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.
Just slightly before dawn, there's not so large a crowd in the living caverns that H'kon needs have claimed one of the little tables right up next to the kitchen. Still, that is where the small jacket that belongs to the small man is draped, soon to be joined by that man himself. His cheeks are still ruddy from the morning trek across the bowl, but his own bowl of porridge, and mug of klah, both steaming, at least suggest that warming will happen soon enough. He must be in a good mood, too; he's actually nodding and exchanging mumbled 'good mornings' with the kitchen staff as he progresses.
Ever the early-riser, N'ky is both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he flirts with one of the kitchens girls, clearly trying to use the cast that's bound around his broken arm to win her over. His prize for his efforts is a plate of freshly-baked cookies to go with his big mug of klah, and he stoops down to give the girl a quick, cheeky kiss on her cheek in thanks. He's heading back out towards the living caverns when he sees the H'kon, and he flashes the brownrider a big, goofy, gap-toothed grin. "Cookie, H'kon?" The plate is held out to him, while N'ky looks down at the much shorter man.
H'kon's good mood only goes so far as his own personality will allow. The greenrider's smile, the thrust of the cookie plate, all that warrants just a quick look up and down the younger man's face. The twist to H'kon's mouth is not rightly a smile, nor does it look rightly comfortable. The nod, though a nod, still is unmistakably a refusal. Hands, both full, lift slightly. "I find I have little taste for sw- for cookies, first thing." There's some thought behind the amendment of words, but it's kept only to a twitch at his eyes, and he's turning his head back to the table he's called his own.
... with a greenrider tagalong as he goes. N'ky's going that way anyway, so why not follow H'kon? "I th-think cookies and klah are good any time of day," the weyrling says chipperly, shrugging his shoulders as he does so. "Klah wakes you up, c-cookies wake you up... they're best when they're hot, though. Th-these are fresh from the oven... are you sure you wouldn't like one? Cyra makes the best ginger ones."
H'kon makes it to his table - it's really not that far - but doesn't sit. The bowl and mug are set down with that sound of pottery on wood, and the brownrider turns to, once again, look N'ky over. "Morning wakes me up." His face remains that Face for which he's known. "I should hope, at least, you remain so generous with that tray toward others. There are those who would consider these things necessity still, even when the stores are lean this winter."
N'ky remains standing by the brownrider, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I h-hope there'll always be enough to, um, m-make cookies. Even if they're little ones." Moving awkwardly given the cast on his arm, he sets his klah mug down on the table to swap his load over; lighter cookies in his bound-up left, heavier mug in his right. His chipper smile does fade a touch though, and he looks a little more sheepishly at H'kon. "Um... l-last time we spoke, you, um, t-tried to give me some advice. I think I was p-pretty rude to you, and, um... I'm sorry."
"Hope will do little to make it so." The third looking-over of N'ky takes place, and almost grudgingly, H'kon goes on with, "Individual moderation may prove better, from those who've the presence of mind to do so." The look to the freshly-transferred tray has hints of disapproval still, but he at least says no more. On that topic. But the, "You were," that answers N'ky's apology comes immediately, and with the sharpness of his higher rank behind it.
"And I, um, am s-sorry. Really." N'ky nods to emphasise it, still with that watery, apologetic smile. "I think there are a l-lot of times when my, um, when I was... Cailluneth's k-kinda strong sometimes. It affects me, and... I'm w-working on it." His attention is caught by the passing of a kitchens girl with a breakfast tray, and he sniffs at the scented trail she leaves behind. "Can I ask... what's Arekoth like? I-if you'd like to tell me."
H'kon shows no sympathy for the boy's explanation. "Then you must be stronger." The boy's distraction is noted, and that with a further downward pull to his mouth. "Perhaps if you were to practice better focus, it would come more easily." He still doesn't sit, and there's a lag between N'ky's question after Arekoth, and H'kon's response, during which steam continues to curl off his mug - though no longer his porridge. "I'm not certain what my dragon is like will help you at all with yours. You've not impressed to Arekoth; how I deal with him will likely not work for your green."
"I j-just thought... m-maybe you... I thought you m-might have some a-advice." The stronger stutter and the hunch of N'ky's shoulders give away his nerves and discomfort, a far cry from the bubbly teen he was before coming across the brownrider. "Quinlys i-is teaching me h-how to be better. Sh-she's... I mean, I'm... we're g-getting better, b-but I thought I'd ask you because you, um, y-you wanted to give me advice before, a-and... I'm s-sorry?" That's offered up with a questioning inflection and a wince; he's not sure what he's apologising for, but throwing it out there anyway.
This time, there's a slight easing of his tone, if not his aspect. "I know nothing of you or your dragon, weyrling. We've had almost no contact since that first incident." H'kon gives a bit of a sigh that really does nothing to relax him. "I'd shut him out and could not anticipate him, in that moment. For him and for me, that is the crux of it. I can control him because I know him. I know what he will do as he thinks it, if I am aware." And now, he shakes his head. "I cannot simply tell you how to achieve that. Arekoth and I have been together some twelve turns now. And he is him, and I am me."
N'ky listens quietly, nodding when H'kon finishes. "Th-that helps," he says quietly, chewing thoughtfully on his lip for a thoughtful moment. "Cailluneth has a, um, t-temper, and if I'm angry or upset, she p-picks up on it, and if I can't calm her quickly enough, she... w-we got into a bit of trouble." The weyrling frowns, looking down at the cookies. "And if she's upset, it affects me, too, and then it's, um... well, we're l-learning how to get better." As he's already said. "B-but what you said helped me - thank you."
H'kon waits as patiently as he can through the boy's explanation, fingertips brushing the top of the table, his only sign of impatience. In response to that thanks, N'ky is accorded a gruff nod. There's no wish of luck thereafter, though the sense of dismissal is apparent in H'kon's very aura, it seems. As parting words, N'ky receives only, "Cookies are frivolous. See to it those are distributed wisely."
Apparent enough for N'ky to understand, loud and clear. "Yessir, I will," he replies with a nod of his head, and a half-hearted attempt at a crooked smile. "I, er..." Pausing to reconsider whatever he was going to say, N'ky huffs softly, and shrugs his shoulders. "H-have a good day, H'kon." With another nod, a polite farewell this time, the young greenrider meanders off towards those people who're already around for breakfast, pausing to slip cookies to a couple here and there.
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