Cale, Thierry


New boy Cale has the luck of bumping into Thierry in the kitchens.


It is midmorning of the first day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr Kitchen

OOC Date


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Chaos and anomie reign in this hub of food production. It's not so much the smell, which varies from 'faintly edible' to 'coal', as the film of grease that adds a sheen to every surface and glues canine hair to the wall. The area is well set up, of course — it's a large kitchen with more than adequate counter space. There's plenty of room to get around, too, even with the centralized canine spit run dominating the center of the floor. The place is just, well, not 'up to code'. Several large stoves belch smoke that chars the blocked chimney's outer brick. Unidentifiable bits of food have been baked to the floors and ground in by the uncaring trod of drudge shoes. Even the sink is crusty, with it's constant tower of filthy dishes and lack of cleansing sand to be seen anywhere. Add in the bloodied smears on cutting boards and what you have is a monument to cross contamination.

What a day! Sand, lines, dust, and more sand! Still, Cale's efforts on his behalf to get a cot and possibly some lunch are progressing apace. Plus, it doesn't hurt to check out your workspace before the whip is cracking, so to speak. Cale pokes his head in, peering around with the touristy sort of air a first timer elicits, scanning the room almost timidly at first.

If Cale's a tourist, then Thierry's equally alien in the confines of the Weyr's kitchen. He's not the only guard in there at present, though he's leaving the conversation up to an older-looking man who's chatting a little further away to one of the cooks. Left on his own, Thierry is the perfect picture of kitchen cleanliness: he stands just within the entryway, using his knife to pick at his nails while he sniffs and snorts wetly. Sounds like someone's got a /cold/. The peeking Cale catches his attention, and he signals the kid over. "Oi. You. C'mere."

Cale blinks at the somewhat noisesome guard, and treads over, careful to stay out of the way. The kitchens here are new to him, but not kitchens in general. He glances left and right, before peering up at the man. "Sir?" he asks, voice a bit uncertain.

"Whatchoo peeking in here like that for?" Thierry sheathes his knife, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket instead. He blows his nose into it with gloriously snotty force, scrubbing the fabric under his nose before shoving it back away. Cale's address is probably the only time anyone's ever called him sir, and the guard recruit puffs up arrogantly, milking it - only to deflate a moment later when he sneeze-coughs loudly. Out comes the tissue again. "You working here or what?"

"Uhm.. probably?" Cale doesn't sound too sure, but he offers that up anyway, because guard. "I'm a baker, but I can do kitchen work, too. I'm new here, so I'm kinda learning my way around…" He keeps looking left and right, every motion or clatter drawing his attention. Every tic and gesture the guard recruit makes draws his eye as well, but the youth doesn't comment on any of it. Respect the station, after all.

While his compatriot engages two cooks in the background, Thierry straightens himself up taller to make all the difference in that itty bitty bit of height he's got on Cale. "How's about you go and learn your way around making me a sandwich?" He digs his hands into his pockets as he sniffs loudly again, rocking back and forth on his heels. "And a cup of that herbal shit. Whatever's good for -" Achoo! "-/colds/."

Cale takes a few moments to consider the offer, finally nodding. "Sure, I can do that. Can you eat anything, or does some stuff make you sick?" The youth scratches his head, then gestures. "You should get a seat in the main room there, and I'll bring your stuff out to you.."

"Can't. Stuck here while he's talking." Thierry jerks his head to the older guard - still chatting away! He pulls out his handkerchief to blow his nose into, then shrugs. "Cheese. Sienna's stuff, none of the shitty shit from the hold here or what." And there's table service as well, so, even though he's turned it down, he's going to take advantage of it. With all these perks, Thierry may start eating on this side of the Weyr more often. "Gonna be by the fire." He sounds like he needs to go roll in it, to kill off the cold germs he's no doubt spreading. "What's your name, kid?"

"Cale, sir." The youth nods once. He keeps a respectful distance(certainly nothing to do with the cold), and nods in the direction of the fire. "I'll bring your things out to you there. No cheese."

"/Lots/ of cheese." Thierry corrects Cale with a glower, the full power of which eludes him in his snotball state. "I /want/ cheese. Cheese and /bread/ and that fix-it tea stuff, whatever the fuck it's called. Bring me that. You can call me sir." He /likes/ the sound of that, and the kid's offering it anyway, right? The recruit puffs up his chest, then looks over to his partner. "You tell him Thierry's gone to sit down out there. Alright? And be /quick/, cos I'm shardin' /hungry/." Handkerchief in hand as he blows the contents of his nose out, Thierry turns to stomp towards where he's going to get food brought to him, and where he can moan loudly over his man-flu affliction.

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