Living Cavern -- Starmount(#38RDJLM)
A huge, vaulted dome of rock arches overhead, pocked in places with outcroppings and little holes where firelizards are constantly squabbling and eating various things. The floor of the cavern has been smoothed out by years of feet walking over it, polished to a shine except for the scuffs of table legs. The rough wooden tables are scattered around the room, chairs distributed almost as randomly. Dishes cover the tables, filled with all kinds of foods kept ready for hungry riders and weyrfolk, with firelizards swooping and playing amoung them, grabbing snacks as they will.
 A wide tunnel to the east leads out to the bowl, while several much smaller tunnels lead off in various directions. One dark tunnel, sloping downward, leads to the lower cavern complex for residents. Another, judging from the delicious smells coming from it, can only lead to the kitchen. The last, a steeply upward-sloping tunnel, bears a small iconograph beside it denoting the record hall.

You see:
 C'drel, standing near the door.
 Drekyn, standing near the door.
 Aewen, standing near the door.
 Ramaki, standing near the door.

C'drel's having a bit of trouble with pouring klah -- it's sometimes interrupted by sneezes, during which the pitcher kind of /misses/ the cup -- spilling the stuff onto the table. "Sharddit. Sharding snow art." Comes the rather odd comment from the bronzerider.

Garrett walks through the door from the bowl.

Garrett stumbles in from the bowl, trying to inconspicuously find his way around the caverns without bumping into things. This doesn't work out too well for the normally clumsy candidate, now further impaired by the loss of his glasses, and he has to put out one hand to make sure he doesn't hit anyone or anything. "Oh, sorry there," he murmurs to the corner of a table, patting it a couple of times and moving on.

In saunters Puokano, looking quite self-satisfied and smug. As always. The others are eyed, and the youth scruptiously does his best to dodge them, slipping around a few milling groups of unknown weyrfolk while making his way towards the sideboards.

Surrounded in a haze of sweet-smelling air, Ramaki wanders in from the caverns, head tilted to one side as she rebraids her hair, a twist of darkish ribbon clutched in one hand. Oh, /no/ -- Puokano. Maybe she can surprise him.. "Heyla, Puo!"

The tables being dragged haphazardly around the caverns are, raggedly to be sure, but surely being dragged into a long line with a closed area on each side. Each area looks unnervingly like an animal pen. Drekyn, in the middle of the mess, wanders towards the door to greet the candiddates. Her greetings, however, consist largely of: "You. Over there - /now/," and a point in the direction of the pens. The first to be greeted in this way, joy of joys, is Puokano.

S'ara walks down from the ground weyrs tunnel.
T'milla walks up from the lower caverns.

S'ara sweeps in, a pile of hides in one arm, a firelizard being batted about by the other. It doesn't move. She sighs, peers around, and carefuly selects a chair, eyeing the candidates on display. "H'lo, folks."

Aewen looks up from her bubblie, snarfs the last of it, stands, brushing the crumbs off her clothing, and her hair out of her greenie blue eyes. She walks over, and joins the crowd of Candis, with a strange halfgaze, halfglare.

T'milla steps into the Living Cavern and looks around with a smile. She waves at this person and that.

"Maki." The greeting leaves a little to be desired, although Puokano retains enough of his general syrupy faux-sweetness to make it appropriately mocking. "I haven't seen /you/ in awhile.." The rest of the candidate's sentence is cut off as Drekyn speaks. Puo scowls and eyes the pens dubiously. "Why? So you can keep me in an enclosed place so you can chop me up into bits, like you always said you'd do?"

C'drel finally gives up, shooting apologetic look at the drudge who eyes the dripping klah. Settling for half full mug, the bronzerider searches for somewhere to sit, blinking a little at the commotion. Edging towards where S'ara's seated, he enquires, "Whath going on?" Voice, unfortunately, muffled slightly from the cold.

"Yes," says Drekyn bluntly to Puokano, squaring her shoulders. "You got it exactly right, Candidate. Now /go/, or I'll take you there myself. In pieces."

S'ara raises her eyes from the hides that she has unrolled and set in her lap. Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly, the brownrider glancing at C'drel for a long moment. "What did you say? You're not very clear."

"They're going to chop us into bits?" The already confused Garrett sinks deeper into the mires of befuddlement, as he turns his head vaguely in Puokano's direction. "I thought it was just something they said to scare us, that they fed candidates to the dragons." He frowns suddenly, and squints at Drekyn when he hears her voice. "Uhm, you wouldn't really?" he asks tremorously, as if rather afraid of the answer. This is Drekyn, after all.

"..What?" Ramaki pauses in the middle of tying off her braid, shuffling warily towards the other Candidates -- strength in numbers. Either that, or join the herd. "What are we doing?"

Brianora walks through the door from the bowl.

Puokano glowers over at the bluerider, dragging his feet as he slowly winds his way through the mob of bystanders, inching steadily closer to the pens -- and the exit. "My father would have a fit," he informs Drekyn flatly. Apparently he believes Drekyn's final phrase enough to move, however reluctantly, despite his belligerent tone and words. Move towards the pens, or break for the bowl. Whichever comes first.

C'drel grimaces, sniffling, and reaches for hankerchief with free hand. "Thorry-- got a cold," he explains apologetically to S'ara, gesturing towards the tables and candidates, "Ith thith thome new training thing?"

Brianora walks abliviously into the cavern, intent on a snack, but stops dead in her tracks as she notices the scene here. Her eyes widen and she almost, but not quite, backs out of the cavern. "Oh dear Faranth," she mumbles.

S'ara pauses, rubs her nose, and drops her jaw. "Oh. Right, I see. You've got a cold. At least you didn't tell me to die." Wherever that comes from, "I believe we're auctioning off the candidates. For work. A good idea, no?"

Aewen grins a little at Puo, "She's probably got her dragon at the bowl entrance." Odd, someone actually paying attention to Puo?

"/Inside/ the pen, Puke," Drekyn says, in a warning tone. "Your father would have more of a fit if you got sent home in disgrace for refusing to follow orders, I daresay. Garrett, Ramaki? You're next - in the same pen with Puke. The other one's for when you're sold," declares the bluerider, with a trace of smugness. "Everyone lump up, and /do/ try to comb your hair, Garrett?"

Deinha walks through the door from the bowl.

Brianora looks fearfully at the weyrlingmaster. "Um Drekyn?" she asks, "I just walked in on the auction, didn't I?"

Deinha slips in quietly, or tries to, and tugs off the custom overcoat, revealing standard nondescript clothing. She moves towards a small cluster of fellow candidates, eyes going to Drekyn. "Have I missed anything?"

C'drel shifts gaze from the gathering crowd to S'ara, blinking in mild confusion for a moment. He's not going to ask. He's not. Well-- "Why would I thell you to die?" But at least he's understood, and brightens considerably -- after another sneeze, hastily averted. "For work? Yeth, that'th a great idea!" He could use someone to pour his klah.

Ramaki is meat -- or so it seems. Following the others into the pen like a good half-asleep Candidate, she finishes tying off her braid, flipping it over her shoulder before sliding to a seat on the floor. "Don't step on me."

"Walked in? I should hope not," Drekyn says sternly, folding her arms and leaning back against the wall. She can direct things from here - it's a friendly wall. "You're /all/ participating, or wasn't that made clear? Those that aren't sold now can be sold off in a few days. Ah, Deinha." Drekyn flashes a bright smile. "Into the pen with the others, please."

Kaeralla walks through the door from the bowl.

Puokano abandons his hope of escape and resigns himself to shuffling in the indicated direction. "I don't want to be sold," he grumbles. "No one ever told me I had to be sold. Candidates aren't supposed to be sold. Or people of the Blood. We're the..buyers." It's Puo-logic, which doesn't necessarily follow the course of regular thinking. "Maaki!" He whines at the nearest person upon reaching that pen. "This isn't fair!"

Garrett blinks at the space slightly to the left of Drekyn, and nods a little, trying to smooth down his hair a little with clumsy fingers. He makes his way towards the pen, trying to follow in Puokano's footsteps, but he manages to bang his shins on one of the tables. "I'm terribly sorry," he says to the piece of furniture, then skirts his way around it and narrowly misses stepping on Ramaki, in spite of her warning. He shuffles to the back of the pen, leaning on one of the tables.

Brianora sighs theatrically and heads towards a pen. A dim smile is directed towards other candidates. "'Lo Garrett," she says quietly, deciding to hold her head high and be a defiant slave. A malicious and suspicious grin lights her face.

Deinha lifts one brow, "That sounds barbaric." But she's smiling as she makes her way toward the pens. "Oh, hey...could we buy one of ourselves?" This tossed over her shoulder as she becomes one of the 'herd.'

"Indeed it is," says S'ara with a smirk, her eyes moving back to the candidaetes as her hands fiddle with beltpouch that jingles rather loudly. "I think they're looking fairly good, don't you?" Her head nods in return to the 'die' comment, explaining, "Xalea thought I said that once, when I had a cold." Her first and only cold, too.

J'kan walks down from the ground weyrs tunnel.

One enterprising buyer has arrived early to look over the 'purchases'. He wanders from end to end, making a show of examining each candie.
Garrett smiles at Brianora's left ear. "Hello," he returns, blinking all but blindly at the fuzzy shape, then settling back against the table to listen to the goings-on.

Kaeralla joins the exodus of Candidates migrating into the pen. "Heya." she calls out, nodding at the others.

C'drel tilts head as he regards the candidates thoughtfully, "Yeth, I think you're right," he agrees with S'ara, "But I was thort of thaving my markth for the weyr--" he adds, hesitant, before brow furrows. "Oh," is his oh-so-articulate response to her explaination.

T'milla keeps to the back of the Living Cavern, her eyes cast about the room with a touch of a smile.

"For the Weyr?" Prompts the brownriding AWLM, turning her head back to C'drel with a raise brow. Or two of them.

Brianora sort of stands on tiptoe, watching the prospective buyers enter the lc and making sure she doesn't see anyone who would never let her forget this.

"If they want to look at your teeth, for Faranth's sake, don't /bite/ them," Drekyn snaps at one candidate, Birten, who has been baring his teeth menacingly at the buyer. "Is that everyone? /Please/, candidates, into the pen with you. You can get your klah after it's over." Drekyn, busy as she is, has the time to smile over at T'milla, once she knows that she's there.

"Shut up, Puokano!" Ramai calls up from the floor, nearly being stepped on by someone before she vaults to sit on one of the tables. "If it's not fair, maybe you did something to earn us our fate.."

Deinha wiggles her fingers at Kaeralla, still looking around her with a bit of curiosity. "I do hope that none of the buyers have anything ... well, too tough, in mind.."

S'ara calls out, hearing Deinha's comment: "Isn't that what you're here for? Weyrlinghood is ten times harder than anything anyone will make you do."

J'kan strolls in, giving a poor atempt at stealth. He bumps into several benches and people, placing a finger to his lips as he urges those unfortunates in his path to be quiet. The hand not to his lips is hidden behind his back, as he continues inching forward. "Ah, ah... Quite a crowd this evening." He nods vigorously in agreement with himself, then wanders over to some of the riders in his wing, wiggling those free fingers in a giddy wave. Blue eyes sloooowly pass over the candidates, stuffed in a 'pen' like so many runners...

Brianora calls out over the din. "Precisely how long are we sold for?!" she questions to Drekyn, "Because I'd like to be free to attend the hatching..." Bri sort of sinks down after that, allowing the WLM to figure out who said it herself.

"Why would I do something like that?" Puokano protests. "I don't do anything." He strides over to plop himself next to his former fostersister, quirking an innocent smile. "It's not my fault that we're going to be sold or cut up. Or whatever else they've got in mind? Maybe /you/ did something."

C'drel clears his throat, and flushes, shifting feet a little at S'ara's prompt. "Just an extenthion," is mumbled under his breath. He looks vaugely relieved at the distraction of spotting his wingleader K'di, whose rubbing her hands together and looking all too pleased at a chance to put the candidates to some work.

Kaeralla grins wryly at Deinha. "I'll bet they won't." she tries to sound reassuring.

Deinha glances around, looking for the owner of the voice, and finally spots S'ara. Raising her voice, she calls back, "I just want to be sure it stays that way. Wouldn't want anybody getting any wrong ideas about what we're being sold for."

S'ara adds, towards Brianora, "Oh no. You can't stand. Not at the -hatching-. Or hatchings, depending on what happens. That wouldn't be possible." Her eyes move back to C'drel, her head nodding slowly, "Just an extention? Might I hear more, I thought that you had a big enough weyr already?" She shrglancing back at Deinha, and smirks.
 

"As long as it takes," Drekyn says firmly, stepping forward from the wall and clapping her hands sharply for attention. "People? Quiet down, please. We're going to begin."

C'drel drops head slightly, looking awfully interested in the candidates -- well, it /is/ an auction. Has nothing to do with S'ara's comment. Truly. "Kind of--" he begins, and looks all too relieved to be interrupted by Drekyn. He falls silent, slipping into a seat at the table.

S'ara looks about to blurt something out in impatience at C'drel, but merely shrugs, folding her hands around her bag of marks, and stares at Drekyn. Well, alternating between candidates and Drekyn. Which one, which one?

J'kan, knotless, as he almost always is, hisses a rather loud "SHH!" to those surrounding him, and points a finger at that Bluerider. Interestingly enough, he gestures with the formerly hidden hand... Which is wrapped around a wineskin. Whoops. It's hurriedly shoved behind his back again, and the Bronzerider tries very hard to pay attention to the current goings on.

"I didn't do /anything/, Puo!" Ramaki grumbles, fiddling with the end of her braid as she folds her legs under herself on the table. "It has to have been you. I think, at least.. maybe it was someone else. Brianora, did /you/ do something?" It's got to be someone's fault that she's being made to.. do stuff.

C'drel noisily blows his nose into hankerchief, shooting sideways glance at S'ara. She'll forget, right? Sure. Aside from the occasional sniffle, his attention is now on the front.

Crow walks through the door from the bowl.

Brianora grins and shakes her head. "Well, there was the time I almost... You don't need to know that. I don't think I did anyhting.." she muses.

Deinha appears satisfied now, as she instead turns her eyes once more to Drekyn. "Wonder who's the lucky one to go first?" This said a bit dryly for Deinha, so that she must be not-serious. But something else catches her attention, though her name isn't called, and she turns to watch Ramaki and the others. "What's all this about blame?"

S'ara notices those looks. Of course she does. But that's beside the point. Time to set that issue aside. For the moment. "Note to self: talk to Tami." Or maybe not. "Oooh. Who is going to go first? More importantly, who is worth my marks?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Puokano dismisses the other's accusations with an idle wave of his hand; resigned to his fate, he just swings his feet off the side of the pen-wall -- table -- and lapses into a sulky silence.

Kaeralla leans against one of the tables that forms the pen, her gaze flickering occasionally towards the potential bidders and then towards the other Candidates before she finally settles her attention on Drekyn.

Brianora begins to chew on the end of herbraid as the moment of waiting is dragged out interminably and the thought that this is /her/ fault weighs on her conscience.A grin comes soon though. "I don't really think it's my fault..." she says quietly.

Ramaki shrugs, fiddling with the end of her braid for another moment before undoing it and beginning to rebraid her hair, except into more strands this time. "Maybe it's no one's fault.. maybe it's traditional or something. I'm not sure."

"Hush!" snaps Drekyn towards the cattl-- er, candidate pen. "You'll miss your own cue." Flashing another brief smile, she turns to regard the crowd. "As you know, the Weyr can always use a bit of extra funding, to help in whatever projects are going on. To help with those projects, and those to come, we'll be selling off our candidates - each will be yours for a sevenday, and if /after/ that sevenday you'd like to keep them longer, you may pay your bidding price over again to keep them for a second." Holding up her hands, "I'm afraid that you can't keep them longer than that. You'll also have to release them if the eggs start to hatch." Flashing that smile again, like a tunnelsnake sliding over a rock, "Without further ado, we'll begin. Ramaki, if you'll take the table first?"

Aewen looks up, grinning, "Maybe they just want to make us miserable so we won't cause mistchief."

Deinha hums faintly, then asks, "Is this supposed to be a punishment? I thought it was just normal..." Her voice trails off towards the end, perhaps out of embarrassment, but she does indeed look towards Ramaki with a smile. And then a grin, as the girl is called up.

K'di edges her way over and flops down at the table S'ara and C'drel are at. The bluerider takes one look at C'drel -- and his intermittant sniffling -- and bursts out laughing. No sympathy from /her/ -- and Cam just looks sheepish. "Tttttthhhh!" Okay, so it's a little hard for Cam to shh with a cold, "Ith tharting!"

Serov walks through the door from the bowl.

Garrett nods slowly to the other candidates, frowning as he hears Drekyn. "Maybe it's because I hit Drekyn with a snowball," he murmurs. "At least, I think it was Drekyn I hit. Nobody else would've called me a...well..." He blushes faintly, then folds his arms across his chest, staring out at the audience.

S'ara idly bounces the bag of marks in her lap, eyeing Ramaki. She looks up, eyeing her former wingleader, and shakes her head, giggling. "A sight, isn't he?" Smirk. "Ramaki, Ramaki. Hmmm."

Puokano beams over towards Ramaki, remarking, "It was you. S'why you're first. Hah." A traditional Puo-expression -- a better-than-thou smirk -- replaces his almost-nice smile and he settles down to watch. "Maybe no one will want you," he suggests, apparently enjoying that idea.

Tying up her half-braided hair with the ribbon, Ramaki steps to wherever she's supposed to be, blinking at the crowd. "Okay.. now what do I do? Just stand here? Model? What?"

Drekyn glances in faint annoyance towards Ramaki. "Take the table," she repeats. "Just hop up and walk up and down it while the bidding goes on. If you've got any special skills, tell us about them, yes? Go on, now," the bluerider says, flapping her hands in Ramaki's direction.

"These southerners have no stamina," K'di agrees amusedly with S'ara, before turning attention to Ramaki. Her expression is /almost/ like a dragon thoughtfully eyeing her next meal. C'drel just decides to stay silent, sipping his klah and hunching miserably.

J'kan lazily leans back in his seat, booted feet stretched out far enough in front of him to trip a resident unfortunate enough to be walking that way. An apology is mumbled quickly as Jerk takes a sip from that 'skin, trying to do so only when not being watched. Eventually his attentions return to the auction at hand, and those sky-blue eyes light up in amusement as he watches. "This should prove interesting..." He half-whispers to a brownrider seated beside him.

Deinha looks over at Puokano and frowns in her own way -- that is, the somewhat more adult version of better-than-thou -- "That's really not very nice, you know... And who's going to want to buy you, if you keep being ... rude." So she declares at last, though softly.

"They certainly don't," agrees S'ara wryly, her nose wrinkling. "Now, let's see. What can Ramaki do? Why should I buy her?'

"Fine with me," Puokano hisses over to Deinha. "Who said I wanted to be bought in the first place?"

A decidedly affeminate male voise from the back of the hall rings out, "Two marks!" He sits down, and you hear racous giggling from that direction.

Twisting her mouth into a half-smile, half-smirk, Ramaki hops onto the table and starts strutting up and down it -- on the catwalk? "Ramaki is adept at crocheting and not a bad hand at embroidery, and can make very nicely designed clothing, if she says so herself. She also can clean, she guesses, but doesn't cook -- she's rather be sewing. It's easier." Spinning on one toe to pose at one end of the table, before stalking back to the other end, hand on hip: Work it, girl.

K'di taps fingers against the table top, consideringly. "Well, I don't know about you, S'ara, but I do need someone to help clean out my weyr. Two would be nice, actually. It's a mess." C'drel's muttering about all that hidework goes unresponded to -- K'di raises voice to bid: "Two and a half marks!"

Aewen gazes raptly at the back of Puo's head, and giggles at Ra.

S'ara considers that, with her tongue stuck between her lips, a position of great thought. "So Ramaki takes the easy way out, does she?"

Deinha smiles, innocently, at Puokano, despite the hiss, "But of course you do. The ones who aren't sold get to do all the left-over work, right? Wouldn't that be worse?"

K'di grins at S'ara. "Need a cook, do we?" Wingleader enquires oh-too-sweetly.

Drekyn sidles towards S'ara and leans down conspiratorially. She hisses out of the corner of her mouth, "Torturing them is very admirable, S'ara, but we're supposed to be trying to raise the bidding prices."

Brianora shushes both Deinha and Puo. "Hello! There's an auction going on here. Behave yourselves."

S'ara peers up at Drekyn. Her face falls. Oops. "Er. Even so, I'll bit two and a 1/32 marks!" Yeah, good save. She shrugs lightly at K'di, grinning.
An aristocratic looking young woamn in the back raises the bid. "Four marks!" She turns to those around her. "I need someone to mend the clothes," is her snobby excuse.

Puokano fails to notice Aewen and her attention as he rolls his eyes back at Deinha. "Whatever. It's easier to dodge left-over work." Duh. He sticks his tongue out at Brianora in an immature and very-much Puo way and at last falls silent.

Ramaki looks over her shoulder at S'ara, her face now filled by a thoroughly amused expression. "Ramaki can clean, too, if necessary. There are a few things Ramaki will not do, but she'll try to accomodate whomever buys her.." She poses again, before walking down the table again, making eye contact with several nice looking men in the audience. "Aren't I worth /more/ then that?.."

Deinha looks at Brianora in surprise, but hushes. Looking back once more to Puo, she shrugs, then turns decidedly towards Ramaki.

C'drel sneezes, conspiracies and otherwise largely missed. "Who geth to keep all that money, anyway?" He wonders -- if he's going to /spend/ it has to be for something worthwhile. After all, he has a possible extention to think about..

J'kan takes another tentative sip from that wineskin, before reaching for his beltpouch, digging around in it without even looking. After awhile he manages to pull out a single mark. Then another, and another... A blink is given at the woman in back, shoulders rolling backward in an indifferent shrug. "Too rich for my blood..."

One of the young men apparently takes her up on the offer. "I'll give five!" the young man shouts, grinning broadly.

A new face wanders into the cavern.. a young girl, of about 15 turns. She slips into the room and heads for the back, her cheeks still flushed with the cold wind outside and the colder frost of *between.* Sje

"No," is S'ara's quiet response to Ramaki's question, although she adds, considering, "Perhaps 4 and 1/32. I coudl swing that, maybe." Her eyes move back to C'drel, she raises her brows, and snorts. As she's outbidded. "Five and 1/2."

Drekyn straightens once more, fixing Ramaki with a stern glare. "Bawdy uses are /not/ to be tolerated," she notes, in a loud voice. "Our candidates are to remain chaste, whatever /their/ opinions on the matter."

Aewen sighs in the direction of the back of Puo's head. Oh, the pain of a crush on a jerk...

Deinha claps her fingers over her mouth at -that- particular rule to the auction, though not in time to hide the amused smile.

Brianora chuckles. "And here I thought that was the whole purpose..." she says quietly.

A new face wanders into the cavern.. a young girl, of about 15 turns. She slips into the room and heads for the back, her cheeks still flushed with the cold wind outside and the colder frost of *between.* She was just given a ride by a Bluerider named Talli, who insisted that she should come to see the Starmount auction.. and who was she to refuse a dragonride to a place she'd never seen? Now, her eyes wide with curiosity, Crow finds a spot against the back wall and settles in to watch the proceedings..

K'di glances thoughtfully at her pouch, and casually leans back. "Bit too much for me, I think. Especially if I want two helpers." C'drel is given a blink, since the bluerider's missed the earlier comment, and just shrugs in response.

Her amusement switches to slight offence, and Ramaki declares in an innocent tone -- real innocence --, "I said I wouldn't do anything that would break the rules, Drekyn!" Weyrlingmaster. Whatever. She smiles at the young man who bid on her, ignoring S'ara's.. comment before gliding along the table again. On the caaatwalk..
 

Brianora has left.

"Final bids," calls Drekyn sharply, glaring at the restless candidates in the pen. She unfolds her arms and crosses from the center of the cavern to the serving table, helping herself to a mug of klah while keeping half an ear on the proceedings.

One of the candidates nearer the back decides it could be safe to sneak off while Drekyn's busy on the bids. He slips over the 'pen' and starts to sidle off across the cavern. Sneak, sneak..

T'milla seems to be moving up furthing in the cavern, working closer to the proceedings.

Drekyn flicks a glob of sweetener absentmindedly off of the rim of her klah mug, 'accidentally' aiming it towards the sneaking candidate. "Terribly sorry," she says, with a dry smile. She's good at this game - fear. Drekyn is /not/, however, paying much attention to T'milla - she's too busy watching for escapees.

"Ow! Hey!" Comes the startled yowl of the candidate, who glumly rubs at sweetner-ed hair and slinks back towards the pen, scowling.

"Going once!" Drekyn barks, frowning sternly at the crowd.

"Seven marks!" Yells S'ara, who then ducks. She didn't say it. Nono. It was...C'drel! Yeah.

Except that then it would have been 'Theven'...

C'drel blinks in mild confusion. He's sick. Don't mind him. He probably wouldn't even notice.

S'ara can dream, can't she?

Looking a bit hurt, Ramaki glances forlornly at the boys she'd been half-flirting with in the crowd, before sidling upwards on the table towards the high bidders to eye warily: "Seven? Seven? More then I thought I'd get -- nice number."

"Once to... C'drel? S'ara?" Drekyn gives a shrug, and dismisses the matter. They can share. "To someone. /Twice/ to someone."

Not to S'ara. No way. She's...just sitting there, looking around confused. "Who said that? Who bid on Ramaki?"

"What, huh?" C'drel sits up, in between sneezes. "It was Th'ara who bid theven!" Now, try and translate /that/--

Garrett, who had been leaning rather sullenly against the table, cheeks slowly fading from a bright red, smiles a little as he hears that Ramaki has been auctioned off - and for quite a good price, too. Then he frowns, because that means he's one closer to being next.

Crow leans against the wall, rubbing her hands against her breeches to warm them... She's still cold. Growing up on the Southern Continent, she's not used to this kind of weather.. there has to be some place where she can get a hot mug of klah around here..

Deinha is quiet now -- thanks, no doubt, to fellow candidate's chastisement.

S'ara eyes C'drel, and then calls out, "Yes! It was Th'ara." That's it.

K'di's trying /very/ hard not to burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Yeth.. thee?" C'drel didn't do it, nope.

"Three times to... to Th'ara!" Drekyn says, with a final air. "Ramaki, hop down into the other pen. Deinha, you're up! Buyers may collect their candidates after everything's over."

Beaming one last time at one of the now-dejected males -- well, he should've bid instead of just sitting there.. --, Ramaki hops off the table into the other pen, promptly hopping up onto one of its tables to sit down. "So.. who did buy me?"

Th'ra blinkblinks from the back of the caverns. "Wh-what? I did no such thing!" He objects. Someone nudges him and corrects, "Th'ara."

Deinha blinks, then offers a vague smile and squeezes through a person or two -- with murmured "Excuse me"s -- before slipping back out of the pens. And over towards Drekyn, steps casual but not quite so ... flashy ... as her predecessor's. Softly, she asks, "Should I list what I'm good at doing?"

S'ara, having saved her marks from a wasteful cause (Sorry, Ramaki), eyes Deinha diligently, looking her up and down.

Drekyn nods encouragingly at Deinha, sipping once more at her klah before stepping again to the middle of the caverns.

A deep, though distinctly female voice rings out from the middle of the hall. "Aye, Two marks on this 'un. Looks a likely one."

T'milla moves herself thought the crowd and hops up to sit on one of the tables surrounding the candidate. She flashes them a smile and a wink, before turning her attention to the bidding again.

Near the back of the pen, there's a faint ruckus. And a whining voice, "I need to /gooo/, now." Sounds like the same lad who tried to sneak out earlier. He's hopping from foot to foot.

Deinha opens her mouth to speak, then frowns. A moment passes, then two, before she flashes a smile of straight, white teeth, and announces, "I can ... read and write. And cook. But I can't sew, so don't buy me so I can sew..." Her smile widens at the choppy sentence, and she amends, "That is, don't buy me if you have sewing that needs doing, because I'll probably mess it up." Give her extra marks for honesty, folks? Even if she is useless..

"Useless, fair useless," comments S'ara ruefully, before announcing, "One mark. Just to be kind."

K'di shoots S'ara amused glance, C'drel an even /more/ amused glance for his continued confusion, then turns attention towards the next vic--er, candidate. "You can clean, right? All candidates can clean," although it's directed towards Deinha, she answers the question herself, absently.

Ramaki pouts dejectedly, searching the direction in which that seven mark bid came from for 'Th'ara'. "Did you see who bought me?" she inquires of a boy in the crowd, not one of the ones she'd been flirting with when on the table. So.. she's in a very bizarre mood this evening.

Deinha beams at K'di, and nods, "I can clean, and lift, and ... serve -- food, that is." Smiling again, she tilts her head to view some of the others. "And I can watch little ones, too." Kids don't mind if you can sew or not...

S'ara just grins towards K'di, and ponders this latest comment, "It's an idea, yes. I suppose she must be able to. And my weyr does need cleaning. 3 marks, then."

C'drel pipes up, abruptly, "I wonder if there's any minerth in thith group?"
"Three and an eighth," Drekyn announces, with a small smile. After all, she can at /least/ nudge the bids upwards a bit. If she gets a bit of slave labor over a sevenday, this is an added bonus.

S'ara peers at Drekyn, "Why are you bidding against me, Drekyn? That's not fair! 4 marks."

T'milla chuckles softly watching.

T'ela walks up from the lower caverns.

With much huffing and puffing, entering the back of the room is.... a large pile of heavy clothing in a vaguely humanoid shape. The clothing-apparition appears to fight against its own bulk as it makes its way to a back wall, finally lifting its arms and pulling back a hood to reveal the face of a teenage boy, obviously unaccustomed to this weather, but obviously overdressed even for the climate here. Action, Adventure, and Really Wild Things, my foot.
 

"Final bids," Drekyn calls once more, with a faint smile. "Bid stands at four marks, to S'ara."

A group of weyrbrats, eyeing the table -- and Deinha in particular -- assessively, call out collectively, "Four and a half marks!"

S'ara glares at teh weyrbrats, "Four and three quarters!"

Deinha just tilts her head this way and that. One brow is raised at the group, before she grins.

T'milla swings her feet, from her spot on a Candidate pen table. She smirks listening. She crosses her legs as if waiting.

The weyrbrats scowl back at S'ara. "Five!"

S'ara whimpers. Her marks! Her hard earned marks. "Six?" She hazards, finally, peering through her pouch.

There's whispering, and a bit of consultation over by the group of weyrbrats. Grumbling, they fall silent.

Deinha looks at the brats, perhaps hoping to get off more easily, and smiles appealingly. "I can cook sweet things..."

T'ela idly strokes the pouch containing her marks, looking over each candidate speculatively.

C'drel coughs for a little bit, glancing back and forth before blinking at S'ara. "Another one, Th'ara? What are you going to do with all the candidateth?"

S'ara's head turns around to C'drel, "Who -are- you talking to? I'm S'ara. I'm sure you knew that, yes?" Now watch her go and claim both the candidates. Its a whole new workforce.

Drekyn just shakes her head a bit. "Final call for bids! Once to S'ara for six marks. Folks, this money is for your /Weyr/. Be a little generous, hmm?" Her smile becomes rather thin. "Twice to S'ara for six marks."

Crow turns towards the door as the Really Overdressed Person makes his entrance. Her eyes narrow, appraising. Wait.. she knows that peevish expression.. . o O (Serov! What's he doing here?) She rubs her hands together and wonders if she should go over and beg a heavier jacket off of him.. it's really cold up here!

"Er.. yeth--" C'drel's looking decidedly confused. It's really not his fault the cold makes his voice decidedly muffled. "I thuppoth Ken and I could uthe thomeone to bring klah and thuch to the weyr." K'di just snickers at this. "Ken, too?" Which earns a flush from Cam.

S'ara is looking more and more pleased. But who wouldn't be.

Deinha has taken to smiling at S'ara, now, as she looks to be the one holding her future chores in hand.

"Sold to S'ara for six marks! Deinha, join Ramaki in the claiming pen - Puokano, you're up." Drekyn steps a little bit closer to the pens, and hisses, "Get up there and don't be snippish or I'll have your guts for garters, see if I don't!"

S'ara got Deinah? Woo-hoo! She beams. And sits back. Poor, but perfectly satisfied.

Serov hasn't yet noticed Crow. Or, in fact, much fo the goings-on at all. He's still recovering from the latest shock: Between is really really... dark. And cold. He peels off a pair of gloves to reveal.. another pair of gloves. This may take a while.

Aewen tucks her hair behind her ear, and glare halfway back in the room, and makes a little motion. She then grins, and stares happily at the back of Puo's head.

J'kan has yet to bid on anyone... Saving his marks. But not that wine, apparently. He gives up on trying to hide it, and downs the rest, just before wandering toward the meal table and grabbing a meatroll, which is broken up into several pieces and fed to the little gold firelizard wrapped around his neck. His gaze never moves from the table of auctioned candidates, and that twinkle of merry amusement never leaves those eyes. Yep, he'll be saving his marks, all right.

T'ela's face lights up, and she rubs her hands together, leaning over the table to watch Puokano.

"Huth, Matrith," C'drel mumbles, sneezing twice before settling back against seat and peering towards the front.

Aewen tucks her hair behind her ear, and glare halfway back in the room, and makes a little motion. She then grins, and stares happily at the back of Puo's head.

Puokano mutters a bit and makes nasty faces at Drekyn as he reluctantly clambers onto the bidding table, hands shoved in pockets and expression glum. Not the best facial features, perhaps, when it comes to being sold off - in contrast to the other candidates he manages to look decidedly unhappy, glowering down at the gathered.

Deinha does a little head-bob in S'ara's direction, smiles encouragingly at Puo as they pass, and joins Ramaki. "Well, that wasn't so bad. And I got fair enough marks, considering I can't sew like you, or anything."

"Bids, anyone?" Drekyn asks, lifting a hand expressively. She's actually falling into her role as ringleader, a bit. "Any skills, Puke?" Her voice drops to a sotto voce grumble. "Aside from whining and evading chores, that is." This last is probably audible only to those nearest her.

K'di offers casually to her tablemates, "He looks like he could use a good sevenday or two cleaning out the feeding pens." A jerk of head indicates Puokano. "A mark!"

An unknown greenrider with a High Reaches knot on his shoulder stands, and says, "Five marks on the cute brunette." He then sits, and winks in the general direction of the candi pen.

T'ela digs through her pouch for a moment, then calls out, "Seven marks for the Holder brat!"

The greeenrider stands again. "Eh, ten marks." A few more non-coherent motions at the pen, and a slight nod.

Crow watches Serov's unwitting 'performance' with a deep mental sigh. Someone needs to save this guy from himself.. even an 'featherhead' like her can see that. Rolling her eyes, she heads towards her fellow Azovian.

"No." Flatly, Puokano answers the question, foul glare transferring over to Drekyn. Eyebrows arch, then, as attention slides towards T'ela and he grumbles loudly, "You're not /supposed/ to bid on me. Please don't. I don't want to be bought. It's not..respectable."

C'drel decides to take a sip of his klah right then -- when T'ela bids. A fit of coughing ensures, not all due to the cold, and bronzerider peers about at T'ela. "Thith could get interething." K'di pays no attention, sitting up straighter as she calls, "Eleven marks!"

Deinha leans down to murmur something to a little group of younglings, then nods faintly and straightens again.

"Eleven and a quarter," Drekyn says, with another dry smile. This one is aimed at Puke.

T'ela tilts her head towards the greenrider, eyeing him apprazingly, then shouts out, "Twelve marks!"

Kaeralla smirks at the action on the middle table. She's waiting her turn, but everynow and then glances about to look at the potential buyers.

The boys scatter, one pair going off towards some unattended cookies while another heads towards Drekyn.

the greenrider stands, "Thirty marks." he then yells out, incoherently, "You owe me, wenners."

S'ara stays out of this one. Far, far out. Waste of money.

Serov drops the gloves into the jacket coat, and removes the jacket. You guesed it, revealing another jacket. He breathes a sigh of relief, draping the extra jacket over his shoulders. To nobody in particular, he says "You know, it's cold out there." Thanks.

T'ela practically chokes as she digs through her pouch, eyes wide. "Thirty? Sharding *thiry*?" she mutters, then, dumping the whole ouch out onto the table, sorts through marks pieces to call out in a slightly strangled tone, "Thirty one."

The boy on course to Drekyn alters his path to move towards the greenrider, peering up at him in what can only be described as a plaintive manner. And then leaning up on tiptoes to whisper *something*

Drekyn sidles a bit closer to T'ela - she's really getting the hang of this sidling thing. "I've ten marks I'll pool with you if I can have him a day or two," she says, in a conspiratorial whisper. This could get quite interesting.
K'di just blinks, opens her mouth, and shuts it.

He mutters, and he leans very close to the one sitting next to him. He then stands. "Thirty five." He sits. "Yeo really owe me, 'Wen."

T'ela glances up at Drekyn, about to protest, when she nods, eyes taking on a rather malicious grin. "You can have 'em for a few days. Would that be *forty one,e* now?"

"T'ela's sure determined," C'drel comments to S'ara, trying to see who the other bidder is. "I almost feel thorry for him."

The High Reaches rider recieves a worried glance from the lordling atop the table; he shuffles feet, inquiring with disbelief, "Why do you want /me/? Go get someone who's pretty or something. A girl." Hold-bred and raised with blatent prejudices, Puo mutters, "People who pay so much only have a couple things in mind."

Crow pauses a moment to blink in astonishment... Thirty five marks??? Shards, shells and stones... Then she slips through the crowd and pops up next to Serov, "You know.. you probably could have come without a few of those.."

"You think," says S'ara, smirking, "I work with those people. Drekyn and T'ela, I mean. They're," she leans in close, whispering something that sounds slightly like 'evil', "And they don't like Puokano much. Not that anyone really does." Is this a whole new stage of life? Double the evil? Fear.

The man stands again. "Fifty, and boy, I'd not be doing this but for my sis." He sits again, and kisses the hansome man next to him on the cheek.

The boy glances back at Puo, snorts, and murmurs something, yet again, to the mysterious -- and high-bidding -- greenrider. This time, the boy glances back towards the general direction of ... some candidates, it would seem. But his eyes widen at the latest bid. Another glances towards the /sold/ candidates, and then he murmurs yet again, up at the High Reaches man.

"Once for fifty marks, and for Faranth's sake I hope you can afford it," Drekyn says, with a sidelong glance towards the high-bidder. "A reminder, uses are to be /clean/. I want those candidates returned in good condition, and I want them to remain /chaste/."

C'drel glances to S'ara thoughtfully, then offers, "I thuppose you kind of have to be, to teach weyrlingth." Does that make Ken evil, too? Probably. "And Matrith liketh him for thome thtrange reathon." Well, the bronze is stubbornly determined about candidates he searches.

Serov leands back against the wall again, watching the auction. Never actually seen one of these. He rests quite comfortably until a voice startles him out of his reverie. For a moment, he actually doesn't recognize Crow's face in these unfamiliar surroundings. Predictably, he blinks "I didn't expect to see you here."

T'ela looks up at Drekyn, and recounts her marks again. "Come on... You've gotta have a few more. I've got thirty seven now... We can't let that stranger get him! He needs to *work*!" Her voice is practically a hiss, though clearly audible.

The man grins, and winks at a few people in the room. "Oh, 'ell work alright."

Puokano's foul looks just grow fouler as time passes. A worried glance is finally shot towards Ramaki -- a distinct 'help me!' sort of look. "Why did I have to get sold?" he whines in her direction, hoping for sympathy.

S'ara considers this,and bobs her head into a nod, "True. I suppose I must be likethat too, then?" She hmmms, and then shrugs. "Matrith is a fool, if you don't mind me saying so. At least, I suppose, Pakath didn't choose anyone horrible." Her eyes move to T'ela and Drekyn, and the AWLM half smiles, "They're horrible, together."

Drekyn winces at T'ela's words, and shakes her head sadly. "Ten is my savings, and to be perfectly honest I had plans for /that/. Shells, I could afford a /weyr/ extention for that much. Where are they getting those marks from?"
And said young boy murmurs one last time, a hiss nearly.

"What?" Ramaki had spaced out, once flung into the bought pen, finishing her braid. "I think we all had to. Now be quiet and let the nice people spend too much money to buy you.." She goes back to her hair, fiddling with the strands of it while her feet swing from the edge of the table-- back and forth..
The boy would still be muttering at the high-bidding greenrider, of course.

T'ela scowls. "I haven't got any more - I've been sharding saving for *turns*. I bet-" she turns a malicious glance at the greenrider. "I bet he hasn't got it."

The man grins, "I've a weyr to clean, and two dragons to scrub. Oh, e'll work."

Deinha is merely watching all the bidders with perhaps a bit more interest than she should have...Odd.

T'milla continues to watch from her special spot.

Drekyn shrugs, smiling thinly at this last. "Well, he'll have to work it off if he can't pay, I suppose. His business." Raising her voice, "Twice for fifty marks!"

Garrett isn't really watching anything but a bunch of fuzzy could-be-people, but he is listening in spite of the fact that he looks almost like he's dozing off. Since he can't see too well anyway, he's let his eyelids droop to half-cover his eyes.

C'drel really kind of just walked into that one, didn't he? "I gueth tho," he responds warily, eyeing S'ara sideways. "He ithn't! He'th just.. thtubborn." Hand brushes through his hair, following the brownrider's gaze. "Glad I'm not a weyrling anymore," he offers with a little sniffle, before gaze flickers back towards the rest of the candidates.

T'ela pounds her fist against the table, looking around at the nearer riders expectantly. "However ca give me ten more marks gets a day with the lordling!"

"Yeah whatever," laughs S'ara, already past that topic. So she's mean. "Stubborn, ornery, whatever." She grins, rubbing her hands together, and massaging her pouch. "Nor me. And I'm involved."

The man holds up a big bag. And a slightly smaller bag. and another, and another and another. Apparently he has close to ten bags, all near full. "Don't listen to her. This's going to a good cause." Again, the wink at the Candi pen. "You really owe me, Wenners."

Aewen's not paying attention. Nope. She's just sending glances at Puo every five seconds, and the Greenrider every fifteen or so...

"Thorry," C'drel replies, apologetically, to T'ela, "I'm thaving it -- and that'th really too much." He quirks brief grin at S'ara -- half relief, too -- before settling back.

The little boy grins at the greenrider, then looks pleased as he makes his way back into the crowds, and away... And perhaps back by Deinha again, imagine that...

Crow grins dryly, "I didn't half expect to be here myself.. but when the Blue rider offered.. I thought it might be fun.." Then, her expression darkens, "Besides.. less chance of running into that scorching numbskull Lordling that tried to oust me yesterday." she sucks in a sharp breath and rubs her upper arms. "Shards, but it's cold here.. I borrowed an extra riding jacket from a greenrider, but I had to give it back when I got here, so now I'm just freezing." she grumbles.

T'ela has disconnected.

"And /sold/ for fifty marks to the..." Drekyn squints in the direction of the buyer, trying to make out a knot. "...the suspicious-looking greenrider with lots of money. Puke, step down, and Aewen's up."

Aewen jumps, yelling happily, and grinning at the greenrider. "Thanks M'iva!!! I really do owe you." She then realizes she has just been found out, and walks out, and up onto the table much more calmly, and stands there, looking sheepish, but still beaming at her brother.

The man walks up to Drekyn, and with a minimum of flirting, aided by his mate at his elbow, procedes to pay exactly fifty marks, most in smith, with some weaver and harpers thrown in.

Ramaki swings around to rest elbows on thighs, and hands on chin, as Aewen hops up: might as well pay attention, now. "Aewen! See how much you can get, okay?.." Someone has to out-earn Puo.

Serov blinks "Lordling? What?" Something seeps through his brain. Cold.. jacket.. extra jacket.. that's it! "Hey, would you like to borrow my jacket? I overdid it, I think." He grins ruefully, then adds "Yeah.. I heard that 'something big was going on', so I... hitched a ride."

Drekyn glances sharply towards Aewen at her outburst. "I'll have a word with you later, Candidate," she says, with a slight frown. She shoves the marks away from herself, placing them firmly back in the hands of the man. "Pay /after/ the bidding, thank you," she snaps, turning sharply back to Aewen. "State your skills."

Aewen grins, brushing back the always annoying Klah brown hair, a trait she shares with the rider. "I can clean, but not sew, I can cook, but I'm not good with littles, and I can shovel snow." a pause, "Very well."

M'iva takes back the money, and stands near the sold pen, grinning absently at both his younger sister, and Puo.

Puokano, glowering, hops down from the table and stomps off to the 'sold' pen. An irritable glance is cast towards the candidate which takes his place; her brother is scruptiously ignored. "This is stupid," he loudly proclaims.

S'ara digs about in her pouch, making faces. "One mark."

J'kan manages a chuckle in the direction of the popular Puokano, before his lips twist into a vaguely thoughtful frown. "Hmmm. No good with littles, eh? Well, neither am I, but I manage Jeralea well enough anyway, I suppose." He blinks over at S'ara and gives a wink to the Weyrlingmaster's Assistan. "Two."

S'ara adds: "But only because Pakath hates snow, and the ledge is snowwy."

Crow grins at her impromptue companion, keeping her voice low as not to interfere with the bidding, "Aye.. I'd be grateful for that.. this weather is ridiculous.. I don't know how anyone can stand living up here.." She keeps noticably silent on the subject of the aformentioned Lordling, but there are stormclouds on the horizon of her expression...

S'ara peers at J'kan, sticks out her tongue very childishly, and crosses her arms. "Three. That's it."

Serov unwraps the coat from his shoulders with a surprising flourish. "Walla!" Well, close. He passes the coat over "What *have* you been up to? I think I ran into the most boring person in the Weyr yesterday. She expected *me* to carry the conversation. Me!" He's babbling away easily enough now, though.

"Another?" C'drel enquires of S'ara, shaking his head wryly. He's determinedly /not/ bidding. He has plans for those marks. Really. And he's maybe eyeing one of the candidates who's got a background as a minecrafter. K'di's eyeing Aewen, though, thoughtfully. "I could keep her busy for a couple of sevendays.. three and a half marks."

J'kan laughs aloud, at that, and just winks again at S'ara, blue eyes glowing from the reflected light of the hearth, and from his general cheeriness. And faint drunkeness, too, but... "Four... And..." He digs around in his beltpouch, producing -- "A half!" His exclamation startles the 'lizard perched on his shoulder, emitting an indignant squeek. She gets a chuckle, too. "Fine, fine.. Five!"

S'ara crosses her arms, tilting her head once more, "Another. I figure, one for inside, and one for out. Only,last time I had anyone come to clean my Weyr, I weyrmated 'em." She grins, "Don't quite see as much a risk with this." Outbidded? Fine. She sets back. "Out."

S'ara watches a moment more, and hops to her feet. "And on that note, I think I need to go and soothe my poor, empty pouch. G'night, folks!"

S'ara walks up the tunnel toward the ground weyrs.

"Right, then. Going once for four marks to J'kan... Twice." Drekyn's voice rings out once again.

C'drel sneezes, only belatedly lifting hand after S'ara. "Thee you later!" K'di frowns, but falls silent as well.

Crow grins as she pulls the offered coat around her shoulders, pushing her arms into the sleeves.. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.. warmth. She chuckles quietly at Serov's decription, her eyes roving over the crowd as bids are tallied and marks wagered, "Who's this who makes such unreasonable demands, then? What's her name?"

"Sold - off the table with you, Aewen. And on with..." There's a pause, as Drekyn peers blankly at the penned candidates.

Aewen scurries into the sold pen, winking at her brother, who smiles, ad D'ver, who grins, and at Puo.

J'kan flashes that brighter-than-Rukbat smile that's far too common to him, and wanders toward Drekyn, counting out his marks. "Ahh.. Er... These are only half-marks." One of his wingseconds, Brown Ritath's rider, J'rin, is nudged. "Hey, hey... Loan me a few marks?" Jerk does his best to look cute and charming. "I'll pay you back." ...After he pays back K'iss and that Vintner from Fort, that is.
Garrett peers blankly back at Drekyn's left ear, squinting his half-closed eyes at the Weyrlingmaster-cum-Master-Of-Ceremonies. When he realizes who he's staring at, he looks away, and stares intently at a table instead.

T'milla finding it closing in on the end of the bid she move off the table to talk to two rather bulky looking riders. They each arch a brow and then nod. T'milla turns back to the proceeding and moves closer to Drekyn and the table.. burly men in tow. What is that Rider doing?

Puokano just sends a pointedly peevish look towards Aewen and crosses arms over chest in a resigned fashion.

K'rian walks down from the ground weyrs tunnel.

Serov frowns a moment. "Started with a K... Katoblepas. Something like that." It's tough to remember. "The conversation was short and... short. It was short. That was the nicest thing about it."

T'milla with a wave of her hand the two burly men lift her up on the table as she's suddenly lost her clothing except for.. Well... You take a look....

Drekyn glances towards T'milla, and blinks again, smiling a bit nervously. "Milla? Are you going to bid?" Drekyn wonders. Not the brightest button, is she. "Milla, that's for... for the... candidates..." She trails off, staring in horror. "Milla! You..."

At the sudden noise, K'di snickers and nudges C'drel, who stares up blankly -- for a moment -- before blushing profusely and hastily looking away.

[Log ends]