Unfortunately Timed

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 *still* raining. The felines and canines have yet to join the fray from the heavens, but it has started storming, at least. The thunder rumbles even down in the barracks, but at least there's no leaky ceiling or torrential downpour down here. Citayzleat is dry, as such, but the sheets she's piled on Heryn's bed are not. She's perfectly calm, tucking the fresh sheets around her cot and blatantly stealing the bartender's pillow. Is he here? Is he gone? Does it matter? Cita doesn't seem to notice either way, humming a little tune to the firelizard now curled up in a makeshift sling around her neck once more. The quilt she tosses over the cot now is worn, old, but still in servicable condition as she sprawls down in the thing again. It squeaks. Loudly. Cita sighs.

Heryn isn't here quite yet, but Zula is! Zula sees all! Zula knows all! Zula is— perched on one of the bars of Heryn's cot, squeaking irritably at all the wetness being dished upon the bed she totally wanted to be occupying right now. She's a tiny thing at the moment, but though she be but little, she is fierce! Or… so she'd like to believe. Those Maleficent-style headknobs she's rocking almost makes her seem less like a tiny cute button. Almost. There is, at the door way, a brief flicker of a tall, masculine figure that justmightbe Heryn, but quick blue-grey eyes spy Citayzleat at her bunk and nopenopenope, he turns right back around and tries to leave again, unseen.

Cita is utterly unimpressed by Zula's squeaking; actually, she giggles a little, charmed and amused. "Aren't you adorable." She croons, propping herself up on her pillow and her borrowed pillow too. Tansy slinks out of her sling, looking a little crabby as she hops over onto the neighboring bed, eyeing Zula thoughtfully. And that flash of tall-dark-muscley? Cita didn't miss it. She nearly trips right over a stray pillowcase, but lurches onwards anyways, skipping over a strewn shoe. She's got some feet on her, too, bolting across the barracks like a fire's chasing her. "Heryn, old friend!" Considering their acquaintance is only of maybe two months, that's ominous. "Where ya going!" She catches up, and moves to block the door, smiling sunnily.

Zula is indignant! There is no adorableness! Only Zula! Still, she seems to realize the futility of her ire rather quickly, instead aiming a disgruntled, but somehow also vaguely interested hiss over at Tansy. And just who are you?! Heryn, meanwhile, bolts for the door but Cita is just as impressive as indicated, and she totally beats him there. This… surprises the bartender, who screeches to a halt just short of colliding with the Healer-turned-candidate. There is a bit of a dead-end shuffle for that 'old friend' business, but really, it's far too late to escape so he hikes up a great big grin on his face and extends his arms outwards as though actually greeting an old friend. "Cita! My love, my pretty, my egg. I wasn't going anywhere, no. Just wanting to, you know, check the door, make sure things are going—" Chopping off mid-sentence, the ridiculous, oversized bartender tries to duck under her arm and make a break for it! Feel free to stop him however you see fit~.

Tansy makes an airy kind of growl, like she can't *really* be bothered, but also. She's definitely more impressive, just look at her wings. At least the fanning might dry the sheets some. Cita may or may not be out of breath, looking wild-eyed and maybe a little bit crazy as she huffs and puffs and grins, too wide. Look at all those teeth. "Your *egg* -" Cita boggles, and is distracted enough by the confusing-sharding sentence that the other candidate does it! He escapes! The rat bastard! She might have been planning some quiet revenge — a little laxative pie, or itching powder, innocuous enough — but the ducking! The dodging! Cita gapes at empty space for all of two seconds, then *flings* herself around. "Why, you!" She yelps, and then kind of. Flings herself. At Heryn's retreating back. Younger sister to lots of brothers, yo. She's got *skills*. Skills like leaping like some sort of deranged feline, and wrapping arms and legs around neck and torso, respectively, before she steadies and whacks the former bartender around the head without enough force to really hurt. Shock value is more important in these things. She's definitely lost it. "MY BED, HERYN. DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT, HERYN. MY BED! IS! MY SANCTUARY!" Welp. This should go well. Piggy-back rides for everyone!

Zula is… not impressed, and she illustrates it by zipping over to Heryn's stolen pillow, curling up on it with a dainty yawn that belies her overall rugged appearance. Heryn, meanwhile, whoops because he's free, totally intent on high-tailing it right on out of there. Raise a glass to freeeedoooooo— "ACK!" Heryn might not have had any siblings by blood, but he's had his fair share of foster sibs, and he's thanking every single one of the jumpy little brats right now as he weebles and wobbles, but doesn't fall down under the Healer's sudden, surprise weight. If it's shock value Cita wants, it's shock value Cita gets, the bartender momentarily too flabberghasted to do more than squeak 'ow's and 'ack's before: "Get off of me, you crazy wherry! Help! Help, I'm being attacked! I'm pretty sure this is against the rules! No fighting!" All the while half-heartedly and 90% laughingly trying to throw her off. Piggy-back ride? More like bucking bronco!

Tansy isn't even sort of concerned with all the hollering going on down the way. Instead, she's all offense, scree-ing angrily and following, puffing up all big and bad. She's bigger! She's badder! She's…distracted by Zula's tail. Wow look. Tail. And as for the barracks, there's a bit of a commotion outside. Heryn's…providing a piggy-back ride? It doesn't look real willing, though. "AGH!" Cita agrees, clinging with all her bony-kneed might around Heryn's middle. She's *got* this. "You'd KNOW if I was attacking you!" A sharp elbow looms, but doesn't land, instead propping atop the poor guy's head as Cita manages to resist actually strangling him. "WE'RE NOT FIGHTING THIS IS NOT A FIGHT!" The healer puts on a fair approximation of an angry wher, or maybe a fishwife, now clinging to both sides of Heryn like she's about to steer his behind right back around into the barracks — well. Actually, that seems like what she's doing, throwing her weight around. "GET BACK IN THERE!" A loud rumble of thunder from outside punctuates her order; one of several that have went down in the last few minutes, of a storm that's been steadily worsening since breakfast. "MY BED, HERYN!"

Nolan wanders in from outside, dripping rain water from his hair and beard. "Yay rain…" His voice deadpan, clearly someone had a rough day so far. He saw Cita and Heryn and raised his eyebrow at them. "Sorry, did I interupt something?" The young smith looking confused.

It really is all Heryn's fault, too. Mere hours earlier, the bartender-turned-candidate had wrung his soaking-wet shirt out on Cita's bed, clearly not having expected the Healer to return so soon. In fact, chances were good he was only coming by the barracks in a drive-by situation, intending to grab something and run for pretty much the rest of the day, but, well… You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. Now he's literally being ridden back into the dormitories, having only just escaped in the first place. "What?! That doesn't make any sense!," is shouted back for the notion that he'd KNOW if she was attacking him — he's feeling pretty attacked right now, thank you very much! "Are you sure?! Because this FEELS like a fight! OW, my RIBS! I demand to see a weyrlingmaster!" And instead he gets Nolan? The look he gives the Smith is desperate, much like the one Mufasa gives as he clings to the edge of a cliff over a stampede. SCAR. BROTHER. HELP ME. "She's crazy! Get her off me!"

"Hi, Nolan! I think somebody brought some towels." Cita catches her breath long enough to greet, like this is perfectly normal. Maybe it is, in the household she grew up in. THIS IS VERY NORMAL. "Right, over there." SWING, she tries to steer Heryn so she can point to the towel thoughtfully provided at some point in the day since the deluge began. And as for her traitorous friend: "YOU DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE!" The healer squawks. "MY BED, HERYN! THAT QUILT SMELLS LIKE HERBAL *FEET*." Oh yeah, she's not giving up just. Yet. Except, well, maybe it's the height or maybe it's the swishy movements of her piggy-back ride are making the healer a little green in the face. "THIS? This is a point, Heryn! I'M MAKING A POINT." She doesn't bother toning down her voice to spare poor Nolan's sanity, and instead whacks Heryn around the head a few more times before she just kind of — slips. And goes down like a tree in a hurricane. TIMBEEEERRRRR. Tansy doesn't care. She's eyeing the towels covetously, too. Her towels. Her barracks. All of it, hers.

Nolan puts the palm of his hand over his face for a moment shaking his head. "Cita, let go of Heryn, otherwise your going to fall off." Moving to get a towels and grabbing one to mop himself up. His face coming out of the towel just in time to see Cita falling, quickly dashing across the room in a attempt to catch the girl. "Cita, are you alright?" The smith showing concern on his face.

"What you do to your feet is of no concern of mine!," Heryn retorts, purposefully misinterpreting her statement. There are renewed shrieks and squawks that are really just ever so undignified and unmanly, but really, who can manage to keep up in the face of this onslaught? "Your face is a point!" Ooh yeah, he said it, and immediately pays for it, wincing for all of those slaps and whacks. It's only when they stop, real abrupt-like, that Heryn drops the aggrieved charade, spinning to help Nolan catch Citayzleat if they can. "Shells," the man huffs, squinting at them concernedly. "Don't scare me like that! You probably made yourself sick to prove a point." The words are growly, but out of concern, his overall attitude overlaid with amusement. Cita's probably just fine, but that doesn't mean he won't tut over her a second anyways before saying, "I'd better go get some ice from the kitchens. Might help if you're feeling dizzy." Or it… might help him escape, which… is the most likely answer considering how fast the bartender splits on out of there, and how very, very long it will take him to come back. If ever. Maybe he'll just be That One Hobo Beach Candidate. It has its appeal…

Cita, in spite of her attack, has two saviors! She seems to take that in stride, but looks a little dazed all the same. "I'm fine." Dignity is difficult to dredge up when you were just trying to throttle a friend or…at very least MAKE A POINT, obviously. So Cita's little woozy giggle is probably *slightly* less surprising, given the circumstances. "Towels, Nolan, you'll catch your death." Even being supported by two of her fellows so she doesn't, y'know, bust open her fool head, Cita mother-hens like a born Healer. To think, she wasn't always! "You made *yourself* sick to prove a point." She growls right back, but it's gentle mockery, eyes unclouding a little so she can smirk, cheeky. She's not touched by their help, no. Definitely not. Well — definitely not when the lumbering dummy goes darting off after ice. Cue a massive eye-roll, as the healer tries with little grace to straighten up and stand. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER, HERYN." A beat. "That'll teach him, right?" The young woman mutters to Nolan, stalking back into the barracks with dignity. She's got this. "He's not coming back. Did you have gardening, too? You look half-drowned."

More happened after I left - if you have the rest of the log, please feel free to edit it in! <3

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