Logs:Seasoning The Fish
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| RL Date: 6 May, 2011 |
| Who: Azzarion, Khorde, Phedre, Raum, Shimana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A night 'round the fire. |
| Where: Settlement, Western Island |
| When: Day 5, Month 9, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
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| Back from his tedious chore of hauling the final nets, Khorde is returned to camp -- with a few extra rope-burns that he lacked when he left. Stupid girls, making him forget his stupid gloves. With a huff and a slumped stance, he turns to the washing bin to rinse his hands, going light on the sand since, y'know, nasty hands and all that. Dark hair needs a new shearing, the way it falls over his forehead to obscure his vision; he shakes his head absently, muttering something under his breath, praying that if he looks sulky enough, the cooks won't call on him to do any other random errand that may need to be done. Azzarion heads in from Fields, Western Island. Also coming in to wash up is Raum, though he's apparently not put off by sulky youngsters that much. He eyes Khorde a moment, and the the boy's burned hands, one brow lifting slightly. "Afternoon," he says. Caught in dusk's dim light, pale ivory fingers deftly clean and sizzle the fish caught by her father for the night's bounty. So it is with firelight glinting red-gold against dark eyes, limned in long, dark lashes, that Phedre espies Khorde. An enigmatic smile plays on full lips as a snort escapes in time with a low, rich alto voice pulls forth a mocking, "Sulkiness does not behoove you." It could be cast into the darkness for any to respond to, though a faint smile is Raum's gift before she returns to the measure of cooking her family's meal. It's a good thing that Raum isn't put off by sulky youngsters, given the number of youngsterss that do sulk on this particular island. Just because Khorde exemplifies it doesn't mean that he has a monopoly on it... Oh hey, check it, the woman of his dreams is mocking him. Again. He's the worst luck in the whole fardling WORLD. "Hi Raum." His voice is a little dejected, the skinny youngster shaking his head and shifty-eying Phedre out of the corner of his vision. "Phe'. What've we said 'bout the big words again?" Encroaching twilight - and the thankfully partially clear sky - has brought Shimana back outside from her hut. She's sitting with a young girl of perhaps fourteen, and the family resemblence is clear. "And what do white clouds on the horizon at dusk portend, Anaka?" Her daughter is sulky in the way of young teenagers, casting a longing look towards Khorde before rolling her eyes and huffing out, "I don't know, that the fish aren't hungry? Can I /go/ now?!" "It becomes him quite well, I'd say," counters Raum in a dry voice. "In fact, I dare say it is him." After all, aren't all women his dream women? "You look like shit, boy. I would have thought you would have tougher hands than that by now, at the least." Shimana's been noted, of course--what kind of guard isn't aware of enemies nearby? So when her daughter stalks off, Raum pointedly watches her before flicking a long look to Shimana herself. White teeth flash in a sharp smile while the lowering of her dark lashes aid in giving her a coy look, cunning glittering behind those dark eyes of hers. Giving her long, thick braid a toss over her shoulder, Phedre flips the fish skillfully into the frying pan giving a flippant answer, "That I shouldn't use them lest your brain overheat itself in trying to discern the mysteries of the spoken language." Shimana and her daughter get a warmer, truer smile out of the girl than does Khorde. A soft, murmured humming accompanies her cooking. From the depths of her own family's hut, her mother moves about. Still, the cooking is Phedre's job this night and she does it well. "Ah, but sir, he could be so much more, that is the problem," she says so sweetly to Raum. There isn't even time for Shimana to dismiss her daughter before the girl is stalking off, eyeing Raum uncertainly in response to his stare. Anaka passes by Khorde, giving him a shy smile and slightly giggly, "Hi, Khorde," before dashing into the hut of a girl a couple of turns younger. Shimana can only sigh, disappointment oozing from every pore, and move along. Raum gets a nasty look, but then she's all warm smiles for Phedre as she draws up alongside. "Mm, smells like dinner, child. You're getting quite good." See? Sulking is totally an Island trait. Khorde seems oblivious to Shimana and her daughter, instead shifting a dark look upon Raum. "Yeah, you'd think, wouldn't you, desert man?" Dark eyebrows lift expressively -- that was 'eff you' expressive, to put a fine point on it -- and he shakes his head. "Ropes'll burn the toughest of hands if you don't have /gloves/." Which he, duh, didn't have. He now sulks past Raum, past Phedre. "See what I have to put up with, here? See how she /mistreats/ me?" He's railing against the injustice of it all, and ignoring Phedre's... thick lashes... and coy looks... and things that could may a boy overheat far more than just his stupid brain. Oh, "Hey Anaka," Khorde replies, in that absent fashion that men do when they're addressing family -- because that's true injustice, right there. Just like a man. "Then a smarter head for taking them," amends Raum to his list of Things Khorde Could Use. But it's all accompanied by a mild sort of smile, though it doesn't sit well on his narrow face. He lets the boy go, and settles for watching the trio of teens idly. "Kids, huh?" he remarks to Shimana in a conversational tone. "Can't beat sense into them at all." Azzarion pads all silent into the settlement with an armload of wood too. There's a quick glance around and the typical mute greeting in nods of that chin-bob-thing. Then he squats down by the main fire and piles the wood with the rest. "Thank you, ma'am," Phedre says with a pretty little smile for Shimana, glancing up from beneath the luster of her lashes as the fish filet is flipped once more. "Mother has been teaching me her special recipe, and tonight I try it on my own. I've enough fish to burn a few or perhaps to bestow them upon others as a boon." Or a curse should her hand fail and the fish burn instead of blacken. "You're welcome to a pinch." Khorde's progress is noted behind the cool mask of youthful female; triumph fettered in the way she inclines her head to watch him pass. Where he is not-so-subtle in ignorance, she could be leading him on for the way she is not-so-subtly goading him. "Mistreatment. Pfft." Azzarion becomes the object to which curiosity clings as Phedre's attention sways to him with his stack of wood before her eyes return once more to the task at hand. It smells delightful. Khorde flops down in the dirt not too far-off from his father's firepit, a glance or two every once and again for those others. He'll sit here, and wait, picking at his hands where skin has razed up without actually coming off. Phedre? Leading him on? More like leaving him-- uh. "Raum," he finally calls, almost reluctant. "M'da makes the best tubers on the island, and you're welcome to try them." See? He's trying to be /nice/. It may have busted something in his head trying to expend that much effort, but, you know. Maybe he's starting to grow up. ... Maybe not. Shimana smiles back at Raum, though it's a perfunctary gesture. "She'll come around. Children, you know." Does her gaze linger on Khorde? Maybe. Still, after a moment's consideration she returns the full force of her attention to Phedre's efforts. "Very generous, child. We'll see, won't we? What the trappers have brought up. The craps should have been quite active this afternoon, with the tide that came in. It felt... bountiful. Did you find it so?" "Does he." Raum considers this a moment before nodding. "I'd be happy to join you for dinner, in that case. It'll be a nice change from the sea's bounty." See how he doesn't look at Shimana then? Classy. A shadow crosses the girl's soft features, which is emblazoned in fire-gold from the reflection of the cookfire. Phedre bobs her head once, but there is concern buried within features that tighten almost imperceptibly before smoothing back to welcome when she answers Shimana in her low, rich voice, "I did. More accurately, father did. The sea was kind to us." Worry lurks as an ever present shadow for the sea's grace is a fickle thing, something all fishermen and families of fishermen must deal with. "Phedre!" The voice of her mother calls from the depths of their hut which has Phedre putting aside the cooked fish, murmuring, "If you'll excuse me a moment," before disappearing to get what her mother wants to add to the fish. Azzarion's hands clap as he dusts his palms off and straightens up from the fire. The question of the bounty and Phedre's response draw his attention before a smile angles his mouth to one side, "I wasn't working the crabs but the fish nets were full enough." He wanders over to see what's cooking and to, perhaps, be a bit more social than is the norm. Khorde may have just deliberatedly choked a laugh into a cough. "Y'may not want to piss her off, man." Because right now, Khorde just doesn't care about delicacy or tact. Oh wait, this is Khorde. He doesn't ever care. "There are quite a few of the elders who respect her." A rather serious look crosses his face, making the boy look about five turns older than he actually is (IE, actually past puberty). "An' if they decide to marry you off to someone if you don't drown tomorrow, she could make your life miserable." Advice from a teenager. "Da's almost done. If we're lucky we'll have enough left over to barter for some of that fish." He's not staring at Phedre as she disappears into her hut, not at all. At least this one seems to have the proper idea. Shimana bestows a beatific smile upon Phedre, even as she shoos her off towards her mother. "I'll keep an eye on it, go child, go." She must have caught only a piece of Khorde's comment, because she's eyeing the him and Raum again - but not with anything but vague mistrust. "All food we eat ultimately comes from the sea. The sea brings the storms that nourish the tubers." Raum snorts. "I doubt they're so willing to throw one of their girls to me just yet, new blood or no," is his answer to Khorde. "And in any case, we've an agreement, don't we?" He'll turn a cool gaze on Shimana then, brows lifted slightly. The origins of food rank somewhere lower in his concerns, apparently, because those items he'll leave alone for now. Khorde submits a dubious look to Raum. "Have you /met/ the Bloods?" Yeah, he totally just made them sound like a gang. A gang of self-righteous pompous self-serving ocean-rats, maybe. "But. Yeah." He shrugs his shoulders as if to indicate exactly where Raum ranks on this. His father, a dark man with a welcome smile for any -- even Raum -- shifts a plate towards both of the 'boys' and casts a glance to Shimana. "Shimana, would you like a bite? It would do us honor." Khorde's face sours, regardless of the fact that the sulky boy tends to actually /like/ Shimana, crazy or not -- and he moves towards the firepit, poking at the roasting tubers as if to judge if they are, in fact, ready or not. "Khorde-- fetch me an extra plate from the back, would you? We're one short." And thus goes the dark-haired lad, sulking off to fetch one more piece of earthenware, muttering about cold food. After a hurried smile to Shimana, Phedre is gone to the depths of their hut with barely heard conversation between her and her mother before she's returning with a small packet made of old canvas sewn into the shape of a packet. "Thank you," she breathes, sprinkling the spices on the fish before once more resuming her task of cooking. The talk of arranged marriages has her own chin lifting slightly, not quite looking forward to /that/ should that be her fate either. Her father... well. Negotiations may yet be made for his eldest daughter. A short look is given, quick-like, as Khorde sulks off. Azzarion gives a little shake of his head as the conversation turns as it often does towards matching up and pairing off. He watches the various expressions changing with a neutral expression and half formed smile. There's not much to add to it so instead he watches the seasoning of the fish, "Where did you get that?" sniffing a bit towards the freshly seasoned food warily. Shimana happily turns the frying pan back over to Phedre, though she takes a moment to appreciate the scent of herbs. "Good, isn't it?" she remarks to Azzarion. But then she rises to her feet, groaning when her knees creak audibly. "You're welcome, child." With a last lingering glare for Raum - of which poor Khorde is caught up in from guilt via association, she heads back towards her hut. "I've mending to do, but let me know if there's any trouble, won't you Phedre dear?" And by trouble, she means Raum. Of course. To Azzarion, Phedre explains, "My father caught it." Her father, the fisherman, who finally comes traipsing from the darkness with a bob for the others around before disappearing into the hut with the rest of her family. Finally, as the last fish is finished, she bobs her head in Shimana's direction and stands, scooping up the plate. "I will, thank you," before she, too, turns to her own hut. Her steps are light and the fire adds a warmth to the shadows to her dark hair, glinting on the crimson ribbon threaded through it. Then, she's gone, to eat the night's dinner with her small family. Azzarion's voice is quiet as his eyebrows pinch together, "That isn't what I was meaning...." but as she leaves it really doesn't matter much. Alone he stands a moment longer and then pads out of the settlement and off to who-knows-where. |
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