Logs:A Turn's Worth of Change
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 16 September, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Edyis and Lycinea have business in the kitchen, crossing paths leads to a bit of a catch-up over klah and some surprised expectations. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions, Yesia/Mentions |
  |
>---< Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs) >----------------------------------<
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods
characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths
gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost
always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its
denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample
space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry
and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a
day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating:
swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner
caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food
service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and
benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. It is early yet, the kitchens beginning to come to life. Edyis is dressed too lightly to be ready for the day's work, breakfast it seems is her aim. Grinning as she chatters cheerily with one of the cook staff, gathering the ingredients for the meal intended to be eaten elsewhere. The atmosphere seems to be a jovial one, from the tune hummed as folk go about their work. Lycinea can't really be called a morning person given the cheerless set of her lips, but she's awake. More than that, the blonde is washed, hair braided and beaded prettily, dressed in a clean, plain but nice pairing of navy skirt and peach blouse with a tan sweater secured to her waist by its abused arms. For all that she's not thrilled to be here, she looks ready to start the day as she leans against the space between two breakfast nooks, sipping on a mug of klah, khol-rimmed eyes following the activity in the kitchen and waiting, apparently, for a breakfast tray that's 'in process' by the cooks. "Klah?" might seem an odd offer if Edyis registers it's Lya making it as the brownrider nears, but there's a small tray of cooling mugs on the table at the nook next to her, so perhaps it's just because it's there that she makes it. Edyis's own path is halted at the word, dark eyes focusing on the source, her brows lifting faintly. The satchel with her provisions set aside briefly for the moment as the woman helps herself to one of the fresh mugs. Seating herself at the table, as though perhaps interpreting the offer as an invitation to sit. "You are back." It is not the warmest observation, but it holds nothing of spite or it's like. Rather, it appears simply to be observation. "So I've heard," is wry rejoinder that hints Edyis isn't the first to use the phrase. Lycinea's lips twitch up at the far edges, a hint of a smile that buds but doesn't bloom. "You're a grown up rider now," is observed in like kind. "How's that for you?" is asked before Lya's sipping at her mug and letting her eyes range across the kitchen again. "How does one return from the vastness of Pern and find themselves satisfied with merely being an assistant in a cold Weyr." She wonders then wryly. Observation for confession, then, Edyis gives answer to Lycinea's second comment. "It is not the impression that makes one grow up, but the same crawl of time everyone else seems to face. It is well enough, I suppose. The complaints I have are few." Her smile curling then, "But tell me of your adventures, for those are likely to hold far more interest." "How does one satisfy a yearning? By giving over to it or silencing it. High Reaches is a difficult mistress to silence. The call of home," Lycinea offers by way of explanation. "Wanderlust can be quenched but home will always know your name, always know how to draw you back." She rolls her shoulders in a way that might be stretching or shrugging. "Time doesn't do it for everyone," is an idle observation, not one that seems pointed at the brownrider, the blonde's thoughts briefly elsewhere. "If you can number your complaints, you're probably faring well in the grand scheme of the world. What sorts can you claim?" The way this question seems to link to, "A lot of sand, tan and black, the sort that never quite leaves you, hardly makes for riveting tales, but I might think of some worth telling," might be a proposed exchange of information in not so many words. "What now, a poet's soul you have stolen in your travels?" Edyis marks the eloquence of the younger woman's speech with a keen eye. "No, indeed time cannot cure all the ills of youth, but it does a fair job at most. It would seem the desert suited you. Irianke sent a skittish little green flit out into the world and she is returned with wit and grace. No longer the mad little thing from memory." It may actually be a compliment, given the somewhat awed and startled expression on the brown rider's face. Of her complaints, there is a blithe smile, "Oh the usual, the desire for more time for the simple pleasures, good company and a warm bed. Ambitions suffocated by incompetence." There's an airy wave of her hand as she dismisses such thoughts. "Seems the sort of place where stories are born." Edyis agrees. "Perhaps," Lya starts with a tipped head and lift of brows, "I've always had one and you've only just now taken notice." Nevermind that the young woman actually winks at the end of the remark before she sips her klah again. "Wit I've always had, else I'd not have survived childhood," that she used it for ill and not otherwise... well, call that youthful folly. "Grace, on the other hand, is overrated." The smile over the mug is wolfish in its mischief but gone again in the next sip and with the next topic. Of madness, there is no remark. "Your own or others'?" is inquired of incompetence. "Stories are born anywhere if one but takes the time to orient their thinking the right way. Edyis, the brownrider, for example. For that story, I'll nick you a sweet bun," the ones fresh from the oven with the icing still melting on their tops that blue-green eyes are now contemplating with a thieve's covetousness. There's not yet sign of her own stories, but perhaps she's still thinking on it. "Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it." Lycinea's remark on incompetence treated with a gentle smile. "You are not what you were when you left." Edyis states, with a tone that suggests the alteration is a pleasant one. "But perhaps it is Irianke's touch on you prior to your departure too that aided in such polishing." There's a laugh, "I'm afraid there isn't much of a story there, It is the sort of thing you simply do your best to survive. Akluseth is worth it though, for all that he's like having a teenaged boy and a tidal wave crashing about with his recklessness in my mind." Her mug is sipped from again dark eyes thoughtful. "Nope, but I suspect the same can be said for just about anyone here. You, Weyrwoman Irianke, anyone," a gesture of Lycinea's hand indicates the kitchen workers to be included in her anyone. "A turn's long enough to offer a lot of forks in the road, a lot of choices that change a person." The next sip is considering, weighing, "I'd not make the mistake of going so far as to call me polished. Can't imagine you think that polished are the sort of people Irianke likes best." There's some amusement curling into her smile. "That's most of life, really, simply something you do your damnedest to survive; shame none of us can win that battle." That's an offhanded remark with a wry delivery. The sweet buns seem to still be an anchor point for her attention. "So what wing did you end up in?" "Some do," Lya tips her head to agree. "Some people don't have the clearest of sights when it comes to choices offered them, they're so set on their paths." This seems to send her thoughts faraway a moment, but soon enough she turns blue-green gaze to the brunette. "Polish," is all that Lya says in a way that suggests she doesn't think it's a good description for what the Weyrwoman likes. Still, she doesn't pursue, in favor of, "Tomic. Should see if our cat's still about," with some trepidation. "Snowdrift's Mielline's wing. How do you like being, however briefly, in the Weyrleader's wing?" "Do you see yourself as one of those? One who can't see the paths ahead of them?" Edyis wonders softly, "T'mic, he should be around, I've heard he's training to be an assistant with the Weyrlingmasters for the upcoming double clutch." There's a furrow of her brows as Mielline's wing is mentioned. "Snowdrift wanted us, it seems to be where we belong for the moment." There's an scowl then, "Nothing against Mielline, but the circumstances by which she became however temporary a weyrleader are not to be envied." "Perhaps once, but not now. Now I might have the opposite problem. Seeing all the turns and not sure which I want to take." That gets mulled over Lya's next sip, a sip which finds her tipping the mug far before dropping it down, far enough to be seen as spent. "Assistant weyrlingmaster. I imagine that's not so different from wrangling the kids like he used to," she theorizes with a slight nod that might signal approval. "No, they wouldn't be," is agreed of the circumstances, "Mielline seems to have a clever head on her shoulders, though, so perhaps it's not bad to have her for the interim. Could be worse." Edyis nods thoughtfully, finishing off her mug as she listens. "Could be worse." Something stony is settling in her gaze. It flickers away, that distant expression of Draconic communication before a wry smile twist. "It would seem however that I am needed elsewhere. I meant to grab breakfast for a guest and wound up getting caught up in conversation. I hope to see you around." Edyis offers, reclaiming the items she had procured with a smile. Lycinea's nod is simple in answer to the brownrider's need to depart. "Clear skies," is offered if not pleasantly, neutrally. The lack of enthusiasm might be owed to some things not having changed, or perhaps just her new focus on nicking an extra sweet bun beyond the ones placed on the tray no doubt bound for Irianke's weyr so there's one to stuff in her own mouth before making the trek to the Weyrwoman's weyr. |
Leave A Comment