(no subject)
Who: Essdara, T'ral
Where: Kitchens
When: Late evening, Day 28, Month 10, Turn 1, 7th pass
Comment: Dara took over in this one, and acted a whole lot different than I expected, especially the end result.
It's late evening in the weyr kitchens, and the often-hectic caverns are serene and almost silent. A few stray cooks man the night hearths, keeping fresh stew and klah and suchlike ready for those with late duties, or who missed dinner. One of these is Essdara, who is standing at a stew pot and stirring it, ladle moving in slow circles widdershins, a light hum under her breath accompanying; NOT on key, to her neighbor's torment.
A large silhouette appears in the doorway, and although it's hard to hover tentatively when you're built on the scale that T'ral is, the brownrider has a go. He pauses where he is, riding jacket hanging from one hand, then settles himself against the doorframe to observe the activity inside the kitchens. Those within are scanned slowly, and it would seem that Essdara provides the most sympathetic vision, because he tries out a grin on her. Or perhaps she's just closest. "Evening." His clipped voice is Bitran, and unsoftened by his time at High Reaches.
Essdara looks up at the brownrider, and up a little more, and can't help looking a bit intimidated. "Evening." She says, redardless, and offers a bright smile. "Anything we can help you with tonight, brownrider? There's fresh klah over yonder, and the stew here is just about ready. Unless it's a social call?" She looks around, "Though I think I'd recall if you spent time with any of the staff here!"
T'ral perks up visibly at the mention of stew, apparently one of a large subset of men easily won over with food. "No, just after something to eat. I drew the short straw this evening." His grin is easy, although his gaze has gone past Essdara to the hearth that she's tending. "I suppose if I was smart, I'd start socialising with the girls in the kitchen. Ready access, and all that."
Essdara grins, "Well, let me say this much. We'd much rather be socialised with because you like us than for the food we'll happily provide anyway." She stops stirring and fetches a pair of bowls, which she carries back to the hearth. Deftly, using a small shelf next to the hearth, she fills them. Picking them back up she moves to a the small table the cooks use for eating, and sets them down, "So, please, join me." A teasing grin, "Unless you planned to just steal a bowl of stew, and flee into the night?"
T'ral rises obediently and gallantly to the challenge, shooting her another grin as he moves into the kitchen. He's evidently accustomed to making his way through crowded quarters without dislodging quite as much as his bulk would suggest, for he makes his way over to the table without causing chaos. "It would be a very foolish man who fled from something that smelled this good," he observes, eyeing the dish appreciatively -- although he waits politely for her to seat herself. "Or from the girl who made it."
Essdara rolls her eyes, and sits with him, the other bowl clearly being for herself. "I swear, not a one of you riders can come in and eat without trying to lay on the false compliments. They aren't needed, honest, I'll like you all the better if you just relax and be yourself."
T'ral sinks into his seat with a laugh, slinging his jacket over the back of it. "Where's the falsehood? To a man who's just been up where the air is full of ice, the stew looks as good as anything I've ever seen. Its maker seems friendly enough and decent company, so I think I'd just as well stay near both." He falls silent for a moment, wolfing down several mouthfuls before he speaks, eyes closed in blissful appreciation. Then they open abruptly, and he hastens to swallow his mouthful. "I'm sorry, listen to me. I'm T'ral, Darageth's rider. I didn't even ask your name."
Essdara grins, "Don't be sorry. Food before pleasantries is a common theme in this room. Essdara. And I will not deny the stew's quality; I rarely make a bad one. I just wanted to head you off before you started in on my eyes, or how pretty my hair is." Again with the rolled eyes. "I've a low tolerance for that when I'm working." She takes a large mouthful of the stew herself then, chewing slowly, expression appraising. "Just about perfect, really. You've good timing."
"You wrong me, Essdara," T'ral protests, pausing for another large mouthful. He eats to suit the scale he's built on, that much is certain. "Your eyes are lovely and I don't doubt your hair is worthy of admiration, but you'll have to forgive me for admitting I had no intention of starting in on either." Mischief enters brown eyes then, and his grin returns as he regards her for a moment. "Unless your tolerance improves after you finish work." Even as he speaks his fork is held up defensively. "I'm joking, I'm joking."
Essdara smiles in amusement. "My tolerances are vastly different when I am not expected to watch water boil and tea steep, indeed, but rarely are compliments the way to go for what most riders desire then." Another pause for eating. "Were you? Joking, I mean? A shame, your expression while doing so was not wholely unpleasant, a nice change from those who are always dour and doom and gloom." And she imitates the facial expression she describes, with a scowl and brows furrowed, before giggling. "Pardon me. I am in a very strange mood, tonight, I don't know why."
"My mother says I've got a very nice smile," T'ral informs her with a laugh, devoting himself after that to demolishing at least a quarter of his bowl of stew in the next few bites. "This is really good stuff, tastes better than usual. Maybe it's just the the freshness." He shows no sign of slowing in his eating, but does manage to insert polite pauses in between mouthfuls so he can speak. "Carry on, though. I'm probably frozen solid right through to my brain, so I doubt I'll notice."
Essdara composes herself from her giggling fit, and shakes her head a bit. "Anyway. You mentioned being out in this beautiful Reaches night, and drawing the short straw. Just what, exactly, is it that you were doing out in this? Surely there's nothing that couldn't wait until it was at least daylight?" Her own bowl empties much slower as she watches him, but she can't completely erase the amused smile she wears. "Or is this some odd dare? Sounds more like something T'zen would do, get into a race around the bowl, in an ice storm, blindfolded."
"Does sound like a stupid thing to do, doesn't it?" T'ral, apparently, could not agree more strongly. His good-natured grin doesn't fade as he elaborates, propping his chin up on one elbow. "Wingleader got a little antsy about some fooling around that went on during some drills yesterday. So, night drills. Snow saved us in the end -- no drilling in conditions that would kill Thread before it hit the ground, see." And for this, let there be no doubt, T'ral is thoroughly greatful. "So, if I compliment your eyes, can I get a second helping? They're," and here he pauses, ducking his head to examine them, "as brown and gold as something particularly lovely."
Essdara giggles, "And what something would that be? Your weyrmate wrapped around some poor young weyrwoman's?" Cheeky. She motions towards the pot, "Of course, you are welcome to as much as you like. It is my honor, duty, and pleasure to keep our fighting wings healthy and fed! Night drills, though, that sounds unpleasant. At least during the day the sun warms a little, at night, there's nothing colder. If it will help, I shall hope strongly for a very snowy winter."
She's touched on something there, for T'ral pales slightly under his freckles, smile flickering out of existence for just the briefest of moments. "Darageth's a brown," he responds shortly, clipped Bitran accents taking precedence once more for a moment. But moments later he's recovered himself, and is laughing as he rises to his feet, one large hand wrapping around his bowl. "Don't hope for snow, please! I'm a recent arrival, I'm still learning how to wade through the stuff."
Essdara grins impishly, watching him move to the stew bowl. "A fact, I assure you, that I remember." Her expression softens a bit. "There's nothing wrong with someone who isn't so... High in station... Wanting to fly a gold. Even if it's doomed to failure from the start." Her turn for a bitter edge to her words, and her not even a rider. The latter topic suddenly seems safer, "Ahh, see, there's the thing. Most of us just avoid it, rather than wade through it. Cold, nasty, wet stuff it is. I love my home, but I wouldn't miss the weather."
"It's best not to think on such things, I'd say," T'ral replies, heaping a generous second serving into his bowl. "Better for the weyr and for everybody concerned is the bronzes take care of it." He sounds a little like he's reciting a line, and thumps heavily down into a chair that protests under his bulk. "I reckon you've got the right of it. Dara and I've worked out now that he just drops me near the cavern, and that way I don't have to wade through too much. I don't know what you'd do if you were small, though." His brows draw together as he considers that question, then shrugs. "Still, I've been promised at least a sevenday of summer."
Essdara laughs softly, "Not any summer you'd recognise, I'm sure, but it's not so cold, that's for certain." She pokes at her stew, suddenly disinterested, with a slight frown. "It's interesting the way the world works sometimes, giving us almost enough to be happy... But saving that last little bit for the special few."
"Not so cold will be a damn fine start," T'ral observes with no small enthusiasm, beginning on his second bowl promptly. Thus, he is silent for several moments, although when he looks up his glance is sympathetic. "I think we've enough to be happy. We're fed and sheltered, and living in a better place than most do. I've tried hold life, and I'd rather be in a weyr." He's seeking to reestablish the cheery atmosphere they earlier enjoyed, grinning once more as he draws his chair closer into the table.
Essdara shakes her head a bit, as if to clear it, and forces a grin. "That I can agree with without setting foot near a hold, just having seen the halfwits some of them send for the Caucus. I know Bronzeriders aren't the most humble group in the world, but certainly, they have nothing on the arrogance of a Blooded heir."
"Perhaps not the most humble, but they're up there risking their necks each 'fall for those who never thank them." T'ral makes his point complacently enough -- he's warm, well-fed, and aware that he's probably speaking to a sympathetic audience. Finally his eating is slowing, and he leans back in his chair with a broad grin. "Which Blooded heir's got up your nose then, Essdara? Give up your gossip."
Essdara waves her spoon, "None in particular, honesly. They all annoy me just about equally. But you get used to them after a while. They will only get worse with the cold, don't you think? All those young holders, locked away because of the cold. There'll be trouble."
T'ral laughs, broad shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "I don't mix with them much, I must admit. I eat with my wing when I'm not eating with pretty girls in the kitchen, so we don't cross paths often. I know one of the riders who attends, but she's from Benden, so we didn't get to know each other here. Do they give you a hard time?"
Essdara shrugs, and leans back a bit. "Not so much any more. A bunch of the more troublesome ones left, but there is still the odd student who thinks they are Faranth's gift to Pern. I try to ignore them, but alas, I am not very good at it." A rueful smile. "But I get better all the time."
"Practice makes perfect," T'ral offers glibly, acknowledging the cliche witha grin. "Still, you'd think they'd know how to behave, raised as they are. Most of them do, I'm sure." With these final words he mildly backs away from any statement that might seem other than good-natured, forking up the last of his stew. "This," and he pauses, swallowing before he continues, "This is really good stuff. You always worked here?"
Essdara grins a bit, "Always? I'm not /that/ old. No, only about a turn. But I grew up here, my parents are riders... I'm rather entrenched, you could say. You? Where are you from, exactly? You grew up in a hold, you said?"
"Entrenched indeed, aren't you?" T'ral is relaxed now, certainly thawed out, and showing a far healthier colour underneath his freckles. "I grew up at Bitra Hold, impressed at Benden." He offers no further elaboration on this, moving along as he pushes his bowl away from him. "Still, 'Reaches is home now, and I expect I'll adjust to the weather." A pause, and he lifts his head to inspect the kitchen at large. "Would it be cheeky to ask if there's anything sweet?"
Essdara grins impishly. "You've been talking to the sweetest thing here, no? Was there something else you meant? And if you lived in those places... Don't they have snow there at all? I thought they did?"
"Ah, but you've already told me that I'm not allowed to have you for dessert," T'ral points out with a laugh, holding up one large hand as though to defend himself. "Don't use any of your kitchen implements on me, I'll remind you that you started it." Stretching his legs out in front of him, he subsides to a grin. "We had snow sometimes, but it was a novelty. Not a habit."
Essdara smirks, "Did I say that? I thought I simply said to avoid the baseless compliments. Not at all the same thing. Attention to detail!" She motions at one of the banked hearths, the waning head of which seems to be heating some cooking sheets. "Might be some pastries or pies left over there, usually is."
"You didn't, and yet somehow I sadly suspect it to be the truth," T'ral murmurs, brown eyes still gleaming with suppressed laughter. The brownrider hauls himself up from his chair, strolling over to inspect the offerings in the hearth, ducking his curly head to bring them into viewing range. "Would you like anything, o vision of delight?"
Essdara tilts her head, "If you say so. No, I am quite full, I am shamed to admit. Cook's peril, the amount of food I eat in a day! But thank you for the offer." A grin. "I recommend the pies, the berries were suprisingly tasty this batch."
T'ral pauses, turning to lean against the wall by the hearth for a moment, first using one hand to check its temperature. Resting a shoulder against it he regards her with a grin, speculative in nature. "Forget what I say. What do you say?" His gaze turns sideways, and he claims one of the pies, settling it in the palm of one hand and sampling the edge of the pastry to check the temperature.
Essdara laughs, softly, "I say that, truth be told, the best way to stay warm at night at high reaches is to not be alone. At least the dorms have body heat around, I have never understood how you riders in your private, draughty weyrs manage to sleep when alone."
"Why do you think we're always seeking company? It's about survival, you know. If only the girls here believed in duty to their weyr." T'ral pretends concern over the issue, pausing to dispose of half a pie in one large bite, and catching a trickle of juice with one finger as it runs down his chin. "Are you suggesting I look for a spot in the dorms? Look at me, they'd have to lash two beds together."
Essdara beams a dazzling smile. "Oh, never fear, some of us, at least, know our duty to our Weyr. And, no, I would never recommend the dorms. It's very distracting when there are people trying to sleep around you." She stands, and gathers up the bowls and takes them to clean them out. "One of the more tolerable duties, in fact, if you ask me."
T'ral is caught by surprise, brows rising momentarily as he digests her reply. "We should be glad you think so, I suppose." Faintly distracted now, he bites down on the rest of the pie as he watches her move across the the kitchens, brown eyes tracking her progress with suddenly increased interest.
Essdara is being boring just now, washing the bowls and being positively domestic. Still, she shoots the brownrider a smile as she does so. "Is there something the matter, T'ral? You've gotten very quiet all of a sudden. I'd hate to think my cooking was causing you any problems."
T'ral has his head on one side, observing her, and catching himself with a laugh as he straightens up, shaking his head. "Your cooking was fine, as I told you more than once. I know where I'll be sneaking in for my meals from now on, that's for sure."
Essdara, bowls clean, returns them to the rack. "So, brownrider. Is there anything else I can get you this evening?" A grin, "Or are you, at last, satiated? It is very good to know you enjoy our cooking, though. Sometimes, I wonder how many people really do."
T'ral considers her question for a moment, biting down on his lower lip to smother a grin. "I'd say there's something else, but after the way you spoke of the rest of them, I find I don't really want to be lumped in with them. That seems to back me into a corner, and I find myself unwillingly saying that there's nothing else I need." His amusement may be at his own expense, for he offers her a shrug, arms folded over his chest. "We enjoy your cooking very much, when it actually touches the sides on the way down."
Essdara laughs softly, and moves towards the brownrider. "You're really not going to ask? A shame, I had high hopes for you. I'm not overly eager to sleep in a cot tonight." She looks up at him, expectantly.
"I don't..." T'ral hesitates, chewing on his lip again for a moment. Something's troubling him, casting a momentary shadow over the good humour in his steady gaze. Then, with a shrug, he seems to shoulder his doubt aside., producing another of his grins. "Yes, I'm going to ask."
Essdara grins up at him. "I think that is a very fine idea, T'ral. I do so get put out when people have troubel staying warm in the winter, and you've been very companionable, so far."
T'ral, being older and presumably more worldly, should be at the advantage in this exchange. He's doing a fine job of giving that position up to Essdara, and perhaps he belatedly realises this, for he straightens up and pushes away from the wall by the hearth, extending one of his large hands. "You done down here, then?"
Essdara looks around at the kitchens, then back to the brownrider, taking his hand. "Yes, thankfully, I finally am." A grin, "And to think, I didn't think I was going to meet your Darageth until spring."
Where: Kitchens
When: Late evening, Day 28, Month 10, Turn 1, 7th pass
Comment: Dara took over in this one, and acted a whole lot different than I expected, especially the end result.
It's late evening in the weyr kitchens, and the often-hectic caverns are serene and almost silent. A few stray cooks man the night hearths, keeping fresh stew and klah and suchlike ready for those with late duties, or who missed dinner. One of these is Essdara, who is standing at a stew pot and stirring it, ladle moving in slow circles widdershins, a light hum under her breath accompanying; NOT on key, to her neighbor's torment.
A large silhouette appears in the doorway, and although it's hard to hover tentatively when you're built on the scale that T'ral is, the brownrider has a go. He pauses where he is, riding jacket hanging from one hand, then settles himself against the doorframe to observe the activity inside the kitchens. Those within are scanned slowly, and it would seem that Essdara provides the most sympathetic vision, because he tries out a grin on her. Or perhaps she's just closest. "Evening." His clipped voice is Bitran, and unsoftened by his time at High Reaches.
Essdara looks up at the brownrider, and up a little more, and can't help looking a bit intimidated. "Evening." She says, redardless, and offers a bright smile. "Anything we can help you with tonight, brownrider? There's fresh klah over yonder, and the stew here is just about ready. Unless it's a social call?" She looks around, "Though I think I'd recall if you spent time with any of the staff here!"
T'ral perks up visibly at the mention of stew, apparently one of a large subset of men easily won over with food. "No, just after something to eat. I drew the short straw this evening." His grin is easy, although his gaze has gone past Essdara to the hearth that she's tending. "I suppose if I was smart, I'd start socialising with the girls in the kitchen. Ready access, and all that."
Essdara grins, "Well, let me say this much. We'd much rather be socialised with because you like us than for the food we'll happily provide anyway." She stops stirring and fetches a pair of bowls, which she carries back to the hearth. Deftly, using a small shelf next to the hearth, she fills them. Picking them back up she moves to a the small table the cooks use for eating, and sets them down, "So, please, join me." A teasing grin, "Unless you planned to just steal a bowl of stew, and flee into the night?"
T'ral rises obediently and gallantly to the challenge, shooting her another grin as he moves into the kitchen. He's evidently accustomed to making his way through crowded quarters without dislodging quite as much as his bulk would suggest, for he makes his way over to the table without causing chaos. "It would be a very foolish man who fled from something that smelled this good," he observes, eyeing the dish appreciatively -- although he waits politely for her to seat herself. "Or from the girl who made it."
Essdara rolls her eyes, and sits with him, the other bowl clearly being for herself. "I swear, not a one of you riders can come in and eat without trying to lay on the false compliments. They aren't needed, honest, I'll like you all the better if you just relax and be yourself."
T'ral sinks into his seat with a laugh, slinging his jacket over the back of it. "Where's the falsehood? To a man who's just been up where the air is full of ice, the stew looks as good as anything I've ever seen. Its maker seems friendly enough and decent company, so I think I'd just as well stay near both." He falls silent for a moment, wolfing down several mouthfuls before he speaks, eyes closed in blissful appreciation. Then they open abruptly, and he hastens to swallow his mouthful. "I'm sorry, listen to me. I'm T'ral, Darageth's rider. I didn't even ask your name."
Essdara grins, "Don't be sorry. Food before pleasantries is a common theme in this room. Essdara. And I will not deny the stew's quality; I rarely make a bad one. I just wanted to head you off before you started in on my eyes, or how pretty my hair is." Again with the rolled eyes. "I've a low tolerance for that when I'm working." She takes a large mouthful of the stew herself then, chewing slowly, expression appraising. "Just about perfect, really. You've good timing."
"You wrong me, Essdara," T'ral protests, pausing for another large mouthful. He eats to suit the scale he's built on, that much is certain. "Your eyes are lovely and I don't doubt your hair is worthy of admiration, but you'll have to forgive me for admitting I had no intention of starting in on either." Mischief enters brown eyes then, and his grin returns as he regards her for a moment. "Unless your tolerance improves after you finish work." Even as he speaks his fork is held up defensively. "I'm joking, I'm joking."
Essdara smiles in amusement. "My tolerances are vastly different when I am not expected to watch water boil and tea steep, indeed, but rarely are compliments the way to go for what most riders desire then." Another pause for eating. "Were you? Joking, I mean? A shame, your expression while doing so was not wholely unpleasant, a nice change from those who are always dour and doom and gloom." And she imitates the facial expression she describes, with a scowl and brows furrowed, before giggling. "Pardon me. I am in a very strange mood, tonight, I don't know why."
"My mother says I've got a very nice smile," T'ral informs her with a laugh, devoting himself after that to demolishing at least a quarter of his bowl of stew in the next few bites. "This is really good stuff, tastes better than usual. Maybe it's just the the freshness." He shows no sign of slowing in his eating, but does manage to insert polite pauses in between mouthfuls so he can speak. "Carry on, though. I'm probably frozen solid right through to my brain, so I doubt I'll notice."
Essdara composes herself from her giggling fit, and shakes her head a bit. "Anyway. You mentioned being out in this beautiful Reaches night, and drawing the short straw. Just what, exactly, is it that you were doing out in this? Surely there's nothing that couldn't wait until it was at least daylight?" Her own bowl empties much slower as she watches him, but she can't completely erase the amused smile she wears. "Or is this some odd dare? Sounds more like something T'zen would do, get into a race around the bowl, in an ice storm, blindfolded."
"Does sound like a stupid thing to do, doesn't it?" T'ral, apparently, could not agree more strongly. His good-natured grin doesn't fade as he elaborates, propping his chin up on one elbow. "Wingleader got a little antsy about some fooling around that went on during some drills yesterday. So, night drills. Snow saved us in the end -- no drilling in conditions that would kill Thread before it hit the ground, see." And for this, let there be no doubt, T'ral is thoroughly greatful. "So, if I compliment your eyes, can I get a second helping? They're," and here he pauses, ducking his head to examine them, "as brown and gold as something particularly lovely."
Essdara giggles, "And what something would that be? Your weyrmate wrapped around some poor young weyrwoman's?" Cheeky. She motions towards the pot, "Of course, you are welcome to as much as you like. It is my honor, duty, and pleasure to keep our fighting wings healthy and fed! Night drills, though, that sounds unpleasant. At least during the day the sun warms a little, at night, there's nothing colder. If it will help, I shall hope strongly for a very snowy winter."
She's touched on something there, for T'ral pales slightly under his freckles, smile flickering out of existence for just the briefest of moments. "Darageth's a brown," he responds shortly, clipped Bitran accents taking precedence once more for a moment. But moments later he's recovered himself, and is laughing as he rises to his feet, one large hand wrapping around his bowl. "Don't hope for snow, please! I'm a recent arrival, I'm still learning how to wade through the stuff."
Essdara grins impishly, watching him move to the stew bowl. "A fact, I assure you, that I remember." Her expression softens a bit. "There's nothing wrong with someone who isn't so... High in station... Wanting to fly a gold. Even if it's doomed to failure from the start." Her turn for a bitter edge to her words, and her not even a rider. The latter topic suddenly seems safer, "Ahh, see, there's the thing. Most of us just avoid it, rather than wade through it. Cold, nasty, wet stuff it is. I love my home, but I wouldn't miss the weather."
"It's best not to think on such things, I'd say," T'ral replies, heaping a generous second serving into his bowl. "Better for the weyr and for everybody concerned is the bronzes take care of it." He sounds a little like he's reciting a line, and thumps heavily down into a chair that protests under his bulk. "I reckon you've got the right of it. Dara and I've worked out now that he just drops me near the cavern, and that way I don't have to wade through too much. I don't know what you'd do if you were small, though." His brows draw together as he considers that question, then shrugs. "Still, I've been promised at least a sevenday of summer."
Essdara laughs softly, "Not any summer you'd recognise, I'm sure, but it's not so cold, that's for certain." She pokes at her stew, suddenly disinterested, with a slight frown. "It's interesting the way the world works sometimes, giving us almost enough to be happy... But saving that last little bit for the special few."
"Not so cold will be a damn fine start," T'ral observes with no small enthusiasm, beginning on his second bowl promptly. Thus, he is silent for several moments, although when he looks up his glance is sympathetic. "I think we've enough to be happy. We're fed and sheltered, and living in a better place than most do. I've tried hold life, and I'd rather be in a weyr." He's seeking to reestablish the cheery atmosphere they earlier enjoyed, grinning once more as he draws his chair closer into the table.
Essdara shakes her head a bit, as if to clear it, and forces a grin. "That I can agree with without setting foot near a hold, just having seen the halfwits some of them send for the Caucus. I know Bronzeriders aren't the most humble group in the world, but certainly, they have nothing on the arrogance of a Blooded heir."
"Perhaps not the most humble, but they're up there risking their necks each 'fall for those who never thank them." T'ral makes his point complacently enough -- he's warm, well-fed, and aware that he's probably speaking to a sympathetic audience. Finally his eating is slowing, and he leans back in his chair with a broad grin. "Which Blooded heir's got up your nose then, Essdara? Give up your gossip."
Essdara waves her spoon, "None in particular, honesly. They all annoy me just about equally. But you get used to them after a while. They will only get worse with the cold, don't you think? All those young holders, locked away because of the cold. There'll be trouble."
T'ral laughs, broad shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "I don't mix with them much, I must admit. I eat with my wing when I'm not eating with pretty girls in the kitchen, so we don't cross paths often. I know one of the riders who attends, but she's from Benden, so we didn't get to know each other here. Do they give you a hard time?"
Essdara shrugs, and leans back a bit. "Not so much any more. A bunch of the more troublesome ones left, but there is still the odd student who thinks they are Faranth's gift to Pern. I try to ignore them, but alas, I am not very good at it." A rueful smile. "But I get better all the time."
"Practice makes perfect," T'ral offers glibly, acknowledging the cliche witha grin. "Still, you'd think they'd know how to behave, raised as they are. Most of them do, I'm sure." With these final words he mildly backs away from any statement that might seem other than good-natured, forking up the last of his stew. "This," and he pauses, swallowing before he continues, "This is really good stuff. You always worked here?"
Essdara grins a bit, "Always? I'm not /that/ old. No, only about a turn. But I grew up here, my parents are riders... I'm rather entrenched, you could say. You? Where are you from, exactly? You grew up in a hold, you said?"
"Entrenched indeed, aren't you?" T'ral is relaxed now, certainly thawed out, and showing a far healthier colour underneath his freckles. "I grew up at Bitra Hold, impressed at Benden." He offers no further elaboration on this, moving along as he pushes his bowl away from him. "Still, 'Reaches is home now, and I expect I'll adjust to the weather." A pause, and he lifts his head to inspect the kitchen at large. "Would it be cheeky to ask if there's anything sweet?"
Essdara grins impishly. "You've been talking to the sweetest thing here, no? Was there something else you meant? And if you lived in those places... Don't they have snow there at all? I thought they did?"
"Ah, but you've already told me that I'm not allowed to have you for dessert," T'ral points out with a laugh, holding up one large hand as though to defend himself. "Don't use any of your kitchen implements on me, I'll remind you that you started it." Stretching his legs out in front of him, he subsides to a grin. "We had snow sometimes, but it was a novelty. Not a habit."
Essdara smirks, "Did I say that? I thought I simply said to avoid the baseless compliments. Not at all the same thing. Attention to detail!" She motions at one of the banked hearths, the waning head of which seems to be heating some cooking sheets. "Might be some pastries or pies left over there, usually is."
"You didn't, and yet somehow I sadly suspect it to be the truth," T'ral murmurs, brown eyes still gleaming with suppressed laughter. The brownrider hauls himself up from his chair, strolling over to inspect the offerings in the hearth, ducking his curly head to bring them into viewing range. "Would you like anything, o vision of delight?"
Essdara tilts her head, "If you say so. No, I am quite full, I am shamed to admit. Cook's peril, the amount of food I eat in a day! But thank you for the offer." A grin. "I recommend the pies, the berries were suprisingly tasty this batch."
T'ral pauses, turning to lean against the wall by the hearth for a moment, first using one hand to check its temperature. Resting a shoulder against it he regards her with a grin, speculative in nature. "Forget what I say. What do you say?" His gaze turns sideways, and he claims one of the pies, settling it in the palm of one hand and sampling the edge of the pastry to check the temperature.
Essdara laughs, softly, "I say that, truth be told, the best way to stay warm at night at high reaches is to not be alone. At least the dorms have body heat around, I have never understood how you riders in your private, draughty weyrs manage to sleep when alone."
"Why do you think we're always seeking company? It's about survival, you know. If only the girls here believed in duty to their weyr." T'ral pretends concern over the issue, pausing to dispose of half a pie in one large bite, and catching a trickle of juice with one finger as it runs down his chin. "Are you suggesting I look for a spot in the dorms? Look at me, they'd have to lash two beds together."
Essdara beams a dazzling smile. "Oh, never fear, some of us, at least, know our duty to our Weyr. And, no, I would never recommend the dorms. It's very distracting when there are people trying to sleep around you." She stands, and gathers up the bowls and takes them to clean them out. "One of the more tolerable duties, in fact, if you ask me."
T'ral is caught by surprise, brows rising momentarily as he digests her reply. "We should be glad you think so, I suppose." Faintly distracted now, he bites down on the rest of the pie as he watches her move across the the kitchens, brown eyes tracking her progress with suddenly increased interest.
Essdara is being boring just now, washing the bowls and being positively domestic. Still, she shoots the brownrider a smile as she does so. "Is there something the matter, T'ral? You've gotten very quiet all of a sudden. I'd hate to think my cooking was causing you any problems."
T'ral has his head on one side, observing her, and catching himself with a laugh as he straightens up, shaking his head. "Your cooking was fine, as I told you more than once. I know where I'll be sneaking in for my meals from now on, that's for sure."
Essdara, bowls clean, returns them to the rack. "So, brownrider. Is there anything else I can get you this evening?" A grin, "Or are you, at last, satiated? It is very good to know you enjoy our cooking, though. Sometimes, I wonder how many people really do."
T'ral considers her question for a moment, biting down on his lower lip to smother a grin. "I'd say there's something else, but after the way you spoke of the rest of them, I find I don't really want to be lumped in with them. That seems to back me into a corner, and I find myself unwillingly saying that there's nothing else I need." His amusement may be at his own expense, for he offers her a shrug, arms folded over his chest. "We enjoy your cooking very much, when it actually touches the sides on the way down."
Essdara laughs softly, and moves towards the brownrider. "You're really not going to ask? A shame, I had high hopes for you. I'm not overly eager to sleep in a cot tonight." She looks up at him, expectantly.
"I don't..." T'ral hesitates, chewing on his lip again for a moment. Something's troubling him, casting a momentary shadow over the good humour in his steady gaze. Then, with a shrug, he seems to shoulder his doubt aside., producing another of his grins. "Yes, I'm going to ask."
Essdara grins up at him. "I think that is a very fine idea, T'ral. I do so get put out when people have troubel staying warm in the winter, and you've been very companionable, so far."
T'ral, being older and presumably more worldly, should be at the advantage in this exchange. He's doing a fine job of giving that position up to Essdara, and perhaps he belatedly realises this, for he straightens up and pushes away from the wall by the hearth, extending one of his large hands. "You done down here, then?"
Essdara looks around at the kitchens, then back to the brownrider, taking his hand. "Yes, thankfully, I finally am." A grin, "And to think, I didn't think I was going to meet your Darageth until spring."