[Statistics] [Candidate] [Hatchling] [Weyrling] [Adult]

Finlay let out a scream of frustration and rocked back on her heels. Wiping sweat from ehr forehead with the back of her wrist, she wondered for the hundredth time that morning what she'd done to deserve such a nasty chore. She had been assigned to mucking out the weyrling barracks - wasn't that a job for the weyrlings anyway? Why was a candidate cleaning up after their dragons? It simply wasn't logical, let alone fair. Nothing was fair these days, she'd noticed.

Since being Searched, Finlay had moved into Turquoise Weyr, joining them in the chores that were assigned by the Headwoman every sevenday. She and the Weyr's Headwoman hadn't exactly got off to a great start, however.

The first day in a new Weyr, with a whole new spectrum of girls and boys to befriend and tease - in either order - and she'd been given a single candlemark to herself all day. Understandably, Fin hadn't been happy about this. And she'd let the woman know about it.

Since then, she'd been given her fair share of what were considered to be the bad chores, plus a little extra. But what was she to do? She'd objected once, and her chores had merely worsened. If she were back at Dragon Soul, she would go to the Weyrleader with a complaint, but she didn't know the leaders at Turquoise and didn't want to risk getting off to a bad start with them as well. She wasn't a horrible young woman, really. She was just an individual. And determined to stay so.

Frankly, she was miserable. The one thing that kept her from returning to her Weyr of birth was the thought of the upcoming hatching. That a tiny, innocent dragon could be hurt by her not attending the hatching was unthinkable.

She had heard horror stories that involved hatchlings not Impressing because their chosen riders were not present. Without the love of a human, the poor babies would then die.

She couldn't - wouldn't - let that happen to any dragon just because she wasn't having the best time of her life. By Faranth, weyrlinghood wouldn't be so great either, from what she'd heard. Chores and drills and classes constantly until your dragon was an adult. She wasn't sure exactly how long it took for a dragon to fully mature, but it was certainly long enough.

With a sigh of resignation, Finlay returned her attention to the task at hand - the scrubbing of the floor. The stable-like room was covered is fresh straw every day and was used by the young weyrlings who couldn't yet go between to dispense of waste like adult dragons. Five or so youths had been assigned to the insidious assignment this day, but all had left to go to classes or their next assignments by now. Finlay should have finished her shift half a candlemark ago, but her replacements hadn't yet arrived. She could hardly wait for them to start. That didn't mean she could slack off, however. If anything, she had been working harder since the others had left. She was certain the Headwoman would be paying her a visit to make sure she was carrying out her duties properly.

"Stupid chores," she muttered under her breath, hunkering back down with the scrubbing brush. They had cleared the area of the soiled straw earlier, now all that was left was to thoroughly clean and disinfect the floor - which was carved from solid rock and wasn't precisely smooth. Because of its roughness it was surprisingly difficult to clean. Why they couldn't find a better surface, Fin couldn't quite understand. Surely they could lay planks of wood or... something. There were a number of rooms set aside for the same purpose along this end of the weyrling barracks. No doubt she would have to clean the next one on the morrow.

"Hey, sorry we're late," a boy's cracking voice sounded from the door.

Finlay turned with a look of profound relief. Three young men stood with cleaning-implements in their hands and a decidedly resigned look on their faces. "Thank Faranth," she breathed, brushing a strand of dark auburn hair behind one ear. She threw the boy - who was perhaps a turn or so her younger - a mischievous grin (all her grins were mischievous) "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

With a little smile - surprised or shy, she couldn't tell - the boy who'd spoken took an appraising look about the room, and nodded. "Looks like you're almost done," he commented. The he added with another small smile, "And I'd never forget you. I won't do it again," he assured her.

Finlay twinkled fiercely, and lowered her eyes demurely. Oh, boys were so much fun. Rising and brushing her hands off on her briggs, the candidate cocked her head winsomely. "I can trust you to finish up here, then?"

Although it was obvious they had done the chore many times before, they all nodded obediently.

"Are you a candidate?" the first boy asked, putting his gear in a clean corner.

Finlay replied. "I am. I'm not from around here, though. My name's Fin."

"I'm K'lim, and this is R'ffen and H'ret. We're weyrlings."

"Well, in that case, I'm very please to meet you, K'lim." Fin grinned, shaking her head with enjoyment. The simple words reminded her that she hadn't been for a night out since moving to the new Weyr. She'd hardly had any time to herself, let alone time to devote to the flirting needds of others. Let it be known, however, that Finlay was not the kind of girl who would lead a boy on to any great extent when nothing was going to eventuate. Because nothing ever did. She just liked the game of the play, the chase. The catch was much less interesting.

"Maybe I'll see you 'round," the young K'lim said, his confidence rising a little.

Finlay nodded, looking up from udner lowered eyelashes. "Definitely." And with a grin of pure enjoyment, the candidate was on her way.