Turn and Burn

The cliffs that run along the shore come and go, various weyrs nestled along the tops of them or dug into the walls, but eventually they recede enough to expose a beach. The white sand echoes the rise and fall of the cliffs with a multitude of sandy dunes, endlessly creating tiny valleys that are constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of dragons. The dunes smooth out as the gentle slope approaches the edge of the deep blue water. The sand darkens, and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect.
The beach narrows to the southwest, leaving a path barely wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to a smaller, more sheltered cove. The sands are the same white, the waters the same blue, but they're calmer and more tranquil, more protected from the winds that ruffle Lake Caspian and the currents that tug beneath the surface.
Rough, wide stairs lead up to the meadow above and the road that runs along the top of the cliffs, passing through the fields and heading for the river mouth that can be just barely seen from here. The largest of the staircases up the cliff is located near the docks that jut out onto the peaceful blue waters.

RIGHT. SO. IT'S TURNOVER, AND WHAT WOULD A GOOD TURNOVER BE IF NOT THE PLACE FOR ONE TO COME TO THE BEACH AND START A BONFIRE? That's what Risali is doing (or rather, has already done), amid festivities that are happening all around them. There are harpers harping, and tables spread out with food, and lights strung on poles in a caricature of Leirith's true mind to keep the beach lit up. INDEED, Rukbat has sunk her way beneath the horizon, but it's still early evening yet, and RISALI is gearing up for the BEST. TIME. EVER. THAT'S RIGHT. She has made herself a TINY FORT ANYWAY (so a pillow to sit on, and a blanket to hide under), she's got a STICK, and a bag of MALLOWS, and she's got a box right next to her FULL OF THINGS that she probably intends to throw into the fire one by one. AFTER SHE FINISHES ROASTING AND ENJOYING THIS DELICIOUS MALLOW, OKAY. And that sip of booze. … And that other sip of booze. LISTEN. THERE'S A LOT OF BOOZE. And okay, yes. A smol platter of finger foods she stole to keep her sated between sips of booze and roasted mallows. BUT SHE IS ALONE. At least, for now.

TEMPTATION, THY NAME IS BOOZE. A former bartender wanders amongst all those festivities looking just a tad bit lost and confused and those empty hands flutter as Rhodelia looks to find something to fill them. Nope, not that drink. It could be a TRAP TO A SLIPPERY SLOPE. Eventually she just tucks her arms into her arm bits and heads to the dubious safety of the bonfire, flopping down not too far from Risali and all her things. "Are you going to burn that?" Her arms don't come out to help with any pointing, it's just a chin point in the general direction. That could be the box of things or the marshmallow. Or both! At the end of the night, chances of a firesale everything must burn type party might be pretty high after all.

"Yes," is Risali's answer, regardless of what Rhodelia is asking about. Probably because ALL OF THE THINGS are about to be set on fire if she has any say. Still, she hands off her stick with mallow intact to Rhodelia with a look and a wiggle of the thing — mostly so that she can free up her hands, which she uses to dig in that blanket SOMEWHERE and produce a gift. It's WRAPPED PRETTY, small though the box may be, and Risali passes it off to her assistant like Rhodelia totally should have expected it. "Happy Turnover, Rhody," the weyrwoman breathes, the hints of a smile blooming before she looks away. AND WHAT IS IN THE BOX? Nothing grand, just a mug for Klah, or tea, or nefariously boozy things with some sassy inscription like, 'I'm Busy, Try Again Never' or, 'For You? I'm Always Busy,' on the outside of it. BECAUSE IT'S RISALI'S PERSONAL INSIDE JOKE ABOUT HOW LITTLE FREE TIME SHE GIVES RHODY IN HER LIFE. SUP. AND THEN YES, she IS digging in that box. What's this that she's holding up for Rhody to see? A REPORT. One that looks like it might actually have been important. And so Risali sips booze and THROWS IT INTO THE FIRE and then pushes that box between the two of them. MAKE UP WHAT YOU FIND IN THERE, IT'S FINE. "How is candidacy so far?"

There are some things in life Rhodelia is rather good at. She tries to keep them deeply hidden for some reason, but every so often, one comes out. That Marshmallow stick she was so carefully entrusted with just happens to be one of those Good Things! No molten doom for this little sugar ball, nope. She'll carefully rotate it ever so slowly working for that golden crispy crust. At least, until there's a box being wiggled at her. "For me?" She blinks in surprise before awkwardly trying to hand the stick back and take the box. Tradesies. And what good is a mystery wrapped box without a a ginger little shake? Sadly, mugs don't make much noise (at least if they're going to still be useful), so after the disappointingly quiet shake, she'll tear into the box and it's paper until the prize is revealed with a suitable. "Ooooooh!" She'll even model the sassy mug with an even sassier pinky-out drinking pose. "Just what I needed in life." A warning manual, clearly. The report is met with an eyebrow raise as if she's seriously considering that might be work for her, but then it goes in the fire and she claps. "New and improved system?" Don't tell, Stefyr. He might think he just learned the old one. As for candidacy, she shrugs. "Same old, same old, basically. And boys are dumb." So really, same old, same old.

Turn day? Gotta turn things on turn day and what better day of turning things on turn day but turning things brought in what looks like a lumpy ruck sack and a hand held heavy basket. Percival walks across the beach, spotting Rhodelia and he pauses, peering over to Risali with narrowed eyes. Rhody looks like her face is intact, and there's no free roaming kareoke boom box with surround sound of the LEIRITH brand so the Candidate should be safe for now. NO NEED TO BRING OUT LIGHTNING AND FURY. You know, whatever two random objects he throws in the golds direction for the sake of distraction. Content, the young man glances around and finds a good spot, letting his things slide off his back with a heavy thud. The basket, on the other hand, is gently placed on the ground. Then, the Butcher gets to work digging a little hole. HIS FIRE IS A PRIVATE ONE, RISALI. Giblets are VIP.

OH RIGHT. I SHOULD PROBABLY MAKE CLEAR THE SET. LISTEN, IT'S DARK, THERE'S A BONFIRE, AND THERE ARE TABLES WITH FOOD AND LIGHTS STRUNG BETWEEN POLES. There's harpers harping and probably games, but Risali and Rhodelia have the BEST TURNOVER IDEA EVER by camping near the fire with MALLOWS and a SMOL TRAY OF FINGER FOODS, and a stick for the mallows, and a blanket. And a pillow to sit on. And also a big, big box full of things to BUUUUURN! "For you." But then Risali is laughing, burrowing further into her blanket, looking even more like she might just FALL ASLEEP AND NOT WAKE UP FOR TEN TURNS before she scrunches her nose. "Was there ever actually a system?" CRUEL. "I remember when I was Calisi's assistant and… well…" There was probably more Chaos than System in place. "Dumb in the I need to go kick their ass way? Or dumb in the, 'What made you think that was remotely a good idea, now you both have matching faces but an amalgamation of stories that definitely don't line up and that's suspicious'?" DEADPAN. Then her attention is tilting towards Percival and Risali stares, then stares harder before tipping her chin towards her assistant. "I think that one is looking at you." MISCHIEF, THY NAME IS RISALI, and it's all there in that not-quite-on-mark-but-clearly-intended-to-be-wicked-smile.

Chances are pretty good that Stefyr had been told (probably repeatedly) about the plans for the burn party happening on Turnover. Chances are equally good that he thought Risali and Rhodelia were joking every. single. time. The blond's hands are tucked into his pockets when he arrives on the scene of the all too real burn party, though he skirts the periphery. His expression is too melancholy for the ongoing festivities. It's definitely too sad for marshmallows. It's probably the kind of sad that even roasted marshmallows can't fix. Woe. The assistant-still-in-training is probably only here because he probably felt like he should at least check and see if they were just pulling his leg or if he needed to make sure that someone actually remembered to let the appropriate fire-fighting wings know to be on standby. But whatever his purpose, Stefyr doesn't seem keen to jump into the gathering crowd out to enjoy the Turn End event. His eyes stray away from Risali and Rhodelia to touch on Percival beginning his work on his own hole and under normal circumstances the candidate might be inclined to go offer his strong backed help, but not tonight. Tonight, he doesn't even dare to walk toward the fire, or to make eye contact with either of his R-named office compatriots, instead, he moves toward the water, pausing to remove his boots before he's walking off away from the crowds, toes in the sand. BUZZKILL, THY NAME IS STEFYR. But at least he doesn't STAY.

Rip-Van-Risali! Her story will be told for generations! Rhodelia meanwhile folds herself cross-legged so she can better look at her mug in the firelight. Questions about her system or lack-there-of get answered with a toothy grin. "If I tell you, I think that might make me lose some job security!" Because really, who would even have a CHANCE of finding anything remotely important Rhody had stored in that office? Rhody can only manage it 50% of the time on a good day. The deadpan is met with a Very Serious face, no more grins from her. "Could it be both? They might need an asskicking to remind them not to be such horrible liars!" And maybe to remind them not to do whatever it was got the bruising in the first place but SHE WOULDN'T KNOW. She was completely oblivious to the butcher and his starings until Risali pointed him out. Rhody gives a glance over her shoulder and just shrugs. "He might be stupid too." That's right, Percy. You're getting lumped in with Ruthien and Stefyr too for no reason! How'd you like them apples?

"I'll have you know, she said might so there might be hope for idiocy yet!" All said while pointing an accusing finger at Risali, then back and forth between the Weyrwoman and Giblets. He's not done yet, but he's getting there! A tiny fire is erected, and a little metal stand is propped over it. Why? Cause sausages don't cook themselves and who wants to hold sticks?! Percival puts a few fresh made meat stuffed tubes over the flames and he takes one out, glancing over to Risali, then back at the sausage… Then the Butcher simply lobs it over into another group of people that were doing that high pitched shriek complaining about their seasonal moment being ruined. "THERE! LET ME HELP RUIN THAT FOR YOU." Like Leirith supposedly does when she hears people doing activities in their weyrs. LIKE A GENE SIMMONS PERSONAL TRAINER. Hands dusted, he glances over to Rhodelia and shrugs. "That one had the spices I didn't like, didn't mean to bring that one out."

RISALI LAUGHS INTO HER BOOZE, and then totally noms down on that perfectly cooked mallow I TOTALLY FORGOT TO MENTION SHE TOOK BACK LAST POSE. Now she's shoving another mallow onto it and holding the stick back out for Rhody. "Never. You're stuck with me until…" Well. Ohp. Apparently we aren't going there; Risali's smile gutters out, and she pulls her blanket a little more tightly around her as if warding off a chill that's definitely not there. DON'T WORRY. SHE RECOVERS WITH A QUICKNESS. "It can be both." It can definitely be both. AND LOOK, RISA WAS ABOUT TO DEFEND YOU, PERCY, BUT THEN YOU WENT AND DID THAT. "… Faranth. I think you might be right, Rhodelia." BUT YOU KNOW WHO DOES NOT AGREE? « THIS ONE, MINION! » Leirith. Leirith who suddenly SURGES UP FROM THE SEA in a CRASH OF WATER that definitely ruins more than just A FEW party-goers party-goings, and then Risali is rolling her eyes at Rhody. "You can come stay with me, if you want. I think the barracks are about to get a whole lot dumber." And OUT OF THAT BLANKET SHE ARISES, in possession of a white knot that she affects a pitcher's form with and then CHUCKS AT PERCIVAL'S HEAD. "Tell the weyrlingmasters! Or just give it back to them." You know, if you don't want it. Now Risali is looking forlorn at that box and exhaling, "I have to go check on something. You're free to burn what you want. I shouldn't be too long." But then she's going, abandoning her things to pick her away across the beach in booted feet. WHERE? NOBODY SEEMS TO KNOW. And Leirith? Well. She's all but disappeared again. It's a small mercy.

"I'M A GENEROUS SOUL, MEATHEAD!" Rhodelia yells out, hands cupped around her mouth for extra magnification of that not at all contradictory statement. Risali's warning about just how long she might be stuck with her has the assistant-candidate's head wiping back so quick she might give herself some whiplash but unfortunately that statement was cut off so she'll just have to PONDER. Leirith's Sea-Monster Arrival gets Rhody up into a crouch since one can never be too sure, but seems she's safe enough since the targets are set on somewhere else. Rhody doesn't even look at what she picks up from the box before she just tosses it in to watch the fire spark up and consume it. "Great. Next thing you know, he'll have a face bruise and fifty different stories for it too." Grudges? Just a little.

Percival blinks as the knot assaults his face and he stops what he's doing to make sure it didn't fall in meat juices or into the fire. The man glances up at Risali, offers her a clumsy salute and then he goes back to organizing his little fire pit. "Tell Leirith, she can have that sausage. It went flying majestically that way somewhere. If she doesn't catch it soon, it'll grow sentience and demand things." Whether or not Risali or anyone heard isn't his problem anymore. "Who's gonna have bruises now? Need me to rough someone up? I got a new meat grinder! Though, uh, looks like I won't be able to use it for a while." Once his hands are cleaned off as good as they're going to get under current conditions, he's careful to put the knot in his pocket for the time being.

Look, Rhody wasn't all bluster with her generous soul quip. She pats the sand next to her, an invitation for the freshest minted candidate. While Risali is running off to do weyrwomen stuff who knows where, Rhodelia can fill him in! "First off, you might be the one with bruises. They seem to be contagious around here lately, but there's no fighting. That's a rule!" She holds up a finger. "Number two… don't get plastered. They'll let you drink, but not if you make a fool of yourself. Also, don't get anybody pregnant." She gives a nod as she thinks she hit all the major points before pulling out a trinket that may have been provided by one of the Lady Holders with the MOST pretentious tastes (it's a cat statue wrapped in a doiley). She holds it up just long enough to make sure Percival could get an appropriate look of it before hurling it the three feet or so into it's fiery demise. "And you'll still get to use your meat grinder unless you specifically ask not to do any baker-related stuff. Kitchen work is like one of THE most common candidate chores. Why wouldn't they put you there? Plus… you can make sure folks don't chop off their fingers or something." Or do chop of their fingers if he's the type out to try and eliminate competition.

"Giblets, there isn't anyone worthy of bearing my progeny within range so we don't have to worry about that in any case, but… I can't fight anyone?" He's pouting, Rhody. Seriously pouting with the wip quiver and the sad puppy dog eyes… He glances down towards Risali's fire, then his own for a moment. "So don't fight anyone, but I can do other things because bruises are expected? Excellent~" Wait, this isn't how it works! Oh well, this ain't his first rodeo so only time will tell what happens this time around. The sausages are checked on, a tray brought closer when they're ready to pull away from the flames. "Alright, Giblets. Tell me everything that's going on in the barracks with the other Candidates that you know of. If all I'm to have in there is my wits, I wanna be armed well. You and I both know the quality of said wits." You know those restaurant grade signs that have to be posted? Post F for respects for them wits.

Rhodelia has an awfully big box of things to burn and sadly not much dirt to dish even if she wanted to. A few tidbits aside from names and former occupations might be shared, but at least the act of burning of things can be mighty cathartic, right? Eventually the items will all be ash, the party will die and the fires too. And at some point, some sleepy candidates will wander to their beds and soon dreams of eggs will be filling their heads.

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