Who

K'vvan, Majel

What

A wingsecond and a weyrling meet during a tense, willful sunrise.

When

It is sunrise of the fourth day of the eighth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Kitchen Courtyard, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

k-vvan_default.jpg majel_default.jpg

igenkitchencourtyard.jpg

Kitchen Courtyard

The domestic space of the kitchen courtyard is small, dusty, slightly over-grown, and practical. The focal point of the stone courtyard is a large well found directly in the middle. Turns have worn the once angled bricks to soft, crumbling curves about the lip, and a bucket always slightly damp is tied, secure, and ready to use at the side. Though a broom has swept here since last you passed through, it would appear the wind-borne dust has merely been heaped under the cobble-cracking shrubs of a stubborn environment that grow ever upward. A few benches are scattered around, but the feel is not comfort, for this small slice of sky and wind are saved for a kitchen staff always on the move.


For all that Klah is a wonderful life saving drink, it isn't nearly as wonderful when the temperature soars upwards and doesn't cool in the night. K'vvan leans against the well, peering downward at that steaming cup as if it has offended him in some deep and abiding way. Perhaps it is the steam which does it- who the heck wants to drink something that hot right now?

Majel, hair freshly damp from a quick bath and clean uniform properly tucked, ducks around a member of the kitchen staff and several trays of breakfast pastries on her way out into the courtyard. Her glass of klah is dark; here's one who takes her klah without cream or sweetener. Floating atop, however, are neatly cubed bits of ice that steadily shrink as she lingers in the warm morning. She's three steps toward a nearby bench before hazel eyes flick alertly K'vvan-ward. "Sir, " she says neutrally with a crisp, polite salute before perching on the edge of the seat. "Good morning."

K'vvan is a rather prickly greenrider at the best of times. And this is for sure not the best of times. He mutely eyes the drink in front of the weyrling, then his own, then hers again. "What in the sharding blazes did you put in that?" Hi Majel, meet K'vvan.

"It was ice about ten minutes ago, " Majel answers with a look tipped briefly into her glass, "but it's about to just be chilled water." Prickly, meet cool logic. There's a glance, an appraising look. "It doesn't taste terribly different when it's cold. I happen to find it more palatable than heated in this, " and a hand waves briefly into the hot, dry air between them.

"There is nothing worse than cold Klah." K'vvan will just be over here and snappy thanks. As if to prove the merits of warm Klah, he brings it to his lips and sips. Really, it does taste good, just doesn't do much for the fact that it's already a bit too warm. "Even when Igen decides to melt us all." But apparently he has exhausted all of his conversation as he falls silent again, and moves his eyes away to stare at the doorway to the bowl.

Majel's only reply is a dubious lift of an eyebrow, as she's turned her own attention to working on her cold klah. Seeming rather taken with the sunrise-in-progress, she peripherally observes him and his taciturn stare. Straight-backed and apparently content with the lapse in conversation, the introvert might make for an ideal or frustrating morning-person, depending on the other party.

There is a sunrise going on? Deep within his own thoughts K'vvan doesn't seem to realize this particular fact until a small gold firelizard pops into the air above his head and chirps once before landing on his shoulder to scold. The way he jumps at the sudden sound might show how far away his mind had drifted from the courtyard, heat, and rising sunlight. Right. Klah. Again the cup his lifted to his lips for a drink.

"It won't help if you have a lot on your mind, the klah, " says Majel matter-of-factly after several minutes of this, still absorbed in the play of light and the warm glows it casts over their surroundings. Her calm nonchalance isn't very unlike Dyxath's easy obfuscation. She's nearly halfway through her glass, slim frame held tensely despite the relaxed activity she's chosen to partake in to begin her day.

"What?" K'vvan had not been paying attention to the weyrling, and her speaking has him turning his whole body towards her. Words are soaked in, but fail to register on any spectrum which makes cognitive sense to the greenrider. "Why are you even talking to me?" The direct question is posed with an air of utter disbelief. Why was she talking to him?

Majel finally turns her eyes from the horizon to give him a polite look of apology. "I may have been thinking aloud again. I'm sorry if I've disturbed your morning, sir." It's not really an answer. As she brushes at her wrinkle-free trousers while getting to her feet with an easy stretch, it seems less likely that he'll get one.

"Weyrlings should shut up and listen not talk." K'vvan also rises to his feet. The mug makes one last trip upwards to his lips. Ugh, too hard. He doesn't bother to say goodbye to the female weyrling as he moves out of the courtyard and into the kitchen.

She salutes sharply as K'vvan takes his leave, but it's a narrow gaze that follows the greenrider's path out of the courtyard. Surrendering her glass to a passing staff member with a quiet word of thanks, Majel heads for the bowl. Hungry dragons need breakfast, too.

Add a New Comment