Scavenger Hunt: Erarei and Rhaenyra sneak a bucket past Healer Mykalie

Row upon row of stone benching rises above the Hatching Grounds, seats for those who come to watch the incredible experience that is a hatching. Each individual seat is embellished with a worn cushion, the only concession to comfort in a place that traps heat, holding it within so that those who watch are inflicted with its intensity, though on a milder level than those who must stand and face the dragonets. The expanse of sand that is the hatching grounds spreads out in front of the benches, a huge stage for a spectacular show.
Type 'help here' for info on how to view objects on the sands.
To the north, you see a blue dragon.
Settled along stone are eleven firelizards.
You see a drudge and Bryndon here.
Erarei is here.
Obvious exits:
Dragon Ledges Stairs

Erarei started off with good intentions. A heavily thatched broom leans unused at a slouched forty-degree angle against the primary railing. But good intentions do not a tidy galleries make. The girls forearms are also taking advantage of the rail as she stares at the dragons brood. Alto at a dispassionate provocation, "come on. Hatch. I dare you."

Once upon a time, there was a bucket. There was also a Rhaenyra holding said bucket. And the bucket and Rhaenyra lived happi— oh wait. Forgot the middle part. Rhae trudges into the galleries, carrying a mop and a dry bucket; she ventures a glance 'cross the newly-recushioned seats, and said gaze drops to Erarei, as she is close. "They say it shouldn't be too long now, at all," Rhae opines as she gracelessly flops down next to her fellow candidate.

From the sands, Mynwiyath stirs, shifting her weight away from the comfortable solidity of Bandeleth and letting her wings rustle, the damaged wing straining against its splints. She does not stand, and her eyes do not open, but her massive form moves.

Erarei's chin lifts up from piled arms, red welts temporarily left on both. "I have never experienced a longer three weeks and two days." A sucker for minutiae. "Is there any chance we can pile on those when the time is ripe?" She too hasn't missed the plush benefits of the gallery upholstery. Back to the sands her gaze skims Mynwiyath. "Kind of sorry for a dragon to look that way, huh."

Rhaenyra's gaze is drawn to the shifting Mynwiyath as well. She leans back, and then glances askance to Erarei. "Kind of sorry?" She shakes her head. "More than sorry." Her voice is pitched softly, but pensive reserve fills her next words: "Did you hear about the find in the catacombs?" Discussion of endless waiting is dismissed at more gossip; go figure. You'd think this was High Reaches or something.

Erarei licks the taste of breakfast from her lips when a proper napkin went unavailable. She retains scrutiny of the senior gold's dismal condition for several seconds more. "Which one is that, now? I take it it came from those chunks of documents the Weyr is so fond of forgetting? Or mayhaps someone else lost their virginity in there." Dark eyes glitter proactively.

Rhaenyra eyes Erarei a long moment. She's only deflowered two people, really. At least in recent months, that is. "The girl," she replies, tone droll; "The dead one, packed away in a crate and sprinkled with lime." Oh yeah. THAT find.

Three weeks and two days ago Erarei would have shown some hallmarks of hysteria and other patterns of distress. Now, she's close to bullet proof. "Oh /that/ one!" Recognition clicks like cogs do, her face cants high. "Most bizarre. Has her identity yet been found?" Creepy she's not quite developed an immunity to. "And to think how often we were in there with…her."

Rhaenyra supresses a shudder. "You know, it does make me wonder. In all the times we've been down in the catacombs, I don't believe I've ever seen anyone -excepting- candidates." Her voice turns pointed. "What if it was…" Her voice drops a level yet again, to barely over a murmur, "…one of us?" Krummolt conspiracy theories run rampant in the Herder candidate's mind, yet go unvoiced.

Erarei's eyes grab a little more diameter to them, widening across to her busom buddy (though Rhaen gets the unfair advantage there). "You know, you are right. It /is/ rather forbidden. Most simple folk of the Weyr abide by rules. If I were to wager properly I would put marks on Jhairecki," his name colored by her accent, "but someone, too, could want us to think it was a candidate who did it. Or it was only a convenient place." She should have been a guard.

Rhaenyra has many people who are busom buddies. Well. "Jhairecki?" Her tone, surprisingly, turns to one of affront. "-Jhairecki-?" Decible level rises in pitch with her look of 'wtf-ery'. "Jhai would never do something like that." There's a pause, as Rhaenyra ponders which words to get across her statement correctly, and she finally drawls, "The boy's much too lazy for all that." The truth hurts. Her eyes narrow, thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Maybe it was Iasri." Nevernomind that Ias was there when Chey fell, and everyone seems to be linking the two incidents…

Mykalie comes up the stairs.

Erarei submits her bottom to the luxury of velour for a pristine moment. "You always have to look out for the lazy ones. They are often the smartest of them all. But I have no bias." One side of her mouth accommodates a smirk. "And maybe it was my cousin in the Keroon foothills," apparently Iasri as a suspect of anything other than antagonistic is too far a leap for Erarei to endorse. "Poor her though, and I hope her family suffers not." A change of subject is ripe. "What do we need to accomplish to beat Team One anyway? I can steal some time." The broom won't tattle.

Rhaenyra glances about her, shifting topics quickly enough. Doom and gloom can wait. "We have a -list-," she states. "I think we have some of the hardest things already, though." Her gaze cuts down to the Sands below, and her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Shall we nab a bucket, or fill this one?" She gestures with her empty mopping-bucket.

"And just what are you two planning?" asks a quiet, somewhat gravelly voice as Mykalie crosses arms over her chest, eyeing the two as thought hey were miscreants. After all, all young people are miscreants, aren't they?

Erarei positions herself further into the little piece of divinity that are plush cushions. These will likely be reserved for Pern's incoming elite. "That one!" Erarei makes the executive decision and is on her feet and swinging under the railing like the acrobat she is. She buries her hands into the unique composition of sand grains and readies to scoop.

Great. Erarei goes into action and a Healer comes up. Thus, Rhaenyra does what Rhaenyra does best: improvise. (AKA, lie like hell, and creatively, and try to look Official.) "We're gathering a sample from the Sands, to make sure that there was no cross-contamination from the old Sands that were here." She reaches out with the bucket, over to Erarei. "The Headman said something about luck, and the old sands being lucky, and we are to physically spread it out and see if any of the sands bear the old Sands colorations."

Mykalie raises her eyebrows sardonically. "I see." One ong finger taps a practically nonexistant bicep. "Annnd..what does the Headman propose do do if they are — contaminated, is that the word?" Lips twitch in amusement, and she shifts on her feet. "I'd be interested to know." Of course she would. Yup.

Mastermind, accomplice, irrelevant. Lying and hemoglobin both travel Erarei's veins. "Naturally there are luck potions for that," her haste has evolved into a more natural packing of sand tucked right close to the base construction. "But we hope for the best. People need their superstitions." Seeing Mykalie for the first time, using a 'whatcha gonna do?' manner of appearance.

"I would imagine that as soon as the eggs hatch, we would be having yet another removal of sand and replacement with new sand," Rhaenyra replies to Mykalie, tone correct. "As we did under Weyrwoman Chey's guidance before Mynwiyath clutched." At least she has past precidence to go upon! She cuts her eyes Erarei-ways. Don't overdo it, Robin, the thoughts in her head transfers via telepathy. Or just the look on her face.

"Interesting," Mykalie drawls, amused. "Very interesting." What a strange Weyr she finds herself in - one that changes its Sands often. For spurious reasons. Or perhaps theyre up to something else. Ah, well. Far be it from her to stop them. "Well. Don't let that gold catch you. She might bite."

"It is not like the eggs could be moved anyway." The Law of Deception calls for one truth bolstered by a network of plausible, and short, fibbed fiction. Erarei completes the filling of Rhaenyra's bucket and ducks carefully under the railing. "Oh she would bite," Rei concurs with a sudden disposition of sunshine, "that is why I am leaving."

Mykalie snorts. "Smart girl. Maybe you ought to tell your friend that." She isn't decieved. Not one bit. But - this whole thing is just too amusing to discourage. Therefore, she settles herself on a convenient seat and crosses her legs. She intends to watch. Carefully.

"Indeed, we should get this sample to the Headman quickly," Rhaenyra declaims, lifting the bucket and standing. "Unfortunately, I doubt Mynwiyath is in any condition to chase us," Rhaenyra states with a slight depressed quality to her voice. "Bandeleth may give us a run, though." She glances to her Searcher, with the overlarge wings, and then turns her gaze back to Erarei. "Shall we depart?"

Erarei waves Rhaenyra's self onward in a repeated gyration of one hand that soon manifests into a hearty wave for the healer to provide both coverage and graciousness. "Bye!" Quickly hushed, "best not linger in case the dragons fault you for our duty." Yes. Duty. "I do not completely think those creatures magnanimous."

Mykalie SNORTS. "You /do/ realize they can tell the difference between one human and another, right?"

Erarei's voice carries nicely. It's a gift really. "Dragons are not that logical!" Maternal instincts in a queen crystallize those sentiments as she has learned through her brief, though productive, tenure.

Mykalie sniffs delicate-like. "Do not forget to schedule your physical with me." With that quiet remark, she decides to take her leave. Lest someone accuse her of fraternzation.

Mykalie goes out.italic text

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