Who

R'zel, Ibrahim

What

R'zel and Ibrahim have a brief chat about Weyrlings and hunting.

None

When

It is afternoon of the tenth day of the sixth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.In Southern:

It is the tenth day of Winter and 57 degrees. The day is dreary and overcast. A chilly winter rain is falling down in soft drizzles.

Where

Nighthearth, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 12 Nov 2017 06:00

 

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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.


Mid-afternoon on a wet and moderately chilly day, and the Nighthearth, with its fires and comfy chairs, is warm and inviting, especially if you find yourself in need of a late lunch. Unusually, not many people are taking advantage of it, but R'zel has claimed a well-stuffed seat near one of the hearths, and he's tucking into some fish stew, plate poised precariously on the arm of his chair. On the other arm rests one of those folding wax tablets which are so handy for taking odd notes; there are indeed notes, and on one side they seem to be attached to some sort of map or plan. The stylus is resting on the wax, work neglected for now in favour of food.

For once within Weyr walls — he is usually out fishing in the rain — Ibrahim, too, is curled up in an overstuffed chair, nibbling a meatroll and staring quietly into the fire, his gaze soft and inwardly focused. On his lap, a pair of firelizards form an oversized brown ball, sleeping away the time and oblivious to the goings-on around them.

R'zel finishes his food and stands up, careful not to disturb his work. He returns his plate to a pile of used crockery, and then secures a mug of klah. Returning to his seat he spots Ibrahim, and looks at him for a few seconds before recognition dawns. He greets the man as he passes. "Hello. I think we met on the beach a while back…." He trails off; the name won't come.

Ibrahim slowly wrenches his attention away from the warmth of the fire and the interplay of colors it shows. He lifts his gaze to study R'zel for a long moment, struggling to place the face, and then he has it! "Ah, yes, you were out with H'rik. Surfing, I believe. I am Ibrahim. Fisherman, and all that jazz." His grin is cheekily amused. "You're… R'zel, right?" Somehow, the man's gotten pretty good at remembering names and faces.

"That's right - though I think I was probably swimming rather than surfing, seeing as I've never actually tried that." Poor deprived R'zel! "That day was a real scorcher, and you were talking about hunting felines for furs - some sort that you were going to look for." He settles back into his chair.

Ibrahim nods slowly. "Haven't gotten 'round to that yet." His grin is lopsided, amused at his own expense. "Something about a brown-eyed girl that keeps on derailing all my grand plans." But oh! What a lovely girl she is, rearranging all those bachelor plans of his; Ibrahim doesn't mind at all, though, for she's worth it, that girl. Idly, he strokes Llyr's back, tracing one limp wing slowly. "But I better do it soon, or they'll be worthless."

R'zel isn't entirely following that. "What, ones you've already got will, or ones you haven't got yet? I can see how you have to get them cured once you've brought them in, , but…." Rotting hides are clearly no good, but ones that are still on the beastie? "Has someone glutted the market?"

Ibrahim smirks in amusement. R'zel totally missed half of that, but it's okay; Ibrahim doesn't want to explain very much, not yet. "Nah, more like they look better when they're not molting between seasons. It's summer now, so their pelts are a little thinner than they would be in winter. Most prefer a winter hide." He scratches his chin thoughtfully, looking across to R'zel. "Although there is sometimes a market for a summer hide."

"Oh, right; you were talking about using thinner furs for lining leathers." R'zel nods; the other conversation is coming back to him. "So you've not been doing much hunting of felines recently? How's the fishing been, then?"

"Not recently, no." Ibrahim's smile turns rueful; he returns his gaze to the fire, now, and is again lost in it for a moment. But he's dragged back to reality by R'zel's next question, and smiles. "That goes as predicted. We're up to our gills in yellowtails. I keep hopin' we find a run on redfin, but I guess it just isn't the season." Especially considering how popular the larger redfins are; people would kill for one of those oversized juicy steaks those things yield. "How's the weyrling class been doing, or do you have much to do with them?"

"Yellowtail makes good stew; I think it's got a lot of flavour." R'zel's just been eating exactly that. "Oh, the weyrlings are all flying now; they'll be starting Betweening fairly soon. I don't see a lot of them, but from now on the wingleaders tend to keep an eye on the class, to see who they might want when the time comes. I think Verokanth's been chatting with some of the young dragons." He leans back in his seat and wraps both hands round his klah mug.

Ibrahim will make note of that; he doesn't tend to cook fish except over an excellent open fire. Somewhere away from the Weyr because he's solitary like that. He does incline curiously, though, as R'zel describes how the weyrlings are sorted into their wings. "Huh. Got your eye on anyone?"

R'zel gives a slow smile, and then says simply, "Yes." He's not offering any names, though, and after a second he adds, "I think Vero's got his preferences, too. But what our wingleader thinks of them is what really matters - and the other wingleaders, of course. There's a sorting out process to decide who goes where."

"Sounds about right," Ibrahim grins wryly. "Sort and pick and leave 'em none the wiser til your hand falls on 'em. Keeps 'em working hard, right?" There's merriment in his gaze as he looks to R'zel; he's certainly quite happy not to have to deal with the suspense of it all himself.

"That's right," R'zel agrees cheerfully. "After all, a bit of suspense is nothing like the stress of fighting Thread, or even taking your first trip Between. And wings need people who aren't going to fold, but we also need to find the people and dragons who are going to fit in the wing. And sometimes it just comes down to whether such-and-such a wing has most need of blues this time round, and the like."

Ibrahim has no inclination to find out what between is like: nope, nope, nope, he'll just stay right in his warm Southern jungles. At least until it's time for him to go visit family, or whatever. "Huh. I don't envy 'em at all." He laughs. "Guess it's good I'm no dragonrider, huh?"

"It's not for everyone," R'zel says, avoiding a more personal answer to the question. "And doing it if you're not cut out for it's asking for trouble. But having a dragon's not like anything else at all. I wouldn't want to do anything else." He tests the temperature of his klah, finds it to his taste, and takes a long drink.'

At least R'zel's smart enough not to try ans sell Ibrahim on the prospect; he's had enough of that particular little ditty run by him so many times in his stay so far he can almost recite it by rote by now. "Each to our own, I say." Nudging his critturs awake, he uncurls himself from that too-comfortable chair. "Well, I'm off; got the early fishing run tomorrow." With a wry salute, he's off on his own business — who knows wherre the fisherman will show up next.

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