Evening in the Barracks

Xanadu Weyr - Candidate and Weyrling Barracks
Xanadu's barracks are a massive, L-shaped amalgamation of caverns and construction, squared on one end, rough-hewn and oblong on the other, with weyrlings and candidates separated from one another by a large communal area. Wood and stone floors meet in a clever spiral pattern that interlaces and spreads, creating harmony in a space meant for completion of chores, classes, and storage of both dragon supplies and bedding for humans. A singular wooden door leads into an office for the weyrlingstaff.
Windows stretch the length of the candidate barracks, a long, low-ceilinged room that opens off the training grounds. One wall is slightly curved, set against the outer wall of the hatching arena, with a locked door closing off a tunnel that leads onto the sands. Cots are set in two rows along the length of the room, each with its own small press at the foot for personal belongings. It's always warm here when there are eggs on the sands; candidates seldom need more than a light blanket, but a diminutive hearth is available for the warming of beverages or the occasional firelizard-surprise.
The weyrling half of the barracks have been burrowed back into stone. Close and dark when shutters to the outside world are drawn, the ample paths between dragon couches have been lit with dim strips of light. Smaller couches are obviously intended for the very young weyrlings, while the largest ones at the back are for those close to graduation. A second small hearth abuts a massive cavern opening that slopes gently down to the training grounds outside.

Dinner! It's what's for- uh. Oh. Wait. Dinner is dinner. Duh. That's about how much mental acuity Ligeia has left after a long, grueling day in the laundry. Her arm's fortunately healed up enough to allow her to work without hindrance (thanks, Mister Meowstopheles), so she's had plenty to do to make up for it. But, now, she's done and fed and bathed and exhausted and she shambles her way into the barracks with damp hair and half-lidded eyes. It's entirely too early for bed and, yet, she's sure feeling tired enough that she could probably sleep if she touches head to pillow. That might be why her firelizards have claimed both the pillows on her cot, though; vexatious things, they've even made a nest of her blankets at some point. "Whyyy," is half-whined, half-groaned at the sight that Herb and Newt have left but, of course, they have no answers. They're firelizards.

"Can't you just chuck them off?" That would be Kyriel's well intentioned but not at all helpful chiming in to Ligeia. He's a cot or so down and across and had been sprawled on his back, reading. Now the book is shut with his finger acting as a temp bookmark as he half-sits up, half props himself up. His clothing is casual and a little too clean; either he had a rest day or he's freshly changed.

The barracks have a little life in them; Kyszarin is stretched out on his cot, arm thrown over his arm as he gazes at the back of his eyelids. He's not asleep though; his other hand strokes the small brown firelizard curled up on his chest. He's still dressed for work, only his shoes tucked neatly beside his press - perhaps only taking a short break before another round through the Infirmary. It's even odds whether or not he pulled that duty by chance, or the Weyr's chief healer pulled a bit of rank to keep his journeyman on the docket as much as possible. When Ligeia's voice raises in a whine, he grunts at her. "Why what?" Hearing Kyriel's response, he throws his arm off with a groan and sits up, displacing Ginger who slides into his lap with a surprised twitter. "Huh. They look comfy."

"Sure, I can just toss them off the pillows, but- look. They made a nest and they're not even using it." Nope. They're on the pillows, pillows that Ligeia desperately wants right now and she glances at her arm - with the faint tracery of scars from a pretty darn recent domestic feline assault. She rubs her arm and huffs a bit and finally drops to sit on her cot after a quick bit of digging into her trunk. "They are comfy," she adds, craning a bit to look at Kyszarin, "and that's the problem, because they're sending me all the 'ooh, this is nice' feelings." Unhelpful, guys.

"I mean, you're always welcome to come over here." Of course, Kyszarin is a sprawler and these cots aren't exactly built for two, but it's the thought that counts, right? The grin he sends her holds a hint of good-natured leer, and his eyes are filled with laughter. "I probably won't be here too long, anyway - I'm only on break. Things got a bit hectic this afternoon; a few people neglecting their hydration, so they sent me out for dinner and a rest. Prolly be holding down the evening shift," he sighs, absently rubbing his fingers along Ginger's back as the brown hooks his claws into the young man's shirt and begins to scale it.

"Eee, eee, eek," says Izobet to herself as she wanders her way into the barracks in one of her better, if quieter, impersonations of a dolphin to date. Her hair is pulled back into a pile of floof on her head, and her cheeks are still a little on the pink side from a day shadowing some poor greenrider during his delivery duties. "Hey, guys!" she says when she becomes aware of other people, only just now trying to work out what's going on. "Did you know that dragons just PUKE OUT firestone when they're done with it? Gross." Except she sounds delighted and she's beaming a completely oblivious smile.

Kyriel slants look to Kyszarin, clearly not believing the selling point of the comfiness of firelizards. He huffs a little all the same, giving his head a small half-shake and his attention shifts back to Ligeia. "So…" he muses, "Undo the nest? Or join 'em, I guess." They'll move, right? So assumes the one without firelizards. He's pulled himself upright now, sitting crosslegged with the book now in his lap. Further commenting is waylaid when Izobet makes her entrance, dolphin impersonation and all. That's not what Kyriel remarks on, even if he's levelling her with an unsure stare. Uhhh. "Just discovered that now, huh?"

"I mean, you're always welcome to come over here." Of course, Kyszarin is a sprawler and these cots aren't exactly built for two, but it's the thought that counts, right? The grin he sends her holds a hint of good-natured leer, and his eyes are filled with laughter. "I probably won't be here too long, anyway - I'm only on break. Things got a bit hectic this afternoon; a few people neglecting their hydration, so they sent me out for dinner and a rest. Prolly be holding down the evening shift," he sighs, absently rubbing his fingers along Ginger's back as the brown hooks his claws into the young man's shirt and begins to scale it. Izobet's entrance earns a raised eyebrow and a thoughtful look from those storm-blue eyes, before he snickers. "It's not the puking part that's gross," he's a healer, puke is a part of life, "it's the stench." Kyriel is snickered at. "C'mon, have you ever tried to get a firelizard to leave somewhere comfy? Uphill battle, man."

"They might move." But Ligeia's side-eyeing her duo with a vengeance. She's at least sat on her cot, though, with a notebook in her lap. A few quick flips puts her at a blank page. After tucking a leg under her and hunkering forward, she's able to start doing- well, something. Writing, obviously. But what? A mystery. But then a dolphin finds its way into- oh, it's another Candidate. "Hey, hey," is called by way of greeting, a wiggle of fingers going Izobet's way. "Uh. Yeah. It's really gross stuff, too," she recalls with a shudder, flicking her attention to Kyriel the stare-bear, and then to Kyszarin, with some sense of reassurance. Fingers lift to sweep through damp locks and push them back, with an added, "I don't need to be pushed off the cot because you wanted to stretch out a leg, either, Kyszarin. These two are bad enough." Fortunately, they're staying in their lane- er, pillows. Her grin is briefly impish, flashed to the Healer, and then it's back to writing.

Izobet makes a face at Kyriel for that comment like she should have just known that already. Maybe she should have, but either way she's now armed with as many dragon facts as the greenrider she was shadowing could throw at her. For Kyszarin she has a dramatic but also somehow deadpan, "Oh, no, I've never smelled anything stinky in my entire life whatever will I do." And finally she points out to the other girl, "You could just get more pillows, probably. Or bunch up a blanket. Or a shirt." She could probably go on, but now she's sitting on her cot and letting her hair down to figure out how to deal with it.

Kyriel flashes a quick grin Kyszarin's way, followed by a one-shouldered shrug. "A few times," he admits, "And it is a battle, maybe because they weren't mine, but I like to think I'm more stubborn. They get the hint, after awhile." He probably had a few bruises and scratches for his efforts at boundaries too. "You're a Healer?" this, to Kyszarin, even if his staring has now switched back to Ligeia and her writing; curious, not intrusive. His attention is drawn away again by Izobet, Kyriel now snickering for her deadpan commentary. "So, what was with the dolphin noises?" Tactful? Not him. Bluntness aside, it's not malicious or even teasing — not intentionally, anyways.

With a lazy smile, Kyszarin shrugs. "I dunno, best fits are tight fits," cough, "but your loss." He absently unhooks Ginger from where the youngling is worrying at one of his shirt buttons and deposits him back in his lap. The brown twitters again, then begins the climb once more. Sighing, Kyn shoves his hand in the brown's face, giving him something to distract him from his obsession. As the critter begins to wrestle with the healer's lean fingers, those blue-grey eyes turn thoughtfully on Kyriel, brows drawing together slightly as if puzzling over something. Izobet's rejoinder distracts him from his contemplation of the other male and instead he transfers his frown to her. "I… didn't say you hadn't? I merely pointed out…" Trailing off, he shakes his head. "Whatever." And then he's back to brooding at Kyriel, just in time to answer that question. "Huh? Yeah, journeyman. Name's Kyszarin," he offers, perhaps just now realizing he only knows one of his new roommates. So far.

The pencil works deftly across paper, with Ligeia tuning an ear in to the conversations, but not lifting her head for a good stretch. When she speaks, she might seem to speak to the notebook - but her voice lifts easily enough to be heard, with a slight bobble of her head in the direction of the person she's talking to. "I probably could," she figures, a grin in her voice as she tips her head toward Izobet, "but then I wouldn't have room on my cot, because they'd just keep pushing me off of it in order to claim all the pillows." They're like goldfish, really; growing to fill their environment. Kyriel gets a hummed note and a glance, curiosity flicking from him and his question to whatever Izobet's answer might be. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" She lobs at Kyszarin, with an ease of familiarity that allows her to stick her tongue out at him with a quick look. Still- it's not a displeased kind of tease, and the impish dimpling of a grin is there and gone before it's right back to writing.

"Um. Dolphins are awesome?" Izobet answers Kyriel like he's the weird one who should know better now. Everyone knows dolphins are amazing, Kyriel. "Gross," she continues after Kyszarin's 'tight fit' thing, but in the next moment she's pointing out, "My mom is a Healer. I didn't want to be a Healer." And everyone's probably glad Izobet decided she didn't want to be a Healer, too, honestly. As she starts to pick tangles out of her curly hair, she eyes Ligeia's Problems on the cot, but must decide the other girl knows best. "I'm Tunnelsnake McGee." If they're doing introductions.

Hear that? That's just Kyriel half-choking on a laugh for Izobet's name choice during introductions. Which comes after he's held his hands up — or the one, anyways — as a warding gesture. "I don't doubt that!" No argument from him, since he's never met one and isn't sure he wants to get into that debate with the girl. Not tonight, anyways! Some comments are going right over his head thanks to his split attention, and that he's catching Kyszarin brooding. He'll frown right back, eyes narrowing as he makes a silent 'what?' gesture. "Kyriel," he replies, expression slipping back to indifference. "So, one Crafter — hey, Tunnelsnake McGee?" He ALMOST said that with a straight face! "Gonna assume you're Dolphincraft? And…" Now it's Ligeia's turn, though he doesn't call her out.

Clearly, Izobet's definition of gross skews with Kyzarin's. Distracted once again from musing over whatever puzzle Kyriel has evoked in his brain, his eyes slide towards Izobet, glinting grey for a brief moment as his temper surges, only to be subdued before it can do more than show in his glance. "Dolphins are okay," he agrees - well, mentions, as there's a definite difference of degree of okayness between their opinions. "Is she here?" Does he know her is the more likely question - though he's not entirely certain if he wants to know a healer who would name their child 'Tunnelsnake'. Ligeia's comment helps dispel his lingering irritation and he grins cheekily at her, spreading his arms. "Are you only now figuring this out, my dear?" he asks, with a sly cant to his grin. When Kyriel gives his name, the healer's gaze skews back towards him, eyes narrowing; there's a thought there, but his tired brain is struggling to catch it.

"Dolphins are awesome," Ligeia concurs with a quick grin shot to Izobet. "I've only seen them a few times, though." Pencil go 'scratchy scratchy' - and a page is flipped. She reaches back to playfully push at one firelizard, only to get a four-legged hug for her troubles; joke's on her, now she can't use her writing hand. It doesn't help that Newt gets the pencil in her maw. cromch. At least no rabbit-kicking is involved (yet). "Nooo," she replies to Kyszarin, looking up at him with zero attempt at innocence, "but the reminders don't hurt, do they?" She experimentally shakes her arm but, no, Newt's on there good. "What?" is for Kyriel once she catches his- okay, maybe not look, but implication. "Oh. Uh. Ligeia. Hi. Nice to meet you, Kyriel and McGee." The distraction is hopefully understandable. "A little help, please? I have some spiced jerky in my trunk and that's her favorite." Curry jerky to be precise; questionable? Absolutely.

While everyone else has already returned to the barracks, Dannissin is a bit later than most. And wet. Forget damp, the back of her tunic is soaked from how wet her hair is. Obviously, the redheaded woman just, literally just, got out of the baths. She pauses for a moment when she enters, warily eying the others present. Especially the boys. You stay over there and she'll stay over here. Thanks so very much. She does, finally, make her way over to her cot, carefully avoiding… well, everyone.

"Yes!" says Izobet like Kyriel is ACTUALLY CLEVER for figuring out her very obvious craft. She's impressed. "I'm an apprentice. But Risali and Leirith said I could touch the eggs if I did this, and I don't even care what Sarmo thinks about it." Never mind that no one else probably knows who Sarmo is unless they know he's the Dolphincraft Journeyman she came to Xanadu with. She continues struggling with her hair for a few more moments, then stands back up to head right back out the way she'd just come. "I'll be back!"

"Same," Kyriel tacks on as his 'well met, nice to meet you' to not only Ligeia but the assembled group so far. Why? Oh, because he's watching things unfold with her and those firelizards. He won't laugh — nah, he's laughing, under his breath and with a roll of his eyes that holds no actual negativity behind it. Sorry, Dannissin, but this boy is on the move! Slowly. Unhurried, since he has that book of his to slip a proper bookmark (it's toally a scrap of paper) between the pages and leaving it safely on his cot. "'Scuse me," he mutters in passing with the newly arrived Dannissin, drifting over to Ligeia's cot and the trunk mentioned. "That was your— oh, she's gone." Izobet escapes him this time! Kyszarin's continued attention is largely unnoticed at this point; he does not seem to make any connections … yet. Give it time, give it time~

Watching Izobet leave, Kyszarin keeps his opinion between his teeth - barely - but the look on his face says it all. Then he dismisses the dolphincrafter with a flick of his fingers, turning his attention to those Candidates yet remaining in the room. He studies Ligeia, studies her firelizard-encased hand - and gives her an apologetic smile that certainly ISN'T AMUSED don't notice the laughter in his eyes. "Hands full," he says apologetically as he reaches down to unhook Ginger once more from his shirt. Dannissin's entrance draws his attention briefly, and he frowns a bit over her wary look, but when that gaze flicks over him, he offers her his healer's smile - calm and reassuring, the kind that says, 'I'm here to help'. When Kyriel moves to help Ligeia, he stiffens slightly, then visibly relaxes with an inward frown, shaking his head. "So. Healer. Dolphincrafter." He hesitates over Ligeia. "Firelizard Perch. What about you?" he asks of the other young man.

"Newt. Please. Seriously." Ligeia lifts her arm slowly, which means the firelizard wraps all the tighter around the young woman's arm. Gentle shaking ensues. It's not very effective. A desperate look is flung to Izobet Tunnelsnake McGee, but she's gone. Kyszarin, too, gets a pleading look - but then Kyriel's there to check out the junk jerky in her trunk and she points as if to indicate where it might be within. "It should be in that corner. You'll smell it, I'm sure." Her notebook is left open in her lap, the penciled in notes obvious to any wandering eye: it's not a journal, but rather- notes? Notes. Lots of notes. Names. Personalities. Some dotted lines connect names to other names. Dannissin's arrival is peripherally noted, a quick smile flashed her way, but then her attention darts to Kyszarin. "Pfffft. You're more of a perch than I am," what with Ginger all up on him like that. "Buuut, maybe that's more accurate right now," she laughs. "Hopefully she doesn't slip, otherwise I might need a helping hand or two. Again."

Dannissin might have a shadow. Doubtless, many a candidate would prefer if that ginger shadow were an actual feline rather than Tej who merely has the propensity to adopt some similar styles of movement - such as slinking. The first people to make eye contact (accidentally or otherwise) once she gets to the candidate side of the structure are even treated to the feline hallmark look of, What. Pleasant, right? And then she's moving right along, steps light as she makes move toward her own cot - one about half way down on the candidates side, only to find herself crossing paths with Kyriel as he drifts HEROICALLY toward Ligeia's trunk. She steps a little faster to keep him from having to do the awkward dance to get where he's going one time free pass, Kyriel and she sways to a stop, twisting enough to tilt her head and take in the situation that may yet shortly be resolved. There's no sign, with Tejra, as to where she's been or why she's returning now, because what is life without mystery~~ She does arch a silent brow at Ligeia, or in her general direction, a gesture that might well be a 'what have I missed here?' but who can really say since she apparently isn't immediately joining the general chatter of the barracks because apparently, that would be too much to ask.

Kyszarin's healer smile gets a narrow eyed look as Dannissin drops down onto the edge of her cot and starts working on toweling her hair dry. She keeps her eyes on everyone, but very pointedly does not join the conversation. What is it about those redheads? Apparently, the not-Fortian is just extremely antisocial. And wary. Thanks Zach! Poor Ligeia's predicament is noted and dismissed, since it's apparently being handled by one of the younger boys. No help from Danni's quarter!

No awkward dance? Aww. Not that Kyriel minds, half-muttering 'sorry' in passing to Tejra as he moves along; maybe with just a cursory glance backward at the older Candidate. There's a perfectly opporunity for some double-entendre remarks involving smells and trunks, but Kyriel only smirks at Ligeia and there's a glimmer of amusement in those pale blue eyes. HE COULD — but he doesn't. Instead, he crouches by that trunk and sets to work, not at all bashful about digging around the contents. Hopefully she has no breakables? He's also blissfuly unawares of Kyszarin's reaction and it's likely for the best. "You both are making me thankful I'm not attached to any," Which means he just jinxed himself, right? Busy as he might be, he does catch that question thrown his way. "Nothing special," he tosses back, but minus the self-deprecation. It's just blunt honesty. "Just regular weyrfolk. Born here, raised here… hadn't really settled on — hey, this it?" He'll hold up what he's hoping is the jerky for Ligeia's inspection.

Whatever it is about Kyriel that is triggering Kyszarin's mental itch just isn't coming clean, and the healer simply doesn't have the time - or the braincells - to continue to pursue it. No doubt it'll come in time. Tejra's entrance draws his gaze briefly, and he nods to the newest of the Candidates joining their little shindig, but makes no effort to draw her or Danni into the conversation, leaving it up to them whether or not they join. Instead, he offers Ligeia a lazy smile. "Yes, but I can get rid of Ginger if I so choose." He simply doesn't want to. That's totally the reason he's once again unhooking the brown from his shirt and depositing the firelizard in his lap, stroking aggressively along the critter's back to keep him in one place. "My kit's handy, don't worry; I've taken to keeping it at hand with you here," he adds, snickering.

Breakables? Nada. She has some neat stacks of clothing - Igenite by make and design - but the bulk of her trunk? Packed with stacks of books and notebooks, writing utensils, and- well, some parcels of jerky. She's not kidding, either; it doesn't take much to figure out where the parcels of the stuff are. Ligeia breathes a sigh of relief when Kyriel does find the stuff and her mood brightens, "Thank you! My hero!" In the moment, at least; she'll take the packet, fish out a scrap, and dangle it temptingly over the pillow that Newt previously vacated. "You can have some if you want," is added - not just for Kyriel, but also Kyszarin and the others that have filtered in. Newt eventually slithers free and grasps at the treat with avaricious fingers that are entirely too long. The pencil is dropped and peace is restored. "And, sure-" she adds to Kyszarin, "-but I think you just like things being difficult." See also: his tolerance of her and her proclivity for getting injured. "I should probably get extra supplies to give you, too. To make up for the stuff I use."

Tej isn't always so mannerless as to not return Kyszarin's nod with a chin lift of her own, though he can't be blamed for her having taking an interest, which is probably for the best. Her contribution of, "That can be fixed," is bland, dangerously bland. If Kyriel did just jinx himself in regard to being menace-free, it sounds like the universe can have help in fulfilling his comeuppance if Tejra's slightly pointy smile is anything to go by. Her arms fold loosely over her chest as she takes a step nearer to observe (possibly just to the belongings Vanilla is pawing through in the process of questing for the tools of a hero, though not obviously so). She turns her head enough to glances at the younger redhead, but it seems to simply be to account for where she's settled before the harper's attention comes back to move between Kyszarin and Ligeia. She makes no comment, but her brows do inch slightly downward.

"Hardly," Kyriel makes a face at the use of 'hero', because once that packet of jerky is in Ligeia's hands (hand?), he's going to stand up. "And no thanks." He wrinkles his nose a bit with a grimace, more playful than teasing. "I can tell from the smell alone it's not my thing." He'll pretend he didn't glimpse all those books, either — maybe that'll be an awkward, out of the blue, question for another time. As he turns to drift away, he'll notice Tejra again, lifting a single brow. What? "I'm Kyriel," he offers, by way of greeting. They were all just introducing one another, so what's one more?

Dannissin snorts at Ligeia's comment about getting supplies— and about Kyriel being her hero— and shakes her head. Nope. No heroes here. She just sits there quietly, methodically drying her hair until it's just damp instead of drippy. She doesn't say a word the entire time, just watching everyone. And making sure she knows exactly where everyone in the room is.
"Ah, so you figured it out," comes Kyszarin's smirking reply. "But really, you shouldn't call yourself difficult. Challenging is a much better term." Implications and entendres; if he's not engaging in them, then someone might want to check his temperature. "By all means, but I do restock from the Infirmary. Keeping my kit topped off is just part and parcel of the knot." Even if he's not wearing it right now, having exchanged it for the white knot from his father. "Have you had a chance to meet up with your kitten?" he wonders, before Kyriel once more distracts him. Clearly, he's part-corvid - constantly distracted by new shinies. "Wise choice," he remarks to the other man, the scent of the jerky hitting him over here. "Ugh. Down." Ginger is once more pried loose and deposited for vigorous pettings.

"Your loss!" Bright, cheery, and why not? It means more for her. And it's just as well, in the end. Just as soon as Ligeia gets her arm, her pencil, and her notebook back? A gold firelizard plops itself into being and circles over her head before dropping a note and unceremoniously departing. "What now." It's rhetorical. After wiping her fingers free of the curry coating, she takes up the note, gives it a read, and stuffs it into the book she'd been writing in - all done with an expression that's quick to drop into unreadability. "Sorry, I- um. I need to go. Thanks again, Kyriel! And, see you around, Kyszarin?" Hopeful, yes- despite the fact that they're living in the same place and the odds of seeing anyone around are remarkably high. Unfortunately, whatever it is that's lit a fire under her bum has pulled her away from the banter and innuendo side of the conversation. She has just enough presence of mind to add, "Not yet, not with these chores, but I will soon. Maybe I can bring him to show off. But, um- later. Sorry!" She grabs her immediately useful stuff, wiggles fingers in farewell at Tejra and Dannissin, and then she's gone, headed out at a quick lope.

There's a slightly slow blink at Kyriel as he turns to drift and comes more or less face to face - if thankfully not too uncomfortably close to the much older candidate. There's a subtle pinch to Tejra's lips that might indicate she's actually more than figuratively biting her lower lip from within to hold back remarks that will serve her even less than all her utterly pleasant behavior so far. She thusly keeps her, "Well met," neutral, but rather than offer her name or perform any of the other expected pleasantries, she's turning on her heel to continue along her original path since the party here is breaking up with Ligia's departure and Ginger's apparent needs for Kyszarin's attention, an event acknowledged with another of those chin lifts in casual acknowledgement. For all that Kyriel is left more or less high and dry, Dannissin is accorded a smile as the older redhead passes by. Redhead solidarity in action? Well, maybe she had to be nice to someone tonight to meet her quota and Danni drew the short straw? lucked out. Short of a reason to stop, the harper will at least stop making life in the barracks that much more awkward by minding her own business at and around her own cot for a while.

Kyriel can't keep the puzzled look from surfacing to his features, at Tejra's neutral reply and lack of an offered name in return. But? It's all shrugged off — quite literally! He's young, but he can take a hint (or just run on what he thinks just happened, as he's yet to learn the pitfalls of assumptions). He'll tip a quick nod to Kyszarin along with a fleeting smirk, still unaware of that renewed focus on what is nagging the other Candidate. It's a wonder he hasn't clued in, but maybe if he's stared at enough, long enough, he'll start feeling it! Or maybe the tables will turn~ He'll lift a hand in a half-wave to Ligeia's thanks, acknowledging it and also giving his farewell to her. His goal, right now? To get back to his cot, settle in and reclaim that book of his. And will likely go back to reading it, able to immerse himself enough into whatever contents are within to largely ignore his surroundings — if he does speak up again, it'll be here and there, distracted and brief.

Finally ejecting Ginger yet again from his shirt, Kyszarin starts to respond to Ligeia, only to find himself abandoned in favor of a mystery. However, having been the recipient of far too many letters-by-'lizard himself, he merely gives her a sympathetic look and inclines his head in agreement. "Probably more than you like," he replies cheekily, his gaze drifting after her as she leaves before he turns his attention back to the others. With Tejra being a shadow and Dannissin's clear discomfort, he struggles to find something - anything - to say… then leaves well enough alone. "Well, back to the grind," he sighs, pushing Ginger out of his lap before sliding off the bed and digging up his shoes. "Enjoy your evening," he calls to the others at large, before heading back out, presumably to resume his shift in the Infirmary.

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