Who

Kultir, T'ral

What

Kultir and T'ral visit at the end of a long day.

When

It is night of the sixteenth day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

kultir_default.jpg t-ral_default.jpg

nighthearth.jpg

Nighthearth

A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.

It is the seventy-sixth day of Summer and 105 degrees. It is dark and clear.


It is after supper and the living caverns have fairly well cleared out of those lingering over their meals and the area of the nighthearth is quiet. The perfect space for someone to work on tedious, time-consuming tasks or to simply relax at the end of the day. A long, low table has been drawn up in front of a loveseat and is covered with metal rings and thin strips of sueded leather cording, a small pile of tiny seashells and a packet of brightly colored feathers lay nearby. A spool of fine thread is set to one side with a pin cushion beside it along with a leather package unrolled to reveal several odd looking knives and awls. Kultir is settled on the loveseat hunched over the table with one of those metal rings in his hands and wrapping that sueded cord carefully around that ring. He frowns slightly in concentration as he works, not expecting any interruptions at this hour since most of his fellow Candidates are already in the Barracks winding down after the long day of chores.

T'ral is tired. Wrung out by demands of weyrlings and weyrling dragons. By infirmary duties. By Candidates. He's ready to sink into a chair and stare off into space for however long it takes before he falls asleep. Probably snoring. He schleps into the the Nighthearth, scratching at the back of his skull a yawn cracking his jaws. He blinks down at Kultir. "Evenin' Kultir." Mngnfvn ltrrr, is what it sounds like. Another yawn. "What're you doing?" He squints and fans his fingers across the materials, tumbling a shell under one finger, a feather under another.

"More feathers?" She asks, fingers deftly untying the twine that holds the package together. Breath is sucked in when midnight purple, nearly black feathers with silver-grey edging are revealed, similar to those of a crow with gilding. "Oh Kultir," Prymelia breathes, "they're spectacular!! Thank you!" Impulsively, she throws her arms about the hunter's neck and plants a kiss on his cheek before scampering back up the rock with her prrrrreciousssss. Stroking one of the soft velvety feathers against her cheek, hazel eyes cut to T'ral, widen when suddenly he's standing there all bare-chested and fine-looking - damn the man! - and then she smiles.

T'ral blinks, breath caught. His hand presses flat against the table and he swallows. He picks up the feather and looks at it. Was that… another yawn cracks his jaws. "Man," he comments, "they're coming in like rollers." Waves of exhaustion with yawns as the vanguard.

Kultir glances up at the greeting with a slightly startled look that slides into a smile as he nods a greeting at the bluerider. "Evening, T'r … er, sir." He barely catches himself from making that faux pas of forgetting that his friend is now an Assistant Weyrlingmaster and one of the Candidate's supervisors. He glances at the items spread across the table and absently ties off the cord he is wrapping around that ring. "Just making some things for some of my friends. Kind of something to let them remember Candidacy by." Broad shoulders shrug slightly as his cheeks color slightly as if he's been caught doing something wrong. When T'ral looks like he's about to pass out, he frowns in concern at the bluerider. "Are you okay?"

That stumble is noted, even as muzzy as T'ral is, his only reply a brief curling of the corner of his mouth and a look at his knot. It still doesn't seem like it belongs there. On a good day. "What are they?" He picks up a finished one and turns it over in his hands. Is he okay? "Yeah." Dark eyes dart to Kultir's amber, "I'm fine. Tired." He brushes the feathers of the …device (?) in his hands and states quietly, "You gave feathers like this to Prymelia once. At the beach."

Not entirely convinced of the older man's assertion that he is fine, Kultir doesn't press the issue as the bluerider picks up one of the finished ones and examines it. "My mum called them 'dreamcatchers'. She used to put one up on the wall above my bed when I was little. She said the shells caught the bad ones so that they wouldn't bother me and the feathers dangling from the bottom let the good dreams drip onto my pillow to wait for me to sleep." He watches as the other man brushes the feathers of the trinket and chuckles softly. "I did, yeah. I'm not entirely sure what she did with them but I did give them to her … she seemed to like them a lot." The young tracker peers curiously at the bluerider, wondering what the other is thinking.

"Dreamcatchers," T'ral puts the pretty thing down and sinks into a nearby chair with a groan and only a slight wince for his tender ribs. He's about to suggest that Kultir give one to Nevik soonest, but even if the boy's nightmares aren't a secret, it seems… inappropriate to discuss one Candidate with another. T'ral sighs. "How's it going this time around? Candidacy." That's safe, right?

Kultir nods slightly as the older man sets the trinket back down and settles into a nearby chair. He decides that he can take a short break and just converse for a while since there's no real rush to finish these little fripperies. Taking up his mug of klah, he sips at the sweetened brew even though it's barely lukewarm now. At the question, he considers his answer for a few moments before shrugging slightly. "It's … different. I guess because I'm older and my … attitude(?) has changed somewhat from what it was last time." He takes a long drink of his klah, his gaze going a bit glassy as he stares at the tabletop without really seeing it. "I'm not … scared, this time." He shrugs again, the slight movement indicating that he isn't sure if he's explaining himself very well.

T'ral wriggles upright, listening as Kultir holds forth. He settles into the armchair, picking at a loose thread along the upholstery. Loose threads didn't happen when Renalde was in residence. It's a measure of T'ral's exhaustion that he's not focused wholly on what's in front of him. His brows raise at Kultir's last, thread picking stilling, "You were scared last time?" Pardon T'ral if he sounds incredulous. He sure doesn't remember it that way. Not that THAT'S any guide.

Kultir's ears turn a medium shade of pink as he nods slightly at the bluerider. "Yeah. I mean … it just felt like everyone wanted me to change into something I didn't know how to be." The young man gnaws at his lower lip, a slight frown creasing his brow as he toys with his klah mug as he turns it in his hands. His eyes flick toward T'ral and away in embarrassment but he manages to continue after clearing his throat. "I guess that surprises you … it did Sy and he knew me better than anyone else. When I was younger, change wasn't a good thing … ever. So, when I felt like I was being shoved toward a change of some kind … I got scared. I don't like being scared so … I usually got angry and sullen."

"Huh." T'ral leans against a wing of the wingback chairs, "I just thought you were grumpy." He huffs a light laugh. "I'm sorry, I had no idea." His mouth works, trying to think of something else to say and comes up dry. He gives the tracker-Candidate a watery smile. "Oh," here's a tidbit, he scratches at his jaw, "I went to my father to turn in my knot. Had it right there," he holds his two hands out, "He talked me out of it. I still don't know why."

Kultir chuckles softly and nods slightly at the apology, a hand waving gently as if to say it doesn't matter. "No one knew … you weren't alone. Shards, I didn't even realize what my problem was for a long time." He heaves a deep sigh and slumps deeper into the loveseat, his large frame taking up more than half that double-wide seat. At the other's admission, he snorts softly at the thought. "Your Candidate's knot? Huh! He probably knew you were going to make a good rider." One hand gestures to the knot on the bluerider's shoulder. "He was right. Look where you're at now." There's a mildly wistful expression flickering in the depths of his amber eyes but it disappears rather quickly. "At least it shows that he cares about you … that he even bothered to try to talk you out of it."

T'ral spreads his hands, dipping his head in a 'whaddya do?' shrug. "Well, he didn't talk me out of it perse. But he helped me make a decision for myself." The bluerider smiles fondly at Kultir, "Which is," he shrugs, helpless, "Better, even, than talking me out of it." He tongues the inside of his mouth, uncertain if he should say what he's about to. He takes a breath, "Between you me and the fencepost, Kultir, I think K'ane is CRACKED for bringing me on." He laughs, eyes looking off and up, an incredulous cast to his features, "I mean, I don't even REMEMBER a moment of weyrlinghood." He shakes his head, mouth opening and closing a couple of times. Gasping fish out of water. "I mean, he hasn't pulled me aside," he pitches his voice lower, grumblier, "'Yo, kid, we need ta talk,'" his best K'ane impression. Passable. "So. Must being doing okay." T'ral shrugs again -ALL THE SHRUGGING- eyes wide and head shaking.

Cocking his head slightly at the bluerider, Kultir considers the bluerider's words and nods a bit. "It is, I suppose. He pretty much gave you a choice and actually talked to you, it sounds like." At T'ral's admission, the younger man's eyebrows rise as he listens with a slight frown creasing his brow. His eyes flick around the nighthearth to be sure they are alone before he nods slowly in understanding. "You must remember something. They'd have sent you back to retrain with the Weyrlings if you didn't remember anything, wouldn't they?" He drains his cold klah and leans forward to set the empty mug on the table in front of his seat before leaning back again. "I don't know what all you're supposed to do or anything but … it seems like you're doing okay. I don't know what to think of K'ane sometimes but … he doesn't seem like somebody to hang someone out to dry by sticking them in a situation they can't handle."

T'ral shakes his head, brow furrowing, waving one hand airily, "Oh, sure, I 'remember' tons of things. I'm as good a rider as I ever was. Arianne wouldn't have kept me on if that wasn't the case." His jaws crack with another yawn, hastily covered by that gesturing hand, "Sorry." He licks his lips, "I know how to do things, but not, uh, events. Specific moments." He smiles a bit, "I just had a flash there, of you and me and Prymelia on the beach. You'd brought feathers to her. She hugged you and then gave me such a look." He's looking off in the middle distance, carefully, as if the recollection will slip behind the curtain drawn over his mind if he examines it too closely. The corner of his mouth tugs into a grin and he huffs a little amused breath of air, "I think that's the first real thing I've remembered." His eyes brighten as they meet Kultir's. "At this rate, by then end of the Pass, I'll remember weyrlinghood!" His grin grows giant and false, facetious rather than sarcastic. "Woohoo!" He sits back, forearms going out along the armchair arms, hands tapping out a beat. "I'm glad you're Standing, Kultir. I'd be honored to be your Weyrlingmaster," he grins and lowers his voice to a whisper, "Just don't tell anyone I'm making it up, okay?"

Kultir laughs softly at his friend's memory flash and nods slightly as his own memory searches through the times he and the bluerider has spent together with Prymelia. "Ahh, yes. She gave you that look because you were shirtless and … well, even I noticed that she was interested." He pushes to his feet to refill his klah from the hearthpot before stirring in some cream and sweetener so that he can resettle on the loveseat. The facetious expression earns a laugh and a maybe-so wag of the sandy head as the younger man takes a sip of his hot klah. Kul blushes a little at the honor T'ral insists will be his to be the ex-tracker's Weyrlingmaster and ducks his head slightly. "Only if I manage to Impress. But I'm glad that you are one of the 'masters." A soft snicker escapes at the whisper and the younger man nods slightly. "Not a breath, I promise."

T'ral blinks slowly, settling back in the chair. The moment of excitement passed and weariness reasserting itself. He yawns again, "So sorry. 'Bout ready to give one of those," he gestures at the finished 'catchers, "A test run." He sniffs and closes his eyes, "Yeah, there's always 'if.'" It's just a rote response. Voice growing quiet, slow, "Me too." A beat, "Enjoying it." He exhales a long, gusty sigh. "Thanks," a lopsided smile. He he sniffs again head sinking back. "Just gonna close my eyes a tick. Tell me about … stuff. Anything."

Kultir watches with mild amusement as the bluerider settles back into the chair and yawns. He chuckles softly at the thought of T'ral testing out one of his little trinkets and nods slightly as the man lets his head sink back and eyes slide closed. "Yeah, there's always that 'if'." Taking a long drink of his klah, he leans forward to take up the leather wrapped ring he's been working on and sets his mug aside. "You're welcome, T'ral. I suppose I can tell you how I make these things or what I can remember that you might not." Taking up the thread, he measures off three strands and ties them tightly around the ring before he begins braiding and fingerweaving a design into the thread. He murmurs softly of the memories he has of the fun that he and the bluerider had had during the Candidacy when his friends had Impressed, moving on to the earlier memories of meeting the ex-Harper and the times he, T'ral and S'yn had spent together. His voice is a low murmur, soothing and somewhat monotone as his deft fingers work to add shells and iridescent black feathers to the purple, leather wrapped ring. Moving on, he works through several more before he starts yawning and decides to pack up his gear and call it a day, curfew is probably really close so he'd better get back to the Barracks. He glances at the bluerider and wonders if he should wake the man or just let him rest.

T'ral's breathing and occasional faint smiles are testament to that he's listening. Until he isn't. Forgive him if he's dozed off. It's been a long day. The curfew is as much for the Weyrlingmasters' benefit as it is for the Candidates. The tracker-Candidates words are a low pleasant hum, images they conjure weaving seamlessly into what seem like dreams but could be real. On the threshhold of sleep everything has a weight and presence. He twitches awake, snorting quietly. Eyes blinking slowly and moving unfocused around the hearth. "How long was I out?" He doesn't really need to know. He levers up out of the chair and glances at the sandtimer on the hearth. "Mmm." Eloquent. Without being asked, he starts to help sort out the bits and bobs spread out on the table. He's mostly helpful, blinking idly through the bits and bobs more often than not, but sorting too.

Kultir chuckles softly as the bluerider rouses, the lack of snoring making him think that perhaps the older man had actually been listening and checks the sandtimer himself. "Oh, a 'mark or so, I guess. I got three more catchers done at least. Hope I didn't bore you into slumber. I wasn't really paying attention to what I was saying." The finished trinkets are tucked carefully into the bottom of his small pack before he starts gathering up the rings and wrapping the thin cording around itself to stow as well. He smiles his thanks to the bluerider as the other man helps him clear the things away, each item tucked away as soon as it is scooped into its own pouch or packet.

"Dozed off around something about a firestone and a river?" He scrubs a hand over his face. "Naw," not boring, "Long day." T'ral looks at the dreamcatchers, a thoughtful look in dark eyes (or a sleepy one), and says, "Now there's been some egg touchings, folk could probably use these, hmm?" His brows go up, forehead wrinkling. It's as close as he'll come to commenting on Nevik's state of mind. Once Kultir's all packed up, T'ral gestures him to go ahead, "After you." Falling in beside him, hands tucked behind his back, "How're Kalea and the kids?"

Kultir drains his mug of klah as he stands and slings his pack to his shoulder once things are all tucked inside. He chuckles softly at the last memory the older man heard and nods slightly. "Hmm, what I was thinking too. I remember the nightmares I had the first time and sure could have used one of these." He sets the mug into the dirty dish pan as he passes it and glances at the bluerider. "They are fine. The twins are in the nursery now that they are fostered but Kalea sees them as often as her duties allow. I think it's the first time I've enjoyed the assistant nanny chore." He grins at T'ral, a sparkle of mischief showing in his amber eyes. Once they reach the bowl, he draws in a deep breath and yawns on the exhale. "Oh shells … I guess I should get back to the Barracks. I should be able to sleep now."

Out in the bowl T'ral stretches very carefully, his rib's feeling better, but no need to push it. "Yeah?" T'ral's grin is an echo of Kultir's, "Taking to it now, eh?" Kultir's yawn kicks off another from T'ral. He angles a considering look at Kultir's 'should be able to sleep now,' pursing his lips. "Everything okay?"

Kultir tilts his head to either side as his neck pops softly as his shoulders roll forward so that his upper back pops as well. "I suppose so. Had a few … hairy moments at the last touching but, no nightmares. Lots of stuff to think about though." He studies the older man a moment at the considering expression and sighs softly. "Yeah, for the most part. Just … nerves, I suppose. Not quite busy enough to get rid of all the excess energy I usually have." He snorts softly as he grins, a hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. "Most of my fellow Candidates can't understand that I'm used to being busy from before dawn to after dark with very little rest time. They think I'm nuts when I go for long runs when all some of them want to do is laze around the Barracks."

T'ral scrubs a hand down his face, "Yeah. Egg touchings…" all that needs to be said really. "Oh, man, Kultir," The bluerider claps a hand on Kultir's far shoulder, "I'm in an uncommonly good position to run you into the ground if you're askin'. Though, in a few you'll head up to the Ice Hold, pitch in more up there. Between the temps and the work, I suspect you'll sleep like a baby." His lips twitch in a smile, "Though probably better if you leave your pillows lie, 'stead of throwing 'em, hey?" He gives Kultir's shoulder a squeeze and drops his arm. Esanth is circling high above, making slow loops around the bowl as he descends.

Kultir laughs aloud as the bluerider claps his shoulder and nods at the semi-veiled threat. "I know, which is why I haven't asked, I can wear myself out perfectly well on my own. Though the Weyr might find itself with an excess of chopped wood or in need of dragging in new logs more often." The mention of the trip to the Ice Hold causes him to nod slightly, a somewhat excited expression on his face. "I know. I don't care for the cold but the exploring … I rather enjoyed that. Finding new caverns that are safe enough to be used by whoever is going to live there, being the first to see some of the beautiful ice sculptures … that sort of thing." A soft blush darkens his cheeks though it's hard to see in the dimness of the bowl. "Yeah, well, Nathanael started it."

"Mmmhmm," T'ral grins. Noted. His excitement is an echo of Kultir's having a bit of the exploration bug himself, "Can't abide that cold. Nope, give me this sweltering armpit any day." He grins, lifting his face to the night air, thick and humid and hot as breath even now that night has fallen. "I don't know how my father does it." He snorts, wincing slightly, "Suits him, I guess." Wry, that. At Kultir's blush and admission, T'ral fishes in his pouch for his little book and a silverstick, flipping through the pages, muttering, "J… K… Kultir." He clears his throat, "Throws fellow candidate Nathanael…" scribble scribble, "Under wagon. Month 1, Day 16," scribble scribble, "2nd…" scribble, scribble, flourish, "Pass." He snaps the little book closed and tucks away the silverstick. Esanth's loops are bringing him closer.

A soft chuckle and fervent nod meets T'ral's own admission that he can't stand the cold of the new Hold. Kultir shrugs slightly at the thought that the icy temperatures suit the headman, his eye sparkling with amusement when he considers the man's nature. When the little book is pulled out and the bluerider starts making notes, he frowns slightly before he protests. "What? No … he doesn't deserve to get in trouble for a little fun. Really!" The younger man trails off spluttering continued protests, his expression turning from confused to more concerned since he didn't intend to get the Seacrafter-turned-Candidate in trouble.

"No, you. For ratting him out." Solidarity, man. It's a virtue. Or… wait? T'ral pulls a face and flips the book open, pinning it open with a finger and holding up his 'notes' so Kultir can see. Two expressive (and familiar) stick figures enthusiastically whapping eachother with pillows. One is short with a giant grin, the other big with a dreamcatcher instead of a head. And there's even a little coffee mug on the ground. Yeah, he'd heard all about it. He snaps the book shut again and tucks it away, eyes mischievous and grin not at all masked. He has a fond look for Kultir, 'Solidarity, man.' "Night, Kultir," Esanth lands, bleeding off momentum as he trots forward towards the humans, rumbling a gritty greeting to Kultir. The bluerider moves off, thumping Esanth on the chest before the blue settles, bellydown for T'ral to clamber awkwardly up to the blue's neck. "See you at PT."

Add a New Comment