Before Bed

Western Weyr - Candidate Dorm

Carved from a natural bubble in the volcanic stone, this small dorm room has room enough to hold around two dozen occupants comfortably. Along the walls are stationed sets of cots and clothes presses, each made up to the standards of the weyrwoman. Above, the soft white light from electric lamps cast down during waking hours.


Upon arrival at Western Weyr, Kilarden has discovered three very important things. The first? He hates the weather. The second? The food is delicious. The third? He's loathe of infirmaries. He cannot stand the smell, the sights, or the cleaning and constant changing of linens that come with landing chore duty there. He's definitely glad, if nothing else, that the first day is /over/. It's only after a thorough clean up of his own person that Kil is arriving back in the candidate dorms with a (debatable) smarter choice of clothing: short sleeves. He moves to his cot instantaneously, throwing himself down onto it with a slight huff before leaning down to unlace his boots. The day is over? Time to unwind! And freedom for toes is always the first and best course of action to take.

Kiley is settled at her cot quietly, retreating back to the barracks after her free day of chores. On her lap is the laptop, where it is supposed to be. But as more begin to filter in, it is promptly shut and placed in the case which is then settled into her press. Her gaze is then drawn towards the other candidate as he enters and throw himself onto his cot. Brows lift before she offers a smile, "hello. You must be one of the newer candidates." She greets, settling down onto the press and lifting her brows. "I'm Kiley, journeyman computer crafter."

Patori is totally not in the barracks, but it's not long after Kilarden enters that the short candidate squealches in, dripping. And trying to fluff-dry his hair with a rather dingy towel. He gives up after two seconds, and just flops down somewhere, sprawled (presumably) on his own cot like some kind of weyrbratty throw-rug that's been left to dry. Because the boy is totally wet. Well. His hair is sopping, anyway. Not even long, the reddish bits are looking disturbingly redder, tangled all about his ears as he lies, faceplanted in a pillow. The shirt and pants he wears are damp, if not totally dry, and there's a towel hanging off the side of his bed, damply. He just lies there. Maybe he's asleep. Maybe he's DEAD. No, wait, a head lifts, first to peer at Kilarden, who doesn't elicit so much as a squeak, Pat watching at the other boy for a long few seconds before his eyes drag along to the reast of the barracks, and oh look, a Kiley. "Your boyfriend needs to be around more," is said in a quiet whine to the girl. What, greetings? Manners? He.. has them not! He is wet, And looking miserable.

Kilarden turns his attention onto Kiley as the woman draws his attention to her with a spoken word. "Kiley, is it?" he inquires after her, rolling the name on his tongue for testing. "Kilarden," he responds in kind, though he doesn't offer her a title or craft. "Well met." It's the laptop that those grey eyes hone in on, curiosity plainly evident on his face as the piece of equipment is inspected from afar. He leans forward on his cot, bottom moving to the edge of the bed for a better look until that curious gaze lifts to Kiley's face and he's asking the rather silly question of, "What's that?" His concentration is only broken when Patori comes trailing into the room, dropping onto his bed in a near caricature of the exact state Kilarden was in only moments before. Kil shifts back, leaning against the wall behind him as he awaits Kiley's response and observes the eyes that watch him until the younger man's attention is pulled away to the woman instead. Greetings indeed! Kilarden's response to the cool impasse is a smile that tugs at only one corner of his lips before he's all eyes on Kiley again.

Kiley blinks at Patori, staring for a moment before brows lift high on her forehead. "We had a fight." A simple explanation of the statement before she elaboration follows, "he doesn't approve of me putting aside my skill in our craft to Stand as a candidate." Entirely straight faced, she leaves it at that and instead turns a smile towards Kilarden. "Yes, that's correct. Well met, Kilarden." A pause to consider an then she chuckles, "a computer. I take it you haven't spend much time around technology?" So, she's pulling it back out and then drifting over towards the cot. She opens the laptop, though not turning it on to allow him a better look of it. "It is a main part of my craft. May I ask where you're from?"

Patori peers back damply from his spot on his cot, brow creasing briefly at Kiley's answer. There's a bit of a blink, then a nosewrinkle, and then a mumbled, "..Oh," as an actual pout appears, and a softer, "..Could have used his help earlier," as he lowers his head again, chin resting on the pillow, the boy nibbling his lower lip. He asks no more after the other computercrafter, though he darts a look briefly at the barracks entry. And then turns to watch Kiley show off the laptop, not moving closer, but shifting to turn on the bed, and dragging to pillow with so he can peer over it at the other two, arms crossing under it. Kilarden is scrutinized, though any talkativeness seems to have eased off into a kind of quiet watchfulness.

"Computer?" Kilarden has assuredly heard the word, but it's a rather foreign concept for the man. He shifts forward when Kiley approaches, leaning to try and see the screen from where she settles with it open. "What exactly is it that you do in your craft? I mean, what are they used for?" But then that dreaded question of where he's from is coming up, and Kilarden is quiet for a time as he ponders just how to respond. Finally he offers a rather cordial smile as he says, "I do a lot of trading, so I don't really have a 'from'." Eyes of scrutiny? Kil can feel them, and he turns his head to look at the younger male candidate once again, only this time with brows raised. "You're starting to worry me, Patori," he says, voice laced with evident amusement. "What is it that's got you watching me so hard?"

"Sorry, Patori. If he comes to see me, I'll let him know you were looking for him. I don't know where he went." Kiley shrugs, seemingly not too concerned by this. Instead, she looks utterly excited to turn full attention to Kilarden. "Yes!" Even her tone grows brighter, "I write programs and then fix the old ones when they become obsolete or add to them if someone has a request for a craft specific thing. They're used for storing information, mostly, they help keep records and paperwork organized as well. There are quite a few things that it can do, but it is mostly for administrative things that it works best for." She quickly quiets to hear his part and then nods in understanding. "Another wanderer, then." She doesn't press, instead, "here, if I can sit beside you I can show you some of what I was working on?" And then, she's considering Patori with a curious lift of her brows. "Are you okay?"

Patori is still watching, over the top of his pillow, which is decidedly unfluffy now that his hair has started to drip on it. At the question from Kilarden, Pat blinks, as if he hadn't realized he'd been peering so much at the other candidate, though shoulders lift in a kind of awkward, lying-down shrug, and a muffledly-mumbled, "Dunno. The last time I stood, there were all sorts of people coming to the weyr. They were odd. They liked /dishwashing/." Really, it makes perfect sense to Patori. Maybe there's just nothing more interesting in the barracks, than peeking at his fellow candidates. When Kiley starts talking about her computer, his eyes dart over to peer at her too. A vague kind opf head-bob is in response to her words about Nikolas, but the lad quickly catches his lower lip between his teeth and then, after a second, offers an, "It's fine. You don't have to-" a pause, and a softer, "I wasn't really." There are, of course, other people to hide behind at Western. Maybe none so intimidating, but. He shrugs off Kiley's concern with another mumbled, "Yeah, just got wet," and tugs at that towel he'd brought with him, belatedly dragging it over his head.

And so, there's a shuffling of positions for a brief lesson of computers and then a parting of ways for sleep and whatnot. Chores in the morning, after all.

FTB for sleep!

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