We Might as Well - {Open}

[Purnip]

Someday, Faranth willing, there will be young dragons roaming these caves.

For now, the Weyrling Barracks were practically the quietest places at The Weyr. No actual Weyrlings stayed here; everyone with a flying dragon that has arrived thusfar was assumed to be a proper rider on sight. If they could survive the The Fall, then they deserved the up-grade. Meanwhile, the quiet caves were just as naturally decorated as they had been when discovered. They were empty, expansive, and gathering dust. The sound of steps echoed off the walls as Turlough wandered past them, stopping at the last of the weyrs before he entered it.

Maybe he would have a right to be here someday. He kept his hands in his pockets as he glanced about for a decent place to sit. Since Rukbat was still about, he could see well enough. The place was perfect to get some peace and quiet.

During the day, Candidates were sent on all sorts of errands. By the time they were given their break, there would hardly be any light out. Glows were too precious to pass around to everyone, so consequently the lit areas were communal and community meant all sorts of noise. It was hardly the ideal environment for keeping a journal. It was just a couple of days ago when the red-head discovered the sanctum, lying in wait for the Weyrlings that might or might not happen. The only drawback was the fact that he would still need to bring a glow here before Rukbat started to set, or he would not be able to get out without risking an injury.

Today he simply played a spot of hookie to get a page in. Seating himself against the wall by the cave's opening, he took the journal out of his coat and a pen he 'found' a while back ago. He started to write right away, as if all the words were stewing in his mind for hours and simply poured forth. Scribbling feverishly, the sound echoed off the walls just as vividly as his footsteps had.

[Lirael]

Daromir was almost dead on his feet after yet another day of running back and forth around the Weyr. He was grateful for this; there was no time to think of what was past. And despite his internal resolution not to dwell on the past but use it as fuel to go forwards, he found that he needed the forced respite that hard work brought to ease his mind. This evening he needed to fill his time, do anything but think. So he wandered. His aimlessness soon gave way to curiosity, twisting tunnels and murky caverns catching his attention and imagination. In his mind's eye, he could see dragons and riders filling the caves. Hopefully this vision would one day be a reality. But what with the current situation... the boy sighed, turning his back on the cave he was currently gazing into, and moved off in a different direction, as if to leave his worries behind in that room with the phantasms of his mind.

At length he found himself at the entrance to the Weyrling Barracks. He stopped, pausing for a moment to take in the peaceful scene before him. A quiet, dusty corridor with a number of openings to either side. Not much different from any other section of the Weyr, besides the layer of dust. So what was so entrancing and soothing about it? Pondering this, Daromir started off again, slowly this time. As he peered into the individual caves, he realised that it could be his hopefulness that made this place so attractive to him. The life that it symbolised.

As he neared the end of the passage, the fair boy thought about heading back. However, something caught his eye; the quick movement of a pen. The candidate retreated to the doorway, unsure as to whether the other boy had noticed him. Daromir wasn't sure why he hesitated at the door. Perhaps he just didn't want to disturb the boy. He certainly looked like he could use some peace and quiet.
One hand resting on the roughly hewn rock of the entrance, he gazed at this boy who seemed so engrossed in his writing.

Daromir made a decision then. Sure, he couldn't know whether this boy felt any need for companionship, or simply wanted to be by himself, but if Daromir's recent experiences had taught him anything, it was that you had to live life while you could, get to know people while they were still there. Everything in this world is ephemeral. He stepped firmly over the threshold, the footstep accompanied with the words "I don't suppose you'd mind some company?"

[Purnip]

The echo of footsteps approaching might have given Daromir away if Turlough wasn't fully engrossed in his writing. He didn't skip a beat until the guest spoke up. The ginger boy let the pen rest on the open page and rested his chin in his hand to gaze at the other Candidate. He didn't seem to be irritated by the interruption, but weary if anything at all. If he was upset about anything, it was his failure to detect a presence sooner. Turlough only realized he had company when the other boy was just a few feet away. After a month on this island he was losing his touch, and with the VT still out there, there was no excuse for it. Being cautious saved his skin many times. He knew how to stay alive in an oppressive world. No one could be trusted right off the bat.

Yet this kid was a Candidate like him. Turlough knew because he made it a point to recognize those that live in the weyr and those that didn't. Though he knew hardly a soul by name, he wanted to be sure that he didn't let his guard down around an outsider that might be infected without being aware of it. It was easier to be at ease with this stranger knowing that they were now comrades, but it still wouldn't happen right away. It wasn't in the ginger's nature to be outgoing and friendly towards strangers, even before the Ending Fall.

"I don't mind," he replied, disturbing his resting pen again and starting to trace underneath what he had already written as he read it over. It was one of those times when nothing was happening, when no cooperation for some task was required, and so it was awkward to look Daromir in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Though it seemed as if Turlough had moved on, he was still interested in what his guest had to say. Maybe he preferred to be alone as often as he could, but as of late, it was always refreshing to talk to someone. The problem was, he had no one to confide in. He didn't exactly make an effort to make friends, and no one approached him because they thought he might be the disagreeable type perhaps. He would admit it--he could be a downer sometimes. He didn't blame people for avoiding him.

"There might be dragons here someday," he then pipped up, eyes still scanning his own writing. "Faranth willing." It was a hot topic on the island in general. Since Sereldeth's clutching, the air has been a-buzz with all kinds of gossip. Turlough was even surprised to overhear a woman utter his name, when he was certain he never met this person in his life. He was disturbed to discover that people were even placing bets on them. Unfamiliar with dragon culture, he wondered if this was normal or just a product of joy-seeking in the midst of desperation. Everyone was looking for a distraction.

[Lirael]

So he wasn't intruding. Good.

He moved a further into the room, watching the dust swirl as his feet disturbed it. It was awkward, not knowing the people you lived with. Daromir was still in mourning for his sister, so he'd remained unusually withdrawn as he joined this community. He was beginning to come back out of his shell now, though, and had realised that he'd isolated himself from others at a time when he really needed a friend. And it's always good to know who you're working with. Building up trust couldn't hurt either.

Daromir noticed that the other boy- Turlough, was it?- seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Understandable. He himself also found it rather difficult to have a conversation while idle. Everyone was so used to being on the move, being alert, that it was difficult to let down the barriers and focus only on another person.
He sat down beside his fellow Candidate, leaving a little distance between them, and let his arms encircle his knees comfortably. He looked up at the formations of rock opposite them, leaning his head back on the wall. There seemed to be tiny plants growing in the crevasses. Daromir smiled. A bit like them, really. A small community just hanging on in a dangerous world.

While he was musing on this, the redhead brought up the popular topic of dragons returning to these caverns. He smiled again.
"I certainly hope so. Sereldeth's clutch is a good size, with a queen egg and all. With any luck, the Hatching will go well, and things'll really start looking up." His smile faded. Luck was certainly what they needed. After all, there was still the possibility that the eggs, and perhaps Pern's only Queen, were infected. But then, there was an equal possibility that everything would be fine. Daromir certainly hoped so.

He turned his head to Turlough. "It would be wonderful to have the privilege to call this place home, wouldn't it?" he said, reverently indicating the Weyrling room they were currently occupying.

[Purnip]

As was customary, Turlough listened very carefully and began to make observations about this character that would likely come in handy later. If he too was a Candidate, and of this the boy was practically certain, then it would be a wise move to know whatever could be known from a simple encounter. Whatever sort of person the peer might define what makes a viable Candidate and later, a viable Dragonrider. Still locked into doubt as to whether or not he could Impress with his past generation's lack of dragon-riding blood, Turlough often wondered if this position of his was just a title to slap on to a young man that showed up on the island. Daromir seemed to be a more optimistic sort, though he could simply be lying to himself; everyone had their doubts. VT never made the good side of news. Sereldeth's mate might have been infected during the flight, and so she might even be infected. Her children might be infected. The redhead already had several nightmares about the hatchlings devouring the Candidates like ravenous Thread--fat, mutated, and bloated with teeth and claws.

But Turlough was, if anything, a closet pessimist. When he had his doubts, he kept them to himself. No one wanted to hear it these days. Mamarie sure wouldn't have.

It was a mistake to think of her, even if for a second. The boy grimaced during the conversation, out of nowhere it might have seemed, and seemed to stare into nothing until about three seconds passed after Daromir asked his question. "Hm?...Yeah." He did register everything--listening even when lost in thought. It helped to break him out of his strike of depression when he actually thought about what he was hearing.

"It's a pretty modest cave, but it just needs residents," he said, scratching at his leg as he let his gaze trace the wall and ceiling of the cavern. "I wouldn't mind staying here--if fate allows."

When it came to Impression as a privilege, Turlough hadn't thought on it much. He was so preoccupied with the idea that he wouln't Impress at all that he didn't stop to think why he worried about failing to. He just wanted to be useful. He wanted to prevent this disaster from happening again. It wasn't enough to just put everything back together again. Many have died, and dragons are all but extinct. If this disaster happened again, they might not come away so lucky.

"Why do you want to Impress?" Turlough returned his full attention to Daromir when he asked. He felt as if there were no other answer but his own. He used to hear so many awful things about dragons from his family, but he stopped taking it all sincerely when he realized they were talking about creatures and people they had never met. Of course, no one knew aside from his late father that someone in the family was a dragonrider, and a proud one at that, but if they had, maybe their contempt wouldn't have affected their only surviving legacy. Turlough didn't think of a dragon as a friend--he only thought of them as a way. A way to get back at the Thread that stole his life away.