Xanadu Weyr - Main Docks
Jutting out from the land are the platforms that make up the main dock of Xanadu Weyr. The extruded plastic makes an odd sound when footsteps echo across it. From this dock, two others protrude taking opposite directions, each for a special purpose.
A winter morning has dawned fair and clear, bringing fluffy clouds and a cool breeze. That breeze has, in turn, brought a ship: a trading vessel from a Northern port, slightly the worse for a few weeks at sea. Having passed docks inspection, it and its contents are being offloaded, crew members bustling to get everything done quickly (the better to get the hell out of the cold). While he would probably hesitate to class himself as cargo, Ilyas (the sole passenger) is being hustled off with the same brutal efficiency as everything else: a burly Seacrafter all but herds him onto the dock, drops a lumpy bag in the young man's arms, and hurries off. Left to his own devices, Ilyas shows absolutely no inclination to set down his bag and go help: he seems much more interested in looking down at the plastic platform, looking intrigued-slash-amused by the peculiar echoes made by the crew's scurrying feet.
The breeze has brought a ship, and the ship has brought curious weyrfolk. After all, while the bulk of the cargo may be boring crates destined for the storerooms, there's always the chance of trinkets for sale or extra deals to be made. Soriana's one of those who's come to the docks, dressed warmly for the winter weather in a riding jacket and fuzzy hat. She steps out onto the dock at the unhurried pace of a gawker, pausing partway along it and stepping aside to look over the ship curiously. Well, and also to let a sailor with a crate go by, because she doesn't really feel like getting pushed off today. Too cold for that.
This is probably wise of her. Ilyas, who lacks this wisdom, persists in standing in the middle of everything, and thus in the way - and nearly meets a watery fate for it, when a sailor comes within centimeters of winging him with a child-sized sack of something. "Sorry," says the sailor, not sounding particularly sincere. "Noooo problem," drawls Ilyas, sounding even less so. After a moment's more contemplation of the dock and its contents, he finally starts to shift gear out of the way a bit. This puts him on a direct course to where Soriana is standing; naturally, he greets her, nodding amicably.
It's probably warm enough to not drown. Probably. …better not to risk it. Soriana's just about to resume her journey along the dock when she finds part of it coming to her in the form of Ilyas, so she smiles to him and stays where she is. "Hey," she says, and glances to the bag in his hands before looking back up to his face. Doesn't look like a sailor, doesn't look like a trader, so, "New here?" she says. Visitors are more interesting than trinkets. "I'm Soriana." She glances at that bag again, and doesn't actually stick out a hand, just smiles.
"Mornin'," Ilyas says, affably. Outside of gloves, his clothing makes few concessions to the cold (though his shirt is reasonably thick, and he has a vest on besides, so he's probably not totally freezing his patookis off); without a jacket, it's perfectly obvious he is devoid of either knot or badge. So definitely not a sailor, nor (probably) a trader. "Yup. Here to work, hopefully." The bag is slung languidly over a shoulder, making a muted 'whump' as it hits the small of his back. Now that a hand is free, he dutifully holds it out, smiling broadly. "Ilyas. You got a moment for helping a stranger, Soriana?"
Now that a hand is free, Soriana takes it and gives it a shake! Her own knot is hidden away under jacket, but hey. She looks like she at least thinks she belongs here. She nods at the mention of looking for work, then grins. "So long as you pick the right moment," she says in a joking tone. "This one here seems pretty good, though." She tilts her head. "What're you looking for?"
"Hmmmmmm, decent grub," Ilyas drawls, serenely. "A place to put my head down that isn't all back-and-forth-back-and-forth…" His hand comes up in an imitation of a ship's rocking movements. "People to talk to that aren't sailors…" It is not tactful, the way he raises his voice on that last one, expression Significant. Judging from the expressions of a few nearby crew members, the ship on this voyage has not been the Love Boat, and the animosity is mutual. "But, hmm, what I'd really like," the young man concludes, after a bit of finger-tapping on the worn canvas of his bag, "is to know who I'm meant to talk to 'round here, 'bout getting a job." He beams at her, expectantly. "S'pose you can help me with any of those?"
Food? Check. Soriana nods. A place to sleep? Also check. She nods again. People? Okay, at that one, she grins despite an attempt to be politic and hide it, though she does glance over to one of those sailors giving a dirty look and offer a bit of a half (okay, a quarter) apologetic shrug. As for a job, "Seems to me, if you just take care of that last one, the rest become a whole lot easier," she says. "And I might just know a thing or two. What sort of job are you looking for?" Here is where his lack of a knot makes things more difficult! She can't stereotype, er, make an educated guess.
Out enjoying the fact that not much snow is falling from the sky, Mikal makes his way down to the docks to watch the ship unload. A jaunty grin is cast to the sailors as he passes them along the paths. Hey look, it's Soriana. He alters his course slightly to approach her and her friend. "Heya Sori. Who's your boyfriend?" subtle, isn't he?
"Oh, I can do lots of things," Ilyas says, calmly sidestepping a trio of sailors setting down several crates. Apparently they did this just for his personal convenience: the moment the crates have all been set down, Ilyas is thunking his bag down on one crate and hopping up to sit (rather gracefully) on a precarious stack of three. He doesn't wait for the sailors to clear off to do this, nor does he acknowledge their existences. "Drink mixing, cleaning things, shifting heavy objects, forestry…" Tap, tap, tap goes a finger on the uppermost crate. "Last 'un would be the winner, if I can arrange it." Mikal's arrival earns the younger boy an affable nod, Ilyas apparently entirely unperturbed about boyfriend-related comments.
The crates are off the boat, at least. That's what the sailors want, isn't it? Good enough. Soriana certainly doesn't comment on it, just nodding to that list of things. "Well, there's a tavern that might be hiring," she says, considering. "And I'm sure there's always heavy objects to move." He could start with those very crates he's sitting on! Or not. "But -" Oh, wait, here's Mikal. She rolls her eyes at him with a grin. "Hey, Mikal. This's Ilyas. He just got here." Accusations of boyfriending do not get to have more acknowledgment than that eyeroll, and she turns back to the Ilyas in question. "Like I was saying, there's plenty of forest here, so there should be something." Ah, but who to ask? It's sort of woodcraft, but even more than that, it's the keeping up of Weyr lands, so, "Thea'd know, or maybe one of the juniors."
Mikal seems content with the eye roll as it draws an impish grin. "Well I didn't know his name. Hiya Ilya. I'm Mikal…" he peers towards the sailors. "Hey! I know you…c'mon back here." he trots off, distracted. Shiney!
Definitely 'or not': Ilyas makes no signs of moving from his perch, even as sailors add to the stacks of crates around him. Maybe he's going to nest there. "Tavern, right," the young man says, nodding affably. "Or talk to - Thea, you said?" There's a pause as he rolls the name around in his brain for a bit, before Pernese rank education finally kicks in. "Oh. The… Senior Weyrwoman here, right? So then the juniors would be… right." He considers this for a moment, tugging a leg up to rest against his chest, then gives Soriana a fascinated look, heavy brows lifting (waggling, really) under his mop of hair. "I've never been in a Weyr before - goldriders handle forestry?"
"Well, I mean, not themselves," says Soriana. "And the woodcraft's involved, but they're not woodcraft forests, they're the Weyr's. So, yeah, the goldriders are the ones you want to talk to about forestry there." She shrugs. "Goldriding isn't like people from Holds think… it's actually more like being a Holder or a headwoman, most of the time. Lots of paperwork, lots of just… keeping everything running."
"I could totally do a Weyrwomen's job. Except for the bit about Impressing a Gold Dragon." Mikal retorts as he reproaches the pair.
"I bow to your greater knowledge of the subject." Literally - he actually gives her a mock-bow, a little cautious due to his mildly precarious seating choices. "That's interestin', though," Ilyas observes, while absently giving a sideways nod at a sturdier stack of boxes nearby: join him in unloading obstructionism? Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from snow-amplified sun glare, he gazes in the direction of the Weyr, looking reflective. "What other Holdbred ideas should I know aren't true, outta curiosity?" Mikal's reapproach earns the younger boy another affable nod, Ilyas's expression turning mildly amused. "I'm sure," he says.
Soriana laughs at the bow made literal. "My mother's a junior," she explains. "So I sort of see more of that than most people." She glances at the stack of boxes. A moment's hesitation, and then, well, it's not like the sailors don't have other things to keep them busy for the moment. She hops up agilely, getting a few dirty looks of her own and pretending she didn't see them. She'll move when they actually need her to, really! Until then, she grins to Ilyas. "Well, I'm sure you've heard all the scandalous rumors," she says. "They're not all true. Only about a quarter, and usually the less interesting ones." She grins mischievously. "Oh, and dragons don't eat people, not even kids who don't eat their greens." She smirks over at Mikal's rejoinder. "You'll just have to be Headwoman instead," she informs him.
Mikal puts on a disappointed expression. "Rumors? I've not heard any rumors. Much less scandalous. The horror!" he shakes his head. "Nope, Headmaster…I'm not a women." his brows furrow in thought a moment as if trying to figure out if headmaster sounds correct.
"Not all true?" Ilyas's face, generally serene, goes abruptly sad. Exaggeratedly so. "Fardles. I was lookin' forward to the constant org -" He stops himself mid-word - oh, right, they're both kind of younger than he is. Better… rein that one in. "- Organizations devoted to fun-making." His other leg comes up, and with a bit of deft shuffling around he arranges himself to be sitting cross-legged on his crates. The cold is making him a bit red-cheeked, and his breath puts little puffs of steam into the air - but he doesn't seem to be particularly interested in /moving/. "Good to know. Anything else I oughta know 'bout Weyrs? Or the Southern Continent, for that matter, I've never been further'n Keroon before." To Mikal he adds, thoughtfully: "Steward? Or are Stewards just a Hold thing?"
"You're from a Weyr," Soriana points out to Mikal. "So why would anyone bother to gossip at you about the fact that greens rise and blues chase 'em?" And so forth. She smirks to Ilyas's change of word. "Yeah, that'd be one of lies." A pause, and then, "Though some people are kinda more open about things here." See as evidence her lack of blush and matter of fact tone. She grins at Mikal, adding to Ilyas's reply, "That, or Headman. Headmaster sounds like it's the craft leader for latrines." Back to Ilyas. "Xanadu's far enough south that it's not the tropics, so it's more like most of the Northern Continent than, say, Eastern or even Ista." Her head tilts briefly to Mikal. "Oh! If you're going to be in the woods… there's wild felines here. They've been getting close to the Weyr lately, and they can be really dangerous."
"Organizations devoted to fun making?" Mikal repeats, wrinkling his nose a bit. Mikal seems content to stand though he does shove his hands deep into his pockets as they can go. "Maybe I coulda stayed at Eastern after the hatching for a few days. Warmer there!" he mutters his normal complaints on the cold. "Oh you don't know about Wwyrs then you best listen to my advice." he quickly says, trying to speak over Soriana even though perhaps she's got a point. At least about his being from a weyr and therefore the gossip she sepaks of isn't really gossip to him. "Oh but..yeah, you should listen to her advice on the Felines. I heard they can take down a Bronze dragon!" he ignores the latrines comments, perhaps already bored of his boasts from earlier.
"Innnnnteresting," drawls Ilyas. It's hard to tell, from his expression, how seriously he's taking their comments. He just keeps… smiling serenely. (The expression goes even more serene as a pair of burly sailors go past, hauling heavy furniture - and scowling at the unhelpful trio on the crates. Ilyas lifts a finger - to idly scratch behind an ear.) The talk of felines causes him to lean forward, brows lifting under his curly fringe. "Are they really that big?" he says, looking fascinated. Maybe a little delighted. "I've heard they are. But whenever someone says 'feline' I always think, y'know - the lil' ones, that we've got back home."
Soriana shakes her head at Mikal's claim about the felines, but it's with an expression of good humor. "The big wild ones, they're about halfway between canines and runners," she says. Which kind of makes it unlikely that Mikal's claim about them slaying dragons is true, when you think about it. But, hey, the serene must be rubbing off, because Sori doesn't argue with Mikal directly. Neither does she help with moving things, because she's already busy helping out a new arrival! That's an important job of hers, but she nevertheless extends a hand to Mikal in invitation. "Okay. So what advice do you have for him?"
"Well I've seen some smaller felines that some people think are….cute." Mikal offers a wrinkle of his nose to give his opinion on that. "But.." he trails off to listen to Soriana explain the larger felines. "Well I did hear stories of them attacking dragons. In the past. A long time ago." he improvises as he goes. "Well then if you want advice from me…" he grins. "Have fun! Do your work, once you get work, but have fun too. And make friends with a rider or two. So they can take you places."
Did someone say felines? Not that one is around but someone is around that knows a few things about them felines as Idrissa had to deal with them not all that long ago. She still carries the scars and most likely always will. At least thanks to the cold weather they are hidden at the moment! With a few boxes in her hands she is making her way onwards towards the docks, a thick coat pulled around her as she goes. Upon her shoulder is a blue firelizard that has a rather strange look about him, along with thick scars across his right wing. Rissa pauses as she catches sight of the person she has been told to find and give the boxes too, which are handed over and she offers a slight wave before turning as if to leave, but there are voices and one she knows rather well. With a smile she turns and heads on towards where Soriana happens to be with the new person. "Hey Soriana." A slight nod is even sent to Ilyas before she glances to Mikal and waves towards him, pondering at the talk of felines. "You guys talking about felines?" Though she doesn't think about the big evil ones in the forest, at least at first.
"Good advice. I'll be sure to take it." Once again, Ilyas gives a slightly precarious and very humorous bow: even his sense of balance (evidently quite good, since his crates aren't all that sturdily aligned and can't be all that stable, yet there's been barely so much as a jiggle since he took his perch there) isn't quite good enough to do this without having to put a hand down to prevent overbalancing and falling off. One of the sailors pauses to watch this, with an expression that hints at hopes of watching the young man take a tumble. As he lifts his head back up, Idrissa makes her appearance, and Ilyas gives her an affable smile. "Mornin'. We are, yeah. They've been telling me about 'em."
"S'pretty good advice," Soriana acknowledges after Mikal speaks his piece. She looks up at the sound of another voice, and waves over to Idrissa from her own perch on a stack of crates. "Heya!" she says with a grin, then frowns slightly as Rissa seems to have overhead something about the felines, though she nods along with Ilyas's answer. "This's Ilyas," she tells the other girl. "Figured we should warn him." She looks back to Ilyas. "And this's Idrissa," she says, with a gesture to indicate who in case he couldn't figure it out and a smile. "So! Rissa, what advice do you have for a newcomer here?" Attempting to change the subject? Maybe just a bit.
See? Mikal can too offer good advice. Though he looks momentarily surprised when Soriana agrees with him. "Oh, hey a Idrissa. Not the cute ones though." he says of felines. "Well actually not even the small ones are cute and I still think the larger ones can take out a dragon but Sori here doesn't." he rolls his eyes. "But yeah, he needs advice. New to the Weyr and all." he jerks his thumb towards Ilyas.
Idrissa would rather not think long on the feline bit, not that she has added the two together that they mean the big evil felines off in the forest that are prowling around for blood, and who knows what else those evil things do. Ripley (he blue firelizard) lets out a faint hiss, his head pulled back slightly while he shifts upon his persons shoulder before shifting to press and cur up against her neck more. At the question from Soriana she blinks a few times, a soft ah escapes her and she shifts on her feet while letting her hands settle into the pockets of her coat. "Try and stay warm?" Ya she is /so/ helpful isn't she? "Are you planning on staying around long?" She blinks and ohs. "Sorry, yes I'm Idrissa Beastcraft Apprentice, nice to meet you."
"Oh," says Ilyas, glancing at the snow-strewn banks, "does it get colder'n this, then?" Note that he is not wearing a coat, though he does have gloves on. And a vest. So… some slight concession to the weather. Still, you'd think he'd choose somewhere indoors to sprawl around uninvited on other people's possessions, and yet. "Ilyas," he tells Idrissa, beaming. "Late of Lemos Hold. Well met 'n all that. And yeah, maybe." Shrug. "If there's work for me, anyway." After a moment's contemplation, the young man glances from Soriana, to Mikal, to Idrissa, and finally inquires, mouth quirking to the side: "Do all newcomers here get welcoming committees?"
Soriana has to agree with Mikal every so often, just to keep him guessing. It's in the rules. Out of deference to Idrissa and hissy firelizard Ripley, she doesn't even respond to his eyerolled comment. New topic, huh? How about that new topic. Okay, so apparently the new topic is the weather. She can work with that. "Somewhat, yeah. This is what most of winter's like, but sometimes there's a cold snap." She looks interested as Ilyas divulges his hold of origin and his potential future plans, then laughs as she glances around at the other two herself. "Only the important dignitaries," she explains, her eyes twinkling. "They get met by delegations suitable to their station."
"Well…." Mikal drawls. "Perhaps not all of them." he merely shrugs. "You an apprentice somewhere?" he asks curiously. "I'm learning Healing and Soriana there is all about the Dragonhealing." he sounds a bit jealous he didn't go straight into dragon healing. "And Idrissa does the animals learning. She's great at the runners"
Everyone from every walk of life on Pern was given a memo to be at the tavern that night. ka-el swears it! Because how else would he have been tasked with such a random assortment of things to do? For instance: Now. Now Kale is carrying a bucket of fish of the chopped variety, plus other fishy fluids and innards that smell as such, handling the thing as if he's never carried a bucket in his life. It's held slightly away from him, as if loaded with a disease, and the weight of it being carried in such a way off balances him in that he walks in a clunking sort of way upon the floorboards of plastic. His expression is twisted in a sour look as the combination of cold plus wet multiplied by an unpleasant task equals a bad mood, squared. Did we mention cold? Make that a bad mood to the third power. Unlike Alloy, the bronze firelizard who flies overhead, who is eyeing that bucket with obvious interest.
Idrissa nods slightly while she lifts a hand to point up at the gray cold cloudly sky. "I can get colder for sure." Well it was a total topic change, right? She peers back to Ilyas at the question. "Well, some do some don't. If you like I can totally take it back?" Is that a slight grin? Is she actually joking with a person she just met? So it would seem! "Naw, we're all a friendly bunch here. Truly." A slight nod is even seen. The new movement is heard and she casts a glance over towards Kale curious like and lifts a brow while just watching him, wondering what he is carrying perhaps. "Well I know a good amount about runners, an some other animals and what not." A wave is sent towards Kale, even if he is all grumpy looking. "Hey Kale."
There's a weird little pause from Ilyas at Mikal's question, a little record-scratch, before he flows forward, smoothly, with, "Naw. Never wanted to apprentice to anythin', really. I've been just, y'know." A hand comes up, moving in a languid wave. "Traveling. Seeing the sights." He gives Idrissa a languid grin, adding, "And naw, I'll take all the welcoming committees I get. Beastcraft, huh? Must be interesting. What do the rest of you do?" Kale's approach is watched, with the serenity of someone NOT working, watching someone who IS. It's the same way he's been looking at the busy sailors. Ha ha, suckers.
Hey look, it's a Kale! Mikal gives a whoop of greeting towards his friend and goes rushing over to him.
"There's plenty of sights to be seen," says Soriana with a small nod, and she leans back against her hands on the crate where she's sitting. "Pern's a big place." She pauses a moment, then hehs. "I'm a dragonhealer. Grade one." She turns her head to see… "Hey, Kale!" she calls. "What're-" Sniff. Sniffsniff. What is this scent the wind brings her? This odor of… odorousness, and fishguts. Her nose wrinkles.
Look on the bright side, Kale's mind encourages, this is the last run and then it'll be done! His self-encouragement does little to brighten his spirits as he looks ahead towards an assortment of fishermen big and small which seem to be his destination. But before he can reach it, he's distracted by the calling of his own name, and a whooping in general. Ah, friends! That at least inspires a fractional lift in mood and, after a glance to those fisherman, he directs his walk towards them. "Watch it Mikal," he warns. "Trust me, you don't want this gunk on you. Smells worse than dragon's breath," which he can assume is bad, considering dragons don't brush their teeth and eat raw meat, bits of which probably rot and fester in their mouths between those said unbrushed teeth. He glances skyward, as if to assure no passing dragon ears heard that quip. And if anyone doubts his bucketful smells bad, well he's bringing it closer for an up close and personal whiff. You're welcome.
Idrissa grins slightly an nods before she shifts and sits down next to Soriana upon the crates. "Where all have you gone traveling too?" This questioned while she looks to Ilyas once more, she is curious to say the least. A smile is seen while she nods to the bit on her craft. "Well I like it a lot, the runners are fun to work with too." Her attention is back to Kale as he comments about what is in the bucket being as bad as dragon breath. "What you doing with that stuff then?" She makes a face at the whiff she is able to get and waves a hand slightly while leaning back a bit upon the crate as if to try and 'escape' the stench. "Hey, don't bring it closer."
Mikal skitters to a halt short of running into Kale. The extra incentive of not getting fish guts on one tends to do that. "Well put that stuff down and come meet the new guy."
"Mm. Bitra, Benden, Keroon, Nerat." Ilyas checks them off on callused fingertips, before reaches up to scratch some itch within his curly mop. "Nerat's where the Bluefish -" that would be the ship, indicated with a languid wave, "- took me on. Wanted to see the Southern Continent, see." A passing sailor, overhearing this, makes a face. It might be at the smell of the bucket Kale is bringing their way! Or it might be that Ilyas was a /really bad passenger/. Though, look at him, lounging so innocently on those crates! Surely not. Kale's odorous approach makes the constant serenity of the older boy's face… waver. Just a bit. Mikal's suggestion brings forth a cough, and a quick, "Well, let him finish his chore, first, maybe?" So he doesn't leave a bucket of disgusting fish parts right by the crates?
Not only that, there's regurgitated firestone to contend with. Where's an enterprising trader with draconic breath mints when you need one? Soriana's nose remains wrinkled as the bucket (and Kale) approach closer. Presumably it's for the smelly one of the pair. "Pretty sure those fishermen want their chum," she agrees with a sidewise glance to Ilyas. Aww, she didn't know he was so caring about the contents of those crates! The sailors should be glad he's there to defend them (and his nose) from bad smells. Don't say he never helped out! Then it's back to Kale. "After all, the worse it smells, the better the fish like it, or so I hear. So that… that is some top grade gourmet bait you've got there."
New guy? Kale's eyes flit from Mikal to the mentioned new guy over yon, giving him a look over just as Idrissa's complaints reach his ears. "What? You wish it closer?" he says, stretching an arm out to hold the bucket forward without actually taking any further steps. "But he's right," a gesture with his chin made to Ilyas. "If I take any longer, some might think I owe another task to make up for hte one that took such time to complete. Not my fault, I might add, as Soriana is right. This is quality stuff here. The Weyr will thank me the next time the cavern serves your favorite fish. Yellow stripe. Fingertail. Packtail. Redfin… I only came close so you could appreciate my efforts for you." A smirk follows and he glances to Mikal. "Be right back." And he turns on his heel and is off to deliver the chopped up, gutsy goods to the fishermen, who may be the only folk happy to receive such a smelly bucket.
Mikal doesn't follow, nope. He'll amble on back to where the group is sitting or standing around unloaded crates.
Idrissa just eyes Kale at the talk of bring it closer. "Don't you dare!" This is said with a firm tone, and narrowed eyes at him, which really who would believe Rissa and a firm tone? Someone may start laughing actually. A hand is waved slightly. "Well, if you go take it the sooner you get back and can really talk to the new person. Right?"
Ilyas lets out a low breath of relief as Kale keeps going - and carefully breathes through his mouth until the bucket is fully receded. "Ugh," the young man says, habitual serenity giving way to a comically exaggerated shudder. "Why fish would want that, I can't guess." With an absent glance down into the chilly water to the side of the dock, he adds, "Fish a big part of the food 'round here? I've never lived anywhere it was more'n an occasional treat. And never one I liked that much."
"You do that," says Soriana to Kale, then breathes a sigh of relief at being able to breathe again. She hehs to Ilyas. "Fish'll eat anything. I used to sell the nasty parts of tunnelsnaks to the fishermen." She shakes her head, smiling a bit as she remembers, then shrugs. "We have it pretty often, but it's usually not the main thing. It's not like we're a SeaHold or anything, the Weyr's got plenty of herds to feed dragons and humans alike."
The fishermen indeed are glad for the chum that everyone else is happy to be rid of (including Kale himself!) One plucks out of a fishhead to examine just as Kale makes his escape before anyone gets the idea of offering a handshake. He too begins to breathe a bit easier with each footfall that brings him away from fishsmell and back towards the congregation of familiar faces. "It's shardin' cold.." he mumbles, shoulders hunched a little to do what they can to protect his ears. A hat. He definitely needs to start wearing one. He slows upon nearing the others again. "Hey," he greets to the familiar and, "Hello," to the non-jacketed young man.
"My father was a fisherman, he always comments on how the fish loved stuff like them bits from other fish for some reason or another." Idrissa offers with a slight shrug at the thought. She tilts her head before she looks over to Kale once he has wandered back over. A spot is patted upon the crate next to her to give him a place to sit down. "Well sure it is cold. Winter an all that." Dur!
Mikal shoulder bumps his friend as he comes over sans bucket. "Heya. How was that feast at Eastern eh?" he rubs his tummy and rolls his eyes in delicious memories.
"Mornin'," says Ilyas (for the third time in the last ten minutes), voice sending vaporous puffs of steam into the air. Outside of this, and red cheeks, he seems to make no concessions to acknowledging cold: one of the jerks who constantly, subtly remind people of how cold-resistant they are, probably. The young man beams at Kale, leaning delicately forward on his crate throne and extending an unjacketed arm. Handshake? "Glad to hear it," he adds, as an aside to Soriana. "I'm partial to a bit of wherry, myself. Hunting em's loads of fun. And -" Idrissa gets included in, "- they'll take bits of other wherry as bait, too. Animals're weird." And also, at Mikal: "Feast?"
"Wherry's good," agrees Soriana, and at his mention of hunting them, she gets a considering look. A thoughtful, perhaps even scheming look. Hmmmm. Anyway, that look disappears again into a grin as Mikal brings up the feast. Her mouth opens, and she pauses as another thought crashes out to replace the previous one. "Oh. I've gotta go check something!" She hops down off her crates. "Was nice to meet you!" she says to Ilyas, and, "Seeya!" is said in general, and then she's jogging off down the dock and along the beach.
"What was that…" Mikal wonders. But before his thought can go much further there's a shout from the ship and it's not a happy one. "Oops! I…gotta go!" he says hastily and makes fast tracks back towards the weyr.
"Oh it was, Mikal," replies Kale who leans against the crate that Idrissa sits upon, commenting on the feast. "It was, and my stomach is sad that we had to leave it behind… No," he shakes his head, pausing. "Sad is too weak of a word. My stomach is distraught. Distressed. Despondent about no longer being there." He pauses again, a thoughtful look on his face. "Huh. There are a lot words that mean 'sad' that begin with 'd'.." he comments aloud before refocusing on the present. And there goes Soriana and Mikal! He quirks a brow then lifts an arm to take a sniff at himself. "Do I smell like fish?" He's a people repellant!
Idrissa ahs softly at the talk of hunting and nods a few times as if agreeing, not that she goes hunting she just hears plenty of tales of such things so it must be true! She glances after Mikal and then Soriana and waves after the two. "I wanted to go an see the hatching. Of course I would miss out on it… Again." She is rather good at missing them it seems! A glance is sent to Kale whom she eyes a few moments as if wondering. "I dono… There is a faint fishy aroma that seems to be sort of following you…"
Various members of the Bluefish's crew look pleased at the departures of two of their crate-lounging problem children, but three remain. And Ilyas, for one, shows zero sign whatsoever of intending to move, sprawling all over his crate stack. Maybe he's scent-marking it. "Depressed," he offers Kale, with a lazy blink. "Down. Dithered, kinda." Though the other boy isn't really close enough for Ilyas to have an informed opinion vis a vis scent, he offers, "Chicks dig sailors. So smelling like fish can't be too bad."
Kale makes a slight face, not quite sure if he should trust Idrisa or not. He still smells fish, but is it all just in his nose? Residual scents leftover from the pungent chum? Hm. He lowers his arm, giving a dubious look to Idrissa, but a grin begins to show through the look and grows as Ilyas tacks on a few more 'd' words to the list. And the sailor comment, too. "Can't argue that logic," he agrees, picturing a particular sailor in mind. "Which only makes it fact that girls are weird." A tooth grin is flashed to Idrissa to punctuate that statement. "Name's Kale, by the way," he says to the unknown lad.
Idrissa rolls her eyes while she shifts, leaning back slightly so she can peer up at the sky while the two talk. As for sailors she knows one and can just bet it is the same that Kale is thinking about. Oh how there minds go to the same things at times. "Boys are even more weird." She offers with a slight nod seen. "Carrying around buckets of fish guts, or doing other things…" Yes things that says it all, right?
Ilyas smiles serenely at Idrissa, utterly unrepentant. "Well, there's lotsa things to do in this world," is all he says, in absolute and perfect innocence - obviously he's talking about learning how to tie knots and build fences and other harmless things - before his attention shifts back over to Kale. "Ilyas. Just off the boat." "Ship, not boat," sighs a passing sailor, in tones of one without hope of acknowledgement. He's right: Ilyas totally ignores him, entirely focused on the other two young people. "Nice to meet you."
"Other amazing things," corrects Kale, a superior look etching across his face. "And I told you. That bucket of guts was for the betterment of the Weyr!" he insists, crossing his arms loosly over his chest. At Ilyas' introduction, he bobs his head once, eyes flitting to the passing sailor, smirking at his correction. "Boat. Ship. Both float, eh?" he comments to Ilyas with a shrug of a shoulder. "I'd ask where you're from, but I've a feeling that's already been asked and I don't wish for the introductory thing to get too repetitive. Besides, any've the three that were here will likely tell me, so I'll spare you that question and follow up instead with a new one. Have you eaten? Caverns has stew tonight." A grin to Idrissa. "Hearty heardbeast."
Idrissa ponders for a few moments while peering towards Ilyas. "I suppose so." This said while she lets her shoulder press against Kale's. "An who says I will tell you? Perhaps I won't tell you a thing. I'll then tell Soriana and Mikal to not tell you either so your all in the dark about where Ilyas may come from." Her gaze turns towards the ship once it is brought up. "Well there is a difference. Ships tend to be bigger then boats after all." Oh a hot stew breakfast? Of course, that sounds ever so yummers! At the look she is given from Kale she eyes him. "I think most stew are made from herdbeast so what else is new there?" Perhaps she missed something?
"The answer's Lemos, anyway," Ilyas provides, placidly. "And I've only been asked twice, so s' not so bad." The prospect of stew is contemplated for a long moment, breath sending little puffs of steam into the cold air. And then he starts to unfurl himself - a gradual process, in light of his precarious perch - in order to hop easily down onto the plastic pier. The instant he's slid free of his crate throne, one of the sailors hastens to set another box on top of it, scowling. "I could eat," the older boy drawls, picking up his bag and slinging it over a shoulder. "And stew would be a treat, after the swill they've been giving me." He beams at them, expectantly. FOOD NOW yes.
The press to his shoulder is met with a smirk and a light press back, and a triumphant look soon follows as Ilyas gives up where he's from anyway. "Ha!" Kale proclaims victoriously, choosing to ignore her boat vs. ship claim. But he cannot ignore her lackluster comments regarding today's menu. "It's hearty herdbeast, Idrissa. … Hearty," he emphasizes because that is the key word here. And those who know Kale knows that food, and the meanings behind their names if that meaning is pleasing to his gut, have a special place in his heart. "Meaning, more herdbeast than usual. Meaning with every spoonful your mouth will be rewarded with twice the amount off beastchunks than your average stew." His stomach grumbles as he already pictures a steamy bowl of chunky flavorful stew. He leans away from the crate as Ilyas agrees to go, offering a helping hand to Idrissa to assist in her dismount from her perch. "I've heard the stuff on boats… ships," he corrects with a smirk to Idrissa, "tastes like aged piss. You'll love the caverns here."
Idrissa grins and nods to Ilyas as he goes about offering up where he is from, well that works! Her gaze turns towards the crate that is settled next to her once Ilyas is up and out of the way. She takes hold of Kale's hands while she hops down from her perch. "Well I suppose you have a point there. The name says it all! So lets go show Ilyas to the caverns and works on getting something to warm us all up." Which sounds great to her.
"S' not that cold," Ilyas comments, possibly to be kind of smug. "But - yeah, that sounds good, thanks." The newcomer allows them to get going down the dock before he follows, pausing only to cheerfully wave farewell to the Bluefish's crew. They don't look amused. But he does - and that, that is all that matters.