Log: Pre-Hatching RP
Who: Ajatha, Betegal, Carobet, Fashythise, Isziyo, Mikandros, Milani, Whitchek, NPC: Alieva
When: Midday, 11/18/19
Where: Candidate Quarters, High Reaches Weyr
What: The headwoman and staff deliver some fresh linens to the Barracks and then the eggs go a-rocking. Madness!
Candidate Quarters, High Reaches Weyr(#286RAJ)
Two caverns lead one right into the other from a hallway just off the Common Room. Taking advantage of the high, vaulted ceiling, bunk beds march in four neat rows of five beds each allowing up to forty people to sleep in one cavern. Functional and spartan in atmosphere, there's little in the way of decoration here, just the one tapestry depicting a hatching on the wall of the first cavern and eggs on the sands in the second.
Each bunk is made up when there are candidates in residence, with standard sheeting, gray woollen blankets and somewhat lumpy pillows. A trunk stands at both the head and foot of the bunks, providing a little space for the occupants to store their belongings while the wait for the eggs to hatch. The archway between the two spaces is covered over with a hide hanging, easily hooked back when both caverns are in use, but tacked into place when only the first is needed. A proper wooden door closes out noise and drafts from the hallway.
Isziyo is here, yo. Why is he here, and not in the kitchens, helping out with the feast? It's his restday, shardit, and he's not going to worry about anything but sleeping. Can't you /hear/ those snores?
Milani comes in with an armload of linens and Alieva on her heels, checking over cots with a brisk air. Check, check, everything in order? Maybe? Or not. Because there's a snoring Isziyo over yonder and her lips purse faintly. Linens are left atop an un-used cot and the headwoman heads over while Alieva starts distributing fresh sheets.
Isziyo really would jump to and offer to help Milani with whatever she needs help with. However, he's sawin' logs right now, and thus too preoccupied with that little thing called dreaming to really worry about the headwoman and her heading-his-way.
All morning is cloudy, the sky that dull gray that heralds snow in the forecast. Sometime around noon, it finally begins: the first snowstorm of the season, slowly but steadily whitening the bare ground. By mid-afternoon, there's an inch or so built up, and then--then the dragons start to hum. The noise vibrates the very stones, and, snow or no snow, the Weyr rapidly becomes a flurry of activity as everyone rushes to places in time for the hatching.
Even from whever she had been stations with the preparations for the Hatching, Ajatha has heard the humming and thrumming fromt he dragons and apparently been racing through the weyr, since she comes into the barracks at nearly a dead run, really, with her skirts flying around her ankles. Skidding to a halt before she can crash into anyone, she drags in a breath and smoothes her ruffled feathers and whatnot. She can note people, really. But she's here. Late. But here.
Milani pauses at the foot of Isziyo's cot and reaches out to shake one big foot. "Isziyo, why aren't you --" she gets cut off as that first thrum vibrates through the Weyr and instead of sending the candidate to the kitchens, she raises her voice. "Get /UP!/" is the simple command instead, though Milani seems less than flustered. "It's time."
Whitchek arrives back in the barracks, pale as death, muttering to himself. "They're here," it goes. "Here. *Here*." Like a litany. "They're not supposed to be here. They're not allowed to be here. This isn't happening. It's not happening. It's not..." Only it is happening, and in the mass of activity he's left scrambling as much as everyone else.
Mikandros is somewhere in that flurry of activity, trying not to flatten anyone on his mad dash back to the barracks. Maybe he was in the same place as Ajatha, maybe nearby, or maybe just needed to be more careful threading through people, because he races in right on her heels. "Isziyo!" he roars, totally unaware that his pal is sleeping, just trying to locate him in all the hullabaloo.
AAAAAAAAAH. Isziyo jerks aright as woken from the dead. Close enough, right? The big candidate blinks blearily at Milani, looks around, and then /really/ freaks, scrambling off his cot. One foot doesn't get correct purchase from the ground, and he measures his length on the floor, right in front of Ajatha. Oh hey, there, cute blondie-partner. Let me be a clutz in front of you. There's hardly a second before he's scrambling upwards. "Mikandros!" his deep rumble hollers back at his name. "To your left! No, not that left! Your other left!"
Alieva moves about in the group now, linens forgotten, helping to get robes on and making sure everyone's got shoes. "You really don't want to walk out there barefoot!" the headwoman's assistant claims. Milani flinches a little at all the roaring and yelling. "QUIET PLEASE!" she raises her voice above the hullaballoo. "Get dressed and follow me to the hatching grounds please, it's just this way."
Fashythise is a dirty, dirty girl. As she's had to spend the majority of her day scrubbing the galleries. Finally back in her cot, she happily just lays there, in her own filth, uncaring. "I refuse to bathe." She states, to really anyone who listens. The dirt looks quite nice with her black and blue eye. So hot. The candidates start moving and with a nonchalant air about her, Fash kicks her feet back, gets up, and finds that robe of hers. All wrinkly and fantastic, just how she likes it. Hair is left spikey, of course. And while she may act all cool and collected, her left eye is twitching like mad, belaying hthe franticness.
Betegal isn't pale. He's flushed, which probably means his heart it beating a little too fast. He has no one he looks to for support but when a younger candidate looks just as lost and ready to bolt as he does, he touches their shoulder and squeezes reassuringly before helping them and getting himself ... not ready, but at least correct.
Ajatha flops onto one of the beds, rather than climbing up to her own. Then again, she might just be trying to be able to start a regular breathing pattern again. Her scavenger hunting partner's appearing at er feet draws a lazy smile his way, her teeth flashing and her manner soothing, as if she were totally calm in the face of the situation. Whit's yammering fains a glance, though. "Whit! Be quiet, don't freak out. Breathe, seriously. You're going to be just fine!" Beads flash in her hair, and rather than fuss with taking them out, she abruptly drags her hair back into a quick ponytail and starts to go after her robe and whatnot. "Mik! Iszy! You're standing with me!" There's not a question there. She mean it! But, someone calls for quiet, so she drops into it, getting ready.
Whitchek is robed, shoe'd, presentable, hopefully not delectable, still looking as wan as he's ever been. And there it is. Time. "This isn't happening," he repeats again under his breath, like that could make it go away. But--breathe. Breathe. He's really trying to do that. And then--heading out, along with the others.
When: Midday, 11/18/19
Where: Candidate Quarters, High Reaches Weyr
What: The headwoman and staff deliver some fresh linens to the Barracks and then the eggs go a-rocking. Madness!
Candidate Quarters, High Reaches Weyr(#286RAJ)
Two caverns lead one right into the other from a hallway just off the Common Room. Taking advantage of the high, vaulted ceiling, bunk beds march in four neat rows of five beds each allowing up to forty people to sleep in one cavern. Functional and spartan in atmosphere, there's little in the way of decoration here, just the one tapestry depicting a hatching on the wall of the first cavern and eggs on the sands in the second.
Each bunk is made up when there are candidates in residence, with standard sheeting, gray woollen blankets and somewhat lumpy pillows. A trunk stands at both the head and foot of the bunks, providing a little space for the occupants to store their belongings while the wait for the eggs to hatch. The archway between the two spaces is covered over with a hide hanging, easily hooked back when both caverns are in use, but tacked into place when only the first is needed. A proper wooden door closes out noise and drafts from the hallway.
Isziyo is here, yo. Why is he here, and not in the kitchens, helping out with the feast? It's his restday, shardit, and he's not going to worry about anything but sleeping. Can't you /hear/ those snores?
Milani comes in with an armload of linens and Alieva on her heels, checking over cots with a brisk air. Check, check, everything in order? Maybe? Or not. Because there's a snoring Isziyo over yonder and her lips purse faintly. Linens are left atop an un-used cot and the headwoman heads over while Alieva starts distributing fresh sheets.
Isziyo really would jump to and offer to help Milani with whatever she needs help with. However, he's sawin' logs right now, and thus too preoccupied with that little thing called dreaming to really worry about the headwoman and her heading-his-way.
All morning is cloudy, the sky that dull gray that heralds snow in the forecast. Sometime around noon, it finally begins: the first snowstorm of the season, slowly but steadily whitening the bare ground. By mid-afternoon, there's an inch or so built up, and then--then the dragons start to hum. The noise vibrates the very stones, and, snow or no snow, the Weyr rapidly becomes a flurry of activity as everyone rushes to places in time for the hatching.
Even from whever she had been stations with the preparations for the Hatching, Ajatha has heard the humming and thrumming fromt he dragons and apparently been racing through the weyr, since she comes into the barracks at nearly a dead run, really, with her skirts flying around her ankles. Skidding to a halt before she can crash into anyone, she drags in a breath and smoothes her ruffled feathers and whatnot. She can note people, really. But she's here. Late. But here.
Milani pauses at the foot of Isziyo's cot and reaches out to shake one big foot. "Isziyo, why aren't you --" she gets cut off as that first thrum vibrates through the Weyr and instead of sending the candidate to the kitchens, she raises her voice. "Get /UP!/" is the simple command instead, though Milani seems less than flustered. "It's time."
Whitchek arrives back in the barracks, pale as death, muttering to himself. "They're here," it goes. "Here. *Here*." Like a litany. "They're not supposed to be here. They're not allowed to be here. This isn't happening. It's not happening. It's not..." Only it is happening, and in the mass of activity he's left scrambling as much as everyone else.
Mikandros is somewhere in that flurry of activity, trying not to flatten anyone on his mad dash back to the barracks. Maybe he was in the same place as Ajatha, maybe nearby, or maybe just needed to be more careful threading through people, because he races in right on her heels. "Isziyo!" he roars, totally unaware that his pal is sleeping, just trying to locate him in all the hullabaloo.
AAAAAAAAAH. Isziyo jerks aright as woken from the dead. Close enough, right? The big candidate blinks blearily at Milani, looks around, and then /really/ freaks, scrambling off his cot. One foot doesn't get correct purchase from the ground, and he measures his length on the floor, right in front of Ajatha. Oh hey, there, cute blondie-partner. Let me be a clutz in front of you. There's hardly a second before he's scrambling upwards. "Mikandros!" his deep rumble hollers back at his name. "To your left! No, not that left! Your other left!"
Alieva moves about in the group now, linens forgotten, helping to get robes on and making sure everyone's got shoes. "You really don't want to walk out there barefoot!" the headwoman's assistant claims. Milani flinches a little at all the roaring and yelling. "QUIET PLEASE!" she raises her voice above the hullaballoo. "Get dressed and follow me to the hatching grounds please, it's just this way."
Fashythise is a dirty, dirty girl. As she's had to spend the majority of her day scrubbing the galleries. Finally back in her cot, she happily just lays there, in her own filth, uncaring. "I refuse to bathe." She states, to really anyone who listens. The dirt looks quite nice with her black and blue eye. So hot. The candidates start moving and with a nonchalant air about her, Fash kicks her feet back, gets up, and finds that robe of hers. All wrinkly and fantastic, just how she likes it. Hair is left spikey, of course. And while she may act all cool and collected, her left eye is twitching like mad, belaying hthe franticness.
Betegal isn't pale. He's flushed, which probably means his heart it beating a little too fast. He has no one he looks to for support but when a younger candidate looks just as lost and ready to bolt as he does, he touches their shoulder and squeezes reassuringly before helping them and getting himself ... not ready, but at least correct.
Ajatha flops onto one of the beds, rather than climbing up to her own. Then again, she might just be trying to be able to start a regular breathing pattern again. Her scavenger hunting partner's appearing at er feet draws a lazy smile his way, her teeth flashing and her manner soothing, as if she were totally calm in the face of the situation. Whit's yammering fains a glance, though. "Whit! Be quiet, don't freak out. Breathe, seriously. You're going to be just fine!" Beads flash in her hair, and rather than fuss with taking them out, she abruptly drags her hair back into a quick ponytail and starts to go after her robe and whatnot. "Mik! Iszy! You're standing with me!" There's not a question there. She mean it! But, someone calls for quiet, so she drops into it, getting ready.
Whitchek is robed, shoe'd, presentable, hopefully not delectable, still looking as wan as he's ever been. And there it is. Time. "This isn't happening," he repeats again under his breath, like that could make it go away. But--breathe. Breathe. He's really trying to do that. And then--heading out, along with the others.