Nathanael Kultir


Pillows lead to conversations.


I have no idea. Sometimes before impression.


Candidate Barracks

OOC Date


nathanael_default.jpg kultir_default.jpg


Candidate Barracks

Perhaps the safest place in the weyr, these barracks: the stonework here is old, perhaps as old as the weyr is itself, for the uncanny cleanliness of ancient stonecutters marks neat corners and perfect arches. Richly-lit by glowlight, tapestries reflect scenes of yore from the walls - dragons flaming, holders farming, and one particularly well-made that depicts the impression of a dark-haired girl to a light-toned gold dragonet, dripping and fierce. The barracks themselves are open-air, with not even a curtain to divide the space of male from female. Bunk-bed style cots line each wall, hammocks strung along the middle for those unfortunate enough to lack the privacy that an adjoining wall brings. There are privies in the back and locker-style item storage in the front, and one especially large table next to a book-case filled with basic Harper texts.

Timor: moon2.jpg
Belior: moon5.jpg

Nathanael throws a pillow at Kultir.

Kultir flops on his bunk and tosses his dirty socks at Nathanael.

Nathanael lays them on Linden's sleeping face.

Kultir snickers and throws that pillow back to Nate.

Nathanael grabs the pillow and stuffs it back in place, innocent like. "I could be usin' an orange too!"

Kultir points from his lounging position on his bunk. "They're all the way over there."

Nathanael looks down from his perch upon The Most Awesome. "Ye're still closer'n I am."

Kultir groans and rolls up from the bunk to pad barefoot to the sideboard. Taking up a pair of oranges and an apple, he tosses one orange to the Seacrafter before flopping back onto his bunk to crunch into the apple.

Nathanael grabs the fruit and begins to peeel, peeeeeel, peeeeeeeel it till all that orange is gone. Then, looking around, flicks it onto Quentin's bunk. He'll never notice right?

Kultir watches the younger teen flick that peel into Quentin's bunk and grins at the boy. Naw, surely not. Finishing his apple with one last crunching bite, he considers the core before tossing it toward Nate and pointing toward a random pair of boots.

Nathanael catches the core and looks around, eyeing those boots. He shakes his head. Those are Prymelia's! Instead he wanders…. wanders…. there. Pointing at the waste basket Nathanael mimes getting the core into it. "Bubbly pie if'n I'm makin' it!"

Yules foofs Nathanael! Nathanael pounces the foof, hugs it tightly, will name it squishy and it will be his squishy forever!

Kultir grimaces as the boots end up being the wrong pair to tuck that core in. Looking at the basket he nods. "Sure, you make it and I'll get you a bubbly pie." Sometime.

"First thing t'morrow, e'en if'n ye gotta be gettin Ma'am Ardstelle t' be lettin' ye cook'er yeself." Nathanael doesn't wait for Kultir to agree to his new terms, instead throwing that apple. Quick, Roll, does it hit?!

"Hey! I didn't say I'd get it first thing. Just that I'd get you one." He watches that arch, hoping it doesn't sink into the basket.

You say, "Too late!" Nathanael giggles as the apple core soars. Drat, a 4. The core clinks against the side of the can and skitters away under a far bunk. "Darn.""

Kultir sighs in relief since he can't cook bubblies for nothing and he knows Ardstelle wouldn't let him near the cooking stuff even if he begged. "Too bad, Nate."

"Man." Nathanael lays back in his bunk. "Ye know, 'm real glad t' be bein' 'ere."

Kultir grins at the younger teen and nods. "I'm glad you're here too. Was kinda lonely after you left … kinda like the Weyr just sorta lost something."

Nathanael props his head up on a pillow, looking downwards and across the barracks. "'e north ain't what I was rememberin'." He admits this with a half smile. "Lot more rules. E'en these'un," and he waves at the whole of the candidate experience, "they ain't nothin."

Kultir snorts softly and nods slightly, wondering what kinds of changes have come about in the Turns he's been gone from the northern continent. "From the sound of things, things have been changing up there. Maybe my old man will get his knot taken from him and he'll just be a herdbeast and runner farmer instead." That'd teach the old blowhard.

"Dunno man. mayhap 's jus' 'e Cap'n I was ridin' with." Nathanael flops backwards on his bed and looks upwards. "Ye e'er miss ye dad?"

Kultir hmms softly and shrugs. "Maybe. Never can tell, I guess." Peering toward the boy, he frowns slightly and shakes his head. "Nope. Miss my Mum and m' little sister though."

"'s different." Nathanael's voice contains a yawn, as the ever-moving Seacrafter approaches the edge of sleep. "Ain't sure if'n I'd mind, ye know, not impressin'… jus… t' be stayin…"

Nathanael doesn't respond, having fallen into sleep that only a teenage boy can manage.

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