Monaco Bay Weyr - Candidate and Weyrling Barracks
Huge in its own right, this series of interlinked caverns is the complex that houses both candidates and weyrlings. Fashioned out of a multitude of hollows, it serves as a central gathering area as well as classroom. A number of deep pockets have been laborously smoothed to provide comfortable dwellings for the young dragons and their riders away from the weather of the central area, and affording them some privacy but not much. Above, the cavern opens to the sky, holding out the worst of the island's weather but allowing an aerial exit and providing natural lighting to the area. Branching off from this cavern is an opening that leads to the exercise yard, and another carved passage that leads onto the hatching sands - though this entrance is typically closed tight to prevent mischief.

It's the end of another long day for the candidates — well, for some of them. A great many of the poor souls got stuck doing things like dragon-washing or, Faranth forbid, nanny duty, but Ityrziel? Nope! After a long day of leaving his bed thrice (eating, all), the current-candidate is sprawled on the end of his cot. Reading? No - writing, he's writing, glancing between one book and the one he's writing in, expression intense. Outside, the wind is picking up, rain coming in off of the sea to chase people in from their dinnertime wandering; it's dry inside, at least. Quiet? No, are the barracks ever quiet? Tyr seems to be tuning it out, though, feet swinging absently behind him.

"I thought walking the tables meant I could avoid grunt work." This is from Horgrimm, who comes trudging in from the direction of the caverns, his clothing today clearly of the 'well-worn' variety, suitable for hard chores, and he looks quite clean for someone whose clothes appear to be covered in sweat. He doesn't say hello to anyone in the room, instead just staggers over to his cot and falls into it heavily.

Glancing over at Horgrimm who just walked in, Ysabella can't help but raise a brow. She's dressed simply, a plain blouse and skirt covered by an apron. She seems to be covered in dust and dirt, the gloves she's peeling off her hands even more so. With hair bound up she looks every bit of the garden worker she was today, and not the prim-proper Healer she usually is. "I'm not sure what Craft you're in, but walking the tables, I've found, usually means more grunt work." As she's looking away Ysabella spots Ityrziel. "Oh, Tyr! Hello!" Ysabella seems surprised, as if she hadn't realized he was in the barracks, she seems to be wracking her brain trying to remember when he joined their ranks.

"Seems we're somewhat mistaken in that." Tyr glances briefly up from his books, shooting Horgrimm a rueful look. "Sure you won't regret that later?" The harper ventures, sounding not so convinced himself — he gets it. Really. Just, well: "The sweat, and all." In case…he didn't realize he was sweaty? Sure, Tyr, sure. Pointing his pen at Ysabella when she enters, Tyr beams, waving lazily. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? A hoard of apprentices around to do the grunt work?" Wistful, he ventures, glancing towards the offices like they might provide some explanation. ALAS, none comes. "Ysabella! I'm afraid I've missed you here. Condolences."

Horgrimm grunts and rolls over slightly, so that he can lift his head to see the other two candidates. "Depends on the craft. Mine, apprentices did all the grunt work. Assembling stills, building barrels for kegs and fermentation, crushing the grapes, all that." He then pushes himself up to a full sitting position. "As well as all the grunt cleaning that needs to be done." He tries to hide it, but he does look at the canddiates with curiousity - sure, he's been here a little while, but Candidacy is a busy time, so he hasn't been able to meet or

"Why offer your condolences? I enjoyed today's work," Ysabella says brightly, and she does seem to be glowing a bit even humming as she puts her gloves down on the side table by her cot. She takes off her apron, folding it up and tossing it lightly to land on the chest at the end of the cot. "I'm assuming by those words you got a day off? I hope you enjoyed it. Oh! And congratulations on becoming a candidate! I don't think I've said that yet." As she pours water from a pitcher in the bowl on the side table she glances back at Horgrimm. "Mm, well when you put it like that. I suppose with all the smaller tasks we do tend to leave them to the Apprentices. It just seems like much more work as a Journeyman because everything gets little more? complicated I suppose."

Ityrziel makes a woebegone kind of noise, head shaking as he quickly scrawls another line or two in the book. "Vinter, are you? That's quite the interesting craft, isn't it? If I hadn't loved the harper craft so much…" An easy shrug of his shoulder. "At what point in the craft do you sample the goods?" It's a dumb question, and Tyr seems to know it, smile lopsided; turned on Ysabella with dawning horror. "Enjoyed? What did you have? Tell me — tell me it wasn't interning. That J'baz is a sadist, I swear it." The harper declares, dramatic, pulling himself into a sitting position and pulling his books with him. "They did stop harassing me about cleaning inkwells, at least, once I walked." Tyr says, expression distantly rueful. "Now, I wiped three dozen childrens' behinds, yesterday." Is he pouting? Yeah, absolutely he's pouting.

Horgrimm's scowl turns into a grin then. "Whenever the Masters aren't looking…at least if you're an apprentice. As a journeyman, I am expected to sample my creations, typically before I serve 'em. Now, Masters…Masters generally select someone they wish to bestow favor on to have the first drink off a cask." He shrugs then. "I worked at the spa." He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back. "Meh."

"I got to work the gardens today," Ysabella says this with a smile, dipping her fingers into the water before she's scooping some up in her hands. Leaning over she reaches up and lightly scrubs her face with the water, grabbing a towel to lightly dab her face dry. "I'm not particularly fond of drink, I don't think I would've made a good Vinter. But I'd be glad Tyr, at least you don't have to do that chore every day." Ysabella says this last part with a light teasing smile.

Tyr, ignoring his books and curling forward to set elbows on knees, eyes Horgrimm with a thoughtful kind of tilt of his head. "That's not so bad. Perhaps I chose the wrong craft, after all." He murmurs, eyes alight — not serious, but well. The promise of booze whenever you can be sneaky? Not a bad thought! "Maybe I'll just make friends with a master, then." Tyr laughs, but it's short-lived — the smile slides away into a grimace after a beat, head shaking. "It's nice to partake of the spa, but all those towels. The floors! How do they get so foul?" Sigh. Ysabella's gets a slightly more equitable nod, head inclining slowly, thoughtfully. "Gardening…well, it's rather hot here, but not so bad otherwise, true enough. Better than chasing around a hundred two turn olds." A few dozen, a hundred, five, what's really the difference, there? "Faranth, if it was every day, they couldn't drag me back in here with a team of oxen."

"It's the water. The water gets on the floors, and if you don't mop and scrub, mold and stuff grows. That's why we have to be careful with kegs and casks." Horgrimm knows what happens when wood that must remain dry gets wet. He considers for a moment. "I think I might actually like gardening more than being in the spa. Maybe. Still grunt work that I thought I was done with." Which is the truth, and a sour expression crosses his face. "Haven't had time to continue setting up my craft area even, because I keep having to do grunt work." He's new, you see.

"I have high respect for those who work in the creche," Ysabella says sagely, "I don't know if I'd be able to handle that many young ones all day either." She lets her hair loose of the bun it was in, rummaging briefly in her chest before pulling out a hairbrush and beginning to work through her tangled hair. "I do hope the spa is able to stay neat and tidy, once mold grows its hard to get the image out of one's head even when said mold is gone. It wouldn't do for the new resort to get a bad reputation for that sort of thing." Ysabella smiles ruefully at Horgrimm's words. "I've been out of the Infirmary for the most part too, I'm of the mind that right now our Crafts may for the most part be on hold. The priority is getting us set for Hatching Day I think."

The explanation doesn't seem to please Tyr; his expression borders on tragic. "I suppose that makes sense." The harper sighs, loudly. He has a slightly less grouchy nod for gardening, though, a slow incline of his head "It's quieter, at any rate. Dirty, but I'll admit that pulling weeds from the beds isn't so bad. Quiet." Yes, he probably knows he's repeating, but you know. It bears repeating, probably. "There's a reason I'm an archivist, and not one who teaches the children." Tyr glances at the door, like one of the hoard of children might hear him. A beat, and he's shaking his head, though. "On hold. I don't like that. It's important, our work with our crafts. Still…" Beat. "Suppose I did agree to it. More or less."

Horgrimm shrugs. "I was told I could still continue to work on my craft once my chores were done." He pauses, considering. "Or on my day off, probably. The Weyrwoman thought it was hilarious that I now wasn't allowed to drink - just like she's not allowed to drink." He rolls his eyes at that last part. "I know it's important that we are here for this - eggs on the sand and all. And I know it's important that we learn the ins and outs of the Weyr, but Faranth, I worked hard to get my knot." There's a brief pause. "And I didn't bring a lot with me - just the ingredients to get started, so I really need a drink."

"I was told the same, more or less," Ysabella comments with a nod toward Horgrimm. "That we can or will keep going in our Crafts while candidates, it's just hard to fine the time. Though for me I suppose it's a little easier as the Infirmary is on the chore rotation list." She pauses, setting her brush on the side table before beginning to braid her hair. "Not allowed to have a drink? Why not? And you'd be surprised Tyr, gardening can be noisy in its own right. It's not like you're alone out there after all, there are other people around still."

"Ah, but there's the rub," Tyr says, sourly, waving one book in a somewhat frazzled kind of way. "Then you spend your entire off day," Sitting in bed? "Transcribing old records, hm? Could be…" What, also transcribing records, just somewhere else? Pfft. "Doing something else. Another manicure. Tch." He sighs, dramatic, points the book at Horgrimm. "Exactly. Didn't come across the promotion by accident. Just." A short pause, and Tyr deflates a little. "I suppose it's just another duty. Get started, you say? Do you have a still, then? Is that what you use?" The harper glances around, slightly brighter of the eye, like the vinter might be hiding it beneath a bed. Riiight, bud. He does kind of smile for Ysabella, rueful. "Back doing the grunt work, as he says, hm? Or do they let you resume your duties?" Beat. "Oh, certainly, if you stay on the beaten path. If you convince them to allow you into the kitchens' gardens, though, or pruning the orchards…"

Horgrimm shakes his head. "Not yet. It's on my list of stuff to build. I've also got to start some brewing and, of course, fermenting." The three major food groups, ahem. "I will probably set it up on my day off. At least get something going. I was sent down here…something about wanting to open a place for people to go and relax….so they needed someone who could make alcohol." He stands up from his cot then, stretching again. "Probably should go get cleaned up before I pass out in my cot wearing this." He starts rifling through his clothespress, looking for what he needs.

Ysabella finishes off her braid, winding her hair up into another bun before pinning it in place. "You'll have to let us try one of your brews once you get set up." Ysabella says with a smile, though she seems hesitant on it. She doesn't much drink. "Do be careful though because you don't want to overwork yourself by using up your days off. Now, I think I will leave you two to it and head off to get dinner." Ysabella gives a little waves of her hand before she's heading out to the caverns

Tyr points at Horgrimm, not ominously but excitedly, with his book. "Well, if you need help in exchange for a taste later down the line, I'd certainly be glad to see how it works." The harper declares, bright. "Clearly, that sets a requirement for alcohol." Right. He hums, then, nodding in a sagely kind of fashion. "Certainly. Your bedclothes will thank you, I imagine." The harper sighs, mournful, and sets the book down to wave for Ysabella. "Do try the spicy fish. It was particularly good; amazing, what the cooks here can do. The range of seafood is remarkable! Enjoy!" He calls after the healer, and reclines a little, eyes scanning the book once more.

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