Settling In (Very Open)

[Ember]

A tall lad slowly climbed up the stairs in the candidate barracks, a small wher hide pack slung over his shoulder. He was the latest candidate to join the world of chores, lessons, and - most importantly - dragons. Well, maybe one day a dragon. For now it was just a world of chores and lessons. That suited 18 turn old Ferneth just fine. He reached the second story of the barracks and looked around for his bunk. Supposedly he had one all to himself. He was used to sharing a room with others, but a bunk? For now he didn't have to worry but he hoped whoever ended up on the buttom bunk was a friendly person. There shouldn't be anything to worry about. I'm sure the people around here are fairly nice, he reassured himself mentally.

Ferneth swung the pack down from his shoulder and bent over to begin taking his things out. Not that he had much of course. After passing the health check with flying colours they had given him some clothes and sent him off to the candidate barracks. He pulled out the clothes that he had haphazardly shoved in there revealing his few personal items. Ferneth put the mini portrait of his late sister on the bottom, the small gifts his family had given to him before he left (much to his father's disapproval) next, and lastly his clothes and the pack. All of it ony took up half the trunk. He knew he could use the whole thing until someone else came, but moving it over wasn't worth it. With that done he was officially moved in.

Ferneth brushed a strand of his dark brown hair out of his eye as he stood up. Problem with keeping his hair at that length was that it seemed to constantly be getting in his eyes. Oh well, he liked his hair like that so he could put up with it falling into his brilliant hazel eyes. He took a peek at his bunk but wasn't really interested in sleeping so early in the day. He could go for a swim or get something to eat....Or find someone to chat to. Ought to be someone around to talk with around here. I'll go ahead and try the main floor I guess. WIth that thought in mind, Ferneth walked back down the stairs into the common room.

Once down there Ferneth looked around, trying to find another candidate. As a newbie at the weyr some pointers and maybe even a new friend would be quite welcome. Generally starting out as a nobody in a new place was not a good idea. If no one was around he could probably find some people in the main hall too. The weyr was such a big place, there were probably people all over the place.

[reqqy]

Jabari flew into the common room first, circling about the room, the brown clearly happy. He landed on one of the chairs and preened, his wings flaring as he looked back in the direction of the landing platform and the stairs that led down to ground level. "What is with you?" a deep, clearly masculine voice could be heard to say. "Chasing golds and racing me across the river. You never used to be this energetic. Faranth, but I'm not sure I like it." The amusement in his tone belied that statement, but Jabari issued a half-croon, half-creel just the same.

Now, naturally, Mutasim didn't expect anyone to be in the common room at this time of day; most were still occupied with chores. The four-time candidate - well, the next clutch would be his fifth Standing, so however you wished to label that - already had a delightful system where the archivists would do that work for him when he was on archival duty. They probably figured it was unfair to make someone who had just begun to learn to read two turns ago actually copy all those records with everyone else. Of course, Muta could play the monkey game just as well as the next person. Didn't need to know all the words to copy the quill strokes! Still, his handwriting was atrocious, and if they were willing to do it for him, shards if he was going to protest.

It made for a rather interesting reaction from the short young man when he did notice that he was not alone in the common room, though. Mutasim, who managed to be shorter than even most of the girls here, had clearly hit puberty long before his growth spurt - if he'd ever have one - and would have been self-conscious if that was at all part of his nature. It wasn't. What was part of the olive-skinned, northerner's nature was a high level of paranoia, and any tall male physically more powerful than he always sent it into overdrive. His eyes narrowed, his hands hovered near the knives belted across his chest, and his stance shifted into something subtly threatening. There would be death if those blades left his hands - Mutasim rarely, rarely missed, and usually by no fault of his own.

Jabari reacted instantly, exploding from the chair in a fury of wingbeats and coming to perch near his bonded, hissing quietly at the newcomer. It would seem a strange reaction. In all actuality, it was, but Mutasim only had a small range of reactions when it came to possible threats. "You. You're here as a candidate?" Ah. So he wasn't completely oblivious to the likely reason of Ferneth's presence. Then again, the boy had every reason to be wary when Liam's men had followed him here after his first failed Standing and attacked him in this very room. In fact, you could still see the bloodstains in the woodwork if you looked very closely. The keen, dark eyes never left the taller, older boy, though it might have been surprising to find that there was really less than a turn of age difference between them.

[Ember]

Ferneth hadn’t been in the common room long before a brown thing flew in and landed. On closer inspection he realized it was one of those flitters. Considering the fact that wild ones rarely came near human habitations Ferneth wasn’t too surprised when he heard a voice coming from the landing area. From the sound of the voice he guessed it was a guy…That or a really unfortunate girl. I shouldn’t make fun of women, he berated himself

Ferneth watched the stairs to see when the other guy would reach the common room. First thing that he noticed was that he was shorter than his own rather tall stature. The next thing he noticed was the reaction from the boy that he received. He blinked with surprise. Was it normal for candidates to be attacked by short boys with knives? Ferneth doubted it. He forced himself to smile – not an easy thing when you think you’re about to be killed – and make sure his pose was non-threatening.

The odds seemed against him if the other did decide to attack. He had no weapon and no allies, although he did underestimate the flitter’s worth in battle. Still trying to keep a friendly demeanor, Ferneth answered the question. “Yes, I am a candidate. One who would much rather stay in one piece, if you don’t mind? The name’s Ferneth and I come from a Selenitas cot-hold. And you might be?”

Although he wasn’t looking for a fight he kept eye contact with the olive-skinned boy, hazel eyes watching and waiting. Ferneth kept his stance loose and devoutly hoped the other would lose the fighting stance. He’d much rather make friends than enemies.

[reqqy]

The surprise might have been enough to calm Mutasim down just a tad, but then the boy smiled. What sort of idiot smiled when faced with something like Muta? Either he had no idea what was going on, which was unlikely, or he thought he could handle the smaller candidate who wore his collection of knives so openly. The more likely of the two scenarios was the one Mutasim latched on, greeting that attitude with a mixture of contempt and wariness. Yes, he was tiny, but he'd killed enough people in his lifetime to be fairly certain that a kid wouldn't present a problem to him. Of course, the fact that this kid thought he could handle Mutasim definitely didn't reduce the threat factor. He was far more likely to try something than someone who had backed off right away.

Mutasim very deliberately drew one of his longer knives, eyes narrowing. He wasn't much of a one for threats, at least verbal ones, however he figured that it was always better if people backed off rather than attack, and if it took this, he'd do so. If it took pinning him to the wall with a well-placed throw, he would, also, though that was more dangerous in that some idiotic fool might get it into his head to arm himself with the dagger instead of beat a retreat. General rule of thumb: don't kill except as a last resort. At least when you had a Lordholder back on the northern continent more than happy to accept your head on a platter and Selenitas still had a habit of exiling murderers.

Oh, now he was playing smart, was he? Definitely not doing much to alleviate Mutasim's paranoia. Now this kid both thought he could take the smaller candidate and thought he could outsmart him? Another dagger came to join the first, this one shorter and obviously meant to be thrown, as was evidenced by the way Muta held it. "That rather depends on you, doesn't it, Ferneth?" he growled, dark eyes little more than slits now. Selenitas Hold. Well, that was probably the first point in Ferneth's favor. Not all southerners were soft, but on the whole northerners were a greater threat.

He did, however, answer the young man's question, if for no other reason than it might help him convince Ferneth to vacate - quickly. A feral smile split his face. "I'm Mutasim of Bitra. Also a candidate." The hold of his birth was rarely mentioned, though he'd gotten more comfortable with it over the turns, particularly if it might serve as a deterent. The North was bad enough. Bitra was the crap hole of the North. He waited to see if there would be any reaction, either to the name of the hold or to his own name. Ferneth was newly arrived, so the latter was unlikely, but Mutasim did have quite a reputation around here. It was possible, however remotely. Shards, just last month he'd taken off half a weyrbrat's ear because the kid thought he could bully Muta.

[Ember]

Ferneth saw that being open and trying not to make any threatening gestures wasn’t helping the situation at all. He really didn’t understand why his fellow candidate was so insistent on keeping him at knife point. Ferneth was more curious as to why he was still sticking around the much shorter lad. He tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t just back off now that his stubborn side had made itself known. He was going to stay in the common room and no knife happy candidate would kick him out of his new home. Plus the fact that the exit was blocked…

A motion caught Ferneth’s eye; the knife flashing in Mutasim’s hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was in a bit of trouble. Considering his limited options, Ferneth picked the option least likely to get him injured or killed. Imagine his poor siblings and mother’s reaction to know that another candidate had knifed him. And of course dad wouldn’t care, he thought dryly. That begged the question of why he was thinking about anything other than those knives. Another knife was drawn and Ferneth frowned slightly.

This being the first time he’d come across a character like Mutasim, Ferneth was at a loss of what to do to make him back off a bit. With a rather creepy smile, the young man introduced himself as Mutasim from Bitra and seemingly left Ferneth’s fate in his own hands. Great… His name meant nothing, but the hold he knew had a bad reputation. The northern continent wasn’t too well off with the two weyrs fighting. They had a very different lifestyle compared to southerners.

“I suppose it does,” Ferneth replied to the earlier question. “What exactly do you want me to do? Leave? I’m afraid I can’t since you are technically blocking the way, Mutasim. Approaching you right now doesn’t seem like a good idea, although standing over here isn’t a good idea while you have that knife ready either.” He shrugged and leaned against the wall near the stairs to the boys room. “I’d prefer not to leave either, so other than knifing me, what do you suggest?”

[reqqy]

Mutasim was beginning to get - antsy. Which, for him, meant every muscle in his body was beginning to slacken, moving toward that point where he could react to anything, because the tension simply wasn't there to hinder him. His weight had shifted to the balls of his feet. All of these were danger signs, to anyone who knew the candidate or someone like him. They clearly indicated that he was about a hair's breadth away from declaring open war on Ferneth.

When the older boy's words got back to him, he stilled. It was an interesting phenomenon, actually, considering he hadn't seemed to be moving at all before that point of utter, complete immobility. Now the candidate was genuinely baffled, though it never reached the carefully neutral lines of his face. He couldn't really decide if Ferneth truly was going to attack him, or if it was pure stupidity that had him spouting off all these things. Mutasim had done enough bluffing in his seventeen turns to always be on the look out for it. Everything screamed that Ferneth was either trying to make it seem like he'd be someone Mutasim would regret attacking, or that he was so confident in his own abilities that he actually thought leaning back against that wall was a wise course of action.

Well, nothing for it but to address the situation the best way the small candidate knew how. The longer of the two knives lowered. Before Ferneth could really know anything like relief, however, Mutasim began to speak in low, modulated tones. There was almost a casual calm to the words, in stark contrast to his wary growling from before. "There is a chink in the wall two feet to the right of your head, at eye level. I am going to put this directly in that chink." Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the blade shrilled through the air, burying itself into the wall. Mutasim smiled darkly when he noted it had flown just as he said it would. He waited for the implications to sink in for Ferneth. After a moment, he continued. "Two feet to the left, and it would have gone through your brain."

Another dagger had appeared in his hand. "So let me make this simple for you. At any time, I can kill you on a whim. Right now. Two seconds from now. Whenever. Your coming near me is not going to make an ounce of difference. And frankly, I don't care if you want to stay or not. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to move aside, and you're going to walk through this hall, out the doors, and find someone else to pester. Most of them will probably be at the Main Hall. You might even decide to ask them about me, though that's your decision. Not mine." His smile was completely humorless. "Now start walking."

[Ember]

Ferneth felt like a trapped animal, the predator about to pounce if he didn’t at least try to think on his feet. Never was his strong point, he had to admit. It was an uncomfortable feeling. One he would prefer not to have again. Considering that Mutasim was a fellow candidate, he somehow doubted that his preferences mattered. Ferneth may be stubborn but he wasn’t outright stupid about it. He’d call this one a loss and walk away. He normally did when there was a fight.

While Mutasim wondered whether Ferneth was confident in his own abilities, the tall young man wondered just how good Mutasim was. It went without saying that Ferneth would lose in this situation, but he was curious if the darker coloured lad had the skills to back up his attitude. It didn’t take long to answer that question. Mutasim seemed determined to give him a demonstration anyways. Yay for Ferneth. They did say curiosity killed the feline. Ferneth may not be a feline but the saying still applied.

The knife flashed by his head, his eyes widening in surprise and a bit of fear. He heard the chunk of the blade piercing the wall. When he thought it might be safe to move again, he looked at the dagger beside him. Right, he wouldn’t be doubting Mutasim’s abilities again. What the younger of the two of them said confirmed that he’d have no qualms about killing him. Ferneth regained his usual demeanor on the outside – although he was still shaken up on the inside – and pulled the knife from the wall. He examined it and then dropped it at his feet, signaling his defeat and subsequent retreat.

“You win Mutasim. Either way I’m going to be living in these barracks so we’ll have the occasional meeting. Now I mean no harm to you,” he said, although he was thinking something completely different. No harm? I don’t even have a weapon! “So try not to murder me in my sleep, okay? A sort of I leave you alone you don’t kill me kind of thing.” Ferneth started walking towards the exit and as he passed by him he gave a little wave and finished with a somewhat cheery: “Have a nice day.”