Nathanael, Arlemond, Raila (cameo)


Nathanael is caught sneaking out of the dorms with Arlemond's daughter. Raila intervenes.


It is night of the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr

OOC Date


nathanael_default.jpg arlemond_default.jpg


Craft Complex

Expansive and airy, this space, now adorned and decorated with the pride of well over a hundred crafters. A vaulted cavern encompasses two levels, fit with clever skylights from innovative smithcrafters that illuminate tapestries displayed from the bannister of the second-floor: Healer purple, Harper blue, the yellow of the Farmcraft — all the colors and all the crafts are upon display, proudly. The lower level is given to tables and chairs and a hearth stocked with klah; it is brightly-illuminated and a place to study and congregate socially both. The upper level is given to residential rooms, lending the whole atmosphere a pleasant, if somewhat supervised, aura.

It is the twenty-eighth day of Spring and 77 degrees. It is overcast and cloudy.

It's hardly unusual for apprentices to be seen together, even ones that are at cross crafts. What is unusual however, is the hour at which these teenagers are seen together. Dusk has long since fallen and a particular weaver apprentice (now referred to as Marle) and a particular sea crafter apprentice (now refered to as Nathanael) are creeping out of the apprentice dorms. Their whispered voices are quiet enough to not wake anyone else. Oh, and they're holding hands.

"Ahem." If there's something the gravelly-voiced Senior Journeyman can do it's 'ahem.' Arlemond unleashes a doozy of one at his daughter and the boy she's creeping out with. Marle freezes, small secret smile slipping from her face as she turns towards the source of the cleared throat. Nathanael's hand? Dropped like a rock. "Marle. Home." Her mother is waiting. "You." Nathanael. "Come here." Arlemond is seated in wingback chair, forearms resting along the arms.

Nathanael has the good graces to at least look like he's a bit embarassed about being caught out with someone else's daughter. He shares a 'I'm-so-sorry' look with Marle before the girl is taking her leave of the barracks to go back to her mother's warm embrace. Straightening up to his full five foot hight Nathanael flicks blond hair out of his eyes so he can look the Senior in the eye. "Sir. It ain't what ye're thinkin'." Because what ELSE would a father think when their teenager daughter is caught sneaking out with a teenage boy?

Arlemond, gestures to a specific 'here' spot. Because 'Come here' hadn't been clear enough apparently. He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth, considering Nathanael. That flip of too-long hair. An assumption about what he was thinking. He doesn't say a word, merely arching a brow. Waiting.

Nathanael goes right to that spot, checking his feet to make sure they're exactly where the man had gestures. Once there he attempts a small smile, to perhaps make the best of this particular situation. "Really, it ain't. Marle said she ain't ne'er seen 'e moons like they be out on 'e beach, so I was gonna show'er 'n this spot I'm knowin' and was gonna explain some 've 'e shouthern constellations 'n such afore I had t' be leavin, 'cuz I promised I would be doin that." An outpouring of EXPLANATION. Earnestness rolls off like a wave from the young man as that betraying hair falls into his eyes again. It really is time for a hair cut again.

There is little to betray the reaction that Arlemond has to Nathanael's words, save a flattening of his lips. Steepled fingers, drop, hands folding across his belly. "Are the Starcraft courses you've taken," both of them, Nathanael and Marle, "Insufficient in some way?" That extra 'instruction' was needed.

Nathanael shakes his head at this question, blond hair scattering. He reaches up to smooth is back again, tucking a lock behind an ear. Yes. REALLY time to be cutting it again. Maybe he'll try a new style. (Like, not getting it done by a dragonrider.) "No sir! Jus' they ain't showin' all them things what I've been seein', ye know, 'cuz i's better when ye can be havin' some'un right there pointin 'em out. Ye know?" He looks rather hopeful, like Arlemond is totally thinking of fingers when you talk about pointing.

The boy's logic is flawless. Flawless and irrelevant. "Mmmmm." Not an affirmation. Simply a deep-chested rumble. Arlemond doesn't move much, but lifts his chin slightly to regard the boy even more closely, dark eyes intent, brow furrowed. He'll just let that sit there and let the Nathanael squirm. See what bubbles out.

"I was prepped sir!" A bag that has been hanging off of Nathanael shoulder is shrugged off. Maybe if Arlemond SAW how well prepared Nathanael was for this… "I got a blanket," he pulls out the warm plush thing, "'n food," of course they're the Perneese equivalent of strawberries, "'n somethin' to drink." Really it's just Klah, but you'd have to OPEN it to know that of course. "Was gonna be back afore much longer, just a quickie sir."

Dark eyes follow the removal of item by item. Nail one in Nathanael's coffin: Blanket. Mmmhmm. Nail two in Nathanael's coffin: Sexy snack. Nail three in Nathanael's coffin… hmmm. That seems reasonable. Hyrdation is important. Nails five six and seven all hammered in with two little syllables. 'Quickie.' Arlemond's eyes narrow. Very quietly, "Rephrase that, son."

Nathanael might actually feel the nails hitting down into his coffin as the eyes narrow and that quiet voice. "Oh! No! Sir, ain't like that, I mean, Marle's real pretty, 'n I ain't opposed to mayhap kissin' 'er 'n what not, but we ain't, no sir!"

'And whatnot.' Keep digging, boy. Arlemond's eyes narrow further, but one of those words sticks out. "Mayhap." Arlemond tests the word, intoning it flatly at Nathanael. He blinks, letting the boy squirm more.

Nathanael is squirming. But he can't seem to just STOP talking. Like it will somehow make this this better. He gestures with his hands as he speaks, opening them wide. "See, I'm leavin' soon, so I was thinkin' this mayhap be our only time t' be goin'. Got this palce out 'n 'e beach where 'e jungle ain't gonna be blockin' the view. Then, if'n it got too hot, mayhap we could be swimmin' real quick."

He was almost in the clear, too. 'Mayhap' meant 'not yet.' The purpose of the more-or-less silent treatment was to allow the boy to rope to hang himself. And Nathanael's word salad is delivering. "Swimming." Bland. So bland, the expression that Arlemond is wearing. Though, if he's looking closely, he might notice the Smith's meaty, scarred hands curling into fists. Nathanael hadn't brought out any swimsuits.

“Aye, ‘cuz it still ain’t all that cool, ‘n if’n she was getting hot.” Nathanael is actually relaxing, having not noticed those hands curling into fists. Apparently he takes that bland expression as Arlemond coming around to his way of thinking. “I’m a real good swimmer sir, ain’t nothin’ gonna be happin’ ‘n ‘e water what with me there.”

Arlemond's eyes narrow. This kid's either bold as brass or dumb as a box of doorknobs. He doesn't consider the third alternative. That Nathanael's just a sweet as-yet uncorrupted kid. "Nothing's happening in the water because you're going to your dorm, Apprentice Nathanael." Arlemond hadn't even brought UP the whole 'apprentice' bit yet. And he a Senior Journeyman. A father first. "Who's your craft Master?"

Dumb as a doorknob… that seems to be the perception that most people get. It’s not true, but that’s the lot Nathanael will simply have to ride. He does look rather dejected, though he had assumed that his foray outside was PRETTY MUCH DONE when Aremond caught them. “Aye sir.” He’s already turning when that question is asked. He pauses, glancing back through curls of blond hair. “M’ Pa’s name ‘s Journeyman Dorrono.” As for craft master… Nathanael doesn’t answer. It’s probably best for Arlemond to talk to Dorrono. Another pause. “Sir, are ye wantin’ t’ be comin’ along?”

Arlemond levers up out of the chair with a grunt. There's a moment where it looks like it might take two attempts -it's a deep chair- and the Senior Journeyman supresses a barb of frustration. Getting older sucks and the Smith hasn't been all that kind to his body. It barks with aches and pains, masked and mastered as he straightens his clothes. He gestures Nathanael ahead of him. Lead the way. Arlemond is reasonably sure the lad's chastening is genuine, but you can't be too sure. He falls in alongside Nathanael. "What do you suspect your father will have to say about this?"

At least at this Nathanael winces a bit. Disappointing his father wasn’t really on the agenda. There aren’t that many footsteps between the chair and the apprentice doorway, and once there Nathanael pauses- no reason to be waking everyone else up, right? “He ain’t gonna be too happy ‘bout us not askin’ permission to be honest sir. I would’ve asked, ‘cept it just came on all sudden ‘n he’s busy gettin’ all prepped t’ be leavin’ North in a week.”

Raila sweeps out into the common area, hands folded gracefully across her abdomen as she approaches Nathanael and Arlemond. She smiles at Nathanael, dark and gentle face lovely in the dim light. A hand reaches out to lightly touch Arlemond's arm and she quietly asks, "A moment, love." Raila draws Arlemond away and the two confer quietly for a moment. The darkling beauty tips up on her toes to kiss Arlemond on the cheek and withdraws as quickly she came. Arlemond clears his throat. "Nathanael. Be sure to tell your father about this… lapse in judgment. And invite him to join us tomorrow evening at this spot of yours." Arlemond's voice grows flat, "We're to make a family outing of it seems."

Nathanael watches the woman drift in, and then drift out again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he waits for the journeyman to come back. If it wasn’t such an awkward situation, he might even hum a bit as he waits. But no. He’ll just wait. When Arlemond comes back again Nathanael sets himself firmly back at attention. “Oh, I’ll be tellin’ him sir. Though… he proly won’t be comin’, he’s suppose t’ be headin’ North f’r most’ve t’morrow t’ finish the prep-ar-ation’s. Mayhap, if’n ‘e can be gettin’ a rider t’ be bringin’ him home’ll he be here.”

The lad's attentive posture is noted. The Smith nods, rumbling, "Of course. With his permission, you'll join us." It's a strange sort of invitation, especially given that none of the Smith's family actually knows where this spot of Nathanael's is. "Go to sleep. Apprentice." That's not an invitation. It's an order.

Right. Sleep. Nathanael bobs his head oh-so-respectfully. “Yes sir!” And he’ll move to duck into the apprentice dorms. Except he doesn’t stay there. Almost as soon as he had disappeared into the darkness beyond that blond head is popping back out. “Could… you… sir, mayhap be tellin’ Marle I’m sorry? ‘n g’night f’r me? Please?” Can he really say no to those blue eyes?

Yes. Yes he can ignore them. And stars willing, so can Marle. There were going to be more talks tonight. Arlemond merely quirks a brow at Nathanael, lips flattened into a line. He doesn't say a word, but there might be a noticeable grinding of teeth.

Right. Okay. Nathanael can read that expression as having pushed is luck WAY too far. So. Um. “Yes, um. thanke sir. I’ll be seein’ you tomorrow.” And then blond hair is actually gone into the apprentice dorms.

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