Candidate Barracks
A long, low ceilinged room opens off the entrance hall to the arena. One wall is slightly curved, set against the outer wall of the arena itself. Cots are set in two rows along the length of the room, each with its own small press at the foot for personal belongings. Wide windows are spaced along the outside wall, letting sunlight in, while other lights are available for the night time hours. It's always warm here when there are eggs on the sands, and candidates seldom need more than a light blanket.
It is not unreasonable to assume that the candidates were made aware, in some form or fashion, that they would be getting assistance with that time-honored tradition of creating candidate robes. Despite the long-standing custom of making candidates create (or at least alter) their own garments for the Hatching, this time around the weaver craft is here to help. Or, rather, the apprentice weaver Sephany is here to help. Timidly, as if unsure that she has any right to be here at all, she pokes her head into the barracks to get the lay of the land. A cursory glance, a brief application of teeth to bottom lip, and then she's moving into the space with feigned confidence. Her tools of the trade are neatly carried in a small basket, along with a notebook and a couple of pens. An empty cot is selected as her 'base of operations', basket settled down and checked before grey eyes are casting a curious look around to those that might linger here.
With the barracks filling up, there are very few cots left unused. And with so many candidates now crowding the long hallway, it's only natural that some sorta clutter and messy confusion try to take hold somewhere along the rows of cots. That means it's /that/ time. Time for cot inspections. So with her typical clipboard under her arm, Kera heads into the barracks, giving the briefest of glances around befpore heading to the notice board. While she changes out old notices or assignments for new ones, she greets to the hall in general. "Morning Candidates!" That should rouse people from their musings to pay attention. "Everyone make sure your areas are straightened up. Don't wanna see any laundry shoved under pillows or cots when I walk through."
Well, Hierax is doomed x2. Both because he does not have a robe or a clue how to sew, despite his deft fingers, and because he's a messy person. There's laundry shoved under his pillow because he exists in a natural state of keeping PJs under his pillow, and they're tossed there pretty messily. His cot is 'made' but it's not made very neatly. His shoes are a cluttered pile and basically everything he owns is crooked. Sephany catches his eye as he sets down the clock he's working on, but before he can ask what she's doing, enter Kera. See Hierax stare at his cot. See Hierax sigh and try to neaten up those pyjamas.
Poor candidates. Grey eyes watch with undisguised curiosity as white-knotted individuals are set to scrambling at the entrance and announcement of Kera, Sephany blessedly free from the coming scrutiny by the fact that she is not among them. Though, by the fleeting look of… something (longing? Jealousy?), perhaps she wouldn't mind being subject to cot inspections. Her smile is pleasant enough, flashing in the direction of Hierax before he's turning to his task. Is that a gleam of amusement in her gaze? Certainly. And then gaze to Kera, as the apprentice weaver comes to a spot at the end of her "cot", standing with hands clasped in front of her. Casual. Relaxed. "Ma'am," offered as the assistant weyrlingmaster comes a bit closer. "Could I, um. Borrow one or two of your candidates," and she motions to the basket behind her. "I was hoping to get some measurements done, before they head out for chores."
It's lucky for the candidates that Kera seems to ignore the flurry of commotion that erupts through the barracks after her announcement. After purposely keeping her attention on her memo swapping at the board, the JourneyHealer finally turns a scan among the rows, gaze resting on the 'not' candidate poised at the end of the cot. Too bad her eyes slipped over to Hierax's area. A tightening of her eyes as she refers to her clipboard, finding a specific point on the page and making a quick note as she nods to the Apprentice's question. "Certainly Apprentice. You've already been cleared to come in and do that, and the candidates have also been informed to expect to be snagged for measurements." An agreeable nod to the girl before peering over to the speed cleaning candidate as she gestures his way. "Start with him when he's…done. I'll start over here with my inspections." She gestures to the other side and moves over to do just that. "Oh come on. At least make an effort to tuck your bedding in." A moment later she's canting her head at a petite wiff of a candidate wrestling with a trunk. "It's not closing cause you got stuff sticking out of the side." And then she's taking notice of other things that needs adressing as she moves slowly but steadily down the far row, giving some of the messier ones time to do their thing.
"I did make an effort," Hierax protests, and it's only barely not a whine, though he remembers to tack a "ma'am," at the end of that before sulking slightly even more. Everyone of any rank at this Weyr seems to be luring the sulk from Hierax, even though it is not actually him that Kera means. Bed-making is just hard, mmkay, and he's not having much luck with making it neater. It seems to be the extent of his gross motor skills; perhaps he just succeeds better at finer-tuned things like circuit boards. The sulk-eyes move over to Sephany and he tries to look a little more cheery. "Uh, consider me borrowed, miss. Am I a project?"
Sephany is trying very, very hard not to laugh. It shows in the gleam of grey eyes, and the way her lips are pressed together in a smile that threatens to spill over into Cheshire-territory. Deep breaths. Composure. A roll of her shoulders and a nod of her head as the weaver adopts a 'professional' expression in response to Kera. "Thank you," added quickly as the assistant weyrlingmaster heads down the row. And then grey eyes slide to Hierax. A glance for his bed, and a softer smile; something meant to be reassuring perhaps. "Not a project," she assures, turning and moving into the space between cots rather than remaining poised at the end of it. A reach for her basket, a rummaging of her hand, and a retrieval of a fabric measuring tape. "Actually, I am here to help you with your project," she offers, flashing another amused grin. "Or, what will become a project soon enough. I'm helping the Journeyman weaver Gerazal with the creation of some new candidate robes. Namely, with the measuring and cutting and preparation of the material," a motion of her hand, as though to draw him closer, "which means if you're nice, you may end up with a hand-made robe by me, rather than struggling through it yourself." Of course, that is under the assumption that Hierax would struggle with sewing, which is unfounded as Sephany does not know him in the least. "I am Sephany," and her free hand is offered over in greeting.
"Hierax," is offered with a polite, quick-but-firm handshake and a grin that's a little more rakish, but not actually flirty. He's jesterlike, sure, but he's not smarmy. "Sewing is something I have zero experience with whatsoever. Wiring, sure, sewing, not so much, not sure how different those are." He shrugs one shoulder, this time it's the right one. "Also not sure if, um, is it unusual for a journeyman to even care? I thought candidates usually tortured themselves through it start to finish, so it's not really the craft's problem. But if you want to make it the craft's problem," the smile widens, "No complaints from me." Being somewhat weedlike in build, Hierax's height is likely not the most fun to measure, but at least he's not very broad.
"Probably extremely different," decides Sephany, though there's a teasing tone to come with the words, a curl at the corner of her mouth that hints at mischief and amusement. "But as I have never wired anything…" A half step back, and a pass of her gaze over the length of him; head to toe and back again. It's an assessment; a critical analysis of his body that is not at all lewd. "They don't," agrees the apprentice, drawing out that second word with the implication of a 'but' attached to it, "however in this particular case, it is less about making the robes and more about replacing the… old ones. They were in sorry shape. That is to say… unusable. Lift your arms please? I'm going to measure around first," so she can deal with that height issue a bit later. She's all business in expression, but there's a lingering lightness in her voice that may suggest conversation is not unwelcome. "And he isn't doing much. I offered to take on the project. You'll still have to do some work," comes with a flash of her grey eyes up, an attempt to meet his before she's back to her task. "Just not start to finish…"
While he follows instructions — that is to say, he raises his arms and looks even taller, not that Xanadu doesn't have riders who are even taller than Hierax because Pern is made of tall people — Hierax also continues to be nosy. "So they actually get left behind? I haven't stood before, so some of this aspect is kinda new to me — I mean, there's a cache of old candidate robes, and yet people are always making new ones? Nobody keeps their old ones? Not that I can imagine riders reusing them, and I guess people who stand repeatedly keep their own." The left shoulder would be shrugged but for his positioning. "But there's still extras from people who Impress? And … what, the first lucky candidates get to use the ready-made ones?"
Nosy does not seem to be a concern for her, and light laughter spills forth as Sephany steps up. She wraps the tape around his chest, drawing it across to catch the measurement, taking note of the number before letting it drop and turning to her notebook to jot it down. "I've never stood before," she prefaces her next statement, "but I grew up in a Weyr, and watched many a friend Stand for the eggs. And to my knowledge," again, personal opinion here, "most candidates do not make robes from scratch. I am pretty sure you," meaning 'you candidates' not 'you Hierax', "simply take an old robe and alter it for yourself. And sometimes," continuing on, stepping back in to take measure of his waist, "Those robes need to be tossed out. They get stained, and worn out, and just… you don't want a wardrobe malfunction on the Sands, right?" Another glance upwards, a half-smirk because who wants a robe malfunction?! No one, that's who. A soft 'mm,' and a thoughtful, "maybe some riders keep them for sentimental value? I really don't know…" trailing off somewhat as she takes the next number, once more stepped back to jot it down. "Done with the around portion; it's just a robe so… all I really need now is your length," which gets a bit of a head-tipping-back because while he's not giant, he is a good five inches taller than she is. "I am doing my best here. Stop poking holes into my project," she pouts playfully, reaching as if to poke him. "It isn't as though these are the days of Thread, where there were close to a hundred candidates in the barracks," though that might be a slight exaggeration.
"I grew up at a Weyr too, originally, but I ditched early enough I don't have that many friends with experience." Hierax does seem like the kind of guy who'd have many friends in general, though as yet he doesn't have too many to speak of at Xanadu. "Not with candidacy or with robe-making. Can they be extra long, like, gorgeous flowing robes? I bet some people make 'em too short, so to compensate — anyway, I'm not trying to poke any holes you don't need poked. You're doing excellently." The idea of there being close to a hundred people in this space gets him pulling a face and wrinkling his nose. "I bet that smelled bad. Especially with the majority being teenage boys."
"So you can trip over the hem and go spilling into the Sands, in front of the entire world?" wonders Sephany, beaming up a smile that is all too innocent, really. "I think just below the knee is the traditional length, but I don't see why you couldn't make it a bit longer, if you wanted too?" That part, at least, is said with some honesty. She stretches up with one arm, fingers pressing the end of the soft tape measure into his shoulder while she lets her other arm drop… not far enough to catch the measurement she wants. A soft huff for that. "Hold this?" meaning the part pressed to his shoulder. And if she should oblige, Sephany will release her hold and drop down to catch a number just below his knee. "Well, thank you for that," comes for her 'excellency' at measurement-ing. "Though you ought to know that I am only taking the basic requirements for robes; these are not measurements that will get you a tailored suite made. Unless… you want me to do that?" Take those measurements, too. "Otherwise, I'm done," she announces, turning to jot down the last measurement. As for the smell of teenage boys? A wrinkle of her nose for the thought. "And just imagine the mess," and her grey eyes flash to his slightly disheveled space in the barracks. "You might want to get that, before she comes back," murmured conspiratorially.
Kera takes her time inspecting each candidate's area. Pointing out the occasional half hidden something or another under a cot, any food sitting out a bit tooo long or just little suggestions to tidy the long wide hallway lined with cots, trunk, and maybe even some little stool/tiny tables shared among the barracks. Finally, she makes her way back to Hierax's area. He's had enough time to clean his mess up before the Apprentice began, hopefully…
"That would be amusing for the audience, no?" Hierax is apparently okay with tripping on sand, especially since, "I've got plenty of burn scars already. No harm in adding a few more. Though it's more like I'd not want it to be all that short. Displaying my knees or thighs to an audience is not something I want to be doing, and there might be an errant wind or something." He probably has knobby knees. "You're welcome." Hierax's mess is not really a mess anymore, no, but it's not the nicest looking space, either. Some people are not naturally neat. Some people have no gift for smoothing sheets or making blankets look good. So his cot is made and his stuff is on shelves instead of the floor, but they're jostled and tipped instead of perfectly straight lines. He's passably clean. He is not neat. Dishevelment is just going to stay like that forever, because he actually can't do better.
"Burn scars?" because she is ALSO nosy. "I can do that," for making a robe long enough to cover his knees. "I will at least make sure it is long enough for you, don't worry. My brother is a giant. I understand the need for some… length," knobby knees or no. Sephany makes a few last notes, though she does pauses to ask, "Uh… how do you spell Hierax?" because sounding it out might just be the wrong way to approach it. The general dishevelment of cot and belongings get a somewhat frowny-face from the weaver. Maybe she's one of those meticulously organized individuals where everything is perfectly spaced and placed just so? There's a bit of a twitch to her fingers, though she reins back whatever urge she has to just… help herself to straightening up things that are very much NOT hers.
Kera loosely clasp her hands together in front of her, clipboard slipped under an arm as she just frowns at the candidate's vaguely tidy area. Rather than bicker over this or that, littles touches that she would do to 'spruce up' Hierax's cot, Kera simply gestures across the hallway to the flitter shelf. "Those bowls should be removed after the lizards have had at them. You REALLY don't want bad meat smelling up the place when these cooling units go on the fritz. But at least the Techy candidate could tinker with it.. Peering between mentioned candidate and Sephany "How many more are on your list?"
Kelani comes into the candidate cavern fresh from breakfast, still eating a bit of fruit, a green firelizard perched upon her shoulder. There is a nod of greeting to Sephany and Heirax but not wishing to interupt their work she moves on past to look at the chore board. A pleasing nod and she looks over to Kera, "It looks we have another day together..I don't suppose I can have a chat with you about some things?" For her part her area is very neat, most things locked away in her foot locker. Her bed neatly made up, hospital corners and all that jazz. No doubt by now, those who don't wish to be grossed out by rather detailed anatomy pictures have learned not to look through her books on her side table.
Cooling units will stay cool, because Hierax never lets heat get in the way of anyone's good time — and also, those kinds of things are fun to fix. And is the answer to the question: "Yeah, I have something of a gift for … things that are on the fritz, but that usually starts with getting repeatedly sparked while I try to figure out what's up with 'em." He bows his head a little, smiling. "H-i-e-r-a-x, I don't blame you for not having a clue. Most people don't, or they see it written and say it wrong." Kera's criticism is taken with an actual salute. "Yessir. Um. Ma'am." Whoops, someone is not a morning person.
This is where logger #1 had to fade out, but the scene continues!