Turnday and Other Plans
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Xanadu Weyr - Caverns
A massive cavern in its own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as have walls hung with numerous tapestries that provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt. The stone is carefully leveled but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.

The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area is the one near the Kitchens, where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. It's plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr, instead feeding people in shifts as they come off duty. On occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are borrowed from all the other areas.

There's also a big fireplace set into the western wall, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.

Exits lead off in all directions, the largest an archway to the northeast that leads outside. Near it there's an alcove with hooks for coats and shelves for muddy boots. A tunnel to the east goes to the infirmary, and a set of stairs just a little south of that lead up to the offices and administration area. To the south, a long and sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs. The kitchen is off to the southwest, while the residents' quarters are reached by tunnels going west, deeper into the cliff.


Inhaling food is an art form, okay? It can be done neatly and efficiently without choking (TAKE NOTES, RU'IEN). Farmers who have to work so many moments of everyday but who support bodies like F'yr's have to learn this art to survive. It's coming in handy now as the big blond works his way through not one but two plates with a mountain of food apiece. Where he puts it all before it gets put into all those muscles is anyone's guess, but he's making headway through his first plate this nearly-lunchtime. The chairs that are empty around him aren't because there's a lack of manners, or even a reek, although fairly, there is the scent of lingering blood around him, probably coming from the tunic and trousers that show visible signs of the same. When a man has to choose between cleaning up and food and might only get a shot at one, he chooses wisely. This is F'yr's choice today and given the kind of ecstasy he seems to be experiencing at least according to the "Mm,"s and expressions for satisfying a personal hunger probably not given enough time or attention in these baby-dragon days, it's probably a good choice.

Near lunch may as well be lunch as far as some are concerned. Well everyone needs to eat at some point. Katailea's plate is far less mountainous as she slides into a seat beside the weyrling. "Glad to see you've managed to feed yourself too," she notes tossing a smile in his direction without comment on current appearance, though it is noted. "How are you doing? Both of you?" The second intending to include his lifemate.

"Hey," has a warm smile for the blonde joining him. It's over the top of a roll about to meet his lips, but let's not get picky about how these charming looks come, shall we? F'yr bites that role and chews with vigor before swallowing and sneaking in, "I can't tell anymore. My body feels strange and my brain doesn't work, Glorioth is still busy every moment he's awake, but I think it might be getting better?" SPOILER ALERT: IT MIGHT STILL BE AWFUL; he's really not qualified to judge right now. He shoves the rest of the roll into his mouth and makes short work of breaking it into marginally swallowable pieces in that artful inhalation of his. "How are you doing? Getting settled in properly?"

"Oh," it's an idle comment to show that she is listening despite not knowing quite how to respond to the answer he's provided. "Better is good." If it's really better. Katailea gets in a bite or two around the conversation on her own, less inhaled, pace. A nod follows his return inquiry, settling in might take a bit more to really get used to. "Could have worse company for lunch," she adds with a smile. "But I'm okay," she replies settling on an answer.

"Yeah," F'yr agrees readily, in a way he might not if he weren't so tired. "I mean, there's that guy over there." The one chewing with his mouth open. At least F'yr is making an effort to chew and swallow before he speaks. "Or that one," he gestures to a former candidate who works with the stables and was known to have wandering hands. "Smells like herdbeasts. At least I smell like dragon. I think." Of course this is followed by a tip of his head to sniff at his own shoulder. "I need to jump in the dragon pool. All I can smell is blood." That doesn't stop him from continuing his monstrously large meal, though. "Have you settled on what kind of something you want to do here?" He asks, though on a day with more sleep he might have pressed for more details on her asserted okay-ness.

Katailea laughs as those alternates are pointed out. "Definitely better company for a turnday here," she assures, "even if you do smell like dragon." Or slaughterhouse. A shake of her head follows his next question, holding a place for more to follow once she's swallowed. "Not exactly. I mean ideas maybe, but I'd be okay with most anything." Which may or may not be the best idea, somethings are certainly better options than others! Her attention caught briefly by another pair of girls a few seats down, where Jerica is nattering on about some trinket she's had for ages, when one of those vegetables is prodded with her fork far harder than necessary.

F'yr's brows rise but he has to wait to speak until he's finished the latest heaping mouthful. "Happy Turnday," and he gulps a mouthful from his drink before he can add, "How old?" His blue eyes flick from the girl beside him to the occupants a few seats down, but it's Katailea who has his attention. That attention, split between the woman and his food, probably explains why he adds a quieter, "Everything okay?" But he keeps eating, because need drives. He must be as starving as his dragons more times than not if this gorge is anything to go by.

"Thanks," is offered with a smile. Really F'yr, didn't your mother ever tell you not to ask that question? Katailea doesn't care though, replying "Nineteen." A slight shake of her head and maybe a roll of eyes hidden in there too and she's shifting her attention back to the weyrling. "Yeah," everything is just fine even if her tone hints that there might be something not. "So," she starts changing the topic, "Glorioth?" she has the name right, right? "Seems rambunctious." Which may not be the exact right word to describe the young bronze, but it's the one she's found and it fits well enough.

It's possible F'yr's mother taught the lesson a little differently, since the big blond seems to have no compunction over asking nor anything more than a grin when she makes reply. Maybe the bronze weyrling is too tired to take note of the off-ness of her tone, or maybe he'll figure it out later, in the midst of some midnight-or-three-in-the-morning-what-is-time-anyway feeding, but even if he does notice, he doesn't press the matter, though both former candidates get another flick of a glance before he re-focuses on the woman beside him. "Very active." He agrees of his lifemate, "And very loud." Unlike other weylings however, this sort of invitation doesn't launch him into regaling her of his heroic adventures as the dragon would certainly do himself. Perhaps F'yr is simply as circumspect about his relationship with his dragon as he is with other relationships. "Do you have any special turnday plans?"

Its all for the best really, and if he figures it out later then she won't have the answer the questions that might come with it. "I noticed," Katailea comments on his lifemate. She did have the privilege of hearing him once. "No," the answer meets the question before she reaches for her glass to take a drink. Should she have plans? Right now she might welcome those tales instead, but he’s not offering and she’s not asking either. “Might call it an early night, dunno. Hadn’t really thought about it.”

"Wish I could help make it more exciting." Seeing as how F'yr has a young lifemate, that's an absolute impossibility. It doesn't stop him from inquiring further, "Does your family have any particular traditions to celebrate turndays?" He cants his head to one side as he dips something that doesn't belong in dip into one and then shoves it into his mouth. Maybe he really is a man whom V'ayn could bring mayonnaise when it was meant to be icing and have him not balk or even blink. "Maybe some of the others from the barracks," the candidate barracks, "could help you do something fun?" He suggests, one glance going down to the aforementioned ones, expression thoughtful, but luckily for Katailea he doesn't address them or proceed to make plans for her like some busybodies might do.

Katailea shakes her head which turns out to be both for the comment and the question that follow it. "No, not really," the blonde replies, pushing a bit of the food still on her plate around, but it's a smile that lifts back to F'yr a moment later, "Don't," wish it "you'll just have to make up for it next turn." Her green eyes follow his glance, "I'm fine just having the evening to myself. Really." No plans necessary. "Could see if Jaynas,” or someone, “wants to get a drink or something though I guess."

There's a nod as F'yr pauses in his food inhalation to stack the first place (long empty now) under the second, still about half full. "Sure," is easy agreement to future commitments for time he probably can't even imagine there will be so much new and grow and do between now and then. Hopefully Katailea's bar isn't too high though, since this is the man who thinks you can get seven people who live in the same household the same Turnover present and have it come out just fine. Note how he's not patting down pockets to even make a token effort to give a gift to her this turnday; gifts probably haven't even entered his mind. "I bet Jaynas would," F'yr approves. "He could probably use a fun night out with you. I think the hatching hit him sort of hard." It does, for some. "I hear he's going to stand for Leirith's eggs. Will you?"

"I'm kidding," Katailea points out giving his shoulder a light nudge. No, he doesn't need to make up for this one in the future. She's not going to complain if he does, hopefully, nor is she expecting anything now. "Well then maybe that," since he thinks it might be a good idea too. "Cheer him up some too then." Two birds, one stone and all that. "I-" her answer comes with a bit of hesitation as she considers in the same breath. "I don't know." She hadn't actually thought it about it before, her plan then was leaving and clearly that didn't go over as expected.

F'yr's lips press together after he finishes a swallow of his drink, in that way he's always had of making sure no words slip out before he's ready, or before he's listened. And that focus in listening that has been missing (not lost, just replaced by preoccupation) is briefly there while blue eyes search Katailea's face intently. The matter of Jaynas and the celebration of her turnday with drinks gets a passing nod, but it's really the rest he's focused on. "If you don't want to stand on the sands, will you at least sit in the observation level so that if there's a dragon meant for you among the eggs, it can find you?" There's an intensity in that question, and his lips are pressed tight again as though to keep himself from trying to sway a choice that is rightfully hers to make, whatever it may be. He looks at her this way for a beat, two, before, "Shells. Sorry," and he's suddenly shifting, abandoning his half-finished second plate, "I have to go. But think about it, alright?" He doesn't wait, can't wait because despite the value he has in their friendship, he has a higher priority, a higher allegiance that he can't just put on hold, not this month, anyway. He's gone as quickly as he can navigate around the tables (and not many, since he picked a table that he could get up and run from quickly) before he's breaking into a painful looking jog and heading out.


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