Barracks Inspection Preempted (Before the Hatching)

Xanadu Weyr - Candidate Barracks

A long, low ceiling room opens off the entrance hall to the arena, one wall slightly curved as it is set against the outer wall of the arena itself. Cots are set evenly the length of the room, in two rows, 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.

Lunch is over, which means morning chores are over and afternoon ones for some reason have been canceled. Candidates have been required at the end of lunch to report to the barracks but not why. Waiting for them there, when they enter, fresh back from her honeymoon and in a far-too pleasant mood, is the headwoman. "Please stand beside your cots," Darsce tells them sunnily. Maybe just a wee too cheerily. Barracks inspections! She enjoys these far too much to be healthy. "And take out your hatching gown for this inspection." Ut oh?

Bowyn looks at the headwoman, wide-eyed, and then walks over to her cot as she stops trying to dig a splinter out of her finger with a needle. She gives her belongings a quick once over: not too bad. Upon being instructed to fetch her hatching robe, the color leaves the candidate's face and she scrambles to get it out, holding it in her clammy hands. Ruh roh.

Kera stretches out oddly on her cot, feet propped up on the wall by the head of her cot, her pillow shoved under her head as she read from a little book she's holding up. Minimur is draped across one half of the pillow crooning softly as Kera gently rubs his stretched out neck. A moment later the headwoman's voice snaps her out of the bookish distraction. Ahh, now she knows why chores were canceled. Inspection. Jumping up quickly, Kera scrambles, trying to stay under the woman's radar.

Innes is running a bit late, unsurprisingly, and brings up the rear of the trail of returning candidates. She's at least looking somewhat presentable this afternoon, aside from the usual semi-wild hair and the clothes that are too baggy for her petite form. At the sight of Darce, her eyes grow wide, and her gaze shoots from the Headwoman to her mess of a cot. Right. Well. She makes her way quickly to the disaster area and gets down on her knees, rooting around beneath her cot for the aforementioned hatching gown.

Darsce has a radar, yeah. But if she remembers who Kera is… well, let's just say it's unlikely. She blithely ignores the panicked gulps and looks she's getting and strolls with a nonchalance down the aisles. See? Nothing threatening about her. Looming isn't her style. She stops by Bowyn's cot first, manicured fingers pinching the hem of her gown, lifting it and inspecting the stitching. Hm. She says nothing, iceblue eyes sweep her cot and she moves on to Kera's, which looks fine. "Your robe, Dear. May I see it?" Sweetly-asked. Nothing to fear, right?

Bowyn seems to stiffen a little when the headwoman stops to look at her gown, her bottom lip escaping into her mouth a little to be chewed on. Nerves! When Darsce passes, the hunter lets out her breath, quietly, and inspects the garment herself. Just to double check. Wouldn't want it to spontaneously fall apart.

Kera hurriedly fumbles around in her trunk, tossing the book in and tugging out the holey white sack for inspection. Wincing at the wrinkles creased into it she starts pushing her pillow back into place, her brown chittering at her scoldingly when she disturbs his lounging. Straightening her sheet as best she can in a hurry, Kera joins the other candidates as the end of the cots. Dipping her head back, she peers along the row towards Innes's cot with a shake of her head. Then that too sweet voice she recalls is speaking to her and gets a little strangled squeak "Here!" in response while nearly shoving her wrinkled robe at the Headwoman.

Innes can't find it! She knows it's here, somewhere. There's a bit of white fabric… no, that's a shirt. It's tossed over her shoulder quickly, landing somewhere on the floor behind her. And then with a little 'ah-hah!' cry, she finds the garment and tugs it free of the pile. Triumphantly, she gets to her feet. Hopefully the fact that her robe is in decent condition will make up for… everything else.

Darsce takes the robe Kera hands her and just… stares at it. Wrinkles?! Whut? "Uh, have you never heard of folding things?" It's no longer a sunny tone but sheer disbelief. She hands it back to Kera and mutters, "Iron that, please. Preferably before the eggs rock." At least she isn't scowling or screaming? She also neglects to pick at Kera's cot, just moves on to Innes’. The cot she blinks at in disbelief before peering at the robe. "Nice. So clean up the mess and-" A sound, high-pitched in nature interrupts her and she blanches. "That's… WHY does their timing always suck?!" she almost-whines before raising her voice and calling to the barracks at-large, "Into your robes, the AWLMs will be here in a minute!" Aaaaand she has a hatching feast to scramble for, so she bolts out of the barracks muttering cusswords as she goes.

Bowyn just…/stares/. And then flies into a panic as she rips off her clothes and throws on the white robe. Are…are her hands shaking? Well, no time to worry about that now. "Already?!" She takes a few deep breaths and waits for further instructions. Yipes!

There are girls dressing in here? So what? It's nothing the gruff old Weyrlingmaster hasn't seen before. V’dim enters with nary a knock. "Candidates, it's time. Join me at the door when you've got your robes on." His craggy face is lined and unsmiling, eyes sharp. Oh yes, they'll be inspected before being allowed out there.

Innes is fully prepared to be verbally shredded over the condition of her cot - especially when Kera gets in trouble for mere wrinkles - when she's magically saved by the bell. Or, er, the dragons. The color drains from her already pale skin when she realizes just what this means. "No. No no no no," she mutters, staring at the robe in her hands. She thought she still had time to escape! Too late now. As quickly as she can, she tugs off her clothes and pulls her robe over her head. And shoes! She needs shoes.

Garawan was expecting to be taken off-guard. After three candidacies, he's learning a thing or two— namely that he can't ever predict exactly when. So when Darsce gave the instructions to get into their robes, Garawan began to do exactly that. He's also learning how to dress without showing too much— shirt off, robe on, pants and shoes off, sandals on. Shouldn't take him long.

Sorel was out and about in the weyr, probably grumbling at some apprentice who just couldn't understand the concept of a particular important knot. "Why oh why. I should have been back here an hour ago!" He's hissing at another candidate as they nudge past him. Sure, he hears the noise, knows the eggs are hatching, but it's not about to elbow people trying to get to his cot and robe. Rude. He makes it to his area and clothes are instantly being stripped away before he pulls on his tuber sack looking robe. It's nothing fancy for sure, and the stitching on it is less than amazing but at least there isn't any blood on it! As for his feet? He's apparently doing what he normally does and there are no sandals there. Someone is gunna have fun. He takes a moment to smooth his hair into place before he's making his way back over to the door for V'dim to inspect.

Kera leans back a little and nods quickly to Darsce "Yes'm, I'll get right on that ma'am." A quick little salute taking the wrinkling robe back, darts off to iron it. She barely making it to the tall case that has such things, when events take a drastic turn. Darting a glance from her wrinkly robe, then around to where others are shoving them on already. A little shrug and quickly changes into hers as well before joining the line. Making sure she's within range of her friends. Nodding nervously to those in line by the Weyrlingmaster and peering back for those that aren't yet.

And on out they go, escorted by V’dim and flanked by the AWLMs towards the sands – and for some of them, new lives.

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