Logs:Gathering Allies
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| RL Date: 2 May, 2012 |
| Who: Damaris, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After being released from the Infirmary, K'del needs dinner. Damaris is there to help... in more way than one. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 9, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr 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's been a few days, now, since the incident that landed K'del in the Infirmary; days that have made him a scarcer figure than usual. Even the reclusive need to eat, however, and with his discharge from the healers turning him back out onto the world, perhaps it's no wonder that it's now, this late, that he climbs gingerly up the stairs and into the kitchen. Still-visible bruises mark his face, and his arm is in a sling, and yet K'del still aims a smile upon the kitchen staff as he wonders, hopefully, "Any chance of some leftovers?" Glancing over, Damaris freezes for an instant when she spots K'del. What she's doing is promptly set down, and she murmurs a few quiet words to her companion before she's cutting off the other girl that was moving to help and slipping over. She gets glared at, but the cook doesn't intervene. "I'll get you something," she calls over. "Go sit yourself down." Beat. "Please." And she's promptly turning to go do that, scavenging around to put together as much of a meal as can be managed. Look, she can work! And quickly, too. She definitely knows her way around in here, too. Bread, cheese, a little bit of stew, and some sort of baked sweet are all cobbled together and then she's heading for the Weyrleader with it. If K'del is even paying attention to kitchen-worker politics, it makes no show in his expression, which remains neutral-- well, neutral shading into genuinely grateful as Damaris sets to work. "Thanks," he says, in an undertone. By the time she's on her way back towards him, he's nestled himself in one of the little alcoves, more or less out of sight of anyone no already aware of his presence. It may not have been long, but he's already shut his eyes and leaned backwards so that his head rests on the wall: the very picture of exhaustion. "You know," she tells him quietly, as she ghosts up to K'del with the food (and a mug of cider she snagged on the way), "If you just asked, I know about, oh, at least fifteen people who would be _happy_ to bring you dinner." Damaris offers up a sympathetic little smile, as well as the plate and mug. "It's good to see you up and moving." Meanwhile, the girl she'd been working with is shooting worried looks this direction. They do not seem to be aimed at K'del. "And then," says K'del, opening his eyes as he speaks and aiming a quirked smile in Damaris' direction, "reckon I'd feel even more like an invalid. Besides, got to get myself back into the world at some point, don't I?" And not, apparently, hide away and lick his wounds. He has to take the plate with one hand, set it down, and only then reach for the mug, a combination that has him looking both faintly frustrated and at least a little bit amused. His sidelong glance catches the other girl, and results in the bronzerider's next question: "Is your friend over there worried you'll be influenced onto the wrong side? Or is it my rakish reputation that's got her worried?" "Am I allowed to tell you that you look like you're about ready to fall asleep on your feet?" Damaris asks, only a _little_ bit of impishness in her tone. "Because you look like you're ready to fall asleep on your feet. I thought being in the infirmary meant you had to rest. I'm less worried about the getting into the world and the broken bits than I am about you taking spontaneous naps in my kitchen." Nose is wrinkled at him. She's patient for the two step process of food and drink collection, though her lips are twitching just a little bit. It is at least good-natured amusement. When he indicates her friend she glances that way, casting a quizzical look that earns her a pointed one in return. There is gesturing to the work. Damaris shakes her head lightly, then returns her attention to K'del. "I don't know," she returns, breezily. "Doesn't matter. Can I get you anything else?" At least K'del doesn't seem inclined to take offence at impishness, nor good-natured amusement. "You'd think, wouldn't you?" But he doesn't stop to explain exactly why he's as tired as he is, and, instead, says, "You could stay and talk to me while I eat, so that I don't fall head-first into my food and nap in your kitchen." There's emphasis on the word 'your', but only in a good-natured way. "And if you stay, you'll probably annoy that colleague of yours even more. But I'm the Weyrleader," beat, complete with nose wrinkle: probably the Weyrleader, "and I'd like the company." "You are the Weyrleader," Damaris tells him with her own emphasis, giving a playfully stern look to go along with it. And she steps in to sort of lean up against the wall a polite distance from where he's sitting, promptly at ease. Because apparently she wasn't, before. Slouch. It's hard work, holding up the kitchen cavern. "So I suppose I will stay and keep you company. This time. Especially if it's going to prevent you from kitchen napping. I'm the only one allowed to sleep in here." Beat. "You holding up alright?" It's asked more quietly and with more sincerity than the rest of it. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Her look may be only playfully stern, but K'del seems pleased by it, smiling genuinely at the kitchen worker as, one-handedly, he dips his bread into the stew. "Your sacrifice on my behalf is noted, and appreciated," he says, glancing at the bread rather than, you know, eating it. "I'm-- okay. If you knew how to instantly repair a broken arm, that'd be great. But no. Really. reckon if I knew what to do now, I'd've--" Done it. "Eat," Damaris prompts, glancing down to the bread and then back up towards him. There's even a gesture towards his food with one hand. Eat eat eat. "I don't have any sort of secret to instantly heal your arm, sorry," she says. "If I did, I would, I promise." At his final words, she's nodding along agreeably enough, shrugging the shoulder she's not leaning on lightly. "Yeah," she says. "But sometimes...I dunno, some things need to be done that require helping with that we can't do ourselves, that's all. So if you think of anything, I'd recommend letting me know? So I don't try to figure it out on my own. That's pretty much a recipe for disaster." Those words are followed by the most innocent, angelic look she can summon. K'del can take direction, at least at the moment, and that means taking an exaggeratedly large bite of his bread-and-stew, and chewing it carefully. Her last words, and the look that go with it, nearly make him choke; his good hand lifts to be held in front of his mouth as he attempts to recover himself and swallow. Finally; "That sounds dangerous. Promise, though. Guess you could go around telling people that Tiriana's really lost her mind, this time, and she's too unstable to be Weyr-- I, ah, not being serious about that, for the record." Not... very serious, anyway. She probably should not look so pleased by the near-choke. Really. Particularly given she does not seem to want him dead, so it would sort of be counter to her purpose here. Still, Damaris looks briefly smug at his reaction, smile curving her lips up again. "It is," she assures him. Dangerous. And then the words that follow and she wrinkles her nose up, tipping her head from side to side thoughtfully. "Do you think agitating people would actually prove productive?" Hmmmm. The next bite K'del takes? Much smaller. Much less likely to cause choking. Her thoughtful expression turns his thoughtful, too, and draws a pause in his chewing that leaves silence for several long seconds. Finally, after he's swallowed, he says, "Right now, seems like people aren't sure what to think. Reckon I'd rather they think she's unstable than that she's right and I ought to be forced to quit. Does beating someone up seem stable to you?" That hint of hurt audible in his tone is probably not something he intended to show - but it's there, nonetheless. A hand comes up straight, palm displayed towards him in a sort of hold-on gesture. "Was not suggesting anything," Damaris says quietly. "Was just musing. Because I mean, I can stir people up. I can't imagine..." No, she can't say that she can't imagine anyone thinking he should quit, so the statement isn't finished. There's a glance back towards her friend, who is still sending looks over very regularly. Sigh. A headshake, and she looks back. "I'll talk it around," she says. "I mean I sort of have anyway, but. And no. It does not seem stable to me. Or right, or acceptable, or any of that. Especially not - you know, the Weyrleader. She's _not_ right, for the record. So whatever people think is - I don't know, they're stupid if they think otherwise." "No, no," says K'del, hastily, and apologetically. "Wasn't attempting to imply that you were. No." His fingers grasp around the piece of cheese, squeezing it in an idle way that probably speaks to his not really paying attention to what he's doing. A slow, careful nod follows what she says next, and though he's trying not to, he can't seem to keep a smile from twitching around the corners of his mouth. "Appreciate that. It's not-- it's all true, so it's not like-- I just-- Yeah. You know. Care too much about this Weyr to let someone like that destroy things." There is a pointed look at the cheese, matching the look he got earlier about the eating. Eat. Damaris doesn't say the word, but intention? So clear. The threatening smile has her own lips curving up at the corners, single shoulder shrugged again. "I know," she says, tone reassuring. "It's okay. I mean, I've been pushing it all anyway, but now I know I ought to be doing it with intent. So I will." Beat. "Nothing is going to get destroyed. I mean, at the end of the day, you're the Weyrleader. Nobody who has the power to maybe change that is going to do so, because of what the repercussions would be. And if they did, it's time to go hide somewhere anyway, because things are about to get _really_ crazy. World does not work like that. She doesn't get to change the rules just because she wants to and can hit hard." That last sentence is spoken a little darkly. Damaris' vehemence, and the content of her words please K'del, and perhaps surprise him a little, too, though not to the point where he seems inclined to query it. It is to the point, however, that he'll put the cheese in his mouth without thinking anything more about it: thank you, mother Damaris. "Good," he says, his voice kept deliberately low. "Good. That's excellent. Thank you." There's still a lot of food on his plate, but as he grabs up another piece of bread-with-stew, he awkwardly pulls himself to his feet, too. "Think I need to go home. Sleep." She nods when he consumes the cheese. That is how it should be. Damaris smiles at him again, reassuring. "You're welcome," she says. There's a look for his plate, a moment of worrying at her lower lip with her teeth as he stands. After a moment she asks, "What time am I having them bring you breakfast in the morning? You didn't eat much." Just in case he wasn't aware of that. "Do you want me to have somebody bring something you can..." Pause. "I'll have someone bring some food by before long that will keep and can be snacked on if you wake up tonight." For a moment or two, it must look like K'del is about to argue and refuse; then, he exhales, all traces of argument disappearing from his expression. "Breakfast at seven," he says, tone full of you've-won-this-battle. "Thank you. Not really hungry, but-- thanks. That'd be fine. Thank you, Damaris. Good night." As if for emphasis, he takes a big bite out of his bread before he turns. His movement, as he heads back for the stairs, is slow and stiff, as though he's in more pain than he might earlier have hinted at. She _is_ a kitchen girl. Sort of. First step in conquering any problem: feed it. Damaris offers up a grateful smile, dipping her head to him a moment later. "You're welcome," she says. "And you need to eat even if you're not hungry. You'll heal faster that way." Beat. "Breakfast at seven. Goodnight." And she's watching him go before she straightens, turning to go back to her sorting and giving her earlier companion a vaguely challenging look. Oh? Yeah? Time to talk about this, yep. "I'll try," promises K'del, before he's gone. And... yeah, he probably will. Good boy. |
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