Nevik, Z'bor


Nevik conspires with Z'bor to find a firelizard clutch.


It is afternoon of the thirteenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr

OOC Date


z-bor_default.jpg Nevik-icon-01.png


Tipsy Kitten

| Here there be drunkards: a marble bar and the gorgeous array of colored
| bottles behind it would be enough to draw them in, but more yet lures
| those to enjoy the recreation the Kitten has to offer. Windows allow
| light to naturally illuminate the first floor of the tavern in the
| daytime, while green-tinted glows shine after nightfall. A door behind
| the bar leads to the tiny kitchen, while a stairway leads above to the
| rooms available for rent. Among the hubbub and the ruckus, a calamity of
| tables scatter through the open space, plenty enough for dragonpoker
| tournaments on restday eve.

Z'bor walsk into the Kitten looking far more refreshed than he has in days. He's clean shaven, clean clothed and ready for a drink, as he has nothing better to do for now anyhow. He approaches the bar, retrieves a double of whiskey, and then picks a seat near the door, away from the shady corners of the bar. He looks around at it's mostly empty space, too early in the day for drinking for most. HE orders light refreshments from a passing drudge and then loses himself in thought.

Nevik wanders in and seems completely out of place. Either he's never been in a tavern or he is so paranoid about being caught in one that nearly everyone can see the paranoia etched across his face. Doing his best 'no really, ignore me' mask, he walks through the crowd and wanders up to ask if they have any amount of Benden Brandy. "I need it for a Rider, " he explains and there is a bit of haggling. During this intense, fear-strewn discussion, his eyes drift around the place and they eventually fall upon Z'bor. 'Shard!', he thinks to himself and turns to put his back to the young rider and does his impression of someone who belongs…and fails.

Z'bor grins when he briings his head aroud and Nevik enters his feild of vision. He waves at the young lad when he catches him looking and waves him over. Might as well join someone he knows, right? He takes a sip of his whiskey and when his food is dropped off, he asks the drudge for a glass of juice, after all, he knows the rules.

While waiting for the drudge to consider what he's offering and what amount of the rare, Benden wine, Nevik decides that since he's been seen there's nothing for it but to accept that he may or may not get in more trouble for this and wanders over to the rider's table. "Afternoon, Rider…" he greets formally and pauses by the edge of the table, his hand on the chair and waiting as if upon permission to join the man.

Z'bor waves a hand at Nevik. "Come, sit lad, and please, It's Z'bor." It seems the infirmiry is not the only place that the green rider insists on informality. An odd trait in a Nowtimer for sure. The drudge walks by and puts the juice on the table. "Come, have a seat, and a drink. I should thank you properly for watching over Ozriath the other day."

Nevik relaxes visibly. He's been hit by the 'formality stick' a few more times than he'd care to count this seven-day and he's started to watch his behavior a lot more closely. "Thank you," he begins cautiously and eases himself into the seat while adding, "…Z'bor." With the juice in hand and after a quick sip, he takes another soft sigh and adds, "You're more than welcome…that's my job but…I figure that Riders deserve our best, you know? They're watching over us."

Z'bor smiles. "We may watch over you lad, but it's the weyrs that take care of us. We'd have nothing but our Dragons if we didn't have all of you." He drinks, and sets the tumbler down with an audible thunk. "I hope you're doing well?" He asks, not wanting to get into too much of the sentimental stuff. He appriciates the boy's help, he's said as much, that is all that's needed.
Nevik nods, "I'm fairly certain that the Senior Healer is going to ban me from the presence of Numbweed anyday now," he says with a flat, matter-of-factual tone. The dead-pan delivery makes it all the more comical as he takes another sip of his juice and allows just enough empty space in the coversation for Z'bor to hear and process it before he tosses in, "Other than that…things are down right…peachy."

Z'bor lets out a small set of snickers at Nevik's words. "Well, we'll just have to stash some away for emergencies then, won't we?" He asks without a pause. As for the rest of Nevik's words, well, they get a smile. 'Glad to hear it. How long before you walk the tables?" He asks, genuinely curious.

Nevik reaches up with a hand to rub the side of his neck, the subject obviously a touchy one as he's known from Southern to Fort Weyr as being an ABSOLUTE clutz. The idea of him walking the tables has filled more than a few senior healer's minds with thoughts of just how badly he could screw it up - how many burns and puncturs will result in Nevik trying such a thing. "Well…ya see…"he stammers at the topic and does his best to switch the conversation back upon the Rider. "Can I ask you something that's been kind of bugging me…since that day?"

Z'bor lets Nevik have his moment, after all, he isn;t here to push. "Sure, ask away." Z'bor drinks again, leaning back against the back of his chair. A small bronze pops out of ::between:: and lands on Z'bor's shoulder. There's a message on it's leg, but it can wait. Its from faily, and the edges have been stained blue, so it's no emergency. He takes the note from the bronze and shoves it in his pocket. The bronze then proceeds to climb down Z'bor's arm to inspect the plate of food on the table.

Nevik hrms and drops his voice as he's uncertain if this is a matter that one should discuss openly. "The other day…when I had a…yeah…the other day. I…I think I heard your life-mate…in…my head." He leans in at the last part, "…I didn't know that they could do that with anyone but you."

Z'bor shrugs. "Many people think that. A dragon will speak to another human if the need is great or necessary, or if the person has an inate talent for hearing them. That's nothing odd about the dragons." He sighs and leans back. "However, the fact that /you/ could hear her has a different meaning. Most are unable to hear the projections of dragons, which makes you part of a small, select group." HE grins at the young healer. "And Ozriath is picky about whom she chooses to speak to, she must have seen something about you…."

Nevik seems confused and oddly enthused about the news. "So…that's…interesting." He's also a little afraid about what that might mean.

Nevik offers, as a secondary thought, "Maybe the stories were true. I've never been able to confirm it but I -think- one of my parents was a rider."

"Stories?" Z'bor inquires, after all, there are many many stories on Pern. "What would having rider parents change?" After all, he had no riders in his line…as far as he knew, yet, here he is, a green rider. He picks a roll off the plate and hands it to his questing bronze, who tears into it with delight.

Nevik shrugs, "Old Nan used to tell stories that people who Impress and who have kids can somehow pass on some…thing…that Dragons can sense. I wonder if there's any truth to it. Were there any riders in your family?"

Z'bor shakes his head. "None in recent history. I am the first. My family is mainly sea crafters, some herders, a few traders, but no dragon riders. I don;t know exactly what Ozriath saw in me…it's a secret she hides very well." He chuckles and watches his bronze masticate the disembowled meatroll.

Nevik peers at the Bronze that has appeared and dropped a message off for him. "Is that your pet…or just a messenger for you?"

Z'bor grins. "I don;t know if I would call firelizards pets, companions maybe." He pets the bronze's eyeridges and recieves a minature rumble of pleasure in return. "But yes, he is mine. HIs name is Courage." He lets his hand drop, and the bronze goes back to murdering his dinner.

Nevik nods and takes another sip of his juice, enjoying the low-key conversation and amicable relation that he's starting to develop with at least one rider that he 'accidented'. Just as soon as he's about to speak, the Drudge that he was speaking to when he came in and sets a bottle of Benden Brandy on the table with a whisper of something approximating 'Morning' to the Apprentice. With a nod and a formal 'thank you', Nevik has his 'appology juice' ready to go. His attention is drawn back to the Bronze and nods to the companion's name. "Fitting…" he begins, "…I was thinking of finding one for myself - now that I'm no longer with my Fosters back at Fort."

Z'bor smirks. "They are useful little buggers, but they're also endless pits. They never stop eating." He rolls his eyes comically, and finishes his drink. He waves at the plate of meatrolls, buns and cheese. "Please…help yourself lad, I don't mind." The interruption by the drudge is left unnoted, after all, it wasn;t his business. Z'bor snags a meatroll of his own, taking a hearty bite of it.

Nevik reaches out for one of the meat rolls hesitantly. This is breaking nearly everything that he's ever been taught about 'how one should associate with Riders'. Not that he minds at all - it's rather nice having someone talking to him rather than yelling at him of late. "Thank you," he adds and happily chomps down on it. Seems the boy hasn't eaten much today. "I've not had one of my own yet..would you recommend one type over another for a starter?"

Z'bor laughs. "As if you get to choose your color boy. It doesn't work that way. Someone might give you an egg, or you might find one. But what comes out of those eggs, well, you have no choice in that. As to what I would prefer, I've only ever had Courage here, so I couldn't tell you the differences really. And I can't use Ozriath as an example for the greens, because I have no idea how alike the two really are." He shrugs. "You'll just have to see what you end up with."

Nevik nods, "I knew a Green Rider at Fort - he had a few…companions…and was kind of nice about things, like you. He didn't mind me asking a lot of questions but it wasn't something I could do around his wingmates." Another meat roll is scarffed down and he tries to change the topic again by referencing the clutch on the sands, "You think they'll hatch soon?" he asks and then adds quickly, "The clutch on the sands…"

Z'bor shrugs. "Haven't the foggiest, but it looks to be quite the clutch. Istan clutches are never this big. Ozriath was one of eight." He continues to eat his roll, chewing methodically as he watches Nevik for response. Courage sneaks another roll from the plate, shredding it effectively upon possession.

Nevik hrms and that draws a question to his mind, "I wonder why so many then. I mean…considering what's happening we could use the Riders but…that just seems like a lot. I hope I'll be allowed to go to the hatching." His tone seems to suggest that there's some serious doubt whether the senior healers would 'let' him go - in that they might have him scheduled for some number of tasks to repair the damages his clumsiness has caused during that time. Why reward one who continues to fail, yes? "…but maybe if I can't I will be able to find an egg of my own. I'll have to scout the beaches when I get some free time or…" his eyes glance to the side and down to the table as though he were hatching a plot, "…if I was 'called' to the beach to help someone…I could look on my own time. If they weren't too seriously injured that is."

Z'bor barks out a laugh. "Oh, why don't you just out and ask it boy?" Z'bor smiles. "I'm sure I could use a healer out with me when they finally let me take Ozriath out to walk." A wink follows this statement, and Z'bor flags the drudge to order another whiskey, and another juice for Nevik.
Nevik is embarrased, a little, that his 'evil scheme' was so easily discovered. "I didn't want to ask if you would be offended. I mean…I probably shouldn't even be talking to you like this. I'm not sure what they would have me clean but I'm sure it would be big or something…" He takes a sip of his juice, discovers that it's empty and then glances up to the arriving Drudge to thank them. He could get used to not worrying all of the time. "You wouldn't mind?" he asks again -just- to be sure.

Z'bor shakes his head. "Not at all!" Is all Z'bor responds. He idly pets Courage who is now grooming himself. He takes a drink of his whiskey and looks at Nevik. "It may not be so with others, but you can be frank with me lad. I came from humble origins and I don't forget it. I feel more at home with non-rider folk." Odd, as he's a rider and should enjoy his status.

Nevik can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. A rider that is more at home with commoners? "oh…ok. So…yes. If you're bored sometime and want to give your Lifemate a chance to get out of the infirmary, I would be honored to…monitor her progress." He smiles at just how 'professional' he can make playing hooky sound.

Z'bor chuckles. "Well, that's good then lad." He gazes at the Benden that Nevik had ordered. "But hhere I am spinning yarn with you, when you probably have someone to deliver that to, no?" He jerks his head at the bottle and winks. He drinks from his glass, giving the poor boy an out if he chooses to take it. Z'bor has the feeling he's puzzled the young healer.

Nevik takes a last big gulp of the juice, grabs a meat roll and the bottle of brandy and stands from the table. With a nod and a offered hand of friendship he thanks the rider once more. "I'll see you around…Z'bor." The use of the Rider's name is still a bit awkward for him but he's starting to get used to it. A dry grin washes over his face as he presses himself through the tavern and to the door. This is a whole new way of looking at life.

Add a New Comment