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.
Toward the end of the supper hours, the caverns are not so packed that H'kon should need to seek out the out-of-the-way seating offered in the kitchen... but he does. Most likely, it's that the place is quieter, at least, so far as diners are concerned. And the constant stream of hands cleaning up after the meal, and keeping the klah fresh, and even preparing for breakfast on the next day and the usual snack offerings for the evening, provide a handy white noise. So, the compact brownrider sits at his out-of-the-way table, focusing entirely on the plate before him, chewing slowly and carefully.
There's rarely a moment when Bones could call himself entirely full in regards to food. And so it's more an idle search for flavor rather than nourishment bringing him to the kitchens this eve. He idly wanders between tables in serpentine fashion, too focused on what taste he wanted to keep a solid path. It's that wandering that brings him to the otherwise out of the way brownrider, sitting alone. "H'kon." Not the usual excitement in recognition, both his palms slapping flat to the table. He used that support to lean in and take a closer look at the man's plate. "Whatcha got there?"
H'kon looks up sharply, not rightly startled, though certainly snapped to attention by those palms so much as his name. The hand holding his fork drops until the side of his palm's heel is up against the edge of his little table. His free hand lifts from where it had sat in his lap, to grip the edge of his plate, and shift it faintly in toward himself. Fingers stay tightly clamped, though the smaller man's face seems calm enough as he regards the bigger. "My supper. Bones."
Leaning in a bit further now, the line of good manners that Bones breaches so often is once again crossed. A sudden deep inhale is taken of the dish, Bones intentionally making a comedic show of sampling it's scent with his eyes closed and nose upturned, nostrils flaring wildly. "Meh, I don't think that's up to H'kon quality. Definitely not up to expectations. Hmm, and what is it you do with things that don't meet your expectations?" Again, he puts on a show, stroking his goatee in deep thought on the question. "Oh yeah, you toss it right the fuck out. Here, lemme help you with that!" No grand build up for his next move, just a sudden flick of his tongue and a puff of his cheeks, sending an impressive volume of saliva rocketing from his mouth and straight on the brownrider's plate.
When Bones first leans in, H'kon lifts his fork hand, skewers a piece of meat. While the big man is sniffing, the brownrider has put the morcel into his mouth. When Bones starts talking, H'kon grips the fork more tightly, not in a fist, but with his finger along it rather than pressing against it. To avoid jamming if he should need to - oh. He's still chewing when he looks down to the gob on his plate. H'kon finishes, swallows. A piece of tuber, opposite the gobbed spot on his plate, is skewered next. "If there is something you would say, then say it." And into his mouth it goes.
"Words'll never hurt you. S'why I figured I'd start with sticks and stones." Like with so many bullies, turning the only cheek only frustrates Bones further. "How about both?" More determined now than ever to rile H'kon even in the slightest, he reaches out and aims to slap the brownrider with an open palm at the side of his head. There isn't true brute strength behind it, at least nothing compared to what gardener could offer, but a painful annoyance should it land. "I'm angry with you." Obviously.
H'kon is on the lookout for anything confrontational. The forked arm is lifted. He ducks behind that raised shoulder. The smack will glance at the crown of his head only, but green eyes will be glacial cold when he straightens, and looks back up to the... gardener. Still, voice is calm, if firm, when he speaks. "I am a dragonrider in my own Weyr. You will not attempt that, or this," forked hand lowering, he taps the metal against the edge of his plate, "again." That utensil then points to the chair across from him, though quite close. It really is a small table. "Sit then."
"I don't care if you're Faranth come from between in human form, brown rider." All manner of fluff and pomp is added to the sarcastically revered title. "Ain't no list of titles separates any man from any other far as I'm concerned. But that's part'a the difference between you and me, ain't it y'fuckin stone-faced midget." He's all smiles as he rants his unconventional views, not taking up H'kon on his offer to sit just yet. "No. You're so caught up in politics that you'll turn a cold shoulder on a friend." It wouldn't take a genius to figure out to whom he was referring.
"No, but behaviour and belonging do. And you currently have a place here at the pleasure of the Weyr," and it's about here that something of H'kon's tone falls away, that firmness now a hollowed out shell, though he continues on doggedly, even with cold eyes looking a hint more tired, "and if you mean to stay, you would do well to keep your actions in mind. The stability of the whole must come first." That fork gets put to use on another bit of meat, at least mostly out of range of the spittle from earlier. "It is not politics that concern me. It is right. I would have done a disservice, and potentially greater harm, had I not tried to speak for it." And he eats that meat chunk.
Bones face opens up at H'kon's words. With widening eyes and smile wiped clean, he's stunned into momentary silence. "You..." Now he'll stand, pushing himself up off the table. "You and Brieli must shop at the same store, because you both bought the I know what's best for everybody brand'a brain." He puts his hand to his forehead and does a slow firm wipe down his face, one that sees his skin tugged taught and silly untill he's made it all the way off the bottom of his chin. "Well if you did the right thing for Azaylia and the Weyr, then that must mean this is all turnin' out exactly as you planned. Because you know so thoroughly in your heart what the best course'a actions are. You made the best choice, that saw Zee scrubbin floors and Bree and Tai put in charge. That all went accordin' to your plan, captain omnipotence?" Where the hell did Bones learn that word. "You don't know shit, and you're throwin' aside good people on account of it."
"Brieli knows what is best for her." Maybe it's easier, saying that to a man he's not sure will be here long, a man who clearly has no sense of loyalty toward the Weyr. Or maybe it's that, for all H'kon is sitting still and (except for that last, quick shot of words) talking evenly, Bones has riled him. But at least, when he talks again, it's even (and kind of unbroken), for all his eyes are still sharp little sea-ice daggers on the other man. "Azaylia chose to do nothing well before I spoke with her. I attempted to make her see reason, to convince her to take the place she should occupy, the only position that might have prevented this." His fork clicks against his plate, where it rests, forearms tight with the grip. "Perhaps you should not so concern yourself with her bruised feelings now. They will be nothing compared to her despair if this would-be leadership ends as I fear it will, and she is left with the regret of having done nothing when she had both the right and the ability." Another tick of fork to plate. "In future, have your facts straight before you spit in another man's meal."
H'kon's position is spilled out clear and without interruption from the lowly gardener standing above him, though arms cross over chest in a clear sign of dissaproval. "I know exactly why you said what you did. You got this perfect picture in your head about what this weyr should be. Still do, don't you? Dick." Now he'll finally sit, dropping down across from H'kon with a heavy thump. One hand grips the edge of the table, and the other points accusatorily into H'kon's face. "The moment puttin' Azaylia in charge of the weyr became more important to you than how she fared on the inside? That's why you're an asshole. And that's a fact I got real straight." He leans back in his chair now, his lip pulled back in a small snarl of disgust for the brownrider. "I bet when you think about Azaylia, all you see is wasted potential for leadership, don'tcha? You snuck in close under her guard, just to try and push her where you pleased. Sounds like you ain't got a leg to stand on when it comes to judgin' anybody, chump."
H'kon's jaw tenses when that finger is pointed at him. "No. I see a weyrwoman who has abandoned her Weyr for her own sake. She is a dragonrider, a weyrwoman. Her Weyr must come before herself, most of all when she knows that alternative leadership is dangerous." His fork is released. "Azaylia and I have never been close. It was not insidious; I told her what I tell you now." And that freed hand reaches to try push, with the back of held-straight fingers, that pointing finger away from his face, a slow and steady strength behind the motion.
Bones' hand is pushed aside without resistance. "You weren't ever close eh?" There's a glare for him at that line, one of suspician, and of course anger. "Maybe you shoulda let her know that." He stands again, musculature far too tense to put up with relaxing in such fashion. "What is this place to you that you don't have a heart for nobody in it? Who are you tryin' to make a better life for anyhow?" As Bones ponders his own words, that lip he has curled up lifts a bit higher, showing off the sharper of his big white teeth. In a sudden blur of motion, Bones utilizes his long reach to throw a swift cracking punch from across the table, aiming right for H'kon's beak.
The first has H'kon's eyebrows dropping into full brood. "You cannot be close when neither one truly knows the other," has a bit more of a growl to it than what has been spoken prior. It's more the words after Bones has stood, than the standing itself, that has H'kon's nostrils flaring in turn. His teeth have set again, and he's making to push his chair back from the table when that fist comes. The reaction is delayed, a flinch that saves his nose at the expense of his eye, his scowly brow. The Face. The chair scrapes back, the brownrider staggers up with only a gasp before fists form at his sides. The sting at his eye keeps the look he gives from being too square. "You will leave this table now." The growl again, with a different sound. Maybe those who've heard Arekoth's words might recognise it some.
Bones is calmer for having thrown the strike. Calmer still for having it land even off target. It hurt H'kon, that's all he wanted, for him to feel the hurt. "Damn right I will" One final insult to injury, Bones reaches down for the plate and flips it with just enough force to send it to the floor below. "I feel real sorry for the next person who's stupid enough to care about you." With that, Bones stomps off, fists still bunched tight in frustration.
To Hraedhyth, Arekoth is fierce, that burning cold that threatens to tear skin from bones. Flashes of yellow and white arrive as whip cracks, as lightning. The brown is angry. « If yours does not control her dog I will EAT him. » But there's no humour to the threat; it's deadly serious. And probably lucky for everyone involved that he's not on the sands with Hraedhyth just now.
H'kon doesn't even look, when that plate is flipped, whether it might hit him or not. Even if it does bounce off his boot, he hardly seems to notice. His lips curl away from his teeth, the beginning of a retort from some part of him that feels much younger ready... but in the end, not released. It leaves him simply standing, glaring. And it's a long while before he unclenched his fists, and bends to assist the kitchen worker who comes to clean up.
Burning cold is met by fire which burns so hot it numbs, her first mental blow meant to parry this unexpected attack. It's a warning. « If Yours does not control his brown I will eat YOU. » Soot and golden sand fly in the scuffle, one where she will aim to scruff Arekoth appropriately. The pressure is as fierce as his anger, even as hers begins to dull into something far less instinctual. The hold remains on him, but now the flames pull back, « Is yours in danger? » She cares. (Hraedhyth to Arekoth)
She is a gold, and she can press, but Arekoth's anger is only contained, not quenched, not dissipated. The crackles spark back and forth, caged and frustrated, no more. The brightness of his mind has not dimmed in the slightest. « He is my rider, » is rage against the queen, short-lived, but entirely apparent by feeling alone, at the injustice, at the slight of having a non-rider favoured. « And he has scared the pup off. If you don't make sure it doesn't happen again, » and there's a shriek of wind that echoes the dragon's own vocalisations, « I will. » (Arekoth to Hraedhyth)
To Arekoth, Hraedhyth favors none but Hers, and her clutch. It's a softer blow, this time, an attempt to get that fact through his thick brown skull. With his anger recognized, accepted, with no attempt to stifle, Hraedhyth slowly begins to release her hold on him. « You do not threaten. You do not order. » Her raspy reprimand follows the cadence of those drums, « You do not command me. » She, who guards her eggs with such ferocity, that he is lucky to keep his thoughts in tact. Another warning, and despite her ferocity it is for his sake. « You should have more confidence in Yours. » As for the mongrel, for that's what he is, even in her own mind. « Mine will tighten his leash. »
To Hraedhyth, Arekoth gives one final crackle, to bring the low hiss of, « Confidence isn't the point, » before distancing himself from his queen.
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