Kultir, Ebben


Candidate chores in the kitchens.


It is mid-day, the sun burns high.


Southern Kitchens

OOC Date


kultir2.jpg ebben.jpg



Renowned, the culinary prowess of Southern, and suitable her kitchens to the task. A broad and airy sweep of room, it cannot help the sweat-drenching heat — though hearths are cleverly set within the ground itself to maximize efficiency. Big copper pots gleam along long tables, cooks hustling to and fro to prepare the necessary meals. There is never a candlemark the kitchens are left unstaffed: even in the wee hours of the night, bakers can be seen shaping loaves and mixing biscuits. For those who miss meals, a sideboard brims with leftovers that are easily transformed into portable potables, complete with sweet herbal tea and a large wheel of a soft, white, crumbly cheese.

Kultir enters the kitchens in some of his oldest clothes since he knows he's going to get filthy scrubbing the pots and pans that were used to cook up the wonderful lunch they'd just enjoyed. Nodding a greeting to Ardstelle, he grins as she motions to the stack of metal cooking implements and heads in that direction to plug up the sinks and start filling them with hot water from the steaming cauldron nearby. Once water is about half-full in both sinks, he starts dropping smaller pots and utensils into the washing sink and finds himself a scrubbing sponge and the gritty soapsand the kitchen uses. Setting to work, the young tracker works on scrubbing at those easy to clean items.

Ebben is wearing equally scruffy gear, golden curls pulled back and tied in a top knot as he wanders in, a few threadbare patches on his bombachas and ratty, thin sleeves pulled up past his elbow. As he moves into the kitchen proper, he snags a small handful of crumbly cheese left out for nibbling, pops it, and chews with a degree of contentedness that only good food can bring. As he sidles up to Kultir, he gives the hunter a nod and scrunching his sleeves up further, plants himself in front of the clean water basin and nabs a towel for drying. Teamwork.

Kultir nods a greeting to his fellow Candidate as the young man settles in next to him. "You got this duty too, huh? It's not so bad today. Ardstelle might have more for us to do though." He sighs softly as he continues scrubbing the smaller pots and dropping them into the rinse water for the other to deal with.

Ebben begins rinsing with neutrality, a chore is a chore, and he doesn't particularly mind one way or the other. The beauty of being laid back is that you roll with the punches, even the sudsy ones. "I don't mind some hand pruning. You been up to the galleries at all? I managed to snag a look when it wasn't so crowded." He gently dries a few plates, settling them onto the awaiting rack. "There's a hell of a lot of them, a bit intimidating to think we're going to have to head down there. You know they're all in a circle too? Not quite sure how that's going to work. We'll be standing in front of one egg a piece… puts a bit more pressure on." He splashes a bit, trying to dislodge a few bubbles from a stray fork. "I mean, say the dragonet in front of you doesn't like the look of you, it's just," he makes a swiping motion with the fork, spraying droplets everywhere. "Know what I mean?"

Kultir chuckles at the other's comments and nods, glad to have found someone who won't grouse about chores no matter what they are. "I got to go up after the Clutching Feast since I'd missed the Clutching itself. Some pretty nice eggs out there." He continues his scrubbing and dropping of pots, pans, utensils and the odd plate or bowl into the rinse water for Ebben to take care of. "Yeah, that's something the golds decide if they want to do, once they are harder she might rearrange them. It is a bit … intimidating, I guess. It was for me last time." He tilts his head as he listens to the ex-Healer and shakes his head slightly. "Not necessarily in front of a single egg. There'll be about a hundred of us out there and there's no guarantee that we'll even be close to where the Clutch is laid." A soft chuckle is given at the pantomime and shakes his head. "It's our job to get out of the way if that happens. They don't know what's going on, they just know they're starving and looking for that one person to bond with. But I do know what you mean."

Ebben snorts, a faint smile strumming his lips as he sloshes about in the stopped up sink, searching for the smaller dishes at the bottom. "I think Yules asked me to stand so I could mend the scrapes as they happen. Never really thought of myself as a rider, I have a feeling those babies can sense that." He dries a couple mugs, resettling the least damp dishes to make room for those still to come. "I'll be happy if I get out of there in one piece, but between you and me, I don't think luck is on my side when it comes to impression." A little shrug. He doesn't seem to upset about it; rather, he seems unperturbed at the mathematical probabilities. "I mean odds aren't on either of us with such a huge buffet of robes to choose from. But at least you've got experience. Makes me think you might have a leg up." He offers sturdy arms as a particularly large pan comes his way, offering to help ease it into the rinse.

Kultir accepts that help in easing the huge stockpot into the rinse water before returning to the scrubbing at the more stubborn pots that take him a while longer. "You never know, your dragon might be out there. Yules or Desmeth saw something in you to make them ask you to Stand. And the good thing is that every one of us has the exact same chance." The young man's gaze goes a little distant as he thinks back on the attitudes he'd had the first time he'd found himself in this position and shakes his head ruefully. "I don't think I've got a leg up, just … things and people change. Maybe things will be different this time." He glances at the younger man and grins as that pot gets it's share of drying. "And during the Hatching … you won't have time to tend to anyone's scrapes, Weyrlingmasters will deal with that if need be."

Ebben chuckles a bit, really working his fingers into the crevices of the large pot before hefting it up and out of the water with a tight intake of breath. "Well," he manages as he moves the bulk to the awaiting towel and settles it with an exhale. "I suppose you're right, we'll all be too busy hopping from foot to foot and avoiding tripping on our robes." His smile fades and a raised eyebrow replaces it. "Speaking of which, do you still have your old robe? Could you show me how to make one?"

Kultir decides his water is losing heat and is getting a bit more greasy than Ardstelle likes and chooses to empty his sink before continuing on with the scrubbing. Pulling the plug, he leans against the sink as he waits for it to drain and listens to the younger man. "This is true. The Sands are pretty hot and all you'll have is sandles." He nods slightly at the questions, a wry grin curling his lips. "Yeah, I've still got them. I'm waiting for Kalea to send them and a few other things I need down to me from her weyr. She said she'd do it today after drills so those packs are probably waiting on my bunk." He shrugs slightly as he rinses out the sink before replugging and refilling it with steaming water so he can get back to scrubbing.

"Not a bad gig, having your stuff already together." Ebben tips his chin to Kultir, "thanks mate, I'll need the help." As he watches the water empty, he pulls his own plug, happy enough to time the process. "I don't see many dishes left, and I promised my old master I'd swing by to finish up a few lesson plans I had done some work end. Mind covering me for the last few? I'll make it up to you down the road."

Kultir nods at the younger man and laughs softly at the thought he's got things together already. "Yeah, I guess. Hmm? Sure, I can get the last of these." He knows that the few dishes left won't take long and the other Candidate will eventually get a chore on that Kul can leave early on for the other to cover. "Hmm, not a bad idea to finish up your leftover work before you get too bogged down on Candidate work. Take care and I'll see you later."

Ebben grins. "Thanks, dude. I owe ya." Clapping the trapper on the shoulder in a bro gesture, Ebben slips out when Ardstelle turns his back with a little salute to his fellow candidate.

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