Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Sorta Friendly Welcome"

>---< Living Cavern, Fort Weyr(#513RIJMas$) >--------------------------------<

  Fort's enormous Living Cavern is a vast, echoing space, with deep set     
  windows carved into the outer wall to let in light and fresh air. Large   
  enough to house the entire human population of the Weyr with plenty of    
  room to spare, the most common use of the living cavern is as a communal  
  eating and gathering space. Long tables with benches usually line the main
  part of the cavern with a table set aside for the Weyrleaders on a raised 
  dais, as well as other smaller tables set along the walls for quieter     
  dining. Tapestries depicting historic moments in the Weyr's history and   
  scenery from the coverage area decorate the walls and lend the space a    
  warmer feel than bare stone.                                              
                                                                            
  To the east, a large doorway leads out to the Bowl, with a sturdy metal   
  door that can be closed during inclement weather or Threadfall. The       
  Nighthearth is tucked away in a little alcove near the door. The large    
  main hearth is used for cooking and for heat, though chairs are often     
  pulled up nearby for the Weyr's elderly to enjoy the heat. A swinging door
  not far from the hearth leads into the Kitchen that shares the wall behind
  the hearth. To the west, a passage opens up into the Weyr's Inner Caverns.

It's perhaps a couple of hours past the rush of the meal hour, though weyrfolk here and there are still trickling in, wings coming in late from their sweeps also make appearances. So, the hour isn't exactly quiet either. The bustle goes on. But at least it leaves some tables absent of attendees, and that would be where Kaelige sits. A figure, really, for those who have yet to meet him. Dressed in garb that should be black but is instead old, thin, dingy grey, and his head shrouded in a hood. His face almost covered by fabric or shadow, he sits at the end of one of the long tables, appearing somewhat motionless really. Perhaps he's asleep? The table adjacent to him has a few drudges- older ladies, greyed with experience and overspilling with rumors of the lower caverns, gabber away about this and that. A movement under that grey, worn hood gives hint that the boy isn't sleeping, and as he leans forwards to rest an unseen chin on gloved hands, some more astute may observe that he's simply eavesdropping on the rumormill.

It's kind of usual for Paislie to be around the caverns when it's a little more quiet and she's more likely to be able to find somewhere to sit that isn't necessarily with anyone. But it's sort of near Kaelige's place at the long table when she finally chooses a place to settle herself. Close enough to speak without shouting, but not exactly friendly or familiar. Despite her plate being sparse, she focuses on it like it's the most interesting thing in the world while she picks through it with a fork.

Really, there is a human being walking through the doorway. It just lookd suspect. Mud streaks on his boots and a goodly distance up his pants. The warm cloak he wears around his shoulder probably WAS warm... about one sleetstorm ago. Right now it's not doing the Rasaid much good as he pushes open the door from without and comes within, the storm pushing at his back. He shivers as he hustles in and slams the door shut behind him with more-than-necessary force.

Nothing changes for some long moments after Paislie sorta-joins his company. Kaelige is busy listening in to the "You wouldn't believe what she did this morning!" "What did she do?" Can you believe she was wearing his shirt back to the residents quarters?" And the jabber goes on. Nothing particularly spurs his interest, though there's always the tidbit here or there that might actually means something. And when there's no active trouble brewing... this is his best bet. Eventually, he tunes out the details that happened for that particular story, and slides a green-blue glance from under his hood first towards the heavy door-shut. Then, deciding it's not a familiar face just yet, to Paislie. "Working you ragged today? Not even letting you eat?" Of course it isn't friendly concern from him. No, of course it's sarcasm and a smirk to go with it. Only after would the one entering from the storm get another sidelong observative look.

Since Paislie didn't sit here to talk to anyone, she doesn't seem to mind that Kaelige is otherwise engaged in his eavesdropping. In fact, it's quite likely that she would have rather he stayed engaged in it. As it is, she glances up at the boy, then back down at her food. "No," is the only answer she offers him, but the way she says it isn't very helpful in pinning down its context.

Rasaid leans against the doorway, head knocking against the wood with a solid thump. His whole posture is one of relief at being out-of-weather. His eyes traveling across the room passively until he catches Kaelige's eyes on him. Straightening abruptly Rasaid pulls back his hood and stares down the teen. Not the most friendly of looks and it would probably be more intense if Rasaid wasn't shivering and looking like something the cat just dragged in.

Eadgyd wanders her way in from deeper in the caverns, her short hair even more mussed than usual. She straightens her clothing as she walks, at very last laying hands upon that new knot on her shoulder. It's tugged at once, as though she might simply remove it and reclaim her former position before anyone notices the change. But in spite of that reluctant pull, she simply straightens the white knot and strides the rest of the way into the caverns, scouting out a seat. Kaelige and Paislie's table seems to sport the most room, and so she makes her way over, tossing her jacket down across from Kaelige. "This is my spot," she announces, before turning on her heel to seek out sustenance. The weather-beaten look Rasaid is sporting receives a glance, but... food.

"Should tattle to your sister then. Kitchen staff making you starve and everything." Kaelige takes her no as an agreement to his latter statement, not even pausing to care if she means otherwise. He also doesn't seem to care about his prior engagement with the drudges. The stare he receives from his sideglance seems to interest him more then tormenting Paislie so his prodding subsides. The not-so-friendly look receives a not-so-friendly grin. An expression that could well incite something less pleasant than a hello until.... jacket. Brown haired female with abrupt entrance cuts off the line of sight to the Rasaid, and Kael tilts his head up just enough that his eyes can be better seen 'neath the hood. "I'll go get the woodcrafters to mark it appropriately." His tone is dutiful and earnest, but utterly fake, as it follows after the older teen that had already turned for foodstuffs.

Paislie continues to push her food around her plate, even picking at stuff enough to actually put into her mouth every once in a while. She looks at the other girl when the spot is claimed across from Kaelige but otherwise makes no attempt to talk with or greet anyone else, attention anxiously refocusing on her food.

Rasaid says his first word in this new place, and it comes out a not-quite-articulate grunt. Reaching downward he fumbles at the belt, numb fingers making it hard to undo it. He mutters under his breath until it finally comes undone and he can pull the sodden fabric from his clothing to reveal that the rest of him is pretty muh just as wet. At least his shirt isn't muddy? Flipping the garment over his hand he steps inwards, towards the only table that seems to have noticed him. "This Fort Weyr?" Just making sure he's in the right place. Rasaid's voice is deep and rough, fitting with his more bulky body.

For a few minutes, Eadgyd disappears in her quest for food. When she reappears, it's with a plate in hand and a pastry already clasped between her teeth and dangling from her mouth. "Y'wan nana?" The jumbled syllables are 'spoken' out of the side of her mouth as best can be managed with that pastry still hanging there. But even if vocal communication has failed her, the plate she now holds out toward both Paislie and Kaelige in turn ought to clear up the riddle. The plate is heaped high with pastries in varying form. Whether or not they take what's offered, she summarily sets her offering down in the middle of the table where all can reach. There's an arched brow as the drowned rat approaches and she offers a gruff, "Aye, where else would you be?"

Kaelige only lifts a hand slightly to wave off Eadgyd's offer of pastries. Though, it could be noted that he has no plate himself and appears to have no intention of getting one. In regards to Rasaid, he watches, eerie, creepy in his difficult to read way. And he waits with a faint curiosity. His snide remark is cut off for better or for worse when Eadgyd is first the answer the odd question.

Just a small shake of her head from Paislie at the offer of pastries and then the petite redhead is rising to her feet and grabbing her plate to turn off without a word to the people at the end of the long table. Or any other people, for that matter. She glances very briefly at Rasaid, but she doesn't answer his question. Considering she's barely spoken to anyone else, it's probably not personal as she all but runs away.

Rasaid blinks a few times when one person looks at him creepily and another runs away. He looks down at himself, then back upwards. "I left the knife back on the road." He meets Kaelige's gaze steadily, even though it is Eadgyd that actually answered his question. "Chill kid." Breaking the contact he turns his attention back to the conversation. "Said I could get a hot meal here. Maybe have a place to crash."

If no one is taking the pastries, that's more for her. Eadgyd stuffs some more of the pastry she formerly held between her teeth into her mouth, greedy and unladylike in the gesture. A glance goes to Paislie and her brows lift as the redhead departs, but the strange behavior is easily dismissed with a shrug. She hasn't quite swallowed when she opens her mouth to answer, "Maybe you should've brought the knife if you wanted that hot meal." Even so, the girl gestures with her chin towards the pastries that still rest on the table. "Have at."

"Trader?" Kaelige offers, a little more level and a little less sarcastic, maybe indicative of an actual question he cares about. Then, because he can't help it, "Leaving your weapons behind? Could be dangerous around here." He eventually leans back, his face almost completely visible. Almost. His arms fold across his chest. He gives no regard to the departing Paislie, as if that's not an unexpected thing for the shy one to bolt off. Eadgyd's invitation to the newcomer brings his attention back to her. "You always invite strangers to your table? Especially," And his voice drops to a cold, suspicious whisper, "one that looks like he got dragged behind a runner for a day and ahalf?" He doesn't keep a straight face, and the whisper is loud enough for Rasaid to note if he tries.

"I need a knife to eat?" Rasaid's brain is still working on freak-it-is-cold-outside pace, which is really slow. His words continue to be thick, heavy, and slow themselves. His gaze switches between the two at the table, then over to the food. "No." He's just not going to be totally clear on what that 'no' means, but just leave it there. His gaze narrrows at Kaelige's words. "You got a problem kid?"

Eadgyd takes another, more manageable bite as she watches the exchange between the two. The pastry is set down on the tabletop as she finally slides into her seat, hunching over the table to whisper back to Kaelige in turn. "I sat down at your table, didn't I? I must enjoy the types the dragged-by-a-runner look." With those sharp words she sits back with a smirk, turning her gaze to Rasaid instead. "It was a joke. Threaten the cooks to get what you want," she suggests in a lazy tone. Probably not wise for a girl who already had to apologize to the kitchen once today.

"Many." Kaelige replies cooly to the young man, with a lopsided shrug of a single shoulder. The boy is hard to age by glance, his height despite his slouch and his scruffy chin perhaps giving him more turns to his credit than his birthright. Eadgyd's comment brings his bluegreens back, studying her carefully with a much more pleasant, if still snide and short, grin. "Well, if that's your type." A pause, letting her take that as she will, "They seem overly eager to do their jobs at times. You probably won't need to spare too many harsh words to get a plate."

Rasaid's ability to speak seems to have fled as the two fill the space with words. Possibly it's exhaustion, he looks like he's been walking more than a few leagues. A heavy boot taps on the floor as the two banter, at least, it almost sounds like banter from one of them. "You two don't know anything do you. Who is in charge here?" He'll go and ask THEM.

"I wouldn't say /type/. Preferred dining companion." It's clear she's most at ease like this, all sharp edges and quick words. Eadgyd rips a piece off of her pastry and stuffs it into her mouth, offering Kaelige a closed-mouth grin around it. Eventually, those pale eyes shift in their focus from the slouching teen to the new arrival, whose harsh words are met with raised brows. If Rasaid thinks insulting her will get a better answer, he's barking up the wrong tree. "I don't think I can help you," she states dryly, glancing to Kaelige his support, "Seeing as I don't know anything. How would I be able to tell you who's in charge?"

"Are you planning a take over? There's a few steps involved before that." Kaelige expessively waves a hand towards a seat near them, "Drop your rags and take a seat." His words edge a little dangerously towards commanding, though he belatedly adds a twist of lips that makes a failing attempt at lightening the words. "Or go storm around until you get kicked out." Whichever. His gloved fingers tap on his biceps briefly, and then gives the sharp-worded girl more of his attention. Enjoyable, that. Bluegreen eyes simmer curiously, eerily, under their partial shadow. He releases a hand to pull at the peek of his hood to readjust it forwards over his messy black hair, only visible if pieces go astray. "Just dining companion?" Insinuating, of course.

Maybe the warmth is starting to flow back in because Rasaid lifts up a finger, opens his mouth and then.... just pauses like that. Finally, "Sarcasm." His finger falls as he shakes his head once. "White knot. Means something." It's not quite a question, but holds the slight timbre of something that it would be nice if it is answered. That shaking of his head causes his gaze to catch on a pot of klah over there bubbling away happily. All pretenses of conversation or asking permission before eating the Weyr's food are done away with as the man turns his heavyset body towards the sweet heaven sent warm liquid. He doesn't quite lumber towards it... but that might be the best description after all. Okay, Rasaid lumbers towards the pot, the two behind him forgotten in his abrupt tunnel vision.

"Oh, well done," Eadgyd responds, even going as far as to give Rasaid a round of applause as he correctly terms sarcasm. At the menion of her knot, there's a slight flinch that she doesn't quite disguise. Earlier impulses to remove that knot from her shoulder win out this time, and as the stranger ambles away she all but rips it off and places it on her lap, safely out of view. Kaelige provides an easy route for recovery of that confident edge, as thoughts of her knot are abandoned in favor of returning, "Might be I don't have a use for men anywhere else." There's just enough teasing mixed in with the hard tone to leave the truth ambiguous.

"It means 'those assigned random chores no one else wants'." Is the dry comment that has a tone of seriousness about it yet still lends little to no help, with a short wink at Eadgyd at its completion. Kael watches the newcomer only long enough for the young man to pass by them and head onwards to the still-steaming food. Considering his offer denied, he abandons the thought of adding another comment. Instead, to the candidate who rips off her knot, "Chores that offensive to you?" He asks at the observation. "Me too." A chuckle at this point escapes him, though he might not be fully kidding. "I'm hurt. We can't open your doors or slide out your chairs in other places?"

Rasaid only spills a bit of the klah as he fills up that cup. He wraps his hands around the mug of klah and breathes in the warmth before he brings the liquid to his lips and drinks it down in one very long guzzle. "Oh sweet..." Nirvana right there. Only once the warmth reaches his stomach does Rasaid turn around. A pastry gets repossessed before Rasaid turns to go back to the two younger kids. "Sorry." Almost an apology. "It has been a long day. Who is the headwoman?" A flick of his glance to Eadgyd. "The one who assigns the chores." Just in case the girl wanted to get smart with her comments again.

Eadgyd rolls her eyes at the truth in Kaelige's words. "It's not the chores that are offensive. I can handle chores." She rips another piece of pastry off and chews it, buying time between words. There's a thin smile for him, her sense of humor not entirely lost on this subject. "It's the dragon bit I'm not so sure on." Her fingers tap along the tabletop, pointer and middle finger dancing their way around the plateless pastry. That thin smile grows wider as the subject shifts, and she shoots back, "I wouldn't even try that here, if I were you." For a moment, she actually looks surprised when Rasaid returns to their table. "Thought you'd left us know-nothings." Her tongue is bitten and there's a hint of disappointment as he beats her to the punch. Still, it doesn't stop her. "She's a woman who lives here."

"There's a lot of jobs around here that don't involve having the possible end result of getting permanently attached to a dragon." Kaelige says, prying and obvious about it. "That thing," the knot to be precise, "Is usually optional. I don't think I've seen anyone bound in rope out on the Sands." However, something about that thought sparks a thoughtful smirk. "I'm not sure I could manage the effort anyway." He waves it off with a slight motion of hand, dismissing the thought on being so gentlemanly. "Shevena." Is the direct reply to Rasaid who rejoins them. See? He can be helpful. Kind of. "Eager to scrub latrines?"

"The bitch tryouts ended when I got caught out in the storm. But I'm going to bet you won as a walk in." Rasaid might not be the best at making friends. The words roll out about as dry as possible. The girl is abruptly dismissed from his attention and he fixes on answering Kaelige instead. "No. No desire to get my ass kicked out for taking a bed when no one knows who I am. Where can I find her?" The klah seems to have restored some kind of humanity to the heavy-set traveler. Or maybe it's the fact that his clothes are starting to dry out.

Eadgyd lifts her shoulders in a shrug, nudging the pastry with two fingers. "Aye, there are. But Hattie..." Does more really need to be said? "Might still give it back. Nothing permanent about it until you're on the sands." She barks out a laugh as he dismisses any gentlemanly pretense. "At least you live up to expectations." Despite the unfinished pastry in front of her, she reaches toward the plate to select one of another variety and rips a bite off of that instead. Her brow arches mid-chew at Rasaid's quip, and she doesn't wait to swallow before returning, "It's a shame that doesn't make sense. There was almost wit there."

"There's expectations of me? I'm in trouble now." Kaelige feigns mild surprise, though his expressions are blanded by the shadows he keeps over his face. "Or in the galleries, or anywhere near them..." He adds to her comment on the knot, letting his voice trail off, though it's in poor taste given the latest event so he lets it drop with this many ears nearby them. The living cavern is not the best place to let his mouth get the better of him. "Back there." He jerks a thumb down into the inner cavern tunnels. "But drink some more klah before you go get lost." Also not very good at friends, and not good at helping, he studies Rasaid's expression.

There's only so much a single mug of Klah can do for a brain that was half frozen not even a quarter of an hour ago. "Too bad it went right over your head." It's a weak jab back at Eadgyd, and Rasaid realizes it. A shake of his head and he's turning away from the pair to head back towards the area the younger of the two had indicated he could find this Shevena woman. And possibly a bed. Hopefully a bed. Or maybe a bath. The list of things Rasaid would like right now fall in a mutter as his steps take him out the doorway without a single thought to say 'thank you' or 'good bye'. Polite things.

"Haven't you heard? That's what candidacy is. Expectations heaped upon more expectations." And chores. Never forget the chores. Eadgyd's lip curls in an expression of mild distaste as the vague reference doesn't slip her notice. It's less an expression of sympathy and more one of frustration; her only real care is for how this could effect /her/ life, with a drizzle of sympathy for the loss thrown in there somewhere. "I don't think you were aiming high enough to get over even my head," she calls in a dry tone as Rasaid departs. There's no other farewell offered. In fact, as soon as the man is out of her immediate eyeline, she seems to forget about him completely. "So, do you fancy yourself a future dragonrider?"

Kaelige shrugs that awkward, lopsided shrug that may not even really look like one. It really simply rustles the layers he wears. Layers that seem neither warming for the sleet that terrorizes the outside nor meant to be cool for warmer weather. His gaze very briefly follows the young man, but has no words to impart on him before he enters the labrynth of the ancient Fort tunnels. The thought in and of itself sates him for the entirity of that encounter. "It just depends how unlucky you are. Or, from who you care those expectations come." A weird statement, that, and one made with a slight tilt of his head as he regards her. He may be slouching more in his seat, as well. "The right spots to sit, the right people to avoid, and you've got yourself a few less expectations. There will be plenty of candidates this time, and certainly no need to rush about doing chores." He pauses as Eadgyd gives her portion of a farewell, a smirk lingering on his mug throughout. "Of course I do." Is the simple return from the boy in shadows.

Without putting much thought into the gesture, Eadgyd has begun poking and prodding at the pastry on the table with the fresher one that's still in her hand. Even as she rips off one final piece of the latter and pops it into her mouth, she's using the rest to nudge the other bit across the table and back again. And then she crushes the pastry in her hand into the other, leaving a mess of crumb scattered across the area in front of her. "It really depends on whether or not you care at all," she points out in the midst of pastry destruction, glancing to the young man across the table as she speaks. "They'll know if we're slacking. They're not fools in that respect. There are plenty of riders to keep an eye on every candidate, no matter how many they drag in." She dusts her hands off, scattering even more crumbs in the process. A quick glance is darted toward the kitchens after she surveys her mess, knowing that /this/ is something she'll have to clean up if she wants to keep that tenuous peace. "Greenrider, I think. That about suits you."

"Of course they know if we're slacking. It's a balance, an art..." Kaelige listens, but never loses the smirk which soon becomes the only thing visible on his face as he shifts himself back up to lean forwards over the table. "And I don't care." He admits in a wry but for once believeably truthful tone. "Plenty of people are fools, however." He watches her pastry destruction, the smirk slipping slightly. Very slightly, as if his mask unfastened just enough to slip, but it surely put back in place on his next breath. "And you? The candidate who doesn't want to ride.. how about blue." His fingers touch his scruffy chin in serious consideration. "Then you can have all the excuse you'd like to chase me." Smirk widens, eyes narrowed lightly, "But I believe your bet to be off. Was already denied by one." A thin line he walks on that note, and his glance slips beyond the other candidate to look for what ears are close enough to matter. Eventually, he returns to her,

"I'm not much of a believer in slacking. Chores may be boring, but they keep me busy. And I like to be busy." Eadgyd has a smirk of her own, one that's carefully calculating as he shifts his position and mostly vanishes into shadow. There's curiosity there, and a hint of suspicion, but whatever questions she may have about his fondness for darkness remain carefully locked behind her lips. Instead, she drops her gaze to the ruined pastries, flicking little bits of dough away with one finger. "Aye, they're fools. But so's the man who thinks he's not." The words are punctuated by a quick lift of her brows and a pointed look in his direction. The next moment, any hint of seriousness has been replaced by a teasing edge to her pale green eyes. "I think I'd rather ride something... bigger." She lets the word hand heavy with implication before abruptly tagging on an oh-so-innocent, "Brown, I think." Mimicking his gesture, she raises one hand to drum her fingertips against her chin. Though she gives no response to the thought of the chase, there's a tug of humor at her lips. More importantly, however, "So you've been denied by one woman. Does that mean you'll be denied by them all? I'd hope not, for your sake." She shows considerably less concern for nearby ears, in spite of her ill-themed humor.

"They waste time." Kaelige's simple opinion of chores is just that- simple and blunt. "There's plenty of things to be busy with. Chores is not one of them." His enjoyment of her word choice is indicated less by his hidden expression, more by the way he folds his arms on the table, leaning on them as if the conversation matters. Not much matters to him that he's ever divulged. "Brown, eh? Already picked out the color and don't even want the knot. Maybe a gold for you. That's a bit bigger." He says it offhandedly, as if has no other difference than size. "You've denied me. What if I want none other? My heart is a fragile thing." Is he still talking about hatchlings? The last comment is said more akin to sneer, messing with the flow of his dry, unrelenting sarcasm.

Eadgyd lifts her shoulders in a shrug, her expression saying what words do not: each to their own. "I know I've earned what I get that way." And if the plate of pastries she commandeered is any example to go by, she gets quite a bit from the kitchens. The matter of color is met with a scoff and a dismissive flick of her hand that sends crumbs flying. "Gold. And then what? Running a Weyr? I don't think so. And I'd rather be the one doing the chasing than being chased." The mangled pastry is tugged back in her direction with a mischievous glint to her gaze. When it's directly in front of her, she quips, "Looks like you've a future full of suffering. I bet I could crush that little heart of yours under my boot." With a quiet laugh, she proceeds to do just that with her palm and the pastry, illustrating her point in dough.

"It all ends the same." Kaelige comments on the chase and chasing, apparently avoiding the remainder of the chore subject just as he avoids chores- with a good bit of subtlety. "Their weyr, your weyr..." His hands demonstrate by indicating one side, then the other, "And then the morning after draught. Who did which part doesn't really matter at that point." A short chuckle escapes him, before his expressive hands are placed over his chest, clutching at his heart, "You devastate me. I'll just have to become drunkard and forget all the pain." His drama is fairly good, though his volume doesn't quite fluctuate and he's not good enough to drop the smirk. But soon enough, that's in the past. "So then, why the hesitation? You seem to have it all figured out."

"The difference being that the chase has to happen. The chasing doesn't." It all comes down to control in the end. Eadgyd sweeps the fully decimated pastry to the side with the back of her hand, following that up by brushing the crumbs along to join their maker. The palms of her hands are then rubbed against the fabric of her pants in an effort at 'cleanliness'. "What happens after is less of a concern." There's a snort of laughter from her as he feigns personal injury, which she follows up by placing a hand to her forehead and actually batting her eyelashes. It's awkward at best, considering how unnatural such an action feels to her. "How will I live with myself?" she asks mid-flutter. The gesture is dropped abruptly with the new topic, and she shrugs as her hand falls back to the table. "Maybe I don't want to be a dragonrider."

"I suppose." He conceeds the fact of chase and chasing, though gives it no further thought. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you didn't take the knot the day of the hatching then. You still have time to give up." He twists it to sound like it would be a disappointment, but again he has no emphasis to make the arguement seem like it matters to him. The boy touches the peek of his hood again, pulling it down as he shifts to stand. "Everyone has their reasons." This seems a little more on the serious side, as if the sarcasm is put on hold for the moment, "Something made you take it in the first place." But no sooner does he grow serious than he drops it, his cheeks curved under his shadows into lines by his smirk. "I'll see you in the barracks. I have a few things I need to do." It's night. It's his hour. There's much to be done. And he doesn't linger. Long, lanky steps take him away, and just as he starts to turn down the most unoccupied of the glow-tainted tunnels, a small brown winged creature appears from Between to follow after.

"I could always turn tail and run from the sands," Eadgyd suggests, although the words are spoken so bladly that they hold no real meaning. "It's not over until it's over." The touch of his hand to that hood inspires a smirk upon her lips, and a narrowly calculating gaze that sweeps up and down his body. Reasons? She has no more of those to give, tonight. Instead, she merely answers, "See you in the barracks. I'll try not to chase you." While he may not linger, her gaze does, following him long enough for his sudden companion to catch her interest. There's a contemplative edge to her gaze as she stares down the now-empty tunnel, her mind toying with the riddle of her fellow candidate. But whatever thoughts she might have are swiftly swept away as she leans over to gather up the remains of her pastries. There's time enough for riddles later. For now, she has messes of her own to clean.