The scene in the barracks following the first egg touching- '09 Winter Candidacy

Logfile for Lanti on Harper's Tale
Started at 2009-11-12 23:41:55 -0400

MOO Time: 2009-11-12 19:41:57
And on Pern …
The time is 17:41.
It is evening of the fourth day of summer.
It is the fourteenth Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a summer evening. The worst of the storm is over. The rain has stopped, and lightning flickers against the dark northwestern horizon. The wind still blows, chasing the storm, and the gray sky obscures the sunset and the stars.

Candidate's 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.

Moria walks back into the barracks, and stops short. For a second, she can't believe her eyes, and she looks over the devestation disbelievingly. Then she rushes to her own cot, leaping over one or two which are in the way, and falls to her knees in front of the splinters and snapped strings which used to be her gitar. Oh, no! she wails, sounding immensely upset. Scraps of the sheet music she was working on are picked up and then dribbled through her fingers like so much confetti, but it's the ruined instrument which really get her. She picks up a large piece of the neck, and bursts into tears.

Lanti is still righting red-gold hair sent all flustered by the stormy wind outside, but she freezes the moment she sees the scene in the barracks. "What the," might be heard by those nearest the exit. A last few hasty tugs are given her hair as she frowns, amusement furthest from her expression right now.

Bajiren is also immensely upset. But not about the barracks. The boy's eyes have a glazed look to them as he wanders in, only vaguely managing not to walk into other candidates. "Shardin' egg. Shardin' Des. S'almost like quittin'. Ain't no quitter. Ain't gonna shardin' lose to some shardi-" and then Moria is wailing. "Shit, you're loud," is half-shouted her way, all scowly and growly. And then he sees the mess. The overturned chest at the foot of his bed. The pillow tossed aside to leave that letter he was working on out in the open. There are Baji's angry eyes. And poor Moria gets the first snap of, "Shut the," rhymes with duck, "up!" before he's doing an angry-power-walk to his cot.

Destruction, destruction and…guess what! More destruction. Ailae freezes at the entrance of the barracks, staring in definitive surprise. not how the barracks had been left. Definitely not a good thing! Picking her way through the mess, Ailae finds the cot that had been hers, and picks up the pieces of what would have been her robe, eyes flashing in anger. "Shards and /shells/!" She might be heard to say. It's unusual to hear the nanny swear, but in the face of this..mass destruction, it's only to be expected. The scraps of robe, and the scraps of hide that had been a letter to her family are picked up, and put in a pile. This redhead isn't going to wait and complain about the destruction, she's going to start fixing it…with the quiet anger of someone not easily upset.

Abriwind steps into the barracks, an entirely too-smug look upon her face, before the only GOOD part of Harper-lessons takes hold and her actress-face comes on. "/Oh no/!" A hand flies up to her forehead as she takes a few more calculated steps inside, scooting around one upturned cot. "What a disaster! Oh, hey, careful there, broken glass." She points towards an area where another another candidate coming in behind her almost steps. "Who would /do/ such a thing! I bet renegades or holdless. Those scurvy lads!"

Jamilah took her time returning to the barracks, but as she approaches, a young gold suddenly appears about her head, shrieking in agitation. She regards the beast with mild annoyance, her mind still on the egg that had given her so much trouble, then stops short behind another couple of candidates. She echoes Triumph's hiss as the gold settles on her shoulder with an unforgiving grip, then brushes past Ailae to approach her cot. "*Who* is responsible for this?" she asks as she regards her overturned cot.

Moria starts collecting the pieces of her gitar into her skirt, having realized her noise level thanks to Bajiren, and quieted it somewhat. She's still crying, but it's not loud, any more — just sniffling and a low keening noise between shuddering intakes of breath. No one else is paid much attention to for a moment. "My gitar," she says miserably. "Sara gave this to me." She uses her shoulder to wipe tears away from her cheeks, but she's clearly quite upset. She looks up and spies Jamilah. For a second, hatred flashes there - but no. Jamilah was with them the entire time, wasn't she? "Who wasn't at the touching?" she asks, looking around suspiciously.

Lanti makes a quick grab for the candidate roster on the wall and tugs down, hard. The hide rips from its hooks set in the stone with that pop that only some poor, dead herdbeast's skin can make. With the look of someone forcing herself to remain calm, Lanti continues to survey the barracks with icy blue eyes, the muscles in her jaw standing out now and then, possibly fighting back one statement after another. And then there's Abriwind. The hide rolling slows, stops, then resumes. Where was that bell? Oh right. Where Lanti left it before the egg touching in its handy little box. Luckily. She tucks the roster under her arm and gives the bell a couple swings. It's a very good bell. Smith quality. As well it should be. "Shut up!" the weyrwoman calls out, not exactly Harper quality. "Anyone on this list," roster held high, "who was not at the egg touching, you'll be talking to the Weyrleader, Weyrwoman, Weyrlingmaster and me first thing tomorrow morning. Everyone else… gather what you can find and keep it with you. We'll have to sort it out tomorrow." Again with the hidden threats? Perhaps.

Zaria makes her way in slowly, and then just stops. A quick scan shows that Dreamer is perched on an upturned cot, and the girl just drops to her knees. She has nothing, and now what little she does have is in total disarray. Zar can only stare at Lanti, she wasn't at the touching. She had wound up scrubbing every pot and pan in the kitchen until they shined, as a result she missed the touching.

Late arrival here is at least less suspicious than a late arrival to the Sands, but even Ian wasn't anticipating this to ever happen in here. Living in a Weyr was supposed to be /safe/ wasn't it? He bounds in but skids to a stop in horror. He's held in place only by Lanti's barked orders but the moment she's done, he scrambles towards the ruins of his own cot and frantically searches amongst the wreckage. Though the cot's been tipped over, the small blood stained bag that was under it seemed to have been shielded somewhat. Yanking it open, he breathes a sigh of relief and reaches inside…and pulls out Puckernuts. The firelizard winds himself around Ianto's shoulders while chittering angrily and clings to his tunic. "Sorry, sorry. Too bad you didn't see." he murmurs while securing the other items in the bag carefully and holds it close.

"Oh! Thank Faranth!" Abriwind is flouncing, literally, over towards her own bed. Hands going down on her perfectly pristine bedspread, not a thread out of place. Her bed, apparently, one of the few left completely alone, along with her stuff. "It would seem the awful person or people who did this did not get to my cot! I'm sure some dashing rider heard a noise and scared them off!" She sits down, pretty damned content, on her cot, hands resting behind her as she surveys the destruction of the room. Is that a wave of pride coming off her? NAAAAAH. "I wasn't there!" She quips up, almost too eagerly. "After I left the galleries, I was so assumed with my actions, I went to finish my chores and help some old aunties and uncles! I was with a rather sweet drudge. An older girl, twenties. I have her name, if need!" She flutters her lashes, pouring on the innocence.

Ailae normally might have said something to Jamilah when she brushed by her, but this nanny is someone who simmers when she's upset. No screaming, no treating people rudely…just tucking it away and hiding it until the subject of anger is present before her. Then she might erupt. Lanti is the only one that the nannidate listens to, and she gathers up what isn't entirely ruined with fingers set trembling with anger. This, is a mess. Whoever did it, had better be getting their shell kicked out of candidacy, if they are one. These thoughts remain thoughts, though, the nanny rising to her feet with a few things in hand. "Sharding jerk. Faranth, what a mess." Is muttered to whomever might be nearby. Fortunately, Ailae was at the touching, and remained until it was time to go.

Bajiren must have his angry feet on, too, 'cause he stomps over to his cot, shoulder-checking poor Zaria as he goes. The overturned cot is righted, and the spilled contents picked up and tossed one by one back in - until he gets to a wrapped, cylindrical package, from which some sand has spilled out. These are Baji's angrier eyes, as he sets to trying to scoop the stuff back up, get it back into the little jar that has since been de-cloaked.

Moria's hands finish gathering the remains of her gitar, and the little pieces of the sheet music, everything held in her skirt. With a very sad face that is tinged by anger, she brings it all to the rubbish bin and tips it in. There is a long, suspicious look at Abriwind. "Lucky you," she says, her voice heavy with meaning. "To have your cot spared." But she doesn't say anything else, and just goes back to her own cot, righting her own meager belongings. Nothing else seems to have been destroyed, just thrown about.

Jamilah folds her arms across her chest, and regards Abriwind with suspicion narrowing her gaze. She tosses her hair, eyes flashing, to regard Lanti in the doorway. "Whoever did this will pay," she mutters through gritted teeth, rolling her bloody shoulder to shake off the pain. The firelizard causing it, however, remains.

"I said to /keep/ what you could, candidate," Lanti barks at Moria, all shred of reserve flaking away as Lanti grips that roster with white-knuckled pressure. "It's evidence. Now. The weyrleaders will decide what happens after today. If we find out some of you decided to take justice into your own hands, you're gone." Of course, key words are 'find out', but who's counting. Lanti packs up her precious little brass bell, picks out a few of the candidates, then departs.

"Yes, well! I was also smart enough not to leave any stuff out, it seems. Of course, /my/ belongings are much, much more expensive than most of yours. Comes with the territory, I guess! S'why all of mine was locked up tight!" Abriwind states, quite matter-of-factly. She takes in the glares and angry voices and simply returns them, her head tilting to the side and a haughty expression overcoming her features. "S'not /my/ fault you were an idiot… girl." She says, tossing a glance at Moria, not knowing nor caring for names other than her own. "I'd let you borrow some of my clothes, if any of yours were ruined, but I don't think that… well. You're quite… fatter than me. Wouldn't fit." Abriwind pats her belly.

With that jar re-sealed, and as much of the sand as is possible in it, Baji is now to be counted among those standing and looking around. But there's something said that he likes - and it sure wasn't coming from the goldrider's mouth. Quickly depositing that jar on his cot, covering it over with a blanket (which also covers the letter at the head of the bed), he's on his way to Jamilah. Zaria's crying isn't even noticed - collateral damage. "What'd they break of yours?" Casual conversation. In case Lanti's hovering outside the door.

Ailae uprights her cot, and puts what hasn't been destroyed onto the cot. What has been destroyed is gathered together carefully into a pile. Well, they've been told to keep it, so… Where to put it, then? And there's still a /lot/ of cleaning up to do. Whoever did this…had better get whatever's coming to them. The trunk that had been by her bed is also uprighted, and instead of folding the things of hers that had been thrown about and such are just tossed back into the trunk. She'll deal with refolding them again later. For the time being, she's checking for glass and such that might have gotten caught on or in her cot. She remains silent, cleaning and reorganizing her things. What remains of them, at least.

Date: Thu Nov 12 19:18:27 2009 PST
From: Abriwind (#26565)
To: *Ista Weyr (#608)
Subject: A Tantrum Of Epic Proportions!

It would seem, when most of the candidates and riders were busy out on the sands, a mini-tornado entered the candidate barracks and destroyed the place. Beds were disheveled, trunks were opened and their contents spilled all about, anything made of glass and in reach was easily smashed upon the ground. In particular, ANYTHING that was Harperish in any form was destroyed. Songs, instruments, whatever. If it was left out, in the open, chances are it might in some way be destroyed. A few beds were left alone, their belongings barely touched, though why they were denied the wrath is unknown except to perhaps the tornado itself!

Luckily, the swirling vortex of terror did not reach out to any other part of the Weyr, only uprooting the sanctity of the candidate barracks. As to who, exactly, the tornado is… it's not known JUST yet, though many say time will tell when it strikes once more!

OOC: Feel free to RP this up! If, of course, you are a poor, poor candidate and wish to play off that your stuff got destroyed, go for it! If not, you can be one of the special ones whose stuff didn't get ruined! Play on! :D

Date: Thu Nov 12 20:06:35 2009 PST
From: Lanti (#25661)
To: *Ista Weyr (#608)
Subject: And on the morrow

News travels fast in a Weyr this size, and naturally the bad flies a little faster than the good. Word of the chaos in the barracks hasn't taken long to find its way on the tongues of everyone from the old aunties to the weyr brats, followed closely by the juicy gossip that every single one of those candidates is being put to the question at dawn tomorrow morning.

Those poor souls passed again and again for a chance to Stand are gleeful. The hopeful parents of white-knotted children are fearful. The unknown assailant is baneful! And the weyrleader's staff? They're baleful. Tread softly.

[End of log]

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