Logs:Breakfast Is Dangerous
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2015 |
| Who: E'dre, Parli |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Parli happens upon E'dre over breakfast |
| Where: Living Caverns, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Let it snow! |
| Mentions: N'rov/Mentions, X'vin/Mentions |
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>---< Living Cavern, Fort Weyr(#513RIJMas$) >--------------------------------<
Fort's enormous Living Cavern is a vast, echoing space, with deep set
windows carved into the outer wall to let in light and fresh air. Large
enough to house the entire human population of the Weyr with plenty of
room to spare, the most common use of the living cavern is as a communal
eating and gathering space. Long tables with benches usually line the main
part of the cavern with a table set aside for the Weyrleaders on a raised
dais, as well as other smaller tables set along the walls for quieter
dining. Tapestries depicting historic moments in the Weyr's history and
scenery from the coverage area decorate the walls and lend the space a
warmer feel than bare stone.
To the east, a large doorway leads out to the Bowl, with a sturdy metal
door that can be closed during inclement weather or Threadfall. The
Nighthearth is tucked away in a little alcove near the door. The large
main hearth is used for cooking and for heat, though chairs are often
pulled up nearby for the Weyr's elderly to enjoy the heat. A swinging door
not far from the hearth leads into the Kitchen that shares the wall behind
the hearth. To the west, a passage opens up into the Weyr's Inner Caverns. The morning saw the Weyr waking up to those large, soft, snow-flakes of a mild snowstorm that feels more magical and inviting than other storms may. The caverns are busy this morning as groups continue to wake and stream in for the breakfast offerings. E'dre's settled at a table recently vacated by his wingmates, still nursing his nearly cold klah as he browses a hide in front of him. Oh boy. Morning. Narrow-eyed and sour-faced, Parli shuffles into the living cavern and heads directly for the klah pots. She's already dusted in a bit of snow, though it melts relatively quickly once she's well inside. Klah is poured, sampled, and "Ugh"ed at. It must pass the test - or, more likely, requesting a fresh pot of klah is too much effort - for she gathers up some manner of breakfast (pastries, mostly) before eventually setting eyes on the table a smattering of her wingmates occupy. A long-suffering sigh follows. She goes that way, which - fortunately or unfortunately - requires passing by the table E'dre is at. E'dre doesn't generally find reason to be talkative in the living caverns (when he does taek a meal there) and might've let Parli simply grumble past him but there's something that catches his eye and he lifts a hand to stall her. "You didn't seem to like the klah," he comments, amusement clear in the gaze he tips at her and the smirky-smile that settles on his face. "You think they burned it this morning?" Welp. Parli is successfully stalled, but at the cost of another sigh. She stops and half-turns to obliquely look askance at E'dre, one eyebrow slowly rising as he speaks. "No," is drawn out just a little - the tone is best described as bored sarcasm. "I mean, probably, but it's too weak to tell if it's burned or just trying too hard to be real klah." Her expression is delightfully deadpan throughout, though her raised eyebrow remains securely in place. E'dre muses over this as he peers into the dregs of his remaining klah. He looks up at Parli and then back to his klah. He sidebars a glance towards the klah kettle that's clearly in closer reach to Parli than to him. "Huh," he muses, setting his mug on the table and sliding it away from him - and neaerer to the other brownrider. "I'd have to taste this latest batch to really draw any conculsions," he hints and then he picks that hide back up to stare at. Business-like. "Yeah, you probably should," Parli agrees blandly. "It's kind of gross but, whatever." An indifferent shrug follows - but she's certainly not following the rest of his all-too-obvious hinting. Instead, she sets her mug down - within range of him to reach, but not really at a comfortable range. "Ugh, no. I don't want your gross klah. You can have mine." She cuts a look to her wingmates, wrinkles her nose, and adds, "It looks like a whiskey morning anyway." Matter-of-fact, that. That draws E'dre's attention from his hide and towards Parli's wingmates. "They do that often?" he asks far too calmly. He gestures for her to sit, pushing her klah back in her direction. "I'll brave it when I get up next," he explains as he frowns again towards that table. He's looking back to Parli and then to his hide with a grumbled, "Shards." He slams the hide down and then he's gulping the last of his klah with a grimace. "Them? Faranth no. I mean, maybe, I don't know." Parli shrugs again, the boneless kind of shrug that only the perpetually bored can manage. "I do, but only because they're idiots and alcohol makes them easier to deal with." The offer to sit is, eventually, taken. She does take her mug of klah back with a sense of weighty disappointment, but settles into picking at her pastry with a distinct lack of interest. A slow swig of klah follows, an eyebrow creeping skyward once more at that grumble and slamming of hide. "Uh... huh." Her gaze flicks to the hide and, if her hands weren't busy, she'd probably be wagging a finger at it. "Bad hide. You're the worst hide ever. Look at what you made the Weyrleader do." "The hide, the drunks, either would suit for a reason for me to grumble and slam things around," E'dre drawls at Parli. Something of her boredom and sarcasm must be infectious as now he's sighing like someone who is long suffering. "Just one more thing added to the list of the day," he admits to her with a shrug. He spies an opportunity and lifts his hand, a come-hither wave and point given to his mug. A kitchen staff member bustles over without issue to refill his mug with the newly made klah. "There you are, sir. Nice to see you this morning, sir," the young boy murmurs to E'dre before dashing off to his other tasks. Satsified, E'dre takes his mug up and cradles it against his chest in growing contentment. "I guess," Parli replies and absently continues picking at the pastry and taking bits and pieces. Her features screw up at something or another - the glazing over of her eyes does plenty to suggest the source - and then she's snorting to herself. She pushes the pastry a bit closer to E'dre. "Go ahead. Point on the pastry where the bad hide touched you." A beat, then: "You have an assistant, right? I mean, just make them deal with it today or whatever. Go do," vague and airy gesticulation ensues, "like, I don't know, whatever else you have to do." E'dre can't help but chuckle over Parli's pastry and commentary. "No. The pastry wouldn't hold up if I began pointing out all the wrongs of the hide against me." He sips his klah and grimaces against the flavor. "I'll have to talk to them about where we're getting the klah these days. This is horrible." He pats his chest and grimaces again against the burn as it goes down. "An assistant?" E'dre's amusement seems inclined to stay this morning. Parli must've caught him on one of his good days. "I was the Weyrsecond. I don't have one trained up as a back-up. Though I let N'rov try for a few days." He eyes her briefly and then gazes back to her wingmates. "You enjoying Flint? Aside from," he gestures in a back-handed way. "That." A one-shouldered-"whatever floats your boat" shrug resolves in Parli pulling the pastry back. "It would probably be a better fate than it's going to suffer now," she muses. Not that she cares. That thing is going to be destroyed long before it's actually eaten. Both eyebrows raise at his proclamation, her slow smile - a rare thing, indeed - being very much of the unspoken (but obvious) 'I told you so' variety. Aloud: "So why don't you make him do it anyway? Or, I don't know, make some other Wingleader your 'Second of the day or whatever." The question is met with a vague noise, yet another shrug - such powerful shoulders! - and a bored, "I guess. I mean, it's okay. It's not, like, busy all the time any more or anything. Just drills and more drills and, oh boy, even more drills." Go, go, lazy jazz hands. "It's better than talking to Holders like before." Ugh. - unvoiced, but still there. E'dre's interest just seems to keep catching as Parli speaks, something sparking in his gaze as he takes more sips from his klah and nods encouragement to her sharing. "I see," he offers, interest turning quickly to calculations. "I never was a fan of talking to Holders. They always seemed to want something in exchange for our presence," he adds, shifting in his seat. "Which could get annoying. Which Holders did you talk to? I mean, some of them are pretty decent, but others...," he lifts a hand and wriggles it side-to-side as a descriptor. "I guess now that you all don't do that and you've gotta drill," he adds, grinning, "those that don't like the drills are drinking?" The klah is tried again, to much the same effect as before. Parli sucks her teeth a little, eats some pastry, and slouches a little in her seat. "Well, yeah. I mean. If they came here, wouldn't you want something from them?" Her nose wrinkles. "Ugh. I can't even remember. X'vin has all my reports, so. I guess talk to him or something. I'm sure he still has them somewhere." Another long, deep sigh of the long-suffering, soul-heavy sort is given, coupled with an eyeroll that lasts a second or two too long. "I can't speak for the others, but I like the drinking. Thank you, alcohol." She raises her klah briefly in a toast to the beverage that is definitely not there. "But, whatever. The drills still get done, so..." She'll just leave that there. A chance must've been missed for E'dre's not as cheerful and chummy as he was. "Of course X'vin's got your reports," he agrees as he takes a longer pull from his klah. "And if the drinking is really turning into such sport, perhaps I'll have to chat him up a bit about that. Safety. Sanity. Y'know. Can't have all our riders tossing back booze to celebrate the coming of the sun." He shifts in his seat and then stands, pushing the bench out from behind him as he goes. "I'm going to take this offensive hide to throw at N'rov's head," he comments, grabbing the hide. "See if he wants to make sense of it." He's got a smirk for Parli on that, "Thanks for the idea." He tips his head to her and then moves to head out of the caverns. He's got that klah mug but he's left the rest of his dishes behind for someone else to deal with. There's another rolling of eyes, but Parli doesn't say any more; she's a bit more occupied with her business, such as it is. Her wingmates eventually get up and file out - presumably to get ready for drills - but she doesn't join them. "Sure. Yeah. Just make sure to fold it up or something before you throw it. It doesn't go far otherwise." Spoken from experience, that. There is no getting up to salute, no farewells; there's a vague little wave, though, so there's something? In either case, he leaves and she lingers - and she'll eventually get to her drills. Probably even while it's still morning. Maybe. |
Comments
X'vin (09:52, 18 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
SHE is possibly a drunk. WE as a unit ARE NOT drunks, and I take PERSONAL OFFENSE to the implication. And at any rate, at least we're not cheaters. /meaningful stare
N'rov (09:57, 18 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
That's right. Fold it up before you throw it at me, baby.
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