Log: Dinner with Paige
Who: Paige, P'draig
When: A few days after the pig roast party.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Quarters, Fort Weyr
What: As promised, Paddy makes dinner for Paige. One thing leads to another.
The Barracks are quiet and dark, all the cots have been broken down, stacked up against the wall in neat rows, except for a few. The mattresses are outside, lining the Bowl wall where they catch the last light of a hot summer day's sun. The space smells faintly of washing soap and lemon, the floor scrubbed down, all the glows empty but the one that sits in a niche outside the Weyrlingmaster's office. All the notes have been taken off the blackboard and the bulletin board and the door to the office stands open. Inside it's neat as a pin, everything cleaned up and tidied just as the Barracks have been. And beyond that still, the door into P'draig's weyr is open, and the heavenly scents of food cooking drift outward: spit-roasted duck, a luxury not often found this far north, the distinctive earthiness of roasting tubers, the sweetness of onions caramelizing over flame. There's a lingering touch of sugar and cinnamon in the air too, though it's faint, like dessert was prepared earlier. And P'draig is singing and not too badly either, though he'd never be tapped for Harper with the odd flat note. The song is merry, the tune light and the Weyrlingmaster seems to be in a good mood.
The young woman who appears in the doorway to the barracks surely can't be Paige; the last light of the sun as dusk purples the skies catches the glint of something shiny in her hair; her attire, no longer formless and oil-smudged, but a fitted blouse atop a simple, fluttery skirt that falls modestly to mid-calf. A touch of scent lingers about her, faintly that of something light and airy, not quite unlike mountain wildflowers, but as Tiasheth's rider peeps hesitantly toward the office and slowly heads for the doorway, it's clear that she's made at least a small effort in touching up her appearance - nothing major, nothing drastic, but small, subtle touches here and there on face and cheeks and lips. Unconsciously, she half-hums along with P'draig briefly, voice deep and warm, if rough and untrained. "Smells good, " she says softly by way of greeting, smile shy. "Whatcha singin'?"
P'draig tosses onions in the pan and looks around as Paige steps through the doorway and joins in on that verse. His smile flashes brightly across his face, eyes warm on hers. "Heya Paige, c'mon in," he invites, gesturing her over towards the long brown leather sofa that angles towards the hearth. "Just about done here and we can eat," he tells her. "As for the song, it's one of my mother's favorites, an old song about summer days. It was so nice out, just seemed to fit, you know?" Beyond the sofa, the table's been laid with a white cloth, clean plates, sparkling glassware and a bottle of wine stands open in the middle along with a vase with a bouquet of wildflowers in it. Palia is nowhere in evidence, likely squared away in the nursery for the night.
"Kinda like the song m'mama used t'sing 'bout flowers in the summer, " Paige replies, smile widening automatically as she moves to take a seat on the couch. A peek over toward the table causes her cheeks to flush pleasantly; what a beautiful setup. "S'awful nice o'ya t'do all this cookin', " she can't help adding, gaze wondering as she glances over to where he's working with the pan. A small, appreciative sniff. "Bet it'll taste as nice as it smells."
"Yeah, it's sort of a, celebration of summer song. All the good things about it." P'draig grins over and tosses the onions one more time, slides the contents of the pan into a holding dish, stirs and covers it. "I like cooking," he says with another bright smile. "I used to be a Baker and I just can't shake the habit really. I -- well I especially like cooking /for/ people. You know. Special." Like this. "Ever had duck?" he asks next and gives the bird a poke, juices running down to hiss in the flames. "This all ought to go together really well, I've got a red wine sauce for the meat, and onions and peppers with a little bit of citrus fruit in it to go with the duck. But before all that --" he breaks off after arranging things to keep warm, and rises, holds a hand out to her. "A glass of wine? A little cheese and bread and summer greens?"
If Paige's flush deepens as he professes his enjoyment of cooking for people and special things, maybe the slight ducking of her chin will help to hide it. And then again - maybe not. "Duck?" she repeats then, peeking back up at him. "Naw, can' - can' say I have. S'all sounds real good." A hand reaches up to take his, drawing her up from the couch. "Yeah. Tha'd - tha'd be real nice."
"It's got a heartier flavor than chicken or wherry, and when you cook it just right, it's amazing," P'draig describes the food with clear enthusiasm. Once she's on her feet though, he draws that hand she's placed in his up to his lips, brushes a kiss there before leading her to the cloth-laid table and pulls a chair out for her. On the plate there's already little slices of cheese set out, each one is a little different. "These come from different places around Pern," he tells her and after he's handed her down into that chair, lifts the bottle to pour the wine. "I didn't know what kind of wine you like, so I'm taking a stab in the dark here, it's a light red, should go with the cheese and the duck."
Paige has to beam at him for his enthusiasm, a smile that quickly waxes shy again once he brushes that kiss over her hand. The different types of cheese draw her attention once she's seated; intrigued, she busies herself with peering at each of them momentarily, eyes lifting to flick to the bottle that he hefts to pour. "Ain' never had red yet, " she confesses, "but if'n y'think 'twill go well with the food, I'll give it a go."
"No red yet? Okay, good this is light then, and drink it slowly," P'draig cautions, grin wry. "Don't want to get you drunk, just ... enjoy the food," he says with a laugh and pours into his own glass then sits down across the table from her, pulls off the apron he was wearing over his clothes, a canvas garment, rosy pink and very faded, like he's had it for a long time. Underneath he's wearing a nice blue-green shirt with a slight sheen to the fabric. He dressed up a little too. "Well then," he reaches for his glass and lifts it, tilts it towards her. "Here's to being a full rider and congratulations on the new wing."
Taking his advice with a brief nod, Paige watches him pour his share, mouth curving upward with no small delight at the rather pretty hue of his shirt. "Still can' quite believe it, " she murmurs as she lifts her glass to his with a soft clink. "S'all feels so sudden, gettin' inter a wing and - havin' real duties and sweeps. Not bein' a weyrlin' anymore."
"Always seems to go that way, at first it seems like it's going to take forever to get through and then suddenly it's all over and you're moving on," P'draig says conversationally as glasses touch. He takes a sip from his, nods at the flavor and picks up one of the first pieces of cheese. "Other than sudden, how's it feel to be out and on your own, so to speak?"
Paige's first sips of the red are careful, tiny, eyebrows lifting with some surprise at the taste. "S'diff'rent from a white, " she remarks with all the inexperience of one who really hasn't had many drinks. "But 'tain' bad at all." A hand drifts to pick up her first piece of cheese, too; there's an experimental sniff before she takes a little bite, mixing it with another sip of the wine. "S'feels - good, jus' strange, " she concludes after swallowing, head tilting slightly. "Quiet, too. Still ain' used t'livin' by m'self, even with Tia bein' there. But s'nice to finally be able t'put everythin' inter - real practice, y'know? The drills weren' all fer nothin' and - I feel like we're actually gonna get the chance t'do somethin', now tha' our trainin's done."
"Mm, more flavor I think in red," P'draig offers over with all the enthusiasm of a that prior life as a Baker. The cheese range from mild and creamy on through to a rather sharp hard cheese and Paddy takes a moment to explain where they each come from. "Half of being a Baker was about knowing where to get things," he notes after a moment, then listens as she replies to that question, taking bites out of the cheese slice he's got in his hand between times. "It's a switch isn't it? Going from barracks to private quarters. I had a room when I was posted at Tillek, it was small but I remember that feeling, expecting the snores and then they didn't come." Beat. "Well, except for my own." He nods about the drills. "R'uen's from Telgar - must be interesting having that different perspective too, from your wingleader?" He reaches for a glass bowl, fresh greens in it and lifts tongs to toss the contents, a light dressing making the leaves shine, the tang of citrus and vinegar in the air.
"Real big switch, " the former weyrling nods, listening attentively as he explains the origin of each type of cheese. "Didja get t'travel t'all those places, too? T'get all those thin's? Musta been excitin'." Nibbling a bit more at her slice, one of the milder ones, she relaxes a bit more in her seat, grinning a trifle when R'uen's mentioned. "Yeah, s'interestin'. S'got a good sense of humor. Seems important t'have tha' if'n yer takin' care o'others. Least, y'did a real good job with all o'us and y'got a nice one." So of course she'll correlate the two. A glance falls to the greens, another little sniff following soon after. "Tha' looks and smells good, too."
"Some, back then. The Masters would arrange for it, you know? But I've done some poking around myself since I Impressed," P'draig explains, and doles out a serving of the greens into a smaller dish, passes it over to her, then helps himself and keeps working his way through the food, while listening. "Thanks, and yeah, I think so too. Humor goes a long way towards smoothing a lot of things over," the weyrlingmaster agrees. "Glad that seems like a good fit then, so far, your wing. I always worry a little about the early days, handing weyrlings off to wingleaders. Sometimes that's when ... mistakes happen," he says quietly and then looks over towards the hearth. "I should plate up the duck, but no rush on finishing that," he notes with a nod for what she's already working on. "And I can talk and carve at the same time." He winks over at her and rises, moves over to take care of the bird, pulling the spit away from the flames and working on a board laid along the hearthstones, apron back on to protect his shirt.
Paige murmurs a thanks for the dish of greens, taking a bite with a series of nods soon after; yes, it's every bit as good as it looks and smells. Her brow furrows soon after swallowing, expression tinged with something akin to worry. "Mistakes?" she prompts gently, "like wha'?" Although she continues working on her bowl of greens, interpersing that with bites of cheese and small swallows of wine, she nevertheless watches his movements as he goes to carve the duck, interested.
"Mostly minor things like wingstrains and working too hard trying to fit into the wing, sometimes more serious, collisions, bad Between jumps during drills or Fall." The duck is sliced up into pieces and with perhaps surprising artistry, P'draig lays out the plates, a swirl of sauce, a little pile of the vegetables and then the slices of meat, a little bit of garnish and he brings these back to the table, setting one down for Paige, keeping the other for himself. His apron gets left behind again as the brownrider re-seats himself. "Overall, no matter how well-trained a rider is, it's a fairly dangerous job. Even during an Interval. I'm just glad you won't have to face Thread."
"Oh." Paige's frown persists throughout his elaboration, but it tends more toward thoughtful than anything else. "I - I sure hope none o'us gotta go through tha'. 'Twould be real bad." And she almost shudders. But then here's the food, all prettily laid out, and she abandons the not-so-cheerful topic for beaming delightedly at the spread. "Y'did all this?" she can't help asking again, impressed. "S'real - real nice. Dunno if'n I've had a meal this fancy and purty." A small smile. "Glad I dun, either, " in regards to Thread. "Hope none o'us gotta no more."
"Just be careful, stay steady," P'draig advises mildly and sits down himself, re-arranges plates a little, his empties stacking together as he draws cutlery into hands, but looks across the table for her reaction to the plate. The delight on her face, brings a warm smile onto his. "And here's to it tasting as good at it looks. Enjoy," the brownrider says sincerely. "As for Thread, it's well gone. I don't think any of us will ever see it again. Our grandchildren, maybe," he muses thoughtfully then smiles again. "Anyway. I should have said earlier, but you look lovely."
Paige gives a small nod for 'steady, ' an answering smile widening in response. "I'm sure I'll like it, " she's quick to assure, pulling up a forkful with an appreciative noise. "S'tastes wonderful!" As for those grandchildren, her nose briefly wrinkles, expression turning almost comical. "Can' quite see any o'us havin' grandchildren. We're all young, yet." But there's nothing comical about his compliment, words that ease another soft flush to her cheeks. "Really? I'm - I'm real glad y'think so, " and she adds, shyly, "Y'look awful nice, too, if'n y'dun mind m'sayin'."
"Good, glad you like it," P'draig says happily and starts working on his own portion, nodding to himself as if pleased with how it turned out. That nose-wrinkle earns a laugh though. "Well. It'll be a good fifteen turns or so at least before I'm liable to have any, but I /do/ have two children which is one step closer to grandchildren," he says with good humor. He nods though at her question, clears his throat, says more softly: "Beautiful." His own shirt gets a quick look and then his gaze moves back up to her face. "My mother's handiwork. Thank you."
"Yer one up on me, " Paige chuckles, scooping up another forkful of greens and duck and a swish of wine. "I ain' a'figurin' on havin' kids too soon, but - I reckon havin' one or two might be kinda nice a bit later. I love lil ones. They're awful sweet." Her flush grows more pronounced as he calls her beautiful. "Oh, " she says softly, gaze shy. "I - thank ya. Yer sweet."
"Always wanted a family," P'draig says with a little nod, "only I expected when it happened it'd be with my weyrmate. Life turned out a little differently. Two kids, two mothers, two different Weyrs," he says with a little shake of his head. "But they're great kids. My son will be a turn old in a few days. Time flies." The brownrider only smiles this time when she flushes and applies himself to eating his food, gives her a little space to cool down.
Paige focuses on eating for a few minutes, gaze focused on sauce and meat and veggies while she restores her heartbeat to a level much closer to normal. "Yer weyrmate b'fore T'mic?" she asks, curiously, hastily adding, "Er, I mean - had t'guess y'meant tha'." There's a smile for the bit about his kids. "Yeah, sure does. Fly." Like in weyrlinghood.
"Yes. Piper. She -- well we Stood together when we were really young. She Impressed here, I didn't. I went off and apprenticed, got posted back here when I got to senior level and then I Impressed Jekzith. We were together the whole time though, even if we weren't supposed to be. Officially. You know." P'draig chuckles wryly, fork hanging over his plate, un-busy. "And after I Impressed, we finally got to move in together. But ... we never had any children. And then she transferred to the South and it ended." His fork moves across his plate again, a few bites taken and he chews, swallows, clears his throat. "I think everyone has an idea maybe, when they're younger of how their lives are going to go. But often, the reality just doesn't wind up fitting the mold."
Paige listens, taking the occasional sip of wine throughout. "Dun we all, " she says softly of that ideal life, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "Kinda expected t'end up married t'some holder, I guess. Figured I'd be a'havin' kids real soon - if'n not now, then in a few turns fer sure. Ever since I got here, s'been like everythin' I ever known got tossed upside down and sideways; never reckoned I'd ever get Searched, even if'n m'brother and aunt ride. Never reckoned I'd ride. Never did once reckon tha' I'd - meet so many good people here." This reality definitely doesn't fit her younger mold.
P'draig takes a sip from his glass, listening to Paige attentively and nods. "I thought after I didn't Impress that I'd be a Baker. I was aiming to make Journeyman, was going to stay posted here, be Piper's weyrmate and have a passel of kids, take care of them while she took care of the Weyr." He chuckles again lowly and finishes off the last of his food. "It's a lot to come to terms with in a short period of time. All of this."
"Ya'd have been a real good baker, " Paige compliments smilingly as she finishes off her own plate. "S'top notch dinner, P'draig." Her expression turns contemplative, nod earnest. "Yeah, s'lot. Wouldn' trade it fer anythin', even if'n I gotta get used ter a lifestyle tha' I never thought I'd have."
"Thanks, I've never really quit," P'draig notes with a clink of his fork to plate as he sets it down. "I like cooking so I've always tried to fit it in around other duties." His hands fold together, fingers lacing as she speaks. "Me neither. For all the ups and downs, I'd never give up Jekzith to go back to how things were." He smiles across at her warmly and tilts his head towards the couch. "Want to bring the wine over and have a sit over there? Dessert's easy enough to eat without a plate. I went simpler for that, little cinnamon puff pastries. Just bite sized."
Paige returns his smile, pale eyes flicking briefly to the couch at his suggestion. "Ah, sure." There, they light up when he mentions cinnamon puff pastries. "Awful fond o'cinnamon pastries, " she tells him after carefully wiping her mouth and standing, glass in hand, to relocate. "Y'sure y'dun need help a'washin' up or - or anythin'?"
"We can deal with the dishes later," P'draig says serenely, "but thank you, if you want, I'll wash, you dry when we get around to it?" He takes up his glass too and moves around the couch, reaches to set the glass down on the low table in front of it then moves to dig the dutch oven full of pastries out of the ashes of the fire. With the lid off the scent of cinnamon, butter and sugar fills the air and Paddy moves a cluster of the round, bite-size treats onto a plate, then covers the dish again and sets it back down in the embers. The plate comes with him to the couch and he settles down onto it, smiling over at the greenrider. "Lucky guess on my part about the cinnamon then. And a happy one too."
"Sounds fine, " Paige answers happily, shifting a bit to lean back into the cushions more comfortably as he brings out the dessert. Her mouth twitches into another smile as the warm scents of cinnamon and sugar roll out, one that widens as he comes over with the plate. "Y'reckon the cinnamon and the wine'll go t'gether?" she can't help wondering, even as she reaches over to pluck one of the puffs from the dish.
"Might clash a little," P'draig says with a chuckle, "so you might have to pick which you want more, wine or dessert," the brownrider continues with a grin and steals one of the treats for himself, balances the plate on his knee and has a bite. Blue eyes lift to Paige's face though to take in her reaction to the pastry.
Paige glances briefly between her wine and the pastry, setting the glass aside in favor of taking a bite of dessert. "S'awful good, " she tells him after swallowing, beaming. Once she finishes the first one, she snags a second, expression utterly delighted. "I reckon I like 'em better'n the wine, really." But she's also been eating them longer than she's been learning about drinks. Still, the compliment's sincere.
"Different tastes for different things," P'draig remarks after swallowing and he licks a bit of clinging cinnamon sugar from his thumb. "Always nice to see someone enjoying my cooking though," he continues with a laugh as she takes that second pastry. "These are kind of a take on one of my grandmother's specialties. She makes a butter pastry that just melts in your mouth. It's all butter and sweetening though, sometimes almost too sweet. So I changed it up a little, so there'd be more flavor, something that lasts a little longer."
Paige surreptiously licks a bit of sugar from one of her fingers, too, while working her way through her second pastry. "Butter pastry?" repeats she, head tilting slightly with a curious glance. "Sounds kinda like an overload o'sweetenin', " she opines, taking another bite with relish. "Flavor does linger nicely from yours, yeah. I like it lots."
"Mm. Made up so it pretty much melts in your mouth right away. Neat trick. But yeah, these turned out nice," P'draig agrees and has another himself. He looks up and over at Paige for a moment, clears his throat. "Want one more, before I put the plate down over there?" a nod for the table.
"Sounds interestin', " Paige has to admit, shaking her head briefly at him while in the midst of finishing her last bite. "Mm, I'm purty full from all tha', " she declines politely, "but thank ya. Maybe I'll have another later. They're amazin'." Now her hand reclaims her glass, another little sip taken before she replaces it on the table, manner comfortable. "'Twas a real nice dinner, P'draig. Real, real nice."
P'draig pops one more pastry into his mouth then shifts the plate onto the table. He takes up his glass as well, has a healthy swallow. "Glad you enjoyed it, it's always nice to share a meal like this with someone I care about." His voice drops a little there, softer, as he sets the glass back down on the table and rests his arm along the back of the couch.
Paige shifts to lean a bit sideways into the couch, gaze settling softly on his. "I did enjoy it, " she's quick to reaffirm, smile faltering bashfully as his voice softens. "Y'care 'bout me, " she repeats wonderingly, expression soft. "I - I care 'bout ya, too. I mean, yer - yer such a wonderful person, and - y'really care 'bout others lots." The fact that she's sitting here is evidence of this.
"I do," P'draig's turn to affirm and her reply brings a wide smile to his face. His hand lifts from the back of the couch, moves slowly to run lightly over her hair where her head tilts near the couch-back. "You've got a lot of courage and spirit, Paige. You had as much of an adjustment to make to the Weyr, to being here, to being a Weyrling as any of the others, but you never complained, never mean. It's been been a while, since I've seen anyone sail through all of that with so much grace, in spite of the stumbles along the way."
Courage? Spirit? These are qualities that Paige has most likely never attributed to herself in two decades; her eyes round, just a bit, face momentarily astonished. "I - I dunno what t'say, " she confesses finally, cheeks pinking. "I jus' tried t'get through as best I could. Tiasheth needed me t'do tha', and I somehow did." No, she doesn't see how her getting through was all that spectacular, but her cheeks gain more color as his hand meets her hair.
"I'm making you blush," P'draig says with a little chuckle, fingers grazing the edge of her cheek. "But you kind of just proved my point," he notes and smiles at her warmly. The brownrider slides a little closer, his other hand lifting to make a slow path through the air towards her chin, to tip her face up to his as he bends to capture her lips with his for a gentle kiss.
When: A few days after the pig roast party.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Quarters, Fort Weyr
What: As promised, Paddy makes dinner for Paige. One thing leads to another.
The Barracks are quiet and dark, all the cots have been broken down, stacked up against the wall in neat rows, except for a few. The mattresses are outside, lining the Bowl wall where they catch the last light of a hot summer day's sun. The space smells faintly of washing soap and lemon, the floor scrubbed down, all the glows empty but the one that sits in a niche outside the Weyrlingmaster's office. All the notes have been taken off the blackboard and the bulletin board and the door to the office stands open. Inside it's neat as a pin, everything cleaned up and tidied just as the Barracks have been. And beyond that still, the door into P'draig's weyr is open, and the heavenly scents of food cooking drift outward: spit-roasted duck, a luxury not often found this far north, the distinctive earthiness of roasting tubers, the sweetness of onions caramelizing over flame. There's a lingering touch of sugar and cinnamon in the air too, though it's faint, like dessert was prepared earlier. And P'draig is singing and not too badly either, though he'd never be tapped for Harper with the odd flat note. The song is merry, the tune light and the Weyrlingmaster seems to be in a good mood.
The young woman who appears in the doorway to the barracks surely can't be Paige; the last light of the sun as dusk purples the skies catches the glint of something shiny in her hair; her attire, no longer formless and oil-smudged, but a fitted blouse atop a simple, fluttery skirt that falls modestly to mid-calf. A touch of scent lingers about her, faintly that of something light and airy, not quite unlike mountain wildflowers, but as Tiasheth's rider peeps hesitantly toward the office and slowly heads for the doorway, it's clear that she's made at least a small effort in touching up her appearance - nothing major, nothing drastic, but small, subtle touches here and there on face and cheeks and lips. Unconsciously, she half-hums along with P'draig briefly, voice deep and warm, if rough and untrained. "Smells good, " she says softly by way of greeting, smile shy. "Whatcha singin'?"
P'draig tosses onions in the pan and looks around as Paige steps through the doorway and joins in on that verse. His smile flashes brightly across his face, eyes warm on hers. "Heya Paige, c'mon in," he invites, gesturing her over towards the long brown leather sofa that angles towards the hearth. "Just about done here and we can eat," he tells her. "As for the song, it's one of my mother's favorites, an old song about summer days. It was so nice out, just seemed to fit, you know?" Beyond the sofa, the table's been laid with a white cloth, clean plates, sparkling glassware and a bottle of wine stands open in the middle along with a vase with a bouquet of wildflowers in it. Palia is nowhere in evidence, likely squared away in the nursery for the night.
"Kinda like the song m'mama used t'sing 'bout flowers in the summer, " Paige replies, smile widening automatically as she moves to take a seat on the couch. A peek over toward the table causes her cheeks to flush pleasantly; what a beautiful setup. "S'awful nice o'ya t'do all this cookin', " she can't help adding, gaze wondering as she glances over to where he's working with the pan. A small, appreciative sniff. "Bet it'll taste as nice as it smells."
"Yeah, it's sort of a, celebration of summer song. All the good things about it." P'draig grins over and tosses the onions one more time, slides the contents of the pan into a holding dish, stirs and covers it. "I like cooking," he says with another bright smile. "I used to be a Baker and I just can't shake the habit really. I -- well I especially like cooking /for/ people. You know. Special." Like this. "Ever had duck?" he asks next and gives the bird a poke, juices running down to hiss in the flames. "This all ought to go together really well, I've got a red wine sauce for the meat, and onions and peppers with a little bit of citrus fruit in it to go with the duck. But before all that --" he breaks off after arranging things to keep warm, and rises, holds a hand out to her. "A glass of wine? A little cheese and bread and summer greens?"
If Paige's flush deepens as he professes his enjoyment of cooking for people and special things, maybe the slight ducking of her chin will help to hide it. And then again - maybe not. "Duck?" she repeats then, peeking back up at him. "Naw, can' - can' say I have. S'all sounds real good." A hand reaches up to take his, drawing her up from the couch. "Yeah. Tha'd - tha'd be real nice."
"It's got a heartier flavor than chicken or wherry, and when you cook it just right, it's amazing," P'draig describes the food with clear enthusiasm. Once she's on her feet though, he draws that hand she's placed in his up to his lips, brushes a kiss there before leading her to the cloth-laid table and pulls a chair out for her. On the plate there's already little slices of cheese set out, each one is a little different. "These come from different places around Pern," he tells her and after he's handed her down into that chair, lifts the bottle to pour the wine. "I didn't know what kind of wine you like, so I'm taking a stab in the dark here, it's a light red, should go with the cheese and the duck."
Paige has to beam at him for his enthusiasm, a smile that quickly waxes shy again once he brushes that kiss over her hand. The different types of cheese draw her attention once she's seated; intrigued, she busies herself with peering at each of them momentarily, eyes lifting to flick to the bottle that he hefts to pour. "Ain' never had red yet, " she confesses, "but if'n y'think 'twill go well with the food, I'll give it a go."
"No red yet? Okay, good this is light then, and drink it slowly," P'draig cautions, grin wry. "Don't want to get you drunk, just ... enjoy the food," he says with a laugh and pours into his own glass then sits down across the table from her, pulls off the apron he was wearing over his clothes, a canvas garment, rosy pink and very faded, like he's had it for a long time. Underneath he's wearing a nice blue-green shirt with a slight sheen to the fabric. He dressed up a little too. "Well then," he reaches for his glass and lifts it, tilts it towards her. "Here's to being a full rider and congratulations on the new wing."
Taking his advice with a brief nod, Paige watches him pour his share, mouth curving upward with no small delight at the rather pretty hue of his shirt. "Still can' quite believe it, " she murmurs as she lifts her glass to his with a soft clink. "S'all feels so sudden, gettin' inter a wing and - havin' real duties and sweeps. Not bein' a weyrlin' anymore."
"Always seems to go that way, at first it seems like it's going to take forever to get through and then suddenly it's all over and you're moving on," P'draig says conversationally as glasses touch. He takes a sip from his, nods at the flavor and picks up one of the first pieces of cheese. "Other than sudden, how's it feel to be out and on your own, so to speak?"
Paige's first sips of the red are careful, tiny, eyebrows lifting with some surprise at the taste. "S'diff'rent from a white, " she remarks with all the inexperience of one who really hasn't had many drinks. "But 'tain' bad at all." A hand drifts to pick up her first piece of cheese, too; there's an experimental sniff before she takes a little bite, mixing it with another sip of the wine. "S'feels - good, jus' strange, " she concludes after swallowing, head tilting slightly. "Quiet, too. Still ain' used t'livin' by m'self, even with Tia bein' there. But s'nice to finally be able t'put everythin' inter - real practice, y'know? The drills weren' all fer nothin' and - I feel like we're actually gonna get the chance t'do somethin', now tha' our trainin's done."
"Mm, more flavor I think in red," P'draig offers over with all the enthusiasm of a that prior life as a Baker. The cheese range from mild and creamy on through to a rather sharp hard cheese and Paddy takes a moment to explain where they each come from. "Half of being a Baker was about knowing where to get things," he notes after a moment, then listens as she replies to that question, taking bites out of the cheese slice he's got in his hand between times. "It's a switch isn't it? Going from barracks to private quarters. I had a room when I was posted at Tillek, it was small but I remember that feeling, expecting the snores and then they didn't come." Beat. "Well, except for my own." He nods about the drills. "R'uen's from Telgar - must be interesting having that different perspective too, from your wingleader?" He reaches for a glass bowl, fresh greens in it and lifts tongs to toss the contents, a light dressing making the leaves shine, the tang of citrus and vinegar in the air.
"Real big switch, " the former weyrling nods, listening attentively as he explains the origin of each type of cheese. "Didja get t'travel t'all those places, too? T'get all those thin's? Musta been excitin'." Nibbling a bit more at her slice, one of the milder ones, she relaxes a bit more in her seat, grinning a trifle when R'uen's mentioned. "Yeah, s'interestin'. S'got a good sense of humor. Seems important t'have tha' if'n yer takin' care o'others. Least, y'did a real good job with all o'us and y'got a nice one." So of course she'll correlate the two. A glance falls to the greens, another little sniff following soon after. "Tha' looks and smells good, too."
"Some, back then. The Masters would arrange for it, you know? But I've done some poking around myself since I Impressed," P'draig explains, and doles out a serving of the greens into a smaller dish, passes it over to her, then helps himself and keeps working his way through the food, while listening. "Thanks, and yeah, I think so too. Humor goes a long way towards smoothing a lot of things over," the weyrlingmaster agrees. "Glad that seems like a good fit then, so far, your wing. I always worry a little about the early days, handing weyrlings off to wingleaders. Sometimes that's when ... mistakes happen," he says quietly and then looks over towards the hearth. "I should plate up the duck, but no rush on finishing that," he notes with a nod for what she's already working on. "And I can talk and carve at the same time." He winks over at her and rises, moves over to take care of the bird, pulling the spit away from the flames and working on a board laid along the hearthstones, apron back on to protect his shirt.
Paige murmurs a thanks for the dish of greens, taking a bite with a series of nods soon after; yes, it's every bit as good as it looks and smells. Her brow furrows soon after swallowing, expression tinged with something akin to worry. "Mistakes?" she prompts gently, "like wha'?" Although she continues working on her bowl of greens, interpersing that with bites of cheese and small swallows of wine, she nevertheless watches his movements as he goes to carve the duck, interested.
"Mostly minor things like wingstrains and working too hard trying to fit into the wing, sometimes more serious, collisions, bad Between jumps during drills or Fall." The duck is sliced up into pieces and with perhaps surprising artistry, P'draig lays out the plates, a swirl of sauce, a little pile of the vegetables and then the slices of meat, a little bit of garnish and he brings these back to the table, setting one down for Paige, keeping the other for himself. His apron gets left behind again as the brownrider re-seats himself. "Overall, no matter how well-trained a rider is, it's a fairly dangerous job. Even during an Interval. I'm just glad you won't have to face Thread."
"Oh." Paige's frown persists throughout his elaboration, but it tends more toward thoughtful than anything else. "I - I sure hope none o'us gotta go through tha'. 'Twould be real bad." And she almost shudders. But then here's the food, all prettily laid out, and she abandons the not-so-cheerful topic for beaming delightedly at the spread. "Y'did all this?" she can't help asking again, impressed. "S'real - real nice. Dunno if'n I've had a meal this fancy and purty." A small smile. "Glad I dun, either, " in regards to Thread. "Hope none o'us gotta no more."
"Just be careful, stay steady," P'draig advises mildly and sits down himself, re-arranges plates a little, his empties stacking together as he draws cutlery into hands, but looks across the table for her reaction to the plate. The delight on her face, brings a warm smile onto his. "And here's to it tasting as good at it looks. Enjoy," the brownrider says sincerely. "As for Thread, it's well gone. I don't think any of us will ever see it again. Our grandchildren, maybe," he muses thoughtfully then smiles again. "Anyway. I should have said earlier, but you look lovely."
Paige gives a small nod for 'steady, ' an answering smile widening in response. "I'm sure I'll like it, " she's quick to assure, pulling up a forkful with an appreciative noise. "S'tastes wonderful!" As for those grandchildren, her nose briefly wrinkles, expression turning almost comical. "Can' quite see any o'us havin' grandchildren. We're all young, yet." But there's nothing comical about his compliment, words that ease another soft flush to her cheeks. "Really? I'm - I'm real glad y'think so, " and she adds, shyly, "Y'look awful nice, too, if'n y'dun mind m'sayin'."
"Good, glad you like it," P'draig says happily and starts working on his own portion, nodding to himself as if pleased with how it turned out. That nose-wrinkle earns a laugh though. "Well. It'll be a good fifteen turns or so at least before I'm liable to have any, but I /do/ have two children which is one step closer to grandchildren," he says with good humor. He nods though at her question, clears his throat, says more softly: "Beautiful." His own shirt gets a quick look and then his gaze moves back up to her face. "My mother's handiwork. Thank you."
"Yer one up on me, " Paige chuckles, scooping up another forkful of greens and duck and a swish of wine. "I ain' a'figurin' on havin' kids too soon, but - I reckon havin' one or two might be kinda nice a bit later. I love lil ones. They're awful sweet." Her flush grows more pronounced as he calls her beautiful. "Oh, " she says softly, gaze shy. "I - thank ya. Yer sweet."
"Always wanted a family," P'draig says with a little nod, "only I expected when it happened it'd be with my weyrmate. Life turned out a little differently. Two kids, two mothers, two different Weyrs," he says with a little shake of his head. "But they're great kids. My son will be a turn old in a few days. Time flies." The brownrider only smiles this time when she flushes and applies himself to eating his food, gives her a little space to cool down.
Paige focuses on eating for a few minutes, gaze focused on sauce and meat and veggies while she restores her heartbeat to a level much closer to normal. "Yer weyrmate b'fore T'mic?" she asks, curiously, hastily adding, "Er, I mean - had t'guess y'meant tha'." There's a smile for the bit about his kids. "Yeah, sure does. Fly." Like in weyrlinghood.
"Yes. Piper. She -- well we Stood together when we were really young. She Impressed here, I didn't. I went off and apprenticed, got posted back here when I got to senior level and then I Impressed Jekzith. We were together the whole time though, even if we weren't supposed to be. Officially. You know." P'draig chuckles wryly, fork hanging over his plate, un-busy. "And after I Impressed, we finally got to move in together. But ... we never had any children. And then she transferred to the South and it ended." His fork moves across his plate again, a few bites taken and he chews, swallows, clears his throat. "I think everyone has an idea maybe, when they're younger of how their lives are going to go. But often, the reality just doesn't wind up fitting the mold."
Paige listens, taking the occasional sip of wine throughout. "Dun we all, " she says softly of that ideal life, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "Kinda expected t'end up married t'some holder, I guess. Figured I'd be a'havin' kids real soon - if'n not now, then in a few turns fer sure. Ever since I got here, s'been like everythin' I ever known got tossed upside down and sideways; never reckoned I'd ever get Searched, even if'n m'brother and aunt ride. Never reckoned I'd ride. Never did once reckon tha' I'd - meet so many good people here." This reality definitely doesn't fit her younger mold.
P'draig takes a sip from his glass, listening to Paige attentively and nods. "I thought after I didn't Impress that I'd be a Baker. I was aiming to make Journeyman, was going to stay posted here, be Piper's weyrmate and have a passel of kids, take care of them while she took care of the Weyr." He chuckles again lowly and finishes off the last of his food. "It's a lot to come to terms with in a short period of time. All of this."
"Ya'd have been a real good baker, " Paige compliments smilingly as she finishes off her own plate. "S'top notch dinner, P'draig." Her expression turns contemplative, nod earnest. "Yeah, s'lot. Wouldn' trade it fer anythin', even if'n I gotta get used ter a lifestyle tha' I never thought I'd have."
"Thanks, I've never really quit," P'draig notes with a clink of his fork to plate as he sets it down. "I like cooking so I've always tried to fit it in around other duties." His hands fold together, fingers lacing as she speaks. "Me neither. For all the ups and downs, I'd never give up Jekzith to go back to how things were." He smiles across at her warmly and tilts his head towards the couch. "Want to bring the wine over and have a sit over there? Dessert's easy enough to eat without a plate. I went simpler for that, little cinnamon puff pastries. Just bite sized."
Paige returns his smile, pale eyes flicking briefly to the couch at his suggestion. "Ah, sure." There, they light up when he mentions cinnamon puff pastries. "Awful fond o'cinnamon pastries, " she tells him after carefully wiping her mouth and standing, glass in hand, to relocate. "Y'sure y'dun need help a'washin' up or - or anythin'?"
"We can deal with the dishes later," P'draig says serenely, "but thank you, if you want, I'll wash, you dry when we get around to it?" He takes up his glass too and moves around the couch, reaches to set the glass down on the low table in front of it then moves to dig the dutch oven full of pastries out of the ashes of the fire. With the lid off the scent of cinnamon, butter and sugar fills the air and Paddy moves a cluster of the round, bite-size treats onto a plate, then covers the dish again and sets it back down in the embers. The plate comes with him to the couch and he settles down onto it, smiling over at the greenrider. "Lucky guess on my part about the cinnamon then. And a happy one too."
"Sounds fine, " Paige answers happily, shifting a bit to lean back into the cushions more comfortably as he brings out the dessert. Her mouth twitches into another smile as the warm scents of cinnamon and sugar roll out, one that widens as he comes over with the plate. "Y'reckon the cinnamon and the wine'll go t'gether?" she can't help wondering, even as she reaches over to pluck one of the puffs from the dish.
"Might clash a little," P'draig says with a chuckle, "so you might have to pick which you want more, wine or dessert," the brownrider continues with a grin and steals one of the treats for himself, balances the plate on his knee and has a bite. Blue eyes lift to Paige's face though to take in her reaction to the pastry.
Paige glances briefly between her wine and the pastry, setting the glass aside in favor of taking a bite of dessert. "S'awful good, " she tells him after swallowing, beaming. Once she finishes the first one, she snags a second, expression utterly delighted. "I reckon I like 'em better'n the wine, really." But she's also been eating them longer than she's been learning about drinks. Still, the compliment's sincere.
"Different tastes for different things," P'draig remarks after swallowing and he licks a bit of clinging cinnamon sugar from his thumb. "Always nice to see someone enjoying my cooking though," he continues with a laugh as she takes that second pastry. "These are kind of a take on one of my grandmother's specialties. She makes a butter pastry that just melts in your mouth. It's all butter and sweetening though, sometimes almost too sweet. So I changed it up a little, so there'd be more flavor, something that lasts a little longer."
Paige surreptiously licks a bit of sugar from one of her fingers, too, while working her way through her second pastry. "Butter pastry?" repeats she, head tilting slightly with a curious glance. "Sounds kinda like an overload o'sweetenin', " she opines, taking another bite with relish. "Flavor does linger nicely from yours, yeah. I like it lots."
"Mm. Made up so it pretty much melts in your mouth right away. Neat trick. But yeah, these turned out nice," P'draig agrees and has another himself. He looks up and over at Paige for a moment, clears his throat. "Want one more, before I put the plate down over there?" a nod for the table.
"Sounds interestin', " Paige has to admit, shaking her head briefly at him while in the midst of finishing her last bite. "Mm, I'm purty full from all tha', " she declines politely, "but thank ya. Maybe I'll have another later. They're amazin'." Now her hand reclaims her glass, another little sip taken before she replaces it on the table, manner comfortable. "'Twas a real nice dinner, P'draig. Real, real nice."
P'draig pops one more pastry into his mouth then shifts the plate onto the table. He takes up his glass as well, has a healthy swallow. "Glad you enjoyed it, it's always nice to share a meal like this with someone I care about." His voice drops a little there, softer, as he sets the glass back down on the table and rests his arm along the back of the couch.
Paige shifts to lean a bit sideways into the couch, gaze settling softly on his. "I did enjoy it, " she's quick to reaffirm, smile faltering bashfully as his voice softens. "Y'care 'bout me, " she repeats wonderingly, expression soft. "I - I care 'bout ya, too. I mean, yer - yer such a wonderful person, and - y'really care 'bout others lots." The fact that she's sitting here is evidence of this.
"I do," P'draig's turn to affirm and her reply brings a wide smile to his face. His hand lifts from the back of the couch, moves slowly to run lightly over her hair where her head tilts near the couch-back. "You've got a lot of courage and spirit, Paige. You had as much of an adjustment to make to the Weyr, to being here, to being a Weyrling as any of the others, but you never complained, never mean. It's been been a while, since I've seen anyone sail through all of that with so much grace, in spite of the stumbles along the way."
Courage? Spirit? These are qualities that Paige has most likely never attributed to herself in two decades; her eyes round, just a bit, face momentarily astonished. "I - I dunno what t'say, " she confesses finally, cheeks pinking. "I jus' tried t'get through as best I could. Tiasheth needed me t'do tha', and I somehow did." No, she doesn't see how her getting through was all that spectacular, but her cheeks gain more color as his hand meets her hair.
"I'm making you blush," P'draig says with a little chuckle, fingers grazing the edge of her cheek. "But you kind of just proved my point," he notes and smiles at her warmly. The brownrider slides a little closer, his other hand lifting to make a slow path through the air towards her chin, to tip her face up to his as he bends to capture her lips with his for a gentle kiss.