Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
It's morning, at the end of the breakfast rush. The crowds are tapering down as people filter off to fulfill their various duties, though there are still plenty around, while kitchens staff bustle about to remove empty dishes and bring out new breakfast foods. Lingering by the food stations is Nicky, with his winter gear hooked over his arm, ready to brave the weather outside once he's had his fill. He picks through a tray of bacon and sausages, piling the former onto a plate and the latter into a bun.
For all that his breakfasts have been fairly without incident since that particular Big Incident a few days back, H'kon still has an element of the unsettled about him when he enters the caverns from the bowl. The brownrider wears a stoney expression, shoulders tense, as he walks to the tables. The porridge is getting down to the point of needing replacing, but the man is hungry now - and perhaps disinclined to stick around the cavern too long. So it's gelatinous, lukewarm stuff he scoops into a bowl. Splat.
Nicky has to pass the porridge on his way to getting klah, and that brings him right up to H'kon. He gently clears his throat as he sees the brownrider, politely stepping around him after dipping his head in acknowledgement of his presence. While pouring himself klah, the candidate looks at the older man again, brow furrowed contemplatively. In the end though, the lingering smile from his moments-ago encounter wins over, and he finally says, "S-sir? C-can I pour you some klah?"
H'kon returns that near-nod instinctively, setting the stickied-up ladle back into the pot with the remnants, and hefting his bowl in toward his chest. A spoon is sought next. The stuttering words from the boy bring the brownrider's first real attentions to him. "Are you on kitchen duty today, candidate?" Which is sort of like a thank you, or a good morning, or something.
"Nosir," it comes out as one word as Nicky shakes his head, hefting his own mug of klah - thick, black, unsweetened - up to his lips. "O-only in a mood to offer what I'm already d-doing for myself, sir." The grin he sports is one far bigger than is actually required for such a conversation. He tilts his mug slightly towards the brownrider in cheers, then draws a sip from it.
"Hmm," H'kon acknowledges, eyeing that candidate speculatively. Still, he steps forward to set his bowl on the table, and makes his own reach for a mug. Said mug suspended from his fingers in the air above the table, the brownrider gives a quick glance to his surroundings. Only then does that mug drop, and Nicky receives a nod. Go ahead.
Nicky puts his own mug down to pour for H'kon. He fills it almost to the top before asking about additions - milk, sweetener, as requested - then serves up the mug handlefirst to the brownrider with a lopsided grin. "Th-there you go, sir." His own mug is picked up again, along with his breakfast plate, and the candidate waits for H'kon to take a seat... before following him, and slipping into a seat opposite him. "S-sir?" Seemingly reluctant to bother the man while he's at breakfast, Nicky chews on his lip, leaning in across the table. "Y-you were my choice o-over..." He looks about, checking there's no-one near enough to hear. "O-over Taikrin, s-sir."
H'kon gives his nod of thanks, and - as he would have it - farewell, to the candidate. Which means that once he's set out, walking smoothly so as not to upset the mug of black klah, and actually realises the candidate is trailing him, there's a couple strange shoulder-checks sent Nicky's way. Bowl and mug are organised carefully on the table, head kept down throughout. But when he looks up, the boy has not only not disappeared, but is talking. "Neither choice was ideal," is blunt, and he takes a spoonful of porridge, gaze leaving the candidate again.
"No." Nicky agrees on that much. He curls his long fingers around his klah mug, ignoring his breakfast for the moment. "Um... i-it's still an honour t-to stand for your clutches, though, s-sir. Even with, um..." 'Everything that's been happening' might have been the ending to that sentence, though it remains unaired. Nicky clears his throat instead, and shrugs his shoulders as he figures out a way to continue. "... s-some of the candidates being a bit... um... s-strange."
H'kon takes a second spoonful of nearly-cold porridge, and a sip of that hot klah, before he looks up to the boy again. "It is a duty as well." There's almost something corrective in that. He studies the candidate across from him a moment, then lowers his eyes once more to his breakfast. "The Weyr brings all kinds." One stir of the porridge, to the right. "The dragons will all be different." A stir to the left. "The call will be the same." The spoon is planted square in the middle for the next mouthful.
"Yessir." Again, delivered as one word. Nicky drops his gaze to his plate, where the bacon's cooling in between two halves of a bun, and the sausages are starting to turn dull as they, too, lose their heat. Yet, he doesn't seem inclined to eat - not yet. "There are s-some new candidates, wh-who are, um... a b-bit unusual." Shady, really. The candidate shrugs a shoulder, sipping from his klah again. "Th-they'll perhaps find their dragons, though."
"So you've said," H'kon answers quickly, borderline impatient. He reaches for the klah, takes a quick sip. "Do you have concerns about this, candidate?" has that same edge to it, not washed away by the klah.
The way Nicky shakes his head is maybe a fraction too quickly. "N-no, sir. Um... th-they're just d-different, I-I don't want to g-go stirring trouble for anyone." He shakes his head again, before downing more of his klah. Already he's finished off almost half a mug's worth, and he's eying the pot for a refill. "I'll be s-sure to report to the w-weyrwomen, sir, if I h-have concerns."
H'kon gives a curt nod, does his stirring routine in the porridge once more. "Do that." And takes another bite. "To both of them," he adds, a heavy frown marking his face. A few more spoons of porridge follow, rinsed down with klah at the end, before he looks up to the candidate from his breakfast once more. "Which one are you?"
"B-both of them, of c-course, sir." Nicky nods in agreement. He pokes at one of the sausages on his plate, picking it up to bite once into the end of it. Then it's set back down again, as the question that's sent his way confuses him. His brow furrows, and he cants his head slightly to one side. "Sorry, s-sir? Wh-which one of what am I?"
"Candidates." The brownrider has to tilt his bowl, now, to gather up the remaining porridge left him. "Your name." The shovelling is quick after that, and he doesn't look up again until he's got his mug in hand once more. Nicky is then regarded over its top.
"Oh. Nicky, s-sir. From F-Far Reach, though K'del s-searched me from here. I-I'm, um, s-sorta posted here?" It's complicated with his dual affiliations and so on; Nicky isn't going to get into it unless asked. "I'm, um, s-sorry about your... a-altercation w-with him, s-sir." After saying it, Nicky's cheeks colour crimson; he looks straight down into his klah mug, where the contents is suddenly fascinating.
H'kon drains the klah that's left, a, "Hm," managing its way through the drinking. As to the rest... Nicky is simply awarded a brow-heavy stare for his efforts. The decision to get up from the table comes all at once, bowl and mug gathered up in the same motion in which H'kon stands. "See you are not late for any duties you may have today," is as close to friendly farewell as the brownrider really gets. A curt nod, and he's off, no doubt to deal with his own.
Nicky nods. "Yessir. B-breakfast, then s-straight to the f-forge, sir." Friendly or not, the candidate'll take that goodbye and run with it. He waits until H'kon's gone, then gets up, moves to another seat, and sits down to finish his breakfast quick as he can.
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