
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.
Averil is going his level best not to let himself get emotional again. The struggle, however, is real. Fortunately, he has a lot to carry while holding on to Shiloh's hand and the majority of his focus is on not dropping his bags along the way. It is not until they step into the barracks that he comes to a halt, a shallow breath drawn in, held and released at the very real, realness, of it all. They're here for the duration now and that, more then anything is finally hitting home. "Which cots do we want?" The murmur, as quiet as it is, is coupled with him taking a step closer to Shiloh, his lips pressing in a thinline as he stares down the length of the room.
Lips pressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed in scrutiny, Shiloh eyes the long line of cots. There are some that are very obviously claimed, others that are very obviously *not*, and a whole mess of cots that are somewhat confusing in whether anyone is using them. "Which cots do you want?" is wondered right back, dark eyes sliding the way of the artist beside him. "Do you want to be close or far from the door?" A half-second pause and he seems to change his mind, moving toward a pair of cots near the door. "How about these?" There's nothing about them that distinguishes them for any other cot, except perhaps that one of them is at the end of the row and so, is beside a wall rather than another bed.
Averil immediately starts to stress about the decision, an obvious sigh of relief sounding when Shiloh makes the choice for them. "These are perfect," he breaths as he steps over and sets the bags down on the floor next to one of them. Of course, he claims the cot between the wall and Shiloh's cot, immediately reaching for the box of pillows and blankets that they'd brought from home. First things, first, and in this case, that means settling up the pillows and spreading the blanket out over the spot that is going to be his home for the next few weeks. "That.. That doesn't look so bad," he murmurs as he takes a step back to stand next to Shiloh.
First thing's first, indeed. While Averil gets started with the blankets and the pillows, Shiloh's kneeling at the chest and unpacking their clothes. And by 'unpacking', really all he is doing is putting the bags with their things into the trunks, smooshing them around (Gently!) until everything fits. When he rolls to his feet and Averil declares it looking 'not bad', there's another little tightening of his eyes and firm press of his lips. "Mm," comes in noncommittal return, not quite agreeing but not really disagreeing either. And then there's a thought, a little twitch of an eyebrow, and he's moving forward. "Stand here," comes as he directs Averil out from between the beds. A moment later, and he's bodily shoving the artist's cot up against the wall, and then moving to haul 'his' cot in as well. The screeching of metal frames on stone floors may not be entirely pleasant, but the end result is the two cots pressed together to form a 'double' bed instead. "There," declares Shiloh. "Now it doesn't look so bad."
Averil couldn't look more confused as he's urged to step out from between the cots. And, while he most assuredly winces at the squeal of metal on stone, the end result has him smiling broadly and slanting a glance toward the weyrlingmaster's office. "Can we do that," he whispers in hushed tones. Course, the fact that he's not about to move them back is made clear when he steps in closer and slips his arm through Shiloh's. "It's perfect." For what it is? For where they are? It is absolutely perfect. Three weeks. Three weeks is not /that/ long, surely they'll be fine until this is all over.
Shiloh shrugs. "Why not? S'not like we're gonna be— well. Not in the barracks at least." Yeah. Nope. DEFINITELY ONLY SLEEP HAPPENING IN HERE. "Technically we're sleeping in separate cots." Is that a rule? He's not sure, and he's not about to ask, because he doesn't want to know the answer. A quick kiss to Avi's temple comes before he's moving to shove the pair of clothes presses along as well until they're back where they should be at the foot of each cot. "I like it like this," he adds, stepping back over to wrap Avi in a hug. "And if it makes you feel better…" He'll definitely take the blame.
"I think it's perfect," Avi whispers as he leans in against Shiloh's side and curls his fingers in the fabric of the beastcrafter's shirt. "Thank you," is breathed in quieter tones, his chin tilting up to turn a smile that is much more relaxed on the beastcrafter's face. It doesn't matter that it is only sleep happening here, Avi can live with that. It's the security and the comfort that comes with feeling safe that matters at the moment. "I know it's silly to worry about anything happening in here," he assures. "And I'm not. Not really." He is. But only in an abstract bad memories sort of way. This? This alleviates that entirely.
An arch of an eyebrow and a two, three, four second pause comes in the wake of those words, Shiloh waiting to see if Avi will catch and correct them himself before he does it for him. "Try again," he says simply, happy to wait for the artist to reconsider how he'd like to phrase that particular sentence.
Averil looks very confused for a moment, before a light flush rises to suffuse his cheeks. "I know that it's a valid considering my past and not silly at all." In the wake of the words, he nods faintly, his chin tilting up at the change in phrasing. "I do worry that people will think it's silly," he admits. "But it is the way I feel." And, he just can't help that he holds his breath after clarifying, his gaze intently watching Shiloh's face.
"It's not silly," says Shiloh. "Even without your past. You don't need to justify your feelings. If you're worried, you're worried, whether someone thinks it's silly or not. Fuck 'em." He reaches out to draw Avi close, tucking blond hair behind his ear. "I want you to say what you feel without apology. They're your feelings, so they're valid. No matter what anyone thinks of it." And he's not going to let Avi get away with belittling himself; he's already told him as much.
Averil keeps his gaze on Shiloh's face, the hint of wonder and adoration in his gaze completely unmistakable. It is not something he even considers trying to hide, and it is something that comes with a soft smile that traces over his lips. Eventually, he will get to that place where he is unapologetic about his feelings. For now, he is, at the very least, trying. "You being here makes it so much easier not to worry about anything," he admits quietly.
"Good," agrees Shiloh, a little crooked grin tugging at his lips. He steals another kiss before eyeing their beds, and then the trunks at the foot of them. "You're gonna want to organize that," he admits. "I just threw everything into it." He didn't get take their things out of the bag. "But. Maybe later. Let's get out of here for now," he decides, eyeing the barracks. "Go for a walk or… something."
Averil glances at the trunks and dips his chin in a firm nod. "I can unpack our things and get them all refolded and put away properly later this evening," he promises. Right now? Right now, the idea of a walk, of getting out and letting it all settle, is just perfect to him. "A walk sounds wonderful," he admits readily.