Half Moon Bay Weyr - Candidates' Barracks
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.

It's raining outside; a steady, pounding kind of rain that sets in for the day and leaves any not-sand dirt soupy. Still, it's a warm rain, and the Weyr just gets on with it — except for candidates who have gardening duties to tend to. It's lucky that Citayzleat had to pass the baths on the way to the barracks, or she might have trailed mud right in. As it is, she still looks bedraggled, blinking owlishly as she makes a beeline for her cot. The lunch break has only barely started, and the barracks are fairly quiet, only a few lucky free-day stragglers still lounging. Cita, for her part, throws herself headfirst into her cot and makes a noise only wherries would understand.

Pritkin isn't one of the stragglers with a free day, but he /is/ already in attendance at the barracks when Citayzleat turns from candidate to wherry-whisperer. Green eyes watch the bedraggled young woman take her plunge into cushiony, bedy goodness, and for a very long moment, Pritkin opts for silence - after all, Cita appears to be attempting /rest/. He himself looks like a waterlogged feline: too large tunic and trousers are clinging to his physique while blonde hair, usually taunting gravity with a reckless kind of abandon, is subdued and clinging to the tops of his ears and the back of his neck. Despite the fact that Pritkin would normally leave his fellow candidate be,he simply doesn't this time - and he isn't entirely sure /why/. "Are you okay?" his tone is even, bordering more on soft than gentle, with a note that /could/ be concern, or could very well be nothing at all. He's not sitting on his own cot, but rather pauses in the middle of rifling through the few belongings he brought with him for something a lot less wet; this is a pointless adventure, to be sure, as he'll probably be just a thoroughly soaked a few moments after stepping outside of the sanctuary their barracks provide.

"I have made a grave mistake." Cita gargles into her pillow, so it comes out like 'evmaygrfgrftake', which is not actually word-like. She's kidding, anyways, and when she rolls over, the Apprentice is grinning ruefully. Cita takes in the bedraggled and water-logged look of the other candidate with a comical wince, face scrunching up in dramatic sympathy. "That's my question." She laughs, sitting up a little straighter and more responsible-like. "Gardening, they say! Weed the garden. I'm not sure Emiallis made it back. She might have gotten sucked into the mud in the raised beds. Hm." Her *words* suggest send out a search party, but her face says 'this is where I'm staying for the rest of my life, right here'. The candidate even grabs her pillow, leaning on it a little. "I'd warn against leaving the barracks, but it looks like you've got the message already."

It's raining towels from heaven! Or at least from the entryway, as Venryk flings one in Pritkin's general direction. "You look like a half-drowned canine, Pritkin!" There's laughter that follows after it though, and the very dry candidate makes his way further along to drop down onto his cot. Thankfully, duty in the infirmary is typically a pretty dry one. His head tilts though, offering a grin at the other candidate before muffly, garbly words pull his attention toward Cita. There's a bit of a stare given, before the girl rights herself, and understandable language comes forth. "Oh, I'm sure she'll be fine. I hear mud's like..good for you. I mean..maybe not while in your /lungs/ or eyeballs, but it's good for you so..odds are she'll be perfectly fine." There's a bit of work done on his boots, wriggling to get his feet out of them before flopping backward sideways on the cot. "Oh..that feels so much /better/."

'Evmaygrfgrftake', unfortunately, does not register for Pritkin - the jumble of maybe-words doesn't even tickle any part of his brain that /wants/ to try and make sense out of it. It's for that reason, when Cita rolls over with her rueful grin and takes in Pritkin's appearance, the might-be-a-wet-feline-but-is-probably-a-guard-turned-candidate looks bemused. "You make a lot of interesting noises," he settles on, when words fail him. There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he takes in her comical wince, notes her dramatic sympathy, and rewards her with the ghost of a boyish smile when she laughs. Pritkin allows Cita to speak, listening - or at least he was /trying/ to listen, when a towel suddenly finds its way halfway on his head and down the side of his shoulders. Pritkin pulls the offending article of cloth away, and then gives Venryk a slightly exasperated look. "Thank you," he offers, tone dry, but far from unamused. Green eyes flicker back to Cita, opening his mouth to say that he isn't sure who Emiallis is, except that he never gets the chance. In usual Venryk fashion, the younger teenager seems to commandeer the conversation - and despite the amused exasperation, Pritkin doesn't seem to mind.

Towels! Towels from heaven! It's not a miracle, though; Cita blinks, utterly bemused, at the towel that enters the conversation with Pritkin. "Thanks, I think." The healer murmurs, glancing askance and — oh, right. Where she might have been willing to accept random towels falling from across the room, another candidate makes much more sense. "Oh, the odds are, are they?" The words themselves are sharp, but Cita's tone is amused. "Pneumonia isn't so bad, and neither are eye infections. It's a snap to treat mud-drowning. She'll be *fine*." You know, she teases, but she's still on her butt and not out looking for their fellow candidate. Her cot is dry, and comfortable, and out there is *rain*. There's a moment's pause, before Cita is huffing, looking vaguely disgruntled. "Good idea with the towel, though. That help?" The healer eyes Pritkin, somewhere between assessing and amused.

Venryk drapes an arm over his eyes dramatically, sighing. "Well then I'm afraid it's already too late for her. We'll have to carry on in her stead, and always remember her the way she was." Though, there is a pause at that, before the candidate pushes himself up onto an elbow. "Which one was she again?" There's a somewhat owlish look about, as if the empty cots about might have some clue as to which candidate is which, but he finally ends in a shrug. Alas, there's just no way of knowing. But since he's halfway there, he sits all the way back up again, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged on the cot to peer over at Pritkin again, grinning quite broadly at the guard-candidate. "You're welcome. The last time I came through here there was a huge puddle in the doorway, and I sure didn't want to break my neck slipping through it. Looks like I'm too late though..or you absorbed the whole thing when you came through here. What'd they have you doing that got you soaked to the skin?"

Pritkin's response to Cita's thanks is a husky laugh that's simultaneously muffled by the towel that Venryk saw fit to bestow upon him. He rubs it through his hair, but doesn't bother with his clothes because those are coming off /anyway/. It's Cita's question that draws him back into the conversation, green eyes fixating on her before he looks down at himself, and the towel, and then asks a rather suspicious sounding, "Are you a healer?" And then he just stands there and drips at her - and Venryk. Not for too long, though: the long-sleeved tunic that's patched, worn, and frayed (and should really, /really/ be replaced) is peeled off only to be replaced seconds later by an equally sad, long-sleeved tunic. If the state of his clothes is embarrassing to Pritkin, there's no indication of it at all; Pritkin just continues to disrobe, using the towel as a tool to preserve modesty. Nothing can be done for his hair — not that it matters; Pritkin's hair was unfortunate to begin with. As for Venryk, well… Pritkin tosses the towel right back at him (playful, of course) once he's done and informs, "I left my book out this morning after my run, and went to get it. You just left the puddle there?"

Citayzleat snorts, and curls sideways in her cot again, resigned to the fact that she's just not getting up until she *has* to go get food. "That was beautiful." The healer deadpans, only half into her pillow now, as she flounders for a comfortable position to sprawl in, worming and flailing. Undignified. "Red hair. I think?" It's kind of hard to tell, when you're both muddy and soaked to the bones. That might not be the most helpful descriptor, really, but it seems like all Cita has. Well, that and a surprisingly decent poker face. "Maybe I am, maybe not." The suspicion is met with a blank face for a long moment before she's grinning, lopsided. "Yeah. It's a fair question though." See, she's totally reasonable, here. As for the puddle, Cita twitches, glancing nervously towards the entrance to the barracks. It's *dry* in here, what do puddles think they're doing, invading? "You said *was*?"

Venryk catches the towel, although looks a bit unhappy with it, considering Pritkin has made it all damp. He reaches over to simply dump the thing on the floor, rolling his eyes. "Well what was I gonna do? I didn't have a towel and I wasn't gonna sit in it and use my pants as one. So yes, I left it there. Someone must've cleaned it up. Maybe even the person who dripped it all over the place anyway. Very responsible of them, in my opinion." His arms drop back down again to drape over his knees, and he tilts his head in though. "Oh the red head! I remember her. /If/ you're a healer though, that's nice. I am, too!" There is however a slight wince, and the young teen pushes curly hair away from his eyes once he looks back to Pritkin again. "Did the book survive?"

There is something about all of Cita's overall restlessness that has Pritkin giving her a very inexplicably unplaceable look. Green eyes watch her worm, and wiggle, and finally he cuts his vision away by rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and mouthing something that only he will /ever know/. It's why he misses her very good poker face, and only levels her with another look when she admits she /is/, in fact, a healer. "I…" he says intelligently, because he was being smart when he asked. Venryk jumps in, Pritkin's attention deviates to the younger teenager, and then a look of exasperation replaces everything else. "You could have got a /towel/," he informs him, as if his decision to let /somebody else find it after possibly slipping in it/ was very obviously the /wrong choice/. Green eyes flicker towards the book in question, and there's a bit of a wince on Pritkin's face. "It's… useable." Meaning it certainly did get rather wet. Pritkin pulls his pillow from his cot after a moment, and walks it over to Cita, extending it to her. "You look uncomfortable." It's not a questions, it's not even said with a lack of confidence or a question as to whether or not she wants it; Pritkin is very clearly telling her to use it. The more cushions the better, right?!

Cita subsides a little when it's clarified that somebody did clean the puddle up, and nobody is going to descend on them waving a sword or pugil stick or something else with which to thump them soundly. "There's an image. Scooting around on the floor. I'm glad it's…not there any more." She snickers, punching her pillow a time or two. Something has gone awry with the bedding, apparently. She's distracted from mangling her cot when Venryk speaks; Cita's eyes dart up and she squints, then grins. "Yeah. I've been here a while with Journeyman Telj. Are you just out of the Hall?" She questions, and then glares again at the cot. Which is…making noises, now. Well, that's different. Cita doesn't actually seem to notice, though, eyeing Pritkin curiously. Eyebrows lift briefly, but she lets it slide, amused when he pokes back at Venryk. "Honestly, I don't see how it's not in a constant state of puddle, today." She points out, watching the other candidate wander over to his cot. When he grabs his own pillow and offers it, Cita grins sunnily, and maybe she doesn't have much of a *choice* about taking it, she does with grace. "Thank you! This sharding thing feels like somebody put rocks in it."

Venryk gives Pritkin a rather incredulous look, gaping at him. "Did you think I came in here waving that thing because I just knew you'd need it?" He brought that towel in for a /reason/, dang it! He gives a little sniff though, finally dangling a foot off the cot to toe at the sad, crumpled up sheet of damp towel. "Quite frankly I'm absolutely appalled you think I'd just leave a giant puddle on the floor for /anyone/ to break their neck on." Which..he did. But why admit that? Especially not while he can throw an even bigger grin at Pritkin, head canting to the side again. "But lucky for you /and/ your hair, I had one ready and you were in need." He is the towel hero. His expression falters a little bit though, instead turning back onto Cita and her rather..loud bed. "Uhm..is that thing supposed to make all that noise when you move on it? Because that doesn't seem safe. It really seems like—huh? OH, right, pretty much. I mean, I've been at Fort Weyr my whole life and I'm pretty new into the whole learning how to be a Healer thing."

Venryk eyes the bed, Pritkin eyes the bed… really, it doesn't sound good at all. Pritkin is just about to shadow Venryk in that vocalization when he is being thanked for pillows with sunny smiles that make him flush. Despite the rise of color to his cheeks, Pritkin doesn't look at all flustered /or/ abashed, rather takes a moment to absorb the sight before clearing his throat with a softly spoken, "You're welcome." And then green eyes are side-eyeing the bed like it's some kind of mimic, waiting to simply devour the healer it's supporting. Not that mimics exist, of course. "You should probably move," he suggests, and Venryk is, once again, winning over his attention. The guard-candidate stares, says nothing, and then breaks into a half-laugh with a smile. "Liar," he says, simply, gently, challenging the younger teenager to disagree.

There might not be anybody descending with a sword, per se, but Heryn does choose this exact moment to stomp into the barracks with a bow, looking almighty fierce, for those having yet to make the bartender's acquaintance. Normally bouncy hair is plastered against his skull in jagged edges, clothing clinging tight to too many muscles, water dripping from… well… everywhere, and he's not happy about any of it. His displeasure carries him past most of the conversation going on, which is probably for the best - puddle negligence is srs bsns! - but he catches those noises coming from Citayzleat's cot and the concern regarding them and can only snort as he tosses his unstrung bow to the surface of his own bed - coincidentally, the one next to Cita's. "Don't look as if it wasn't doing that the entire night," Heryn grumbles, immediately shedding his shirt with complete disregard to modesty. "The number of times I almost killed you for rolling over…" Well, he doesn't say it, but the implication is that the number is astronomical at best. Blue-grey eyes lift to the teens nearby, chin dipping in a nod of acknowledgment for their existence, but… well, grumpy bartender is grumpy. Give him a bit, he'll come around.

A door somewhere opens in one of the rooms there off the candidate barraks, perhaps for those people who prefer privacy. It was never fully explained as to why some candidates got their own rooms and others got the cots. A shock of deep black hair, goggles, dressed head to toe in black and sporting of all things a lip piercing comes a kid who's been around but mostly kept to himself since he was searched almost a sevenday ago. Stark golden colored eyes briefly scan those gathered, albeit breifly, before dropping to the floor again. A laptop is tucked under one arm, a stachel bag looped over his body and he just sort of lingers there as Heryn appears and starts to vent…and drip. Nope, not moving.

In comes a bow-wielding, water-dripping mountain. Venryk pauses to blink just a little, and leans down to that crumpled towel on the floor. Sure, it's a little damp, but it's picked up and waved at the soggy bartender nonetheless. "They send anyone else out in the rain they're going to have to sail back in on a ship! Here, here! There's a towel. Only slightly used, I promise. And not by the floor, either. Pritkin rubbed all over it but it's fine." There's a grin offered, before giving a heavy sigh. "Oh come on now. Murder for a noisy bed? I don't know how you didn't suffocate /whoever/ in here is snoring so loudly. ..Or was that you? You're the snorer..aren't you?" Oh yes, Heryn is promptly leveled a suspicious look, eyes narrowing on the other candidate. But Jaelyn's appearance out of the room brings a smile back to him, and the teen sits up a bit straighter immediately, waving toward the other boy. "Jae! Hey, come over here."

Whatever Pritkin's concerns about beds are, they are dashed as soon as Heryn comes along and oozes his masculinity all over the scene. /Who does that/? The guard-candidate watches in avid silence as all eyes seem to find the bow-slinging badass (WHAT, that's what he looks like okay) offering up threats that somehow sound "Uh" Pritkin says intelligently, because suddenly he feels considerably less male than he did seconds ago. Green eyes blink as another door opens up, taking in the /other/ overly masculine entity, and then a /look/ is given to Venryk. A SILENT COMMUNICATION OF MYSTERY, but that's lingering before - WATASH! - the same door that Heryn came angry-dripping through reveals /another angry dripping ultra-male/. "This is getting ridiculous," Pritkin comments, to no one in particular, only to have the beast of a man crowding the light at the entrance and exit croon out a somehow threatening, "Who is Pritkin?" The candidate goes still, looks at Heryn as if trying to will a body swap, and then raises one hand slowly. "Me?" STOMP STOMP STOMP. IT'S ILA'DEEEN! And the bronzerider is catching up the smaller and /much younger/ man before hauling him bodily over a shoulder. Pritkin looks surprised, and then furious, but he doesn't get to say anything as Ila'den is already on his way out - pausing only to take in Heryn with a low whistle. "/Nice/," he offers on an appreciative growl that's absolutely exuding 'I'm a playful asshole' and not /really/ exuding flirtation. And then he's gone, just like that - one suddenly furious Pritkin in tow.

Heryn squints for that offering of a towel as though, if he weren't literally dripping wet, he might decline. Alas, as it is, beggars can ill afford to be choosers. "Yeah, alright," he says, lifting one hand to indicate Venryk can toss the towel his way. "Just do me a favor and don't quit your job to become a trader. That was a terrible sell." Humor?! Maybe there's hope yet! Blue-grey eyes flick over towards Jaelyn for his emergence, appearance taken in with a brief glance, but Heryn's skin tells a story in tattoos, so he'll be the last to judge based on choice of clothing and possession of piercings. Instead, he offers the same nod of greeting as he had the others before aiming a snort over at Venryk. "Me? Shells, no. I don't snore. I may or may not have suffocated them, though, yes." It's… hard to tell if he's joking, but he probably is? He doesn't have the time to clear the air about the situation anyways, because here comes trouble! Whatever humor Heryn managed to gather up immediately goes flat, eyes narrowing for Ila'den's entrance. How dare he show Heryn's manly entrance up?! No, wait, misplaced anger. The bartender shares that look with Pritkin, but he's no Katniss, and certainly isn't going to volunteer as tribute - especially when the end result is being bodily hauled off by the bronzerider. There is a definite brow raise for that whistling and growling, but he refuses to flush! Refuses!, and even manages, if only by glaring until the rider leaves. "Well, that was ominous."

There is just so many…people. Jaelyn is still lingering over there by the door to his room, with his eyes focused on anythng but all the people. He probably didn't catch Venryk amongst the sea of unfamiliar faces, which might be why he's not moving a muscle, though that changes as he hears the healer apprentice's voice and he flicks his gaze up only as long as it would take for him to find the source and then drops it again. He shifts rather uncomfortably from one foot to the other, seemingly undecided as to whether or not he would like to be as social as his fellow Fortian right now. For a few seconds it looks like the answer is going to be no, as he shakes his head a bit and wraps his arms around his laptop ass he shifts it over his chest like a shield - because that is going to protect him from a room full of strangers, course a few glances are spared towards the raging muscle mound that is Heryn, and again the head is shaken. He had his own half-sleeve tattoo there on his left arm, but he was certainly lacking Heryn's confidence at the moment. In fact, a step is taken backwards towards his room, but the door is closed and rewards him with a sharp thunk to the back of his head. A wince and he peeks over his shoulder, a very fleeting glare for the door, and then his expression reverts back to one of absolute neutrality. His reluctance is only worsened by the fact that some rider comes in and bodily tosses one of the candidates over his shoulder and appears to be hauling him out of the room without so much as a single word of explanation as to why this was happening in the first place. The laptop is clutched all the harder, and Jaelyn might as well be a statue for all the forward motion he's currently capable of. Shoulders are hunched and his head lowered a bit as his chin comes to tuck behind his people-deflecting square of computer craftiness.

There's barely a pause before Venryk flings that towel in Heryn's direction, laughing. "/Pft/, Trader? Nah, I'm a healer. Sure can't sell you anything, but my bedside manner is top notch. Well it will be. When I'm allowed to do things like being near patient beds and all." Alas, all this masculinity overflowing from every corner of the room, but this candidate? No, there's quite a bit of that lacking in his shorter frame and curly hair. He doesn't seem to mind that part of it though, eyes simply bouncing back and forth between the others in the room. And at Jaelyn's hesitation he starts to climb off of his cot, only to pause in mid-shift when Ila'den barges right in and starts making off with Pritkin. "O..kay.. Wow. Um. Pritkin you had better tell me what /that's/ about when you get back! ..If you're not dead! Or tied up somewhere." It could happen. He starts to move again though once he deems it safe enough, and hurries across to the hesitating Jaelyn with a bright grin for the other boy. "You're gonna just stand over here? Come on, you can at least put that thing down and sit with me. You know, for a minute." He gives his fellow Fortian candidate a slight nudge then, trying to urge him back across the barracks. Still, there's a pause and a lifted head for Heryn, slowly nodding to him. "Well I approve. So long as it's quiet enough that I can actually get some sleep, I will pretend that I heard absolutely none of that. Do carry on!"

"Shove it all the way up your —" Cita's got her Fightin' Face on for Heryn, or maybe that's playful, it's not *real* clear. She does stop herself from finishing the statement, though, glancing around. Right. Impressionable ears (ba-dum-tsh). "It did not! That's —" That's, uh. Tansy. Who looks decidedly confused, when Cita drags her up from under the sheets. Confused, and severely annoyed. "Well." That explains a lot, anyways. The healer busies herself with checking the firelizard over for several minutes, a close inspection, and so she completely misses the second Manly Entrance of the day. Right up until Ila comes and snatches Pritkin up, at least. "HEY." He's got a heck of a stride on him, and Cita can't keep up, but she *does* try. "What the shells do you think you're doing! Unhand him! Are you even allowed in here?" Who even *was* that strange, candidate-snatching person? Not in her house, man! Not in her house. Cita scowls, stopping at the entrance, and glares daggers. She rounds back around and gives Heryn a very curious look, annoyance melting into curiosity and concern. The healer grumbles, moves back over to her cot to pick up Tansy. "I'm going to take her to get looked over, make sure she's fine. Heryn, I swear on Faranth's first egg, if you drip on my bed I will make you pay." A beat, and she smiles, more gently, at Venryk. "You'll get there. They *still* don't let me by myself, though." And as for Jaelyn, on the way out the door, Cita pauses to eye the laptop, then its owner. "I wouldn't take that outside." She says, brightly, like that isn't *entirely* obvious. Helpful, Cita. And then she's gone, looking decidedly like she'd much rather still be in her cot, where she may or may not have been smothering her firelizard, who was too dumb to not let herself be smothered.

Venryk's laughter seems to chip away at Heryn's irritation, gaze warming somewhat as he snatches the towel out of the air. "Another Healer? Ugh," he mutters, lips twitching up to show he doesn't entirely mean that before he sets to drying his hair. "Tell me you don't take abject joy in the infliction of pain upon others." The remark is more for Cita than the younger Healer, the bartender aiming a half-hearted kick at her cot as she tries to tell him where to shove it. "I'm sure your bedside manner far outstrips hers, anyways." There is a decidedly strangled noise coming from the bartender for that Tansy reveal, but it's anybody's guess over whether it's in concern or mirth. Probably both. Her indignance over Pritkin's abduction is met with amusement; her glance for him after, much less so. "I'll tell you later," he mutters before snorting and affecting his best innocent face when she tells him not to drip on her cot. "Yes, ma'am." He's unholy cheeky, and it only gets worse - the very second Citayzleat is out the door, Heryn picks up his soaking wet shirt, throws back her covers, and wrings it out on her bed before setting the cot back to rights. "Don't worry, you won't hear a thing," the bartender says to Venryk with an honest grin at last, continuing on with drying himself as though he hadn't done a thing. The towel dangling in front of his face conceals most of Jaelyn's retreat, but that backwards bump into the door draws Heryn's attention, the young man's closed-off expression drawing a small bit of worry to the bartender's features. "I'm Heryn, by the way," is offered as though knowing the name of the big, bulky tattooed guy is supposed to help or something. Sheesh. "Where're you guys from?"

Jaelyn's continued refusal to peel himself off the closed door to his room persists, and he hardly even notices that Venryk has extricated himself from where he was seated, and had made his way over towards him. At the first question there is hesitation, before he simply nods yes. He was most definately going to stay standing right over here. For the rest of it though, there is actually a momentary recoil as if it was the most horrible idea in the world. Sit down and be around all those people!? Perish the thought! He allows the nudge though, not seeming to mind that at least, but he follows it up with another soft shake of his head. Brows are beginning to knit there upon his forehead, his face taking on the slightest expression of concern, or perhaps its worry. He murmurs something, or at least his lips move but probably only Venryk can hear it as he's standing right there in front of him. For Citazyleat's passing comment, he merely nods his head, and clutches the laptop all the tighter. It's not a verbal response, but at least it was something of an exchange between two people. Not that she could hear it, so here's to hoping she lingered long enough to see it before exiting the barracks completely. Golden eyes dart Heryn's way, but drops right back down again immediately afterwards. Yeah, he's struggling there for certain, and being talked to was not helping. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and so it closes again and his brows furrow instead. Not going to be getting anything out of him at the moment.

Venryk stares after Cita as the girl leaves, brows raised upward curiously. "Well that was different.." There's a bit of laughter though, before he peers around Jaelyn toward Heryn again. That suspicious look has returned! Does he /like/ inflicting pain? "Erm…no? Though sometimes people complain that I talk to much and that they'd rather just die, so I don't know if that /counts/ but I'd like to think that..no. No I do not." The violation of the abandoned cot however has the teen torn between a wince and stifled laughter. The hand covering his mouth might be an indicator of the latter. "Oh /sure/. Now I won't hear anything all but the shrill cries of absolute horror when she comes back and lays down on a soggy bed! ..I mean, if I'm not trying to sleep I guess that's alright, but still. Gross..wet bed." Thankfully, his bed is nice and dry, although he might have to think twice about leaving it unattended. The barracks is full of wet bandits! He shakes his head though, still trying to lure Jaelyn into moving before introductions start coming. "Oh! I'm Venryk, this is Jaelyn here. We came in from Fort Weyr though not quite at the same time." Alas, all this coaxing doesn't seem to be working on the black haired boy at all. There's a small huff then, before he simply latches onto Jaelyn's arm and starts pulling. "/Alright/. I'm going to go get this one some lunch. He apparently needs fuel to help get his legs in working order." There's a no-nonsense /pull/ given then, with the healer-candidate downright hauling Jaelyn along with him. There is a pause though, peering back toward Heryn and pointing his free finger. "I will totally know it is you though if my bed is gross when I come back. No funny business. All the funny business is for..uh..whatever her name was. That one." And then he's gone, pulling Jaelyn right out of the barracks.

It's right around the candidate lunch break, it's been pouring like hell out, and things in the barracks are… interesting, to say the very least. What started as totally-innocent conversations about puddles and who may or may not have made them and then not cleaned them up were disrupted by a surly, soaking wet bartender and his bow, followed only too closely by an even surlier Ila'den. The latter saw fit to toss Pritkin over his shoulder and walk out with him with no explanation what-so-ever except to leer a whole lot and Make It Weird and, well, here we are in the resulting chaos. "She's different," Heryn agrees, and if he weren't grinning, it would sound like he was insulting the departed Cita. There's a puff of laughter for that initial 'no', the sound increasing to a real laugh for the implication that his patients would rather die than be chatted at. "Well good," the bartender drawls, finally skimming his fingers through his hair to restore some sort of order. As for that cot… "Nah, she won't yell - much. She'll just strangle me. You can have my possessions upon death." Not that he'll get much, but… "Nice to meet you both. Fort, huh? I'd make a joke about the change in weather, but I'm sure you've already heard it," he says with a smirk, watching that whispered conversation with interest, but without prying. "Enjoy," he says when the teen pulls the other off, and he might make some sort of sassy comment about his legs having to work in order to get to the caverns, but he holds the comment in check in favor of quirking a brow over their way with a crooked grin. "No promises." Ruh roh!

Nope, all that poking and prodding, or rather insisting isn't getting Jaelyn to move at all. He's little more than a dark and pale skinned door decoration at this point, and a stubborn one at that. At least he's not shying away from the healer apprentice or trying to escape from him, so there is hope that this is just a transitional phase in the face of being relocated for candidicy. Or something like it. While Ryk continues to be a social, normally-adjusted, and talkative member of society…Jae will just stand there and further his attempts to disappear behind the small silver case of the laptop clutched to him. Although as he's introduced to Heryn he does bob his head once, even if his eyes don't leave the floor from whatever point along it's surface that he's decided to afix them to. Then he's being physically pulled from where he rooted himself, and while at first this is not productive either, it doesn't take much beyond that to actually get a step in the right direction. Then there is reluctantly another, and another. He doesn't pull away from the healer apprentice, or make a mad dash for somewhere anywhere else but here though, allowing himself to be pulled towards the exit. There is one single side glance at Heryn though, before they're dropped to the floor and he's finally extracted to have some food.

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