Difference between revisions of "Logs:Turnday Gifts And Theories"

Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.

Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.

An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.

It's a lovely summer's afternoon, and evidently K'del has elected to make the most of it, bringing a stack of reports out with him to be worked through from a more comfortable location out on the Garden Patio Ledge. He's eschewed shoes for the occasion, and despite the sun's warmth, his blonde curls are dark with damp. Given the weather, it's no surprise that the ledge is busy, with most of the tables and seats occupied; K'del's, empty except for his presence, is a notable exception.

Azaylia has never had much in the way of a hunter's instinct. She had set out on her quest in the morning, bouncing from one lead to the next during breaks in her duties. The journey finally comes to an end once she steps onto the Garden Patio Ledge. A whimpered inquiry earns her a point in the Weyrleader's direction, relief causing her shoulders to droop for only a moment before she approaches. Azaylia stops within the far reaches of his personal space, hovering with arms behind her back, eyes scanning over the records. Every now and again, they'll venture up to his face, and should he remain distracted they drop down to try again in a few seconds.

K'del probably doesn't bring anything that's too sensitive outside of his weyr or the council chambers; the reports he's reading through this afternoon are all wing-focused, outlining current drills, sweep schedules, disciplinary problems and other mundane remarks. None of it is interesting enough that Azaylia's presence doesn't fairly immediately distract him, and he's definitely smiling when he tilts his head up to greet her. "Azaylia," he says. "Hey. Nice afternoon, isn't it?"

Despite the easy greeting, the moment she's able to catch his eye Azaylia gives a little start. And naturally, a squeak. "Oh. Yes, it's very nice. I love it when the weather's like this." Small smile is tilted up towards the sun, clearing her own throat in order to bring herself back down to the conversation. "I, I know it's so late... Not in time, but- I heard it was your Turnday?" A month or so ago. Hence the apology. "I just thought, I've been here for so long that I should start, uhm, getting presents." She's trembling somewhat, enough for the rustling from behind her back to be heard.

K'del's expression shifts from relaxedly pleased to genuinely surprised - and then back to pleased. "Oh, Azaylia," he sounds, that surprise equally evident in his tone, but alongside definite fondness. "It's really not necessary, you know, though-- really do appreciate the thought." His gaze shifts, just slightly, in the general direction of the rustling, but doesn't linger. Instead, he waves a hand towards one of the adjacent, empty chairs. "Join me?"

Azaylia closes her eyes, head bowing in order to try and keep her smile modest. She fails, grin splitting across her face as a few giggles also manage to escape. It's the surprise that does it. She regains her composure, though her hesitation has been replaced by an eager happiness, "Okay. Thank you." She remembers to tack on as she sits in one of the empty chairs. As she sits, she's unable to keep her arms behind her back and relinquishes her secret. The lumpy package is placed on the table, paper of all things. "Some of the other crafters taught me how to make, uhm, to take lots of little bits of paper? And make it all stick together. For wrapping." Just incase he thinks to give her any credit for the inventive hodgepodge of colorful scraps. Fingertips nudge it towards the Weyrleader, lower-lip bite muffling her words, "Happy late Turnday, I suppose."

"Azaylia," he says, repeating her name, and sounding more pleased and fond than ever. K'del's gaze seeks out hers, bestowing - as long as she'll meet his gaze - genuine gratitude as he reaches to examine the package. "It looks great," he tells her, turning it over in his hands to get a good look at the paper, even to the exclusion of actually opening it up. "Thank you. Haven't missed your turnday, have I? Got something to live up to, now." Finally, the package gets set back down on the table, the wrapping carefully removed.

Azaylia does her best not to childishly squirm in the chair as he picks up the gift. Those giggles make a comeback as he repeats her name, however, and she bites her lip harder in order to stifle them. The gift has somewhat of a hard shell from whatever is keeping the paper together, though thankfully it's not sticky to the touch. "Oh, no. Mine's not for... a month or so now." It then dawns on her, "Oh! This isn't so you get me- I didn't... Don't get me anything." Eyes wide, she momentarily worries that her gesture might be thought of as being born from ulterior motives. As the wrapping is forced to give up it's contents, weyr blue dominates the inside of the paper. "I know it's warm now," She begins, perhaps a bit rushed. "But, I thought it would be good. For later on." The sweater's hue is both vivid and dark, meant to hang comfortably loose on the figure with room to stretch if need be. Nonesensical though intricate patterns have been knitted throughout the garment, some blobs taking on the vague shape of simplistic dragons in flight. Face is openly eager, sitting on the edge of the seat as she searches for a reaction- or the attempt to hide a negative one.

K'del pauses in his unwrapping in order to give Azaylia another glance, and another smile. "That's what friends do," he says, firmly. "And I like to think that we're friends. I--" He breaks off, because his hand has just brushed past the sweater within the wrapping, and it has completely distracted him. Using both hands, he lifts it into the air to get a good look at it, which hides his expression, but not his voice: "It's beautiful." It's a genuine sentiment, one filled with pleasure. "Reckon I'll wear it with pride, come winter." As his face becomes visible again, the sweater being set back down and folded up, he's grinning. "Thank you."

As the sweater is lifted, the imperfections become a bit more apparent in the sunlight. Little knots are scattered within the soft llamma wool making tight sinches in some areas, though it's certainly still wearable. "My momma could do better, but well, I wanted to make it for you." Azaylia admits shyly, the following words even softer. "And... I like to thin we're friends, too." The beastcrafter swells up with a mix of relief and pride, as well as a long inhale to make up for holding her breath in anticipation. "You're so very wecome. I, yes. I'm really glad you like it." His grin coaxes another big smile onto her own face, hands folded atop her lap.

If K'del has even noticed the imperfections, he's certainly not remarking on them - and even once he's set the sweater down again, his hand remains on top of it, idly stroking the wool. "In my opinion," he says, firmly, "the presents you make yourself are the best kind. Can't imagine how much work went into it-- thank you." Her reaction seems to please him, and as he leans backwards into his chair again, long legs stretching out, he really is a study of contentment. "How's the beastcrafting life, these days? Keeping you busy?"

"I think so, too." Azaylia agrees, and rather than hint at the effort, she simply explains, "That's why it took a bit of time to get to you." But now he had it, and she could finally relax. Slumping back into her seat, she wriggles upwards into a more acceptable posture, another breath of relief leaving her. "It's /wonderful/." She admits almost breathlessly, possibly feeding off the Weyrleader's contentment as her stutters evaporate. "Though spring is over, so the baby animals are starting to grow and get their attitudes." A giggle, "There's a llama who only spits at the boys when they try to feed him. He's really a sweetie, though." Her wistful gaze returns back to K'del, and then down to his hidework. "Weyrleadering going good?" She returns in kind, however uncertain.

The obvious enthusiasm Azaylia has for her work pleases and amuses K'del, who listens to her tale while reaching for the beer that's been slowly warming up in the sun beside him. He and Azaylia are hanging out at one of the tables, on a sunny summer's afternoon; K'del has a pile of hides in front of him, as well as a recently opened package containing a llama wool sweater. "That sounds hilarious," he says, grinning. "Babies - of all kinds - are pretty adorable. Weyrleadering is-- going as well as to be expected. Things've quietened down, for now, thankfully. No disasters, for the moment. Just hope it'll stay that way."

Azaylia nods her head with a touch more enthusiasm, "Mmhm! Though I'm more experienced with animal babies, of course." Her fingers have stretched out and harvested some of her dress, bunched up and toying with the worn fabric in her lap. Her smile morphs into polite concern, "I've heard about what's happened." Too much to really get into specifics. "Bits and pieces, at least. But you're right, things seem to be settling now." Even more relief is heaped onto the herder, "If it got any worse, I was scared my family might want me to come back to Keroon." A frown tugs at her lips at the thought, though it's fleeting.

Gossip about disasters? Count Hypatia in -- she comes wandering out of the Snowasis with a wrapped sandwich and a glass of something fizzy and sparkling that is likely white whine. She's wandering idly by at first, though she catches the tail end of what the Weyrleader says and the entirety of Azaylia's statement as she does so ... which leads to her rather notably changing course to deliberately joining them and interjecting into the conversation. "Oh, well that'd be miserable. I'd rather have you here," she cuts in, starting to sit before actually remembering to be polite about it. "Er. Weyrleader. Zay. Mind if I join you?"

"I hope they don't," says K'del, in a quiet but genuine voice. "No-- I think things are going to be fine. They're just-- Hypatia. Good afternoon." He indicates one of the free chairs with a wave of one hand, the hand that isn't currently holding on to his beer. "There's nothing to be concerned about, I promise. Even if things get worse with the Holds, the Weyr isn't really involved in it, just peripherally. You'll be safe here, I promise."

Azaylia is startled by Hypatia's appearance, pleasantly so. "Hypatia!" She squeaks after K'del's greeting, though it's a joyous sound. "I don't mind at all." Her eyes glance back to the rider, happy to see his silent invitation and backing it up with a few nods the Healer's way. She avoids being rude by picking up the conversation, "I'd rather stay." Said to both familiar faces, "Honest. Even with the cold, I love it here." Tone is a touch insistant, though she's reassured by the Weyrleader's confident words. Her faith is worn on a small smile, "I know I'm safe here." Frustration manages to creep into her soft voice, "But it's hard to convince people, sometimes. I mean, the weyr is only a little scary. It gets better."

"It's quite fun, I think," is Hypatia's take on the Weyr, and she says so with a tiny grin as she takes her seat and sets her sandwich and drink down on the table, taking up the smallest amount of space possible. "Being here, that is. Not just because I'm out from under my mum's wing, too -- although, the gossip about me says I gravitate to wherever the most trouble is, so if things are settling down I might have to leave." That statement is accompanied with a sardonic grin, and with a similar expression she suggests to Azaylia, "Next time there's a clutch on the sands offer to stand, maybe? Parents can't take you away then. Not that they can anyway, you're an adult. Ooh, that's a nice sweater."

"Parents," says K'del, with a long-suffering sigh that he can't quite be serious about: he is, after all, a parent himself. "Know what that can be like. Glad you're happy here, though." Beat. "Both of you. Matters to me, that people are." Hypatia's remarks about trouble draw an amused twitch of his mouth, but he doesn't remark on it. Instead; "There's always that option, certainly. Though it's possible that would incense your parents more. Some parents can't seem to deal with that."

Azaylia stares at Hypatia as if she's gone mad. If she were aware of her wide-eyed stare, she'd likely stop it. So rude. "Stand? On sand? With d-dragons?" Eggs, but it's enough to revive that stutter. The healer manages to startle it away again by commenting on her age, which has Azaylia bringing up a hand and counting on each finger. "...oh. Ohmy. Oh, I guess I am, aren't I?" When did that happen? Hand is curled into a gentle fist that returns to her lap, sheepishly shifting her attention back to her companions. "If I were to do that, I honestly think the vein in my papa's forehead would finally pop. Like my mama's been saying it might." Said in a mixture of awe and horror, with a hint of amusement.

Hypatia doesn't laugh -- she's too forcibly polite for that, and her mind catches up to her face quickly enough to cut it off -- but she does give Azaylia a much more amused, reflective sort of smile. "Well, I don't think that'd necessarily be good! But -- yeah. On the sand, with the eggs and the Impressing? It's definitely a way to not have to leave, is all, but the Weyrleader's right, scandalizing your family might isolate them, and I can imagine you wouldn't ... really want to do that. Or have to leave your craft. I'm just so used to hearing it's the young people of Pern's duty, even without Thread around. After all, as my mother will have you know, it could come back any minute!" That comment gets a mocking sort of laugh, accompanied by an eyeroll. It's clear how much Hypatia thinks of her mother's opinions. "Plus," she adds, in a conspiratory whisper a moment later, "I hate to let on the secret, but I think you're near twenty."

"Faranth," puts in K'del, sounding horrified. "Don't even talk about that, Hypatia. The return of Thread? Again? No thank you." It's not serious horror, though, not in the sense that he's taking the possibility serious. Still. "It's her turnday in another month or two. I'm going to have to look up when, because Azaylia made me this beautiful sweater," the one Hypatia remarked on before. "We'll have to celebrate. Is it your twentieth, this turn, Azaylia?"

From Thread to her Turnday, Azaylia boggles as she becomes the subject of their discussion. "I-I knew that." She defends weakly against Hypatia's teasing, smile doing it's best to prove she's not taking it to heart. "I just usually get myself a small treat from the kitchens and that's it. I'm really busy otherwise." But then there's talk of an actual party, and those fingers worry at her skirt even more. "Uh huh." She answers K'del, gaze shifting from rider to apprentice. "W-well, maybe. If I can finish my duties early." Which reminds her, "Oh! I was supposed to groom the- I'm so sorry, I only meant to stay for a second." Rather than regret, a smile is offered as she stands and smooths her dress out with her palms. "It was so good to see you both! Hypatia, my offer for riding lessons is still open. And, clear skies, Weyrleader." In a flurry of hushed speech, she bobs her head in fairwell before jogging for the exit. A pause before she's out of sight, turning to stretch her arm high in a wave before the beastcrafter disappears.

"I'll come harass you about it tomorrow!" Hypatia calls after the departing beastcrafter brightly, with a satisfied smile and a wave. "Have no fear!" She pauses in conversation after Azaylia's departure long enough to take a sip of wine and bite of sandwich (and another sip of wine to wash that down, for that matter) before speaking again. "My mother's insane. Comet Pass addled her a little. And I think it's the sixteenth." Those statements were said in such similar tone, with no hesitation, that it might even sound like Azaylia's turnday might be related to Hypatia's mother's Thread-addled mind. "Or the seventeenth. I know it's barely under two weeks before mine." A shrug, and another sip of wine. "It really is a nice sweater, though. What's the occasion? Did I miss yours?"

Azaylia's so-rapid departure draws a lot of K'del's attention, but not a lot of his surprise: he's obviously quite used to the beastcrafter's habits, and as she goes, his expression is nothing but affectionate. "Thank you," he says to Hypatia, when he glances back. "Can remember that. It was - she made it for my turnday, yeah. It was a while back. Month six. She did a great job on it, absolutely. Didn't expect her to do anything." But he's clearly glad she did. "There's a lot of people, addled by the comet pass. Guess I might've been too, if I'd been older. It certainly wasn't much fun for anyone, I guess."

Hypatia certainly doesn't seem surprised by the idea that Azaylia came up with a late gift, expression just blossoming into a smile again. "Belated happy turnday to you too, then, sir. That's pretty typical Zay, she's a rare breed of sweetheart." The talk of the comet pass does have her smile faltering again a little, and the apprentice hides behind the wine for a moment while trying to find properly polite words. "I barely remember it. I was three. My parents turned a bit ridiculously clingy as a result and my mother really, truly does believe that Thread could fall at any second; surprised Lady Shaie hasn't asked her to step down, sometimes, but she does her job just fine despite it. And they get along." Much, apparently, to Hypatia's chagrin; she doesn't really look thrilled about that factoid.

K'del, mid sip of his increasingly warm beer, gives Hypatia a half-nod of thanks before he can swallow and add, "Thanks. And yeah - she is. It's been a pleasure to see her get so much more comfortable with us, here, over the past few turns." Talking about that gives him some space to consider her reaction to the comet pass, and to formulate his own thoughts: it clearly doesn't bring fond thoughts to him, either. "Must be hard, as a parent. At least in a weyr you-- know riders, I guess? You trust them. They're not just an outside force that hold your life and continued prosperity in their hands, I guess?" Despite the time he takes to think, his thoughts aren't as well-formulated as they could be. "Do you know Lady Shaie's daughter at all? Given your mother? Suppose she's a few turns older than you are."

Rolling her shoulders into a shrug, Hypatia replies, "Issedi? A little. I mean, I know of her and I could pick her out of a crowd, but we've spoken -- not that often? Not because of any particular problem with each other, at least so far as I'm aware, anyway. She's a bit over three turns older than me. Always seemed very sweet, though. Definitely deserves better than an old fogey." The healer makes a slightly disgusted face. "I'm sure it was easier in a weyr," she redirects to the previous topic without much of any tonal change, as is typical. "The entire Thread situation. That's part of how I ended up here, actually, best friend as a kid Impressed."

K'del's 'mmm' is a thoughtful one, and comes accompanied with a nod to confirm what Hypatia has said about Issedi. "Must be difficult, knowing that you're a political pawn like that," he says, thoughtfully neutral. "Particularly when circumstances are as they are now. Difficult situation for them to be in, deciding which Hold to pi-- annoy." His pause is a thoughtful one, but probably not intended for emphasis. "Oh? Interesting. It's funny, sometimes, the reasons we all end up here. They're all different." The Weyrleader leans backwards, angling his face just so, so as to get as much of the summer warmth on his face as he can.

The Weyrleader's word choice as far as annoying holds certainly gets Hypatia laughing again -- not that it's particularly hard, but she's certainly amused. "I can't imagine it. I'm sure I would die. Or kill someone. Or mis-step and make my family want to kill me. Which is why I guess it's a good thing mother's only the Lady Holder's friend." She lets out a quiet crossbreed between a chortle and a sigh. "He's a greenrider, I'han. Boreal." Bite of sandwich, sip of wine; she's developing a talk-eat-talk routine. "Between the Complex and him it took me about four seconds to accept the posting. That and getting closer to home while still being further away, I guess? What's your tale, if I may -- pry?" It was a bit more than asking, really.

"I'd hate the lack of choice. Just feeling like a pawn - it'd be awful." K'del makes a face, shaking his head firmly. "Really glad nothing like that exists in Weyrs, and that my family was nowhere near the right kind of holder family for it to matter, that's for sure." He abandons his beer - it's definitely too warm to drink, now - and drops his hands towards his legs, now, letting them rest idly upon his thighs. "I'han, of course. Weyrs're useful like that: you're never too far from anything, but it's still away from home. Me? I-- it sounds dumb, in retrospect, so let's just remember that I was fifteen. I left home intending to make something of myself, somehow. Worked at Tillek for a bit, then worked the tithe train to get here. Seemed like a good place to start, though dragonriding wasn't on my mind at the time. Then Rielsath went up, and-- here I am."

"It seems," says Hypatia with a thin sort of expression, half-teasing and half-respectful despite her sardonic tone, "to have worked out for you quite well, making something of yourself." She doesn't actually laugh this time, just grin mischievously for a fraction of a second around her wine. "I never thought I'd actually want to be near my family again, we never really got on too well, but my father's grown on me considerably since I apprenticed. Did you want some of this?" she offers, belatedly, holding out the wineglass in his direction. "It's not been sun-baked. Still cold." And, whiplash typical back to the previous topic: "The politics right now are kind of insane. I'm surprised you and the Weyrwoman haven't just gone completely off your own rockers, with one thing after another like this and I still' don't think that body was Thedrin."

"Weyrleader at seventeen," points out K'del, but not without a note of humour, "was not precisely in the plan." But no, he's not going to argue the point seriously, because-- well. His glance around says it all: this is definitely something. "Funny how that goes, with families. Mine're much easier to deal with now, too. Distance helps. The reminder that you're your own person, too." He waves away her offer of wine with a shake of the head and a grateful smile, and instead goes on to say: "You don't? What's your reasoning, there?"

If she's got the wine to herself, Hypatia's going to just about finish it off before actually answering that question -- which really means ignoring the question until she's painstakingly addressed everything else first. "My mother's not hovering makes all the difference in the world, and I actually enjoy being at the Hold now so long as I mostly avoid her." And now, after another long sip, the million mark answer. "It's -- not so much I'm entirely convinced it isn't as that I'm not convinced it was. The sample was way too degra--the body wasn't really identifiable," she rephrases so cooly politely and carefully enunciated it's obvious how unnatural the diplomatic terminology is rather than the easy-come autopsy language. "And it was a smuggler ship, I heard, there's no way to know where he came from. Who knows those smugglers don't smuggle kids and sell them? He could be anywhere."

K'del's expression is more serious as he listens to Hypatia's explanation - and it turns to an outright frown at her mention of smuggling kids, which is clearly not a possibility he's considered himself. "That would be sick," he says, sounding rather as though he's already jumped to the thought of 'what if that was my kid', which is clearly not helping anything. "Don't know if we'll ever find out, unless he shows up somewhere else, I guess. In some ways," he heaves a low sigh. "It's probably better for Lady Edeline to believe it was him. Closure. I think."

"I've heard stories about it. It is sick," Hypatia agrees, though more to the vague concept of smuggling children than the specific instance of this captured ship doing so. "But apparently it happens, or people at the Hall are liars. Honestly, it's probably both? But -- I'm sure it is better for her to believe it's him. And it's absolutely none of my business at all and I wouldn't breathe a word about it to my family because they'd just cause a fuss somehow -- so it doesn't really matter what I think. Just because I'm not sold on it. Doesn't do anything for Lady Tillek's peace of mind, and hope can sometimes be so horrible." Not that she looks pleased by the idea she'll never know either.

"Mmm," agrees K'del, glancing back out over the bowl as though all the sun and warmth has been bleached out of the day; he suddenly looks pretty tired. "Well. Nothing stopping you from having your theory. I just hope - really hope - that it's not anything like that. Rather think of him as having been kidnapped, and it going wrong. Though there's every chance there's more to it, and we just don't know. Hate it, though. Using kids that way." His movement is sudden: a straightening, his hands tightening on the sweater on the table. "Ought to think of something happier to talk about. How're your studies going, Hypatia?"

"People are wretched," says Hypatia in a distant, disconnected sort of way; with a wave of her now-empty wineglass she entirely dismisses the topic. "Which has absolutely nothing to do with my work, actually! Except in that people are also kind of, literally, disgusting, since I mostly spend time studying infections when I'm not helping Emme sort out corpses. Summer headcolds are down this turn, so far!" That's good news, right? There's always something. "Only based off last turn's numbers, though, and it turns out my projection was completely wrong, but -- favorably so. I can't entirely complain. Less work for everyone and less misery, even though it does nothing for my future Journeyman's knot when my theories don't actually work. Thanks for asking," she adds, after a beat. "Nobody ever wants to hear about this stuff."

K'del does, at least, seem genuinely interested. "Like to know what's going on around the weyr," he explains. "and the stuff you people are doing - well, it's important. Fewer headcolds, definitely good news. What was your theory, then? If you can explain it in words that I'll understand, anyway." He's flicking at the edges of his stack of hides, but not in a way that implies he'd really like to be getting back to them: it's more idle than that, an unconscious fiddling as though he just needs something to do with his hands.

Letting her own eyes track K'del's movement, Hypatia flinches momentarily and mutters, "Shells, I've got my own work to do --" before completely dropping it and picking up her tone again, explaining somewhat cheerfully, "Oh, it's just about how communicability follows patterns. And also that because diseases are related to each other and seasons, we can predict based on what we've already seen both locally and distantly what is going to happen later. Like how we can guess on flu next winter based on places that are having winter now, even though it won't be exact. Just close. Nothing's ever exact." Not apparently emotionally affected by that revelation, Hypatia puts the last bit of her sandwich in her mouth, swallows and concludes, "Except, of course, this summer isn't anything like last summer as far as the colds, and it doesn't quite match up with the numbers I got from Southern either, so." Shrug. "Fallible projections."

K'del doesn't bother to reassure Hypatia, not when she so quickly jumps back into explaining her word. He clearly doesn't completely understand it, given the furrow of his forehead, but his sucked in breath is a thoughtful one. "Had no idea we could track that kind of thing," he says, sounding surprised. "Even if it didn't work, this time. That's really interesting. Reckon I can see how it'd be useful, too, if it could be made to work. Wonder if Southern'll have a summer like ours, next."

"Oh, honestly I'm not completely sure you can accurately, it's just theories -- only this is the first time it's actually failed just yet as long as I've been part of it," Hypatia sighs, and gives the table a very serious look, as if wondering why it doesn't hold all the answers. "So I was counting on it being pretty accurate. It could go the other way, where they're based off what we've got, in which case that would be a bit of a mess for me trying to get promoted but plenty nice for them. I'd die in Southern, the weather's rot. But -- yeah, it's useful for treatment plans and stock plans and -- planning. Yeah." Eloquent.

K'del nods, several times fast, presumably to indicate that he's following enough to understand at least to a superficial level. "Right, yeah. That makes sense. Interesting. Well-- I hope it goes better for you. Can imagine getting that Journeyman's knot'd feel pretty great, after all those turns of study. Graduating weyrlinghood did, anyway, and that's about all I can compare it to - and that took a lot less time."

Hypatia is frowning at the table, but when she looks up at K'del she's smiling again. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I'm too young for it yet -- I'm sure I'll be at least Issedi's age before they get around to promoting me, but that's fair, and until then I've just got to. Work hard and focus. Which is -- really what I should be doing now, honestly, now that lunch is done." At least the poor table, who didn't do anything to anyone, doesn't get another dirty look as she drags herself to a standing position. "Thanks for listening to me ramble about it, though! I really believe in the theory, so I'll prattle on to anyone."

K'del's expression turns wry. "You and me both," he admits, with a glance down at those hides, the ones he's been trying so hard to ignore all this time. "It's my pleasure, Hypatia. Good luck with it. Have a good afternoon, okay?"

"You too," Hypatia replies with a softer, more affectionate smile as she turns to go, and then, over her shoulder, a parting, "Sorry for reminding you!" before she's heading greenhouse-wards, back to laboring over apothecary duties and notes on whose headcold is in what stage.