Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.
Evening, past dinner. It's been another disgusting and rainy day outside; most of the weyr's residents are indoors. The kitchens and living caverns are unnaturally full of people because of this. But the nighthearth remains a quiet refuge for those who don't feel like having their neighbor practically in their lap while they get a drink or something to eat. Z'ian is apparently one of those people, the bronzerider leaning forward in one chair that's part of a cluster by the fire. His dripping jacket is thrown over the back of one, left to dry closer to the heat. Damp hair sticks up here and there and he keeps a mug held close to his chest while he stares absently into the flames.
H'kon is not among those who've kept fully out of the rain, entering the caverns in full riding gear that he peels off slowly while making his way for... somewhere. Anywhere. Faranth, not there - that table full of women, all gossiping like the most misogynistic of older riders might expect. And not that table of weyrlings, either. Eventually, naturally, it's to the hearth, where a (vaguely) familiar face is found, where another familiar face takes her leave from a nearby chair upon seing the brownrider. "Z'ian," is greeting and request for the seat near his new wingmate, all at once, all conveyed only by a faint lift of an eyebrow and tilt of his head.
Hearing his name said breaks Z'ian out of his day dreaming (evening dreaming?), he blinks and shakes his head. The motion of the woman taking her leave and standing has him following the path of her departure before reassigning attention onto H'kon. He recognizes him, even if they're not particularly friendly or close. "H'kon." There are plenty of seats and he inclines his head towards one, recognizing the request that's spoken into his name. "Sure. How're you? As damp as I am?" He ask, flashing a meaningful look towards the brownrider's wet clothes and then glancing at his own drying jacket.
H'kon gives Z'ian a longer look, all the while getting his fingers free of his gloves, and slapping the two together, out of some habit rather than practicality, before draping them over a chair's arm. "I wouldn't know," comes with a pained-looking attempt at a smile. It's this same chair he sits in, once he's peeled off his jacket as well. "But I'm well enough otherwise." Finally, a scarf that is wet on the top half that was sticking out his jacket, but not the bottom. That... goes to a nearby table. "And yourself?"
He meets the longer look that he's on the receiving end of with a relatively open expression. "I'll let you touch me to give you a frame of reference." Z'ian offers, mouth curving into a crooked smile as he watches his wingmate's pained attempt. He begins to make an effort out of smoothing his hair down, attempting at least to look acceptable despite the rain's adverse affects on his style. "I'm beginning to dry out. I'm hoping the weather will cut down some before I really need to get out of here and go to sleep. I'd hate to have done all this drying for nothing."
"An unnecessary allowance," comes after only the faintest of hesitations. H'kon lets his focus drift away from the bronzerider, enough so that Z'ian's next comment necessitates his turning his head back to the other man. "I'm certain," and he brings one hand into his lap, and sets to kneading at its knuckles idly with the other, "that you would be able to find some place to sleep within the caverns." There's a twitch in the corner of his eye, faintly amused, that slight fuzzing of attention that tends to signal draconic interruption.
"No, really. I don't mind. You can touch my arm. I'm disease free." Z'ian makes like he's going to offer his damp limb over to the other rider, but doesn't quite make it into the realm of being close enough to be considered actually serious. At least he doesn't get close enough to physically touch H'kon, that's some sort of blessing probably. His suggestion that he could find someplace to sleep inside prompts a frown to pass over his expression. "Sleep down here? What in the resident's quarters? Here on the couches? Oh, I know. I could clear off one of those big tables inside of the kitchen and lay a few blankets down on top of it. The cooks would get over it in a couple of weeks."
H'kon looks at the arm. Looks up to the bronzerider's face. And goes back to not looking in Z'ian's direction at all, and kneading away at his hand. "And," comes toward the end of Z'ian's listing, "if you do not find something acceptable among all the alternatives," and he hazards a sidelong glance, brow furrowing just a bit, as if puzzled, "then best to hope Tsanth will be swift in carrying you home. I myself quite doubt the rain will be ending."
Z'ian watches his reaction, one eyebrow hitching up before he laughs and leans back, linking his fingers together behind his head. "So you really are as uptight as the other riders talk about." He doesn't tack a question mark onto the end of that, it's a statement not inquery. And regardless of how accurate that description may or may not be, he doesn't appear to be that put off by it. "I can hope. I might as well dream big while I'm at it. He likes flying in the rain. He's a mutant."
H'kon pushes out an exhalation that's nearly a wearied sigh, expression going flat, and staying more or less pointed at some spot in the distance. Verbal response is reserved for the second: "I suppose, then, you might." The encouragement, if it's even there, is certainly superficial. This time, when that look of distraction overtakes him, H'kon closes his eyes, and shifts back in his chair. The kneading of his hand stops, and after a moment, he's peering full-on at Z'ian once more.
Z'ian doesn't quite roll his eyes, it's more of a casual drift to the ceiling. He stretches his legs out and sinks down into the chair, fingers remaining linked behind his head. While the bronzerider is usually relatively talkative, he's probably gotten the hint. With no further line of back and forth to really follow, he allows their conversation to sink into a comfortable(?) silence. H'kon staring at him from the other chair does little to ruffle him and he keeps his attention focused on the rock overhead.
The look lasts a while, and, if not the thing that started it, the thing that ends it is, "There are those of us in the wing who gather for physical conditioning. Once you feel you have adjusted to Avalanche's drill schedule, if then you should be interested, you may find it useful." It's a shift in the ambient noise that has him looking over toward the main cavern. That same twist of his mouth appears again. "A chance at klah now, perhaps."
He's mildly surpried then when H'kon speaks again, tipping his chin down to consider him for a moment. Z'ian's mouth twitches at the corners before he settles on simply nodding his head. "Yeah, I think that I would find it useful." The shift in the background sounds gets his attention now and he flickers a glance towards the exit. "Thanks. For the... invitation. Information." He shrugs his shoulders helplessly when he doesn't quite find the word that he wants to use. There's a moment of quiet before he responds to the brownrider's last with a gentle needling. "You best hope your feet can carry you there fast enough for you to obtain some klah. If not I'm sure you can find an acceptable alternative."
H'kon is already pushing to his feet when Z'ian's farewell of sorts comes. "Hmm," is nodded back, the brownrider raising his eyebrows lightly, and then off he goes with no further acknowledgement - of parroting, of good bye, of his wingmate. But his stuff is still where it was left, promising more of the same when he returns, if Z'ian is still about.
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