A Roll in the Hay!

Hayloft
Rising up on the ladder from the floor of the stables, you find yourself in what simply put is the storage area for grain bags and hay. Rarely is anyone up here all that often other than to turn the hey and to get the occasional bag of grain for the runners below, so apparently it has become the favorite necking spot for the weyr's youngsters. Generally this location is overlooked, only for so long as it doesn't disturb the runners.


When one was raised in the epicenter of craft and hold, one learns how to handle runners, since they are the fastest form of travel outside of hiring weyr-based transport. And not everyone can afford that — not regularly, not regular folk. So that explains Xhaevyr's continued existence in the stables as well as the smithy, handling runners and scowling at the sheer number of teenagers that think the stables' hayloft is a good place to get down with some freaky stuff. That… that explains why one can hear the SHOUTING coming from the hayloft currently, Xhaevyr's lovely lilting Fortian rasp raised in ire: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" (aka: watch Xhaevyr come in with the cock block on some poor pimply-faced kid getting his first furtive grope in on a seamstress' assistant)

Standing at the bottom of the ladder leading to the hayloft, Cinnitha covers her mouth to keep from openly guffawing at the screams issuing from above. A few errant wisps of hay float down punctuating the searing (at least to the recipient) shout. Having received a kiss or two in a the vicinity of bales of hay, though really one has to admit,they are not /that/ comfortable, her giggles are perhaps telling. She waits a few minutes in hopes of missing the rawer parts of Xhaevyr's discovery before starting up the rungs.

You know who is in the hayloft? People making out. You know who /isn't/ in the hayloft? Teenagers. Again, who /is/ in the hayloft? REYA. And she was having a /really/ good time with one of the beastcrafters because she has been /neglected/ recently. Cause, there's no way Xhaevyr could have been able to tell because her back was to him initially. She doesn't immediately turn around with all that screaming but there's a long suffering sigh as she attempts to continue her snogging session. Seems like the guy is the more decent of the two because he instead manually turns her head around to see said scolder. "Whaaaaaat? We're busy!" She's definitely not ashamed. Also, she is fully clothed, don't worry!
*Course, there's no way

"are you fucking kidding me" is articulated in exactly how one would expect all lower caps no punctuation tone to sound. Xhaevyr's gray gaze focuses in on Reya and his jaw tightens rather than unhinges. Striving then to keep his tenor to a tight control, he says, "Is this really a necessary location for your latest paramour's presentation of his willing body for slaking your desires, Reya?" as his gaze turns towards the beastcrafter with an even more icy regard. FULL KLAUS MODE ON. He's still unawares of Cinnitha, the girl being not yet in his vision, and let's face it, with the low-grade steam coming out of his ears right now it'd probably take a bucket of water to cool HIM off at this point.

It really only took the healer candidate hearing the name Reya to begin rapidly backing down the ladder. Behind her on the other side of the training pen a very impatient beastcrafter is waiting for her to throw bales down to be taken to the various runners stabled here. He taps his foot impatiently. She is caught between a beastcrafter and a dragon Rider, narrowing her eyes she looks across the pen and shrugs at the trainer then looks back up the ladder.

"Ooooh, big words, you must be /really/ mad." Reya is clearly /not/ helping the situation because she honestly sounds terribly amused by the whole thing. There's an easy smile for the man and she would definitely stay sprawled atop that beastcrafter if Xhaevyr's gaze wasn't as cold as it was. The poor man grows increasingly uncomfortable under all the scrutiny and /he/ at least is going to try and make a break for it. That leaves poor Reya slightly put out by the whole thing. "I mean, this /is/ kind of what the hayloft is for." No it isn't. "Now I have to look for a whole /new/ conquest. He's probably scarred for life." Course there are a bunch of people on the ladder and his other option is to just jump at his own risk. “You…uh, healer candidate, right? How…um…what’s the risk of me breaking my bones if I jump?” She can totally help nurse him back to help right? His LIFE is in your hands, Cinn!
Dammit Reya :( Xhaevyr pauses to pinch his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose, the tell-tale sign of someone with an incoming migraine. He luckily doesn't have an apoplexy when the beastcrafter goes past him toward the ladder, 'cause, well. "You know the hayloft is for storing hay, do you not?" That's for Reya, and no, Xhaevyr doesn't give a single whit for any efforts into getting a new conquest. He can't have any conquests at all! Fored celibacy sucks. The beastcrafter's words have him turning, though, slate gaze landing on Cinnitha in surprise… and then narrowing in vague satisfaction. "Yes, Cinni," he says, "Please do tell if there's any likelihood of broken… bones."

It's not difficult to gage what is going on. As her head crests the top of the ladder into the loft Cinnitha truly wishes she had decided to brave the beastcrafter's ire and not be caught hammer and tongs between Reya and her, well, of course, you'd have to be a half blind healer candidate not to have understood, her next…

"Shit", she breathes to herself. "Throw a couple of bales down and aim, I promise any bones broken will be set well…well, not by me, but my mother." Honestly. "Have at it!"

"Yeah, but the stored hay makes for a damn good /bed/," Reya counters, with a grin. Her slender fingers move up to pat down her hair and make it more presentable as she finally moves over to the edge upon hearing a healer candidates voice. "Ah, Cinn…hello!" There's a /completely/ casual smile an wave for the candidate-healer as Reya just lays on her stomach looking over the edge of the loft. Course, when she makes that suggestion…."OOOOO, hayloft-diving? I am /very/ down for this." The beastcrafter is already trying to make this happen unless someone stops him. His top priority? Getting out of here. Which leaves Reya sighing, "I don't know about /broken/ bones, but there's a 100% chance of deflated bones…." Grumble grumble grumble.

The little brown swaggart on Xhaevyr's shoulder chooses that moment to trill suggestively at Reya. YOU LOOKIN' FOR A MAN, BABY?! Marcellus can totally fix whaaaaatever you need fixing. Cross-species flirtation doesn't seem to bother the brown, though Xhaevyr looks momentarily appalled by it. "Are you even… no. You are not allowed to be a male Jazhira," he sternly pokes the thing with a forefinger. Marc doesn't seem much concerned, instead turning to ogle Cinnitha. Hellllllo fresh meat! He's like three days old. This is only going to get worse.

To which the little bronze on her shoulder takes umbrage lifting his mighty 15 cm of wings to beat in protest. This is going to be the tiniest shouting match in history. Cinni frankly looks surprised and Merida her green peers from around her neck and hisses the equivalent of, "Come on, you have got to be kidding" to the yet unnamed bronze terror.

Cinni holds up her hands, shaking her head and chuckles uncomfortably, "It gets weird fast around dragons and firelizards, doesn't it? But, don't look back in anger, I say. You all need some lone time?" She gestures vaguely to the whole tableau.

"Ohhhh, you're gonna be a little heart breaker, aren't you?" Reya laughs at the little brown, but her attention is to the beastcrafter who has the hay bales on the ground and is….jumping! There's a loud thud and some of the hay goes flying when he lands. The gold rider? Well she certainly isn't going to be far behind. "Sounds like Xhae's flit need some alone time with your flits for sure." There's a hint of amusement in her voice as she glances back and forth between the two. "Got some nice little troublemakers there. Training them to do anything particularly fun (terrible)?"

"No." That's Xhae's forbidding reproof, delivered in the most stern manner possible: it doesn't quell Marcellus whatsoever. He continues to leer at Cinni, totally ignoring the fact that the pocketbronze even exists. What? Behavioral extinction works, man. The smith-candidate throws his hands up in the air, shaking his head. "My… this beast doesn't require any alone time with anyone. The next time you see Jaz, tell her I say thank you," and sarcasm font is heavy with this one, as he furrows his brows heavily and looks back to Cinnitha. "Please tell me you're here to work, and you don't have some fine dumb young bloke you're carting around by the nose behind you," he bleakly says. Doesn't anyone worry about productivity anymore? REYA?!

"Shush you, and I might feed you today!" Which, though, not at all true, seems to have had a salutory effect on the bronze. Merida chimes in so at the least, the bronze's wings are folded in and not fanning auburn curls springing from her braid into her eyes. The brown makes her laugh, the smile keeps breaking through her try at being the good candidate just going about her chores, thank you. She can barely keep a straight face as she decides whether to lie to her fellow candidate about having a boy in tow. Eh, she opts for the dull truth. "Beastcrafter sent me after a few bales of hay. Thanks for the help, by the way." She looks down behind her at the slightly squashed bales below.

"Thank Faranth," Xhaevyr mutters — and don't anyone think he MISSED that moment of sore temptation of spinning a yarn. He's going to turn into a dour old man at the rate this candidacy is going. The Smithcrafter-candidate watches the area Reya vacated, shakes his head, and then goes to haul one of the bales from the top-most shelf of the stacking, the muscles in his arms cording as he tosses it from his recently-ascended perch down to the floor of the hayloft. "Did she get you too, then?" his muffled question is tossed back at the healer-candidate.

"That hay for me?" Laughter erupts from her, laughter that goes on for a bit too long. "As if with the possibility of Impression looming in front of me, a change in the whole arc of my craft weren't enough? No. No. Not enough. I now have two firelizards to constantly feed and tend to in the three hours of sleep left to me in the day. Do I sound like I am cracking under the strain of it? NO. Because healers can DEAL WITH ANYTHING, RIGHT?" She blows a lock of hair out of the way and adds, "Just throw them here and I will drop them down. Yes, she got me."

"Indeed," Xhaevyr replies to the question of if the hay's for her. "Two more you said?" he calls down, distracted as he gets caught trying to un-wedge a bale where it's stuck between the sloping roof and the top of the bale stack. His brow furrows before he casts a look behind him, almost distractedly. "You get three whole candlemarks of sleep?" he replies, his voice incredulous, like that's some sort of GIANT NUMBER. He even keeps a straight face for it, eyebrows raised.

"Some people are more efficient than others. You're not?" she grins up at him. "You need a hand with that?" she asks, rolling back the sleeves of her old linen shirt of undetermined washed out color. "What has it stuck so?" she grabs a section of the baling string and starts to pull with him.

Reya had disappeared with said beastcrafter after jumping down from the hayloft but now she is /back/ to interrupt their hard work. For /now/. She'll probably disappear again, and reappear, an disappear because that is the nature of the rider. Apparently her beastcrafter 'friend' abandoned her thanks to their interruption. "You know, that's probably a good thing…if you guys do Impress who knows what your sleep schedule will be like. You could get lucky or…." Not so much. Is she going to help them with the stuck hay? Again, not so much. "What do you guys think anyways? About Impressing? Hopeful? Scared?" Reya is…maybe talking about something serious. How rare!

"If I don't get five candlemarks I turn into a zombie," Xhaevyr conversationally replies, grunting as he finally gets a good grip on the bale and hauls. Muscles cord again and the bale budges, but the WHOLE ROOF makes a grunty squeaky noise. Xhae freezes, like any normal person would, looking askance both ways. Hopefully this whole thing doesn't just implode down onto them. That would, uh. That would suuuuck. AND REYA. "Did she just say we could get lucky?" he mutters, more under his breath than an actual comment, as he lifts a hand to gingerly place against the low roof and then glance with shuttered gaze back to the junior. "She's the only one who needs to worry about it," he says, whatever tf that means, gesturing with a thumb towards Cinnitha. Ostensibly the more likely one to walk off with a dragon come hatching. "Healers have a great track record."

Oh, they are going to have that conversation, are they? And with a Junior Weyrwoman present? Great. After the whispered and hushed conversations with the other candidates and the furtive looks of hope both for Impression and for being left alone and rolled eyes asking why me in the initial days after the search, Cinni does not lightly launch into the conversation.

"Healers have a great track record, do they?" she mutters at his side. "You push up and I will pull. These are all puffed up like a Runner that ate bad feed. You count, I pull." Waiting for the count from the muscled Smith (she does notice these things) she looks over her shoulder at Reya, "Hopeful. Anxiously hopeful. Happily hopeful? All of that."

"And why don't have to worry about it?" Reya's voice travels upwards, eyebrow raised with curiosity at Xhae's statement. She'll take a step back at all the creaking and lean on a stable door while…supervising. Sure two candidates may come to a bloody end, but she'll be safe over there. (Well, hopefully she would do something, or doesn't seem to actually think they'll die. She's kinda fond of them.)

"Anxious, hopeful, happy…" Reya repeats those words as she watches the two work. "That's good honestly. It becomes more of an issue if you're /too/ overconfident," a beat, "or lack confidence completely." Perhaps this last part is meant for the Smith. "I guess the real question is….are you guys ready for your life to change?" Whether it will or not. (Also no, she doesn't need an exorcism, she can be SRS sometimes…like super rarely)

What? Xhaevyr lifts a brow back at Reya. "The likelihood of my Impression is up there with J'en determining that he's going to wear all-white tomorrow," he enunciates at the junior, before realizing exactly who he's talking to. "It isn't that I wouldn't embrace it if it happened, I just don't see it as a likely outcome." Man-speech translation: he's managing expectations in the classic masculine way of keeping them at arm's length. He conveniently fails to answer her question about the likelihood of preparation for a life-changing event, and instead focuses on this hay bale. "Okay. Count of three." Xhaevyr braces himself like Sampson against the ceiling, palms flat. "Three… two… one."

Cinnitha's mouth opens to answer Reya when the count is given. Her fingers turn white and then red with the pressure of pulling on the skinny string that cuts like crazy. Who invented baling string, anyway? The bale budges and stops. In an excess of zeal, Cinnitha pulls again assuming a wedge shape with feet planted against the bottom row of bales, bottom stuck out to counter its weight, arms straight out in front of her as she jerks it. Loose, it sails back over her head, knocking her flat on her ass and flies directly at the junior Weyrwoman. Snapping her head around, mouth gaping in shock and pain for her bruised behind, the healer distractedly notices the little wisps of hay fluttering to the ground before it has done any harm.

Reya can't help it, the comment about J'en earns a rather rich laugh. Course, this is /Reya/ and she's not just going to let go of things that easily. "Why not? I mean…I impressed, and so did J'en, and so did a lot of people that are probably a lot worse than you. What's wrong with entertaining the prospect…unless you can't handle disappointment well?" This is her, picking and prodding and searching for people's insecurities like the nosy person she is. Course, there's a moment of distraction when they give that last heave and can one really blame her when she lets out a wolf-whistle? The muscles earned that. Course that means she isn't paying attention when there's a healer suddenly flying in her direction! It has been a /long/ time since Reya was a guard in a caravan so her reflexes? Not quite so sharp anymore. So it's really no surprise when she is going DOWN with a face full of hay. There's a loud grin from the Weyrwoman who is now looking incredibly disheveled and attempting to not suffocate from a face full of hay. "FARANTH…" Well…she's trying to yell, but it's muffled. Cause she is tiny and there is a /hay bale/ in her /face/.

Xhaevyr is holding up the roof here, so the pillar!xhae doesn't have time to do anything other than slow-motion look over his shoulder as Cinnitha THROWS A BALE AT REYA. "What the…" he starts to say, not having the time to do anything as the roof re-settles. He grunts under the strain, slowly lessening his pressure as the structure groans briefly and then goes back to pre-bale-wedge status and stability. "Well," he says conversationally in the brief silence after Reya's muffled yells, "That's one way to get a roll in the hay."

Both of the firelizards on her shoulders snapped Between in the instant she stupidly threw the bale of hay at not just any Rider, but the /Junior Weyrwoman/. Her eyes shut tightly as she wishes she could snap between and then glares at Xhaevyr for his straight-man commentary. Heh. Gingerly, she rises rubbing her backside and shuffles over to the buried Junior. "Reya, hold still. Let me help you." As she bends down, two little figures reappear in the air above her and dive into the curls that now threaten to obscure her face.

Reya HEARD THAT Xhaevyr. She's just flailing under that bale of hay. Think Wicked Witch of the West under a house only at a smaller scale. The rider continues to flail around, trying to help move the way. Eventually, with Cinnitha's aide, she is able to wriggle free. Now you know how earlier she was looking all disheveled in the hayloft? Yeah, this is a totally different kind of disheveled. Her hair is sticking out everywhere and bits of hay are stuff not only there but on her clothes. There's even a fair bit of dirt smudging her back and legs. Her expression? Well the rider's nose is all scrunched up and her eyebrows are screwy and she's kind of trying to breathe in some fresh air but they are in a stable and it /smells/ and she's totally being a drama queen about it. She definitely isn't hurt. You know who /is/ amused? Fuerioth? Who has landed outside and whose cool mind touch spreads over the candidates. « My my…well done. » The darkness of her mind is sprinkled with cool white sparks of amusement that bring some light to it all.

Dammit these queens are entitled. Xhaevyr freezes when Fuerioth reaches out, rifling a hand through his auburn curls. He finally, tardily moves to join Cinnitha in helping… and by helping he means hovering and looking like he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Is this any different than any other day? "Are you okay?" he questions Reya, concerned as much about a piece of hay sticking straight up from her head as the looming presence of Fuerioth outside. He reaches out to snag the offending piece of hay and removes it. See? He's helping. "Are you okay?" he asks Cinnitha next, reaching for her hand to check it for baling-twine-impacted injuries.

The very contrite healer candidate begins to carefully pluck straws of hay from Reya's hair and clothes with an air of dealing with a wild animal that may turn from complacent to amputating limbs in the blink of an eye. Pluck, one from behind her ear, pluck, several crowning her black hair. She has cleaned up accident victims before just not ever the victim of one she created. Fuerioth's voice merits a moment of wide-eyed silence and one side of her mouth quirks upward in both relief and amusement. "Well, rather," she whispers in answer. "When I make a mess, it is seldom small," she adds addressing Fuerioth but appearing to talk to herself. To Xhaevyr distractedly, "What? Oh, I'm alright. Is Reya?"

The whole picture /is/ rather amusing. One screwy-faced goldrider/beast, two candidates, many pieces of hay being tossed away from her fair. She's all disgruntled looks and inaudible mumbling…which in turn causes Fuerioth to practically chortle outside. There are certainly several loud chuffs. « Oh, she deserved it…all that prying and nonsense. It's a good way to keep her on her toes. » Sparks of amusement continue fly, turning into a blizzard of tiny lights in the blackness of her mind. "I'm fine." Huff! But…this is Reya, and she isn't actually made, just mildly annoyed at becoming the day's entertainment. Course, she can't stay that way for very long. "I mean, i've /probably/ got internal bleeding and about /four/ broken bones but…I'll live." SIGH. DRAMA. There's a hint of mischief in her eyes though.

"As long as no collarbone fractures are involved, I think you'll be fine," Xhaevyr drolly comments, showing the exact reason why Cinnitha is the healer in the group and not him. It's about the time that someone from below starts hollering Xhaevyr's name, and something about him 'stopping necking upstairs' and 'getting down here and working'. Slate eyes roll toward the ceiling with practiced exasperation and he, after making his brief farewells to Cinni and Reya, is making his way down the ladder to the stables below.

"I am sorry. The bale was rather stuck. So sorry." Fuerioth's white spots of amusment are as dizzying as seeing stars and the healer puts a hand to her own head. A little giggle escapes her. "But I really think there is nothing broken. Really. You wouldn't be able to stand." The voice from below startles her out of her own reverie. Dragons speaking directly to her still sends what she calls awe-chills up and down her spine. "Well, I guess I am done for the day. Ma'am. I hope I'm ready for the changes, I certainly want to be. You go first, please."

"You take Xhaevyr, this one's my candidate for the day!" Reya calls this to whoever might be searching for people that are working. Course Cinnitha is supposed to not be working….but now she's stuck with the Junior, which can't really bode well. "You know what we need after that? A drink. Well, I need a drink…you can have juice." Reya does stand, quite easily, and begins to make her way to somewhere they won't be in peoples way. "Also, don't call me ma'am…that's save for…other people." She waves a hand and glances back to Cinnitha with a smile, "Imagine what you have with your flits only a couple million times stronger. Adjusting might be hard though."

Giddy from her own fall and being spoken to by Fuerioth, Cinnitha accepts the invitation as though she was /used/ to dealing with Weyr seniors that she had just knocked on their asses. All in the course of a candidate's day. She follows the Junior Weyrwoman down the ladder. "No…juice will be fine," there is a stutter in her answer as she stumbles over not being polite and calling the Junior 'ma'am.'Taking a deep breath the young woman tries to project herself into the future of working hard for her dragon. "Adjusting. Was it hard for you, ah, Reya?" she asks as they reach the bottom.

"Oh yeah, because a certain /someone/ decided I needed things like manners, and a better wardrobe." Reya grumbles about a few more things under her breathe, but she sounds quite fond of her dragon. When they eventually exit the stables Furioth is there looking a little /too/ pleased at all the commotion. "For me it was a change of scenery too. I'd been with traders all my life and settling down….well, it was difficult." Very difficult. And she nearly drove quite a few people crazy. But everyone survived! She'll lead the way to beach, because that's the closest place to obtain alcohol!


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