Donatien, Nathanael


Journeyman Donatien has a gift for Apprentice Nathanael on the eve of his departure.


It is evening of the tenth day of the twelfth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr Docks

OOC Date


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In dark morn and dusky eve fog lies grim and humid against the still waters of Azov Sea. Only the noontime sun burns away the concealing clouds of man's height, revealing that which lies beneath the mist- an awe-inspiring stone pier that stretches far into the inland sea, to the east of the line of orderly boat-slips for the locals and larger, open spaces for transport ships. Fishermen are often as common as seagulls upon the pier's length in particular, ill-concealed and ill-clothed in the loose dun homespun of Southern's natives.

Swiftly does the evening fall upon the Southern weyr, casting brilliant colours across the docks. On the horizon a ship is coming in late. Nathanael waits apart from another group of apprentices tossing stones into the water as the wait for the boat to pull closer.

In the slowly dying rays of light, a tall man, elegant cane in hand, cuts across the docks, stopping momentarily to admire the cascade of light that Harpers might cry to perceive. The man has a box under the other arm, and is nonchalant as he looks about, though eyes brighten when they fix on Nathanael's sole form: "Apprentice Nathanael!" Donatien's voice rings out, summoning, "A moment, if you please?"

Nathanael's mind is far far away, so it takes him a moment to realize that someone has just said his name. A brief shake of his blond hair clears whatever thoughts had settled there, and he scrambles down from his perch upon a pile of crates. He skirts carefully around the other apprentices- no need to be looking for trouble after all, and trots over to Donatien. "A'lo sir! What's bringin' ye to 'e docks?"

Old Journeyman eyes note Nathanael's path to him, but crinkle at the corners in smile: "Well, young sir, I'm on a bit of an evening stroll and the colours," the cane is lifted to wave in their general direction, "Just looked so enticing tonight. I thought I might get closer." The man looks at the other apprentices but makes no comment, even as his voice lowers for just between himself and Nathanael: "If I may, are the rumours of your nearing departure more than mere rumour?" When Donatien's feeling officious, he brings out ALL the pomp.

"Ye picked a real pretty night t' be walkin' sir." Turning slightly Nathanael casts his own gaze back on the sunset with a small smile. Then back to Donatien, that smile not breaking an ounce. "Not rumors sir. Pa's already 'n 'e North gettin' settled. I'm gonna be takin' a boat here soon t' be joinin' him."

"Ahh, alas," Donatien says gravely, "that rumour prove true the one time I would wish otherwise." Pomp and verbose. He pauses a moment and eyes the young lad up and down: "And I suppose," he draws out slowly, "that there is little to convince you otherwise. Thus…" Dien trails off, raising his chin so he can give the Seacrafter a somewhat arch look, even if his eyebrow rises playfully.

Nathanael shakes his head, allowing those blond strands to flip into his eyes. "Cannot be thinkin' of nothin' sir. See, Pa ain't got no'un but me, 'n I can be gettin' Seacraft Trainin' there jus' as well 'ere."

Donatien nods understandingly, which is hard when you're peering at the top of someone's head, "A noble reason, of course." His voice gentles. "Young man, I would like to give you a memory of Southern," the box is shifted under Dien's arm indicatively. "That is," and now the WEaver's just teasing, "If you would like a fond memory of your old friend, Weaver Donatien?"

Nathanael reaches up to finger a leather thong already hanging around his neck- another goodbye gift from a friend here at Southern. His voice is oddly solemn when he speaks, those blue eyes looking upwards at the tall journeyman. "Sir, it'd be an honor."

A sharp nod to hide whatever Donatien's feeling, and the box is awkwardly pushed out in Nathanael's direction. Somehow, the man's voice is gruff but he's smiling at the same time: "I hope these will serve you wherever your ship may take you," he announces, and waits to see if Nathanael opens the box.

Nathanael reaches out to take that box. For a moment he just weighs it in his hands, then changing his grip goes to pry the box off. What could possibly be inside?

Inside the box is a pair of good, sea-green ship boots, clasping halfway up the calf. They're soft leather with clever venting just along the sides for the hot deck, but with solid soles that resemble those of a journeyman Seacrafter. but they're not merely sea-green - these boots are delicately dyed to resemble the leaves of a southern jungle - sea green mottled into dark jungle, tempered with soft stitching of black to offset. The clasps are sturdy metal that will release quickly in necessity.

Nathanel's eyes widen when he sees those boots. REaching inwards he pulls the boots out in ine hand and abruptly sits down onto the dock. He can't shuck off his own boots fast enough to pull the sea-green ones on. Feet outstretched he wiggles his toes inside of them, watching the color in the fading sunlight. "Sir, they be wonderful!"

It can't be denied that there's a quick look of relief on Donatien's face as Nathanael tries the boots on and seems to like them: "They fit alright?" Nope, that's not a trace of worry in his tone, "I was going by your last set of boots, and had to," a quick twist of is mouth into a smile, "Make a guess."

Leaving his old duds on the dock Nathanael jumps back to his feet. Really, there is only one way to test new boots, and that is to walk in them. Or if you're a fifteen year old, run in them. So that's what he does, he takes off running to the edge of the dock, spins, and then runs back to the weaver.

Donatien laughs as he watches Nathanael dash back and forth; in fact, the man's positively guffawing, which slows to a rolling chuckle that leaves him a bit pinker to say, "I take it they are worthy for your next steps in life then, young Nathanael." With that cheerful phrase, Dien lets out a contented sigh: "And you'll let me know the moment they start to wear, yes, so they can be repaired." Sure, Dien sounds stern, but there's a cheerful tone and a grin to his face.

Fifteen Nathanael is, but someone taught him the proper way to accept a gift. Having tested those boots he stands tall (all five feet yo) in front of Donatien. "Thank'e sir. They be perfect." No promises given on making sure that he'll be coming back when they wear though, and perhaps the small smile on Nathanael's face will show it.

Donatien's all self-satisfied, until he notices the look on Nathanael's face. "Bah, a silly old man, I am," the Weaver's quick to say: "How will you get the boots to me…" A long finger taps at the head of Dien's cane. Ahah! The Weaver has figured something out: "I could likely do with a visit to Seacraft, to examine their boots." See? Done. "And doubtless," Donatien says more gently, "You will make Journeyman yourself soon and travel far and wide."

"I'm sure Pa ain't gonna be sayin' no t' some'un as good as ye doin' that." Nathanael isn't often shy, but Donatien isn't one of the ladies in the weyr. It's only a second pause though, before Nathanael is wrapping his arms around Donatien for a quick fierce hug. "Aye. Gonna be gettin' my knot younger'n any'un e'er has."

Donatien may not always be a demonstrative man, but he doesn't hesitate in returning the hug to Nathanael. As the young man steps away, he might even catch an extra glint in Dien's eye. Or maybe that's the sea. "I should hope so," Donatien returns easily enough: "We've surely given you enough experience in the past Turns, between rain, sun, and hauntingly empty boats." Nope. Not a lump, except for the quick swallow the Weaver has to take. "And we'll always look forward to seeing you back at Southern shores." NOT SNIFFLING.

Nope. No sniffling. They're a pair of MEN. Even if one is still way too short to maybe take that title yet. A deep breath and Nathanael puts his typically cheery grin on again. "I think 'e boat's dockin' sir. I should be gettin' t' helpin'."

Hey, man, he'll get there. Donatien inhales shortly and nods: "Yes, quite right. Keep a good head about you, and fair winds and following seas, Nathanael." The Weaver steps back a pace to watch Nathanael tend to the coming ship, watching briefly in appreciation for the apprentices and one particular blond-headed boy before giving a nod to a Seacrafter journeyman and turning to leave the Docks to those who are suited there.

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