Unmentionable Inspection

Xanadu Weyr - 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.

The click of heels falling upon stone soon echo in the Candidate Barracks after the heavy doors are opened. An imposing figure merely steps inside, arms folded behind this tall man's back and he peers across the room, his tongue picking at his teeth while cold eyes scan from cot to cot. He moves, clearing his throat while walking the length of the long room. He reaches into his belt, pulling free a pair of white gloves that he slips onto slender hands, right as he approaches the very last set of presses within the room. "These barracks," he begins with a slow drawl, green eyes looking down with a frown at one particular cot. "They have been around for turns, housing generations of Candidates. So, tell me, why am I seeing them being left in the poorest of shape? Why does this one look like it has some half-eaten wherry leg under it? Why is that? Are we saving it for later?" The man sporting a Weyrlingmaster's knot with green woven through isn't speaking to anyone specific, but as he holds his hands up in question, those green eyes deliberately peers right back into the eyes of anyone caught in his gaze.

Marel makes for an intimidating sort when she chooses to be - which is most of the time, really - and today she doesn't look terribly impressed by what she sees. Perhaps that's just her default mode, her expression almost unreadable, save for that faintly displeased edge, or maybe she's following the Weyrlingmaster's lead. In either case, she moves past him and strides right to the opposite end of the barracks, where she finds a patch of wall free of furniture and leans there, silent, adopting a sentinel post with Rescue weighing down one of her shoulders and serving as a second set of eyes.

Cara most definitely isn't meeting anyone's eyes, in fact she seems more intent on shoving something underneath a pillow and far far away from any prying eyes. As soon as that's done, as safely as she thinks is possible, it's only then that she dartes to risk a look around to see just who has invaded their sanctuary that… to be fair… is probably less than imaculate. "I… um… don't know Sir. Ma'am. I'm not sure whose that is." The implication, heavy in her tone, is that it's definitely not hers.

The man peers on Cara's direction, not sure if it was her that spoke. After a moment, he begins to kneel down, peering under the cot with scrutiny. "The only things that should be under your cot, is your shoes. There should be nothing else stored down here." He rises slowly, holding a soiled cloth in his fingertips with a look of disgust and he peers over to Marel, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder." It's dropped on top of the otherwise clean cot and he rises to walk around to the otherside of it. "Look, Candidates. Nothing can be under the cots. No food stored in here under any circumstances or it'll attract pests and pests bring disease and destruction in with them. This place might not look like it, but it's Xanadu's history, right under your…" The greenrider stops, his eyes quickly tracking back the way he came and peering under the cot. He moves quickly, getting down on knees again and scanning. "Marel, watch your feet."

Risali, to her credit, chooses the wisest option she can for once: silence. She isn't rushing to shove things under her pillow or organize her relatively neat but not as neat as it could be corner of the Candidate world; au contraire: the harper's grey eyes are dancing around the room to fall on every questionable bit of questionable questionableness until they land on the-man-with-the-sterile-gloves - and Marel. There's an owlish blink for the woman, an unspoken question in the furrowing of brows, and then Risali's eyes are jumping to Cara when she speaks. Risali ducks her head (probably to keep from laughing), before clearing her throat and leaning down to pull a small drawing pad out from under her cot. She rests it on her lap, drumming her fingers, and waits. Is that a scuffling of sound under her cot? ABSOLUTELY NOT (yes it totally is).

Watch her feet? Marel gives them a lazy, almost bored glance, idly scanning the area immediately before her, only to lift her gaze and one foot to plainly indicate that she is going to stomp on anything that gets anywhere near her. Risali receives nothing but a predatory smirk, the brownrider seemingly content to leave her and just about everyone else well enough alone, for now, until she or her little assistant pick up on the scuffling beneath that bed. And still all she does is stare, not advancing to investigate or demand answers. She waits. She has the time. Just observing. And ready to stomp.

Cara blinks, one hand straying back towards her pillow for a second before it's snatched away and she sits down, folding her hands carefully in her lap. "No pests, no Sir." There's a look on her face that's possibly a step or two down from guilt, but at least she doesn't seem to be panicking too much. Yet. She is good at filling silences though, it's almsot a compulsion. "I think most people have eben quite good abou thtat to be honest, but some of the younger ones…. well…." She glances around, desperately looking for someone else to say something. Anything. Her gaze falls on Risali and there's a look that clearly reads, 'help'.

Talons scratch on stone while the mystery critter skitters across the room under the shadows of the Candidate cots. This cot? With that Harper apprentice? Has all sorts of things to hide in. The Weyrlingmaster's eye twitches, but he'll find the little beastie later. Right now, he has bigger fish to fry. He steps to the next cot, smoothing his hands over the blankets and then kneeling down to peer underneath. He growls, shaking his head to move his black hair out of his face while he inspects underneath. "Always finding things in the ones that aren't here," he murmurs, extending his reach for something stuck. He jerks his shoulder, trying to dislodge the thing under the cot. "Candidates, I want you to remember my face," he begins, peering across the room and his face might be a little red with exertion. He rises, straightening out while tilting his head from side to side. "I am Weyrlingmaster G'thar, rider of green Kalcyth and the one thing. The one thing," he punctuates with a finger held high. "I can't stand is when people hide things in the barracks. It's because of things like /this/." The cot before him? Flipped onto it's side, revealing a leather bag thoroughly and quite messily fastened to the cot. "Is why we have problems with pests. We don't want pests. Especially with the barracks so close to the sands." The scratching continues again and he tries to track the sound, taking a step to the side to peer down the aisle and slowly, his eyes track to Risali's direction. Then guided by the sound of that voice again, Cara's. "Then it would be best to set an example for the littles now, wouldn't it?

Zaria walks into the barracks, a towel obscuring her face as she scrubs at her wet hair, obviously just coming back from an evening bath. Dressed only in an oversized linen shirt that falls just above her knees, she is mostly preoccuppied until she hears the growling words of the Weyrlingmaster and she stops in her tracks, wrestling to remove the towel from her head, but it has somehow gotten tangled in her golden ginger hair and she starts to panic a little bit, frantically pulling at the fabric and her hair simultaneously which is causing most of the problem. After what feels like forever, she pulls hard and the final snag comes loose with a tug hard enough to cause her to follow through and toss her towel rather violently in the direction of the Weyrlingmaster. Red immediately rises to her cheeks and reflexively, she snaps to attention and almost gives herself a black eye with the fervor of her salute. "Sir!" she manages to squeak, her hair standing out at all angles in a rather spectacular fashion.

Risali is not the proper being to SOS. Cara's silent plea for help is caught, and Risali's response is to simply raise her brows, cut her head slightly to the right, and bring one finger to her lips in the universal sign of 'silence'. What she doesn't say is, 'YOU ARE BRINGING ATTENTION TO YOURSELF,' though she does make motions of maybe stuffing something INTO the pillow case instead of UNDER - until grey eyes stray to both Marel and G'thar, stilling her motions in that 'Don't be suspicious,' kind of way that looks totally suspicious. SCUFFLE. Risali sits on her hands and gives a pained smile to both riders then, side-eyeing Cara and motioning with her shoulders in what MIGHT be some silent form of communication, but is decidedly indecipherable at this point. "Maybe they just didn't want somebody to steal their things," Risali hazards, adding on an unsure, "… Weyrlingmaster G'thar?" STOP STARING, MAREL. IT'S UNSETTLING.

Cara's mouth opens to fill some more silence, but both the motioning from Risali and Zaria's towl assault finally manages to make her shut up and stop babbling. Instead she simply nods her head, tucks her hands under her legs to mkae sure they don't betray her by once again checking on secret precious things, and then just sits and tries to look innocent. Or possibly in need of the latrine. It's a close run thing.

A little too casually, Marel pushes away from the wall and begins to amble her way slowly down the row of cots, appearing not to focus on any individual nor any particular cot… until she reaches Risali's. Only, perhaps she's not her focus. She stops at its foot, certainly, but then she looks Zaria up and down and arches a brow. Unfortunately, it's only a moment's reprieve, for while Marel continues to find it unnecessary to utter a single word, Rescue gives a faint little chirp and launches herself from shoulder to floor, drifting down to the ground to go investigating beneath Risali's cot, completely undaunted by what she might find.

G'thar heaves a heavy sigh, putting his boot up on the tipped over cot so he can remove the small knife he keeps tucked inside. The fastenings of the hidden bag are cut free and the knife restored to it's safe place… just in time to get slapped right in the face with a very damp towel. The greenrider doesn't move at first, letting the damp cloth drape over his head and he slowly straightens up, pulling the material free from his face and he stares at it, then stares across the room right to Zaria. Heels click on stone as he walks right up to her, holding the offending damp towel out to her. "This… I believe, belongs to you. Hang it up to dry." Words are low and drawn out with a little click of his tongue at the end. He smooths back his messy hair, then returns to the issue at hand. The cot is righted as soon as he approaches it and the bag is opened up. Once open… The greenrider stares, then leans in closer with a complete and utter look of disbelief on his face. G'thar straightens up, wordlessly pointing at the bag, then peering at all of the candidates, then back at the bag where he finally shuts his mouth and shakes his head, closing the leather bag with a flap. He raises his brows high, "Don't wanna know what you all are thinking. Kids these days. No one touch that bag." Marel's firelizard gets his attention, and he follows her path curiously. Anything to get away from that nightmarish bag on the cot. The skittering on stone from earlier? Getting louder.

Zaria takes the towel as meekly as possible from G'thar, her face down a bright shade of pink from chin to the very roots of her hair. "Yes Sir." she manages to squeak and moves over to the corner of the room where a clothes line has been strung for just this purpose. She hangs the towel up making sure that it isn't bunched in any way so that it dries thoroughly. Moving back to her cot near to Risali's, she tries to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, which is hard for someone with her tall lanky frame. Plopping herself at the foot of her cot, she reaches into the chest there and pulls out her comb to tackle the wherries nest that is her hair at the moment.

Brynnjan has been, up to this point, relaxing on his cot, with his firelizard. He decides to get off his backside and stands upright, his firelizard quickly hopping down to the ground and skittering around to find itself a good post from which to observe the goings-on. He stretches luxuriously, pop-pop-popping all manner of joints.

See, Risali is distracted by Zaria and her particularly violent towel, lips forming a little 'o' as one hand reaches out almost as if Risali can SAVE HER FROM HERSELF (she can't), only to pull back into her chest as little fist when Marel stops at her cot. Weak smile. The harper goes stiff, grey eyes going to Cara from around the brownrider as if to say, 'DO SOMETHING,' and then it happens: Rescue goes down to inspect what all that scuffle-noise is, and there's a chorus of hair-raising hisses that accompany an almost-immediate spattering of blood. Everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Risali's hand slaps to her face, dragging down to her neck as it lolls towards Zaria, and then Cara, and then - "POTATO!" Yep. Hands are going out then, towards Marel and G'thar both (she makes note to DEFINITELY TOUCH THE BLACK BAG LATER) as if she can ward them off. "I swear I will clean it, I'm sorry. I had no idea that they -" More hiss-screech-BLOODY VIOLENCE. "STOP IT." SSSSSSST. Don't worry, Rescue is probably (definitely) safe. Risali might give Brynnjan a look, but it's only envy at his Cool As A Cucumber existence.

Do something? Cara is many things, but fast thinking alas is not one of them. She's barely managed to get out a hurried, "Sir… if I might ask a ques…." before the violence under Risa's cot breaks out and there's no rescuing anyone from that one. Shocked she simply stares in that direction, mouth hanging open in a most undignified manner.

The Weyrlingmaster turns to Cara, opening his mouth to speak but the scuffle at his feet jerks his attention away. Maybe she's safe for now, maybe not. The hellish shrieking coming from under Risali's cot is more than enough motivation for the man to quickly close the gap, getting down on his hands and knees to peer at the apparent bloodbath erupting under her cot. "What in Faranth's nam-DROP IT. I SAID DROP IT, THE TWO OF YOU BLASTED LIZARDS MOVE. GIVE IT. GIIIIVE IT." G'thar reaches under the cot, a soured look on the man's face while his gloved fingertips grab onto some mangled… thing. With six little limbs and tiny taloned feet. He straightens up, taking a deep breath and holding it while he turns to Marel, holding up the shredded thingamathing that is no more. "This is a hatchling, it looks like. Which means…" There are more of them. Then with all little creatures of that variety, it's tall falls off, still flailing after it hits the ground. That separated flailing tail might as well have been a signal, as the sound of skittering on stone begins to erupt all over the room in all directions. "This isn't good," G'thar says, puffing up like a very angry bird, and he turns on heel with the shredded bit in hand and he drops it in the trash. He scowls, peering at the green ichor now staining his gloves. "Alright. All of you. Clear your cots and tilt them up against the wall!"

Brynnjan just kinda cool-as-a-cucumber stands there, watching the goings on. A nuclear bomb could detonate behind him, and all he'd say is something about having a damned tan at long last. At the weyrlingmaster's command, Brynnjan nods, and moves to comply, picking his cot up and tilting it against the wall, making sure all of his stuff is out of the way first-and-foremost. He continues to be quiet, preferring such to speaking out and potentially incurring the weyrlingmaster's wrath, earned or no.

Zaria blinks a little bit and her eyes widen at the sounds from under Risa's cot. "I really need to get myself a firelizard." she mutters to herself under her breath. When the weyrlingmaster comes back up with the thing in his hands, she peers at it curiously. "What is it?" she asks in a curious tone. At the command, she abandons her hair combing and gets to her feet. With little effort, she pulls the cot up by the end and leans it against the wall, nothing hiding under her own cot except some dustbunnies.

Beneath that cot, Rescue is most likely just staring in a similar manner to that which Marel has adopted, and even if she doesn't escape the scene in the same clean condition in which she went to investigate it, she doesn't dignify the whole affair with even a quiet huff. Children. She also doesn't throw herself at Marel to get her at all messy, choosing instead to launch herself into the air and hesitate just so as she spirals up past Risali, giving a flick of her wings to shed some of that gunk in her direction. Reaching a certain height, she vanishes, leaving Marel to glance at the dead creature and bother to raise both brows this time. A narrowed, icy-green gaze is all Risali gets before Marel sweeps past the Weyrlingmaster to stalk right out of the barracks, her manner seemingly purposeful and not entirely owing to disgust. Maybe she's off to get supplies to eliminate the rest of them. The vermin, that is. Not Candidates. One can hope.

It couldn't possibly get any worse, could it? There's a quartet of Risa's 'lizards raising a fuss, nipping at gloved hands as they extract THEIR RIGHTFUL GOODS only to scuffle back into the darkness of ~under the cot~ once G'than's retrieval is successful. The look Risali spares the tiny-dead-creature in the weyrlingmaster's hands is short-lived - mostly because a gold firelizard is getting dead gunk right in her hair, and also because Marel is giving her a look that has Risali torn between sheepish withdrawal and indignant chin-raising. Alas, Marel goes, and Risali is shifting from her cot, pulling pillow, and notepad with her before she flips the cot up - "POTATO, NO!" But the little gold firelizard and her GANG OF HENCHFLITS are at it again: they go scrabbling across the stones once they (and their victim) are revealed to THE LIGHT, protesting their loss of snack by viciously attacking that black bag. Risali's dropping everything into gunk (and slipping in dead creature carcass) when she tries to make it to them before - RIIIIP. Yeah. AND OUT OF THAT BLACK BAG COMES A PLETHORA OF UNMENTIONABLE THINGS (black lacy underwear with copious amounts of bedazzling) AND AN EXPLOSION OF GLITTER. "CARA, ZARI, BRYNN — GET THEM!" Because the gold is twittering her way towards Cara, while Hunter makes for Zaria (HELLO YOU MAKE GOOD HIDING SPACES) and Whisper dives for Brynnjan. Risali is trying to catch Archer, who seems to think it's funny to make his stupid (flustered, wanting to die, when will the ground open up and swallow her whole) human slip back and forth in dead stuff.

Cara is less worried about dead things and more intent on hiding things of her own as she tried her best to comply with the Weyrlingmasters' orders while not setting herself up for any trouble. The fact that a card from a dragonpoker deck happens to fall out from underneath a pillow as her cot it tilted up against the wall cannot possibly be anyhting other than coincidence surely. And then there's someone shouting her name and she turns and spies the ripped bag, the Contents, and most importantly the appraching Potato. Her response? A rather strangle squeak and a vague, ineffectual, flapping at the little gold.

If there could ever be a time where the most amount of chaos could happen in the smallest of places and in the least amount of time… it would be now. G'thar quickly starts turning his head around, tracking the course of this flurry of lizards but there's too many to track. He follows one making a line for the bag and he holds his hand out, opening his mouth to yell but any sound would've come too late for the plethora of unmentionables to fall to the floor. All over. In many different colors, shapes, and sizes. The color washes from his face and shoulders slump. "And everything… was going so well, but no. Leave it to these lazy lizards to let creature-" Something else begins to move… a pair of bright pink colored frillies decides to take on a life of it's own and proceeds to skitter across the room. The Weyrlingmaster says nothing, only pointing at the thing and following it's route right down the center of the room. "Of all my turns of teaching, I have seen some… THINGS. THAT is NEW." Scowl on his face, definitely not amused.

Zaria eeps and reaches out to grab the brown firelizard darting in her direction. She barely misses him on his first pass as he slips through his fingers. But apparently this is part of the firelizard's little game because he wheels and dives at her again, this time she is ready though. Catching him in her hands, she pulls him close to her body to keep her grip while she manages to grab the black lacy things dangling from his talons. "C'mon little guy, Risa'll want these back I think." she says to him as she is working to untangle the delicate fabrics from the sharp pointy bits of the 'lizard. She coos at hunter the whole time, trying to keep him calm. "Aren't you a handsome fellow! So sweet." she marvels. When the garments are finally freed, she gently moves him to her wrist and gently scritches his chin. "Oh Risa, he's so darling!" She silently makes up her mind to take some time to scope out the beach for possible signs of some wild clutches.

Firelizard! In her hair! Cara's flappings have only succeeded in getting her divebombed, which in turn had left her with hair full of beastie innards and other gloopy mess - though thankfully none of the unmentionables from the black bag. She barely even notices that Potato manages to disentangle herself from her hair long before Cara makes a quick exit that will no doubt have her blushing a lovely shade of crimson when she realises how silly she looks. And the rest of that dragonpoker deck? It's under her pillow. Sure woul dbe a shame if someone confiscated it.

One after another, the pieces of unmentionables Weyrlingmaster G'thar and Risali's firelizard had spilled begins to scatter around the room. Some climbing walls, some climbing tilted cots and trying to find their way into boots. A deep rumble coming from outside is enough to get G'thar to dart his gaze towards the source of the sound and he just seethes. "Catch. Them. Everyone. GET THOSE DAMN CLOTHES. I don't care HOW, just GET THEM!" The Weyrlingmaster moves towards the bag, dumping the contents out and quickly digging through them with a look of disgust on his face and then… he finds what he fears. The remains of tiny leathery eggs. The bag must've been a warm and toasty spot so a tunnelsnake decided to make itself comfortable. The greenrider hisses, quickly gathering up the offending clothing, brushing the shells aside to pack them back up. His heated green eyes also scan the room, approaching the first skittering garment he comes across - a blue shimmery piece - and brings the heel of his boot down on it as hard as he can, letting the tiny crunch of critter echo into the room with a splat! Ichor seeps out from around the material and stains it darkly.

"Go on, catch 'em!" Zaria says encouragingly at the brown on his wrist, and with a cheep, Hunter does just that. taking off from his perch and heading towards the scurrying pests, Zaria looks around for a weapon to help in the fight with the interlopers. Her eyes lay on the broom that is used by the Candidates to keep their area tidy. She also grabs an empty sack that is usually used for dirty laundry. Using the broom, she sweeps the little pests up into the empty sack, which she holds in one hand, letting the bottom of the opening pool on the ground so that the critters can be easily wrangled. Coralling a group into a corner, she continues her wrangling, the sack starting to wriggle with the bodies she is accumulating. "I wonder if these hatchlings would make good bait?" she ponders aloud.

Risali is too busy trying to catch her busy little blue to really - "THOSE ARE NOT MINE, ZARIA!" And while Risa may announce the words with conviction, it's more horror that lends volume than rage to every syllable. Hunter? He's totally enjoying the attention, leaning into scritches and giving gentle nips to the tips of fingers that say, 'If only you were my Mommy,' as he pretends to be the Paragon of Innocence. "He is anything but cute," and there go pink underwear. And Hunter, listening to Zaria but not Risali. Risali makes a hop-leap-REACH attempt at grabbing Archer and - well, now she's slipping in goo and falling on her - "ARCHER!" The blue flit just disappears between, leaving Risali to watch in horror as The Underwearing happens all around them. G'thar's order is met with Risa slipping to her feet and reaching for one of the little things, only to slide right into it and squish it against a wall. The look of disgust? It's real, but it doesn't stop Risali from getting to her feet again (covered in SHE DOESN'T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT) and giving Zaria an appreciative look. "You are a genius and I could kiss you," she tells the other candidate. "Potato, Whisper, get them." WHEN FLITS ATTACK. And then, "Gross, Zari."

Another figure comes running into the room and he staggers to a stop, watching his prized collection literally climbing the walls. The husky young man puts his hands on either side of his face and rather than sharing with the capture of the unmentionables, the Candidate proceeds to chuckle. "Alive no, they're poisonous. Dead, yes. Tunnelsnake makes good bait," he says to Zaria while the grin on his face gets out of hand. The candidate chuckles again and soon it's louder and louder, echoing into the room. The blond young man laughs, tears streaming down his face while he points at the chaos. G'thar raises his gaze after stomping on yet another vile black glittery garment and the gaze to the candidate? Pure venom. The Weyrlingmaster's face grows bright red, veins protruding from his brow. Fists clenched, he begins to storm in the direction of the young man but slips on a little hissing bundle of silk. His feet slip out from under him and the man lands on his back hard enough to knock the air out of him. The Candidate takes a moment to regard the knot and that smirk is quickly wiped off his face. Whoops. The Candidate staggers back a few feet and makes a run for it, into the unknown. G'thar pushes himself up, just in time to catch Silky vanish into a persons belongings. He'll catch Silky later. Lacy better hide and Glittery better stay without rage because the destruction is about to get real. "WHO WAS THAT?!"

The bronze firelizard next to Brynnjan lashes out with lightning speed, rather uncharacteristic for its pudgy frame, pouncing on a tunnelsnake and holding it until it can be contained. The bronze firelizard appears quite pleased with himself. Brynnjan, meanwhile, attempts to assist with cleaning up the dirty laundry. Good times.

Zaria continues with her sweeping the little things into the empty sack. "Really? poisonous you say?" she says in reply to the male candidate who jsut came in. Very subtly, she moves her body just slightly away from the hatchlings that she is scootching into her sack. One is trailing something dark purple and glittering so she uses the end of the broom to hold the squirming thing down against the floor as she uses her foot to pull the undies off of it. She works with hyper focus on what's in front of her.

"DUNBLEDORN, YOU SHARDING BASTARD!" is Risali's shriek towards the candidate as he FLEES THE SCENE OF THE CRIME, leaving the candidates to do the rest of the pickup. BUT NOT ON RISA'S WATCH. Watch all 5'2" of TINY HARPER FURY GO, twisting around G'thar, and Brynnjan, and Zaria alike so that she can go exercise some vigilante justice on He-Who-Thinks-He-Can-Get-Away. Potato, Hunter, and Whisper all stop their assistance of eating poisonous things to take off after Risali, chattering with flitty delight at the chaos that is probably about to ensue. Don't worry. Risali won't hurt him. Much.

Soon enough the chaos grows smaller and smaller until only scattering bits of remains litter the floor. The contents of the cots are forgotten for now and G'tar huffs as he storms across the room. The trashcan with the first offensive creature is collected and he gathers up the rest along with any clothing in his reach. The bin is placed in the center of the room for the candidates to add to it. Once done, he strips off his gloves and adds them to the bin, peering down at his once-clean clothes to the splattering of ichor upon it. "Alright. Just… clean the floor while the cots are up. I'll give you today and won't search belongings any further. So… IT'LL BEHOOVE YOU TO REMOVE ANY OTHER NESTS YOU CAN FIND. Don't let me find another one." If G'thar stays in the room any longer, the veins upon his temples are going to burst and he'll soon resemble one of those lizards that squirts blood from his eyes. Enough time has passed, so he collects up the bins and proceeds to storm out. One last thing catches his eyes, and he hisses as a little bundle behind a cot leg is gathered up. He makes to squish it within his fists but he stares at it with a narrowed eye and huffs. It's moving. With a sigh, it's placed atop the pile in the bin, then shoved into Zaria's arm. "It hatches within the our. Toss the rest out after it's done." With that, the man curses a long string of profanities under his breath as he storms out of the room, growing louder in volume the further away he gets.

Zaria takes her sack to the bin that G'tar has set up in the middle of the room. Upending it in with the other refuse, she watches the little things for a moment before looking for any scragglers. When it looks like they have most of it under control she wipes the back of her hand over her forehead with a sigh of satisfaction at a job well done. Listening to the weyrlingmaster's instructions, she nods and reples with a "Yes Sir." She is about to go right her cot when G'tar thrust something into her hand and she looks down at the egg that is already moving. "Sir?!" she exclaims but when she looks up he is already gone. She takes her precious cargo over to a small pile of de-pested undies that she had managed to pile over by her cot. She rest the ovoid in it and then looks around for something to eat. She almost slaps her own forehead when she realizes. Running back to the bin, she digs out a few of the least squished pests and brings them back to the little egg which is now rocking violently. Zaria picks up her little green as it escapes her shell and holds it to her chest as she stuffs it little maw with the dead pests which she seems to be enjoying. "Oh how sweet are you! Now what to name you?" she giggles a little bit as the green almost nips her fingers in her fervor. Zaria goes off to a quiet corner to bond with her new friend.

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License