Logs:Nice And Dull
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 15 July, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia and Z'ian catch up while he's in the middle of a meal. They plot (not really) and reminisce (sorta). |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 4, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today. |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions |
  |
| 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.
Yeah, spring is awesome. We love spring, wait. Not when it's torrentially downpouring we don't. Z'ian can often be found taking his afternoon meal in the sanctuary of the kitchens, ducking out of the usual hustle of the living cavern. The cook just happens to bellow his orders right near the bronzerider's face as he passes him by. It results in a wince from the man and twist away so that he can get out of the range of more orders. Rubbing his ear he drops down into one of the tables and pulls his plate close to him, fork in hand. It's not long before he notices Azaylia passing by and he lifts a free arm to quickly wave. "Hey!" He calls to her, easy and friendly. Azaylia's squeak is drowned out by the hustle of the kitchens, but there's no hiding the way she gives a sudden start at Z'ian's unexpected greeting. Peeking at the niche, "Oh! Hello." Curiosity is replaced by a warm smile. With a glance towards the rest of the kitchen to make sure she's not needed, she heads back towards the bronzerider. "Afternoon. How's Tsanth handling the rain?" An odd question, perhaps, but not for those who can see Hraedhyth getting as muddy as possible out in the bowl. What? The rain washes it right off anyway! Sort of. "Oh, about as well as he does every turn. Tsanth would have been happier if he'd been hatched out of an egg at Ista or maybe down south, somewhere." Z'ian gives a wave of his fork in the direction some beach, some where. His smile for his lifemate is warm however, despite the high volume of complaining he's hearing within his own head at this very moment. "Working on alterations to the menu? Success?" He wonders, glancing past the goldrider and to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen beyond. "Aww." Azaylia's all too sincere for poor Tsanth, unable to help the soft smile as she cooes. "And you? I mean, how are you?" Not just with the rain, but in whatever Z'ian feels like talking about. "Oh, a bit. Just some sugar cookies, but we have squash that could help make them bright yellow. And I think some berries for blue? You know, like spring?" Without realizing it, the goldrider is sitting across from Z'ian with a bit of a huff, "I wish the sun would come out. Things might feel less gloomy, then." In general, though some things have little to do with the weather. "Well, High Reaches isn't exactly known for its encouraging weather patterns. At least we're not experiencing earthquakes and cavern collapses." Z'ian comments, it's not humor with which he refers to Fort's most recent tragedy. "I'm fine, really. It's been a much more relaxed couple of sevens. I don't have anything to complain about, unfortunately I've come to realize how dull my life actually is." That sounds more amused as he flashes a quick smile and takes a fork full of food. The happenings at Fort has Azaylia closing her eyes, folded hands coming to rest against her lips. Muffled, "I can't imagine... I'm so very grateful that all of our weyrlings graduated. Even if some will be later than others." When she opens them again, her soft gaze is aimed at Z'ian, "The Wingleaders have calmed down?" Subtle, still lost in thought of Fort's tradgety and Hattie's condition, she can manage to sound hopeful for progress made right here at home. "Dull is good. Dull is... it's a start." The bronzerider's smile is returned, though hers is much smaller. "If you or Tsanth are looking for adventure, you could always go hunting? Or at least, visiting Ista is always an option." "Well, late is better than never. So they say." Z'ian shrugs one shoulder. "Have you been by to see how they're doing or?" He probably isn't quite aware of how that would work, if the Weyrwomen go visiting each other during times of crisis or not. "Oh, no thanks. I don't know what kind of a man you take me for, but I'm not exactly the bloodthirsty kind. I'll take nice and dull, thanks." His smile remains easy even as he continues to dig through his meal. "They have. They're quieter now than they have bee, they seem content to wait it out." "I should." Azaylia nods, "I think I will. At least to see how Ha-- Weyrwoman Hattie is doing." Familiar, but not terribly, it's enough to give some weight to that whole visiting Weyrwomen theory. A clatter of pots has the goldrider sitting up, but as there are no sounds of chaos to follow she leaves the kitchen staff to do what they do best. "Not even a little bloodthirsty?" She sounds disappointed, or at the very least playfully curious. With not quite a sigh of relief, "Good. I hated hearing the arguments I-- just hope whatever happens is worth the wait. Whichever gold rises first." She's not even willing to entertain the idea of another double flight. Denile? Perhaps. His eyes track over to the clatter of pots in the background, then move along back to her. "That would probably be good. I heard that she's still struggling with whatever it is." Z'ian isn't up on medical mysteries, obviously. He laughs just then at her question, shaking his head and giving her a wry smile. "Not particularly. My family raises animals, we're not exactly used to having to chase down our prey. It's kind of exhausting, honestly." The bronzerider takes a breath and rolls his gaze upwards to examine the ceiling. "So do the rest of us." Azaylia looks troubled, "And there's the baby..." Rather than think about it, the weyrwoman gives a little shake of her head and crosses her arms atop the table. "Oh? My family, too. Papa was a Herder, and I was an Apprentice before... well." Before the big, intense queen that's busy trying to turn herself into a brown out in the mud and rain. "No blood, then. But what about a sweet tooth? I could save you a few of the cookies..." She tries to tempt, smile twisting into something awkward at Z'ian's ceiling-ward agreement. Hands squeeze at her upper arms, and she murmurs, "Maybe if I wish hard enough, she'll start glowing tomorrow." Not likely. "My family is just cotholders. My parents have llamas, or rather, my mother now has llamas. That my brother is trying to dwindle down so they can move away." The bronzerider's smile turns wry, gently amused by it. "Life." But then, his food needs tending to so he shovels in a few more mouthfuls allowing the conversation of Hattie and the baby to carefully fall to the wayside. "I like to eat healthy, I... don't eat a lot of cookies. But- We could paint her a brigher shade of gold. Maybe that would confuse a couple of people, maybe even trick her too. Slight of hand." There's some slight discomfort in how the bronzerider's brother intends to be able to move, though, "I can't... well, with weather like this." Azaylia understands. Z'ian's idea brings some light back into her eyes, "Warm gold. She gets so pretty..." Not that she's biased, or anything. "If we want to really be convincing, I'll have to talk her into making the boys fight." And then, she remembers how the actual Flight went, "I... on the ground, I mean. Uhm." Clearing her throat, "And there's just as much chance of it being Iesaryth, anyway." Which is less awkward to think about than her lifemate savaging her chasers out of the sky. "Ah, well. It's not the weather." Z'ian explains, catching on her discomfort. "My brother is a master in the Smithcraft. And well, our mother is getting older and he's taking care of her. But he'd like to move closer to the Hold, so." He shrugs his shoulders then, almost apologetic. "He's taking it in steps." There's a part of the bronzerider that still remembers the last time Hraedhyth rose. It's the nose that was broken, his hand goes to it now and rubs the small lump there. "Maybe we'll try to avoid some of that the next time around. Just, you know. For those of us that value our good looks." Azaylia's mouth shrinks into a little 'o', sounding somewhat enlightened, "Ohh." Who knows what kind of shifty, conniving soul she was envisioning at first. "A Master? That's impressive." Her fondness for smithcraft has to do with how brightly it's said, as well as the smile. It stays, however warped, as she points out rather gently, "If a certain dragon wasn't knocking her suitors out of the sky, I don't think Hraedhyth would have gotten so upset." Her gaze lingers on the bump on his nose, compelling a, "I'm still sorry, though. And for what it's worth, you still have them." His good looks, that is. Biting back a laugh, "I really should see how those cookies are coming along... Sure you don't want one?" "Yeah, the rest of us in the family are less so. I figure someone had to get most of the brains, right?" It's a brief flash of self-deprecating humor and he doesn't seem horribly put-off by the thought of it. At the gentle reminder he laughs and ducks his head, "I don't have any excuse for us. Maybe for the next flight we'll keep our hands to ourselves. Both dragon and rider." He leans forward and drops his elbow onto the table, a more indulgent grin tugging on his mouth. "Thanks. It's nice to hear from, you know. Someone like you." He glances past her to the kitchen workers and shakes his head. "No, that's alright. I'm sure." "I'll try give you some warning, if I can." Azaylia's voice is even more airy, no promises made because she's unable, not unwilling. "Just in case you're worried about your nose." She stands, hands smoothing over her skirt as she does. Already, the faint scent of baked goods joins the symphony of smells that float throughout the warm kitchen. Warm and dry, no wonder Azaylia is eager to supervise. Caught off guard, "Like me?" Curiosity will go unanswered as another crash is followed by expletives, the Acting Weyrwoman spinning on the ball of her foot, "Have a good day, Z'ian!" It's probably nothing, but one can never be too sure. "By like you I mean-" And it does go unanswered because she's gone so damn quickly. He exhales sharply once she's gone and laughs, his hands up on his face and he watches the activity from a distance. That is until he's done eating and then the bronzerider collects his dishes and vanishes out of the kitchen and into the living cavern. |
Leave A Comment