Who

Charli, D'kan

What

A brief meeting between riders.

When

It is midmorning of the thirteenth day of the second month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Cold Storage, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

charli.jpg d-kan_default.jpg

igencoldstorage.jpg

Cold Storage

Halite forms a thick, hoary frost on the walls, forever preserving the contents held within and offering up a somewhat bitter aftertaste to the still, chilly air. Frozen solid, carcasses are stacked like grotesque statuary against the far reaches of the walls, row upon row of foot-tagged herdbeast and fowl gleaming amid solid blocks of ice. The wintry chill of the place does little to dissipate the stench of blood that hangs,ominous, in the air; dry, coppery, permanent. The floors are covered in hides to contain any melt-off, while raised walkways between the aisles of food prevent contamination by human foot traffic and make it more difficult for the occasional pest to get at the Weyr's precious foodstuffs.

It is the forty-third day of Winter and 34 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


Cold without, colder still within — and still there's a small woman within the Cold Storage cavern, bundled up against the cold and tapping thoughtful lips as she eyes up the current stock. Perhaps she'll find a bit of her favorite cuts here, an excellent addition to the usual fare she's managed to squirrel away in her own, private stock. Her two small firelizards cheep and complain, crouching in discontent on her shoulders.

D'kan emerges from one of the aisles, also bundled up for the cold. In one gloved hand, he holds a small clipboard with a sheet of parchment held securely. In the other hand is a thick charcoal pencil. He's about to turn down the next aisle when he spots Charli out of the corner of his eye. Starting, the brownrider clears his throat quietly, then gives the other a sheepish sort of grin. "Sorry, got caught up in my own thing, I guess. Didn't hear anyone else come down here."

Charli gives an undignified squeak as D'kan appears out of nowhere, assuming a defensive crouch, tiny fists upraised.Her hatchlings, yet much too young to do more that screech and flap their wings, opt to take off and disappear between, startled by the commotion — and in that interval, Charli recognizes a fellow rider, coming out of her crouch with a sheepish grin of her own. "Sorry," she laughs nervously, tugging absently at her braided hair. "It's just all these damned raiders running around. Gets me on edge."

D'kan holds up his hands to either side, clearly displaying only the crude clerical tools of his current task. His return grin shows white teeth against darkened skin as recognition sets in for both. "I don't blame you. Though it'd be weird to find them down here," he replies, glancing down the nearest aisle. "Then again, not many people around here this time of the season, so… guess it'd be a smart move for them, too." His lack of concern is reflected in an easy shrug, however. "Except for the guards and all." He shifts the pencil from his right hand to his left, then holds out the hand in offered greeting. "Don't know if we've properly met before. D'kan. Kazavoth's."

"Yes, there are those, aren't there," Charli drawls in wry amusement at her own unwarranted tenseness. "You've a point — probably too many about to easily get in here." Her other worries, she leaves unsaid; after all, now's not the time nor the place. She's here after meat, not scare stories, so she relaxes completely, sticking her hands into her pockets and setting her feet comfortably on the cold stone floor. And then she tilts her head to one side, considering the man out of intent gray eyes before taking his hand. "Ah — rider of the talkative one." Impishly, she dimples at him, then offers her name with a little shrug. "Charli. Dzakath's."

D'kan laughs softly, then nods in confirmation. "That'd be the one. Try as I might." He points a thumb down the aisle he was about to enter when he first spotted Charli. "Heading down this way? I'm just trying to figure out when Kaz and I need to make another ice run. Haven't checked for melting since this autumn."

"S'pose I could," Charli's agreeable to tamping about in the place like a mischievous little sprite. "It'll keep me warm, any road." Perhaps the lack of a ruckus has led to bravery on the part of her small winged pets, for they choose that moment to reappear, squeaking and chirping hesitantly. "Silly creatures," the greenrider smirks, tapping their heads as they settle down. "No brains to 'em, you know."

"Oh, I don't know about that," D'kan replies with a soft laugh. "They do well enough with the ground crews. It's kind of fun to watch." He grabs the nearest glow basket before continuing down the walkway toward the end, where dark blocks of ice look both glossy and craggy at the same time. He starts to move the light around the tower of blocks, tapping here and there with his clipboard before making a small notation. "Though I suppose that's more instinct than brains. Just like people and dragons, you have the smart ones and the stupid ones. Luck of the draw, maybe."

Charli snorts. "Mine're too young to have much brain. They're still on the 'eat, sleep, pester' cycle." The ice blocks are eyed, then poked at with an inquisitive finger before she returns her gaze to D'kan. "When's the last you brought ice? Where from?" A tumble of questions, that: falling out of her mouth with the intense rapidity of a too-curious mind, prodded by the need to know everything, right this very second.

"North of Telgar last time," D'kan answers, seemingly happy to do so as he heads back up the walkway, closing the glowbasket before he hangs it, then continues toward the next aisle. "And mid-autumn. I might see if the new hold down on Southern might be up for the business, though. The Telgar and 'Reaches cotholds supply a lot of ice. As long as I don't have to actually cut it free myself, though…" He trails off, shrugging, then begins inspecting the next stack with glowbasket and clipboard. The bottom block of this one begins chipping away quite easily, so he makes a different notation. "Not a little of change in winter, usually, except through evaporation. Every time someone opens the doors, it erodes a bit more."

"So, here and there, so as not to ruin the supply?" Charli shivers a little, wrapping her arm about her torso. Closer to the ice, closer to the cold. "Mm — shards. Dzakath calls." She twists about frowning outward as thought she can see through all that rock to her dragon. "Inopportune times, with that one." After a moment's mental conversation, she shrugs and turns back to D'kan. "Looks like I have to leave the tour. Perhaps next time — when my dragon hasn't decided partway through that she has to be oiled."

"If I gave into Kazavoth's every whim and demand, I'd never get anything else done," D'kan replies, though it's with that knowing, long-suffering laugh of someone who knows about those draconic distractions all too well. "It's probably more interesting than ice, at least. And warmer." He hangs up the glowbasket and nods to Charli, adding a friendly, "Pleasure meeting you," before he heads back down the next dark aisle, illuminated moments later by the opening of yet another glowbasket. All just part of the routine.

Add a New Comment