6/22/2012
09:46 AM
Logfile from Mae.
Candidates' Barracks
Long and low, this large room angles back into the mountain in a near-perfect rectangle, devoid of windows and hearth. A functional room — the black volcanic rock has been painted with a cheerful mural, with the other walls painted in green and orange thoughtfully, before resuming the stark simplicity in the seemingly endless rows of cots that scatter back into the shadows. A small clothespress sits at the end of each puce-covered bed — yes, puce. Every cot sports a rather gaudy and obnoxiously purple cotton coverlet, leftovers from PranksPast. Boys to the right, girls to the left. Enjoy.
Hanging out on a long wooden shelf on the wall are seven firelizards.
You see CANDIDATE INFORMATION BOARD, Grafitti Wall, Skylar's Cot, Mayalei's Cot, Riyn's Cot, Rocco's Cot, Lucian's Cot, Perry's Cot, Ashkir's Cot, Yukie's Cot, Mae's Cot, and A Mural here.
You notice Perry, Yukie, Ashkir, and Lucian asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns
Rocco
Left long enough to brush his shoulders, Rocco's soft, pale ash blonde hair is groomed to perfection - but that doesn't stop it from frequently falling in the way of his big, light blue eyes. The finely-chiselled features of his face leave him looking slightly angular, though the formerly refined slope of his narrow nose has been marred by a small bump that pays tribute to a break or two in the past. Along the curve of his narrow jaw, down to his slender chin, Rocco has a neatly-trimmed, fluffy blonde rendition of a beard; nothing more than a thin strip that's clearly tended on a daily basis. The plump curve of his lips, so often found pouted, is coloured a rosebud pink, the perfect complement to his clear complexion - which, of late, has been kissed by Rukbat to a light golden (and often sunburnt) shade, making the freckles on his cheeks stand out a little more. In terms of his figure, Rocco is slender, willowy, standing a very leggy 5'7. He may be a delicate slip of a man by appearances, but his fine-honed limbs and dainty mannerisms are deceptive of the musculature they truly home, cultured by his craft.
Dressed for Ista's warmth, Rocco wears a light, short-sleeved shirt made from white cotton, the first few buttons left loose while the bottom is tucked neatly into his knee-length, khaki-hued shorts. On his feet he wears a sturdy pair of well-worn - yet well cared-for - ankle boots, the brown leather slightly faded with age, white socks showing neatly folded at the top. His shoulder-length blonde hair is tied back with a thin black ribbon, held in a low ponytail at his nape, and the light hues of his outfit complements his sun-kissed (and more often than not sunburnt) skin. Rocco wears a woven bracelet around his wrist.
White! Rocco's knot is the snowy white braided loop of a Candidate.
He is a young adult of about 21. He is awake and looks alert.
Mae
Freckled. The whims of the sun has sprinkled this girl's face with freckles infinite, their touch generous upon her cheeks and nose. The rest of her pixie figure is cast in an island-born tan, golden with a life much spent outside. Hair that is supposed to be a frizzy chestnut has been further sunbleached, leaving it more a frizzy and fly-away teak. The mass often falls to just shy of her shoulders, but is more often than not set high in pigtails. Her eyes are green, her nose is strong, and there is quite an unfortunate point to her chin. Rather small for her age, activity has left her form slight, yet svelte, and almost boyish still -the beginnings of teenaged awkwardness already evidenced in large feet.
Today is a day for orange, it seems. Cut-off shorts of a sturdy canvas are folded to just below mid-thigh, slightly loose, pale, and very brown. A light-woven shirt of a rich tangerine is sleeveless and belted at the waist with was once a rather nice maroon belt, but seems to have gone through a little bit of recent wear. Often enough, a pair of leather thong sandals are upon her feet, but if needed, it is sturdy canvas shoes for adventure.
She is a teenager of about 14. She is awake and looks alert.
It smells like teen spirit. And feet and a lot of bodies put together in a room and the 'clawmeat and citrus sandwich that someone smuggled in last night and, of course, expectation. Smack in the center of the cavern is Mae, gangly, awkward, and itching a spot on her nose. No, the spots on her face aren't some kind of disease or rash, just simple freckles. "Who stole my shoe?"
Early to rise, early to exercise and all that jazz, Rocco's slipped back into the routine of being a candidate easily enough. He's freshly bathed and on his way back to his cot when he passes Mae asking her question, and he pauses, rubbing his towel across his wet ashy blonde hair. It's loose, and brushing damply against his shoulders. "Your /shoe/, Mae? Why would anyone just steal /one/, darling?"
Mae is not shy in her searching, or maybe in her pawing through the belongings of nearby candidates, whether they are still snoring away in their cots, missing in action, or looking her way as if she were suddenly being beamed up by aliens. "Because it is a great shoe. Because it was mine. Because you all are nothing but a bunch of nicking 'lizards. Because I heard someone was planning on some kind of prank or because-" *SMACK* "they work really well in squashing bugs." As was just evidenced as the girl wields her other shoe, aka the found one, as a bludgeon to smash some poor (now obliterated) bug on the floor.
Rocco gives Mae a /look/. A confused, what the shards are you on about look, that has his brow furrowed over his light blue eyes. "I'm sure it's a /wonderful/ shoe, but why on Pern would anyone take just /one/ of them, when it probably won't even fit them? And, just so you know, I've not stolen anything since I was a brat, thank you very much." He wrinkles his nose, continuing a few cots down to where his own things are stored. "Perhaps it was Yukie. She seems the type to steal one shoe!"
The ire of may gets focused upon Yukie. Well, it would be if she could see that candidate somewhere abouts in the barracks. Alas, her eye does not fall upon the 'offending' candidate, so it'll just end up right on back on Rocco. She can /look/ too! It doesn't last long because she must scrape her shoe on the ground to rid it of bug guts. "They'll just search anyone around here, won't they? Even thieves. Wouldn't it just figure." Despite her speech, there isn't a whole lot of passion behind the words, more just complaining to complain. Her searches continue to the cot to her immediate left, pushing through the blanket there. "Anyone around here got one foot?" It is a valid question.
"That 'anyone' would include yourself, you know." Rocco sits on the edge of his cot, ruffling his towel over his hair to dry it off. He's surprisingly calm in his post-run, post-bath cool down - and Mae might even notice that he smells fruity. Like mango! "I've not /noticed/ anyone with just one foot, sweet," he says appeasingly, before ditching his towel and meandering over to the girl's side. "What's it look like? Are you /sure/ you didn't just kick it under your cot?"
Mae's eyes narrow as she goes about glaring at feet and, yes, counting them to make sure everyone has two. Pushing her sunbleached hair from her face, the girl drops to her knees to peer under that other cot instead of her own. "It looks like this." One gangly arm comes up, brown as a nut, to brandish her shoe -which is actually a thong sandal with a very thin sole, a strong imprint of her foot on the top, and a leather thong dark with wear and sweat. "I didn't kick it nowhere." *SMACK* That very same shoe is brought down to the floor again to destroy yet another crawling bug. Her nose twitches at the sweet smell as Roccoe approaches, "Whoever brought in the fruit brought in all the bugs."
Rocco's eyes narrow as he regards the shoe, his expression displaying exactly how little he thinks of the worn-in thing. "Darling, I'm quite /positive/ no-one would even want to /touch/ something like that, let alone /steal/ it. Why not just wear something else?" He doesn't get the fruit and bugs bit - this is how he normally smells, after all! He does, however, hold up one finger to Mae to get her to pause, while he gets awkwardly down onto all fours, being careful of his splinted, broken fingers and the still-sore but healing muscle in his thigh. Once down there, he peers into the darkness of both Mae's cot and the one beside her, before sitting up and frowning. "Not in your chest or anything, then?"
Mae comes up on her knobby knees, looking over at Rocco, "Nothing wrong with touching it," she counters, long fingers splaying over the sole of the sandal. "No, not in my chest. I'd just go barefoot but shells knows what these weyrfolk do with their floors." A sigh later and the girl looks along to the field of other cots in the near distance, "You haven't had anything taken from you in here, have you?"
Getting back to his feet is even more awkward than getting down to his knees was, and Rocco winces as he leans heavily on a cot with his uninjured hand. He's up finally though, and padding back to his own cot with his slippers shushing softly as his limp momentarily returns. "No, I don't /think/ I have… but I'm not sure. I still don't understand it, though. Why would someone take /one/ shoe? Just one? It's /bizarre/, darling, /honestly/." He shakes his head in bewilderment. "You're /positive/ you packed two when you came?" He combs his fingers through his wet hair, smoothing it back from his face before tying it with the usual length of dark ribbon.
"I was wearing 'em both when I showed up here. What do you think I am? Some kind of unmannered fisher folk from the east side? I'm north shore Istan." Because this is something that clearly matters among the island fishers and Mae as well. Instead of using her shoe, it is a finger that flicks yet another bug, this one back along it's track to have to repeat the voyage. "These here are the only shoes I've got. They stay on my feet when I'm not sleeping. What kind of place would this be if you've got to sleep with your shoes on to make sure they don't get nicked."
"Huh." Rocco's final primping and preening comes from within a small jar - he unscrews the lid, dips his fingers in and brings them out covered in a pale cream, which he then starts smoothing over his face, massaging it into his sun-blushed skin. "Surely they can't be practical for doing all of your chores though, Mae? Wouldn't you do to have your toes covered up at least /some/ of the time, when you're, say, mucking out? Runner shit between the toes /can't/ be a good feeling." More of the cream is applied to his arms, from where his vest top leaves him bare from shoulders to wrist. He then finishes up doing the same with his legs.
Mae pauses in her perusal of other candidate's things. The girl swings her head around, mess of hair fanning about her face. "Why the shells do they need runners about these parts? What the shards else are the dragons supposed to be for? And they're right on the coast. I /know/ they've got boats and skiffs around here. Doesn't seem very smart to be having runners. Nothing but fancy folk have the runners." That poor bug? It makes up the ground it lost, only to be flicked again by her finger.
Rocco gets up, walks around to Mae's cot, grabs the one lonely sandal she's got left and smashes it down on the poor bug that's been flicked back and forth. He gives her a 'and that's the end of /that/' sort of look, wipes the squished bug off on the floor, then presents the sandal back to her with a flourish. "You," he says with a purposefully maintained evenness to his tone, "make me wonder why you even said /yes/ when you were asked here."
Mae momentarily looks after that splat on the ground before looking back to Rocco to retrieve her bug-squashing sandal. After it is given to her, and after his statement, Rocco gets the broadest grin he'll ever see from the girl. "Because I want a dragon." Duuuuuuuuh. At least, that is how it sounds as it spills from her lips. "I mean, don't you want one? I know I want one. It'd be absolutely famous to impress one. Then I could fly wherever I wanted and I could have this great big ol' beastie to squash my older brothers. I'd have a place of my own -well, with the dragon- and then nobody would be stealing my shoes." Meanwhile, another contender arrives for bugmageddon, crawling across the floor through same gauntlet of it's squashed brethren.
"If you /really/ want a dragon, I'd stop bitching about things in the Weyr, if I were you. If you /get/ a dragon you're going to be /living/ here, so why not learn to like it?" Rocco sits on the cot beside Mae's, flicking his gaze over the younger girl. "No-one's stolen your sandal, it'll just have been… misplaced. Maybe a firelizard took a liking to it. Maybe a /spiderclaw/ or something walked on in here and filched it, but I /very/ much doubt there'll have been someone purposely /stealing/ your sandal. Anyway. Think of it as the /perfect/ opportunity to find yourself something new from the stores! What's better than new /shoes/?"
"Oi, what bug crawled up your butt," Mae counters, giving him a rather wry look. Possibly it could be one of those that keep scuttling across the floor, 'cause look, there goes another one. But just as quickly, the girl is grinning faintly, "Why would I want some new shoes when the ones I had fit perfectly to my feet? It is a waste is what it is. You all may be just fine with nipping into stores to get something new but some of us worked hard for our leather." Contrary girl is contrary.
"What's with all the /bugs/?" Not caring that it's not his cot, Rocco lifts his feet up onto it when another one comes scuttling by. "You /are/ working for your leather, Mae. You're a /candidate/. No-one works harder than we do, /and/ we get all the damned drudge work, too." Not a point he's overly pleased with, if his grudging tone gives away his true feelings. "Sandals aren't exactly /practical/ for everyday work."
"But they are /my/ sandals. I made 'em and they fit my feet perfect and sometimes you just want your own stuff, you know?" Mae responds, coming up from her floor-dirtied knees. Youth on her side, it is a smooth movement. After the movement is concluded, a couple of bugs are quite evident upon her shorts. Her hand reaches down to flick them away, sending them to the floor. "I'm thinking it is the bloke who brings in all the fruit. Must be near here 'cause I'm smelling it now. They get attracted to it."
Rocco rolls his eyes in defeat. "I /know/, but for Faranth's sake, but I'm trying to offer you a solution to spending the day hopping about or barefoot." He squeaks when Mae's flicked bugs are send flying his way, lips curved down in a disgusted grimace. "/Don't/ send them at me! Who's bringing /fruit/ into the barracks? Surely they can't just be leaving /fruit/ sitting around under their cots? Of /course/ that'll bring bugs in… eurgh." Delicately, not wanting to get bug-gunk on his slippers but not wanting to be attacked by crawlies either, Rocco squishes some of the creepies with a very daint toe-crush.
Mae near to dances away from the spot she was resting, scuttling away to avoid a couple other bugs puttering along the floor. "It is like they keep on coming. Like some kind of… of… well, like something." A foot is shoved into a sandal, so that it is with a scuff-tat and the slightest of uneaven strides that has the girl moving away. "There be less bugs outside than here here, that's for sure."
Unable to argue with that, Rocco hops to his feet and away from the borrowed cot perch, looking utterly grossed out by the bugs. "Eurgh!" He protests, squishing another as he weaves his way back to his cot, sitting for just long enough to pull on socks and his well-worn ankle boots. A repeated groan of disgust comes as he squishes more creepies, before trotting (awkwardly, given the remainder of his limp - but he's just so desperate to get /out/ of there) towards the door. "They need to send in /someone/ to get rid of the damned things! I can't /sleep/ in there!"
