Wardrobe Functions and Malfunctions

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.

Once the dragonhealers started giving that OFFICIAL NOTICE that all those eggs are hard enough that they'll be hatching any seven now, there has been a buzz around the candidate barracks. A buzz of rumors, of hopes and also of activity. There are plenty of robes in the stores for those that know where to look, but that doesn't mean the robes are without need for mending or alterations. Even candidates who have stood many times before still seem susceptible to the alteration bug that's going around as Rhodelia sits on her cot with a well worn and mostly complete robe on her lap. She's busy peering at a particular spot on the robe, finger scraping against fabric. "How'd that get there?" A little fleck of burgundy dots it that can't be flicked off.

Poor Stefyr. Poor everyone around Stefyr. Given that the man's dimensions are both tall and broad, he's having a bit of a time finding one that's close enough to right to make easy alterations. He's standing shirtless next to Keruthien's cot which has a heap of likely but apparently not likely enough candidates, probably figuring that his compatriot is the same height if not the same build and if Stefyr can't use it, maybe Keruthien can. He offers out his most recent reject to the curly-haired man giving a disgruntled look to the dwindling pile of 'likely's and the greater pile of 'likely not's. Despite the fact that he willingly went wardrobe shopping in the stores with Katailea, it seems this kind of clothes finding is not his favorite. He glances Rhodelia's way only briefly, frowning, maybe because she already has a serviceable one to repair, or maybe because he had to move bunks recently (to one distant from the better part of the horde) because of someone's egg-full firelizard.

Percival sits comfortably at the edge of his cot, in his pajamas, because that's what traded days off are for. While the butcher is freshly groomed, his robe is looking like it's had better days. It's been through a few hatchings and that's a long time and a lot of alterations. Fortunately for him, he's had some practice with taking in and letting out. The man stands up, tugging on his robe but there's a problem. A big problem. A twenty five pound ball of fluff and unsatiable affection sprawled at the bottom. "Alright, you. Off my robe." See that look? That look is a look OF TOTAL OFFENSE. HOW DARE. The grey overweight cat refuses to budge and simply rolls over and proceeds to do what it does best. Lick it's butt. Disgusted, the butcher rolls his eyes and rolls up the garment, rolling the feline off onto the cot.

Keruthien is not complaining about the current view and mercifully he's not making sly comments about it; at least, not one's easily overheard. It's a wonder he hasn't been smacked upside the head yet, for not taking things as seriously but come on — this is Ruthien. Seriousness isn't high on his priority list! "Wait, what's wrong with this one?" he asks, holding up the recently discarded robe and peering up at his fellow Candidate. "Could've sworn it would've fit!" Said as he holds it up against himself and attempts to turn his head at an odd angle to suss out the issue. Failing at that, he glances around to the others in the barracks with a hopeful expression. SUGGESTIONS, anyone?

The early firelizard gets the meatroll, and the early Weaver gets to sit around and watch people work. Evangeline's robe has been taking up space between her and Katailea's bunk for three sevendays. Evening time often found the young woman pinning the fabric on the form and measuring. There's been a steady stream of white scraps and thread hitting the floor in her newfound workspace. Everyone insisting she could wear one already made received a confused look and shrug. The robe on the form is pleated and might get commentary on inspection by the Weyrlingmasters. None of this is bugging the girl who is enjoying the sight of watching everyone do what she does every day. Lying on her stomach on her cot with both elbows being used to prop up her chin. Her eyes lock on Rhodelia, head tilting, "You could patch over it?" Offering helpful commentary with tiny foot kicks. The cat being kicked off Percival's cot gets her attention, "Aww, she was comfy." Fingers rubbing together to attempt and attract the cat to her. "Stefyr, maybe you should have one um… Ripped and sewn onto another one?" YES, FRANKEN ROBE TIME.

Khavro is often away for as long as he can manage and being a standoffish jerkbrain, but right now he's laying on his cot, back to as much of the barracks as he can manage, while he quietly reads a book like a boring nerd. There's been no indication that he's ever so much as touched a robe, so hopefully he'll have that figured out at some point before the eggs actually crack, but so far it's not right now.

Rhodelia is all too aware of the Stefyr Fashion Show going on down near Keruthien's cot, even though she's doing her best to look anywhere but over there, head hung down and eyes on her own robe. THE LOOK OF SHAME! Since the fateful bed-and-egg-aggedon, somehow those firelizard eggs and Maitai and Molotov have not been seen in the barracks since. As for Evangeline's helpful comment, she gives a shrug. "Or could just dip it in a vat of bleach. I'm pretty sure that was just from the wine afterwards." There was a lot of it and she definitely doesn't recall any injuries. The very fat cat is also eyed suspiciously. "Has she grown fatter since last night?" It's hard to imagine a cat being bigger than that one, but Rhody does have a very active imagination.

"Tight across my shoulders," is Stefyr's answer for Keruthien, which at least means maybe it will fit the smith? Not that Keruthien's shoulders are lacking, he's just framed differently than the blond. His eyes draw to Percival and drop to the cat at his feet, even as he speaks to Evangeline. "That's a lot of work and I'd rather do other things," with his time, presumably. "If I can find one that's a close enough fit…" He sighs, reaching for the next possible garment. His gaze might flick toward Khavro on his cot, but they don't linger longer than it takes to frown slightly and bring himself back to the task at hand.

The cat is just gonna butterball herself right there on the cot, snorting as she sniffs the air. Someone in this barracks HAS FOOD. It's not Percival, he's smart and showers before he comes home so he doesn't have to hear the most pathetic nasally MMRRREEEOOOOWWWLLLL. The butcher just shrugs that robe on, eyes directed to the ceiling, and he adjusts the material over his body to get a good idea on the fit. He raises his arms above his head, glancing down to see if his knees are showing and he twists from side to side, checking to make sure it's not gonna billow up on him out there come hatching day. Sure, Percival could wear something underneath in case it does happen… Though, there's no written rule he's seen (read: choose to acknowledge).

"Is it?" Keruthien will pull the robe away from himself and then hold it up, as if to measure from his eyes alone. It could be an excuse to look again, at his fellow Candidate, with a rueful grin. Eventually he shrugs, as if conceding to the suggestion and, with a long suffering sigh, will move to try the robe on himself. "If I get stuck though, you're not allowed to laugh!" he mutters, only to scoff. "Wish I had my old robe!" That might be tossed to Rhodelia and Percival. "Only there's no way I'd fit into it now… if I even had it. And wouldn't ripping two in half and trying to sew 'em back be a lot of work?" That last inquiry is, obviously, for Evangeline. Even if he's not looking that way and is half muffled by the shift of fabric.

"Bleach could work, I guess." Evangeline says towards Rhodelia, face wrinkling up in disgust, considering all the other things the spots could be. The sight of grown men in dresses is not an everyday thing, and her face turns bright red. Burying her head in her hands, she sighs loudly towards Stefyr, "Well, if you care about something, you work at it." There's no way these words are Evi originals, she has probably heard them barked at her many times. Both shoulders go up and down again as she looks at Keruthien, "Well, I mean.. what if it rips on the sands? Like, would you risk being naked in front of the WHOLE Weyr." A deep shudder, this might be a theme in Evi's nightmares, her eyes big and mouth ajar in exaggerated horror. "Stefyr, if um. If you let me, I could do it in… Well, maybe a day?" She still has to get stefyr into many outfits, this could be her opening. YES. The plot thickens. Percival is observed, the pale girl raising a hand. "Do you need help?" She is feeling so benevolent. RUN.

"Benefits of having done this before," Rhodelia picks up her robe and waves it in Keruthien's general direction. "And not just like… ten turns ago." That might be a little hyperbolic, but she's still going to stand by assuming it was a little baby Keruthien way back whenever. Percival's twisting and knee-grazing is safe enough to watch. "You know, there's a full length mirror in the women's latrine." Not too far away, for ANYBODY WHO DARES. Her own robe is getting the 'good enough' seal of approval for now which is just being lumped up at the end of her bed. Someone is going to be a very wrinkly candidate come hatching day.

This book must be very interesting or maybe Khavro is just that good at tuning people out. He turns a page every so often, sometimes forward and sometimes back. Sometimes a couple of pages at a time. This is definitely how books work. Maybe it's a choose your own adventure and he's cheating. Who knows.

Stefyr's blue eyes do catch Keruthien's one of those moments when it looks like he might be making an excuse to look and rolls his eyes at the smith. He looks at the robe he holds, maybe perplexed how it ended up in his 'maybes' because it's clearly ment for a leaner frame than his own. But not one to waste work done, the big blond moves from where he stands at the side of Keruthien's cot. He pauses by Evangeline to cant his head down at her, a small smile on his lips. "I care. I just care more about more practical elements of the hatching than wardrobe." IMAGINE THAT. Previously-totally-boring-wardrobed Stefyr not being invested in his clothes. Shock. Horror! "But thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I'd like to have my own hands in it. I'm a fair stitch." SURPRISE. Then he's moving along past Rhodelia who gets an ambiguously wry look if she'll meet his eye and he stops at the end of Khavro's cot to drop the robe there. "This might fit you, if you still need one." This somehow brings him closer to Percival and his companion, and he eyes the cat, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Sometimes it's just better not to ask.

OH HELLO, DID YOU ALL FORGET I'M OVER HERE WASTING AWAY? YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO HAS FOOD, EVEN ELSE WANTS TO EAT YOU, TOO. Poor, poor Stefyr. Percival continues to ignore the yowling of the black hole on his cot and continue adjusting with a thoughtful look. "Hrm, naw. Don't need the mirror. I think I lost weight since the last hatching I stood in and it's not feeling like it's going to fall off me. I wouldn't want anything too long, anyway, otherwise it's gonna be an issue if I have to run. Charging babies don't care for fashion much." The robe is shrugged off and tossed back onto the cot, directly on the MEGA CHONK. She'll be alright. Percival is NO WHERE NEAR Stefyr's level of eye candy, though the pasty man might want to partake of some sunlight at some point. He leans over, offering a nod to Stefyr and he simply grabs his own shirt and puts it back on all comfy like. There. No more Percy signaling to the masses that Gondor calls for aid. He does glance over to Khavro, then down at the book. "What are you reading over there?" Percy asks, trying to spy the cover or spine of the book with no such luck. "It's not a romance novel, is it?"

"Hey, it wasn't that long ago!" Keruthien quips back to Rhodelia, along with snickered amusement to match the grin he flashes her. Stefyr will be given a parting grin of his own, as the Candidate moves on on his quest to find The Perfect robe! Can he start calling him goldilocks? No? Damn. "Heh, there's worst things than ending up showing a bit of skin to the Weyr at large…" He'll point that out to Evangeline, with a lightly bemused voice as he is semi distracted in smoothing out the robe he just slipped on. "Hmm. I dunno…" he mutters, testing it with a few movements and immediately dissatisfied with how it snags and pulls. "This one's a no-go!" Alas, it seems even he's in the same category as Stefyr right now! The yowling cat is side eyed, as is Percival but it's more out of wry curiosity than anything remotely negative. There's a low chuckle and a sage nod, "He's got a point!" Romance novels? What IS going on? Cue a rather obvious crane of his head as he tries to spy on the going ons over there, while also pulling off the wrong-fitting robe — only to find that it won't come off as easily. "Uh… huh? Um…" Who is the closest… ah ha! He pins Rhodelia with the best sad-eye impression possible. "Help?" Pleeeeease?

No matter how long she spends in the Weyr Evangeline may never be entirely comfortable with other people's comfort with their bodies. Her eyes are everywhere but on the men undressing around her, fixating on a spot in the ceiling. Is it water damage? Is it a deadly mold? Is it someones vomit? Rolling over on her back to look at it further, her face bright pink thinking about all the nudity around her. "Stefyr, if you can't get it done… you know where I am." Eyeing Khavro and his book, she shakes her head, shame. "Ew, you wouldn't bring that rubbish in here." Her 15 turns are showing, tongue sticking out. After a few moments like this, she can't help but move; stillness does not become her. Swinging herself to her feet, she wanders over to Rhodelia, "Um- can I iron it for you?" One hand motioning towards the crumpled up robe. Moving forward, she closes her eyes, avoiding looking while trying to be helpful and get Keruthien out of the mess. "Wiggle, or, no, stay still, no, hands up.. UM." This is all much harder when you're trying not to look; also, there's a cat dying and distracting her. OK.

There's a robe dropped at the end of his cot and when it brushes against Khavro's foot, he's pulling his knees up so it's not touching him anymore. "Thanks," is all he says to Stefyr without looking away from his book. At least until someone asks about the book and he shoots a defensive scowl toward Percival. "So what if it is, do you have something against romance?" Maybe that's not the word he meant to emphasize, but it's definitely the one he emphasizes. But at least he's not yelling at Evangeline, so that's something, he only shoots another look in her direction.

Rhodelia doesn't see that look as Stefyr passes by since she's too busy avoiding making eye contact and even flinching away as he passes. Her guilt in the air is so thick it could possibly be cut with a knife. She doesn't cringe for too long, instead turning to safer discussions which is teasing Keruthien. She sticks out her tongue a bit as he grins back. "I rounded up." To the nearest decade or something. And then Evi is there and being helpful, but she just gives a dismissive shrug. "If it fits, it's close enough. It's always chaos out there anyways. Besides, chances are the eggs are going to hatch at like, three in the morning again and everybody will be more than half asleep anyways tossing on whatever white thing they can find first." It's been known to happen more than a time or two. And then the smith is calling for help and she's bouncing her way down that way. "Look, hold your arms up and I'll just tug it straight up and over…" There may definitely will be some ripping, but at least Keruthien can hopefully work his way free with a little help from some friends.

Stefyr doesn't linger at Khavro's bed when there's been a clear, if silent, dismissal by ignoring him even when he's right there, so he stops by Percival's cot to untuck the tubby cat and give her a scratch before he's on his way again back to his stack. He doesn't even try to help Keruthien, leaving him to the tender mercies of Rhodelia and Evangeline. Instead, the man quietly turns back to his own search, pulling on the next which— hey! It provisionally fits. He twists a little, this way, that. There's a tear across the robe and a split in one of the seams, but it's promising. Hands off, Keruthien. If you gain back the use of your arms, ever. HAHAHA.

Wait, did Khavro actually… answer? Percival whips around and he sits on the ground beside the reading Candidates cot, waiting. "The only thing that I have against the book is the fact that you're depriving us of some seriously story time. I'll have you know, that adults, we never grow old of story time. Especially if it's a really good read and it's read with the same animated voices and facial expressions as those aunties and uncles that tell stories." WAIT, THERE'S TOUCHES BUT THOSE TOUCHES DON'T HAVE FUD? Mega chonk cares not for touches, but she'll waddle her way after Stefyr anyway. Everyone keeps staring, so they must be waiting for him to drop something. "Don't leave us all hanging, Khavro. Just one little chapter." If Percy is lucky, it'll be a pop up book!

"Wait, what? Make up your mind!" Keruthien's saying this to Evangeline while trying NOT to dissolve into laughter (and some frustration because really, he doesn't enjoy being stuck!). "Hey, don't call romance novels rubbish! Some of them are good!" he chimes in, with a stage whisper aside to the younger Candidate. "… for a laugh." Wink. Corrupting youth aside (Rhodelia can hit him, if she wants), as Rhodelia comes to his aid as well, there will definitely be some ripping and eventually he'll squirm himself free. Only to hold up the now damaged robe with a disgruntled look. "Well… Now it's useless to everyone?" OR IS IT? Cue an envious glance towards Stefyr's prized find! For like… all of three seconds. Then he's back to grinning like a fool. "Gonna try that one?" Maybe he's hoping HE gets stuck and see how he likes it!

The act of being helpful while trying not to see someones bare skin is hard, Evangeline is failing at it. The ripping of the garment has her shivering, the kind of sound that makes any Weaver squirm. "No, no, here." The final struggle to pull it off has her sighing, and holding out her hand for the damaged garment. "Can I have it, please, sir?" Her voice is soft and sweet, eyes closed tightly, she tilts her head in a Khavro and Percy direction and says, "Somethings are not meant for like, everyone. I mean, SOMETHING has to be private in this place." If her eyes were open, they would roll; instead, she flops her head backward and lets it hang with frustration, jaw hanging open in a fake -this is killing me, all of you are killing me- pose. A deep sigh, and she sneaks half of one eye open to look at Rhodelia, "If you change your mind, let me know." Like a newly blinded person, she takes two steps backward and uses her hands to find her cot. Both hands out in front of her, feeling around as if it is dark. Totally silly. Why Evi. "Stefyr, I can help. You want to struggle now, or the day of?" Men can be so stubborn. She sounds like a mom who elected her boss? She did.

There is a brief glance at Stefyr when he's moving to Percival's cot, but Khavro's attention is back on Percival in the next moments. "I'm not gonna read to you. Or anyone." In fact the curly-haired trader is sitting up and shifting toward the other edge of his cot, holding his book closed over his fingers, against his chest, and away from Percival just in case he tries to take it or something. "There are plenty of books, go find your own." And then Khavro is on his feet, swiping the robe Stefyr had put on his cot, and heading out to find somewhere less annoying to read, probably. Why he took the robe is anyone's guess, though.

Look, if Keruthien got INTO the robe, it only stands to reason that he can get out of it as well and so Rhodelia throws most of her body weight into the tugging. The ripping sound gives her enough of a heads up that freedom is near at hand that she's able to brace herself enough that she doesn't go flying once the smith is freed. She drops her hold on the fabric as soon as that's done. Keruthien or Evangeline are more than welcome to it. The girl's eye closed wandering gets a bit of an eyebrow raise. "Somethings might be private, but a chest is a chest. Trying to avoid them is well…" She waves a hand around to indicate just how futile that might be.

The twists that Stefyr was doing to check the robe for ease of movement and relative fit, arms up, arms down, moving sideways, length of stride, it all comes to a slow halt as he looks at Keruthien again, baring his teeth in playful, silent defense of his good find. Sure, there's those rips, but nothing a little needle and thread won't fix. He glances toward Percival and Khavro but doesn't bring himself back into that part of the ongoing conversation. Instead he looks to Evangeline, expression puzzled, and then says with more bluntness than he tried before: "Evi, I can sew." Didn't he explain that when he said he was a fair stitch? Maybe that's a phrase from the region that isn't used elsewhere. Maybe he just didn't explain it right. "I'll do fine with these." These rips. "I just need…" Then Rhodelia gets his attention, "Hey, pal," he pops the 'p' for emphasis, "Got a spare needle and a length of thread?" IT'S THE LEAST YOU CAN DO, YOU GUILTY PET OWNER.

Percival chuckles and shakes his head, glancing over to Evangeline. "Well, if you impress, there's gonna be even less privacy since dragon's don't know the meaning of the word. All the gory details are going to be out in the open. Whomever impresses has my biggest sympathies." This is the butcher's last shot before he's too old to reasonably try again. At Khavro's suggestion to get his own, the man pushes himself to his feet. "Don't threaten me with a good time," he says with a low laugh, moving back to his own press. The lid is carefully opened up and he begins to move things around as he searches, humming a little tune while he goes. What's he looking for? IS IT FUD? IT'S FUD RIGHT? Mega chonk waddles her way over and begins to snort sniff at the press. Fortunately for the butcher, the chonk is too chonk to climb in without outside assistance. Unlike Rhodelia, being the guilty pet owner, Percival has no shame. None. "There's no food in here, either. Gristle's got food in the otherside of the weyr, go find her." Finally, a book is found and the butcher is just gonna sit at the edge of his cot and quietly thumb through the pages, eyes skimming each one in search of 'the good parts.'

"Sir?" Now that has Keruthien's voice wavering with laughter, as he can't quite keep a straight face now when looking at Evangeline. "I'm not THAT old to be called that yet!" He'll let her off the hook, however, and that ripped robe will be foisted on her. Hey, if she wants to help? He won't stop her. Neither has he voiced whether or not he's decent at sewing (spoiler: he can, at least enough to get by)! Dusting his hands, he'll flash a grin to Rhody. "Thanks for the help!" Which is likewise extended to Evangeline. He'll cast a look to Percival and Khavro, but as the latter takes his book (and that entertainment!) with him on out, there's only a brief moment of disappointment. With Stefyr now requesting Rhodelia's help, he'll make a gesture for her to 'go on', while he'll slip back into his tunic and back onto his cot. There's some noise that comes from the unmade blankets, to which Keruthien just clucks his tongue chidingly and frees not only a young bronze, but a brown firelizard. "You guys have got to stop doing that…" he mutters, before setting them both down in a safer location at the head of his cot. See? No crushing baby firelizards. Stifling a yawn, Ruthien is content to stretch out onto his back and close his eyes. NAP TIME!

"Sorry." Is shot towards Keruthien, the robe in her grubby pale little Evangeline paws. "I can fix it for you." Flopping on her bunk, she shakes her head at Stefyr, "Well, you know where I am. I still think you need help." As he goes to get a needle and thread from RHODELIA instead of her, she huffs. RUDE. Percival's comment makes her cringe, "I am sure it will all be fine. Maybe my dragon will value my privacy and help." While the actual existence of her dragon is pure fantasy, she can live in that beautiful cozy, perfect world. The lack of steadiness in her voice does not support her theory either, though. Rhodelia receives a nod, not of understanding but of acknowledgment. Settling on her bed she goes quiet, a needle and thread pulled from a small case there's a loud ripping sound as she rips the candidate robe down one seam. Determined to add more fabric, her hands are fast at work, and any further disruption to her task will only get a nod. A wise woman knows what she knows if it's sewing she sews.

"Any time!" The toothy grin from Rhodelia might be because she enjoyed Keruthien's awkward clothing predicament a little more than someone should. It's all fun and games until you're the one that's stuck with a robe over your head and no friends to help remove it. Percival and his new found book is eyes as she settles back down on her cot. "So now you're going to get a book and just keep all the reading to yourself? Tsk-tsk." Share with the rest of the class, clearly! She gulps, eyes wide as Stefyr comes over and actually asks for something from this SUPER GUILTY OWNER OF UNTRAINED PETS. "I uhhh…. think I do?" It requires some quick rummaging in the absolute mess of her trunk, but eventually she does come out with a spool of thread and a needle stuck in the end of it. "Think tan is close enough?" it's just stitching, right?

"Whatever color is fine," Stefyr replies to Rhodelia, glancing briefly at Evangeline, but the sheer fact that the negotiations for needle and thread with the one who owes him is so very straightforward with no comparisons of color to fabric or squinting to see what's just right, or arguments over who's going to do the actual work are probably the very reasons that the big man asked his co-worker instead of the weaver. "Thanks," he accepts the needle and thread before settling on Rhodelia's cot, since his new one is sooooOOOOooooOOOoooo far away now. He glances over toward Percy, lifting his voice to the other man, "They make books that are about romance?" He finally inquires, the timidity in his voice for this question ill-hid by attempted nonchalance. "What do they talk about?" IS IT EDUCATIONAL? HE MIGHT NEED IT.

Did the butcher found the page? Well, he found something. The man is idly chewing on a fingernail as his eyes continue to skim the page. He doesn't even notice the chonk coming over and throwing her bulk onto the mans bare feet while he reads. For a moment, he snorts and keeps going, a brow raises in question, his eyes roll and he's onto the next page. Whatever it is, it's keeping the man's mouth shut long enough for the barracks to have a moment of sweet, sweet peace. Rhody's words do manage to pull the man back to reality for a moment and he peers over to her rather owlishly. Percival clears his throat, turning a little bit at the edge of his cot. "Sorry, Giblets! Alright, uh…." Another page is turned and… "Her hands weren't meant to touch the heat before her, but her fingertips spared not a moment to ghost over the roughness of his knuckles and wrist. Is there where she was meant to go? Only searching for something but that search returned something much more than she was prepared for. Something hot, his scent coating her lips and sending her tongue to ghost across the surface for just a taste. "Is this what you asked for?" he replies, waiting for her response, eyes half lidded in the darkness. "Maybe it is," she purrs, reaching for the rough edges and now she traces his lines with a purpose, deliberate. Hungry. "That's one large white sauce with extra heavy pepperoni. Do you have a coupon, ma'am?" Maybe if she checks her purse…"

Rhodelia oh so easily hands over that thread, no more questions asked. And the tan is really more of a dark beige so plenty close enough. As Stefyr takes a seat on her own cot, Rhody pauses, unsure of where she should sit now so she just stands for the moment until there's the question about romance books. "Uh, yeah. They make tons of them… normally boy and girl meet and while they might like each other, there's always some sort of complication that comes up and stands in the way. There'll be a good bit of will they or won't they but in the end they always." She doesn't really fill in what they ALWAYS, leaving that blank more to be filled in as she tilts her head to listen to Percival's 'story'. She blushes a little bit as it starts but once the pizza line comes, she can't help but snort. "Did you write that yourself???" It certainly sounds like something the butcher would write and she's just rolling her eyes. "If… if you really are interested, I have a couple. That are probably better than whatever that is." She'll offer to Stefyr while giving Percival and his ridiculous selection a bit of some side eye.

Stefyr had bent his head to the task at hand, proving his competence despite Evangeline's doubts by efficiently threading the needle and clipping the thread with his teeth. It was about that moment that Percy started reading and Stefyr's eyes latched onto him. Now, his expression is just as blank as it was while the other young man was reading. His brows draw down in confusion. It's to Rhodelia that he then looks, "That's romantic?" HOW FAR WRONG CAN YOU TAKE THE POOR BOY? So far. It's already been proven with proddiness and weyrmating among other topics. He looks back to Percy though for a second opinion. Then, to Rhody, he nods. "I'd read." He starts stitching, eyes on the garment as he hides the tail of the thread with a clever start and starts looping the needle through the sides in a way that will eventually make the seam nigh invisible. He is fortunate to have a straight tear with relatively little fraying in this spot. "Is the vocabulary very complex?" Given his recent lessons, it's a fair question to ask.

"Me? Write? Noooo, these hands are for other things. This is just a romantic comedy I picked up in Igen before I was posted here in Xanadu." Besides, Percival has no real relationship experience that he'd admit to and more than likely, it's not something worth writing about in the slightest. Really boring stuff. After skimming a few more lines, the butcher closes the book and pushes himself to his feet, shoving the chonk over with his movements. After the book is put back into the press, Percy picks up the overweight feline and carries her back to his cot. The chonk is placed at the foot and he props himself upright with pillows on the other end. "Maybe Rhody needs to give us a real quality story time with her own books."

"Pizza is not normally romantic except for when it is…" Rhodelia will be NO HELP IN THIS because basically everything boils down to maybe in her world. As for Percival not writing it, but just picking it up, she gives a snicker. "Good. I thought you'd be more a salami man instead of a pepperoni." But that's enough talking of the butcher's meats as she goes to dig in her trunk for said book for Stefyr. After all the chaos her firelizards have caused, leading him astray even more is the least she can do. The book she eventually finds is much dog eared and the spine is a bit cracked, but it still holds together even through all the abuse. "I think I'll read one another time, Percy." Not tonight. Tonight she sets the book next to her fellow assistant. On the cover is a bronze dragon, his shirtless rider and a healer clinging to his chest. The blurb on the back will mention a few highlights of PLAGUE. WRONG JUMP BETWEEN! CAN THEY RACE TIME AND SAVE EACH OTHER AND THE WORLD?

Stefyr's eyes fall to the cover and then he glances down at his own shirtless state and then he grins at Rhodelia. It would be one thing if this poor boy had any idea what he was saying when he observes, "Hey, that looks like me." WELL, THEY ARE BOTH SHIRTLESS AND WELL MUSCLED, OKAY? "Thanks," is for the loan of the book. He glances over to Percy. If the possession of books were not verging on sacred to the former farmer, he might have offered Percival dibs next, but that's not his book. "Is that cat new?" is what he asks in the end as he goes back to his stitching. If she isn't, can Stefyr really be blamed for not keeping the best of tabs on the barracks' ever-growing menagerie (OF WHICH HE OWNS EXACTLY ZERO).


Percival glances up from the fuzzy tub of fluff, running his toes across her furr. "Yeah, unfortunately. I was in the caverns, recovering from a bad night with some klah and this horrible creature emerged out of a basket in the middle of the room. Nessalyn made me take responsibility for it so I guess it's mine now. I'm not gonna get much meat off of her, so I guess she'll just be a pet." Would he really butcher a feline? No, not when he'd knock a cup off someone's table in a heartbeat and deliberately sing off key at night just to be an asshole. "I wonder if the stores has a stash of books somewhere that the rest of the weyr tried to remove from circulation." Away from the libraries and studies. STEFYR WOULD DEFINTELY LOVE KITTENS, HE CAN'T FOOL ANYONE.

"He just didn't run fast enough," Rhodelia adds her own two marks in there as someone that saw the fattest, fuzziest cat in the caverns and RAN. As for Stefyr's observation, she coughs a little as she's caught off guard, glancing down at the shirtless, blonde rider. "Yeah… that's kind of a trend. The guys tend to be either giant, muscular blondes or dark and mysterious strangers…" Or maybe that's just the types of books she's been looking for? As for hidden supplies of books, she gives a shrug. "You can usually bribe the archivists to tell you where they're keeping the good stuff." Pro tip: always know everybody's favorite type of sweets. it makes bribing so much easier.

Stefyr probably would love kittens; he certainly hasn't seemed to have any issue with any of the pets in the barracks with the exception of certain firelizards and really firelizards in general, he just doesn't seek to possess any of his own, AND THAT'S JUST FINE, OKAY? He glances at the book again and then to Rhodelia and if he blushes just a little, it might just be the lighting. He gathers his robe, the thread and his needle, and that book before he rises. "I'll get out of your way," he murmurs to his coworker and heads toward the far away bunk that he's claimed as his second home in the barracks. "Best of luck with it." The cat, he probably means. Since it's not a Leirith pet, he doesn't have to care especially if it survives (even if he might generally if pressed to admit it). So to his bunk he heads to bed his head over his careful, neat stitches.

Look at poor Stefyr just asking to be drowning in feline inuendos and stuff. Percival glances around the weyr and spots his firelizards curled up above sound asleep. His hatchlings still dozing in his jacket pocket and the furry garbage disposal is doing some snorting snoring thing at the other end. It only makes sense that the man follows suit. Percival raises his arms over his head, yawning heavily while leaning into that languid stretch. He relaxes, glancing around with sleepy eyes towards his pillow, resting himself into a little ball. "I'm holding you to your word, Giblets. You owe us a story time before the hatching. Find something good." Nevermind that the men and women of the barracks are living in stories of their own. Every day, every new encounter and every challenge presented to Candidates of the weyr. For now, they'll just write lullabies til sunrise.

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