Log: Excitedly Anxious
May. 18th, 2012 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently late summer on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 9th month, and 1st day of the 10th Pass.
Word around the weyr is that the eggs are going to hatch any time now; most of the weyr seems to be in stand-by as a result. It's perhaps no wonder, then, that many of the candidates have stuck close by the barracks as the afternoon wears on-- and even less wonder that Siyavri, now, strides straight through the entrance, quite as though she belongs. "How," she wants to know, speaking in a voice that is designed to carry, "are we all feeling, this afternoon?"
Citlali's cot is near the door, so she's in the right space to immediately notice the Healer's entrance. Sitting with her knees up and feet flat, back up against the wall, and something that appears to be a notebook she's writing in open against one leg, she looks up to say with a smile that in direct opposite to the words coming out of her mouth appears welcoming, "Invaded." Then she laughs a little, reserved about it. "Not in a bad way, though. Hi, journeyman."
Ruchik is not one of those candidates hanging around nearer the barracks. Probably because so many of them are these days. With rucksack open, and things making their way, mostly masked by his hands, from the little trunk at the edge of his cot to the open bag, he's clearly on his way out. But all this comes to a stop when there's that friendly-enough call. And it earns an unfriendly narrowing of his eyes. He knows his nemesis' voice. "Hey, you're in the /candidate/ barracks again!" isn't really a greeting, but. It serves.
Khrysta glances up from where she's puttng the last touches on a rather small amount of white fabric - which is to say: someone else sewed it, and she's just making sure it's still intact. Spotting the healer, a slow grin appears and she moves to the edge of her cot. "Hopeful," she calls out.
Siyavri also has a notebook, though hers is tucked carefully under one arm as she makes her way through the doorway and down one of the aisles so that she can rest her behind on the end of one of the cots. "It seems as though the eggs may even hatch this very afternoon - I thought I might check up on you all." She's ignoring Ruchik, except for a moment's glower in his direction. Actually, she's probably ignoring Khrysta, too. "Restless? Anxious? Excited? I'm glad /you/ don't mind my presence, Citlali."
"Healers can be wherever they want," is Citlali's wisdom on that; even if the candidate barracks are supposed to be sacred ground, or something, there's something even more important about being accessible to healers. She puts her pen down, unsafely on the cot, and appears to stop and consider -- not actually noting that she's got the most of Siyavri's attention of the three who spoke up. "Is excitedly anxious an option? Because I'd pick that one."
Ruchik repositions himself with some crab-walking and awkward shuffling. The result is to have his back blocking Siyavri's view, more than anyone else's, of what he's doing. A few more objects into the pack, and as he's closing the trunk, he can't keep, "Good thing Citlali speaks for everyone who has a claim here." The pack is shouldered, but he stays near his cot for now. "Especially to someone who doesn't." Ignoring her ignoring. Citlali gets a somewhat-better-natured, "If someone's lost limbs, maybe." Louder, "Anyone lost a finger?"
Khrysta gives Ruchik's back a look, then murmurs - slightly less quiet than she may have intended, "I wouldn't mind a phsyical to find out?" After all - just because the healer is ignoring her, doesn't mean the blonde is going to return the favor.
It's Khrysta's remark that makes Siyavri blanche, it having been just loud enough for the healer to at least get the gist of it - or perhaps she's simply assuming that anything that particular candidate has to say is going to make her unhappy. It could go either way, really. "I am not," she points out, answering Ruchik even though she's not actually looking at him, "that kind of healer. I'm here to see to your mental state. Does anyone feel as though they are going to vomit? Faint? Excitedly anxious," she adds, turning her attention to Citlali, because hurray, /she/ isn't being awful, "is definitely an option. I imagine I would also be." She flips open her notebook.
Citlali covers her mouth as soon as Ruchik calls out about the finger -- actually, she's covering her entire face in her hand and muffledly laughing into it for a second. Once she's calmed herself down, she shoots him a quick smile before turning her attention back to Siyavri. "Aren't you, a little bit? I mean, I heard you were going to be out there by Iona, and that means the dragonet's'll be near you, too. You won't be dressed as bait, but there's still the -- weird feeling that comes from being out there a little, right?" She's got her head tilted to the side just slightly, curious. "I'm not going to vomit, though. I mean, I don't think so. Not promising. Vomit's unpredictable."
A smirk goes to Khrysta, and then Ruchik shrugs at the pack on his back, and raises one hand. It's held up only a moment, but, not really expecting to be answered, he soon calls on himself. "It matter if the puke feeling just came along with you?" There's more on the tip of his tongue, but with a grunt, he closes his mouth, and starts toward the door. And once he gets to Citlali's bunk, juxtaposition becomes the weapon of the day. Because -Citlali- gets a grin and a wink, just before he turns a glare to the healer.
Khrysta's slow smile gains just a hint of satisified malice as the healer goes pale. However, rather than move in for the overkill, the blonde just lays back on her cot, ignoring the robe laid out. "Ready for it to be over, I think."
"Bait. Is that how you see it?" It's a genuine question, and one that, having been asked, is more or less directed at all of them by a sweeping glance from the healer. "However, the answer is no: I am interested to watch, but it is really only an observation." Siyavri turns her pencil in her hand, fingers twisting around the thin wooden implement; Ruchik's remark, though it draws an unhappy line to her features, is being studiously ignored. Khrysta, however, is no longer subject to that: "I can imagine you are. Any last minute changes of heart? Does anyone want to join the others, and drop out?" Maybe she's hoping Ruchik will. He /does/ get a glance, then.
Over there on his cot, Tovrin is laying down on his back with an arm curled back behind his head like, well, kind of a hard pillow. His eyes are closed but the firelizard is playing by jumping over his legs, crossed at the ankles, to attack the covers of the cot on one side or the other. So it's doubtful he's actually doing any sort of real resting. That and he glances over at the people talking here and there.
Citlali looks extremely wary in her literal position of being in between Siyavri and Ruchik, especially considering Ruchik's present expression, but she's doing her best not to think of it as she actually answers the healer's question. "Not really, not like bait as in for eating; the white robes are sort of symbolizing who they're supposed to pick from first though, yeah? So in a way, that's like bait." Isn't it? "And I agree with wanting it to be over, whatever the outcome. Even though I'd rather not go home," is added, more honestly than usual, for the benefit of the mindhealer present.
"She means bait for impressing," Ruchik offers with a too-nice smile. "Probably because if you really did want to just watch, you could do it from somewhere else. Farther away." It's a line that's been given before, but never with so close an audience, and the trader gives a quick look about his peers to see if there are takers for this opinion. Siyavri's next question brings a mock-concerned look. "Oh, you're not thinking of dropping out after coming so far, are you?" To the healer again. The others are ignored, their usefulness temporarily worn out for him.
While some people are resting, Barrett has been out having his second bath of the day, evidently. Because cleanliness is next to godliness, or whatever it is Pernese people would call the equivalent. He returns to the barracks with hair still damp, dressed but barefoot, carrying his shoes and therefore walking immediately to set them down in a tidy little line next to his bed. "Hello there, pretty boy," he offers sweetly to the next cot over. Not to Tovrin so much as the firelizard that's been bothering him.
Siyavri is beginning to sound a little irritated, though she's doing her best to stave it off. "I will be watching from /up close/," never mind that she's probably not really on good terms with either Iona or Imogen right about now, "for the purposes of research. I am not going to steal your dragon." So much for ignoring Ruchik, either. Her chin rises, set into disapproving stubbornness, and she adds, rather more generally, "Well, only a few hours. Perhaps afterwards, some of us can get over our petty vendettas."
Whether the pretty boy comment was for the firelizard or not, Tovrin opens his eyes to shoot a quick glare at Barrett. Then he pushes at the firelizard, who is now more focused on the boy the next cot over, away from his legs. "Hope the dragons in them eggs are smarter than the people that searched all of us."
"Same one Searched you as me. Although I'm still not sure he meant me." Barrett gets out a comb to start taking it through his hair, getting everything back in place with a hand mirror. If this thing is going to happen imminently, he's not going to go more than five minutes looking anything less than perfectly put together. "I'm nervous. My parents are coming. Someone went to get them an hour or so ago. I feel like I should go say hello when they get here, but at the same time--do you think that would look weird to people?" Yes, he's evidently asking Tovrin for this advice, although more than loud enough that perhaps someone more helpful will pick up on it.
Citlali overhears Barrett, all the more helpfully giving her an excuse not to actually end up more than physically in the middle of Ruchik and Siyavri. "No, that's not weird," she calls over. "If my parents were coming -- okay, well, if people I /liked/ were coming from out of the Weyr I'd go say hi when they showed up."
"There's a dragon even wants you, it better damned well not even -look- at me," Ruchik states flatly, sincerely, to Siyavri. Barrett's entrance is noted with an almost-roll of his eyes, but there's no extended watching as the godly(?) candidate makes his way further into the barracks. Citlali's call to Barrett brings some vague attention as well, but there is certainly no comment to that effect. And the trader takes a few steps more toward the door, where he can lean on a wall and stare.
Khrysta just listens, sprawled on her cot as the younglings go about the worries and concerns - not that she's relaxed - too much tension for that.
Tovrin goes back to having his eyes closed and looking calmly comfortable in the possibility that this might finally all be over soon. "Don't think it's weird," he agrees with Citlali. "Wearing those damned white things is weird. You might want to go say hi before we end up having to put those on."
"No dragon is going to want me," snaps Siyavri; to hell with this being pseudo-civil. "I am /not/ a Candidate." Just-- a healer. Hanging out with the Candidates. Sitting on one of their cots. "Thankfully, I can't imagine any dragon would want /you/, either." Was her chin in the air before? It's now higher than ever. And so much for taking notes: she looks rather more like she'd like to break the pencil in her hands. Preferably over Ruchik's head.
"Oh, right," Ruchik nods, answering Siyavri's chin-tilts up by tilting his chin down, and glaring under his caveman brow, all the while maintaining that cowboy-silhouette type lean. "Because that's how come they don't have the sands roped off or special galleries. Because the dragons only go for candidates." He looks for a moment like he's getting ready to spit, but holds it. Instead, he gives a grumbled, "Just admit you're cheating. You'll feel better. That's real science-research advice, by the way."
Citlali opens her mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. Words /finally/ come out: "Can we not," she tries, "raise the anxiety level anymore? Everyone's tense, nervous; if you two kill each other that'll just throw a wrench into everyone's attempts not to be terrified." It's said in a quiet and unassuming voice, though; Citlali the peacemaker is on duty, and doesn't want to incite even more argument by interjecting.
"I am /not/--" Surprising, Citlali's outburst (however controlled and unassuming) actually works: Siyavri goes silent, breaking off from her furious self-defence in quiet surprise. Instead of continuing, she crosses her arms and looks murderous, clutching her notebook and pencil tightly within her hands.
Merci enters after pushing aside the large brown and black cloth which covers the entrance.
Ruchik just smirks. It's a smirk of victory. And with nothing more to say, he just stays staring at Siyavri. Winning.
"... bet we could get some mud or batter, if you two are going to get physical about things," Khrysta offers from her sprawl on the cot.
BAM! Oh, Siyavri will have plenty to write in her notes about /this/ particular entrance. Merci stands there, hands on her hips as she bellows, "Gitcher robes on!" No need to elaborate, not that the brownrider's the type. The collective hum seems to thrum through even the ground of the Weyr, steadily gaining volume and intensity. Even Fang, perched on her should is giving his snarling trill.
To be continued --
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 9th month, and 1st day of the 10th Pass.
Candidate Barracks
This is a large room with row after row of 'cots' for the Candidates of Fort Weyr's Hatchings to sleep on during their stay at Fort Weyr. Depending on the time of day and 'year' this room oscillates between an utter disaster and a prim and properly kept room. The residents of this room are always on the lookout for sudden headwoman or dragonrider appearances, scattering to clean up the major messes when someone indeed manifests.
Word around the weyr is that the eggs are going to hatch any time now; most of the weyr seems to be in stand-by as a result. It's perhaps no wonder, then, that many of the candidates have stuck close by the barracks as the afternoon wears on-- and even less wonder that Siyavri, now, strides straight through the entrance, quite as though she belongs. "How," she wants to know, speaking in a voice that is designed to carry, "are we all feeling, this afternoon?"
Citlali's cot is near the door, so she's in the right space to immediately notice the Healer's entrance. Sitting with her knees up and feet flat, back up against the wall, and something that appears to be a notebook she's writing in open against one leg, she looks up to say with a smile that in direct opposite to the words coming out of her mouth appears welcoming, "Invaded." Then she laughs a little, reserved about it. "Not in a bad way, though. Hi, journeyman."
Ruchik is not one of those candidates hanging around nearer the barracks. Probably because so many of them are these days. With rucksack open, and things making their way, mostly masked by his hands, from the little trunk at the edge of his cot to the open bag, he's clearly on his way out. But all this comes to a stop when there's that friendly-enough call. And it earns an unfriendly narrowing of his eyes. He knows his nemesis' voice. "Hey, you're in the /candidate/ barracks again!" isn't really a greeting, but. It serves.
Khrysta glances up from where she's puttng the last touches on a rather small amount of white fabric - which is to say: someone else sewed it, and she's just making sure it's still intact. Spotting the healer, a slow grin appears and she moves to the edge of her cot. "Hopeful," she calls out.
Siyavri also has a notebook, though hers is tucked carefully under one arm as she makes her way through the doorway and down one of the aisles so that she can rest her behind on the end of one of the cots. "It seems as though the eggs may even hatch this very afternoon - I thought I might check up on you all." She's ignoring Ruchik, except for a moment's glower in his direction. Actually, she's probably ignoring Khrysta, too. "Restless? Anxious? Excited? I'm glad /you/ don't mind my presence, Citlali."
"Healers can be wherever they want," is Citlali's wisdom on that; even if the candidate barracks are supposed to be sacred ground, or something, there's something even more important about being accessible to healers. She puts her pen down, unsafely on the cot, and appears to stop and consider -- not actually noting that she's got the most of Siyavri's attention of the three who spoke up. "Is excitedly anxious an option? Because I'd pick that one."
Ruchik repositions himself with some crab-walking and awkward shuffling. The result is to have his back blocking Siyavri's view, more than anyone else's, of what he's doing. A few more objects into the pack, and as he's closing the trunk, he can't keep, "Good thing Citlali speaks for everyone who has a claim here." The pack is shouldered, but he stays near his cot for now. "Especially to someone who doesn't." Ignoring her ignoring. Citlali gets a somewhat-better-natured, "If someone's lost limbs, maybe." Louder, "Anyone lost a finger?"
Khrysta gives Ruchik's back a look, then murmurs - slightly less quiet than she may have intended, "I wouldn't mind a phsyical to find out?" After all - just because the healer is ignoring her, doesn't mean the blonde is going to return the favor.
It's Khrysta's remark that makes Siyavri blanche, it having been just loud enough for the healer to at least get the gist of it - or perhaps she's simply assuming that anything that particular candidate has to say is going to make her unhappy. It could go either way, really. "I am not," she points out, answering Ruchik even though she's not actually looking at him, "that kind of healer. I'm here to see to your mental state. Does anyone feel as though they are going to vomit? Faint? Excitedly anxious," she adds, turning her attention to Citlali, because hurray, /she/ isn't being awful, "is definitely an option. I imagine I would also be." She flips open her notebook.
Citlali covers her mouth as soon as Ruchik calls out about the finger -- actually, she's covering her entire face in her hand and muffledly laughing into it for a second. Once she's calmed herself down, she shoots him a quick smile before turning her attention back to Siyavri. "Aren't you, a little bit? I mean, I heard you were going to be out there by Iona, and that means the dragonet's'll be near you, too. You won't be dressed as bait, but there's still the -- weird feeling that comes from being out there a little, right?" She's got her head tilted to the side just slightly, curious. "I'm not going to vomit, though. I mean, I don't think so. Not promising. Vomit's unpredictable."
A smirk goes to Khrysta, and then Ruchik shrugs at the pack on his back, and raises one hand. It's held up only a moment, but, not really expecting to be answered, he soon calls on himself. "It matter if the puke feeling just came along with you?" There's more on the tip of his tongue, but with a grunt, he closes his mouth, and starts toward the door. And once he gets to Citlali's bunk, juxtaposition becomes the weapon of the day. Because -Citlali- gets a grin and a wink, just before he turns a glare to the healer.
Khrysta's slow smile gains just a hint of satisified malice as the healer goes pale. However, rather than move in for the overkill, the blonde just lays back on her cot, ignoring the robe laid out. "Ready for it to be over, I think."
"Bait. Is that how you see it?" It's a genuine question, and one that, having been asked, is more or less directed at all of them by a sweeping glance from the healer. "However, the answer is no: I am interested to watch, but it is really only an observation." Siyavri turns her pencil in her hand, fingers twisting around the thin wooden implement; Ruchik's remark, though it draws an unhappy line to her features, is being studiously ignored. Khrysta, however, is no longer subject to that: "I can imagine you are. Any last minute changes of heart? Does anyone want to join the others, and drop out?" Maybe she's hoping Ruchik will. He /does/ get a glance, then.
Over there on his cot, Tovrin is laying down on his back with an arm curled back behind his head like, well, kind of a hard pillow. His eyes are closed but the firelizard is playing by jumping over his legs, crossed at the ankles, to attack the covers of the cot on one side or the other. So it's doubtful he's actually doing any sort of real resting. That and he glances over at the people talking here and there.
Citlali looks extremely wary in her literal position of being in between Siyavri and Ruchik, especially considering Ruchik's present expression, but she's doing her best not to think of it as she actually answers the healer's question. "Not really, not like bait as in for eating; the white robes are sort of symbolizing who they're supposed to pick from first though, yeah? So in a way, that's like bait." Isn't it? "And I agree with wanting it to be over, whatever the outcome. Even though I'd rather not go home," is added, more honestly than usual, for the benefit of the mindhealer present.
"She means bait for impressing," Ruchik offers with a too-nice smile. "Probably because if you really did want to just watch, you could do it from somewhere else. Farther away." It's a line that's been given before, but never with so close an audience, and the trader gives a quick look about his peers to see if there are takers for this opinion. Siyavri's next question brings a mock-concerned look. "Oh, you're not thinking of dropping out after coming so far, are you?" To the healer again. The others are ignored, their usefulness temporarily worn out for him.
While some people are resting, Barrett has been out having his second bath of the day, evidently. Because cleanliness is next to godliness, or whatever it is Pernese people would call the equivalent. He returns to the barracks with hair still damp, dressed but barefoot, carrying his shoes and therefore walking immediately to set them down in a tidy little line next to his bed. "Hello there, pretty boy," he offers sweetly to the next cot over. Not to Tovrin so much as the firelizard that's been bothering him.
Siyavri is beginning to sound a little irritated, though she's doing her best to stave it off. "I will be watching from /up close/," never mind that she's probably not really on good terms with either Iona or Imogen right about now, "for the purposes of research. I am not going to steal your dragon." So much for ignoring Ruchik, either. Her chin rises, set into disapproving stubbornness, and she adds, rather more generally, "Well, only a few hours. Perhaps afterwards, some of us can get over our petty vendettas."
Whether the pretty boy comment was for the firelizard or not, Tovrin opens his eyes to shoot a quick glare at Barrett. Then he pushes at the firelizard, who is now more focused on the boy the next cot over, away from his legs. "Hope the dragons in them eggs are smarter than the people that searched all of us."
"Same one Searched you as me. Although I'm still not sure he meant me." Barrett gets out a comb to start taking it through his hair, getting everything back in place with a hand mirror. If this thing is going to happen imminently, he's not going to go more than five minutes looking anything less than perfectly put together. "I'm nervous. My parents are coming. Someone went to get them an hour or so ago. I feel like I should go say hello when they get here, but at the same time--do you think that would look weird to people?" Yes, he's evidently asking Tovrin for this advice, although more than loud enough that perhaps someone more helpful will pick up on it.
Citlali overhears Barrett, all the more helpfully giving her an excuse not to actually end up more than physically in the middle of Ruchik and Siyavri. "No, that's not weird," she calls over. "If my parents were coming -- okay, well, if people I /liked/ were coming from out of the Weyr I'd go say hi when they showed up."
"There's a dragon even wants you, it better damned well not even -look- at me," Ruchik states flatly, sincerely, to Siyavri. Barrett's entrance is noted with an almost-roll of his eyes, but there's no extended watching as the godly(?) candidate makes his way further into the barracks. Citlali's call to Barrett brings some vague attention as well, but there is certainly no comment to that effect. And the trader takes a few steps more toward the door, where he can lean on a wall and stare.
Khrysta just listens, sprawled on her cot as the younglings go about the worries and concerns - not that she's relaxed - too much tension for that.
Tovrin goes back to having his eyes closed and looking calmly comfortable in the possibility that this might finally all be over soon. "Don't think it's weird," he agrees with Citlali. "Wearing those damned white things is weird. You might want to go say hi before we end up having to put those on."
"No dragon is going to want me," snaps Siyavri; to hell with this being pseudo-civil. "I am /not/ a Candidate." Just-- a healer. Hanging out with the Candidates. Sitting on one of their cots. "Thankfully, I can't imagine any dragon would want /you/, either." Was her chin in the air before? It's now higher than ever. And so much for taking notes: she looks rather more like she'd like to break the pencil in her hands. Preferably over Ruchik's head.
"Oh, right," Ruchik nods, answering Siyavri's chin-tilts up by tilting his chin down, and glaring under his caveman brow, all the while maintaining that cowboy-silhouette type lean. "Because that's how come they don't have the sands roped off or special galleries. Because the dragons only go for candidates." He looks for a moment like he's getting ready to spit, but holds it. Instead, he gives a grumbled, "Just admit you're cheating. You'll feel better. That's real science-research advice, by the way."
Citlali opens her mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. Words /finally/ come out: "Can we not," she tries, "raise the anxiety level anymore? Everyone's tense, nervous; if you two kill each other that'll just throw a wrench into everyone's attempts not to be terrified." It's said in a quiet and unassuming voice, though; Citlali the peacemaker is on duty, and doesn't want to incite even more argument by interjecting.
"I am /not/--" Surprising, Citlali's outburst (however controlled and unassuming) actually works: Siyavri goes silent, breaking off from her furious self-defence in quiet surprise. Instead of continuing, she crosses her arms and looks murderous, clutching her notebook and pencil tightly within her hands.
Merci enters after pushing aside the large brown and black cloth which covers the entrance.
Ruchik just smirks. It's a smirk of victory. And with nothing more to say, he just stays staring at Siyavri. Winning.
"... bet we could get some mud or batter, if you two are going to get physical about things," Khrysta offers from her sprawl on the cot.
BAM! Oh, Siyavri will have plenty to write in her notes about /this/ particular entrance. Merci stands there, hands on her hips as she bellows, "Gitcher robes on!" No need to elaborate, not that the brownrider's the type. The collective hum seems to thrum through even the ground of the Weyr, steadily gaining volume and intensity. Even Fang, perched on her should is giving his snarling trill.
To be continued --
