====September 14, 2013
====Nathanael and Maosa
====Nathanael is just trying to bring food to the weyrlings. Maosa has a poor grasp on civilized etiquette.

Who Nathanael and Maosa
What Nathanael is just trying to bring food to the weyrlings. Maosa has a poor grasp on civilized etiquette.
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where SW - Upper Bowl



Southern Weyr - Upper Bowl
The graceful sweep of spacious bowl lies scoured clean by an easterly breeze. Detritus is whisked neat to the eastern steppe of the bowl that lies several feet lower than the western plateau. White walls contrast the rough granite of the rivercliffs: the giant maw of the Hatching Cavern lies in the thickest part of the western wall, sheltering the training grounds and weyrling barracks lying nor'west. Directly north lies the leadership courtyard, heavily humid and subtly scented by intrigue.

The problem with freedom in the weyr is that for apprentices this usually ends up meaning anyone can make you work.Nathanael has been drafted by the kitchen this time and has a platter of klah in his hands and is slowly walking toward the weyrling area with it. All his attention is on the tray and not dropping any of it.

Someone is emerging from that weyrling area, steps quick and light and silent. Maosa may be neater than she was when she was first unleashed on an unwitting Weyr, but she's ditched her shoes - as she has been doing at every possible opportunity - and her civilized trappings aren't hiding the wildling in her walk. Still, it's not like she's hiding — she doubtless assumes Nathanael has noticed her presence. So she walks directly towards him, intent on falling smoothly in line with his steps. She watches the tray with intense interest.

Nathanael walks, and suddenly there is someone there. "Woah! Where'd 'e come fr'm? " Some of the klah sloshes out onto the tray and he frowns, returning his attention to the tray, his eyes flicking outwards to look at the suddenly appearing female. "'r 'e fr'm here?" The white thing on her shoulder tells him what else she is.

The girl only raises her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side as he speaks, like a canine facing a bemusing puzzle. Without a pause in her silent steps, she reaches out and grabs first a piece of fruit - shoving it in her mouth without preamble and with a pronounced 'munch' to hold it in place - and then divests the tray of its pot, lightening his load. Maosa speaks not a single word in this whole process, as words are for suckers.

Nathanael stops as she steals his cargo. "'ay!" He objects. " That's f' 'e weyrlings!" There is a pronounced sadness on his voice. "'s give 're 'ack!"

Maosa stops too, eyebrows once again climbing. She's in no great rush: she takes her time to chew after plucking the fruit free of her maw, and then lifts the klah pot and… drinks from it. Gingerly. The girl then sets the pot, and the bitemarked fruit, back down onto the tray, before angling her neck down and around, the better to stare Nathanael in the face. Her brow is furrowed. "Why not?" Oh, so she can talk after all. "Plenty there."

"'cuz…." Nathanael frowns again, "'e jus' dun do 'at!" The now dirty klah pot is eyed mournfully. "Ain't you 'er bin taught 'at?" The thought that someone might not have parents who smacked their hands when they drank right from the pot is disturbing to the boy. "'n now I've gotta 'splain 't 'e night cook why I gotta 've a new pot!"

"Why not?" Maosa makes this inquiry patiently, like one asking a perfectly reasonable question. Her own eyes watch his mournful gaze with puzzled interest, before she leans over further - one braid brushes over a few pieces of fruit in the process - and examines the klah pot from another angle. Her brow furrows further, before she rights herself. His words are weighed with care. And then she asks, drawling accent thick and tone pragmatic: "Can I take it then?"

If Nathanael had a free hand he would scratch his head in confusion, but alas, the tray. He settles for just a confused look. "Well, 'cuz if'n y' lips touch it, 'n noone else can. 'n 'e pot 's f' many pep'le. 'e hav 't use a cup!" Her second question throws him for a loop. "No! 'e cook'd be upset!"

"But why?" Like a two-turn-old, Maosa is perfectly content to keep asking until she gets an answer that makes sense to her. She reaches to lift the klah pot lid, peering inside. She didn't drink that much, did she? Her eyes flick upward, narrowed in slight challenge. "Lots left." The girl gives a slight sigh of disappointment at his refusal to let her just take the pot (and… what, drink the whole thing herself?) before a gleam of hope sparks in her solemn face. "Fruit, though? Can I have that?"

Nathanael sighs. "Look, ' jus' hav' 're use a cup, 'k 's jus how 's done!" He looks at her disappointed face. "I guess 'e can. 'n I can introduce 'e 't 'e cook. She's always willing' 't give food." He turns away from the doorway and begins to trudge towards the kitchen. "Common then."

"But why?" It's not clear if Maosa genuinely expects an answer, at this point: she might just be asking out of principle. She's willing to stalk in his wake, though (after another covetous stare at the fruit) a silent alien following in his footsteps. Because that's not weird AT ALL.

"'e'll like 'e cook." Nathanael chatters as he walks, twisting around a bit to try to see his silent shadow. He has also given up answering her question. "'e always keeps som'thin' 'f pep'le what keep odd 'ours."

It's probably for the best: she probably wasn't going to take any answer he could give, anyway. Maosa ambles easily after him, her hands folded neatly behind her back. At least she breaks off the silence with words: "You're real strange to understand." There's no heat to the words, just a simple, honest observation. A comment, not a criticism. "Where you from?"

She speaks. Nathanael wrinkles his nose. "'m from Nerat, up North. Real small hold, 'n 'e all talk 'l this. Says 's cuz we didn' have no Harper." He shrugs as they reach the door to the kitchen. He hesitates, "Dun drink outa nothin' but a cup, K? I dun wanna get 's cook madder at me."

"Cup. Right." Maosa still looks puzzled, but assenting, nodding her head gravely. At the door to the kitchen, there is, alas, another question: "What's Nerat?" There's nothing but honest curiosity in the older girl's face: if she's pulling his leg, she's got a poker face straight out of Bitra. One that isn't going to waiver over the course of however many questions she gets in before Nathanael is able to flee her presence and leave the cook at her mercy. Who brought this chick up, wild canines?

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