Auryn becomes a Candidate

July 7th 2003
Logged by Pyrene


Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Scattered about in various perches and niches are fifty firelizards.
Kibai, Auryn, Llewellyn, Kalaeya, Michel, and Sarah are here.

The Istan woman's smile wans as she nods slowly. "Oh, umm, sure thing, Michel, if … you want." Shards, she comes for a visit and gets work. A mentee's work is never done, it seems. "What do you need done.. exactly?" she asks tentatively, taking a seat near the man and crossing her legs under the table.
[OOC:] Sarah mehs. Mine.

Kibai chuckles, leaning a hip up against the table. "Terrible. I know, Llewellyn. But you love me for it. And you can't get enough. Admit it." Feral grin ensues. Two can play at this. After all, they have before.

Michel chuckles at Llewellyn's pouting complaint. "Dignity? Who ever said Candidates had any kind of dignity?" he says, just can't help teasing, you know. Turning back to the Istan he answers, "Oh, you know how Autumn is here in the Weyr. All sorts of things to pick over, store in the cold caverns, pickle or salt or preserve in some way. We can't use all of it fresh."

Pyrene slips back in, looking successfully refrazzled. "Any buns left?" she pleads with Kibai, before turning a lopsided grin on Michel. "How're the candidates going as cooks? I hear Kibai can and Llew can't, but what's the overall ratio of natural born bakers to not?"

Llewellyn looks up from under thick lashes at Kibai. Why, that little..candidate. "If that keeps your ego working, you keep thinking that, dear." Nose is wrinkled just so. "There are…others." Innocence personified, he turns back towards Pyrene.

Lis ambles aimlessly in from the Central Bowl.

Kibai reaches over to push the tray in Pyrene's direction as hint that there are, indeed, more sticky buns to be had. "Certainly, Weyrwoman." He nods his head to her, and then looks back over to Llewellyn, "True…" He shrugs his shoulders though, dusting his hands off on his apron.

Auryn has finished her obligatory mug of klah now, and then it must be time for a real drink - juice! She slides off her chair and gets a glass of the red liquid, snagging another stickybun as she goes by without asking for permission. After all, they're there to be /eaten/, are they not?

Sarah bites her lower lip and continues to nod slowly. "Ahh, yes. I should have known," she says with a wave of the hand. "Been away too long, I think." Shrugging, the blonde's gaze turns to the Kitchens. "I'd be glad to help." Pausing for a moment, she blinks. "Everything still goes in the same place, right? Because I fear I won't be much help if you've reorganized things." Turning towards the others, she blinks. Candidates? Joy.

Michel nods in greeting to Pyrene and shrugs slightly. "Well, I'd say that we have a plethora of those who want to cook over those who know how. As far as the individuals themselves, I'm not sure yet. They've not been assigned to actually cook for all that long after all." he says. Not that he'd allow anyone who doesn't know what they are doing to actually be responsible for any dish in particular. Shaking his head at Sarah, "No, things are still in the same places as when you were here….I'd never get things done if they were moved about."

Pyrene gratefully takes a bun, lounging against a table. She'd sit down, but she may never get up again. "Happy about Donis, Lis?" she asks by way of greeting her friend. "And more to the point… did you ever teach him to cook? Tyara apparently got that far with Auryn here, even if she didn't get her to sew properly." Michel earns a sympathetic grimace. "We can start vetting them for cooking skills, if you like?"

Aww. He's gone and messed with Kibai's ego. Oh well. Llew munches on a sticky bun, enjoying both victory and snack with relish.

Lis puffs in from the cold, keeping her gloves on until halfway across the cavern - when she starts to feel fingers again. The subject of Donis brings a grimace to the greenrider's face, but she wedges her way into a seat next to Pyrene, admitting, "Well, at least he's less likely to get killed being a candidate than a guard." Cheerful.

Auryn grinds her teeth together and /glares/ at Pyrene. "Mother didn't /teach/ me anything," she informs the goldrider with much haughtiness, crossing her arms defiantly across her chest. "'Specially nothing about cooking. She doesn't know how to cook at all; she's only good with /other/ people's children." Ouch, ouch. (And one might argue whether Tyara is actually good at that.) The entering Lis receives a semi-pleading look - she's going to stand up for the poor brats, isn't she?

Kibai frowns momentarily, giving his hands another dusting, and then the teenager turns back to the kitchens. "I should be helping start with the afternoon meal, at least before one of the cooks takes to bellowing my name." And with that, he starts away.

Michel chuckles at Pyrene and shakes his head. "No, no need for that, Pyrene. Otherwise you'd have a weyr full of cooks and I'd be out of a job." he says. "I'm sure that they'll pick up lots of skill at it by the end of Candidacy anyway." He sighs softly as he drains his klah and stands. "Well, I guess since Sarah is here to help I should get started on the storage caverns. Send the candidates to me whenever you've finished with them, please?"

Kibai goes home.

Sarah nods to Michel before standing and heading for the Kitchen door. "Happy to help," she chirps before grinning. "Just be very happy I didn't bring Rhamera along, or else we'd get NOTHING done." Smirking, she pushes the door open and heads inside, waving to the others briefly.
Sarah heads north into the redolent depths of the kitchens.

Pyrene shrugs casually at Michel. "Fair enough. I believe we wanted them to learn to cook, although I have my doubts about this idea working. I can just see Donis destroying himself in his attempts to bake cakes." That last is an unsubtle dig at Lis, although it's Auryn's temper that she next addresses. "Well, who did teach you to cook then? And why didn't they teach you to sew? Did you know…" She turns to Llewellyn now, "Auryn's mother still mends her clothes for her? At her age too."

"Pyrene, that's not funny," Lis yelps, looking like she's in half a mind to hit Pyrene, and if it weren't for present company, she would. "I embroided my own shirt when I was an apprentice. Fourteen Turns," the greenrider provides, piping up unhelpfully.

Auryn blushes a crimson red and slams her mug down on the table. "She does not…!" It starts off as a screech, but then the brat levels her voice some. "She does /not/ mend my clothes. She doesn't have to." As in, Auryn tears it and talks her girlfriends into mending it for her, mostly. "The cooks taught me how," she replies sourly, "and I learned a lot by myself. I'm not stupid!" She glares daggers at Pyrene, daring the woman to contradict that, even as her flush evens out a bit. She isn't compassionate towards others, though; she suffers the most from Pyrene's humiliation. Everyone else should feel sorry for /her/.

Llewellyn walks to the Hearth.

Pyrene nods at Lis. "I was mending and making clothes before I was eight. Well…" The truth will out. "Helping to make clothes anyway." She considers Auryn. "So you're capable of making clothes, hmm? At 14 turns you should be. I was making clothes for half of the brats out of cast-offs when I was your age."

Lis rolls her eyes behind Pyrene's back - or at least attempts to - for poor Auryn's sake. "…and you walked in the snow barefoot and didn't have meat and had to eat salted fish all year 'round. Yes, yes, yes."

Auryn is taken slightly aback by that question, and she tries not to lose her cool as she stares at Pyrene. "/Make/ clothes? Err, well… I don't have to. Lotsa clothes at the Weyr. Gotta be some rewards for all the hard work I do 'round here," she states fiercely, her face beginning to ontain a normal color once again. "Not like I have /time/ to make my own clothes." Because she works so much harder than anyone ever did, y'know. Lis gets a giggle for her efforts, even if it's not in earnest.
[OOC:] Auryn says "The giggle not in earnest, not Lis' efforts. ;)"

Pyrene leans back and stares down her nose at Auryn. "You never know when you'll need to make clothes," she lectures her, before suddenly switching addressee. "Lis? Can Donis make clothes?"

Lis blinks thoughtfully, head cocked as she pulls up the information, admitting, "You know, I don't think he can. He always said it was a girl's job. But that was five Turns ago. And I'm sure he had to alter that jacket of D'renn's - he's such a rangy thing."

Auryn scowls at Pyrene once again. "I won't have to, s'long as I live here," she insists, lips twinting into a pretty little sulk. "And I'm going to live here forever!" That's a threat if you ever saw one. "Why'd he have to make clothes? He's a /boy/. Boys can't do stuff like that." Said with much despise for boys.

Donis arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Pyrene nods solemnly at Auryn. "Yes… but now Donis is going to have to make a candidate robe, boy or not." And speak of the devil. "Donis - can you make your own clothes? Auryn here is under the impression that you don't have to, although I can assure you, she's wrong." She glances at Lis again, in shared maternal despair. "What /are/ the harpers teaching them?"

What has Donis walked into? He doesn't even have any chore-apparatus to hide behind, either… "Good day, Mum, Weyrwoman Pyrene." he says politely, adding, "Lo, Auryn." One hand rubs self-consciously across his short hair. "I can sew, but I don't know if I could make clothes properly," is his answer.

Auryn's scowl deepens even more - she's going to look like a retarded wherry if she doesn't stop soon - at the mention of candidate's robes. "Ha! You can get those from the storage rooms as well," she mutters, suddenly not so cocky. "Hiya, Donis," she does say in a slightly more audible tone of voice - after all, it's not his fault Pyrene is using him to pick on her.

"Hello Donis," replies Lis curtly, adding in an aside to Auryn - "But they're usually full of holes, and always in the most embarassing places" - before greeting her son properly. "You /are/ going to learn to sew properly, or at least find someone who can do it for you, before you get on the Sands? I don't want to be the mother of the candidate who showed everyone his rear end."

Pyrene nods calmly at Auryn. "You can, although I've been nudging the aunties to use them for patches lately. Robe-making is the first step towards strap-making, after all. Every candidate has to make their own robe if they want to Stand for Cadgwith's clutch - and for Nissionath's," she adds, remembering the stipulation she's already made to Donis. Shaking her head of that memory, she focuses more carefully on Auryn, amused. "Would you like to Stand for the clutches, Auryn? Promise you'll make yourself a robe, and I'll provide you with the right knot."

Auryn makes yet another clattering sound with her mug, though this is from surprise rather than anger. "Stand? Me?! But… mother will never allow it!" Surprise turns into brief joy and then into a dark expression. "She says I'm not ready for't. But I dunno when I will be if I'm not now!"

"Oh, that sounds so familiar," Donis laments at Auryn's outburst, pouring himself a mug of klah and sitting down by Lis. "I can sew, I can, honest Mum." Yeah, right. "Or if Auryn's going to be a Candidate, maybe I can bribe her." He gives Pyrene a long look. "You're really unfair, you know, Weyrwoman." Authority breeds no fear in this lad.

Lis bothers a drudge for a plate of something-or-other - probably creampuffs - and perches her chin on folded fingers, lips curling up at Auryn as she offers a lightly sarcastic 'Next Search?' with a side of flippancy. "She can't sew either, Donis, or so Py says." Consider the source.

Pyrene twitches her shoulder. "Tyara does not make the decision on who is ready to Stand for Cadgwith's clutch. I do that." And she sends Donis a scathing look. "Anyway, you won't be doing anything unless you promise to make that robe." She pulls a white knot out of her pocket (keeps them handy for emergencies) and waves it at her. "A knot for a promise… And it would annoy your mother to boot. Isn't that worth pricked fingers?"

"They made /me/ wait," Donis grumbles, mouth open in an incredulous (and gormless) stare. "I can't believe /Auryn/….. Urgh." The lad shuts up and scowls into his klah. "If she can't sew, then she's no use," he mutters very quietly.

Auryn definitely looks tempted at the 'annoy mother' part of the deal. And she can always get Kaleen to help her with the robe… Donis gets a dirty look, but since she couldn't hear exactly what he said, she decides to leave it be. For now. "I guess I can try," she says haughtily, as if granting Pyrene a great favor by agreeing to Stand. "Does Druseth think I'm ready??" How typical a question, considering the source.

Lis bickers with Donis, for the sheer familiarity of it. "Life's not fair. Besides, she's a year older than you were. I can't help it the dragons rise when they do." Taking a creampuff as the plate arrives, she pushes them over towards her son, bribe-like.

Pyrene rolls her eyes. "Ask Lylia," she mutters, flipping the girl the knot. "Of course, Donis, that's the whole point. Auryn /didn't/ ask. C'mon, girl," and she heads off barracks-wards.

You survived! Escaping through the heavy canvas curtain you arrive here…
Candidate Barracks Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.
Resting atop the doorframe are twenty firelizards.
Celeste and Kibai are here.

Living Caverns> Auryn pays no attention to Lis or Donis as she bolts from her chair, eagerly following Pyrene into the Weyr.

Auryn escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

Kynance> Donis will happily accept a bribe of a cream-puff, but it doesn't stop him frowning. "/Not/ fair." he mutters again, and bites ferociously into his creampuff.

Pyrene waves Auryn into the barracks and promptly walks out again. "You know the drill and if not, ask the others," she calls behind her.

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