Logs:Father and Son
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| RL Date: 3 October, 2015 |
| Who: K'del, Nikalas |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: One-on-one time between K'del and his second eldest son. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Kasey/Mentions, Milani/Mentions |
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| He's been fifteen for two months and twenty-three days. The weather's awful, but that doesn't stop Nik from wheeling his way into his father's weyr, all long skinny limbs and the thump of the gitar case across his back. "Dad?" he calls, voice cracking on the rising vowel; he doesn't bother to try to fix it. There's no hope. "Here," calls K'del from within the bedroom, though he makes a physical appearance too a moment later: towel-drying his hair, cheeks flushed with that recently-out-of-the-bath look; Cadejoth was pulled away from his eggs earlier to participate in drills. He's pulled his short and pants back on again, at least, though his feet are bare upon the rug-covered-stone floor. "Come on in, Nik." "Yeah, okay!" Nik's evaded apprenticeship for three Turns and two months and twenty-three days. He also still forgets sometimes not to shout, though at least those thuds are him kicking off his shoes, somewhat belatedly. Even when he tries not to walk in the mud, somehow it finds him. Then he's shouldering off his gitar, getting rid of his coat, and just plain grinning. "What's to eat?" "How do your aunts and uncles even afford to feed teenagers?" is K'del's oft-repeated, bemused response to that last. "Let me guess, it's been a whole two hours since you last ate enough to feed a family of three?" He drapes that towel over the back of a chair and crosses towards his son-- and towards the trays that have already been delivered. "Maybe next time we'll head to Ista, if we can drag Cadejoth out. If you want." Nik's snickering as he holds up three fingers, or maybe it's two, the last going up and down in uncertainty as he heads for the trays: this Turn's answer to the plague that struck the wheat back when. With all the nonchalance of a rider's child indulged enough to go anywhere, "Ista, huh." He closes a cover that looks suspiciously green underneath. "Yeah, I guess... as long as we don't get too far from the eggs," the smirk for his father at once knowing and all too hopeful. "You think Cadejoth would let us miss anything happening with the eggs?" Cadejoth, who made it back to High Reaches sans rider just to produce those eggs? But K'del's tone is fond, even if he is reopening that cover to rescue the poor rejected greens. "Promised you could Stand when you were fifteen, didn't I? You'll get your chance-- you and Kase. Both clutches, if needs be." Like this has anything to do with Cadejoth, says Nik's surprised look before he realizes. "Yeah, yeah, Cadejoth," Nik says, aiming for offhanded as he levers out the smoky ribs in their sauce. "Right, he's protective and all. Does he know which one is mine yet?" For all his talk when he'd been delivered by that greenrider for his Turnday, for his roundabout talk now, to hear it confirmed is a visible relief when it comes to those lanky shoulders and the flick of a glance up-- still up, for all he's growing-- at his dad. The look K'del aims at his son is somehow reflective and melancholy and perhaps a little nostalgic, as much as it is anything else. It only lasts a moment. "Don't think too much about it," is his advice for his son, and now he manages to smile, more cheerful and more determined. "Your dragon'll hatch when he or she does. From Niahvth's clutch, from Roszadyth's... from some other clutch, even, if needs be." Or never, but that is not a topic he's inclined to raise right now. "You can take yourself to Jounine or one of her assistants for a knot when you're ready, but there's no rush, mm?" He scoops out some greens to put on his plate... and then Nik's too. Nik makes a face at him, one of those faces that's all big eyes and bigger mouth with strawberry-blond hair flopping over his forehead. "Going to be a boy," he says with confidence. "And from Cadejoth, though I guess I'd still take him from Roszadyth's since Lythronath's from here," the dragon names pattering off his tongue. Rushing, trying not to rush but rushing, "What do you think, should I go to the barracks too?" Even the greens only get an eyeroll, today. "A High Reachian dragon for my High Reachian son," smiles K'del, with that look of fondness that could so easily be embarrassed. "Just... see what happens, mm? Do you want to go to the barracks?" The segue comes with a more thoughtful tone of voice, made as K'del serves out some tubers to go with the greens. "There's something to be said for bonding with your fellow candidates, but it can also get noisy in there." Nik's choice of tubers is only as a substrate for cheese. "Yeah, definitely, I know which cot I want and everything. Kasey keeps changing," whatever. "I can handle the noise. Which cot was your cot?" Hopefully. Not that it would change anything, except for how it totally will. K'del pauses, hand hovering over the serving dish containing the ribs. He looks, for a moment, utterly lost. "Can't even remember," he admits, then, somewhat sheepishly. "Towards the back, I think. Shells, it mattered so much at the time, and now..." Now, well. "Could show you which couch was mine in the weyrling barracks, though. That much I do remember." Beat. "Anyway, if you want a particular cot, you should move in quickly before someone takes it. Hopefully, it'll get kind of crowded in there." Nik's already nodding, trying not to look disappointed that his father can't remember; it's only been longer than he's been alive! But couch-- "Yeah, that'd be great! I mean, you don't have to show me today, are you going to have dinner with Mom? --but ahead of time, all right?" He even pulls out a chair quickly, slopping himself into it, starting to shovel in the food. "Your mom elected to spend her turnday elsewhere, this time, but we'll have dinner in a couple of days. You have wished her happy turnday, haven't you? Big one, this turn." For her, and for Cadejoth, too, though K'del doesn't mention that latter; maybe it makes him feel too old. Scooping up his plate, he settles in opposite his son and adds, "But sure. I'll show you both." "Yeah--" only Nik's frowning, however foreign it is on his face. "How old is she again? I know Cadejoth was twenty," last Turn." The mouthfuls just keep on coming. K'del's brows knit. "You... don't even know how old your mom is? Nikalas." It's not often that whole names come out, but for this? Definitely for this. "She's forty this turn, Nik. It's a milestone, and I don't think it bothers her, but... still." "Forty, seriously? That's huge!" Nik exclaims before, oh yeah, those syllables kick in. "I mean, I knew she was old? Older? Oldish? Old enough to be my mom anyway, but one Turn, another Turn, it's not like she's..." fifteen? K'del presses his mouth together, plainly caught between being serious and being amused. It's a hard call. "Nik," he says-- but then he has to stop, and to laugh. "One day, Nik. One day..." But. "Look out for her, that's all I'm saying." Nik actually stops eating, this is that important. Not that he isn't still chewing, but the fork has stopped. "Look out for what? Is something gonna--" happen? "What? No." K'del looks horrified, his own fork hovering in the air. "No, no, that's not what I mean. Everything's fine. I'm recovered, Milani is in great health, everything is fine. I meant--" Now he has to pause, to try and phrase what it is he did mean. "After a certain age, some people start worrying about how old they are, instead of being glad to be older. Don't think your mom will be one of them, but--" That horror is mirrored on his son's face, writ large, slow to subside even-- especially?-- after all those nos. "Are you sure?" Nik asks, as though perhaps he'd protested too much. And this age thing... "Okay." But he doesn't look happy. But it doesn't stop him from getting back to eating, because ribs. Parenting teenagers is hard, okay? So hard. K'del squirms, just a little, and then attempts a reassuring smile. "Promise," he says, firmly. "How're the ribs?" He's slower with his, but that doesn't mean he's not enjoying them. Attention deflected! ...Kind of. "Yeah, they're good," Nik says, flashing his great straight teeth with only a little smear of sauce to sully the whiteness-- which does coordinate with his cheeks, kind of; he does take after his father in more than one way. Which leads into, "Are... you going to be bugged by getting old?" "Me?" K'del shakes his head. "Don't think so. Turning thirty didn't bother me. Bothered Ali, a bit, but that's because she didn't have Iska or Ishadel or Kashal, then. For me... you're as old as you feel. And you being as old as you are is weird, but it's fine. Everything's fine. Reckon I'll still be fine when I'm eighty and you're-- nearly sixty. Shells." It's not that Nik's been uncomfortable with Ali, exactly, it's just... not comfortable. He looks relieved at the naming of his siblings-- half-siblings, technically, but then they all are-- "Yeah, okay." Kind of. "Um, how old do you feel? Not eighty, right? But how old?" K'del hesitates, fork pausing where it is, stabbed into a piece of meat. "Shells," he says, after a moment. "Not sure. Just... feel like me, you know? Which is not old or anything, which is, I guess, what I meant." "Okay." Nik varies it this time with a quick nod and, "Okay, yeah." He chews on that some more, during some literal chewing. "I just had to be fifteen, I don't care about the rest right now, like getting older and... stuff," he offers with a flick of a glance at his father from under his swoop of hair. "'And stuff'," repeats K'del, amused. "Shells, you remind me of me-- well, sort of. And your mother. Except that when I was your age, it was all about Impressing that bronze dragon and proving to the world that I was worth something. Too focused on the future, that was my problem. You should just be enjoying it all, right?" "Yeah--" and then Nik grins. "Gonna tell that to the assistant headwoman, next time I see one of them bearing down on me." The grin becomes a laugh becomes snickering. Then it becomes a sideways glance rather than anything so mundane as actually reassuring his father, the question right there in his eyes, as transparent as the one crowding up behind it that has him blink and actually ask, "How crowded are the barracks gonna be?" "Don't tell 'em I told you that, they'll glower at me," teases K'del, though he's already been distracted from that by the look on his son's face, not to mention the question that accompanies it. "Guess that depends on how many candidates we can get," he says, carefully, after a moment's pause. "You want twice as many candidates as eggs, at least. Got to give them choice. Fifty-odd. Sixty, preferably." "Shi-it." Nikalas isn't supposed to swear, but-- This time, just this time, K'del will let that go, except for raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot of people," Nik says miserably. "Same odds every time," says K'del, gently, though with obvious understanding. "Or-- well. You know what I mean?" Milani is the math one, not K'del. "You have twenty-eight chances to Impress, this time around. That's a good thing. And if not this time, you're only fifteen. There's time." Nikalas doesn't want time, it's written all over his face. Even the acne can't make it unreadable! But math helps. Math he gets from his mother; math is fun. "So fifteen eggs, that's thirty," if they have to have twice, "but half of those will impress," the thought of otherwise doesn't even seem to occur to him, "leaving fifteen, but you only need twenty-six for thirteen eggs, so you only need eleven more, so really all you need are thirty plus eleven which makes forty-one," so there. And he even showed his work for his dad. Math. K'del can follow this math, even if it isn't wholly his subject. A slow nod acknowledges it. "That's true," he says, "except that you always want as many candidates as possible, within reason. You don't want what happened at Fort to happen here, for example. Mostly, though... it'll come down to how many we can get. But Nik... don't worry about it. You've a dragon out there, somewhere. You'll find him or her." "No..." isn't wholly convinced, or convincing. "That's what they say." Nik pushes the picked-at bones around on his plate, then gives over to start checking under the lids just in case he missed something. "You did it on your first try though." And then-- hey, look, dessert. "Yeah," agrees K'del. "I did. And-- pretty sure your grandmother," Milani's mom, presumably, "Impressed on her second time, but I might be misremembering there. The thing is... there's no shame in not Impressing, okay? Whatever happens, you're going to be fine, because you're my son, and how could you not be?" Beat. "Bring that dessert over, and some spoons." Nik glances up at his father from beneath that swoop of hair, and he could worry it over, but there's boyish gratefulness there too and worrying's so-- so not nearly as amazing as dessert. He grins, and even gives K'del the first spoon: call it a running start before it's time to dive on in. |
Comments
Faryn (09:58, 4 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Bahahaha. This is fantastic. I keep hoping K'del was like this. The cycle continues!
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