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Group Pity; Candidates!
Topic Started: Sep 7 2011, 06:14 PM (220 Views)
Kestrel
Candidate
She hadn't Impressed. She had failed.

That failure was a heavy brick in Yithel's mind. She had tried to write it out, but no words came to her mind. When she picked up the small lap harp she had brought with her to the Weyr, her fingers just managed to strum the strings tunelessly, eventually making discordant noises, fractured notes that reflected her mental state. As much as she had told herself to be realistic, she hadn't anticipated this, not truly. The dragons had wanted her. There should have been an egg for her there. Yes, there were Candidates who never Impressed, or who stood multiple clutches, but how could it be her? It felt like a personal insult. It was the dragons telling her that she wasn't good enough- not for them, not for anyone. She would never be what she wanted to be, never move up in the world.

Self-pity was normally not something that Yithel indulged in, but she was letting herself have an hour or two now. There would be future clutches, but how far away? Would she age out? She had time left, thankfully, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Who knew when the Queen would rise and clutch again? And what if she failed to Impress at that clutch too? There wouldn’t be much time after that. She would be too old, and she would officially be a failure. She could go back to her craft, but becoming a Harper didn’t hold a candle up to becoming a dragonrider. There was just no comparison. She couldn’t go back to that life, living in relative obscurity, toiling away, hoping that one day someone would recognize her talents. The Weyr held her destiny.

Yithel also knew that she wouldn’t be the only Candidate feeling this way. There had been some older than her. This could have been their last chance. There were some that were Weyr born, and had doubtless stood for Turns, and there were some that were entirely new to Weyr life, no doubt questioning whether or not their Search had been a mistake. There were some who doubtless felt worse than Yithel, and some who remained resolute and cheerful. Perhaps if they all combined together, they could balance each other out.

It was the day after the feast, so they had no official meals to attend to. Spreading word had been difficult, so Yithel had settled for tacking up notices, advising that the unimpressed Candidates go to the common areas, for a show of group support and talking. Honestly, it felt a bit wishy-washy, but whatever helped, right? It was certainly something the Candidates would have to organize on their own. Yithel had a sinking submission that anyone else would just tell them to man up and find something better to occupy their time with. It was a valid point, but surely they could have this one day to be sad?
Candidate Yithel
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Zeppelin
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Weyrling
While most of the other candidates were dealing with the crushing disappointment of being left Standing, Tavian was just starting out on his new life in the Weyr. He had been Searched just after the Hatching, when a Search dragon spotted him as he walked across the weyrbowl. When he woke up the next morning after the Feast, he was in the candidate barracks.

If only the other candidates weren't so gloomy. The atmosphere at breakfast had seemed rather depressive. Of course they were sad about not Impressing, but Tavian wished they would brighten up a little. There would be other clutches. The probability of Impressing was not so slim, especially in larger clutches--he had done the calculations for several different clutch sizes. Unfortunately there was no mathematical formula for determining an individual candidate's potential, but in those cases it was better to just hope things turned out favorably. He was happy to see the notices for a gathering in the common room. It would give him a chance to meet the other candidates, and maybe he could encourage them out of the doldrums, too.

When he walked into the common room later that day, he saw that he was the first to arrive. The blond young woman before him had to be the host. "Hello!" Tavian grinned at her, all cheerful optimism. "I'm Tavian. I'm new here, just Searched yesterday." He sat down on one of the well worn sofas, perching on the edge of it. Placing his hands on his knees, he resisted the urge to start biting his nails. He was just ready to pounce on any successful social interaction that came his way today.
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Fishy
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always classy
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“No you may not sit on my shoulder you little thief,” Daart scolded the brown fire lizard hovering about his head. Though he normally relished the familiar weight of the large brown on his shoulders, Bootstrap was in trouble at the moment. The candidate had taken a handful of fresh, wonderful-smelling bacon from the kitchens in an attempt to eat on the run and get his chores done early for once and his fire lizard had snapped them right from his fingers, trilled as best he could with a mouthful of stolen bacon, and disappeared between.

Now, hours later, Daart was still a bit sore about the whole thing. He’d had to do his chores on an empty stomach and in the brutal midday heat of the desert Weyr, that was no picnic. So Bootstrap was banned from his shoulder until further notice. “Nope. Go find somewhere else to sit,” he shooed the brown, who hissed at him and fluttered to the other side of the room to curl up on a sofa, and focused on the few candidates loitering about.

“’Ello there!” His childish grin only made him look younger than he was. “Is it always this flaming hot here?” He was fairly sure his skin would be red and peeling by the end of the week but at least for now, he still looked alright. “I’m Daart by the way. Just got Searched from Ista the other day.”
Posted Image
Wingsecond RhiasGarnet Melacyth#ccoo3d
Weyrling T'rinnBrown EncantothperuPosted Image
Wingrider BikGrey Auralyth#7a7a7aPosted ImagePosted Image
Wingrider JiirBlue OkouthmidnightbluePosted Image
Bluerider LairahBlue Elbereth#0f1155Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
Candidate SorrinPosted Imagex10
Posted Image
~Thread Tracker~
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Kestrez
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Caffeineaholic.
He’d given himself a headache.

Firyn shifted again as he stared at the blank piece of hide he’d been staring at on his cot for half the morning. He hadn’t gone to breakfast and hadn’t touched his hair since he’d woken up. His mother would have been angry with him for not even doing that. The Candidate ran a hand through said hair as he finally decided to move. Maybe if he got out of the small room he’d be able to think straight. One glass of wine the night before at the banquet had not given him a headache. Thinking had. He’d gone to bed not even thinking about dragons but thinking about his brother instead. Would he have still been a Candidate after standing for the first time?

Candidate. Firyn was still a Candidate, but for the most part the redhead still wasn’t even thinking about that fact. There’d probably be quite a few more clutches before he had to worry about his age. He’d probably even be able to stay at the Weyr if he tried hard enough to continue solely his Healing studies. No. He shouldn’t think like that either. He was just maybe a little overwhelmed. He was a little tired from not sleeping much for two days now, and was actually a little homesick. And the Hatching itself had happened so fast! The dark and shadows given off by the glows in the cavern had made it hard to see the details of the dragonets. Firyn had to wonder if he would have had a better view in the Stands.

Having no idea how long it would take to find someone to carry the message to his Cothold, he wanted to get the thing written right away. Walking into the common room suddenly spurred his memory of the notices he’d seen appear the night before. The Candidate laid across one of the couches and draped his legs over the other end, using them as a stable spot to write. A few days ago he probably would have continued walking out the door, but being around people didn’t seem like a terrible idea. As long as it didn’t get too loud.
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