cot has new orange linen with a white pillow at the head while small chests line at their bases for each candidate's belongings to go into. The fresh scent of new paint permeates throughout the room, giving the impression that a renovation has recently taken place. The barracks are now cleaner and fresher than ever before with white walls, black accents on furniture and almost all the fabrics orange.
You see Small Trunk, Ashira, Dice, Andalucia, Diarmuid, Anuna, and Aphri here.
Carolyna, Sergeo, Lyonar, Marjani, Rhikiad, and Tiarla are here.
Obvious exits:
Out

Where there's smoke there was fire and N'lon escorts the acrid smell into the closed-off cavern by virtue of sooty clothing. It wafts, but not far off his person. "Button your pants, stash the drinks upright, and look lively." His voice doesn't particularly bludgeon today and it throbs with impatience. The blue firelizard on a shoulder scatters to scout.

On this hot summer evening, the barracks is dotted with the usual mish-mash of candidates engaged in leisure time activities. For once, Sergeo is not sprawled on Lyonar's immaculately kept cot messing it up much to the other's continual frustrations, and instead is found sitting on the end of his cot, packing a satchel with the belongings that had been temporarily stowed in the clothing press at the foot of his cot. Steely blues swing up and away from the task at hand to find the owner of the voice that cuts through the cavern and after a moment of indecision, he rises onto his feet. "Sir," Is offered in polite greeting.

Who-what-when-now? Eh? Rhikiad was minding his business, just minding his business. Maybe he was picking apart that blanket. Or he could have been sorting presents from Ashira. Or he could have even been rebraiding his hair. But anyway, commanding voices cause him to putter to his feet, wobble, and blink. Oh wait, lively. Standing now.

Tiarla looks up from the semi-lounging position on her cot, with drawing implements in hand - and up towards the Weyrleader who has suddenly appeared in the barracks. Hmm. These things don't ever seem to go well, or so she's heard from the Drudges and Aunties of the lower caverns. "Hello... sir." she ventures, standing up and trying to smooth over the mussed covers hastily.

Carolyna was occupying herself with some sketches, but is quick to snap to attention, closing the sketchbook and settling it, gently, on her cot. "Sir!" she greets, sort of.

Marjani is settled on top of her well-made and tidy cot, crossed legged and armed, her face smug. Across the way, one of the nosier candidates sits, practically mad with curiosity, badgering the other with, "C'mon, tell me why you've been in a good mood!" Marjani just smirks with an unnatural sense of smugness. She practically rolls off of her cot at the sound of N'lon's voice, but that's the last of her languid movements. Marjani shoots off a smart salute to the brownrider, the smirk still hovering around the corners of a mostly serious expression. Her voice joins those of others around the room with a polite and crisp, "Sir."

War doesn't utilize his wings much, rather the firelizard climbs and leaps with an issue of eager claws. N'lon walks in slow-motion which is contradictory to that earlier sense of restlessness. Encountering Sergeo, his lower lip is released with a hissing sound. "Name yourself and association. Actually," quickly recalibrating, "everyone spit that out when I come to you."

Sergeo's brow raises ever so slightly at the Weyrleader's address, and all for being in the candidate's barracks, he bears the knot and badge of Fort Hold rather than the simple white knot and black and orange patch that indicate the rank of all else in the room. "Sergeo, son of the late Lord Fort." He states quite simply, guessing readily that now is hardly the time to apply his charm.

Rhikiad flickers an uncertain glance askance at a couple of the others in the cavern. Fidgeting causes him to take a hold of his shirt, tugging it a little, locating a loose thread and naturally pulling that to the destruction of the hem. Tragic for the seamstress, really. Inattentiveness flickers as of course he misses what the rider said, but something was there. "What'd he say?" is uttered stage-whisper style to the candidate beside him.

Lyonar has connected.

Tia's not sure whether to respond or not, since she hasn't been been called out... yet. He seems in such a mood that she clasps her hands a little nervously in front of her. "Said to give your name and association when he comes to you." she whispers back towards Rhik, trying to keep her voice low.

Marjani waits with a straight but not rigid posture for the Weyrleader to move toward her, eyes following him and eyebrows lofted only slightly. Still, her expression falls into a disapproving look at the hiss of whispering happening around the barracks, head turning this way and that to try and catch the eye of offenders.
In these places are these people:
-----
7 - IW: Candidate's Barracks
Lyonar, Rhikiad, Carolyna, N'lon, Tiarla, Marjani, Sergeo.
2 - II: Rocky Point N'ic, Emilia.
-----
N'lon pans an errant glance around the room while addressing the young man. "Are you planning on going back to Fort anytime soon? I didn't know any better, I might have had you brought back to where your knot tells me." Big minus ten. The Weyrleader advances, but Sergeo shouldn't be safe until N'lon completely forgets him. "You two?" Tiarla and Rhikiad are hand-picked as a unit because of their close proximity. War keeps on roving.

Tiarla straightens up immediately of course, intent on looking N'lon straight in the eye despite a desperate desire to perhaps flee the room. "Tiarla. I was one of the kitchen staff here before being Searched. Sir." the words and polite, but delivered quickly and in a near clipped voice.

"Red-er... Rhikiad, sir," the teen immediately replies as he is looked upon by N'lon. Scary rider. He chews his lip for a moment and then replies, "Ista Weyr. I helped take care of some of your canines, sir." Seeing as everyone else is using 'sir', sounds like a pretty good idea to use it as well. Uncertain glance flickers around before finding his sandaled toes once more. Safer to look down there, really.

"Yes, sir, I am." Sergeo confirms, that that is in fact the case. "I turned in my knot to the Headwoman this afternoon as familial obligations require me to resign my candidacy. I was just packing up." He makes a one handed gesture towards the satchel sitting on the end of his cot in evidence. He turns then as N'lon continues down the line and stoops to pick the last of his items out of the bottom of the press and put them into the bag, leaving the Weyrleader to his task of inspecting the rest of the lot.

N'lon garners a thumbnail to haphazardly chew on, tastes soot, and stops immediately. Rhikiad and Tiarla's answers seem to be satisfactory, but he stops moving just shy of Carolyna. "What kind of business?" May as well try Sergeo again as a chin flicks - Marjani's cue to identify herself.

No, not -nail chewing-!! Tia has to bite firmly on her lower lip to keep from saying something about that horrible habit. Or offering unsolicited advice. Or, yes, to avoid making an ass of herself. Nope, not a word out of her. Instead, she just gives some of the others a sidelong glance as if relieved that they seem to be avoiding any sort of tongue lashing thus far.

"Marjani, from the Istan Smith Hall, sir!" is said clearly, in her most matter of fact tone, when N'lon comes to her, and as if she wasn't kissing enough ass with her attitude, she salutes again, standing up as straight as she can. Still, a tenative smile tugs up just the corners of her mouth, softening the whole business by that much. At least on her end.

Lyonar slips out through the drape covered doorway.

Rhikiad goes right back to silence as the eye of the rider moves along. So he'll just be the good little boy and try to keep his fidgeting to a minimum (except for that hem pulling), and flicker a glance up every so often to keep an eye upon N'lon -and that flizen too.
Turning away from the satchel as it is flipped closed, Sergeo's expression is diplomatic, but touched with apology as his voice evenly delivers. "I'm not at liberty to disclose all of the details, sir," Holder business and all that. "Suffice to say that I'm finding my call to duty in the two-thirds of Pern's population that ensures the Weyr has what it needs to protect those parts." Geo phrases vaguely, "And that my familial obligation involves handfasting which precludes me from eligibility as a candidate." His eyes sweep down the line of candidates, "You do have a fine bunch of very dedicated candidates, sir," This is added with the implication that he, himself, will not be missed amongst the bunch.

N'lon slaps any char off the arm of his flight jacket, a kind of cursory response to Marjani who also slides by without a hitch. Blue eyes are blinked to Carolyna and a separate a blonde male who without hesitation marks himself as Murroc of lesser Nerat. N'lon's firelizard is a mobile lump under Rhikiad's top sheet then he crosses an easy boundary to an adjacent cot. The dragonman listens to Sergeo's every word and remarks the marriage, "Better start running."

Carolyna snaps a salute before she starts. "Carolyna, Sir, Istan Smith posted to the Weyr, Sir," she states in a firm, factual voice as her turn comes up.

Rhikiad blinks a bit at the lump on his cot. His eyes gradually widen at the sight. He better not steal those stolen things Ashira has been planting on his cot, dammit. He follows the flizen's progress, gives Tiarla a skeptical glance, and then it is back to the toes. Nice toes, really.

Tiarla eyes that moving lump with a wary gaze as well. Messing up those drawings she's been working on would set her back at least a week. And since she's the adjacent cot, well... Rhik's skepticism is returned twofold in this case. No staring at her toes this time, she wants to see what that little monster of a firelizard does!

Marjani can't help it, she stares at Sergeo, and mouths, "Marriage?" but of course it's not likely anyone is looking at her. Her part in the identification stage done, Marjani resigns herself to standing relatively still and behaving until everyone is accounted for. The movement of the firelizard is not registered, but her own cot is rather down from where it is currently.

N'lon smooths an eyebrow from the inside corner out. "We must be bleeding the smiths outta half their members." An identifying smirk segues his next wishes. "Now I want you all to do something for me: spit on the floor." There's a lot of white in candidate eyes as they switch back and forth. "That's right, go on! Right here," a general space indicated. Tiarla is safe, War doesn't tarry on her cot nor establish wrinkles in her sketches.

Rhikiad is being asked to spit? Various noises ensue to get up a good wad. And like a pro, the spit is... spat. There we go, perfect. Seemingly pleased with this projectile, he glances up to the others to gauge their progress as well. He can't miss this. Candidates spitting on cue of the Weyrleader.

Tia rubs at one of her ears for a second or two. Did he say spit? She mouths the word at a few others like Marjani and Caro and Rhik, with a questioning gaze. Like, seriously? Well, he did say to do it. So without any ladylike fussing she hacks up a wad of... whatever and spits. It's not as inelegant or far reaching as Rhikiad's, sadly, but one has to make due with their own talents! Hockin' a loogie just isn't hers it would seem.

Sergeo appears vaguely amused by the response from the Weyrleader, reaching down to take up his satchel, pulling it across his shoulder. "I hear dragons are a great help in that end. Hopefully I know enough names around here that I'll have saviors from certain doom a time or two." He flicks his gaze meaningfully towards the candidates as though some of them might one day come to his rescue, and then curiosity enters his face as he hears the Weyrleader's directive, though not participating in the action.

Marjani blinks a few times and shrugs back at Tia before rearing up her head. There's a good deal of hawking, and then a 'Ptuu!' to rival some of the better ones. Gross. She stares down at the floor as it becomes coated in spit from those around her, and Marjani's shoulders begging to shake with mirth. Quiet but audibly, she laughs, apparently having forgotten for the moment who told them to do it and where she is.

Carolyna blinks and looks between N'lon and a few other candidates, before she offers up a weak little spit, just to satisfy the Weyrleaders request. Yuck....

"So you blindly follow orders. No one asked why." Boots are checked, deemed unscathed. "What if I told you to go drown yourself in the sea?" Clearly N'lon has their obedience, that's a decent arrangement. "I would at least laugh at your expense. But split second orders sometimes have to be obeyed - if you trust the source. Not so easy is it? Think of that."
[SearchC02] N'lon has fun with this group.

Rhikiad is getting words of wisdom? That's what this was about. Another uncertain glance is cast to the side with dark eyebrows lifted in question. But he keeps his piece, fingers getting tired of the plucking and instead interlacing before him. No, we'll wobble from heel to toe instead. Fidget.

"I would think it deadly not to follow orders in the midst of threadfall, and this is during a Pass. Obedience is drilled into candidates from the first day we're here." Tiarla points out, head canting slightly to the side. "But I think telling us to spit is much different then telling us to go drown ourselves." Pause. "Sir." This, coming from one who's already broken a few rules. But still!

As N'lon seems engaged in this test of the candidates, Sergeo take the opportunity to politely excuse himself with a murmur and polite incline of his head. This is business for potential riders, and not himself. He slips out quietly through the curtain, satchel pulled over his shoulder.

Marjani straightens, appropriately sobered by the man's words. In fact, her eyebrows come down and her lips go thin, taking the words overly seriously. Though remaining silent, her nostrils flare, irked in some fashion, either by N'lon's words or her own behavior. Curious, her dark eyes follow Sergeo, almost glad for the distraction at the feeling of stupidity rising in her chest.

Aadi comes home.

N'lon sniffs deeply and hawks up black phlegm onto the floor in his own turn. "That's an idea. I'll need some fresh blood to try out that sea experiment..." Seemingly eager. A low whistle between his teeth and N'lon's only blue firelizard halts his own inspection and gathers flight. The Weyrleader provides a last writ before leaving, "now clean this up." War then rides the coattails of his caretaker's voice as both exit.

Sergeo slips out through the drape covered doorway.

Rhikiad is going to sigh rather dramatically here once the Big, Scary, Bossy, Full-Of-Life-Lessons Weyrleader leaves, and shoot a glance askance at Tiarla. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be." Because obviously things could be far, far worse. "Got a mop?"