Xanadu Weyr - Stables
The stables of Xanadu Weyr are composed of one long building, lined with box and standing stalls that are kept thoroughly clean by the resident grooms and stablehands. Runners nicker and neigh at everyone who enters, save for the obstinate ones that just flicker their ears in indignant curiosity that they dare not make visible. The foremost stalls near the door to the barnyard are the grand box stalls which are home to the prized runners of Xanadu, as well as the most pregnant, those which are so far along that they require constant observation by the Herders, so as to ensure easy foaling.
A broad pathway covered in straw and sawdust leads to the rest of the weyr's stalls, primarily comprised of standing stalls. Many runners are in the standing stalls, with ropes strung across the front so as to keep the runners from leaving their designated containers. A few hay bales sit here and there along the avenue, some of which act as seats for the stablehands and grooms on their breaks, others as snacks for those runners who can reach out their necks far enough. Buckets and baskets of grooming supplies - brushes, combs, and the like - also sit here and there, occassionally knocked over by a wayward hoof or inquiring muzzle.
It is a beautiful summer day at Xanadu Weyr, or perhaps it is easier to say just a day at Xanadu. The weather is often beautiful here. Luckily for Nyvex, he was born and raised at the Weyr. So he is used to this beautiful weather and it doesn't distract him from his tasks at hand. The extremely tall candidate is dressed for hard work in the summer heat, Wherhide shorts, boots and a sleeveless shirt. He's already learned, be careful about sharing information about your background as it can be used against you. He mentioned to one person that he was raised on a Runner Ranch a stones throw from Xanadu and the next day he is assigned to maintenance in the stables. His bright green eyes are focused at the task at hand which is currently to repair a fence that a particularly wild spirited runner yearling broke. His blond brow glistening with sweat as he flexes his muscles and hammers away at the fence to repair it. This is definitely not his first rodeo when it comes to repairing the destruction of young runners. He makes quick work of the repair job.
Shiloh may be new to the weyr (at least so much as he's only been here a turn or two, so far) but he's definitely no stranger to runners, spirited or otherwise. It is his job, after all. Even if there is a suspiciously bright, white knot now adorning his shoulder to designate his change in… station? Title? Truly, little has changed for the beastcrafter, for all that he is now 'candidate' as well. But, the beauty of being a journeyman assigned to Xanadu is that white-knots don't preclude him from doing the work that he loves. Nyvex may be assigned to fix that fence, but Shiloh is assigned (by virtue of his job) to fixing that runner. Thankfully, no damage seems to have been done, at least not to the animal in question. The fence? Well. That's why Nyvex is here, right? Spirited runners have been spirited away so that the harper-turned-candidate-turned-temporary-handyman can do his thing. Even if it also involves Shiloh eyeing it with the sort of squinty-eyed look that says he's judging that repair job. Or maybe that's just his face.
The extremely tall young man finishes with the section of fence that really needed to be fixed and he stops to take a bit of a break. He lifts up the shirt he is wearing and wipes his face with it. "Nope, don't miss this." He mutters to himself. He drops his shirt and moves back to inspect his work. When working with animals, you always check your work. Mostly because the last thing you want to do after putting all the energy into repairing the fence is to have to chase said animal if you didn't do the job properly. He gives it a hard tug and shake and nods at his own work. The hammer is tossed in the air and he catches it. "Still got it." Yeah, he's talking to himself. He probably hasn't noticed Shiloh inspecting his repair job. He gets the wooden tool box that was assigned to him for the tasks today. He bends over to put away the hammer. A container of water is pulled out of the box and he takes a slow swig from it. It's then that his bright green eyes catch sight of Shiloh. A big smile curling up on his lips. "Afternoon. Sure is beautiful here. Although, a smidge warm for fixing fences. Should have been doing this as the sun came up. Would have been a whole lot cooler." The blond picks up the tool box and heads over towards Shiloh. "I'm sure tomorrow i'll be assigned to muck out the stables. Don't they realize I ran away from this lifestyle for a reason." His soft tone is very good natured, clearly he doesn't mind. "We haven't been properly introduced, I'm Nyvex." He offers up politely.
The extremely tall young man isn't all that tall standing next to someone who is only four inches shorter. Still tall, though. And maybe there's a bit of irritation for having to look up at someone, when Shiloh is perhaps used to being the tallest in the room. Or maybe it's irritation for the sun; that glaring ball of fire intent upon shining down and making them all sweat and squint and sometimes, downright miserable in its relentless burning. Definitely too warm for fixing fences, even if the fences require fixing. It's easy to overlook him. Shiloh isn't speaking, or moving, or doing much to attract attention. But at least he's not being a creepy stalker-type, since it's the fence and not the man that he's squinting at. At least until he's addressed. "Ran away?" There's a twitch of an eyebrow for that; something that might be a question, or a comment, or something, though he doesn't give it voice. The offering of a name seems to snap the manners back into him, a tip of his head offered in cordial greeting along with, "Shiloh. Nice to meet you," spoken with only a little bit of a drawl.
"Yeah, Ran away. I was raised very close to here. Born on a Runner Ranch just outside of the Weyr. Not too far away though. We were still considered part of the Weyr territory. My Grandfather and Father both rode Bronzes. And they continued to raise runners after they impressed. I on the other hand joined the Harpers and escaped to the Hall a few turns ago. My ma still runs the Ranch after my father passed. I was visiting her from Manaco Bay when the Queen snatched me up to stand for her clutch. I think she just likes that I sing." And this is why he is a Harper, he likes to talk. And share information. It's just in the genetics of all of the Harpers. "Nice to meet you as well Shiloh." He keeps that big smile upon his lips. "I'm used to draft Runners though. My family raises some of the best in Pern. They transport them all over. My Grandfather was very proud of the lineage. Sturdy beasts that could survive most anywhere on Pern." Big Runners for big guys, all of the men in Nyvex's family seem to be well over 6 foot in height. "Sorry, I was headed to the Beastcraft before I ran off to the Harpers. I could probably ramble on about Runners as much as you can. But, I won't monopolize the conversation, that would be extremely rude of me. So where were you from before here?" He shows a genuine interest for the other candidate.
This is fine! Shiloh can stand and look all stoic (or just squinty) while Nyvex speaks of runners and running away. There's a little "Heh," of a half-laugh for the mention of being queen-snatched, an uptick to the side of his mouth that comes in dry amusement for the thought. A few steps bring him closer, so he can lean on that fence that Nyvex just so expertly repaired. If it can hold a runner, it can probably hold Shiloh. "Before I was posted?" is asked to clarify that question, though Shiloh won't actually wait for the answer before giving it. "Beastcraft hall. And before that… my family's ranch up near Telgar." And since Nyvex divulged his backstory, Shiloh will give a bit of his. "They raise herdbeasts for the Weyr. Couple runners, too — stock types. For working the cattle. Good lines but, s'not the primary business." Cattle is. "Preferred runners so, that's what I did." And here he is. But it's the irony if their almost-but-not-quite-similar stories that prompts another little dry twitch to his mouth. Amused. "Funny how life works." A beat or two. "When you say 'the queen', you mean Leirith? Or one of the others?"
That fence should definitely hold Shiloh with no problem. He has been fixing Runner corrals since he was old enough to swing a hammer. He does confirm his question about before he was posted with a nod and a quick, "Yeah." The blond allows the other to tell his story. He listens with great interest. His head bobs up and down as he actively listens to his fellow candidates past. He stores all of the information away for later if necessary. "Nice area. Telger. I believe I have been there a few times. Not recently but definitely in the past. We delivered our Runners all over Pern. I've been everywhere except where it snows. Haven't seen snow yet. Been to the desert, and been close to the frozen north. But it was summer and wasn't close enough to ever have snow." He looks at the amused expression on Shiloh's face and he quirks a brow. "Hmm?" He then responds, "Yeah. Leirith. She is the only gold dragon I have ever met in my life. Scared me at first. Now she is not so scary."
"Snows in Telgar," offers Shiloh. "In winter. Specially where we're at. Big drifts; up to my shoulders sometimes." Is he joking? It might be hard to tell, but he probably doesn't sound like he's joking. "Summer's're nice, though." Presumably in Telgar-region. "Never been anywhere else, though. Just here, the Hall and home." No Pern-wide traveling for this guy. Shiloh's not terribly fussed about this. Who needs to travel when all they want is right where they are? Xanadu certainly doesn't lack for runners, despite it being a Weyr. "Leirith's who Searched me, too." Maybe that explains some of his amusement for it all, subtle though it might be. "Came at me on the beach, right out of the water like a sea-monster." Never mind it's a lake. "Spoke to me. But, kinda used to that," he admits. "Xanadu dragons're loud. Though— well. She's a lot nicer'n the first one to talk to me." That brings a grimace, something far less amused even if there's still something like irony in his expression. "Never Stood before, then?"
Listening to the talk of Telgar, Ny smiles. "Oh, well it wasn't even cold the times I visited. It was usually in the spring when we delivered the winter foals." He nods at that. "Not a lot of people are lucky enough to travel. We just did a lot of trading of breeding stock. When I was younger, my father's dragon took us around." He shifts off of that topic rather quickly though. "Maybe you will impress with this clutch. And then you can go all over the world, checking out runners. Watch the races and the shows. They are a lot of fun. I've been to a few of those when I was younger." He smiles when Shiloh explains that Leirith searched him as well. "Oh, well that's good. I was afraid that something was wrong with me. That it was a mistake. Not a lot of Queens do the searching. From what I have been told. But I guess Leirith is like no other dragon I have ever met. She is extremely boisterous. Scared the life out of me. She smacked against the stands glass with her face covered in wherry juices and all that good stuff. Thought she was going to attack me for interrupting her meal." His green eyes go wide. "Shards, I don't know what I would do if something came out of the water at me. Probably would have wet myself. Although, if you ask me. I might have a little when she slammed against the glass out of no where. I've heard way too many stories about hormonal brooding golds. Some of them are clearly made up, but you never know. Although I like Leirith, she's unique. It is an honor to be asked to stand." He shakes his head. "No, like I said. I didn't think I was rider material. I mean I had been around dragon's my entire life. And only after 18 turns did I get asked to stand."
"I expect having a dragon helps with that part." Traveling. The mention of Impression gains another grimace, an expression that comes too quick for Shiloh to catch it, though he tries to hide it with a squint toward the stables. "Maybe," he allows, but it's the sort of tone that seeks to shut down that line of discussion. "Wouldn't mind seeing a few." Races. Shows. "Used to cut cattle on the ranch. Not much use for it here." And maybe he misses it just a little bit. For Leirith there's a smirk, a crooked little half-smile. "Don't know much about that," he admits, for queens searching candidates (or not searching, as the case may be). "But yeah. Sure seems like Leirith's a… an unusual queen." Which is putting it nicely, even if there's an almost-fond look for the gold in question. "She coulda been scary, I suppose," admits Shiloh. "But she didn't threaten me. Just… rose up and spoke." Which was a little startling nonetheless. "First dragon I met pinned me to the ground and— well. Let's just say I can appreciate the fright she might've given you." So there's definitely no judgement from Shiloh; probably more like empathy. That it took eighteen turns for Nyvex to be Searched gets a little shrug from Shiloh, the sort that says 'who knows?' cause he certainly doesn't. "Don't ask me. Been here two turns, maybe." Which is to say, his knowledge of dragons and how it all works is minimal at best.
Nyvex nods in return to the talk of traveling. "Maybe indeed. Who knows what the future holds for us. It was never even really a dream for me. But now it's more of a potential reality and I think about it more and more these days. A lot more potential options than I have originally planned for me. I just love that I am still allowed to perform my craft here. They encourage it as a candidate. Which is great because music is my passion. And alcohol, but that's more of a hobby than anything else." The only slightly taller blond smirks. "We can go one day." He clarifies. "To one of the rodeo shows. I would love to go again. I love being around those big intelligent beasts. I was a decent trick rider back in the day. Although I haven't been in the saddle in some time. I don't think you ever really forget how to ride." He really would have been a beastcrafter if his mother had not encouraged him to follow his dream. The two do have a lot in common, in their appreciation for Leirith and runners. He blinks at the talk of his first dragon encounter. "Oh man, I would have keeled over if a dragon pinned me down the first time I met one." He shakes his head. "And i'm Weyr born. That still would have traumatized me. They are huge and accidents do happen." He purses his lips. "We are so fragile compared to them." The topic touching too close to home. He shifts it. "You literally came here just as I was leaving. We must have just missed crossing paths. It is serendipitous that we meet now." All things happen for a reason.
"Alcohol is a hobby?" That definitely gets an arched eyebrow from the beastcrafter, who probably interpreted that comment a bit differently from how Nyvex meant (he's definitely not considering that he might have meant bartending). "Nah, probably not," he agrees, for not forgetting how to ride. "But I 'spect your body'll hurt a bit after. Can always ride here, if you want," he notes, chin-jutted toward the stables. "Got plenty of runners that'll go easy if that's what you want. Plenty that'll go fast, too." Shiloh definitely speaks from experience on that one. The fragility of their species gets another one of those little grimaces, but this time Shiloh doesn't bother to try and hide it. Nor will he poke at that topic, either out of a sense of his own self-preservation, or because perhaps something in Nyvex's expression warns him to steer clear. So instead, there's another dry, crooked little half-smile and shrug of shoulders. "Funny how life works," he agrees.
"It's totally a hobby. I enjoy mixology and the study of different alcohol and cocktails. I was bartending full time when I wasn't performing. Helping my Ma with the people she had to hire to replace me on the Ranch." He is a total mama's boy, all 6 foot 4 inches of him. He laughs at the comment about being sore after. "Yeah, I definitely will expect that one." He ponders the offer. "Maybe, maybe we can go riding on an off day." His verdant gaze taking in some of the runners. "Yeah, they have some good ones here. Although if I am going to go for it, I might as well go get one from home. I will see. I am sure that the stock here at the Weyr is absolutely perfect. And trained properly." He offers up a compliment to Shiloh of course. "I do just miss my stallion from back home." He actually notices that Shiloh doesn't bring up the topic any further. "Yeah. And now we are going to be enduring the hardships and emotional ups and downs of being Candidates together. My friend at Monaco Bay just recently impressed to a Bronze. I am uncertain how he was able to juggle all of the responsibilities. So far this hasn't been anything too overwhelming but we still have a good deal of time before the eggs hatch. And anything can happen before then."
"If you plan to bring him to stay," the stallion, "make sure you clear it with someone higher up." Someone not Shiloh, apparently. "They can be testy about things like that." Or maybe he's testy with things like that, having met plenty of would-be riders who insist upon trying to handle a beast they're not ready for. At least, given the Harper-candidate's background, Shiloh is less inclined to be surly or suspicious about the prospect. "But should have the space, if you're wanting to bring him." The alcohol, though. That's got him swinging back to the topic with a curious little look. "Mixing your own drinks? Interesting." Shiloh is probably just the beer and bourbon type (not together, obviously). "I 'spect it's like anything else," he admits, for the ups and downs and trials and tribulations of candidacy and weyrlinghood. "Seems big from the outside. Just take it one day at a time once you're in it. Then you're out and it's behind you. Hope he's doing well, though," he adds. "Your friend." Another squint, this time in the distinct direction of the hatching grounds, and Shiloh sucks on his teeth briefly in thought. "Yeah." Anything can happen. A breath; a quick inhale, held and finally released. A grounding of sorts. "Got time though." And maybe Shiloh needs that time.
Listening to Shiloh explain about the transfer, he shakes his head. "Nah. I couldn't take him from the ranch for an extended period of time. And I wouldn't have the time to care for him that he needs. And I definitely wouldn't want to bring a stallion around without permission. Never know what happens when you bring a stud into an area. Changes the entire dynamics." He smirks at Shiloh, "Everyone loves alcohol. But yes, I mix my own drinks. I am known for my home made Sangria. It is absolutely a must try sometime. I should really start a batch soon. They are very liberal with candidate rules here. And I don't drink to get drunk anyway. It's about savoring the alcohol and it is about making others enjoy it for me." He listens to the advice. "That's very sound advice. I appreciate your sentiment on things." He looks at the beastcrafter as he takes some deep breaths. "We will be good. Time to get settled in to the idea of being a rider. That's why they start searching as soon as the eggs are clutched. Give candidates time to acclimate to the potential rider life. I heard it wasn't like that in the older times. Think they used to just throw people in front of the eggs and say don't get accidentally mauled." He says softly. "T'kel tells me that every bit of the candidate process is worth it in the end. Now that he has his lifemate. I trust him. And I really like Szikrath. So I believe him. You'll be fine. Besides, you have the riding aspect of things down. Most people have never even ridden a Runner, let alone a dragon." He is offering up some positive things for Shiloh. He's had the same scary thoughts obviously.
"I do have apprentices," points out Shiloh with a hint of that smirk again. "And stable hands." There's enough drawl to the words to be teasing, without really trying to argue Nyvex's reasons. Truth be told, Shiloh is probably glad to keep that stallion away. And they do have plenty of runners, should the mood strike and the harper want to ride. "Not even gonna pretend I know what that is," declares Shiloh for Sangria, a huff of amusement offered at his own expense. "Sounds fancy, though." For the return of advice, that wry expression comes back; the little twitch at his lips that could be a smile if he put a little more effort into it. Self-deprecating, this time. "S'not the rider bit I'm thinking about," he admits, though he won't dive into what he is thinking about. Too soon, no doubt, given they've just met. "I'm glad your friend's happy," he agrees. "Most seem to be." Dragonriders. "And if I Impress, I'm sure I'll say the same." That it was worth every moment. "Did you know him before he Impressed? This friend of yours," he wonders. "What'd he do before the eggs cracked?"
"Very fancy, have apprentices and stable hands to help you out. I am not as lucky. I don't rank high enough to have people under me. I teach children of holders and weyrbrats to sing. Even if they can't carry a tune and their mother insists on training." He sounds like he has some personal horror stories with that one. "Sangria is alcohol, usually wine. That has different fruit in it. Usually complimenting fruits. It's great. The fruit soaks for a set period of time and absorbs the alcohol. Then the fruits also add flavors to the alcohol itself. It's pretty straight forward. But enjoyable none the less." He nods at the not rider part that Shiloh is thinking on but he doesn't press the subject. "Yeah, he loves it." He nods. "A little bit before he impressed. He was an artist. Drawings and paintings. But I kind of pushed him to pursue his other dream of singing. So he is joining the crafters wing when he graduates. I believe he is going to become a Harper. My Grandfather was a Sr. Journeyman in the Beastcraft when he impressed. Probably a few turns older than you too. He built the Runner Ranch after he was a rider. The ranch has plenty of room for dragons on it." Although none currently living there. "And my father lived on the ranch with his lifemate before…" He trails off. "Anyway, It's possible to balance both craft and weyr. Or pursue something completely different. Unless of course you impress bronze and then catch the Queen. Then your life gets put on hold as you take over Weyrleader duties. Like the Weyrleader for Monaco."
"Stable hands aren't really mine." Not like that. "But they work in the stables." Hence the name. Apprentices? Well. "Kinda come with the job." Cause there's no way Shiloh's gonna be running those runners without 'em. "Sorry for that." For students that can't hold a tune. "Been lucky with those that wanna learn to ride." So Shiloh has been spared that particular headache. At least for now. The subject of sangria has him briefly fascinated, or befuddled, that little frown back to wrinkle his brow and pull at his lips. At least it is a listening sort of frown, and not the upset sort. "Sounds dangerous," decides Shiloh, though the shrug of shoulders says, 'I'm game'. "Lemme know when you make a batch." He'll try it, at least. Even if getting shit-faced drunk is not on the table (even if he wasn't a candidate). Shifting in his lean, he folds his arms across his chest. Comfortable. "Your grandfather was a lucky man." And, though he won't say it, the luck probably holds for his father, and Nyvex as well. "Lotta effort goes into building ranches." A lot of money, too. Or at least resources. Probably things Shiloh doesn't have a lot of. "Think I'll just avoid the bronzes," comes with enough of a smirk that it's definitely teasing, and not a serious attempt at trying to duck the responsibilities that might come with one. Shiloh might not be weyrbred, but he is savvy enough to know that the dragons will claim who they want to claim, and no amount of hiding will help him. "You're gonna stay a Harper then, if you Impress?"
"I have been in enough stables in my life, that I know their is usually one old stable hand who has been around for turns on end. And the rest of the young ones all listen to the Beastcrafter in charge. So they are totally yours." He chuckles at that. And he shrugs. "It's an afront to my musical nature. To have to listen to the tone death children sing or try to learn an instrument." He is still laughing about it at least. "Just terrible." His green eyes light up at the acceptance to try his alcohol. "Sounds like a plan. I will whip up some on my next off day or free time. And we will partake in some light relaxation, bring the other candidates into the mix. Get to know everyone better. As a bartender, you don't get to see peoples true nature until you get a couple of drinks into them." He has seen a lot of peoples true nature in his short time at Monaco Bay's bars. The talk about the ranch gets a nod of agreement. "That's why I started working as a bartender full time. To help pay for the workers. Since I left. I send marks to help when I can. My grandfather was a really good Beastcrafter though. And he bred some really fine runners with winnings. He had a gift when it came to breeding his lines. Made some great competition runners. Paid for his ranch to be built. Being a rider helped with that. They did most of the work themselves. Saved a lot." He has heard about his family building his Ranch from the ground up his entire life. He looks to Shiloh, his big green eyes soft and sincere. "Honestly, I don't know. People change after they impress. I will always love music. It is my passion. It is my life. But once you are lifemated to a dragon." His shoulders rise and then fall in a shrug. "Don't know what my future will hold. In a perfect world, I will stay on in the Harpers. But I am realistic too. That may not be in the cards for me. And if it's the case, I will always be able to sing and perform."
"Are you calling me old?" At least Shiloh is joking when he says it. Whether he is, or isn't, the beastcrafter doesn't seem to mind, a bit of that wry amusement back for the thought of it. But it fades at the talk of ranches. Or at least, talk of Nyvex's family's ranch. His thoughts on the matter are tucked away behind an expression that fights to be bland, a casual interest that's belied by the flash of something in those dark eyes. It's not especially negative. Or rather, it is not directed at Nyvex. But can Shiloh be blamed for being just a little bit jealous of it all? He spends a long moment looking toward the stables, though his gaze goes right past it. Distant. Thinking. Briefly in his head, even if he's still listening. But maybe it's easier to talk about those other things. Dragons. Impression. The way people might change. "You'll still have the music," he agrees. And if it's said in a way that may suggest Shiloh won't have his runners… well. Who knows. Pessimism can get the best of everyone. So he'll just circle back to alcohol. Cause why not. "The sangria sounds great. I look forward to it." In the same moment, he pushes up from the fence, standing upright once again. "I'm usually here," he notes, head tipped toward the stables. "If you need to find me." For sangria-related things. Or any-related things, probably. "But I should get back. Good job on the fence."