Who

Nathanael & S'yn

What

A chance encounter between old friends leads to startling revelations and fish cream.

When

It is sunrise of the twenty-second day of the eighth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyr Entrance, Kitchens, Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Weyr Entrance

No standard weyr-arch for Southern: rather, an open-air bridge gracefully curves into the exterior of the bowlwall, the concave swoop of the weyrbowl itself nestled against the far high-rise of the rivercliffs. A pocket of white marble is delineated in gorgeous architecture at the termination of the bridge; stone buildings rise in a vivid vein against the rough-hewn darkness of the cliffs it settles against. The classic arcs only possible by ancient stonecutters show through, Southern's ageless beauty to be admired by all who trespass her walls.


Sunrise means that Nathanael has already been up and about for a few candlemarks. With the rain slowing down a majority of the sea craft has seized the chance to get out onto the sea and do their fishing. Since their return Nathanael has been lugging fish up to the weyr and back down again for more. Only now, as the sun crests the horizon does he have a moment of pause, and takes it while eating a purloined pastry leaning against the outside of the weyr.

Still healing from his scoring, a young bronzerider is roaming the bowl with his brightly copper dragon in an effort to keep his legs in proper shape during his convalescence. Iaxryth’s scoring along the left shoulder and foreleg are covered in a fresh coat of numbweed, presumably from a return visit to the infirmary to check their timeline to return to full duty. S’yn is dressed in loose but warm trous made of some woven plant fiber dyed brown and a long-sleeved but light linen tunic in a bleached cream hue, the garments clearly designed for uninteresting work. His pace is brisk as he walks along the outside edge of the Weyrbowl and comes upon the entrance, amber eyes out of focus as he holds discourse with his lifemate. The Seacrafter might have been missed altogether were it not for the bronze’s own observant nature. “Huh?” The teenager looks about and spies the Apprentice, features tugging into a grin. “Hey, ‘Thanael. Long time no see. How’s fishing?” Because that’s relevant to ask, right? “Nobody asked you, Iax.”

Nathanael had very much been off in his own little world as the pastry disappears bite by bite. As hard as it to imagine he hadn't seen the bronze making his way closer with the smaller human at his side. The voice catches him out of his distraction though, and he looks upwards to spy his old friend. "Oy! S'yn!" A hand is offered out for a bro punch as he eyes the bandages. "Ye ain't keepin' yeself in one piece?"

Wandering closer to the Seacrafter, S'yn's expression is rueful at the pointed inquiry. "I suppose not." The offered fist-bump is returned heartily, nothing wrong with his arms, just his left leg, though it isn't obvious with the long pants covering him from waist to ankle, aside from his slightly ginger gait. "Iax got the worst of it though." The bronze rumbles as he paces closer before settling back onto his haunches and sticking his muzzle out at the Apprentice, whuffling softly. « Do you ever get taller?» The rider blinks and then frowns at his lifemate's forwardness and rather pointed inquiry. "Gah, that's not how you say hello to friends, Iax. Sod off if you're going to ask stupid stuff like that."

"Proly should be jus' a tad more careful," Nathanael's tone is slightly teasing. Leaning back against the weyr wall he looks upwards at the dragon shoving his face into his, then blinks as a strange thought pops into his head that so isn't his. "Ye talkin' t' me?" An inquiry to the dragon, though his eyes flick off to S'yn.

"I probably should." Never mind that the youth has put himself through extra drills just to prevent the same scenario that caused his and his lifemate's injuries in the first place. Never mind that. Iaxyrth's ribs get a shove from S'yn with his palm, though with that much dragonbulk to move the beast doesn't even flinch. "I'm sorry, Iaxryth has a tendency to put his thoughts where they don't belong." A heavy sigh is given, helpless and accompanied by a shrug. "At least he doesn't yell into your head." Hand rubs at the back of the teenager's neck in a nervous gesture, head shaking. "Not all of us folks are tall, Iax. If we were all tall then what?" Besides needing larger door frames, roofs, and what not. "That was rhetorical, not literal." His attention turns back to the Seacrafter with an expression of chagrin. "So, uhm… how've you been?"

Nathanael rolls his eyes at the interplay between the two, though the smile isn't any less genuine. "Pa figures I'm gonna jus' be takin' after Ma 'n 'e height. Mayhap a handful've inches at best." His hand moves upwards to wave at the general height he might hopefully be able to obtain. "'s been busy what with 'e rains 'n such." Nathanael ponders his friend for a long moment, trying to decide something.

S'yn bites his lower lip for a moment before chuckling softly. "I guess you didn't drink enough of the tall water? They keep telling me to stop drinking from the height well." It's a joke and one borne slightly out of nervousness. "Still, being tall has disadvantages, let me tell you. Gotta watch my head everywhere." He comes to lean against the Weyrwall beside his friend, arms folding over his chest as he takes the weight off his injured limb to lean mostly onto his right, left slightly outstretched before him, chin tucked against his chest. "Fish bite while it's raining, huh? S'pose they think there's something worth gnawing on the surface." A sidelong glance is given to the youth, noting that contemplative expression and it nets a faint frown. "Something on your mind?"

That comment has Nathanael breaking out into laughter, the sound of it spreading throughout the Weyr entrance. "Aye, ain't lookin' to be decreasin' any've m' smarts by knockin' int' things." The comment about the fish gets a rather goodnatured shrug. "Was hopin' t' be catchin' ye t' be honest. Pa got offered a cap'n knot- up Nerat area. Gonna be taking it… 'n I'm goin' with."

The Seacrafter's laughter earns a good-natured grin from the bronzerider, a low chuckle echoing the more mirthful peal. "I'm not too keen on bashing my wits out either, you know! Iax doesn't think I've any to spare." The rejoinder about catching earns a curious head-tilt, but when the Apprentice lays down the information of relocation it floors S'yn, making him stare at the older teen in shocked surprise for several awkward moments. Finally a jab from his bronze gets him to clear his throat and pick up his slackened jaw, tongue moistening his lips as he tries to consider that and realizes he's been less than an ideal friend. "I wish you and your Pa luck then. Guess I might end up visiting Nerat to come and see you, eh? I'm glad he's finally getting what he's earned." The rider doesn't really know what else to say except to offer what are sincere congratulations, though he mourns the loss of what he thought of as a friend. "So… what do you leave?"

If only they could read minds they'd realize that their thoughts about being less-than-ideal friends are more than mirrors of one another. "Got 'bout two months afore Pa's headin north. Mayhap three at most." Nathanael finishes the last of his pastry and takes a moment to lick some of the last of the sweet from those fingers. "Gonna be missin' some've ye'll what I've met 'ere."

"We'll have to make time to do something fun before you leave." The dreary clouds still hanging over Southern get peered at with a frown, the rider cursing the winter weather. "Hopefully you'll not encounter any nasty blows on your way up north." Though not a seaman himself, he's heard enough stories to know that transit via the water is certainly not without some major perils. Chin drops to let S'yn regards his friend with his amber eyes and a touch of sorrow. "I imagine you will and that you'll be missed." The teenager doesn't want to burden one of his best friends with his own troubles and instead offers a lopsided smile. "Maybe I'll come heckle you with Iaxryth sometime. I'd love to see you walk the tables someday." In his opinion the older boy deserves that knot more than anyone, though perhaps that is just due to their friendship, having no real knowledge to base it on. "Guess you've got to get back to work soon?"

Too much doom and gloom will get even the cheerful Nathanael down, so when S'yn offers a way out of it Nathanael grips it with both hands. "Aye, tho' still got some turns afore that'd happen. Gotta get m' senior knot first." One step at a time after all. Nathanael straighens up a bit from his lean against the wall. "Gotta be takin Cha'el breakfast in a few, ye wanta come 'n see if mayhap Ardstelle still got some 'e pastries?"

S'yn is all too happy to provide the Seacrafter an escape from the doom and gloom; they've got enough hanging over their heads as is, after all! "True, but at least you can. I'll never do more than tinker, and I'm not even sure if I'll get to do that now." Not with Thread being an ever present threat now. That melancholy thought is locked away to not mar what is supposed to be a social time and he pushes away from the Weyr wall, carefully putting weight back on his numbed but still injured leg. "Sure! I could use a little more to eat." What growing boy couldn't? He gestures toward the general direction of the living caverns. "Lead the way." Or in tall people terms, set the pace I have to walk at to not trample you accidentally.

Injury or not, Nathanael would totally shove S'yn if he knew that last thought. But as ignorance is bliss the seacrafter sets off back towards the cavern. The puddles along the way get a small bit of attention, though just at the very edge, not too much splashing. "Ye met Cha'el? 'e 'e Igenite what caught Ma'am Hannah's last'un. Them egg're almost hatched."

Once the shorter youth sets the pace, S'yn falls into a matching stride beside the Seacrafter, though it does mean shortening his stride considerably, given the foot of height difference. Boots move across the ground without much discrimination of where they land, the oiled surface repelling most liquid and mud, though he avoids the deeper puddles just out of not wanting to splash his companion. "Cha'el?" He mulls over the name for a long moment before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I haven't." To be honest the bronzerider has been in something of his own little world between Falls and drills, for better or worse. "I suppose they are, huh?" The fact the hardening time has gone by so fast makes him shake his head in bemusement, wondering where the time has gone.

"He 'n Pa sailed back 'n 'e day, 'n he's been tellin' me 'bout Igen. 's desert ye know, 'n so like, we got 'e rains, they ain't got nothin' 'cept heat. Can ye be imagin'n that?" Nathanael shakes his head, personally unable to imagine not having an ocean near by. A few more puddles are disturbed as he takes a few paces in silence.

"I imagine they have to get some rain, but not as much as us, to be sure." S'yn shakes his head slightly at the idea of being someplace hot and dry all the time and finds it unpleasant to contemplate."I wouldn't want to live someplace that was hot and dry all the time. I like all the green we've got going." Life in all it's forms is wonderful, but the rider is a bit partial to the lusher ones. "I know you'd never live there, not without it being at a sea hold or something." He imagines Igen must have at least one, given it does border the ocean, ironically. "I came down from Nerat to Southern, actually. I don't recall if I ever told you."

"Aye, 'e jungle ain't like no'ere else." Brushing blond hair aside, maybe he should find Nika and get another trim, Nathanael turns to walk backwards for a bit, facing S'yn and the jungle they're leaving behind. "Nah! Didno' that."


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Kitchens
Renowned, the culinary prowress of Southern, and suitable her kitchens to the task. A broad and airy sweep of room, it cannot help the sweat-drenching heat — though hearths are cleverly set within the ground itself to maximize efficiency. Big copper pots gleam along long tables, cooks hustling to and fro to prepare the necessary meals. There is never a candlemark the kitchens are left unstaffed: even in the wee hours of the night, bakers can be seen shaping loaves and mixing biscuits. For those who miss meals, a sideboard brims with leftovers that are easily transformed into portable potables, complete with sweet herbal tea and a large wheel of a soft, white, crumbly cheese.


S'yn's expression is wry as he regards the older teen. "Perhaps we have the grubs to thank for that. Heard some Farmcrafter mentioned how they aerate the soil or somesuch." The Seacrafter's response to his dropped nugget of information earns a dry chuckle. "Well, I'm from Telgar originally, but I was in Nerat for a while before we came south. It's not that different from here, just not as vast, I suppose." He recalls the humid climes of the tropical peninsula thoughtfully. "You probably will feel at home there." At least the air won't be dry and stinging, that's for sure. They move across the bowl and finally get to the living caverns — darn short people! — and the bronzerider meanders toward the kitchens since where else would you find a cook? "Do you see her?" This asked of his shrimpish friend as he pauses in the doorway.

"Aye," a brief flash of worry when he speaks of the Southern Weyrleader, "'e Weyrleader was seemin' t' be pretty happy t've learned them wigglers were 'n 'e soil." In the kitchens Nathanael rolls onto his tip-toes, looking for that distinctive poof of gray hair that would mark the cook out from the rest. "Nah, but I'm bettin…" And he slides through the crowd of breakfast-makers (see, short is good) towards a far corner.

Arms folded across his chest, S'yn leans against the door frame on his right shoulder with no clue as to what the mysterious cook looks like. Still, he's willing to follow his friend and see where it takes him, which results in him weaving through the crowd as he uses his height to give him a better viewpoint to keep tabs on the young Seacrafter. "Hey, wait up." The request is said somewhat jokingly, though the weaving between those fast breakers and after Nathanael is a little tricky, walking the fine line between shoving people out of the way and politely nudging them. Oh, not to mention trying not to trample toes, since people tend not to take kindly to that sort of thing.

"Keep up!" Nathanael tosses the challenge back with a bit of laughter as he squeezes through the last pair of cooks. The small Apprentice is a common enough sight in the kitchens at this time of day that other than a few rolled eyes the kitchen workers don't object to his movement through them at all. When he reaches his corner he clambers up onto a small stool to wave at S'yn. "O'er 'ere!"

S'yn snorts in response to the rejoinder, though he does try to weave faster through the crowd of bustling cooks and drudges a bit faster, the movement organized chaos due to the breakfast crowds pouring in for those whose days don't start before the sun is above the horizon. The littlest Seacrafter is spied when he clambers up onto the stool and the bronzerider uses it as a beacon to go after the youth and soon is across the kitchen and in the corner, chuckling. "For someone who worked so hard to find me you sure did try to lose me back there." His tone and expression are mirthful rather than annoyed, however. "So, now what?"

"See, bein short's good for somethin' other'n not bashin' ye wits out." Nathanael jumps down from his stool when S'yn reaches him. There, arrayed in all their glory are the breakfast pastries. "Gotta grab Cha'el's tray, ye be takin' a few 'n I'll be right back."

"Heh, seems like it." S'yn's amber orbs glitter with amusement for his short friend's stout defense of his stature advantages. "All right." The assortment of baked goods are eyed with the gleam of a hungry teenager, particularly the male kind. "A few, eh?" This is more to himself than to Nathanael, the Apprentice having no doubt scampered off while the bronzerider's attention is diverted. A cloth napkin is laid claim to and several particularly choice pastries are tucked into it before the napkin is folded and tied about them to protect the contents, one kept in hand to nibble with immediate hunger as he awaits the small fry's return.

Nathanael is gone for quite a bit, and when he returns it is with a tray a bit overloaded with food. He settles it down and glances over the contents. A trio of cream filled pastries are plucked off the tray and held out to S'yn. "What ye think've this? Ma'am Ardstelle been tryin' somethin new." Not a hint of the danger in the pastries is offered forth, this being Nathanael's only chance in WEEKS to prank his larger friend.

The stool gets leaned against in the other boy's absence, giving the rider a chance to stretch out his bum leg and take the weight off it, though the numbweed does its job well. When the Seacrafter finally does return he sets his bundle and other pastry down to help lower that tray to a stable surface on the trestle before his attention is diverted to the contents plucked by his friend. The cream filled pastries are glanced at with curiosity even as he reaches out trustingly to take one from the other boy — sweet little Nathanael would never prank his best friend, right? — and goes to take a bite after clearing his mouth of his own. What he was expecting from the flaky exterior with the white cream filling was something dulcet and dessert-like; what he gets is something quite a bit different. Biting into the roll wholeheartedly — because what good is doing something in half measures? — he gets only a little ways into chewing it before the gotcha is revealed to his tastebuds. Jaw pauses and his expression struggles to stay neutral — it fails miserably, by the way — before he turns away to spit the mouthful into a nearby waste bucket. "Eugh! What in Faranth's name is this?" So much for politically correct.

Nathanael totally has a poker face. Though the second S'yn actually bites down onto the disgusting pastry the mask shatters and he begins to laugh bending down almost double with the force of the giggles. "Ye shoud've seen ye face." It might take a while for the Apprentice to stop laughing, especially when S'yn goes to spit out that mouthful.

S'yn drops the remains of that roll into the waste basket with the rest of what he's regurgitated, using his fingers to brush his tongue free of that disgusting item. Another napkin is snagged from the table to further wipe his offended organ off, before the rider turns back to face Nathanael with a scowl for those incessant giggles. "You bastard." He's somewhere between offended and amused, though right now offended takes the cake — that disgusting, anchovy paste cake — and so he punches the Seacrafter lightly in the shoulder, more annoyed than angry. He does feel a bit better after, but he still finds himself desperately needing a drink to wash down the rest of that… thing. "I'm never trusting food you bring me again." The boy finds a cup and a pitcher of water and pours himself a glass, downing it in one long series of swallows before refilling it and half draining it again before the disgusting taste is finally reduced enough that he can stop gagging. "Eugh." A shudder. "Never, ever again. Cha'el eats those?" It's only a natural assumption.

Throughout S'yn's diatribe about the disgustingness of the not-sweet Nathanael will just continue to giggle. He's not really sorry, and the other two rolls are put in to look innocent among the others upon the board. It's an innocent enough that Nathanael doesn't even feel guilty. He finally gets his giggling under control and blinks up, wiping tears from those sky blue eyes. "Nah man… Ma'am Hannah likes 'em, 'n ain't no'un been able t' tell Ma'am Ardstelle that ain't no'un else does." He keeps his voice low when he says this, making sure the blond haired cook isn't anywhere close to take offense.

“Some friend you turned out to be," S'yn grumps with a hint of sourness in his tone. The rest of the glass is polished and filled a third time before the bronzerider finally sets the pitcher aside and moves to take a bite of his much needed and normal pastry. That cream filled contraption can just go fly itself. The information of just who likes them earns a long stare from the boy. "I don't suppose she started liking them after Sikorth flew Dhiammarath?" One has to wonder, after all. His head shakes as he decides he really doesn't want to know and takes another bite out of his original sweetbread. "Sharding goldriders with their frelling sway." This last is grumbled mostly under the boy's breath, annoyance at being the subject of a prank more than anything. "You ever feed me one of those again and I'm stuffing the rest down your throat." The mental image of doing just that does finally break the annoyance and he chuckles softly. "Sharding awful creations."

"Ohhh," Nathanael ponders this thought, his mind going exactly where S'yn's has gone without needing any further prompting. "Cha'el'd make a great pa." This is say with utmost conviction as Nathanael reaches out to pluck a NONyuck pastry and eats it bite by bite, speaking around his chewing. Reaching out Nathanael gently shoves back at S'yn, still grinning completely. "Ye was lookin' too stern f'r ye own good. Gotta have some fun S'yn," There, have teenage wisdom to put in your pocket. "I gotta be gettin' this o'er t' Cha'el. Be seein' ye?" An upraised eyebrow, Nathanael isn't totally sure that they will.

Seems someone had the avians and VTOLs talk with Nathanael after all. The little sailor is all growed up. "I wouldn't know." Not having met the man in any real fashion S'yn's aware of anyway. The admonition that the boy should have more fun earns a scowl, particularly as he is given that shove. "I have fun." This is said a little defensively and the rider looks back over the time since his Impression and has to wonder if that's really the case or if he's deluding himself. "Just got Fall frequently and stuff I gotta do between them. I have fun when I can." Admittedly the youth sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than Nathanael. His pastry is polished and washed down with the last of the water, finally rid of that unwholesome taste in his mouth when the Apprentice prepares to leave. "Only if you promise never to feed me one of those again." Lips quirk lopsidedly into a half smile. "Go on, I'll see you before you leave and certainly come visit." Nerat's a better place than some, after all. Fist is offered for a bump to say farewell before his companion picks up the tray again. "I gotta get back atcha somehow." Farewell delivered the bronzerider plucks up his bundle of pastries and slinks out, having his own duties to attend to, and thanking Faranth none of them having anything to do with fish cream.

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