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Post by snowfire on Nov 17, 2009 18:52:25 GMT -5
Belor stalked back into his room in the candidate barracks, exhausted after chores. His arms ached from the repetitive motion of sweeping the dining hall. His lily white hands, which had never known work before, were covered in blisters. His velvet tunic was sullied with dust. In short, he was absolutely miserable, and he wished that he had never agreed to come to this rotten Weyr. I'll never get my dragon if they plan to kill me with chores first! he thought sourly as he changed into a different tunic in his room. It seemed like no one else was around, but he guessed they would be returning from chores soon. Having just arrived at the Weyr a few days ago, Belor still didn't know most of his fellow candidates.
Tossing the dusty tunic into the laundry--which he was expected to clean himself, the horror!--he headed into the common room, limping dramatically down the hall.
In the common room, he took a redfruit out of the bowl of fruit on one of the tables and then threw himself violently onto a couch, sighing loudly before taking a bite. "I don't know how much longer I can take this!" he said petulantly, not caring who heard.
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Post by candice on Nov 17, 2009 20:17:16 GMT -5
Chores did not agree with Marikza either, but with some conniving and sweeping under the rug, Marikza was able to keep herself from breaking too much of a sweat and able to scythe off a little early. So, with time to spare, she’d headed to the barracks where she spent a good while fiddling with stuff that was in no way shape or form hers. After noting the position of the sun and figuring that her roommates might soon return, she haphazardly put everything back in its rightful place and headed out to the commons, where she was not entirely displeased to find company. Very pretty company.
Stopping far enough away from him that she could go unnoticed, she took him in, eyes roving up his lithe form to his delicately featured face, settling for a little longer than usual on his lush lips. After completing the ocular voyage, she realized to her slight surprised that she recognized this boy. Belor of Crom. They had both lived at the Western Hold, but their families had not brushed much due to status differences. Still, she listened to enough Hold gossip to know his face and a little of his history.
Putting a warm smile and tossing her hair, she headed towards the couch where he sat and took a spot close enough to him that she was nearly in his lap. “Evening, Belor,” she said, crossing her legs and propping her elbow against the back of the couch, giving no explanation as to how she knew his name. Marikza never forgot a face, whether or not the same could be said for him was up in the air. “You’re looking a little taxed,” her tone histrionically concerned. “Weyr life not agreeing with you? Do you need someone to talk to?” She blinked innocently at him.
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Post by snowfire on Nov 29, 2009 20:20:55 GMT -5
When he did not receive an immediate reply to his outburst, Belor sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He was starting to doze off, his exhaustion from the chores taking its toll on him, when he heard a lilting, concerned feminine voice. He opened his eyes again, and they widened when he recognized a familiar face from the Hold. While he and Maritza had never really met, he had noticed the sultry woman before and admired her from afar. Fancy seeing her here at the Weyr!
"I'll say so," he replied sourly, nodding when she asked if Weyr life disagreed with him. He sat up, straightening his posture and flicking some blonde hair out his eyes with a lazy gesture as he smiled at Maritza. "You have no idea how good it is to see a familiar face here. Weyr life is nothing like what I expected. The culture, the chores!" He waved his hand in front of her face imploringly. "Just look at these blisters!"
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