Log: In which Leova makes kebabs!
Date: Day 6, Month 13, Turn 23 of Interval 10
Summary: Taikrin runs into Leova for some late-night snacks and counseling about hiding things from one's dragon.
NorCon MUSH - 10/12/2010
------------------------
Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Inner Caverns Storerooms
It's late. Late late late. And pouring down rain outside. Leova's hair is all but dry now, though, sticking up in irregular curls except for one side where she remembered to smash it down. The greenrider's engaged in arraying cut-up fruit, bits of tuber, things like that onto long reed kabobs, three of which are already forming an impromptu teepee upon her plate.
The fact that Taikrin is perfectly dry gives some idea of just how long she's been holed up in the caverns. While Szadath remains in the hatching caverns, glumly looking after his eggs, his rider has been haunting the lower caverns rather aimlessly. She finds her way into the kitchens at a slow amble, shouldering aside the swinging doors with hands stuffed into her pockets and a sullen expression that sweeps across the kitchen and lingers on Leova. "What'er you makin', Leova?" she begins without preamble, meandering her way closer. "Ain't it late t'be havin' supper?"
Maybe the greenrider had missed the first part. Certainly those amber eyes lift only at the sound of her name, paused there on Taikrin. "Getting later all the time," she tells her former weyrling, not precisely happily. "Hungry? Would've been gone already, but Rhonda had to run off." More specifically, her Ishawith did, and loudly. At least the green's well-flown by now. Leova begins to add a fourth skewer to the mix, this one sitting on top at an unfortunate angle. The teepee totters.
"Yeah? Szad didn't say nothin'." Taikrin's tone of voice implies there's rather a lot of things that Szadath isn't saying right at the moment. "Good for her." She leans a hop against the countertop, hands still stuffed firmly in her pockets, and fixes her gaze on the teetering set of skewers. "I ain't hungry, really. Just lookin' for-- somethin'. Dunno. Seemed as good a place as any."
As Taikrin talks, Leova's busy with not so much rescuing the teepee, more like unabashedly lifting one of its legs enough that she can pull bits off the end and eat them. It's a dangerous job, but someone's got to do it. She's got a nod here and there: the not-saying, the dunno, /not/ the good-for-her. "Won't chase you off," she says in the end, though it may not prove true given what comes next: "He not noticing? Or just plain not talking." And: "Restless night all 'round."
There's something a bit wistful to Taikrin's face as she watches Leova plucking bits off the end of her skewer, though she doesn't comment on it. Rather, "I dunno. Neither. Both. He ain't looked at a green since Iskiveth, an' even if he was interested, don't know as how he'd tell me anyways." Her eyebrows knit together as the admission slips out, and she's quick to change tack: "But, uh-- what're you makin', anyways? How come y'put 'em on sticks?"
What she says, it pulls up Leova's gaze into irregular focus, through the weariness that thins and shadows her skin. Then, "Didn't eat much for dinner." And, "Kabobs. Some people cook 'em that way. Just felt like it." She's got another nod for the bench across the way, in case Taikrin should change her mind about leaning, about food, about whatever: it's not too late. She's inclined to silence, but after a while, after a fallen pip gets itself flicked across the table, "Seems like he used to about talk your ear off."
Taikrin takes the hint, finally, slinking around to flop gracelessly onto the bench with a little grunt for the impact. "Huh. Don't know as I've ever really cooked much, y'know? Ain't never needed to. An' my ma was pretty sure I was gonna burn th'place down, so." There's a ghost of a smile there, briefly, before she lapses into silence as well, content to eye the skewers with the air of one working very hard at avoiding thinking. It catches her by surprise, somewhat, and her initial reply is startlingly honest: "Pissed 'im off. He don't like me not tellin' him things, so now he ain't-- well." Her expression closes off, becomes guarded. "Sure he'll get over it. All that time waitin' on Iskiveth, makes him a little loopy."
So maybe the teepee falls right around the time Taikrin takes over that bench, but the wry sort of pull to Leova's mouth doesn't owe much to it. Instead, there's another grunt, of acknowledgement this time: /mothers/. She leans on an elbow, ill-hides a yawn with the butt of the skewer, and moves on toward the middle: just the fruit, biting them off, skipping the savory for now. And if she's startled, she also looks to be pretty matter-of-fact about it: "Vrianth still don't like to be shut out. Pretty much stopped trying." Turns and Turns ago. "Reckon you had your reasons... beyond sheer stubbornness, if you were smarter'n me." The smile returns, deepens for a moment, and then she bites off another chunk of some sweet peach-fleshed fruit.
The casual shrug and unconcerned expression are belied by the dark circles beneath Taikrin's eyes, the tension in her figure even as she sprawls atop the bench. "Sometimes y'just want things t'be private, y'know? He don't-- don't understand. They're just a giant bunch of gossips, y'know?" Bootheels tap a staccato rhythm against the floor, echoing the nerves inherent in the question: "Did she ever find out? I mean, like, force herself in or whatever? Keep worryin' he's gonna figure out t'go at me when I'm sleepin' or somethin'."
"Suppose so," Leova agrees amiably enough, and stretches, sliding the sole of her boot against the floor in a long scrape before leaning back again. "Though Vrianth, she'll keep mum all right, right until she thinks it's /better/ for me to spill. Did she find out... did she find out. /Wroth/, he'd try to force all right. Vrianth, she might wander around snooping. Don't exactly take Szadath to be sneaking around your dreams, though. Mostly, I'd just wake up one day and realize that I /wanted/ to tell her." Her smile's indulgent, all too aware of how she gives in. "And then she'd be happy. And it all felt better again."
"I dunno, reckon Szad can be sneaky enough when he's got a mind to be. Ain't real /subtle/ though. Guess he is more likely t'bull in 'stead of sneaking around." Somehow that's not very reassuring. "Just wish he'd... leave off. Gettin' real protective of th'candidates, 'cause they belong to th'eggs an' the eggs belong t'him." All at once Taikrin perks, resigned musing giving way to a sudden realization; her gaze moves up to meet Leova's for probably the first time all night. "Hey-- you know candidates, right? Why d'you reckon a couple of 'em are so keen on me hittin' 'em? One kid kept tryin' t'piss me off all night, an' then yesterday two of 'em cornered me, gigglin' somethin' about a bloody nose a'fore they ran off?"
"So how come you don't want to tell him? Just to tweak him back, 'bout the candidates?" Leova says it offhandedly enough, anyway, though she's got an eye for Taikrin's reaction. Including the reaction to her leaning across to set the denuded skewer in front of the brownrider: "Snap it if you want." Just as offhanded. Until: "/Hitting/ them?" Her lip curls. "Not trying to get you into trouble, are they? They better not."
"'Cause, it ain't his business," Taikrin shoots back, a note of finality in her voice. The skewer is snapped up immediately, though she turns it over and over in her hands instead of breaking it straight off. "Shells if I know. Reckon the girls were drunk, only it was just past noon. I dunno about the kid-- Myron? Something like that. Said he'd been icin' it all night, so's it wouldn't hurt none. I don't-- I don't get it. Y'think it's got somethin' t'do with Sho?" Grasping at straws, now; the skewer snaps inadvertently in her tightening grip.
Isn't it? The greenrider's brows hike up, her eyes that much more amber in the light, but she gives a one-shouldered shrug: their business. Or at least Taikrin's. She attends to the rest all right, looking less and less convinced until... "Sho? How's that work in?" No glance to see whether the brownrider might have wound up with splinters. "He's the... /right/. The kid who came in the other night, no shirt on. Crazy. But he's from down South, so."
"Well, I gave /him/ a bloody nose, d'you reckon they're jealous? Weyrbred kids are /weird/." Because Taikrin, she's the height of normalcy. "Or... you don't think..." She slips into a pensive sort of silence, forehead wrinkling with effort at dredging up the thought; the two pieces of skewer are snapped in half again. "Th'new headwoman whatever 'er name is was badgerin' me about needin' t'give th'candidates somethin' for some dumb candidate game? I told 'er--" A gale of laughter sweeps through, here and gone again in a flurry of noise. "HA! Told 'er if any of 'em came botherin' me I was gonna give 'em a bloody nose. Flamin' shells---"
"Don't exactly keep track, who injures whom," Leova more points out than admits. "Hope that was before he got Searched." Still, it's not phrased as a question, not with Taikrin thinking so hard, don't want to scare off the errant thoughts. /Still/ no concern over possible splinters. She watches the brownrider like she'd watch a harper performing at a Gather until... until. "She /wouldn't/. Would she? That's not /right/. Hard enough to get kids here to Stand already, they're saying." Somewhere, a frown's crept across her features, and she starts dismantling what's left of the teepee. "Maybe she's feeling her oats. Seeing as how she's sitting in Millie's chair."
At least the sudden bout of merriment has cleared some of the gloom hanging around Taikrin: there's an echo of a lopsided grin, and her gestures with the broken wooden bits in hand are more animated. "Gonna have t'ask Sho, reckon he'll tell it to me straight if I ask. Makes /sense/, though. Shells. I like her." The heel of her boot drums a different rhythm against the floor now, slow and even. "Feelin' her oats or no, that's a good one. Bloody nose. Shells, now I gotta have somethin' /good/ for th'next bunch. Gonna get borin' if I'm just punchin' them all." Er. Amused and /predatory/.
Leova just /looks/ at her, and it's a long moment before she hitches her shoulder again. "Guess you got a plan," she says, pulling her jacket about her as she stands. She tugs it over her shoulders, not yet pushing her arms through the sleeves. "Reckon I'll be off." No excuse of a calling dragon or anything. Just, "Good luck." And with that, she leaves Taikrin with the wreckage, still-unbroken plate and all.
Amusement gives way to bafflement, then something of her previous discontent; obviously Leova does not share Taikrin's view of the situation. "Uh-- sure. Thanks. See y'later, Leova."
Summary: Taikrin runs into Leova for some late-night snacks and counseling about hiding things from one's dragon.
NorCon MUSH - 10/12/2010
------------------------
Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Inner Caverns Storerooms
It's late. Late late late. And pouring down rain outside. Leova's hair is all but dry now, though, sticking up in irregular curls except for one side where she remembered to smash it down. The greenrider's engaged in arraying cut-up fruit, bits of tuber, things like that onto long reed kabobs, three of which are already forming an impromptu teepee upon her plate.
The fact that Taikrin is perfectly dry gives some idea of just how long she's been holed up in the caverns. While Szadath remains in the hatching caverns, glumly looking after his eggs, his rider has been haunting the lower caverns rather aimlessly. She finds her way into the kitchens at a slow amble, shouldering aside the swinging doors with hands stuffed into her pockets and a sullen expression that sweeps across the kitchen and lingers on Leova. "What'er you makin', Leova?" she begins without preamble, meandering her way closer. "Ain't it late t'be havin' supper?"
Maybe the greenrider had missed the first part. Certainly those amber eyes lift only at the sound of her name, paused there on Taikrin. "Getting later all the time," she tells her former weyrling, not precisely happily. "Hungry? Would've been gone already, but Rhonda had to run off." More specifically, her Ishawith did, and loudly. At least the green's well-flown by now. Leova begins to add a fourth skewer to the mix, this one sitting on top at an unfortunate angle. The teepee totters.
"Yeah? Szad didn't say nothin'." Taikrin's tone of voice implies there's rather a lot of things that Szadath isn't saying right at the moment. "Good for her." She leans a hop against the countertop, hands still stuffed firmly in her pockets, and fixes her gaze on the teetering set of skewers. "I ain't hungry, really. Just lookin' for-- somethin'. Dunno. Seemed as good a place as any."
As Taikrin talks, Leova's busy with not so much rescuing the teepee, more like unabashedly lifting one of its legs enough that she can pull bits off the end and eat them. It's a dangerous job, but someone's got to do it. She's got a nod here and there: the not-saying, the dunno, /not/ the good-for-her. "Won't chase you off," she says in the end, though it may not prove true given what comes next: "He not noticing? Or just plain not talking." And: "Restless night all 'round."
There's something a bit wistful to Taikrin's face as she watches Leova plucking bits off the end of her skewer, though she doesn't comment on it. Rather, "I dunno. Neither. Both. He ain't looked at a green since Iskiveth, an' even if he was interested, don't know as how he'd tell me anyways." Her eyebrows knit together as the admission slips out, and she's quick to change tack: "But, uh-- what're you makin', anyways? How come y'put 'em on sticks?"
What she says, it pulls up Leova's gaze into irregular focus, through the weariness that thins and shadows her skin. Then, "Didn't eat much for dinner." And, "Kabobs. Some people cook 'em that way. Just felt like it." She's got another nod for the bench across the way, in case Taikrin should change her mind about leaning, about food, about whatever: it's not too late. She's inclined to silence, but after a while, after a fallen pip gets itself flicked across the table, "Seems like he used to about talk your ear off."
Taikrin takes the hint, finally, slinking around to flop gracelessly onto the bench with a little grunt for the impact. "Huh. Don't know as I've ever really cooked much, y'know? Ain't never needed to. An' my ma was pretty sure I was gonna burn th'place down, so." There's a ghost of a smile there, briefly, before she lapses into silence as well, content to eye the skewers with the air of one working very hard at avoiding thinking. It catches her by surprise, somewhat, and her initial reply is startlingly honest: "Pissed 'im off. He don't like me not tellin' him things, so now he ain't-- well." Her expression closes off, becomes guarded. "Sure he'll get over it. All that time waitin' on Iskiveth, makes him a little loopy."
So maybe the teepee falls right around the time Taikrin takes over that bench, but the wry sort of pull to Leova's mouth doesn't owe much to it. Instead, there's another grunt, of acknowledgement this time: /mothers/. She leans on an elbow, ill-hides a yawn with the butt of the skewer, and moves on toward the middle: just the fruit, biting them off, skipping the savory for now. And if she's startled, she also looks to be pretty matter-of-fact about it: "Vrianth still don't like to be shut out. Pretty much stopped trying." Turns and Turns ago. "Reckon you had your reasons... beyond sheer stubbornness, if you were smarter'n me." The smile returns, deepens for a moment, and then she bites off another chunk of some sweet peach-fleshed fruit.
The casual shrug and unconcerned expression are belied by the dark circles beneath Taikrin's eyes, the tension in her figure even as she sprawls atop the bench. "Sometimes y'just want things t'be private, y'know? He don't-- don't understand. They're just a giant bunch of gossips, y'know?" Bootheels tap a staccato rhythm against the floor, echoing the nerves inherent in the question: "Did she ever find out? I mean, like, force herself in or whatever? Keep worryin' he's gonna figure out t'go at me when I'm sleepin' or somethin'."
"Suppose so," Leova agrees amiably enough, and stretches, sliding the sole of her boot against the floor in a long scrape before leaning back again. "Though Vrianth, she'll keep mum all right, right until she thinks it's /better/ for me to spill. Did she find out... did she find out. /Wroth/, he'd try to force all right. Vrianth, she might wander around snooping. Don't exactly take Szadath to be sneaking around your dreams, though. Mostly, I'd just wake up one day and realize that I /wanted/ to tell her." Her smile's indulgent, all too aware of how she gives in. "And then she'd be happy. And it all felt better again."
"I dunno, reckon Szad can be sneaky enough when he's got a mind to be. Ain't real /subtle/ though. Guess he is more likely t'bull in 'stead of sneaking around." Somehow that's not very reassuring. "Just wish he'd... leave off. Gettin' real protective of th'candidates, 'cause they belong to th'eggs an' the eggs belong t'him." All at once Taikrin perks, resigned musing giving way to a sudden realization; her gaze moves up to meet Leova's for probably the first time all night. "Hey-- you know candidates, right? Why d'you reckon a couple of 'em are so keen on me hittin' 'em? One kid kept tryin' t'piss me off all night, an' then yesterday two of 'em cornered me, gigglin' somethin' about a bloody nose a'fore they ran off?"
"So how come you don't want to tell him? Just to tweak him back, 'bout the candidates?" Leova says it offhandedly enough, anyway, though she's got an eye for Taikrin's reaction. Including the reaction to her leaning across to set the denuded skewer in front of the brownrider: "Snap it if you want." Just as offhanded. Until: "/Hitting/ them?" Her lip curls. "Not trying to get you into trouble, are they? They better not."
"'Cause, it ain't his business," Taikrin shoots back, a note of finality in her voice. The skewer is snapped up immediately, though she turns it over and over in her hands instead of breaking it straight off. "Shells if I know. Reckon the girls were drunk, only it was just past noon. I dunno about the kid-- Myron? Something like that. Said he'd been icin' it all night, so's it wouldn't hurt none. I don't-- I don't get it. Y'think it's got somethin' t'do with Sho?" Grasping at straws, now; the skewer snaps inadvertently in her tightening grip.
Isn't it? The greenrider's brows hike up, her eyes that much more amber in the light, but she gives a one-shouldered shrug: their business. Or at least Taikrin's. She attends to the rest all right, looking less and less convinced until... "Sho? How's that work in?" No glance to see whether the brownrider might have wound up with splinters. "He's the... /right/. The kid who came in the other night, no shirt on. Crazy. But he's from down South, so."
"Well, I gave /him/ a bloody nose, d'you reckon they're jealous? Weyrbred kids are /weird/." Because Taikrin, she's the height of normalcy. "Or... you don't think..." She slips into a pensive sort of silence, forehead wrinkling with effort at dredging up the thought; the two pieces of skewer are snapped in half again. "Th'new headwoman whatever 'er name is was badgerin' me about needin' t'give th'candidates somethin' for some dumb candidate game? I told 'er--" A gale of laughter sweeps through, here and gone again in a flurry of noise. "HA! Told 'er if any of 'em came botherin' me I was gonna give 'em a bloody nose. Flamin' shells---"
"Don't exactly keep track, who injures whom," Leova more points out than admits. "Hope that was before he got Searched." Still, it's not phrased as a question, not with Taikrin thinking so hard, don't want to scare off the errant thoughts. /Still/ no concern over possible splinters. She watches the brownrider like she'd watch a harper performing at a Gather until... until. "She /wouldn't/. Would she? That's not /right/. Hard enough to get kids here to Stand already, they're saying." Somewhere, a frown's crept across her features, and she starts dismantling what's left of the teepee. "Maybe she's feeling her oats. Seeing as how she's sitting in Millie's chair."
At least the sudden bout of merriment has cleared some of the gloom hanging around Taikrin: there's an echo of a lopsided grin, and her gestures with the broken wooden bits in hand are more animated. "Gonna have t'ask Sho, reckon he'll tell it to me straight if I ask. Makes /sense/, though. Shells. I like her." The heel of her boot drums a different rhythm against the floor now, slow and even. "Feelin' her oats or no, that's a good one. Bloody nose. Shells, now I gotta have somethin' /good/ for th'next bunch. Gonna get borin' if I'm just punchin' them all." Er. Amused and /predatory/.
Leova just /looks/ at her, and it's a long moment before she hitches her shoulder again. "Guess you got a plan," she says, pulling her jacket about her as she stands. She tugs it over her shoulders, not yet pushing her arms through the sleeves. "Reckon I'll be off." No excuse of a calling dragon or anything. Just, "Good luck." And with that, she leaves Taikrin with the wreckage, still-unbroken plate and all.
Amusement gives way to bafflement, then something of her previous discontent; obviously Leova does not share Taikrin's view of the situation. "Uh-- sure. Thanks. See y'later, Leova."