The mending of robes (open esp to candidates)

[Invisible]

(OOC: Non-candidates are welcome to join in. Be stopping by to check em out, visit one in particular, or what have you!)

The candidates were more used to each other by now for the most part. Which is why there were collective groans and complaints about the hatching robe situation. In the cluster of girls Genet peered with suspicion at the robe she was working on before holding it up and asking, “Is that blood?” A couple girls eyed the stain nervously and there was a general consensus that yes, indeed, it looked like blood. “Wonder what other gross things were on here before they were washed. Eww. Do you think they –were- washed?”

Despite her grumblings the mending of her candidate robe was actually fun. It gave Genet a chance to get to know the other girls and measure up the competition. It had been impossible to see them as anything else since the day of the egg touching. Oh, she wasn’t being mean or playing underhanded tricks, but still. There was definitely a sense of me against them going on in her head now. It did not help that some of them were jealous of the pretty bauble hanging around her neck. Which was why she made sure the amber pendant showed no matter what she was doing. Ha! Take that. Even if one of you impresses I still have this.


Across the weyrling barracks the boys were spread out more. Since there were more of them they got more space and several groups had formed to work, more slowly and with more cursing, on their own mending. Konamar was used to this as well by now. He’d settled onto his bunk with his robe and while he was no weaver he could sew a straight line and had known how to pick the robe that needed the least amount of work. The joking and conversation that went on around him went largely over his head. Every now and then one of the other candidates would ask him a question directly and he would pause his work to answer.

[Selvagem]

Selvagem
The Caminar girl worked quietly by herself in a corner, ignoring the "ohhhs" and "ahhhs" that erupted every now and then from some girl or another, or perhaps a group of them all at once. What was a little blood, after all, to a girl used to killing and skinning her own food? Yet she trembled, still, at the sight of an ever-so-slight brown patch across the left arm of her robe, so light it was visible only to an eye looking for it.

Well, perhaps animal blood was not quite the same thing as seeing blood that most probably came from a human wound. She turned from the stain, delibrately, and started working on hemming back the base of the robe, using pins to secure the length she wanted folded back, before starting on stitching it into place. It had dragged on the ground by at least two inches when she tried it on earlier, and was badly in need of shortening.

Her ears caught the sound of a familiar voice, and she raised her head to glance at Genet. The Caminar girl raised a brow, lightly, but said nothing though she cast the other girl a crooked smile, as if to say that she was not at all certain the robes had been washed, but certainly hoped they had been. She was fairly certain that hers was washed, judging by the faintness of the stain, but she didn't want to say too much. Let the holder girls find their own conclusions on that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horatio, Jhorna and Thordis
Jhorna was enjoying himself immensely. The Apprentice Smithcrafter had always enjoyed doing things with his own hands, and rather than looking down on the sewing craft as women's work, he took pride in being able to craft his own simple designs on his clothes. That knowledge stood him in good stead now, even though the mending of rent robes was not his specialty. He cast a dark look at the small tear in the midriff section of his robe and the brownish staining around it, before sighing and setting to securing it with pins and stitching it back together. He could and would hope that he would have better fortune than the former owner of the robe. A tug on his sleeve distracted him.

"Uh, Jhorna, how do you do this?"

It was Horatio. The curly-haired boy glanced casually at the robe in his friend’s hands, turned back for a better look with incredulous eyes, and forced the corners of his lips to turn down to hold back a smile. The result was a chuckle that threatened to tip off his tongue. Horatio had, perhaps, been attempting to hem back one of the sleeves, but the only thing Jhorna could see at the moment was a mess of pins sticking randomly out of a cuff. He felt the laughter threaten again to explode, forced himself to swallow it, and reached for the other boy’s robe.

“Well, not like that for certain,” he ignored the squeamish expression on Horatio’s face, as he took the robe. The dark blond-haired boy was not used to being so helpless with anything, and Jhorna was determined not to make him more uncomfortable than he already was. There would always be another time for showing off his skills, if he wished.

“Look,” he held the sleeve and cuff up for the benefit of his watching friend, “You have to fold the cuff back to the correct length first, and make sure all the edges are flat. Only then do you start with pinning it…”

Thordis, for his part, was struggling too. Needle and thread had about as much association with him as a fish had with air, and at the moment he was having difficulty even getting them to stay together. He was a kitchen helper, not a laundry worker, and the theatrics of cloth and thread were completely alien to him. He tried, for the umpteenth time, to thread his needle, and bit back a curse yet again as his finger met the needle tip for what was…well, the umpteenth time. The boy stopped to suck his finger, wincing as he blinked back at the needle winking light at him. He would get this eventually, he was sure of it. He just hoped he wouldn’t have a pincushion of fingertips by the time he was done.

[Invisible]

Genet was not overly concerned about dried blood on her robe, but the thought of it being unwashed was something else. She sniffed at the hem thoughtfully and finally nodded in satisfaction. “Well, if it wasn’t washed at least whoever had it last didn’t pee down the inside of it.” At some of the horrified looks the other girls gave their robes she couldn’t help but grin. Really, they were so easy to rile up. Not that she would have liked to get a robe like that, but she wouldn’t have let someone get to her over it. Not when a quick washing would fix things.

A glance over at Selvagem to see how she was doing allowed her to catch the other girl’s eye and wink at the continued whining over having to wash their robes now that they were unsure on the matter. There were even a few girls who left to go do that right now although they were not in such a rush that they couldn’t slow down when they got near the boys and tease them on the way out. With a shake of her head Genet stood and moved closer to where the Caminar girl worked. Sitting on the ground near her cot she grinned. “They’re so easy to get excited. I know I shouldn’t do it, but it tends to keep the worst of the meanness at bay.” Jabbing her needle into the hem of the robe she shook out her fingers.

“Man, I am so sick of waiting. I wish it were all over already, you know? If for no other reason than some of these will be going home.” A wave of her hand indicated the rest of the female candidates as Genet smiled. “What about you? I mean, if you don’t impress what will you do?”






Across the barracks Konamar finished up his robe and carefully folded it before setting it at the foot of his cot for now. With narrowed thoughtful eyes he leaned back and watched the rest of the boys work. They all looked horribly young to him and he couldn’t help but wonder how old he looked to them. He heard the whispers at night when they assumed he was asleep. The weyrbrats filled in the kids brought in from search about sad old man Konamar, but he did his best to ignore it. When some of the gold candidates paused to tease with the boys he was not included. Too old he told himself. Too old and too pathetic. After all, it’s just back to records with me most likely.

Perhaps if he had not been so inclined to remain in his own dark thoughts he might have noticed the one girl who did look his way. When he didn’t seem to notice she just shrugged her shoulders and went on her way. The thought that maybe he should try to talking to one of the other candidates was overruled by the thought that there was no reason making friends. Not with people he could very likely wind up hating when all was said and done. No, better to wait

[neopanther]

He had heard correctly. They actually expected him to do this? He wandered over to the pile of off white clothes, sneering, he picked up one, one that wasn't too off his size. He looked at the lank material with disdain. There were somethings even an ingeniously marvellous mind couldn't do something with. This was one of them. Handling it as little as he could, he took the cloth aside. He looked it over ragain, decided that before he even thought about trying to do anything to it, he would have to wash out the Awful stains that were there, yes, blood mixed with sand, and the entire cloth was off colour, and riddled with sand. He didn't even want to think about what that cream coloured stain on it could be.

He dragged a hot bowl of water over towards the bulk of the females, recognising two of them before the rest of the boys, and silently, and rather disgustedly, took the task in hand. The warm water took out a few of the minor stains, but the rest were going to need a bit of work. He caught hold of a harsh brush, and started scrubbing at the fabric - he wished he hadn't. The colour of the water almost immediately changed... He really should not be doing this. It was disgusting. His stomach turned.

He sneered as he looked at it. "I might be a bit green towards this, but I think I need someone to tell me that this isn't as disgusting as I feel it is." He looked down, the damp previously off white fabric had gone grey - a nice layer of sand lined the bottom of the metal bucket.

[Invisible]

It was not unusual for Konamar to get increasingly annoyed with the other candidates the closer the day of the hatching seemed to get. So, when Ezieki commented on the robes he snorted in response to the other man. “If you’re afraid to get your hands dirty you may as well go home now.” Looking at the man he had a hard time with the idea he might impress when Konamar could have the same bad luck as always. No, best to see if the man would just go and save them all the hassle. What a lousy group of candidates this was. Well, maybe that would work in his favor. Surely a dragon would rather have him than any one of these people? Shaking his head he looked around at all the boys again. Surely this time that would be the case.

[anhydrous]

It seemed that upon receiving his new ranking knots, the Weyr’s general population had decided that I’dalyn was no longer entitled to the privilege of an uninterrupted meal. Much to his displeasure, the brownrider was walking away from the lower caverns with a basket of freshly washed linens instead of a stomach full of stew. A disagreeable looking woman had recognized him when they passed each other in the hallway, immediately unloading her burden into his arms and vanishing with instructions to take the robes to the weyrling barracks. He certainly had better things to do than deliver laundry, but he sighed and turned his path in a direction that was regrettably not the way to the kitchens.

Daisulyth was perched rather irritably on his weyrledge, tail twitching rhythmically as he reached out for his rider’s mind. Are you done eating yet? I’dalyn shifted the weight of the laundry to his other hip, trying to mentally fend off the irritability his dragon had just heaved in his direction. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I have to run down to the barracks before I can eat. Daisulyth snorted in retort, the displeasure echoing back to I’dalyn as a queasy stab in the gut.

As the brownrider trudged across the bowl towards the weyrling’s quarters, his dragon watched him with a wary eye. Just as I’dalyn’s form disappeared into the shadow of the entrance to the barracks, Daisulyth launched himself from his perch to glide in lazy spirals towards the bowl’s floor. I’dalyn failed to notice his dragon’s decent, busy taking in the sight of a handful of candidates mending robes. Dirty robes. Horribly disgusting and stained robes.

The Weyrlingmaster’s boot heels struck against the floor of the barracks as he positioned himself in the general center of the room, dropping the basket of fresh robes at his feet and clearing his throat.
“Sorry everyone,” He interrupted sheepishly, eyes darting around the cavern to make sure that he had caught his charges’ attention. “Apparently when I assigned the chores for the week, I failed to mention that the robes were still being cleaned.” The man ran a hand over his head with his features twisted into what could only be described as a discomfited expression. “You don’t have to continue mending those foul ones.” He paused, adding another thought as it came to him, “If I remember correctly, they’re pretty revolting.” Daisulyth had taken up his position just outside the barracks; a somber guard silently and impatiently standing watch.

[Selvagem]

Selvagem
If there was one thing that had always struck Selvagem about the plantado, it was that they much preferred to keep their affairs seperate from the Caminar. It was a lesson she had learnt over and over again throughout her turns, barring a few exceptions, and Weyr-life had only intensified those lessons for her. The message was clear for her to read: leave the plantado to their own affairs, and they will leave your affairs unmolested. Mostly, at any rate.

So she was surprised to find Genet beside her just then; and not only willingly beside her, but willingly making conversation as well. She was so taken aback, as a matter of fact, that she set down her sewing to listen to the other girl.

“They’re so easy to get excited. I know I shouldn’t do it, but it tends to keep the worst of the meanness at bay.”

Selvagem smiled as she resumed her sewing, uncertain of what to say in reply. Conversation had never been her strongest point, even amongst her own people, and with Genet she could hardly think of what to say. Thankfully, the hold-bred girl solved her problem simply by continuing.

“Man, I am so sick of waiting. I wish it were all over already, you know? If for no other reason than some of these will be going home.”

The Caminar girl followed her gaze as she indicated the rest of the group, and a thoughtful look replaced the slight smile on her face. Home, to her, had a meaning that was in transition. Home had once been a man she loved and trusted. Home could now mean either a lonely road into the wilderness, or a heath with a cloth-weaver's son beside her. She had yet to choose. The thought of the choice hardened her eyes as she remembered the events that had led her to it. And here she was, chatting with a daughter of the very people who had killed her father. How did she even know it had not been Genet's father, or brothers, or cousins, who perpetuated the act? She turned back as the holder girl asked her question.

“What about you? I mean, if you don’t impress what will you do?”

Selvagem smiled, her smile no longer kindly, but hard like the stone of the Weyr, and sharp as polished metal. She looked away a moment, picking her words.

"I'll go home," she said softly, her voice like daggers, 'To my people."

The click of boots against rock caught her attention, and she turned to contemplate the Weyrlingmaster marching across the barracks with a basket of cloths. Selvagem's face seemed to hold no expression as she eyed the man, her robes slung over her lap.

“Sorry everyone. Apparently when I assigned the chores for the week, I failed to mention that the robes were still being cleaned.”

The Caminar girl looked down at her robes, and a wry smile traced her features. So much for the efficiency the plantado liked to boast of. Sometimes a wandering life could breed more discipline, it seemed, than a life of being provded for in a Hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horatio, Jhorna and Thordis

“You don’t have to continue mending those foul ones.”

The Weyrlingmaster's announcement came not a moment too soon for Horatio and Thordis. Unabashed relief flooded their features at his words, and the younger candidate had to bite his tongue to hold back a whoop: he had just pricked his thumb, yet again. Horatio dumped his robes beside him, eyeing the basket of clean clothes at I’dalyn's feet. The move elicited a sigh from Jhorna.

"Pity. I could have taught you something useful if he hadn't turned up."

Horatio snorted, "You can still teach me, and you can do it with cleaner clothes than these."

"You wouldn't listen to me after this," Jhorna shot him a wry glance, "Even if I told you it'll help you with stitching patients in the near future. You just keep wearing those plain, boring solid-coloured tunics."

"Yeah, right, I suppose that's a criminal thing to do," Horatio's tone was sarcastic.

Thordis ignored the pair, his grateful expression for I'dalyn only as he sucked his thumb. He was probably going to need numbweed after this: some of his many finger pricks had drawn blood, and were irritating even if they weren't serious.

[rigantona]

For once, Katashi had his full attention on his chores. He had begun mending the robe half-heartedly, keeping his eyes on the girls in the room more than on his needle, but after pricking his own finger several times and having to tear up stitches and start again, the robe was becoming an enemy that needed to be conquered. Now he was bent over the white fabric, squinting as he slowly and painstakingly stitched together a large tear. He could imagine the dragon claws that had ripped open the robe and he suspected that there could easily be another, similar tear wrought upon it come Hatching day, but he no longer cared. It had to be perfect...

"Sorry, everyone." Katashi didn't even look up as the Weyrlingmaster spoke. "“Apparently when I assigned the chores for the week, I failed to mention that the robes were still being cleaned.”

He froze, then looked up at the Weyrlingmaster, incredulous. "You have got to be kidding me." Irritated, he tore the stitch he had been working on out and let the robe fall to the floor. He eyed the basket of fresh robes dubiously, then turned to the Weylingmaster. "Apparently you expect us to work on those, too? Even though we already did our chores for the day?"

[Invisible]

The new weyrlingmaster was eyed with a considering look as he entered. Konamar wondered about his appointment having thought the Weyrleader would pick someone older. Probably doesn’t want the man to be his competition. An older man might be so. Well, an older man with a bronze. The young man with a brown was clearly someone the Weyrleader thought he might use to his advantage. The old candidate was silent as the man talked and concealed his smirk behind an upraised hand. Off to an excellent start he was. Well, his robe had been clean, but then he knew where to go to get one that would be. Standing so often had to have an advantage somewhere. Something to offset all the disadvantages. Since his robe was done he ignored the replies given by the other candidates. Idiots one and all anyway.





Genet was surprised to hear the weyrlingmaster’s words but just smiled brightly. She’d had to give hers a wash before hemming, but that was not such a horrible chore. Hot water and soap was something she’d spent plenty of time around back home. Judging by the reactions of the other candidates they were not so nonplussed about it. Well, no sense getting worked up as it wouldn’t change anything.

Looking back at Selvagem as she spoke her expression grew puzzled when the girl’s tone changed. Clearly she’s decided she wanted nothing at all to do with me Genet thought with a confused look at the Caminar. “I’m sorry. I thought you might like someone to talk to is all.” Rising to her feet to return to her nearly completed robe she shrugged her shoulders. “You know, your people are as much responsible for the trouble between them and the rest of us as we are. It’s not like hold and weyrfolk have the monopoly on ignorance and prejudice. Feel free to sit here and stew by yourself though. I know when I am not wanted.” With a toss of her head she turned to go back to her own bunk. “Excuse me for wanting to make friends,” was mumbled under her breath along the way.

[anhydrous]

If I’dalyn expected his candidates to be relieved that they wouldn’t have to mend the dirty robes, their response would surprise him. There were various mutterings of irritation, and one boy even chose to clearly voice his displeasure.

The brownrider blinked at Katashi for a moment, considering the snarl that had just been directed at him. I’dalyn didn’t recognize the boy, but with a mouth like that he was sure to learn his name pretty quickly. It seemed that the petrified respect that his father had received as weyrlingmaster wasn’t going to be passed down to him.

“Yes, I'm expecting you to complete your chores. By your tone I’m assuming that you don’t want to mend your required hatching attire.” His words were chosen without particular attention and delivered with the same casual indifference. “If that’s the case, I’m sure that we could arrange for you to stand the sands naked.” Smiling broadly at the boy with a grin that lacked any real sincerity, I’dalyn picked up a clean robe and tossed it in Katashi’s direction.

“Anyone else have an issue?” He asked genially, his eyes shifting around the cavern. Some faces he recognized, others were wholly unfamiliar. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he surveyed the assortment of those who had been gathered to stand. Soon he would have to start learning names, if not all, then at least of those who had Impressed.

Mentally running through the group, I’dalyn’s gaze settled on a more familiar face. He could have sworn that boy had been standing during the hatching he had Impressed Daisulyth… In fact, quite a few of the candidates seemed to have ages that rivaled the brownrider’s meager 21 turns. That could very well be a problem. Not everyone could handle being obedient to an authority figure, especially when the ages between the two were so close.

[neopanther]

Ezieki was quick to relinquish the poor excuse for clothing. "For that, at least, I am grateful." He dropped the cloth into the water, leaving it aside, not overly impressed that he had actually started to work in the first place. He sighed quietly to himself, the one time he did actually make himself work, he was gifted the pleasure of relinquishing it. How marvellous? It was like the powers that be actually wanted him to not work.

He stood, stretched out his back, smirked as he overheard the conversations between Selvagem, and the other girl who looked scarily like that stocky search rider of his, though not in her frame - thankfully. And secondly at the comment the Weyrlingmaster made, appearing naked on the sands? He snickered at the idea of how the other riders and crowds' people would take it.

The weyrlingmaster was little older than he, and in truth, he felt the man was perhaps struggling a little for his authority to be maintained, he seemed nervous, but he was likely quite a fresh rider, put into t his position unilling and unwittingly. Ezieki decided it might be better for he to keep his own tognue to himself, perhaps show a little respect, afterall, the weyrlingmaster could be a man he was stuck with for a while.