Who

Nathanael, Ebben

What

Nathanael needs a quick hiding place… but Ebben is already there.

When

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

Where

Southern Boardwalk

OOC Date

 

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Boardwalk

Ancient-cut stone stretches broad, smoothed by the wind and the weather and the rain to create a boisterous center of commerce. Wood overlays stone in places, patterned and pretty, to attract the eye of those traversing the strip to particular vendors. Though not the size of the tremendous markets of the North, the boardwalk's offerings show the knowledge of ageless crafters: Smith contraptions, Herder-certified animals, Starcraft maps and Weaver textiles are only some of the things that may be purchased, among the spicy scents of beach food and the contrast of bright shells and dark stones from the shoreline.


Timor: moon4.jpg
Belior: moon4.jpg


The night is humid, the air still and thick. Ebben is currently stretched out in the dark to one side of the boardwalk, head propped by crossed arms as he gazes upwards at a brilliant sky. A toothpick is nibbled at idly as he looks on. In the dark he blends in with the rest of the shadows, though it causes little hazard as the traffic is minimal this evening; those with more avid senses of adventure are already down splashing in the waves, their distant laughter and phosphorescent glimmers barely noticeable from so far up the walk.

It really is too bad that Ebben is blending in with those shadows, because it means that Nathanael doesn't see him. He's running away from something, though what doesn't make itself clear. He's ducking into that dark corner though to get away from whatever it is… and quite possibly stepping right on Ebben.

'Quite possibly' Ebben's left foot. No really, Nathanael is on Ebben's left foot. The healer gives a yelp of surprise and yanks his foot back, sitting up and effectively separating himself from his surroundings. "What in the hell—" he begins, but as he squints to make out the face of the person who ran over him (rubbing his ankle gingerly) he lets out an irritated sigh. "Nathanael. What the hell, man?"

"Sh*t!" The expletive isn't one which Nathanael usually says, as his ankle rolls when Ebben jerks his foot back. Down Nathanael goes, thankfully into that covering shadow he'd bene going for. "Shh! Don't be lettin' 'em know I'm here!" His voice is a whisper, as he presses down into the shadow, just as a pair of sea craft apprentices come into view, each carrying something in their hands.

Ebben presses back against the worn stone column that Nathanael is also huddled up against, but Ebben. Is. Irritated. A perfectly good solo stargaze ruined by some punk kid being chased for pilfering or back talk, or hooking up with some drunk wife of so and so… Ebben doesn't say anything he merely glares, and fumes, and considers alerting the chasers. Of course, as a healer, he doesn't want to spend the rest of the night stitching up the kid so he waits with him as the two pursuers continue on their jog towards the beach. When they're out of ear shot Ebben's hands find Nathanael's shoulder and he heaves a massive shove at the kid. "Really? Explain. Now."

Nathanael lets out a sigh of relief with the pair pass and Ebben doesn't rat him out. He's about to say thank you when that push comes. It wasn't that hard, but Nathanael's ankle hurts from where it rolls on Ebben's foot. Backwards he'll stumble till he catches his balance. "Hey!" A bit disgruntled, though he moderates his voice abruptly, looking at where the pair have disappeared. "Didn't want them t' be catchin me. I ain't got no desire t' be seein' the inside've 'e midden t'night."

Ebben shakes his head, muttering something inaudible to the teen as he pauses in rubbing his own ankle to motion Nathanael bring his limp leg closer. "Let's see what you did when you so inconsiderately stepped on my foot." He waits for compliance as his eyes move past the apprentice towards the fading silhouettes of his craft mates.

"I didn't see ye!" Nathanael protests, a frown on his face as he glances over his shoulder at the last of the shadows also. "IF I'd seen ye I wouldn't've tried t' hide here." When the older teen gestures towards his foot Nathanael will sit, and stretch out that ankle. "Least it got twisted after they be gone."

Ebben mms, taking the ankle in his hands and giving it tiny presses here and there. A few presses are a bit heavier handed than Ebben is typically, but Nathanael earned it. After closer inspection by starlight, the healer releases the sea crafter with a nod. "You're fine, it'll be a little swollen but should go down by morning." His own ankle is silently given the same diagnosis and with a clearing of the throat, Ebben peers back upwards. "Well, now that you've avoided the middens, what's next on your adventurous evening of healer-injuring mayhem?" His tone is more amused than scolding, and his eyes stay upwards as his mannerisms slip back in their natural state of easy relaxation.

Nathanael bites back his hisses when Ebben prods a particularly sore spot. "I'm sorry," It even sounds rather genuine as he pulls his ankle back. The edge of the boardwalk is nearby, and Nathanael shifts so that his feet can swing down off the side of it. "I ain't got no plans. When Raya started sayin' I'd be lookin' good with brown in my hair I took off runnin'. What're ye doin?" Blond not-poop-covered-hair flips into Nathanael's eyes as he looks over at the other apprentice in the shadows.

Ebben scoots around so his own legs can dangle off the edge, fingers wrapping around the crumbled edge as he peers into the dark mass of damp jungle. "Just star gazing, it's the perfect night for it, and I, surprisingly, was given the option of sleeping in tomorrow." Some rewards are earned, some just fall in your lap, Ebben is a fan of either. "I've always wondered something. Do you have to know how to swim to get into the seacraft? Like, is there some gnarly old Master who's a whiz at knots and would totally drown if he tipped in and no one was around to rescue him?" Okay, so, random, but it's late and Ebben lets his thoughts drift untethered at this hour.

Ancient-cut stone stretches broad, smoothed by the wind and the weather and the rain to create a boisterous center of commerce. Wood overlays stone in places, patterned and pretty, to attract the eye of those traversing the strip to particular vendors. Though not the size of the tremendous markets of the North, the boardwalk's offerings show the knowledge of ageless crafters: Smith contraptions, Herder-certified animals, Starcraft maps and Weaver textiles are only some of the things that may be purchased, among the spicy scents of beach food and the contrast of bright shells and dark stones from the shoreline.

The imagry makes Nathanael laugh abruptly, the face of one of those gnarly old master's forming in his head. "Aye, tis a requirement." Nathanael's quick paced words slow down enough for the word to come though cleanly before his pace picks up again. "Got some grannies what ain't real keen on it, but ain't gonna drown 'n 'e shallows. Shipfi… dol-fins ain't gonna be lettin' 'em anyhow. Ye got a favorite star?"

Ebben points upwards towards a small cluster just shy of a few of the better-known constellations. "Those three, but I don't know what they're called. Haven't been around any starcrafters lately who can tell me. I did find something equally engaging out in the jungle before heading here." Because, he may not know much of the nuances in the night sky, but he's got the lock on local flora. "Night blooms aren't super uncommon, there's a few varieties, but I found a flower tonight that practically sparkled by starlight, this crazy violet color. No real medicinal value I can figure but a stunner. Unnamed, apparently. I'm trying to think of something suitable to add to the list of Southern discoveries."

Nathanael will supply the name of the stars, though OOCly doesn't have a clue what they'd be called. "Extra lessons in star craftin' for navigation," he'll explain with a slight smile. "That's excitin! Ain't knowin' much 'bout 'e local plants 'cept what Kultir's been teachin' me." The coast is well and truely clear now, so he stands, taking care not too put too much pressure on that foot. "Thanks f'r not callin' out."

Ebben chuckles, "you're welcome. Thanks for the name." An amicable parting, if ever there was one.

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