Who

K'ane, A'dan

What

K'ane and A'dan run across each other in the Kitchen Courtyard. Women and training are discussed, but crop rotation -so weighty and noble a topic- will have to wait for another time.

When

It is evening of the tenth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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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 fortieth day of Winter and 44 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


Post-Arroyo drills and K'ane can be found by the kitchen well washing off most of the offensive bits from his hands and splashing water on his face. He looks tired but in the not-lethargic way. The kitchens are where all the action is, currently, leaving the little courtyard all-but-deserted: the bronzerider and a pair of baker's assistants that labor through providing the kitchen with water for cleaning dishes, trundling back and forth like vtols with OCD.

A'dan ambles into the courtyard, headscarf hanging loose. He nods in passing at K'ane. Side-stepping the indifferent efficiency of the trundling kitchen staff and peering into the bowels of Igen Weyr's food production machine. Whoever (whatever?) he's looking for isn't in evidence and he weaves back towards the well and the bronzerider undergoing ablutions. Boots grate in on the sandy pavers as he comes to a halt, "Banned from the baths?"

"Th' scullery told me if I trekked any more mud she was gonna beat me." K'ane sounds amused rather than moody, at least. "She's a broad-arsed wench, so, y'know. Best not fuck around with that, I figure." The half-smirk on his face seems to indicate that he'd be interested in OTHER kinds of fucking around, potentially. "Huntin' for someone in particular?" he returns to the other bronzerider, motioning with his chin towards the kitchen proper.

A brow arches, looking at the grime still on the other bronzerider, the evidence of that washed away, then furrows, "Taken up farmcraft?" Because those folks dig in the mud. Eyes flicker towards the parade of kitchen staff and back, weight shifting from one foot to the other as A'dan give K'ane a flat look. "Charming as ever, K'ane." He skates right past the question of who the target of his search was, "Where'd you Impress?" A hand flips over his shoulder, time passing, "Back then."

Oh poor A'dan; there couldn't be a more vitriolic insult to the oldtimer, who recoils as if stuck. "Faranth, no. Them fuckers wouldn't know a real crop rotation if it bit 'em in the ass." That, apparently, is the source of quite a bit of strife. K'ane doesn't seem bothered by the flat look. "Well, thank you for sayin' so, A'dan, but y'ain't really my type. Worried that whoever you're huntin' is?" Roguish knave when he wants to be, K'ane nonetheless gets a distant look for a distant locale; "High Reaches."

Brows furrow and A'dan's mouth opens, shuts. A real crop… what? "Rota…?" he waves off the answer. Know what? Don't care. The older bronzerider snorts, "I'm not? Huh." He looks thoughtful, "I thought your type was 'breathing.'" His eyebrows raise, a challenge. Refute it. Interest flickers in light brown eyes. A narrowed speculative look, "When's a good time to pick your brain about the training you did as a weyrling?"

"Crop r…" K'ane doesn't finish it, sensing A'dan is an UNWORTHY SOUL for his vast knowledge on farming. Ahem. "An' not-diseased," K'ane reflects. "An' pretty. I ain't down with shovin' a bag over some poor girl's head." Yep, he just said that. "I was th' weyrling wingleader. What d'you wanna know?" The bronzerider flicks a glance to the other. "It was interval, remember. An' we were starvin' at th' time, so our agenda may've been a little different than what all y'lightweight Nowtimers are used to." He's not joking.

It's too bad that A'dan wasn't worthy of learning about proper crop rotations, becuase there's a great BURN about the effectiveness of said rotations and the STARVING that K'ane later reveals. Another brow is lofted, so much furrowing of ample forehead, "Bag would encroach on that whole 'breathing' bit." He's not joking? The insult is passed over, mostly because it's just true. They were bound to be soft and out of touch, with two-hundred years of relative peace. "An interval fresh off a Pass, though, right? Lean and hard. I want to know everything you can remember."

If they had left Rikane ALONE to his FARMING and not gone and poached his herdbeast (and the boy), all of High Reaches could have been supplied by his crops. But no. Lendai and R'yst plucked him up and caused a terrible famine. Go figure. LENDAI THE FAMINER. "Fresh off a Pass," K'ane confirms. "I remember it, a little. I was a toddler for th' last Fall that came over Ista." His voice is distant again, and he shakes his head. "Anyhow, my notes from a few clutches back are somewhere. Sienna may have 'em. She'd be a better source anyhow, havin' been a weyrlingmaster back then, too."

"Already picked Sienna's brain," he grunts. "Interested in your recollections as a weyrling. If you already gave notes to Sienna, I'll get those." A niggling thought. What in the world did you need to rotate plants for? Sunlight? High Reaches was far north. Huh. A question for the ages. With a nod and eyes grown distant, considering Sienna's files, fingers flicker in a brief wave, "Evenin' bronzerider."

Soil nutrient factors apply no matter the climate, but K'ane can't necessarily reply to something he doesn't know about; therefore, the Arroyo bronzerier shrugs a shoulder after A'dan, "Evenin'," he returns, before heading back towards the bowl, dusting excessive dirt off of him as he goes.

The mysteries of crop rotation will just have to wait for another day.

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