==== December 7th, 2013
==== K'vvan, Cha'el
==== Prickles and the newest Igen pretty boy meet, and hey, no one gets punched.

Who K'vvan, Cha'el
What Prickles and the newst Igen pretty boy meet, and hey, no one gets punched.
When There are 0 turns, 6 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
Where Kitchen Courtyard

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Kitchen Courtyard
The domestic space of the kitchen courtyard is small, dusty, slightly over-grown, and practical. The focal point of the stone courtyard is a large well found directly in the middle. Turns have worn the once angled bricks to soft, crumbling curves about the lip, and a bucket always slightly damp is tied, secure, and ready to use at the side. Though a broom has swept here since last you passed through, it would appear the wind-borne dust has merely been heaped under the cobble-cracking shrubs of a stubborn environment that grow ever upward. A few benches are scattered around, but the feel is not comfort, for this small slice of sky and wind are saved for a kitchen staff always on the move.
It is the eighteenth day of Summer and 78 degrees. The day dawns bright and clear. Everything is coated in sand, but no clouds linger on the horizon.//

Days after a sandstorm everyone gets pressed into service to force the sand back OUTSIDE where it belongs. Thus, when innocently passing through, K'vvan has been pressed by the headwoman to accept a broom and an order to sweep the courtyard. He isn't a lone in the endevor, as several others also work in this area to push sand back. His hands are working the boom like he does know how to use one, and being careful not to bump the bandages that wrap from wrist to elbow as he does so.

And here comes one of the newer transfers to the Weyr, fresh from Ista and somehow not appearing to have been pressed into sand clearing duty. Yet. Fresh from the bathing caverns - that damn sand gets in everywhere - a towel slung about his neck, with dark hair doing the whole 'dreamy-eyed-guy-curling-thing' and more or less dressed for drills, Cha'el carefully skirts the outer perimeter of the courtyard. If he can just make it to the other side without being detected.

K'vvan's broom kicks sand up as he works near the outter doorway, shoving the sand outwards. He doesn't particuarly notice the oh-too-clean rider walking by, which is why he gives the pile before his broom a big sweep, sending sand and dust towards the man who is attempting to stay clean.

Up since just before dawn to sweep the ledge, then wash it and then - Yeah, he'd drawn the line at polishing it to Sikorth The Taskmaster's exacting standards. Screw that for a joke - Cha'el almost makes his getaway. Almost but not quite. PHWOOF!! Sand EVERYWHERE! In his eyes, in his beard, down the front of his shirt and clinging to damp hair. DUDE!! The brownrider goes deadstill then emits a mighty sneeze before an eyelid cracks open and snaps to the offender. Glare?

Oh, was there someone there? K'vvan glances upwards from his work when the sand he had been pushing doesn't go where he wants it to. "Why the hell are you standing where I'm sweeping; get out of the pile." K'vvan's glare back has no question mark on it, and he begins to go after the dust that has now run away from his broom after being rejected from Cha'el's form.

Cha'el doesn't move. Not.An.Inch. The other eye opens and K'vvan The Fully Glaring One becomes the intent focus of piercing blue eyes. Breaking his focus first one foot and then the other is lifted, sand shaken from each in turn. Then the brownrider slides the towel from around his neck and snaps it out a couple of times before using it to dust his face off. It doesn't help much, there's still sand clinging to the neatly groomed bristle of his beard. "Nadeeth." That all he says for the time being, setting the greenrider with another of those unreadable looks.

"And you're Sikorth." There is an unspoken … and? that lingers at the end of his words. The broom works, ripples of dust spreading towards Cha'el's feet again, threatening him with another dust up.

Dust up. Ha! Now there's something Cha'el could get his teeth into. The sandy stuff. Not so much. The unspoken 'and?' garners no reaction save for a faint dip of head as if he were logging position in wing formation. "The wingleader." Their Wingleader. "The bluerider." Does he know her name? Probably. "You know where she is?"

"Why the hell would I know? Are you going to move?" Glare, there, more glaring as K'vvan leans on his broom looking upwards at the slightly taller rider. "You don't want the headwoman asking why you're making it impossible to clean."

Glare. Pfffft. Ignore. Headwoman threat. Pffft. Ignore. "Nope. Only just got here. Not too bad a place," Cha'el responds. Yeah, yeah, he knows what K'vvan means. In fact, he then goes on to hold out his hand, fingers doing a sort of wriggle thing in the direction of the broom - Gimme it.

He apparently hasn't met Prineline, so K'vvan shrugs. The outstretched wiggling fingers garner an upraised eyebrow, but… hey, if someone else is going to do the work? The broom is shoved at the other rider and K'vvan steps away into a cleared area.

Actually, Cha'el would very much like to meet Prineline. Then maybe he could negotiate for an extra blanket or two to ward off the unexpectedly icy evening chills. Broom handed into his care, the brownrider makes quick work of sweeping the scattered together into a neat pile and then works it out of the small area to the larger pile beyond that waits to be carted away. Without explanation the brownrider returns and leans the broom against a bench. Crossing his arms over his chest - The chest that now has sand sticking to it Thank-you-very-much-K'vvan - the greenrider is once again put under silent study. "Wanna go for a drink?" Direct, expression inscrutable. "After drills and sweeps." Qualified.

"What is wrong with you new people in Arroyo? What is up with you people and inviting me out for drinks?" K'vvan says this without a lot of heat, but with a great deal of annoyance.

Up go dark brows. More silent contemplation and then a quiet snort. "Flame a fella for tryna get to know his wingmates," Cha'el finally returns. Broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "Suit yourself, mate. But just so's you know. I wasn't hitting on you." Because those rumors that have followed him are LIES!!

"Go find M'ero. Blue Furanth. He likes to drink." Well, maybe he likes to drink. What he'd actually said was something about picking up ladies, but K'vvan waves away the thought. "And I'm not your mate." Glare again, as K'vvan reaches out to grab the room.

For some inexplicable reason, K'vvan's grumpy, prickly hedgehog impersonation, seems to amuse Cha'el because rather than come back with a retort to match, he merely throws back his head and laughs! A rich and throaty sound. Blue eyes are dancing when they focus on the slighter man again. "Damn, you're prickly one," he comments. Stir the pot why don't you. "Actually I am. Your 'mate. We fly in the same wing don't we?"

K'vvan has the broom in hand, and shoots one last glare at Cha'el, before moving to go find his way into the kitchen. Maybe he won't follow. "We flight in the same wing. That doesn't make us 'mates.' It just means I have to put up with you."

Chaos and anomie reign in this hub of food production. It's not so much the smell, which varies from 'faintly edible' to 'coal', as the film of grease that adds a sheen to every surface and glues canine hair to the wall. The area is well set up, of course — it's a large kitchen with more than adequate counter space. There's plenty of room to get around, too, even with the centralized canine spit run dominating the center of the floor. The place is just, well, not 'up to code'. Several large stoves belch smoke that chars the blocked chimney's outer brick. Unidentifiable bits of food have been baked to the floors and ground in by the uncaring trod of drudge shoes. Even the sink is crusty, with it's constant tower of filthy dishes and lack of cleansing sand to be seen anywhere. Add in the bloodied smears on cutting boards and what you have is a monument to cross contamination.

Oh look, Cha'el's not going away. He's like a shadow. Stuck to your foot and dragged around all over the place. With an expressive roll of eyes, the bigger brownrider ambles after the Prickly Pear, hands in pockets. "WINGmate." He's not giving up on that one.

"In the air maybe. Down here, go stuff yourself." K'vvan winds though the chaos that is the Igen kitchen, waving away the smell of something that has been left on too long and is starting to burn at the edges. His broom is still clutched in his hand as he works to avoid any of the kitchen workers who work.

Aaaand…he's still there dogging K'vvan's steps and snagging a fresh-out-of-the-oven meatroll. Ow! Hot! The sounds of frantic blowing on said stolen treat puff along at the greenrider's back. "Been there, done that," Cha'el drawls, Istan accent thick across the words, "forgot to buy myself dinner first."

Disbelief is writ all over K'vvan's face as he reaches the closet where the brooms are stored. "Why are you following me?" In other words, go away.

Meatroll cooled down enough, Cha'el breaks it in half, pops one piece in his mouth and then holds the other out to K'vvan. "Just curious," he replies.

"About what?" K'vvan says, folding his arms across his chest. He miscalculated his walking, and now he's trapped in the corner with the broom closet, with the brownrider blocking his pathway back out of this mass of humanity.

"How you're gonna get that stick out your arse." Comes Cha'el's blunt return a slow grin blooming at conveniently trapped K'vvan. Blue eyes drift up and down the slighter man's frame. "Hungry?" A slow drawl that followed by the lift of hand and waggle of the other half of the meatroll. See? Just offering foods.

K'vvan eyeballs the proffered meatroll. His gaze flicks upwards into Cha'el's blue eyes, then back to the room rather like dog might when it isn't sure if the food is going to be followed by a kick to the head. "Go stuff yourself."

"Awfafucksake!" Cha'el huffs and careful of the bandaging swathed from wrist to elbow on K'vvan's arm, makes a grab for his hand, turns it over and plonks the half-portion of meatroll into it. "I'm not gonna bite you, you prickly bugger." A pause in which hands safely curl about the ends of the towel hanging around his neck occurs and a dark brow arches. "You also need to work on your repertoire. Maybe try 'Bite me!', 'Rack off', 'Go fly a kite' or my personal favorite…" A beat for dramatic effect. "Go take a long walk off a short pier." Helpful this one.

Cha'el moves too quickly for K'vvan to avoid being touched, and he yanks himself backwards from the touch. The meatrolls rolls out of his hand to be squished underfoot. "What the f*k, don't touch me!" His hands have curled themselves into his fists and the glare of annoyance takes on the particularly hard edge for when his temper is rising.

The moment K'vvan pitches a fit, Cha'el throws both hands up into the air and backs up a step. "Hey, woah there, kid. Its just a meatroll, 'kay?" Holding his hands where they are for a few moments, the brownrider slowly lowers them again, a frown creasing a light line across his brow at the other man's clenched fists. "You get sand in your shorts or something?'

"What part of leave me the f*k alone do you not get old man?" K'vvan takes a deep breath, attempting to rein in the temper that has flaired up. He looks down at the meatroll crushed under his foot and swears again.

Staying where he is though backed up enough so that K'vvan could easily skirt around him and leave if he wants to, Cha'el once again puts him under the considering scrutiny of earlier. "The part where I have to wonder who drowned your puppy when you were a kid."

If Cha'el only knew… but K'vvan hides any inner monologue to just stare at the brownrider, still forcing away the anger. "I don't like people. I don't like you. Got a problem with that pretty-boy?" He sees the eyes the escape route that has been left open, wondering if he can use it without actually touching the other man.

"You don't know me," Cha'el quietly counters, ignoring the pretty-boy comment, his statement just that, a statement that holds neither judgment nor emotion to it. At least not any that's detectable. Catching the way K'vvan eyes the route of escape, the brownrider takes another half step back, making it easier for him to leave if he chooses to. "Flights must be a real bitch for you." Again. It's a statement though this time there's an undertone of what might be construed as sympathy. Lips curve within the neat frame of his beard though don't quite make it to a smile and Cha'el turns sideways, making it even easier for the younger man.

As the way opens up K'vvan only hesitates for another moment, then shifts into it so he's no longer stuck in that corner. A table is relieved of a less-then-totally-clean rag and he bends down to brush the crumbs off of his foot from where the meatroll had been smushed. "Just stay away. I have to deal with you people in Drills, I don't have to outside of it."

Piercing blue eyes track K'vvan's shift in position, Cha'el remaining silent for a few moments longer before he gives a regretful shake of head. All joking and flippant comments slid away, the man left in their wake, quiet and contemplative, each word measured before it leaves his lips. "I'm afraid Sikorth won't allow for that. I need to know the measure of the man that has my back." Quite literally so given their positions within the wing.

"Sikorth can bite me." You see what he did there? He 'mixed it up'. It doesn't take long for the green rider to clean off his boot. He looks upwards at the brown rider from his bent position. "Nadeeth and I will do our duty."

Oh Cha'el saw it all right, and perhaps that accounts for the faint trace of a smile that flickers in and then out again. "Of that I have no doubt. I've seen you drill. But there's a difference between duty and loyalty, K'vvan." Oh. So he does know his name. "Duty is required, loyalty is earned. And I'd like to try and earn yours." That said, the older and taller of the two offers a full smile, curved at the edges by something indefinable and he finally grants the greenrider his demand, and turns to start making his way back to the bathing caverns.

Loyalty? K'vvan stays where he is and watches the brownrider leave the kitchens. There is a look of WTF just happened all over his face till some unwary kitchen worker invades his space and he goes to chastise them and leave the packed area.

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