Inspiration

Characters Ariadne, Nassir, Roque, S'las, Shetaia
Synopsis A search for inspiration leads to Ariadne being Searched.
Out-of-Character Date May 21, 2018

Igen Weyr - Lake Shore
It is sometimes hard to tell where the bowl ends and the lake shore begins. Fine grains of gold, tan and orange hued sand layer much as the bowl walls in the distance beyond. The sand only gives way to thin patches of grass where the tall fence of the feeding grounds intersects the lake to the south and the smooth curve of the bowl wall rises on the opposite shore. At that intersection one can make out a small building and colorful fabrics where the Weyr's residents go to relax. The shallow lake waters shimmer invitingly, day and night, lapping at the fine grain sands. Engineered pipes are hidden beneath the bowl landscape and feed the lake as well as the grasses of the feeding grounds to keep the water levels from dropping past a certain point which is marked by a waist high obelisk.


It's early afternoon in Igen and Chessylith is finally clean after hours of scrubbing all the blood and jiggly bits off his muzzle and out from between his teeth. Dragons need baths, too, and the sparkling clean blue is now sprawled out with wings unfurled, sunning himself on the shores. S'las is sitting on a blanket in the sun, still trying to let his wet shorts dry off before retreating to the shade provided by light wingsails. Thankfully his shirt is still clean and dry, stowed away for later. The man yawns, reaching over to dragonstraps and he flips open the lid to one of the storage pouches. A bottle is pulled out, and he removes the top, taking a drink.

Is that.. a man with an umbrella? Why yes, yes it is. It seems that one of the candidates at Igen has found a solution for Rukbat's afternoon heat at the desert weyr, because he is meandering towards the lake, a large, open umbrella over his head and a thinly bound notebook under his arm. Softly humming to himself, he meanders, before tilting his head at a familiar face. "Good afternoon, sir." And then, the candidate is.. making himself at home? Umbrella is stuck into the ground to hold it steady and he is settling in the shade. "That makes me wish I had my sketch book instead." Roque offers, eyes linger on the sparkling clean Chessylith.

Ariadne has been busy with her duties helping the weyrharper all morning, the ink flecks on her hands indicating that said duties were transcribing something the old fashioned way. However, she seems to hve gotten at least part of the afternoon off, so afternoon finds the harper girl making her way to the lake with her gitar and a small basket of food. Seeing the old bluerider, she waves, and looks for somewhere to settle down.

Oh, poor Roque, look at the way S'las is totally giving your umbrella some serious side-eye and the tiniest of twitches at the edge of his mouth. He takes another sip of his drink and peers at Ariadne, giving her a nod of greeting before he turns back to the Candidate. "So kind of you to bring an umbrella. Now all the local wildlife will have someone to cozy up with. Everyone likes a bit of shade." Chessylith rumbles his own half-asleep greeting to everyone around him. For once, the blue has no words, just rumbling sounds that resemble snoring.

"You can simply admit you are jealous, my good man." Roque offers with a soft voice, clearly not at all bothered by the blue rider's opinion. "Since you made it clear I should avoid the dunes, where better to gain inspiration than the shores of the glittering lake - If only Rukbat wasn't so -warm-." Eyes flick to Ariadne as the teen approaches, inclining his head in greeting as his fingers flip through his notepad to a blank page. "You need to seek inspiration wherever you can, you know."

Ariadne isn't as concerned about the sun. In fact, in the month or so that she's been at Igen (her Grand Tour of Pern seems to have stalled,) she's actually managed to start a decent tan. She spreads out a blanket, not far from where S'las lays. A curious look is given the man with the umbrella, but no comments are made, although a flash of interest crosses her face when a sketchbook is mentioned.

"Jealous of that umbrella? You're absolutely right, I'm terribly jealous and it was a very, VERY wise decision to bring it out here in the horrible, horrible Igen heat. Whatever shall I do with myself. Outwitted, dear Roque." The bluerider even rests his wrist on his forehead, feigning defeat! Soon enough, the man snorts and lays back on his own blanket, closing his green eyes to the daylight. Then he reaches for his bottle and pulls that closer.

Upon the top of the blank page, Roque carefully sets to work writing away - 'Ode to an Umbrella' - would be seen if someone happened to peek over his shoulder at the page. As the bottle is pulled closer, the candidate arches an eyebrow. "Now, did you bring enough for everyone? Otherwise, it is -quite rude-." Eyes flick to Ariadne as she settles in, in an attempt to keep the smile from his face - or worse, laughter. How could anyone take a -laughing- artist seriously?

Nassir is disgruntled. It is, in fact, probably not possible to be, or appear, more disgruntled then the tailor currently does. Of course, he has many, /many/ reasons to be disgruntled, but at the moment? At the moment, the cause for that disgruntlement is made clear when he spots S'las and makes a beeline toward him. "Are you /aware/ of the closet situation? Or /lack/ of closets situation?" Pausing a beat, he glances toward Chessylith and winks then promptly raises a hand to the others in greeting before turning his gaze back on S'las. "The lavender rope has been dealt with, by the way." YOU ARE WELCOME S'LAS! "And clearly, I am here." As promised. One tailor, signed, sealed and delivered. "Thank you for that." Seriously. He's grateful. "But, the closets…" He would be lucky to fit a tenth of his shirts, alone, into the space provided.

Ariadne doesn't peek. Instead, the young woman digs around in the basket, and takes a bite of one meatroll. It's hard for her to stifle a giggle at S'las's sarcasm, but considering that the Bluerider was one of the first people she met here. The Weaver is met with an idle glance of curiosity, but the talk of closet quickly loses her interest. The girl tends to travel light, like most harpers. "So, how is everyone today?"

"Bring enough? Now, that depends on the contents and the status of those around said contents. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. The world may never know." He's both wrong and right in this situation, it seems. The man runs his fingers through his drying black hair, chuckling darkly while he reclines. S'las tilts his head to Nassir, offering a crooked smile at the young man while he shares his dilemma and ponders for a moment. "That definitely sounds like an issue. Unfortunately there's not too much I can do in the way of creating space within the barracks. Best I can suggest is to roll or fold your shirts in a way that makes the most efficient use of space available. Or forgo clothes entirely, though, R'sner might have something to say about that." All said in jest, of course. S'las doesn't even like looking at himself in the nude. No one needs that kind of negativity in their lives! "We'll figure something out." Maybe he has a foot locker low enough to fit under a bed somewhere.

A slight nudge and Roque's umbrella is shifted to more evenly cast shade upon his chosen bit of ground, even as he tilts his chin up at Nassir, giving in to his previous impulse to smile - but ONLY for a minute. Swear. "It sounds like you simply need to be more creative." Pause. "Or find someone who can fix the problem for you, like I did. They really -don't- tell you the hardships of candidacy when they offer you the knot, do they?" A head tilt to the young woman, and he offers a slight shrug. "Certainly would be better if certain people remembered to share."

Nassir arches a brow at Ariadne, dark eyes narrowing mildly before he sniffs indignantly and turns his attention back to S'las. "Fold or roll…. my shirts?" Clearly, he thinks S'las is a madman of the first order. Of course, at the mention of R'sner, his expression softens, dark eyes going a bit wistful as he allows with the twist of one wrist. "Yes, well, he would most assuredly /not/ approve of that." Which, of course, leads to him visualizing R'sner's reaction, which leads to other images and finally to a huff of annoyance. "Creative?" Turning his gaze on Rogue, he exhales a husky laugh. "My friend, I suspect you cannot begin to imagine the horror I face.. Oh. You know, I could send the majority back to Half Moon with R'sner.. Good notion! Well done!" Which gains Rogue a pleased wink from the tailor and S'las an 'You are not the least bit helpful' look. "But," he directs to S'las with the same measure 'Oh the horror, the woe!'. "I still need room to store the hates, S'las. Fortunately, they are only for K'vir, D'lei and Risali and not their dragons, but still…" In the wake of the grump, he leans /over/ S'las to offer a hand to Rogue. "Nassir, by the way, a pleasure."

Another bite finishes the first meatroll, but, instead of taking out more food, the harper girl turns, and shifts positions so that she can watch everyone. She nods, but has no reply to Roque's comment on S'las not sharing his drink. When Nassir mentions the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of Xanadu, her face suddenly brightens in recognition. "Oh. I remember you. You were the one who gave Leirith her hat." She can't help a smile, remembering the sight.

Only thinking S'las is a Madman of the First Order? He better step up his A-game. He can't be letting people short him of his special form of accolades, after all. "I can store the hats. Chessylith will keep them safe and make sure no one messes with them." He can be that pleasant and helpful, at the very least. Nassir can reach over the bluerider all he wants so long as his nice cold drink isn't spilled. The blue rumbles and takes in a very deep breath, holding it for a minute before letting it all out in a huff. His wings twitch a bit and he folds them closed, going back to snoozing but not before sharing his assurance of Hat protection. « I'd love to keep them safe… » Snore. "See, even Chessy said he'd love to."

"If you have anything you need them closer to hand, I've a few insights I could share." Roque counters to Nassir, the Artist shifting to his knees and abandoning the shade of his umbrella long enough to take Nassir's offered hand, even as he gives S'las a rather disapproving look. "Roque.. Its a pleasure, my good man." He offers, before settling back down in the shade, though he does spare a look at the others. "Hats.. For dragons?" He ventures after a moment, a rather confused expression appearing on his face.

Shetaia makes her way out to the shore of the lake, or at least intends to as she comes into view from the bowl. Being as it's afternoon, even early, she sports her nice floppy hat. The original, nice floppy hat of awesome, okay so it's a plain old floppy hat but still. She has some mending with her today though, a nice basket of it by the looks and she heads somewhere in the midst of all of that. Not on top of anyone of course, but in around about the same area. A thick towel gets spread out after she sets the basket down and then she deposits herself onto it, pulling out the first piece of mending with a frown of concentration.

Nassir half turns to stare at Ariadne for a long, silent moment. "Yes." Turning back to S'las, he adds. "A very /very/ large hat. Exceedingly large. Enviably large. /Massive/." And clearly not something that would fit into the candidate's barracks. /At all/. Then S'las makes his offer and Nassir regards him for a long moment before folding his arms over his chest. "That would be acceptable," he decides. When Chessy chimes in, Nassir is, for the moment, mollified enough not to be completely up in arms about the /closet/ situation. No, he has not let that go, yet. "Thank you, Chessylith," Nassir sighs. "Still, I am going to have to pack and ship a shocking amount of clothing to Half Moon Bay. Not to mention my furniture.. the pillows… Beaded curtains.." Gracious, there is so much. "Ah, yes," he offers to Roque. "Leirith saw sun hats when she was visiting Igen and /had/ to have one. Naturally, I made one, because who wouldn't?" Right? Right. "It blossomed from there. There are at least four dragons in Xanadu who are insisting on their own hats." Glancing at Taia, he tilts his head toward her. "There is the hat that started it all." In the wake of which, he steps over and drops into a squat near S'las. "So. Now. About these rules, S'las.. I thought maybe, if you were so inclined, you could give a rundown? Or," he provides helpfully. "Just hand wave them away and we'll all be happy?" Nice try, Nassir. Nice try.

Ariadne nods in agreement. "I saw several of them myself when I was there. Leirith was /exceedingly/ proud of hers. "The look from Nassir is met, not defiantly, just levelly. "Of course, I get the impression that she's eccentric, evenly draconic standards." She reaches into her basket, pulling out a piece of redfruit and a paring knife, which she carefully uses to peel and slice the fruit. "Anyone want a slice?"

S'las peers over at Nassir for a moment, thoughtful. His green eyes glances around as though he's doing silent math in his head, considering pros and cons to all the things involving the weyr's candidates. For a moment, he even slowly nods as though it's a wonderful idea and he turns a smile to he Weaver and says, "Sure. I can wave all the rules. Though, you might be disappointed as the Weyr leadership might have chosen another person to lead you future weyrlings this time around. No worries, though, I'll still defend your honor." Or something. Chessylith lifts his head slowly off of the sands and he opens his maw in a long and drawn out yawn. His wings and toesies twitch in a long and languid stretch, then he curls back up into the little Dragon Loaf of Awakeness(tm). The blue croons, fluttering his wings to dislodge the bits of sand. All the people! He likes being surrounded by people. So he'll be good! S'las just gives a little shake of his head towards Ariadne, he's good. No fruit for him, he has some within his reach, anyway. Just stowed for the time being. A gold firelizard comes gliding in, trilling her own greeting before landing on the blanket next to S'las. She hops up on his stomach and makes a tiny gold loaf. A gold nugget if you will, of her own. S'las lifts his head up and raises a brow at her, and she chirps back. Whatever, lizard. "Glad you're comfy, Solstice." Cheep!

"No, thank you.." Roque offers to Ariadne, offering the girl a quick smile, before his attention is back on the tailor and the explanation of the hats. "I.." And, it seems that the artist is completely mind-boggled, for no further words come out, and instead 'Floppy Hats' is added to the open notepad in front of him. "The hat - now, that -that- could be inspiring to anyone is truly the most important thing here." Ah, there it is, Roque has relocated his tongue, and an absent sketch of the floppy hat begins to appear on his paper, though he does arch an eyebrow at the mention of 'rules'.

Shetaia looks rather disgusted with this whole mending thing, let's face it. However she does catch the mention of her hat even as she begins threading a needle. "Hmm? Oh yes, Leirith was quite taken with it. I'm glad you were able to make her one of a more appropriate size." there's a shake of her head at the offer of a redfruit slice, her attention once more on the mending. "This is just so, mundane." is muttered, mostly to herself but eh. Poor sleepy Chessylith, but the movement of the blue has her noting it before offering in his direction. "The barracks sapling is thriving for the moment. I think it actually might eat bugs. Some plants do that but I didn't realize it was one of them." Roque gets a bit of a quirked brow at the mention of hats and inspiring.

Nassir purses his lips as he regards S'las for a long moment then sniffs. "You're a mean old man, you realize that?" Rocking back on the balls of his feet, he finally settles back on his rump in the sand, his head giving a mild shake at the offer of fruit. "No, thank you." Glancing over at Taia, he rolls his eyes and holds out his hands. "Give it here before you make it worse, Taia. And it is /not/ the least bit mundane, thank you very much." Blink. "Wait. What? What bugs?" And without missing a beat, he glances over at Roque and shakes his head. "Leirith's was not a floppy sun hat. It was a dazzlingly glorious maroon pirate hat completely with feathers and gold lace."

Ariadne nods as she thinks for a moment, taking a bite of her redfruit. "I couldn't tell you what kind of hat it was, but it was quite striking. I've thought of writing a song about it, but I'm not sure I could do it, or her justice…" Oh, that's said in a rather odd tone. "And then, four days later I was in Ierne, anyway, so I didn't have much contact with her again, other than the time she was trying to knock the door of the tavern in to get to the Weyrwoman…

« Did you hear that? That one eats bugs, too, S'las! That is so awesome and wonderful and I wonder if her tree and our tree can be great fri- » "I'm sure they will, Chessy." « Maybe Nassir can make the trees some hats, too! » At that, S'las just blinks in disbelief, but knows better than to say anything. Poor Nassir, though, is given quite the sympathetic look. Trees can't pay commissions. "I'm sure Nassir has more than enough on his plate at the moment to make the trees hats, Chessy. Though, don't worry. I won't forget. When the tree is full grown, it can have a hat." Or maybe the Abomination that's still sitting in his weyr, waiting to be delivered but a certain Half Moon blueriding Assistant Weyrlingmaster can't make herself found. Though, fire still sounds tempting. « I hope it grows as big as Leirith! Then it can have a pretty fancy hat, too! » Nassir's pimp hat game is strong, apparently. "Aw, I'm not that mean." Lies. Then Ariadne had to go and mention song writing and Chessylith turns his head in her direction. « Is she going to write a song about hats, S'las? That would be wonderful to have a hat song! » The bluerider just groans and shakes his head, draping his arm over his face. "Songs about hats, Chessy? Sure. Why not."

Eyes dart from Shetaia's hat, to Nassir, to the hat, and to the Nassir, before shaking his head - "I will just assume you are truly an artist." Roque comments, before he returns to idly eying Tala's hat, as if still attempting to see just what *anyone* could possibly see it in. "Bugs? Tree?" And that is enough to grab his attention, even as he absently rubs at an arm, as if already feeling something crawling on him. "What in Faranth's name are you talking about."

Shetaia shakes her head in Nassir's direction at his asking for the mending. "It's a /chore/, to keep me busy or some such detail. I can do it, for Faranth's sake I can stitch dragonhide and even an injured wingsail." she stares at the mending again. "Fine, not mundane. Just not my preferred method of busy work." ah, perhaps she's not all that well versed in being a Candidate herself. Before she begins to stick though she pulls a text about stitching wins from beneath the mending in the basket and opens it up. "I can use these to practice the more difficult stitches. " a glance at Nassir "That would be a form of decoration right? Oh and not bug bugs, more like sand flies that sometimes get in the caverns. The sapling quite liked them." Ariadne's mention of songs seems to remind her. "Did you get the piano repaired or are you still waiting on parts?" but then there's Roque who sounds as if he doesn't believe her about the tree. "Haven't you seen the sapling in the barracks? A gift from Chessylith, and it happens to eat bugs. I don't know why, I'm not really a tree person but it's growing still so I guess the bugs didn't hurt it."

"Tree hats?" What? Nassir couldn't possibly look more confused then he does in that moment. "I- I don't think trees can wear hats. You know, sun and all? But…" Glancing at the dragon, he sighs. "I can certainly try, Chessylith." Sigh. SUCKER. "You should write a song," He assures Ariadne with a wry smile. "I'm sure Leirith would /love/ it." And probably sing it at TOP VOLUME ALL THE TIME, EVERYWHERE, FOR FAR TO LONG. "I really don't mind," Nassir assures Taia. "But suit yourself. Embroidery," he provides in response to her question. "But I would avoid making them look like stitches…you know? Like bloody flesh mending stitches.." Glancing over at Roque, he catches him scratching and immediately grimaces. "Ugh, don't start that, I'll be itching for days…" And he immediately scratches at his own arm. Upon catching himself doing it, he curls his fingers into his hand and looks pointedly at S'las. "On a more serious note? What are the rules?" Cause there are always rules. He's just hoping they are not as strict as R'sner's rules. Course, that thought immediately has him sighing, one hand scrubbing over his face.

Ariadne is now completely lost. Trees wearing hats? And she thought things were wierd at Xanadu. "I…I guess I can write one," she says, slowly, looking rather oddly at the dragon… "Should I write about trees with hats eating insects too? And I might need to see this tree…although if I'm right in guessing where it is, I may not be able to get there. It's in the candidate's barracks?"

Shetaia nods slightly even as she eyes a youngster that seems to have come to retrieve her. Mending is tossed back in the basket, easier than when you're stitching up something of the draconian nature. "It seems it's time for my duties within the infirmary." lastly she gathers her towel and shakes it out before heading towards the bowl. "I'll talk to you all later!"

S'las moves his arm away from his face and rests it behind his head instead, reclining so he can watch poor Nassir. "Ah, the rules. Well, the rules are fairly simple. No alcohol in excess. If we find you drunk, we're going to make your lives a literal nightmare." Speaking of, the bluerider repositions himself into an upright position, leaning back against Chessylith now that the blue is accessible from his blanket. Shade is a good thing, enough with this daylight business. "Another rule that the weyr takes seriously is absolutely no sex. You're to remain abstinent throughout Candidacy. Lastly, no leaving the Weyr. If you do, you have to be chaperoned by an Igen rider. The same rules apply if you leave the weyr, don't think leaving is a valid excuse to break the rules. Hence, babysitter. As for others, well, the appointed Weyrlingmaster can add rules as he or she sees fit, just not take away." So, pretty cut and dry in any case. "Oh, and no guests in the Candidate Barracks." Chessylith almost wiggles with excitement, though he knows better than to wiggle too much, especially while S'las is taking a drink out of any short of container. « A song about hats and trees wearing hats and bugs being eaten by the trees wearing hats! I would LOVE that song, can we hear it? She still needs to write it! She needs to see the eggs so she can make the song! Can she, S'las? She can be a Candidate and write a song about the eggs and the trees and the bugs and the hatchlings. They can ALL wear hats! » "My alcohol needs a hat," S'las mutters as he peers over to Nassir. You get all the sympathies. All of them. Be grateful you can't hear Chessylith's excitement. "Though, I suppose that wouldn't be to unreasonable of a request, Chessylith." The bluerider leans over onto his side, pausing to pass his bottle to the weaver while he digs around his bag. There's no velvet ropes this time, sorry! Though, his hand does come free with something a little more appropriate given the situation. "Ariadne, Chessylith was suggesting you could get your… inspiration just right as a Candidate. Then you'd be in the barracks often to compose your works. Are you willing to stand for Zeraeth's eggs on the sands?" All said with the crisp white knot held out to the girl.

Nassir exhales a gusty breath before pushing to his feet. "I'm going to head out, to. I have to deal with my wardrobe. And convince R'sner not to slaughter me for sending it all to him." Smirking, he winks at Chessy and inclines his head to the rest. "Good to meet you, Roque. Nice to see you again, Ariadne." Eyeing S'las, he purses his lips and sniffs. "Take care mean old man." He's not going to break the rules. Considering who he is with? There's no chance of that. Dang it. "Congratulations, Ariadne," he adds before breaking into a trot toward the barracks. (Gotta go finish a scene from last night! See folks later.)

Ugh, all this talk of ~rules~. Roque shakes his head, absently listening to all those things they are simply not allowed to do. And then, the other candidates are disappearing before he can ask any more about the tree, a hand lifted to each in farewell - albeit the source is apparently still sitting there. The artist, however, is content enough to sit quietly, gaze resting on the girl as he waits for a response - always looking for that inspiration.

Ariadne is listening idly to the rules, nodding at the mention of no guests in the barracks. "Which is of course why I can't come in…" She has no inkling of the exchange between S'las and Chessylith If she did, she might be a little bit more interested in the other rules. However, when the upshot of that mental conversation come out, her face goes blank with shock. "Me? Stand… I…" Oh, she's been told repeatedly that this could change her life if she accepts, and that she doesn't have long to decide. But, she never even thought she'd be asked. "Um….Yes." The decision is made faster than even she expects, and she nods eagerly…

With the knot relinquished, S'las can address the angry buzzing in his lap for getting up without warning. Poor Solstice was rolled off his stomach, out of her comfortable loaf. The bluerider rolls his eyes, reaching into his back and moving things about a bit, nodding his head while muttering to the gold until a folded up satchel comes out. Then the firelizard is all sunshines and rainbows. The satchel is opened enough to pull free a piece of fish jerky and then stowed away. Appeased, she takes her tidbit and curls up with ROQUE instead. He won't make her roll out of her tiny gold loaf-nugget comfort position. "Good. Report to the barracks after notifying your chain of command of your change of status and bring only essentials. As you've heard, you'll be limited in the way of space for the time being. Take a day or two if you must, but return to the barracks and report in as soon as possible."

Suddenly, there is a firelizard in his lap, and Roque is left to stare down at the creature, blinking a few times. "Uh, my good man, I think.." That this doesn't belong to him. There is a wave of a hand towards Ariadne, some sort of congratulations/welcome to the party motion, perhaps, as his eyes remain stuck on his new 'friend'. Roque mutters softly as he starts to shift, ever so carefully, slowly, to avoid disrupting the creature - after all, talons in laps are Rarely a good thing.

Ariadne nods. "It shouldn't take that long. I only have a small bag of clothes, my goitar, and my music, that's about it." She grins wryly. "I don't travel with a piano, after all. I just need to report to the Weyrharper, he'l see that the hall and my Mentor at Ierne are notified…" She tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle at the reaction of the little gold suddenly finding herself in the wrong lap…

Solstice is NOT in the wrong lap. She's in the right one. Where she fits, she sits, and she looks up at Roque with her happy little blue whirling eyes while her little forearms cling to her jerky and she just beams. SHE'S COMFY AGAIN. "Don't worry, once she finds out that there's going to be fresh roasted fish in the encampment, she'll be there in-" ZOOOOOOM. RIP Roque's lap. S'las can't tell if the sound he heard was of her talons ripping through cloth or her wings flapping with a need for speed. Still, the Candidate is given a sympathetic look and the bottle is slowly passed over to him. "Might burn a little." Drink it, it's not topical. Ariadne is given a glance and the bluerider nods.

A finger goes to gently scritch the gold's chin, but he is just slightly too late, a yelp escaping him as the gold takes off - and talons seem to have given her enough purchase to do so. Well, good thing he is a candidate, huh? Closing his eyes, Roque sighs slightly, taking a few moments to regain his composure, before silently taken the offered bottle, a long pull on that and it is offered back - leaving a wheezing Roque in its wake. "Thanks." He manages after a moment, even as he flops backwards onto the ground, in the shade of his umbrella. "I'm just.. I'm just going to stay right here for a while, my good man."

Ariadne fishes out another meatroll, and starts munching on it idly, opening up her songbook, and writing something with a graphite stylus…

S'las gets up and dusts himself off. "I think it's time for me to get out of this heat," he mutters, gathering up his blanket. Green eyes peer over to Roque and he nods towards the bottle. "Feel free to finish that off, I've got more at home." Chessylith rises up and gets into position to have his straps reapplied but S'las just shakes his head, silently conversing with his dragon and the blue picks up the straps carefully in his mouth instead. "If I ride back, I'm just going to fall asleep. Let's just walk part way, Chessy. We'll strap up and fly from there." As soon as everything is gathered up and ready to go, the blue starts off first and his rider turns, offering a mock salute to the Candidates. "Stay out of trouble, you two. Eyes are always watching, and they aren't always mine. Welcome to Igen, Ariadne. Even though you've been here already." It's different this time, right? At that, he turns and departs.

Roque lifts a hand to S'las as the bluerider - and the blue - excuse themselves, before his notepad is teepee'd over his face and it seems he is settling down for a nap without another word - at least til the light changes enough that his umbrella is no longer useful - or someone comes to find out why a candidate isn't doing his chores.

Ariadne nods. "Thank you, Sir. And I think I should find the Weyrharper, let him know. " She grins ruefully. "This isn't something to tell the hall myself…" She stands, and gathers up everything of hers, smiling to Roque. "Oh, I guess I'll see you in the barracks.

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