Logs:Late Lunches
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| RL Date: 21 May, 2013 |
| Who: Dal, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dal runs into N'rov again. |
| Where: Kitchen, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 11, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'ten/Mentions, Reesa/Mentions |
| Just after the luncheon rush has gone, with dinner's still to arrive, the kitchens are a quieter place than usual. Most of the cooks and cleaners have moved out for their own meal, leaving most of those marble-topped islands bare, though one's served up a bronzerider as a benevolent centerpiece. N'rov sits comfortably on the edge, his sweater knotted around his shoulders, chewing on a seaweed-wrapped cone of /something/ while he talks idly with a taller, more heavily-built man about his own age who's sweeping the floor. By the splattering of food on Dal's shirt, he's been on duty in the nurseries, today, and is probably due back there again - but for now he's sans children, and hurrying through the swinging doors from the caverns. Once inside, his steps seem less certain, dark gaze shifting from empty countertop to empty stove to - N'rov and his companion, one of whom is, at least familiar. And yet? Still he hesitates. It's the other man who notices first, beckoning Dal inward with a hint of mostly-disguised irritation that turns to sympathy upon seeing the man's knot. "Miss lunch, did you? We can work something up for you." N'rov, who's busy being useful (if only by keeping his feet out of the way of that sweeping), takes longer to turn. "Afternoon," he greets, the line of his dark brows sharpening, because Dal looks familiar and yet.... The knot clicks it for him, too. "Fort, I remember. Come on over, man, good to see you again. Who brought you in?" "If it's not too much trouble, sir? I'm sorry, sir, for the inconvenience. It - " Dal makes a helpless gesture with his hands. It's complicated. And uncomfortable. "It doesn't need to be much." He's quicker to place N'rov, though he only glances in the other man's direction after he's addressed, the pale flush on his cheeks as likely as not all part and parcel of his so-obvious discomfort. "And you, sir. Khiabeth did - and Reesa. I suppose I've extra reason to wish your Vhaeryth the best for his clutch, now. Sir." Now, finally, he crosses towards that island, hands caught together behind his back. "Ah, yes. Reesa," N'rov says like it means something, and certainly it does to the other man, who laughs. While they don't share the joke, N'rov does share, "Meet Farudan, call him..." The other man interrupts before N'rov can substitute something non-approved. "/Farud/. Hey. No, it'll be easy enough, I'll just get something squared away. Here." He leans the broom against the island upon which N'rov is sitting, leaving the bronzerider to eye it as though it were a long-dead and dessicated tunnelsnake, and moves off to chat up one of the other helpers who'll take care of the job herself. With Farud in no hurry to return, N'rov asks, "How's your boy?" How's his mother? "Sir," says Dal, appropriately grateful and coming across as only /faintly/ obsequious, as he takes a seat alongside N'rov, his hands pressed uneasily upon the bench-top. The broom doesn't earn /his/ enmity; instead, he glances at it for a moment, then gives the bronzerider a side-long glance, hesitating before answering: "My mother is caring for him. I don't know that she approves of my coming here, for all that it was my duty to. He's - too young to understand. I hope to have the opportunity to visit. While I'm here." N'rov's is less actual enmity and more a distant sort of distaste, its not resembling a /live/ tunnelsnake, after all. The look he gives Dal is more thoughtful. "Maybe you'll be able to, maybe he will, if it wouldn't scare him." He glances at Dal's knot, then back at his expression. "You aren't married any longer, then, are you." Dal's answer to the first is thoughtful. "He liked Adiulth. I suppose - " No doubt he'd say more, but the latter has his knuckles tightening, and his gaze turning away from the bronzerider, and towards a distant wall. "No," he confirms. "I'm not." N'rov doesn't have the decency to look away. But he says, "Adiulth is Vhaeryth's clutchbrother. I'm told the resemblance is... not striking." Dal doesn't seem to notice. Or - maybe he /does/, but simply doesn't react, doesn't say anything. Nothing except, in a determinedly stable voice, "They don't seem so very alike, no. I wouldn't have guessed. Dragons are, I suppose, different from us." "In many ways," N'rov gravely agrees. "And," he looks up. "Here's your meal now. Good luck." He slides off, unnecessarily balancing with the broom as though it were a cane, and makes way for the kitchen girl. The girl has a simple dish, bread topped with melted cheese that's not only fast but easy on a new arrival's insides, and she also has Farud smiling behind her. More ways than Dal can possibly understand, no doubt, but at least he /seems/ to grasp that - the glance he aims after N'rov is thoughtful, more active in that than his expressions generally seem to be. It's enough to distract him from any more words - but not from his food, for which he is appropriately, and verbally, thankful. |
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