Difference between revisions of "Logs:Don't Call Me Sir"

Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)

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.

Given that Z'ian spends a good portion of his time lately surrounded by a wing full of riders that may or may not think he's public enemy number one, it's understandable that he might take his dinner alone sometimes. Well not totally alone, for a time he sits and eats with one of Boreal's wingseconds, Oisa. But she gets up and departs before him, leaving the bronzerider alone in his little nook. The kitchen is rather packed now as the workers get to going on preparations for the next morning and clean up what's not necessary to keep the place going over night. The other tables are filled with diners and currently he's at the only space that spares an available seat if someone were to come looking.

And someone does come looking. Nicky seems to have made a habit of eating late, if the way he's greeted by several of the kitchen staff is anything to go by; he's already got his full plate and is peering into each little nook as he passes, hoping for a quieter spot where he might be able to unwind. Z'ian's table is one of the last that he comes across. By the time he gets there he's happy to have just found somewhere to sit, so he slips into the nook and stands by the empty space, offering the Wingleader a crooked smile. "Is th-this seat free? May I sit here, sir?"

Having undone his jacket, Z'ian is reaching inside of it to pull out a tattered looking piece of paper. It's one that's been folded and unfolded way too many times. He almost doesn't notice the tall youth coming to stand by his table, but Nicky speaks and draws his attention upwards. The bronzerider regards him with a curious expression for the light stutter, but even as he does that his own agreeable smile is working its way into existence. "As long as you promise not to call me sir the entire time you're sitting here. You're not in my wing, are you?" It's rhetorical, but he makes as if he's giving the candidate a serious look over anyway.

"N-no, s-- um. Not if you don't w-want me to?" Nicky bites down on his lip as he takes his seat, settling his heavily-laden plate down in front of him. It doesn't take him long before he starts tucking into what he's got, spearing tasty morsels with his fork. After he's chowed down on a couple of mouthfuls, the coltish teen looks curiously across at Z'ian. "Um... may I ask, please, wh-what do people not in your wing c-call you?"

Z'ian laughs in response to the boy's answer, folding the worn paper over and tucking it back away again. His own plate is drawn close again and he spears a potato with his fork, pausing with it held up. "Hey you, darling, Zach, guy and I'm sure a few others that I'm missing. Some positive, others not. But more often than not, Z'ian. I'm bronze Tsanth's." He tips his head in the direction of the bowl, as if his lifemate is right out there somewhere. The fork finds its way to his mouth and he chews quickly before lifting his chin in the younger man's direction. "And what do they call you? If I may ask." He tags that last bit of polite talk on there, shooting Nicky an amused look for it.

With the list of names that are reeled off, Nicky's perhaps regretting having just taken a mouthful of roast wherry - the second one that comes up has him coughing in surprise. He quickly recovers, swallowing the food and blushing in embarrassment. "Z'ian... bronze Tsanth's. I, um... I m-might not call you, um, d-darling -- if it's all the s-same to you, sir--Z'ian. Z'ian?" The stutter's dialled up a notch to match his awkward attempt at humour; and the blush on his cheeks turns a touch darker when he slips up with the 'sir' part. "I'm, um, Nicky."

"Yeah, well. You're not exactly my type, no offense. I'm more a fan of women calling me darling, so I won't cry if you don't." Z'ian shoots back, taking another mouthful of food. He's still looking tremendously amused, especially when the younger man begins to cough in surprise. Chewing slowly he nods in confirmation to his name and then swallows. If he notices that the stutter is being dialed up, the bronzerider smoothly ignores and displays no sign of it being a difficulty in understanding him. "Well met, Nicky. What are you doing here at the 'Reaches, you're a candidate?" He ventures to guess, lowering his fork and reaching over for his mug.

Nicky coughs again, this time when Z'ian says he's not his type. This time he doesn't have a mouthful of food to choke on, though he quickly reaches for his glass to take a throat-clearing sip. As he drinks, he attempts to smile at the rider; it comes out more as a grimace. "N-nice to meet you too, W-Wingleader." He's up to date on his political-type stuff, at least! "I, um, c-came here to study. With my uncle? H-he's a Smith. I'm a f-farrier... training to be a farrier. Then K'del.... K'del asked me to be a c-candidate." For all he's stammering over the syllables, he does seem somewhat proud to be the bearer of a white knot.

He laughs just then and shakes his head, "Relax, kid." And while he requested that Nicky not call him sir, he doesn't make a gigantic deal out of it whenever the youth does something similar to it again. "What's his name? My brother's a Smith. He's been at Telgar most of his time with the craft, he's moving back to the area soon though." Tipping the mug to his lips, Z'ian smiles over the rim before taking a long drink. "Congratulations are in order then. Are you in the quarters with the rest of the candidates or were you staying with the crafters before?"

A deep breath, held in for a few seconds before it's slowly exhaled, seems to help Nicky to ease up a little - it softens the tense line of his shoulders, at any rate. "Ansly. He's my uncle Ansly." The teen nods, holding another forkful of food up in front of his mouth, ready to be eaten. "Th-thank you, sir. It's an honour t-to have been chosen... I'm just h-hoping I can make everyone, um, proud." A lopsided grin reveals a hint of a dimple in one cheek, and he drops his gaze to his plate when the smile swells a little more - with pride, perhaps? "I'm in the qu-quarters, with everyo-one else. Um... since I'm n-not a Smith, nor a H-Herder, I wasn't in with the c-crafters."

"A little, I've been doing, um, just a l-little. But not so much shoeing... um, B-Bones?" Nicky's unsure of the nickname, and seeking confirmation. "H-he asked me if I could, um, sharpen some of his t-tools. I've been doing that, mostly... mostly just f-filling in some time after chores. W-working a blade is relaxing." He shrugs gently, scraping up one of the last mouthfuls of food from his plate. Once it's chewed and swallowed, the teen sighs and brushes a swathe of cocoa-coloured curls from out of his eyes. "Wh-what did you do, before you were s-searched, si--Z'ian?"

"Bones. He needs his gardening tools sharpened?" Z'ian asks the question, even if it's not exactly important to know. "I've never found sharp things to be very relaxing, but I know more than a couple of people who do. What else can you do besides make dull things dangerous again?" The bronzerider asks curiously as he continues working his dinner away. When the young man poses that inquiry back, he rolls his shoulders and then his eyes as well. "Worked around my family's cothold. Llamas." There's a wry grin for that as he picks off he last morsel from his plate. "Did odd jobs in the area around the Hold. Not as intellectually stimulating as working with the Smiths and Herders, that's for sure."

Nicky perks up when Z'ian reveals his past. "My f-family hold works woollies - ovines, mainly, but we have llamas, too! A-and caprines. That's what I did, too - o-odd jobs and herding, r-round-ups and things, until Ansly s-suggested I train to be a farrier. I-I'm quite good with runners." The last food on his plate is polished off, and Nicky washes it down with a gulp of his drink. "Um... b-but I don't find the sharp things relaxing i-in themselves, sir. It's the p-process of making them sharp that I enjoy."

"Yeah? My parent's have got the shorter ones, with those thicky heavy coats. None of the other type though. They run a really small outfit, mostly for the wool. They've only got the one or two hired hands to help them when it's shearing time." Z'ian leans back in the booth, stretching his long legs out under the table. "They spit something fierce don't they?" He remarks, smile once again turning up the corners of his mouth. He points one finger at Nicky for the full use of the word 'sir' cocking one eyebrow at him but remaining silent on it otherwise. "I guess I could see that. I wish I had the patience for things like that, but I'm not that sort of man. Admire the quality in others though."

The finger-pointing causes confusion - Nicky looks at it with his brow furrowed, trying to figure out what he's said to spark such a reaction. When he works it out at last, his mouth forms an 'oh!' of surprise. "S-sorry... sorry. Slip-up? I'll try harder, s-Z'ian." A quicker correction this time, that leaves Nicky cringing sheepishly at the rider. "It's h-habit. My parents, um, insisted on p-proper addresses." He shrugs apologetically, sliding his empty plate closer to him with his fingers curled under the rim. "A-actually, if I may, um, w-would it be alright if I g-go? Um... I'd like to get an e-early night, i-if it's ok with you?"

"Absolutely not, you have to stay here and keep me company until I'm done with my drink." But Z'ian is already kicking his feet up and onto a bit of empty space on Nicky's side of the booth. And just in case that sounded like he was being entirely too serious, he flashes the younger man a quick, harmless grin. "Go on. It was nice meeting you, good luck with the rest of your candidacy."

It was too serious, as Nicky's eyes widen a bit at the statement - then he relaxes and laughs goofily when it's explained away as a joke. "N-nice meeting you too, Z'ian. Sorry for, um, all the 'sir'-calling." He stands up with his empty plate in one hand, and his glass in the other. "Thank you. I h-hope I'm lucky, s-I mean... I mean th-thank you." He shakes his head in self-amused frustration, then offers a farewell before trotting off to ditch the dirties and head to bed.