Who

Kultir & S'yn

What

Lunchtime in the archives turns into an unexpected encounter.

When

There are 24 days until the 12th pass.

Where

Archive Library, Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

kultir_default.jpg Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg

archive_library.jpg

Archive Library

Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.


The warm southern sun beams down through the broken ceiling, bathing the skybroom tree in its golden glow to filter through the branches and cast shadows across the objects beneath it. The warm, humid air is filled with slowly drifting particles of pollen and dust, evidence of the summer months that hold the Weyr in balmy clutches. It's lunchtime and the room is filled with smells of noontime repasts as well as the mustier scents of parchment and aged wherhide, patrons dotting the scattered tables and chairs like perching VTOLs as the room hums with low voiced conversation and the odd flick of a turning page.

Kultir is currently ensconced — or rather draped — over one of the overstuffed armchairs. There is a half-full mug of klah beside him and a small plate with only crumbs scattered on the surface. The long frame is stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other though the top foot seems to be moving infinitesimally until it will eventually drop to lay beside the other. Soft snores sound from the young tracker whose eyes are dark-circled despite the freshly washed appearance of the young man.

Among the munching readers is S'yn, a young bronzerider with an appetite for fiction as well as food. Rather than being perched in an armchair as is his usual wont, the teen is settled properly at a table, a wherry salad sandwich, fried tuber crisps and a tall glass of juice half devoured before him. Slim fingers turn the pages of the novel he's reading idly, amber eyes scanning those pages as the rider gets lost in the story for a time between bites of his meal. The sound of snoring nearby eventually punctuates his awareness and makes him look up and around, spying the exhausted tracker. Surprise ripples across his features before a certain measure of delight brings a youthful grin cracking his lips open to expose his even teeth. The novel is flipped over to mark his place with one hand as his other snags his cup to take a sip of juice before he pushes away from the table and moves over to Kultir, laying a hand on the man's shoulder, shaking gently. "I know the tomes are dry, but really Kul, did they honestly put you to sleep?"

The quiet and the knowledge that he was back within the Weyr had put Kultir at ease enough to allow him to close his eyes for a few moments that turned into several candlemarks, it seems. When a hand rests on his shoulder and shakes him, his foot finally falls to the floor with a thump as he snorts and blinks his eyes open. Craning his head in his slumped position, he peers blearily up at the one who woke him. “Eh?” His voice is hoarse and dry from sleep. “Di … didn’t even have to touch one.” He chuckles softly as he wedges himself upward in the chair to sit more properly. “How are you, Sy?”

The youth's features quirk into indulgent amusement at the way the tracker rouses like a man dead to the world. "I'm fine, thanks. You sound like gravel though." The hand drops and S'yn shuffles back to his table to fetch his juice and brings it back to offer his friend. "Here, have a few swallows of that." The mug is held out, the glass still cool from the chilled liquid of pressed tropical fruits. "I guess you must've just gotten back in. How was the hunt?" Amber eyes fixated on Kultir's features, noting the dark circles under the eyes before the cawing of an avian in the skybroom branches draws the eyes up. "Were you the hunter or the hunted?"

Kultir chuckles softly at the comment and shrugs his shoulders heavily. When the cool mug is offered, he takes a long swallow or two before handing it back to his friend. “Thanks.” He clears his throat once more and coughs softly to get his voice to work again. “Mmm, much better.” Rubbing his eyes, he looks up at the young bronzerider. “Yeah … wagons pulled in just about dawn. Knew we were a day behind when I said we’d be back so we pushed on through the night instead of stopping to camp.” He sighs softly as he shifts in his chair and yawns hugely. “Right now I feel like I was the hunted but the wagons say otherwise.”

That flicker of movement draws S'yn's gaze back down and he takes the returned cup and a swig himself before lowering it and shifting his weight to one side, free hand on hip as he looks down at the tracker from his stance above the seated man. "Isn't it dangerous to trek through the jungle at night?" That's what he's always hurt anyway, though old auntie tales are often hugely exaggerated. "I'm glad to hear you got such a profitable haul, though." Another sip and he slips away from Kultir to go and fetch his plate, coming to settle in one of the armchairs catty-corner to his brother and leans on the puffy arm, popping one of the crisps into his mouth to crunch audibly. "What all'd you get? More feathers for Prymelia?"

Relaxing back into the chair with a soft groan, Kultir leans his head against one of the soft wings of the chair. “Oh, it’s not so bad as all that. Not this close to the Weyr anyway. Besides, we had a good sized band this time. Two wagons and eight men who are more than happy with the two raw hides a piece I bartered with them for their help.” Smiling at the younger man as the bronzerider settles into a chair across from him. “Mostly we got several wild caprines and ovines as well as a couple huge, male porcines. A couple days in to the hunt a lone feline decided to try to steal one of the carcasses from the wagon so we got him with a well placed javelin. Looked like he was ready to keel over any moment, just skin and bones.” He shakes his head slightly, his expression one of pity rather than sadness.

S'yn noshes on the remaining half of his lunch as he listens to the hunter's spooled details on the latest trip. "Sounds like you bargained well." Another crisp is popped between his teeth and he chews as he considers the appearance of that feline. "Sounds like one of those lone male scavengers, the kind that get kicked out of the prides. I guess you'd know better than me." Another swallow of the juice and the now empty cup is eyed with a forlorn expression, though movement catches the rider's eye as the drudge pushing the food cart around draws near. The cup is waved about to draw the server's attention and a quick interlude between them has the cup refilled again, much to the youth's delight. "I imagine that the beast being in such poor shape bodes ill for the hide too?" He doesn't know a lot about such things but he tries to make semi-educated guesses.

Grinning at the younger man, Kultir nods slightly. “I must be getting better about it. But they are pretty good sized beasts so the hides will be good once they are stretched and worked properly.” At the younger’s comments, the amber eyes sparkle with approval and amusement both. “Yes, though I think this one was old into the bargain. I’ll know how the hide will turn out once I start working it. It’s still rolled up in a bundle … about all I took the time for was to drop the hides in the cave I found to work in and come up here for a bath.” Another yawn escapes him as he shifts position again, finding himself trying to drop off to sleep again. “Was going to rest here a few minutes before calling Rya for a ride. Guess I fell asleep.”

Now that he has something to wash it down with, it doesn't take S'yn long to finish his sandwich and the remaining crisps, leaving him with an empty plate and a full belly. "Looks like that's all you have the concentration for too." Pushing himself out of the chair, the young rider drains his mug once more and moves after the food cart so he can hand off his dirtied dishes to the drudge before returning to the tracker. "C'mon, Iax can give you a lift to Rya's weyr. He likes seeing her anyway." The turned over book is collected and a woven bookmark shifted from another section of the book to mark his place before being tucked under the boy's arm, a hand offered to his brother. "Let's get you into a proper bed before you zonk out again."

Kultir blinks blearily at the young rider as the boy finishes his food and chuckles softly as his belly gives a less than half-hearted lurch. When his friend returns to offer a hand to the older youth, he reaches out and struggles to his feet with a soft groan of effort. “I’m so tired right now I don’t even have the energy to be hungry, Sy.” Getting his feet under him, the tracker rolls his shoulders stiffly and sighs as the joints pop and creak at the movement. “Thanks. I’d appreciate a lift.” Slowly, he makes his way out of the library toward the Weyr bowl where the coppery bronze can take him up to his mate’s weyr.

Add a New Comment