Kids these days, I swear.
RL Date: 5/11/09
IC Date: 9/17/19 --Left in the +glance on the grounds of relevance!
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr(#270RJs)
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
>---< Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr: Glance >-----------------------------<
NAME SEX AGE HT BUILD HAIR EYES IDLE
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Isziyo M 24 6'4 muscular shaven brown 6s
Mikandros M 19 6'4" muscular black brown 11m
N'thei M 29 6'4 stocky brown gray 0s
Rimara F 20 5'0" slender dark brown green 4m
>----------------------------------------------< 4 people / +glance/long >---<
Mikandros just isn't content with anyone falling into silent listen mode. They must be drawn back into the conversation, because really, it's just rude to stand around chatting without including others. So once more, he directs a slightly nosy question towards Isziyo. Speak, man! "Yer accent marks ye as a native. Ye got family here? Folks, sibs?" His grin lingers on his face as Rimara continues her observations, though it starts to fade when her last sentence is finished. "Oh, miss Rimara, ye ought not think that way. Ye've made yerself a place here, and folks I've seen treat ye like onna them. An' shells - pardon - but if m'-Ma- likes ye... Ye b'long here, miss Rimara." Firm nod. Near the entrace to the kitchens, the tall and brightly clad younger Candidate is standing next to the dimunuitive Rimara, both of them looking freshly scrubbed though dried off by now. Isziyo is sat down on a chair with a couple large bins placed in front of him, one filled with a haphazard pile of washed utensils, the other boasting neat rows of dried ones.
"Mmm, my mother passed a while back," Isz replies to Mikandros. "Isibel? She was a laundress, did some seamstress work on the side. "Don't think I have any siblings-- maybe some half-sibs on my da's side." A philosophical half-shrug. "He rides brown." But not here, evidentally. Not willing to say more about himself than that, Isz retreats back to his shell.
"Maybe so, but more'n one person's called me the "new" girl---and I've been here for nearly a turn, now," Rimara says, chuckling still. "And I don't know if your Ma likes me or not, but we have a few laughs now and then." She's standing with her back toward the kitchen entrance, so it's doubtful she sees anyone coming from that direction. "But you're sweet for saying that, Mikandros. I appreciate it." She turns her attention to Isziyo, listening as he sites his family relations in the weyr. She has no comment, since she isn't from High Reaches.
N'thei, food, entrance. This, boys, is your future: nowhere in particular to go at this time of day, just carrying some jammed-over toast in his teeth, a bowl of oatmeal-looking-stuff in his hand, and a mug of something with steam (probably klah) in his other hand, he's just making his way down the winding corridors toward the inner reaches of the Reaches, and he just passes this trio, pauses, and shuffles back a few steps. Are there actually people tall as he is these days? Brows furrowed, he looks a pair of boys in the eyes, one after the other; "Who are you."
Mikandros' lips twist slightly. Well, that didn't work. "Sorry t'hear it," he offers to Isz, though from the relative nuetrality of his expression it's a safe bet he doesn't recognise the woman's name. He's now stuck for ideas as to how best to draw the other man out of that shell. Anyone have any lettuce? "Well, ye got folk like that, too," and he's peering back down at Rimara. "Heh, jus' bein' born here ain't enough t'get ye 'insider' status. Plenty of folk don' think I b'long, jus' 'cause I went t'live with Da an' th'Idrozti." His dismissive shrug says all there is to say about just how much those opinions are worth. Crooked smile returning, "She plays cards without marks an' tells ye bawdy stories when she's in her cups 'stead of lashing ye with insults. She likes ye." Trust him on that one. N'thei doesn't get much more than a passing glance, at least not until he shuffles and commences frowning at them. "Mikandros, sir," he replies, meeting the dragonrider's eyes.
Isziyo pauses in his work to glance up at N'thei, automatically saluting. "Isziyo, sir." He considers the older man for a moment, in an hardly-conscious assessment, and then shifts the focus of his gaze back to Rima and Mik. "I think I would like your mother, Mikandros, from what I've heard of her." Hey! Isz just volunteered a sentence. That has to count as being even somewhat in tuned with the conversation...
"I'll take that as a compliment, then," Rimara says, grinning up at Mikandros. The news of Isziyo's mother's death brings silence to the girl. "Sorry to hear that." But all manner of good humor fades totally as soon as she sees N'thei; rather, as soon as she hears his voice /then/ sees him. Rimara shrinks into the shadows, hopefully not spotted by the bronzerider. After all, she's short, and there are two men here who can look N'thei in the eyes. She should be safe, but she doesn't talk, and doesn't draw any attention to herself.
There's a glance toward the stablehand, a flicker of recognition, and N'thei lays his toast across the top of his bowl of oatmeal so that he can give the kid-- kid!-- a closer look. "Runner dung," he summarizes succinctly, finds himself humorous enough to crack a smile that has no business on a face such as his. But, no; he looks at the pair of them again, back to the frown that suits him better. "Candidates? Bit old for that, aren't you?" Fortunately, presently, Rimara is under the radar.
"Drop by th'Snowasis one evening an' look fer th'short one with a cane at th'poker tables," Mikandros advises Isziyo. "An' be ready t'dodge." Mikaela has a wicked swing! He does notice Rimara's withdrawal, but aside from a puzzled quirk of eyebrows cast her way - silent-facespeak, y'okay? - he doesn't make any move towards her or actually verbalise anything. Woman hides from a man, she's got a reason. It does prompt more interest from the youngest here as he looks back to N'thei, a small frown of his own appearing. Hmm. "Upper age 's what, twenty-five? Sir."
Isziyo's gaze is drawn after Rimara, and a somewhat concerned frown creases the skin between his eyes. He's quiet about it, but the sudden tension is evident in the large man's shoulders. But then N'thei is talking, and the stablehand-turned-candidate's attention is split towards the man who's build is similar enough to his to be related. "Yes, sir, that would be me. But if I'm runner dung, does that make you booze?" Brown eyes are not quite amused, belying the smile his lips are curved into below. A shrug of his shoulders answers the question regarding his age-- "I'd ask Emilly about that, sir. I don't know, myself." His gaze switches to Mikandros, and the smile does touch his eyes, then-- "Snowasis, short one with a cane. Got it."
Hiding? Well, yes, she is---and she isn't. She's just making herself not noticed, is more like it. She doesn't really see Mik's glance, but if she had, she would've smiled to reassure him. Instead she just watches what Isziyo's doing, and keeps her mouth shut. Pay no attention to the girl behind the tall man. She's not there, nope. Arms are crossed over her midsection as Isziyo tenses up. Her eyes widen at what Isz says to N'thei, and she looks sharply toward the bronzerider. She knows what he's like, and she knows she doesn't want to be anywhere near him if he gets mad. A step is taken backwards. Yeah, she's ready to run if anything starts up.
"Makes me not-amused." As to upper ages, N'thei takes a part-step back in the direction he was initially headed, toward the inner caverns, but then they're actually asking questions for which he ought to have answers. /Ought/ to. "Sounds good. Twenty-five. You're not twenty-five," he says to Mikandros, quite convinced of this, and then lifts a look back toward Isziyo again. "Doesn't go well. Impressing that old." Aw, look! He's imparting wisdom~!
Mikandros drops his gaze back to Isziyo, eyebrows jumping in surprise. Apparently everyone here knows something he doesn't with regard to N'thei, and that makes him uncomfortable. Especially when the tension forming indicates that that knowledge isn't something good. He shifts on his feet slightly, wary. "No sir," he replies to the statement about his age, but doesn't offer any enlightment to his actual number of Turns.
"Twenty-four, sir." Isziyo is a native. Of course he knows about N'thei. Who doesn't? (Mik, apparently!) He gives another easy shrug of his shoulders, and settles the very last fork into the clean bin, stacked on top of a neatly-aligned row. His gaze skips past Mik to gaze just past Rimara, expression thoughtful. "The searchdragons passed over me for the last twenty-four turns of my life-- I don't reckon that I'll actually find a lifemate out there. Sir." He stands, then, stretching like a somnolent lion -- all overlarge, lazy grace.
If it's possible, Rimara's eyes get a tad wider as this entire conversation continues. She makes her move when Isziyo stands up, giving him and Mik a smile. "I'll ... I'll see you two later," she says, voice very soft. "I know you have chores and I should be ... doing ... something." She steps back, easing herself away from Mikandros. A nod is given in acknowledgement of N'thei's presence, but she can't imagine him wanting to actually talk to her, so she doesn't say anything. "Later, gentlemen..." And she's moving away, merely waiting for the traffic in the inner caverns to thin out so she can make a clean get-away.
Once she's gone, not that N'thei was really biting his tongue; "Talks too much." A look chases Rimara's clean get-away, then he's back to the business of setting straight these overlarge candidates. Also, "Hold this." He passes the mug off toward Mikandros, because his toast is getting cold and his oatmeal's liable to congeal if he keeps on like this. "Then why bother. Wasting your time. Wasting our time. Seems like." But it's not like his usual mean-hateful-remark, more like... clarify, please. Without the please.
Mikandros is going to clear out, too, from the looks of things. "Er, aye, chores. Moppin' 'n stuff." He rumbles quietly to Rimara. "Ye take care of y'self. I'll try t'pop by later, if yer workin' this evening." He keeps a rather protective eye on her as she makes her escape, and is just turning to make his own when N'thei shoves that mug of klah at him. Damn! "Sir." And so there he stands, playing table. Fun? So not.
Isziyo considers Rima as she walks away, nodding once. "Good to see you, Rimara," he can be heard politely stating, before he glances to N'thei, and raises an eyebrow. "And hurt Rider Emilly's feelings? Sure, sir. If you'll track her down I'll give her the knot she gave me back." Isz slants a look over to the bronzerider, and leans down to stack the trough full of clean silverware on top of the empty one.
"Milani's mother?" N'thei actually looks like he's contemplating the prospect, peering at Isziyo's knot in between a bite of toast. "No," he decides finally, shaking his head and dusting off crumbs into his oatmeal. "Who searched you," with a sudden turn on Mikandros; talk, table.
Blink. Mikandros is no longer furniture? Damn, again. He squares his shoulders a bit, tips his head in a nod towards Isziyo, "Rider Emilly, same's him." Apparently. "Ye leavin'?" This to the other Candidate, vaguely annoyed perhaps. Sure, leave him holding the klah mug!
"Yes, sir, Milani's mother." Isziyo lifts the heavy set of troughs without so much as a twitch, and nods. "Excuse me," he skirts past Mik-table to head to the real table, where both are settled down for people walking through the caverns to have access to. There's a sudden yell from the Kitchens-- "Isziyo! Get your ass in here!" Isz snaps off a salute to N'thei, again. "Sir. It was a pleasure." And he nods, more amiably, at Mik-- "Well, they're yelling at me, man. What else do I do?" There's a smirk, and he notes, "Good to see you." And then he's prowling back into the kitchens, muttering under his breath about something regarding burning the weyr down.
As long as he's still holding it, at least he's safe? Marginally safe? N'thei does not seem to like the idea of his breakfast getting hurt, for all that he's looking a little yucky about the cold state of his oatmeal after all this time. "That," he explains, end of his spoon indicating a perfectly grown-up man with better things to do being called off to the kitchens like he's a damn dishwasher, "is why it never goes well." Referring back to his earlier assertion about age and Impression.
Now if only someone would conveniently come and yell at Mikandros, so he could stop being polite waiting to be dismissed, and just leg it. He does take a step to clear a wider path and fasciliate Isziyo's departure, calling after him, "See y'round." Brown eyes travelling back to N'thei, head cocking to one side. "He'd be takin' orders from th'stablemaster. Why's th'head cook any different?" Helpfully, "Y'could jus' go get a fresh bowl."
"Because." N'thei starts to leave it there, with one of his better warning looks. No, Mikandros isn't a little fella that can be scared into compliance with a look down down down at him, but-- when he's in a mood to look threatening-- he sure does a fine job of it. After a mouthful; "Man could hope he was actually good at stable work, better than he is at kitchen work. Instead of doing what he's already good at, settled in, he's doing..." Crappy chores. Like holding mugs of klah for people.
Oh yay, intimidating dragonrider! Or well, threatening one, anyway. Mikandros isn't scared, no, but he's not so thick as to not get the hint. Possibly hoping to be placating, or at least just somehow indicate that he's not looking for any sort of confrontation, he smiles right back into that glower. Though his boyish good looks will likely be utterly lost on the elder man, maybe they'll at least help towards convincing him that Mik's just not worth the trouble? Too stupid or something. Fingers crossed. "His choice though, ain't it, sir." Not a question, nope. "Where'd ye be, now, if ye hadn't taken a chance and walked out on t'th'Sands?"
"Different though, isn't it." N'thei switches, his bowl empty enough now that he expects Mikandros to hold that and give over the mug. "That boy," /boy/, "doesn't count on walking off with a dragon. Begs the question-- why say yes. Nobody feels that guilty about telling anyone, even Millie's mom, no."
Mikandros' sigh isn't audible, but the rise and fall of his shoulders are the tell. Even as he patiently accepts N'thei's bowl in trade for the klah. "Which is he, then, boy or man?" Indecisive, much? ask his quirking eyebrows. His gaze turns towards the kitchen, shoulders lifting again though this time in a shrug. "Might be he jus' don' want t'admit t'it. Wantin' it, I mean. Ye reach a certain point, an' dreamin' 'bout a dragon of yer own is so much childrens' fancy. To be there, an' then have a 'rider come along and say 'Hey, y'know, m'dragon thinks ye got what it takes.' Well."
Fact: "Going to get on my nerves, son." No, quite decisive. Just not necessarily consistent. N'thei adds, though it really has nothing to do with the conversation at hand, "Why do you talk like that."
"Not yer son," is Mikandros' rather too quick and very unthinking responce. Forgot who - or rather, what, since he still doesn't know -who- - he was talking to. And there go his shoulders in that default gesture! At this rate, he'll have to visit the healers to get his joints re-oiled before they start squeaking. "Talk th'way I talk, s'all." Simple statement, as he starts to step past the bronzerider, even his long rope of patience beginning to run out. "If ye'll excuse me, will jus' drop this off an' get 'bout m'own business. Sir."
"Never," begins N'thei, divesting Mikandros of both bowl and mug at this point, the latter to be finished in a long pull before he finishes his thoughts. "Seen a more uppity bunch of white-knotted little bastards." Disappointed, he doesn't try to stop the kid, but he is looking around for someone to whom this matter can be reported, dagnabbit.
Well, if N'thei's stubborn enough to go dump his own dirty dishes in the wash basin, Mikandros certainly won't try to stop him! So it's a quick turnabout on his heel, heading deeper into the caverns to get started, rather late, on his own chores for the day. No salute, not even a respectful nod! If the bronzer knew the boy at all, he'd know that meant he didn't leave with any sort of positive impression. Only a brief statement tossed over his shoulder before ducking down a tunnel, "I know who m'father is." Asking for it? Maybe.
N'thei's gonna tell. Seriously. Milani's so going to hear about this. Just you wait.
IC Date: 9/17/19 --Left in the +glance on the grounds of relevance!
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr(#270RJs)
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
>---< Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr: Glance >-----------------------------<
NAME SEX AGE HT BUILD HAIR EYES IDLE
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Isziyo M 24 6'4 muscular shaven brown 6s
Mikandros M 19 6'4" muscular black brown 11m
N'thei M 29 6'4 stocky brown gray 0s
Rimara F 20 5'0" slender dark brown green 4m
>----------------------------------------------< 4 people / +glance/long >---<
Mikandros just isn't content with anyone falling into silent listen mode. They must be drawn back into the conversation, because really, it's just rude to stand around chatting without including others. So once more, he directs a slightly nosy question towards Isziyo. Speak, man! "Yer accent marks ye as a native. Ye got family here? Folks, sibs?" His grin lingers on his face as Rimara continues her observations, though it starts to fade when her last sentence is finished. "Oh, miss Rimara, ye ought not think that way. Ye've made yerself a place here, and folks I've seen treat ye like onna them. An' shells - pardon - but if m'-Ma- likes ye... Ye b'long here, miss Rimara." Firm nod. Near the entrace to the kitchens, the tall and brightly clad younger Candidate is standing next to the dimunuitive Rimara, both of them looking freshly scrubbed though dried off by now. Isziyo is sat down on a chair with a couple large bins placed in front of him, one filled with a haphazard pile of washed utensils, the other boasting neat rows of dried ones.
"Mmm, my mother passed a while back," Isz replies to Mikandros. "Isibel? She was a laundress, did some seamstress work on the side. "Don't think I have any siblings-- maybe some half-sibs on my da's side." A philosophical half-shrug. "He rides brown." But not here, evidentally. Not willing to say more about himself than that, Isz retreats back to his shell.
"Maybe so, but more'n one person's called me the "new" girl---and I've been here for nearly a turn, now," Rimara says, chuckling still. "And I don't know if your Ma likes me or not, but we have a few laughs now and then." She's standing with her back toward the kitchen entrance, so it's doubtful she sees anyone coming from that direction. "But you're sweet for saying that, Mikandros. I appreciate it." She turns her attention to Isziyo, listening as he sites his family relations in the weyr. She has no comment, since she isn't from High Reaches.
N'thei, food, entrance. This, boys, is your future: nowhere in particular to go at this time of day, just carrying some jammed-over toast in his teeth, a bowl of oatmeal-looking-stuff in his hand, and a mug of something with steam (probably klah) in his other hand, he's just making his way down the winding corridors toward the inner reaches of the Reaches, and he just passes this trio, pauses, and shuffles back a few steps. Are there actually people tall as he is these days? Brows furrowed, he looks a pair of boys in the eyes, one after the other; "Who are you."
Mikandros' lips twist slightly. Well, that didn't work. "Sorry t'hear it," he offers to Isz, though from the relative nuetrality of his expression it's a safe bet he doesn't recognise the woman's name. He's now stuck for ideas as to how best to draw the other man out of that shell. Anyone have any lettuce? "Well, ye got folk like that, too," and he's peering back down at Rimara. "Heh, jus' bein' born here ain't enough t'get ye 'insider' status. Plenty of folk don' think I b'long, jus' 'cause I went t'live with Da an' th'Idrozti." His dismissive shrug says all there is to say about just how much those opinions are worth. Crooked smile returning, "She plays cards without marks an' tells ye bawdy stories when she's in her cups 'stead of lashing ye with insults. She likes ye." Trust him on that one. N'thei doesn't get much more than a passing glance, at least not until he shuffles and commences frowning at them. "Mikandros, sir," he replies, meeting the dragonrider's eyes.
Isziyo pauses in his work to glance up at N'thei, automatically saluting. "Isziyo, sir." He considers the older man for a moment, in an hardly-conscious assessment, and then shifts the focus of his gaze back to Rima and Mik. "I think I would like your mother, Mikandros, from what I've heard of her." Hey! Isz just volunteered a sentence. That has to count as being even somewhat in tuned with the conversation...
"I'll take that as a compliment, then," Rimara says, grinning up at Mikandros. The news of Isziyo's mother's death brings silence to the girl. "Sorry to hear that." But all manner of good humor fades totally as soon as she sees N'thei; rather, as soon as she hears his voice /then/ sees him. Rimara shrinks into the shadows, hopefully not spotted by the bronzerider. After all, she's short, and there are two men here who can look N'thei in the eyes. She should be safe, but she doesn't talk, and doesn't draw any attention to herself.
There's a glance toward the stablehand, a flicker of recognition, and N'thei lays his toast across the top of his bowl of oatmeal so that he can give the kid-- kid!-- a closer look. "Runner dung," he summarizes succinctly, finds himself humorous enough to crack a smile that has no business on a face such as his. But, no; he looks at the pair of them again, back to the frown that suits him better. "Candidates? Bit old for that, aren't you?" Fortunately, presently, Rimara is under the radar.
"Drop by th'Snowasis one evening an' look fer th'short one with a cane at th'poker tables," Mikandros advises Isziyo. "An' be ready t'dodge." Mikaela has a wicked swing! He does notice Rimara's withdrawal, but aside from a puzzled quirk of eyebrows cast her way - silent-facespeak, y'okay? - he doesn't make any move towards her or actually verbalise anything. Woman hides from a man, she's got a reason. It does prompt more interest from the youngest here as he looks back to N'thei, a small frown of his own appearing. Hmm. "Upper age 's what, twenty-five? Sir."
Isziyo's gaze is drawn after Rimara, and a somewhat concerned frown creases the skin between his eyes. He's quiet about it, but the sudden tension is evident in the large man's shoulders. But then N'thei is talking, and the stablehand-turned-candidate's attention is split towards the man who's build is similar enough to his to be related. "Yes, sir, that would be me. But if I'm runner dung, does that make you booze?" Brown eyes are not quite amused, belying the smile his lips are curved into below. A shrug of his shoulders answers the question regarding his age-- "I'd ask Emilly about that, sir. I don't know, myself." His gaze switches to Mikandros, and the smile does touch his eyes, then-- "Snowasis, short one with a cane. Got it."
Hiding? Well, yes, she is---and she isn't. She's just making herself not noticed, is more like it. She doesn't really see Mik's glance, but if she had, she would've smiled to reassure him. Instead she just watches what Isziyo's doing, and keeps her mouth shut. Pay no attention to the girl behind the tall man. She's not there, nope. Arms are crossed over her midsection as Isziyo tenses up. Her eyes widen at what Isz says to N'thei, and she looks sharply toward the bronzerider. She knows what he's like, and she knows she doesn't want to be anywhere near him if he gets mad. A step is taken backwards. Yeah, she's ready to run if anything starts up.
"Makes me not-amused." As to upper ages, N'thei takes a part-step back in the direction he was initially headed, toward the inner caverns, but then they're actually asking questions for which he ought to have answers. /Ought/ to. "Sounds good. Twenty-five. You're not twenty-five," he says to Mikandros, quite convinced of this, and then lifts a look back toward Isziyo again. "Doesn't go well. Impressing that old." Aw, look! He's imparting wisdom~!
Mikandros drops his gaze back to Isziyo, eyebrows jumping in surprise. Apparently everyone here knows something he doesn't with regard to N'thei, and that makes him uncomfortable. Especially when the tension forming indicates that that knowledge isn't something good. He shifts on his feet slightly, wary. "No sir," he replies to the statement about his age, but doesn't offer any enlightment to his actual number of Turns.
"Twenty-four, sir." Isziyo is a native. Of course he knows about N'thei. Who doesn't? (Mik, apparently!) He gives another easy shrug of his shoulders, and settles the very last fork into the clean bin, stacked on top of a neatly-aligned row. His gaze skips past Mik to gaze just past Rimara, expression thoughtful. "The searchdragons passed over me for the last twenty-four turns of my life-- I don't reckon that I'll actually find a lifemate out there. Sir." He stands, then, stretching like a somnolent lion -- all overlarge, lazy grace.
If it's possible, Rimara's eyes get a tad wider as this entire conversation continues. She makes her move when Isziyo stands up, giving him and Mik a smile. "I'll ... I'll see you two later," she says, voice very soft. "I know you have chores and I should be ... doing ... something." She steps back, easing herself away from Mikandros. A nod is given in acknowledgement of N'thei's presence, but she can't imagine him wanting to actually talk to her, so she doesn't say anything. "Later, gentlemen..." And she's moving away, merely waiting for the traffic in the inner caverns to thin out so she can make a clean get-away.
Once she's gone, not that N'thei was really biting his tongue; "Talks too much." A look chases Rimara's clean get-away, then he's back to the business of setting straight these overlarge candidates. Also, "Hold this." He passes the mug off toward Mikandros, because his toast is getting cold and his oatmeal's liable to congeal if he keeps on like this. "Then why bother. Wasting your time. Wasting our time. Seems like." But it's not like his usual mean-hateful-remark, more like... clarify, please. Without the please.
Mikandros is going to clear out, too, from the looks of things. "Er, aye, chores. Moppin' 'n stuff." He rumbles quietly to Rimara. "Ye take care of y'self. I'll try t'pop by later, if yer workin' this evening." He keeps a rather protective eye on her as she makes her escape, and is just turning to make his own when N'thei shoves that mug of klah at him. Damn! "Sir." And so there he stands, playing table. Fun? So not.
Isziyo considers Rima as she walks away, nodding once. "Good to see you, Rimara," he can be heard politely stating, before he glances to N'thei, and raises an eyebrow. "And hurt Rider Emilly's feelings? Sure, sir. If you'll track her down I'll give her the knot she gave me back." Isz slants a look over to the bronzerider, and leans down to stack the trough full of clean silverware on top of the empty one.
"Milani's mother?" N'thei actually looks like he's contemplating the prospect, peering at Isziyo's knot in between a bite of toast. "No," he decides finally, shaking his head and dusting off crumbs into his oatmeal. "Who searched you," with a sudden turn on Mikandros; talk, table.
Blink. Mikandros is no longer furniture? Damn, again. He squares his shoulders a bit, tips his head in a nod towards Isziyo, "Rider Emilly, same's him." Apparently. "Ye leavin'?" This to the other Candidate, vaguely annoyed perhaps. Sure, leave him holding the klah mug!
"Yes, sir, Milani's mother." Isziyo lifts the heavy set of troughs without so much as a twitch, and nods. "Excuse me," he skirts past Mik-table to head to the real table, where both are settled down for people walking through the caverns to have access to. There's a sudden yell from the Kitchens-- "Isziyo! Get your ass in here!" Isz snaps off a salute to N'thei, again. "Sir. It was a pleasure." And he nods, more amiably, at Mik-- "Well, they're yelling at me, man. What else do I do?" There's a smirk, and he notes, "Good to see you." And then he's prowling back into the kitchens, muttering under his breath about something regarding burning the weyr down.
As long as he's still holding it, at least he's safe? Marginally safe? N'thei does not seem to like the idea of his breakfast getting hurt, for all that he's looking a little yucky about the cold state of his oatmeal after all this time. "That," he explains, end of his spoon indicating a perfectly grown-up man with better things to do being called off to the kitchens like he's a damn dishwasher, "is why it never goes well." Referring back to his earlier assertion about age and Impression.
Now if only someone would conveniently come and yell at Mikandros, so he could stop being polite waiting to be dismissed, and just leg it. He does take a step to clear a wider path and fasciliate Isziyo's departure, calling after him, "See y'round." Brown eyes travelling back to N'thei, head cocking to one side. "He'd be takin' orders from th'stablemaster. Why's th'head cook any different?" Helpfully, "Y'could jus' go get a fresh bowl."
"Because." N'thei starts to leave it there, with one of his better warning looks. No, Mikandros isn't a little fella that can be scared into compliance with a look down down down at him, but-- when he's in a mood to look threatening-- he sure does a fine job of it. After a mouthful; "Man could hope he was actually good at stable work, better than he is at kitchen work. Instead of doing what he's already good at, settled in, he's doing..." Crappy chores. Like holding mugs of klah for people.
Oh yay, intimidating dragonrider! Or well, threatening one, anyway. Mikandros isn't scared, no, but he's not so thick as to not get the hint. Possibly hoping to be placating, or at least just somehow indicate that he's not looking for any sort of confrontation, he smiles right back into that glower. Though his boyish good looks will likely be utterly lost on the elder man, maybe they'll at least help towards convincing him that Mik's just not worth the trouble? Too stupid or something. Fingers crossed. "His choice though, ain't it, sir." Not a question, nope. "Where'd ye be, now, if ye hadn't taken a chance and walked out on t'th'Sands?"
"Different though, isn't it." N'thei switches, his bowl empty enough now that he expects Mikandros to hold that and give over the mug. "That boy," /boy/, "doesn't count on walking off with a dragon. Begs the question-- why say yes. Nobody feels that guilty about telling anyone, even Millie's mom, no."
Mikandros' sigh isn't audible, but the rise and fall of his shoulders are the tell. Even as he patiently accepts N'thei's bowl in trade for the klah. "Which is he, then, boy or man?" Indecisive, much? ask his quirking eyebrows. His gaze turns towards the kitchen, shoulders lifting again though this time in a shrug. "Might be he jus' don' want t'admit t'it. Wantin' it, I mean. Ye reach a certain point, an' dreamin' 'bout a dragon of yer own is so much childrens' fancy. To be there, an' then have a 'rider come along and say 'Hey, y'know, m'dragon thinks ye got what it takes.' Well."
Fact: "Going to get on my nerves, son." No, quite decisive. Just not necessarily consistent. N'thei adds, though it really has nothing to do with the conversation at hand, "Why do you talk like that."
"Not yer son," is Mikandros' rather too quick and very unthinking responce. Forgot who - or rather, what, since he still doesn't know -who- - he was talking to. And there go his shoulders in that default gesture! At this rate, he'll have to visit the healers to get his joints re-oiled before they start squeaking. "Talk th'way I talk, s'all." Simple statement, as he starts to step past the bronzerider, even his long rope of patience beginning to run out. "If ye'll excuse me, will jus' drop this off an' get 'bout m'own business. Sir."
"Never," begins N'thei, divesting Mikandros of both bowl and mug at this point, the latter to be finished in a long pull before he finishes his thoughts. "Seen a more uppity bunch of white-knotted little bastards." Disappointed, he doesn't try to stop the kid, but he is looking around for someone to whom this matter can be reported, dagnabbit.
Well, if N'thei's stubborn enough to go dump his own dirty dishes in the wash basin, Mikandros certainly won't try to stop him! So it's a quick turnabout on his heel, heading deeper into the caverns to get started, rather late, on his own chores for the day. No salute, not even a respectful nod! If the bronzer knew the boy at all, he'd know that meant he didn't leave with any sort of positive impression. Only a brief statement tossed over his shoulder before ducking down a tunnel, "I know who m'father is." Asking for it? Maybe.
N'thei's gonna tell. Seriously. Milani's so going to hear about this. Just you wait.