Logs:A Hearty Stew
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, K'zin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Azaylia summons a just recovered(ing) K'zin to the kitchens for a hearty stew. They address some serious topics. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 12, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'wlin/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, N'hax/Mentions, Quielle/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated and played via gdocs. |
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| 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.
In the kitchens, it's the same hustle and bustle that was shared by Hraedhyth, with the addition of Azaylia. Though most of the preparation has been smartly handled hours before, some dishes need to be heated while others are to be prepared fresh. The workers need little guidance in most things, the weyrwoman offering help only when asked or when it's obviously needed. Most of her time is spent supervising, with a glance stolen towards the entrance every now and again. « Yes. He comes. » Rasavyth's response is sleepy, etched with a lazy echo of the smoke. He has ever seemed pleased to receive her mind whenever she's of a mind to offer it. He was certain K'zin would pull through. He was hardy, this illness was not to be his ending. There's a little flash of the steam of the bathes, K'zin cloaked in it. There's also a sensation of his location, curled comfortably in his couch, an invitation extended should she like to join him for a dinnertime snooze. It might not come as a surprise that when K'zin appears some short time later that his hair is damp. He's clearly freshly cleaned and his color is his own again, not pale as it had previously been. He slips in from the archway with the most direct route from the bathes, brown eyes scanning the room to find Azaylia and making his way toward her once he's found her, a slight smile curling his lips. Hreadhyth's drums roll in the distance, blanketing the bronze in a soothing rumble to nudge him back towards sleep. Rasavyth's invitation has pleased flames dancing, though she doesn't immediately accept. The gold might join him later, though there's just as much chance that he'll slumber alone, undisturbed. Unhurried movement catches Azaylia's eye among the hustling kitchen staff, turning to meet K'zin with a soft smile. Concern lingers in her quick inspection, likely under the guise of a less health-related scan of him. "K'zin." Hands plant themselves solidly on his shoulders, aiming the weyrling towards one of the kitchen's uninhabited nooks. "I thought, since wherry soup was on the menu, that I could snag you a fresh bowl..." A dish that just so happens to be best when served to the ill and recovering. Surely, a coincidence. "Are you hungry?" She finally thinks to ask of the man whose appetite usually rivals her own. Surely only a coincidence! K'zin seems to think nothing of it, of course. "Yeah, I could eat," comes his easy response, complete with warm smile for the goldrider, as he allows himself to be steered to the nook. "I'm also starving, so if you have time for something other than wherry soup," The raise of the brows is both suggestive and hopeful, while managing to seem entirely innocent to those who might overhear. Trust K'zin to make Azaylia aware of where his interests lie. he looks well enough, "Sorry I've been so out of it for the past couple sevens. I'm getting back into the swing of things slowly. Probably won't graduate on time. I don't think they want to let me between, really. The cold and all that." He rambles, comfortably, as he prepares to dig in. "You and Hrae been alright?" Unexpected but not unwelcome, "Maybe." Casual, paired with an impish curl of her lips, she turns to retrieve his meal. "If I've got the time, and you have the energy." It seems as though his long bout of illness will hamper more than just weyrling lessons, if only for a short time. Azaylia returns with a tray that's weighed down by not only a big bowl of soup, but a side of vegetables, mashed tubers, rolls, and a thin slice of herdbeast. The weyrwoman leans on the table, arms spun so that the heel of her palms are gripping the edge, "Yes, because you meant to get sick." Gentle teasing aside, "It'll give you and Rasavyth more time to practice visualization. It's so important." No surprise that she's worried about him, as well as the rest of the weyrlings. "Uhm? Oh, yes. I've been... We've been fine, thank you. I'm sure the others in your class have been filling you in?" Losing and gaining a Lord Holder, the pirates, C'wlin and N'hax's fieldtrip and all else that has happened while the weyrling was bedridden. "I can definitely have energy for that," Which is not the same thing as if K'zin had said he does have energy for that. The smile that meets hers, however, is predictably eager. But then the food is arriving, and a lot of food at that. The amount has him laughing. "You're going to share with me, I hope?" He slides over on the bench to make room for the goldrider. "No, but I could've, apparently, done a better job at not getting sicker by coming to the infirmary sooner, as I've been reminded more than once." Healers can be helpful like that. "We'll practice visualization until we can't stand it anymore. At least Quielle won't have to be alone though, so that's good. She and I can play visualization games and rove all over the barracks. If she's feeling up to it when the moment comes. I wonder if it will make her feel better or worse to have company as a weyrling for an extra little while, or just serve to remind her that even I will graduate before she does." His expression is thoughtful, but it doesn't last long, for there's food to be eaten. And dig in he does. "They've filled me in on some things. To be honest, I have a hard time remembering most of the last month. It's full of fever haze. Why don't you sit down and give me the run down and help me eat all this?" He suggests with a wave to encompass all the offerings. "I'm not willing to risk it." Or Madilla's wrath, if such a thing exists. Azaylia glances over her shoulder at the kitchen's progress, sliding closer to the bench though she remains standing. His offer grabs has her gaze flicking back over, reaching over to rest the back of her hand against his brow, "Offering to share?" He must be near death! The weyrwoman is hesitant to sit when there's work to be done. A compromise is found in leaning the curve of her hip against the table, snagging a steamed vegetable and chewing. "Before Quielle, but I have a feeling even she might graduate before C'wlin and N'hax." Who have also been doomed to the barracks until Quinlys' face no longer matches her hair. The goldrider may creep closer to the bench, still keeping a dutiful eye on the kitchen as she catches him up, "The Conclave appointed Devaki Lord of High Reaches Hold during the harvest festival. Right after he was announced, the drum heights delivered a message that there was a ship in trouble on the coast." All of this is old news to the kitchen gossips, but some may be listening anyway. If she finds it suspicious, she doesn't say, "We, and some of your class, ended up having to fend off pirates until Glacier arrived with firestone. The pirates were captured, and the rescued traders were taken back to the Hold." With a patient sigh, "Two of your fellow weyrlings saw the attack as a suspicious enough reason to sneak into the Hold." So recent, and with K'zin's recovery, she doesn't feel the need to go into detail. Obviously, they were caught. "What's life without a little risk?" K'zin returns breezily, though it doesn't seem he's going to seriously press the point. Madilla's wrath really isn't a joking matter, is it? "I always offer to share." It's true. He'll always share, and usually eat the dragon's share himself. But he's very much a what's mine is yours. Because, of course, the reciprocal is true. He is a munchie-stealer. "You know, some would say it's rude to invite a man for a meal and then not join him." He tries a new tactic to persuade her to take a load off, arching a critical brow to suggest that he might be one of those ones. It's surely not true. But if she takes from his words and look that it is... well, that's no fault of his. "You think? I mean, I know sneaking into a Hold and beating a man bloody for answers," There are rumors. He must have heard some of the most exaggerated, or he's casting the net wide to catch the most truth. "I know you can't tell me everything about what happened, but tell me what you can?" He's certainly not asking her to break her Weyrwomanly confidences (not that there are formal rules about such things), but he is, understandably, interested. "They went and undid all the effort I was doing to make this class' bronzers look good. Unless they really were acting under secret orders," as one rumor suggests. A brow is lifted to check the validity of this one, too. K'zin's attempt earns him a steady glance, not quite a stare coupled with her firm tone, "A lot more would call me a bad weyrwoman if I ignored my duties to have dinner with a man." It's on the tail end of Azaylia's words that a lanky woman walks by and gives her a nudge, "Weyrwomen need to eat too." A much kinder way of suggesting that the workers have everything under control, a hint that is taken by the goldrider as she moves to sit next to the weyrling. She pulls the wherry soup closer, clearly what he needs to help build his strength, before reaching for a buttered roll. "I can't tell you why they did it." Not because she knows, but because it sounds like even she's still unsure about their motives. "They snuck into the Hold because they felt that the pirate attack was suspicious. Even if it was," And she most certainly isn't saying otherwise, "It's Hold business. We helped the people who needed it, none of us were injured... it should have been left alone." If the two were encouraged by leadership, it's safe to say that Azaylia had no part in it. "More importantly," Than even the reputation of young bronzeriders, "They put the tithe in danger." She points out with a frustrated murmur. It's a rumor that actually holds some weight that has already made its rounds in the lower caverns by now. "That goes without saying." K'zin agrees of the tithe, in between the bites of soup that he dutifully began to eat once it was brought near with subtle purpose. "First things go wrong with tithes from Tillek, now High Reaches." He gives Azaylia a meaningful look. Does he need to say aloud that it's going to make for a difficult winter? His voice falls low, "Things are going to get worse before they get better, you know." Beat. "I know you're worried about me being sick, but that's done with now." And it is, sort of. "So, if you ever need to talk, or not talk, or not talk and do something, I'm here. Ras too. My brain'll probably be worthless to you most of the time," That's not what brings the ladies to his bed, surely, "But his might be of help, or use. If you ever want to talk to him, I'm sure Hrae or I can translate." Then he's eating a few more bites before asking, "What's happening with Devaki becoming Lord? I mean, that'll make things worse, right?" He only knows rumors, never having met the man directly. Azaylia is quite aware of the state of things, doing her best not to look terribly weary as she considers the tithes. The roll is abandoned as she reaches up to touch at her temple, "I'm going to try and focus on fixing the relationship between the Weyr and our Holds." Along with the rest of her mounting duties, "It's not right that they feel like they don't need us. That tithes are inconvenient, or charity. It's not how things should be." Not much is, which may be why the weyrwoman sounds so resigned. K'zin's offered support has her hand falling away, lips managing a faint smile, "If Rasavyth has any ideas..." It's somewhat of a tease, even if there's honest curiosity at how a dragon might see the situation. Other than Hraedhyth, that is. "It was a surprise." Devaki becoming Lord Holder of High Reaches Weyr. "I... still don't quite understand the decision. I suppose if L-- if Braeden can't produce heirs," Or won't. "It leaves the future of the Hold unclear. I can't... really blame them for that." Speaking as a woman who is hungry for her own home's stability. Folding her hands atop the table, takes a moment to think on her few encounters with Devaki, "He's a man who cares deeply for his people, and understands that I feel the same about the Weyr. He's certainly ambitious, but..." Is that so bad? She seems uncertain, "I don't know if it somehow made things worse." No worse than more recent events. "I think that's an excellent focus." K'zin knows that his opinion on this doesn't count for much, but maybe it helps to know there's at least one rider (young though he may be) who would back her up on this. "It isn't right, so the trick is to make them realize our usefulness." He contemplates as he eats, though no suggestions are offered, yet. The fact that she teases about Rasavyth's ideas earns her a look from K'zin that is near deadly serious. "More than you can imagine. He understands politics far better than I do. Some of them, however, are repugnant. The ideas. I can't possibly tell you all the ones he has. We'd be here for months if not a whole turn. But I'd encourage you to think about where you want your focus to be, what change you want to effect, and tell me and I'll get the ideas that are suitable for you." The way he says it suggests that getting the particular ideas she wants and not just the ones Rasavyth wants to give might be a challenge. "What is your relationship like with Lord Devaki?" He questions, curious, though casual. "I understand he has some kind of history with us?" The Weyr. Azaylia's lips thin some, a wry press as the weyrling points out what needs to happen. Easier said than done, obviously. Hearing more about Rasavyth sparks interest behind the weyrwoman's eyes, "There have been smart dragons before. Though..." She seems discomforted by the thought of an intelligent dragon with plans that K'zin doesn't agree with. She manages it with a strained murmur, "At least he's not a queen." Surely Ysavaeth can't be outdone, even by her grandoffspring. While considering the odd, though appreciated, offer, she chooses to answer his question as best she can. "Devaki... Lord Devaki and I don't know each other terribly well. I'm friends with Lady Issedi." It has her lips curling in a faint smile, "She's terribly sweet, and adores Devaki and their children. I've had tea with him once or twice. I'd call us acquaintances." It doesn't sound as if she wishes the man any ill will, speaking simply, "He was one of the Exiles-- Islanders, rescued six turns or so ago. Those that were exiled, some of them were Blood and Braeden acknowledged that." It explains why Devaki is able to rise to such heights, given his upbringing. "There are... rumors that he's a murderer. One of the Islander girls was found dead in K'del's weyr." With a swallow, she doesn't look terribly hungry anymore, "He cares so much for his people... I can't believe he would do something like that." Not to his own. "A fact I am grateful for each and every day," K'zin is quick to respond in regard to the color of his dragon. Amusement twitches at the edge of his lips as he goes on to say, "If I'd Impressed gold, I'd've been Lady Smith forever." He grins at her then, winking. Then there's the more serious matter which he addresses after a pair of bites. It's her discomfort that he somehow picks up on, and further explains. "Rasavyth is smart. He just doesn't always understand why a plan that achieves a goal isn't a good idea. But that's what I'm for. We talk a lot." There's a touch of his goofy endearing smile then and he slides just a touch closer to the goldrider before the stew has his attention again. "That might really be for the best. Not knowing someone well but not being on poor terms with them means you have an opportunity to cultivate the kind of relationship that would benefit us." The Weyr. "It might stand to reason that cultivating relationships with the Exiles who Impressed might earn you points with him, if he cares so much for his people." He reaches for a roll, asking, "So he was suspected. Did they ever find the murderer?" There's a flicker of amusement at the mention of the once-forgotten 'Lady Smith', "You could always give Rasavyth a flattering coat of gold paint, dust off your dress and pretend." An obvious joke, Azaylia's distracted murmur falls somewhat flat. Quietly, there's a glance at K'zin's sliding closer, "Hraedhyth has her own suggestions that won't work well for... human business." The last has a gruff note, delicate voice no where near the low register of her lifemate. A slow inhale, and her words are even lighter than usual, "That might be an idea, but I'd rather talk to him myself. I can understand why he feels the need to do this, but I'm still... surprised." Not that she sounds it. If anything, the weyrwoman sounds tired. Reaching for another steamed vegetable, "No, I don't think they did. But there weren't any other murders until--" A faint grimace. Until Iolene. "There'd be a murder before morning if I did. Ridercide." K'zin answers, humor in his tone. "That is, if the embarrassment didn't kill him first." It's a morbid sort of joke, but given the other half of their conversation, perhaps it's not surprising. Maybe even actually funny. There's a smile for Hraedhyth's ideas and the parallels between their relationships with their dragons. "Oh, I wasn't suggesting that you don't talk to him yourself, just that you improve your position by caring about the people he cares about. They're your people too, after all. It's common ground you can share. Alliances and good-will are usually built on common ground, after all. So say the history books." This is slipped in before the talk of the murder, and as such, he finishes the sentence, "-Iolene." His expression mirrors hers briefly. "What was the point? I mean, K'del was Weyrleader, but first a girl shows up murdered in his weyr and then his lover is murdered? What's the history there between K'del and the Exiles?" Rasavyth's pride is something to be admired, and also the source behind the curl to Azaylia's lips. Reminiscent of how she used to coo over the 'babies', "Poor thing. I shouldn't be so mean." Her appetite hasn't fully recovered, despite the light picking at his plates. She listens to his suggestions with a faint nod, interested in hearing her thoughts reiterated by another. Her eyes shift back to the kitchen, watching as she murmurs, "There's no point to murder." Quiet, heartfelt, she doesn't linger on it. "I don't know why the Islander girl died. Iolene? At the time, I didn't know..." That's changed now, the entire Weyr knows thanks to Tsanth. "I'kris must have found out, somehow, that she and Ysavaeth faked their Senior Flight." It's no excuse, her explanation rather matter-of-fact. Given that K'del doesn't have a particularly sordid relationship with the Exiles as far as she knows, "I think he just has bad luck..." That missing sympathy returns, "And attracted the wrong kind of person." She doesn't sound completely comfortable in saying it. "Oh, I don't know." K'zin disagrees, with all the air of one who is setting up for... "If it meant you felt you needed to make it up to me," Arch of a brow and a sidelong smile, "You could go on being as mean as you like." Not that he actually think she's being so, just that he'd like to get laid, these opinions clear in his tone. It shows in his face that he agrees about murder, gives thought to her suggestion of the reasons for Iolene's, and K'del's situation. He might ask about any of these things, but instead he asks, "Tell me about I'kris?" If Azaylia sees it coming she doesn't try to stop him, that smile gaining some momentum by the time K'zin finishes. It's still small in comparison to her brighter grins, "Why would I make it up to you? I insulted Rasavyth." Surely he's the one who deserves the apology and ego stroking. Her answer is steady, "Madilla's wrath." That should cool his hot pants, or at least make it clear that the weyrwoman isn't tempted. Not so soon after his illness. Of I'kris, "I didn't know him very well. We spoke over klah once, and he was... mild mannered. He had some ideas about how he should have impressed bronze instead of brown. Looking back, I should have realized how he didn't think highly of Iolene. He seemed nice." Despite the whole murderer thing. There's a hint of a frown, "Afterward, he tried to frame H'kon." She's too quick to push past that protective heat, "He was changed. Frantic, hysterical... scared. His father was horrible about it, but, I'kris sealed his and Svissath's fate all on his own." A clatter of pots and pans has Azaylia rising from her seat, peering towards the kitchen with some concern. "I'm sure Rasavyth would see it as a tremendous favor," K'zin's starts, but the lack of truly bright grin convinces him that he's not making headway. That paired with the reminder of what is to be feared has him huffing, playfully, and going back to the stew like a 'good bronzerider'. "Who was his father?" The weyrling follows up as he finishes off the last bites of stew. Timing seems to be perfect, and K'zin's brows knit. "Ah, Zay, this was great. Ras says we've got a Silver Threads thing to tend to." He glances regretfully to the rest of the food, picking up a trio of rolls, one for each hand and one shoved into his mouth, protruding, and nudges her knee gently in silent request to be excused. "M'kris." A distracted answer as Azaylia does her best to see what caused the clatter. "I remember so I can avoid him if I ever visit Monaco. A man who would make his son feel lesser for not Impressing bronze is a man I never want to meet." She does nothing to hide her scorn, a scathing whisper that sounds all too foreign coming from the usually sweet weyrwoman. It's K'zin's nudge that finally has her realizing, "O-oh. Sorry, yes." A calm smile as she slips out of his way, pausing to knock a crumb from his jaw with her thumb. "Take care of yourself, K'zin." She's already gathering up his plates and bowl, sending the weyrling on his way with a small smile. |
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