DragonsFire
- Azarin - Wednesday, May 15, 2002, 8:38 PM
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Azarin
At a height of nearly 5'10 this young man is hardly one of the shortest people on Pern. His cool gray eyes look out from underneath dark, straight eyebrows. A fairly straight narrow nose lies right in the middle of his face, a minute scar on one side only perceivable because it is lighter than his tanned skin. High cheekbones make his cheeks look hallow, giving him an almost gaunt appearance, which his sharp chin does nothing to amend. Wiry muscles of arm and leg, and a slim overall figure gives him an rather menacing look, though the light in his eyes is quick to turn warm. Dark hair, growing longer again after a brief encounter with shortness, falls limply around his ears and across his eyes, a constant annoyance that he will not admit to.
A simple knot of three cords twisted together hangs from his left shoulder. Orange, black and white announces him to be a Candidate at Ista Weyr.
The sleeves have been ruthlessly ripped off Aza's maroon tunic, to account for the heat of the Istan summer. Open at the neck, it shows a bit of a nearly hairless chest, tanned from hours spent in the sun (without a shirt). His trousers are in no better shape. Black-dyed canvas has been cut off just above the knees, the loose strands of thread caressing his bronzed thighs. Held tightly to his long feet by black leather straps are thick-soled sandals, well worn and scratched several places.
Azarin is 20 Turns old.
He is awake and looks alert.Living Cavern (#2070J)
This is the vaulted, high-ceilinged main gathering area of Ista Weyr, where riders, residents and drudges congregate to socialize and make merry. Or even just to eat. Long, sturdy tables fill most of the cavern in neat rows, two of them hemming about the hearths that line the northeastern curve of the cavern. Sideboards by the kitchen entrance groan beneath a constant burden of food and drinks, kept fresh by the cooks and lower caverns staff.
Jania is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchen Lower CavernsJania
Jania is a short legged bustling woman. Under her baggy clothes it is hard to tell whether she is voluptuous or just fat, although as she moves her tunic clings momentarily to otherwise hidden curves. She often wears a faint smile, her soft green eyes twinkling as though inviting others to join her in laughing at some private joke. Most of the time she wears her brown hair haphazardly tucked into a bun. When she wears the sunstreaked mass down, it is thick and unruly, with the bottom edge unevenly hacked off just below her shoulders.
Her crisp linen tunic hangs loosely to midthigh, meeting the sturdy brown leather of her ankle length skirt. Under the skirt an occasional flash of white petticoats, now muddied past redemption, is visible, Jania's attempt at insulation against the weather change. The chunky brown boots are also sadly muddied from repeated treks across the Bowl in this miserable wet weather. Around her neck and body is a heavy woven scarf in shades of brown, worn almost likea sling for a broken arm. An odd accessory, until you realize the sling is occupied. The thin, rash-covered infant within is sleeping contentedly, a wet milky bubble burbling from her lips in a soft snore. Jania appears more than a little frazzled, with deep circles under her eyes. Roanoake regards you, perched atop Jania's shoulder.
Jania is 31 Turns, 9 months, and 18 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Roanoake
Whooeee!!!
Jania
's eyes narrow as she spots the candidate that just entered the Cavern. She
knows him! Hoisting herself to her feet from the rocker, and patting the restless
baby on her back, she strides purposefully across the Cavern to where he lurks
by the tunnel.
Azarin strolls in from the deeper reaches of the weyr a rather pleased look
plastered on his face as he makes his way to the sideboard, giving Jania a bright
smile as he passes her, "hello!" Picking out a few items of food,
he's careful to examine the rolls and breads before transferring them to his
plate.
Jania wrinkles her brow at Azarin's casual attitude. If she had nearly poisoned the Weyr, she wouldn't be so....blase! "Oh, young man,"she says in a saccarin sweet tone of voice that should warn all but the most foolhardy.
Turning, Azarin, glances around the cavern, looking here and there for anyone else who might be 'young man'. Swallowing, he nods as he sets his plate back down on the sideboard, "yes, ma'am...." Fingering the hem of his tunic, he looks back at Jania with a nervous expression in his eyes, his previous cheerfulness evaporated completely. "D'you need something?"
Jania smiles cheerily, all of her teeth showing. "I just wanted to thank you so much for helping me get this job here,"and now her smile impossibly widens, making it rather like looking at a hungry dragon, "after all, if you candidates hadn't nearly poisoned the Weyr, I wouldn't be albe to give you the cooking lessons you so obviously need." The smile is still there, but there is very little amusement in her eyes. Remember, she was talking to Kyla when this...person boasted about his experience with spices. A fiasco like the other evening doesn't happen by accident.
"Poison....?" Blinking rapidly Azarin doesn't quite get what she's on about and he shakes his head slightly, a strained smile crossing his lips momentarily. "Job..?" Swallowing another lump, he frowns, putting on a stubborn expression. "I.. We never poisoned anyone," he insists, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "It was all just a prank, you see. A little spice never hurt anyone." Right? A short flash of uncertainty entering his eyes shows that the candidate isn't quite firm in his belief.
Jania agrees, "A /little/ spice never hurt anyone, that is correct." Notice the emphasis on little. The smile spills from her face, "but you ruined enough food to feed a hundred, and used over two weeks worth of spices...so, since no one was permanently hurt, you have gotten off lightly." Until now, her expression promises.
Cheeks flushing, the candidate's eyes fall to the floor and his hands fall to his side. "I... I apologize," Aza mumbles, shuffling his feet as he glances quickly up at Jania, then down at the floor again. "I guess... It, errr, got a little.. Out of hand." Glancing sideways at the food displayed on the sideboard, he can't help cracking a lopsided smile, "I don't s'pose they'll let it happen again, eh?"
Jania raises her eyebrow, dryly saying, "No." And then, deftly hooking her frre hand around his limp arm, she begins to urge him away from the ladened sideboards. "I am going to make sure it doesn't happen again." In a complete non sequitor, she says cheerily, "So do you know what the first rule of cooking is?"
Azarin stumbles along, looking back over his shoulder at his plate left there on the sideboard, while his stomach gives an angry grumble. "Wha'? Err, don't burn the food?" he says, surprised and confused at this turn of events. Just what was going on?
Jania just keeps urging him toward the kitchen, giving a quick nod to a waiting drudge, who, grinning, cleans up the abandoned plate. A few stray weyrfolk whistle and applaude as they notice the little drama going on in their midst. Jania, of course, ignores all this, sailing relentlessly on toward the Kitchens. "The first rule, "she says as they enter the bustling kitchen, "is you always eat what you cook."
"But.. " Going against Jania's urgings, Azarin stops dead in his tracks, glancing at the whistlers with an embarrassed look, then back at the woman dragging him toward the kitchens. "Tamy said never to eat before the others..." he explains, biting his lower lip as he stratches the back of his head again as the whistlers get another, more annoyed, look. 'Quit it,' he mouthes to those he knows in the group.
"Tamyka is wrong, and she'll be getting lessons too as soon as she comes out of hiding." Jania keeps urging him along with a gentle, but firm hand on his elbow. She's not going to drag him, but he /is/ ending up in the kitchen. "Let's see, what would you like to fix for our lunch today?" Oh, really? Jania's going to eat something Azarin cooks? Why not? She is supremely confident in her own cooking abilities and hunger's motivating force for Azarin.
"Fix...? For lunch?" Aza looks rather defeated at the prospect of fixing lunch all on his own and having to decide what to make as well. Looking back toward the caverns and the people with their eyes peeled, he makes his way toward the kitchens. Better to continue this without an audience.
You head into the Kitchen.
Kitchens
The kitchen area is large but dim, occupying one of the larger caverns off of the main living area. The complex scent instantly impresses you - baking bread, fresh klah, roasting meats, the tang of herbs hanging from the rafters. Through the bustling crowd of cooks and drudges, you can see the small alcoves which notch the southern edge of the cavern, some serving as storage rooms for food, and others for general supplies. One tunnel leads below ground, to a medium sized cold-storage room, lined with ice. The northern edge of the room houses several immense hearths, spits, and baking ovens, at which the Weyr's food is prepared. A warming hearth near the entrance to the living cavern always has a meal set out for a rider who might be on an odd schedule, as well as a fresh pot of klah. The eastern wall contains what candidates and drudges affectionately refer to as 'tuber corner' - a series of sinks, the entrance to the dry goods cavern, and a careful arrangement of worktables for food preparation of all kinds. The cheery room is busy and loud, but you can usually be heard over the general hum of activity.
Obvious exits:
Living Caverns Supplies
Jania comes in from the Living Caverns.
Jania steers Azarin to a table heaped with ingredients: cubed meat, spices, flour, sweetener, peeled tubers, butter, milk, aprons, and bowls and knives. "Now let's just see what we have here," she says comfortably surveying the piles.
Tamyka comes in from the Living Caverns.
"Ingredients..?" Aza offers, stating the obvious as he looks over the things on the table, listening to his stomach growl again. Maybe he could sneak something off the table. Even those cubes of raw meat would do for him.
Jania notices Tmayka sidling by and witha wide grin, announces, "Oh, good. Here's another pupil for our lessons." Jania nods toward the piles of ingredients. "And what kinds of food do we usually see these ingredients in? she asks, while keeping an eye on Tamyka.
Tamyka is completely oblivious to the fact that perhaps a /couple/ of people at Ista Weyr didn't like the candidate's cooking. But the only people that would know it was them would be the cooks, who report to the Headwoman. As the young woman happily makes her way into the kitchens, ready for another day filled with kitchen chores, gray orbs rest upon the Headwoman. "I'm sorry, I'm just in here for a quick word with Azarin... I can see he's busy, though, so I'll leave you two alone."
Assistant Headwoman, actually, but don't let that stop anyone. "Oh, Tamyka, please join us, "Jania nearly carols. "I was just thanking Azarin for all that you three did to help me get this wonderful job here. Keeping an eye on candidates, teaching candidates how to cook..." Ha. If Tamyka thinks the whole WEyr doesn't know who the responsible parties are, she doesn't know much about drudges. Drudges gossip, and many of them have friends among the dragonriders.
Azarin shrugs, his eyes pleading with Tamyka not to leave, while he speaks to Jania "I dunno? Rolls, maybe?" He was certain that meat didn't go in cookies, after all. At least, the way normal people made them. Fingers sliding across the surface of the table, they slowly, slowly make their way toward the meat, the candidate looking for an opening to get away with stealing something to settle his empty stomach.
Tamyka
Soft locks of red-hued brown drape around Tamyka's face and around her shoulders, providing a nice contrast to her rather pale skin tone. Her face has considerably thinned since her younger turns, her facial features becoming more defined and attractive as she ages. A slim nose, rather petite compared to her other features is placed most delicately above rose petal soft lips. Round eyes are colored a pale aquamarine blue, ringed precisely with sooty gray, and framed with long, dark lashes. Tamyka's femininity has definitely become more apparent, her chest and hips shaping into the curves of womanhood. Her thin arms usually drape in some manner about her chest or rest on her hips, trying to hide the obviousness of her growth. Her legs, short as they might be, make up most of her 5'4 frame.
A simple dress of pale blue drapes Tamyka's petite frame, adding a nice wave of color to her rather dull persona. Resting upon Tamyka's shoulder is a simple knot, a single cord with a single loop in Ista Weyr's colors of orange and black. A thin strand of white carefully weaves itself in and out of the faded colors of Tamyka's knot, denoting the young woman as an Ista Weyr Candidate.. Jelly regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Flizard regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Sorceress Polgara regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Commando regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Ganso regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder.
Tamyka is 19 Turns, 5 months, and 14 days old.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 5 minutes.
Carrying:
Ganso
Commando
Sorceress Polgara
Flizard
Jelly
Jania nods approvingly at Azarin, casually picking up a very sharp knife and examining the edge as his fingers inch toward the meat pile. "Meatrolls it is...maybe with a fruit salad?"With that, she quickly spears a rolling redfruit, and chops it in half wwitha solid thunk, millimeters from Azarin's fingers. It's all in the hands, of course. Jania's smile never slips.
Tamyka eyes Jania, shaking her head, "I'm actually on other chores right now, Ma'am. I can't ignore them for some silly cooking lesson when I won't be cooking after /this/ lovely experience anymore." She's a healer, not a cook. "And, I'm sorry to say Ma'am, but rider C'ef requests Azarin's audience as well. We have an extremely important lesson in the bowl right now.
Jania raises her eyebrow at this...cheeky response. Oh really? "Chores you say? And C'ef?" she says thoughtfully. One of the drudges lurking nearby jogs out of the kitchen on a nod from Jania. Uh-oh. "That's odd...I helped draw up the duty roster today....and yes...I do believe I suggested you be assigned to the kitchen for this hour. And, lo and behold, here you are, right on time!" Jania has had to deal with younger brothers before, after all.
Azarin jerks his fingers back, examining them for anything that might be missing. Eyes going from his intact finger-tips to Tamyka, he grins crookedly until he looks back over at Jania, his face falling into serious folds. He wasn't really sure who had superiority, but he would rather tag along with Tamy, rather than cook up meatrolls and fruit salad. "But.. If C'ef needs help," he says, trying to sound as convincing as his fellow candidate, but failing miserably.
Tamyka eyes the assistant headwoman, shaking her head once more, "I'm sorry ma'am. I take orders from a rider before than of an assistant headwoman. I understand that you may need me in here for this hour, but I have offered my duties elsewhere. I see that Azarin is doing perfectly well with his... slavery... perhaps you'll have the opportunity to catch me some other time." Shooting an irritated glare in Jania's general direction, the candidate smiles vaguely toward Azarin and mouths something that looks like 'I'm sorry.'
The same drudge jogs back in, and shakes her head at Jania, rolling her eyes. Exactly. "That's too bad, Tamyka. Azarin, C'ef doesn't mind you fixing yourself a meal. It's too bad Tamyka doesn't have the same opportunity before she goes off on her chores. She''ll be pretty hungry by tonight when the next cooking lesson is scheduled."
Azarin's jaw drops at Tamyka's behavior, staring at her with a look of pure disbelief. Not so much that she's leaving him here with the assistant headwoman, but that she would speak like that to someone of rank. "What're you /doing/," he whispers, a quick glance shot at Jania before his eyes are back at the other candidate.
Tamyka raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed at Jania's angle, "I hope you do realize that there are other ways to get food... Not that I eat much anyway. Starving someone isn't the proper way to get someone to do what you'd like them to. You can /ask/ me to participate in a cooking lesson, but you can't force me." She has ways out of being forced, of course. It's the privledge that comes with having a brotherly figure up in the ranks. Crossing her arms across her chest, the young woman clears her throat and speaks up, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll attend to /real/ chores." Who wants to cook, anyway?
Jania quietly shows Azarin how to core and peel the pile of fruit into a waiting bowl. Knife pointed away from the body, please. She appears to be ignoring the interplay between the two candidate, but she isn't impressed. "Of course, Tamyka. Real chores. Oh, and Kr'lin can't wait for the first meal you fix for him." The baby fusses a little in the sling, and Jania slips her the sugar teat that had fallen from her mouth while she dozed.
Azarin reluctantly turns to follow Jania's intructions in peeling and coring and whatever. No need to teach him how to use a knife, however, he's quite capable with one of those. Hoping that the assistant headwoman isn't watching, he snatches up a piece of meat, slipping it into his mouth before he can be stopped. Grinning at Tamyka at his small victory, he proceeds with watching Jania's intructions, chewing his prize with as little motion of his jaws as possible.
Mesopha comes in from the Living Caverns.
Mesopha wanders aimlessly in, on the lookout for some /real/ food, seeing as how the last meal she had contained enough garlic to wipe out Pern. Seeing Jania, she gives a wave, as well as a nod and a wink to the candidates.
Jania winces as she notices Azarin chomping away on his stolen tidbit. "You know, meat is better cooked to kill the parasites. Worms, bacteria, all kinds of vile things can lurk in uncooked meat. Ah, Mesopha!" She hails the rounded greenrider, shifting her grand daughter in her sling as she turns. "I was just telling Tamyka here how interested Kr'lin and all the other dragonriders are in her cooking lessons."
Azarin shrugs, letting Jania's lecture on uncooked meat roll past him. Never made /him/ sick to eat raw meat, and he's done plenty time. "It's okay, ma'am.. My stomach can take it," he explains, giving Mesopha a bow and a smile as she arrives, then turns back to the cooking lesson. He'll take it whether he likes or not, with the prospect of food lurking at the end..
Mesopha
Tall and lanky, Mesopha isn't much to look at as far as her form is concerned; her narrow hips and almost boyishly flat chest leave a tad bit to be desired in that department. But there is an undeniable grace that taints her walk, giving her a confident swagger that suggests a past experience with runners. Well toned muscles shift quite nicely in her arms and legs when she moves, affirming the vigorous activity being a dragonrider entails you to. Impossibly vermillion curls frame her face with crisp ringlets of flame, bringing out the color in her vibrant emerald eyes and deepening her freckles, which, at the moment, are in abundance due to summer sun. Wild and impetuous, she is the uintessential red-head, with little care for more than the finer things in life; fun, wine, and friends. All of the above, and all in excess!
On her right shoulder is the intricate orange and brown loop of a Wingsecond at Ista Weyr, a brown streak intertwining to indicate the color of her lifemate.
Woah! There is some serious pot belliage going on here! Under a loose fitting white tunic and a looser fitting leather jacket, Meso's belly has grown to monumental proportions. Makes her look like a stick with a watermelon stuck to it. Anyway, she also wears leather pants of the same hue as the jacket, black boots scuffed and worn. No flying about for /this/ girl. She's stuck with walking if she wants to get somewhere. Daedra is curled around the back of Mesopha's neck, her head poking out through vermillion curls as she measures you with a calculating eye. Piper blinks at you from his perch on Mesopha's right shoulder, shifting his paws from neck to ear to cheek, then back again. Harry regards you, perched atop Mesopha's shoulder. Verdigris is perched haughtily upon Mesopha's left shoulder.
Mesopha is 29 Turns, 5 months, and 3 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Verdigris
Harry
Piper
Vile Vial
Daedra
Brighter, sunnier...heck, even giddier.
Sliding some green leafy stuff across the table next, Jania shows Azarin how to chop the mint with finger tips curled under. "A mint sauce on fruit is very popluar in Southern Boll." Some sweetener, the mint, a liitle lemon juice, and voila! Let it mascerate while the rest of the food is prepared and you have dessert.
Tamyka gives an amused snort following Jania's statement, but smiling at Mesopha, she gives the woman a bow. "/I/ was just explaining that I had better things to do than cook. I was requested by C'ef to do some chores for him," and she's not lying, either. "Jania, Ma'am, I'd be happy to cook for the dragonriders /any/ time they'd like. Whether or not they get sick, die, or otherwise show that they dislike, I really don't have any control over it. And frankly, I could care less." Turning easily toward the exit toward the Living Caverns, the candidate begins to walk in that direction.
Mesopha sighs, holding up a hand. "I'll talk to C'ef. This is important stuff." she gives Tamyka a grin to soften her words. "Don't want another meal like the last one you guys prepared." She winces at the memory, ambling, (or waddling, really) over to peek on what they're working on.
Azarin leans against the table, halfway watching Jania's doings, halfway watching what the cooks are bringing out of the ovens over there at the other end of the kitchen. With Tamyka saying something about dying and caring less, he turns and stares at her as she moves toward the exit. "Tamy...." he says, while letting out a breath, thinking that she's gone over the edge this time. You just can't say something like that to someone of rank. Heck, you can't say something like that to /anyone/ in Aza's opinion.
Jania 's lips pinch as she watches Tamyka saunter toward the exit. Narrowing her eyes, she says, "Have a wonderful idea. Please, wait, Tamyka. Mes, can Hwyllth bespeak C'ef's dragon? Let's see what his opinion of the...ah...useless cooking lessons is. I believe he was the one that threw up, wasn't he?" Jania may be new but she knows the gossip and has the ammunition.
Tamyka shakes her head quickly, "Actually, ma'am, you're /wrong/. He wasn't present for dinner because he had night watch with his lifemate. He didn't have the opportunity to eat my beautiful meal." Hey, if anything, it was colorful! The girl stops, turns about, and faces the two Istans, her own lips pursed. "C'ef is going to be quite angry to know that his /healer/ was late due to cooking complaints that happened over a sevenday ago."
Mesopha's own eyes narrow, one eyebrow arched slightly. Placing her hands on her hips, she glances back and forth between the pair. "What in the world's wrong with C'ef?" she asks in a weary sort of voice, at the same time silently asking Hwyllth to bespeak C'ef's lifemate as she was asked.
Azarin shrinks back, a step or mumbling something like 'this isn't what I'd planned for my turnday' his eyes darting all the time between Tamyka and Jania, and every once in a while glancing toward Mesopha. Shrugging at the rider's question he backs off another step, bumping into Greasy Cook, turning to give him a stumbling apology. "Sorry, sir.. Won't happen again..."
Jania says kindly to Azarin, "This is my turnday gift to you....haven't you ever heard of the gift of knowledge?" She pats the poor boy on the shoulder, stretching a little to reach. She has no doubt now as to who was the ringleader in the debacle. Well, that was part of what she was assigned to find out, too.
"His mother died a month back, if you must know, and he's suffering from mild depression. As an apprentice, I studied a bit about depression, post traumatic stress disorder and things like that, and know how to work with someone to help them get back to their normal lives. Perhaps cooking is important while I'm a candidate, but I took an oath as a healer, and I'll be true to that before an unnecessary class that I won't ever use again." Tamyka glances toward the exit and then back to the brownriding Mesopha. "Were /you/ even aware that his mother was deceased?" Not many are, that's for sure. He's a prime example of a person that could possibly commit suicide.
Mesopha gives Tamyka a warning look, eyebrow arching ever higher. "No I was not. He has never mentioned it to me, but I wouldn't expect him to as it's his business. If he felt /I/ should know, I'm sure he would tell me. As for your oath and his depression...." she sighs again, "Your self made burden of 'treating' him can be well carried out by our fully trained Healer staff." she purses her lips. "Your dedication to your craft is admirable, but but in all honesty, he should be seen by one of our Healers, not a candidate who happens to have been a Healer Apprentice before she was searched."
Gift of knowledge? In fact, that was one thing Aza hadn't expected to receive as a turnday present, if anything at all. Tamyka's story has him study the floor with extreme interest. He didn't even /know/ where his mother was right now. Or if she was even alive. Folding his arms around his waist he hugs himself, glances up once in a while, all thoughts of cooking or eating forgotten. "I wish my mom would come to the Hatching.." he mumbles, just to add /something/ to the conversation, be it the right thing to say or not.
Jania rubs her hand across the back of her own motherless granddaughter, who belches loudly in her sleep and snuggles closer to Jania's warm front. Gently, Jania says, "Be that as it may, Tamyka, I believe healers are also obligated to take life threatening problems to the healers in charge, not try to keep them quiet for whatever reason. And if he hasn't gone to the healers for personal reasons, do you really think that bellowing them across the Kitchens is the way to keep his confidences? Even to get out of a cooking lesson? Azarin, the meat has enough seasoning...if you take it over to the cook there, he'll help you fry it up and roll it in the dough."
Tamyka shrugs easily, she doesn't give a rat's behind about what Mesopha has to say, or what her opinion is on the matter. "I was there when he got drunk, when he spilled the news to me and then when he begged me not to hold his drunken ramblings against him. I told him that he needed help, and since I already knew his situation, that I could assist him in getting better. A little bit of talking and friendship is all it takes." The young woman continues on, pausing in the doorway with only a glance back, "Ista Weyr may have a fully trained staff of healers of every sort, but whether a victim of depression feels comfortable to confide in them is a different story. In this particular event, he chose me, and I'm taking it upon myself to help him." And that's the end, in Tamyka's opinion. This conversation is /over/. Out of the kitchens and out of the living caverns she goes, oblivious to whatever Jania's just said.
Jania hisses and shrugs as Tamyka blows through the doorway. Glancing over at Mesopha, she says succinctly, "We're going to have problems if that one Impresses a gold." Nuff said.
Mesopha scowls, turning back to the lesson. "If she impresses, she'll understand. A person's bond to their lifemate is more profound than any bond they can have otherwise, including those of blood." She sighs, playing with a few mint leaves. "Anyway, /I/ could use a cooking lesson. Useful information, that." she smiles weakly, wondering what in the world can be done with the girl.
Jania playfully tosses Mes a few loose pieces of fruit. "Feed that bottomless pit of yours." she teases.
Tamyka
rolls herself into a cute ball of slumber.
Tamyka has disconnected.
Azarin unhitches his arms from his waist and carries the meat over to the appointed cook, leaving it there on the table beside him and then returns to Jania and Mesopha for the next step in the cooking lesson, although his mind is not on food anymore. "I wonder if mom and dad are still at Tillek," he mutters to himself, finding his perch against the counter again, watching the assistant headwoman with detached interest.
"The cook will get that going for you, Azarin. Mes, will you join us for lunch?" Jania still has a faint crease between her brows. Dealing with Tamyka's overt defiance has disturbed her. Hearing Azarin's words, she flicks him a quick smile, "You're from Tillek, then?"
Munch munch. Meso takes full advantage of the offered fruit, chomping hungrily. "Ahhh, Tillek. Good wine, good runners. I was a stablehand there for a turn or so. Wonderful stock." rubbing her hands together, she peers about the kitchen. "So, what are we making?"
"No," Azarin shakes his head, fingers running along the edge of the counter, his eyes following them. "Benden, originally, then Tillek. My family're all vintners.." Shrugging, he looks up at the two women, giving a lopsided grin, trying to turn his mood into something more appropriate for a turnday. "Can we make bubblies?"
Jania informs her, "Meatrolls and fruit salad for lunch. And, apparently, bubblies to use up some of the fruit." Inclining her head at Mes's immense watermelon stomach, Jania sets about pulling out the ingredients for the pasteries. Flour, butter, a /little/ salt, and water. That's it.
Mesopha
slips into the shadows, unnoticed.
Mesopha has disconnected.
Azarin grins crookedly at the care with which Jania extracts just a /little/ salt. "Where'd you come from, ma'am," he enquires, beginning to make smalltalk now that Tamyka and her silly arguments were gone. "I would've never come here voluntarily, y'know.. Too hot. The dragon who Searched me said I /had/ to come." Giving Mesopha a quick glance and a grin, he then leans toward Jania, whispering, "it was /her/ brown, y'know?"
Jania says with a smile, "Mes and Hwyllth are wonderfully nice. If he said you'd make a good dragonrider, I'd believe it. As for me..." Jania sighs, her hand going unconsciously to the sleeping baby. "No place, really. I've been working my own way in the world for 15 turns. Ista is the first place I've called home in a long time."
Azarin nods slowly, his fingers still clutching the edge of the table. "I thought Fort was gonna be my home.. 'fore I was searched," he says, shrugging. "I s'pose if I Impress I'll have to stay here." He wrinkles his nose slightly at that thought, looking ill at easy at the prospect of spending the rest of his life on this overheated island. "I hope I get used to the heat.."
Jania promises, "You will-it's much better come winter." Ah-much fast than you'd think, the food is ready, bubblies, meatrolls, and fruit. As it comes out of the oven, Jania cocks an eyebrow at the candidate, "Would you like to eat in here or in the Living Cavern?"
Azarin glances toward the caverns, then back at Jania, giving her a lopsided smile to go along with his raised eyebrow. "Let's show 'em that we can make a descent meal," he says, meaning those who had whistled at them earlier on. "I bet they'll be jealous of those fresh bubblies too..."
Jania loading the young man's arms with the dishes, Jania shares a conspiratorial grin. "I'm sure they will be. You could be a very good cook-you pay attention even under stress."And this was stressful, no doubt about it.
"I'm a hunter, really... Stress isn't good when hunting," Aza notes, off-handed as he makes his move toward the living cavern, not waiting for the assistant headwoman to follow. "But there was a lot of trouble in my family when I was growing up, so I s'pose I'm used to it..." And so it goes. Aza disappears into the caverns, bearing the food his stomach still craves, whether he remembers it or not.
Jania heads into the Living Caverns.
You head into the Living Caverns.
Living Cavern (#2070J)
This is the vaulted, high-ceilinged main gathering area of Ista Weyr, where riders, residents and drudges congregate to socialize and make merry. Or even just to eat. Long, sturdy tables fill most of the cavern in neat rows, two of them hemming about the hearths that line the northeastern curve of the cavern. Sideboards by the kitchen entrance groan beneath a constant burden of food and drinks, kept fresh by the cooks and lower caverns staff.
Jania is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchen Lower Caverns
As Azarin and Jania emerge from the kitchen, the loafers at the table stand and give a thunderous round of applause. Jania chuckles. "I think they approve."
Azarin sets the food down on a empty table, shooing away a firelizard lounging there, making sure it doesn't get into the food, then takes a bow as his face turns deeply red. "I guess," he notes to Jania, turning his back to the applause to slip into a chair and begin the meal. "Would you like to have some too, ma'am?" he asks, being a perfect gentleman.
Jania waves her hand regally as she seats herself, shifting the still sleeping infant to a more comfortable postion. "Please do," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"
Jania samples her food with a pleased smile. Suddenly the baby begins fussing, and Jania looks startled, then dismayed..."Sorry, Azarin. We need to go vivit the nursery for a quick change. I'll see you for the next lesson?"
Azarin nods, his mouth full of meatroll and he lifts a hand to wave at the assistant headwoman instead, then stuffs another half roll into his mouth. Somehow he'd forgotten just how hungry he was...
Jania pauses as she leaves the table. "Oh, Azarin. I forgot to tell you the other rule about cooking."
Azarin looks up, chewing furiously, lifting an eyebrow in a questioning expression since his mouth is now full of fruit salad.
Jania smiles just before turning to leave. "He who cooks...cleans. Have fun." Jania hoists the now squirming and wailing baby to her shoulder and heads down the tunnel to the nursery.
But Aza hadn't actually done the cooking...
Don't try to pull that...Jania will see right thru that, and instead of a week of cooking lessons, you'll get a month.
Jania
is taking her computer downtown to drop it off the Sears Tower. Kerplat!!
Jania has disconnected.
***
Disconnected ***