Who I'am, Kezresan
What Discussion of leather care and formal titles.
When Spring-Summer - Month 5 of Turn 2716
Where Living Caverns, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.

Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.


Spring in Fort means mud, and there's a healthy track of it already soiling the floor of the living caverns, dragged in on the soles of the shoes and boots as 'riders and residents alike wander in and out. It's probably been cleaned at least a few times already, but lunchtime sees another influx of activity and another fresh track of mud. Kezresan, coming from the infirmary by way of the lower caverns, has managed to avoid such things. There's a side-eye given to the trail of mud and debris being ineffectively contained, and a quick little 'hop' over the mess on his way to the serving tables. A bit of a sigh as, once he's collected his plate, he must make the decision to hop back over, or settle for one of the more-occupied tables on the current side. Self-preservation wins, and he settles into a seat at a table with a few occupants already, if just to avoid any unfortunate disasters by trying to navigate the mess.

Mud. It is the bane of the weyr at present. Soon enough there is another resident adding to the pile of muck, I'am. Covered nearly up to his waist in a mix of caked on and fresh mud he stomps his feet before he enters to loosen at least some of it. His jacket and face has at least some splatterings of and his gloves now tucked in his waist seemed to have not fared so well either. There is a look down at his self and sighs before heading in to grab a quick meal. A meatroll and a cup of Klah before he is finding a seat right next to the Healer. "Hey, there." He offers cheerfully enough, giving a salute with the meatroll.

As I'am sits, there's a long and vaguely disapproving look given to all the mud that he brings with him; lips pressed into a flat line as the corner of Kezresan's eye sort of… twitches. "I hate mud," is apparently his way of saying 'hello' in return. The sentiment is directed more towards the actual mud and not necessarily the person wearing it. "I am sorry to see that you found it unavoidable." It's meant to be sympathetic, probably… but that tone is just flat enough to be ambiguous. A stiff sort of pause and then a somewhat courteous, "Bluerider," offered in an actual, legitimate greeting; a nod of his head accompanying the spoken sentiment before he's poking at his own plate with his fork.

The words from the healer get a half smile from the rider,"Oh its not too bad, some say it is really good for the skin." He gives a bit of a stroke of his mud streaked cheek and winks before he gives a shrug, "As did the kid we rescued from it. Out playing in the fields and we came across her on sweep all mired up and unable to get out. Dropped her off at the infirmary for a checkover since she got a bit of a chill from it." He responds and gives explanation for the vast amount of mud he is covered it. "I am I'am Healer." He reminds the man in his familiar greeting, indeed having too much fun with his naming.

A slow lift of a single eyebrow; clear doubt and disbelief evident in those brown eyes of his. "The mud is not on your skin," Kezresan points out, his gaze flicking down to the soiled pants and then back up again, adding "Or the majority of it, at least," as mud-streaked cheeks stand in clear testimony against his words. "A poor excuse." That it should somehow be beneficial. But the knowledge of how that mud came to be there in the first place has the healer softening some, that look of annoyed disapproval fading from his face for something more complimentary. "Why was she in the mud to begin with?" though there's a glance towards the hall (and the infirmary, way, way down it) that belies his concern. No doubt he will be back there to check on this new patient shortly. "I know your name," comes after a bite of his meal is thoroughly chewed and swallowed. "I was being polite."

"Well no, not too much…and fear how the leathers are going to recover from this dunking, but they have been oiled recently." I'am says with a glance down at his brown rather than purple lap. He takes a few bites of the meatroll before tilting his head to the healer again and gives a little shrug, "Chasing butterflies she said. I can't hardly argue, I have had worse excuses than that for rescuing people from weird places." There is a raised brow at Kez, "So would you rather me just call you healer?"

"Clean them thoroughly, and then oil them, and they should be fine," offers Kezresan, in the tone of someone who might just know a thing or two about leather, despite his own attire of scrub-like uniform and lab-coat. "The color…" and there's a bit of a wince, though unclear if it is for the initial purple dye or what he has next to say, "may fade a touch. But a good tanner will likely be able to re-dye it, if you should choose to maintain… it." Purple leathers. Nope. Still not over that traditional faux pas. A few more pokes of his fork, stabbing at something green and leafy. "Chasing… how old is this child?" is mostly rhetorical. "At least she is a child, and not an adult chasing butterflies into a mud pit." Snort. As for his name? "If you prefer to do so, you may," honest enough. "It is no less true. I am a Healer. You may also call me 'journeyman' if that suits your tastes better." Or his name, which seems to be a given. Fork, to mouth; bite taken and chewed as his brown eyes drop to his plate again.

I'am raises a brow curiously at the healer's knowledge of leather preperation then nods, "Oh yeah, your Da is a rider? He have you help sometimes?" Making an assumption that that formed the basis of the knowledge. There is a look down at leathers for a moment, "We will see how it comes out once they are cleaned. "I could always go green next time." So much better. He takes another few bites from his meat roll before responding to the question, "Five turns old I think, she was nearly up to her waist by time we found her. Quite a little state she was in. The parents said she had been missing a couple candlemarks." The discussion of titles gets a grin from the harper, "Alright Kez."

A long pause from the healer before he offers, "My mother," in answer to that assumption. But that is all Kezresan sees fit to provide, leaving his level of leather-care assistance ambiguous. And oh, but that eye starts twitching; just a little. Just there, at the corner. Once. Twice. Normal again. "Green…" apparently he approves of this about as much as he approves of the purple. "What… nevermind," he says, appearing to change his mind about whatever it was he was going to contribute. Instead, a nod of his head for the child, as if acknowledging that her whimsical desire for butterflies was acceptable when connected to the age. Another few bites, and then a much less friendly sort of look, brown eyes flashing quickly to the side. Swallow. "Kezresan," he corrects. Nick names… maybe not his thing; shoulders curled as he leans over his plate and pokes at his food. Poke-poke. Stab. Chomp.

"Was she a rider as well or a leathercrafter?" I'am prods in his usual cheerful manner. He is a harper, he has got to know ALL the details. Future great tales may rely on this information! He can't help but grin at the eye twitching, "I ride a blue dragon, I would positively drab if I wore brown leathers. You should meet Toska, you will see. The colors compliment his hide quite well." Yep, colourharmony! Why else would you wear such untraditional colours? The correction of the name gets a grin from the rider and a tip of his head to the man, "Of course Journeyman Healer Kezresan!"

"She is a dragonrider," confirms the healer, using a tone for the conveyance of factual knowledge without the warmth one might expect when talking about pivotal parental figures. What tales could possibly rely upon the knowledge of Kezresan's lineage? But even so, after another brief sideways glance for that cheerful fishing, he offers "She is very traditional, in respect to the care and keeping of flight leathers and riding straps." Translation: no crazy colors. "So while I know how to properly tend to…" and his forkless hand lifts to gesture at the mud-cased creature that is the bluerider, "that. I can't promise they will remain so…" frown. Peer. Throat-clearing. "Vivid." A frown, brown eyes focused on the dragonrider at his table as though attempting to discern whether that offer to meet the blue beast was in seriousness or jest. "I will take your word for it," for the complimentary shades of leather-and-hide. A few more bites vanish, slowly working to finish the greens and carry right on into the protein. "Well… that is a bit overly formal…" for the use of full title, craft and name, but he's not going to argue it. "And rather a mouthful, but suit yourself."

"My parents are riders too, though mostly I lived down with Ma's family down at Rubicon. She works here as a dragonhealer." I'am responds with a grin, "She rides this crazy green…you should see her fly. Like watching someone all spun around trying to walk a straight line." I'am cants his head at the further information given and nods, "Well of course I know enough of what they teach the weyrlings, but well they didn't teach us about mudsoaked leathers. I can only do my best, eh?" He gives a little shrug as he reaches for his Klah mug and chuckles, "Alright just Kezresan it is. I will go formal if I ever see you in the infirmary like I do for Kravitz."

Kezresan is silent other than the scrape of fork to plate and the subtle sound of chewing from behind closed lips, listening as I'am explains his upbringing and mother's crazy green. "Perhaps not… It sounds as though just the sight of her flying might be enough to induce motion sickness." Is he… joking? He might be joking. There's at least the faintest sort of twitch to the corner of his mouth that might suggest a smile was possible. "Leather is resilient. Don't let it sit perpetually coated in mud, and it ought to be fine," offered once again. A bit of an exhale, (perhaps a sigh of relief?) for the return to his name, full and proper but absent undue ceremony. "Your… weyrmate?" for while he recognizes the name from his own day to day interactions (and he was certain to have seen them together in the infirmary at least once or twice, right? Nevermind the previous conversation so many weeks ago) there is hesitation about what the actual relationship status was. "I am sure he appreciates the gesture of formality when in a professional setting."

"Pretty much..though she makes a good distracter when Ma is working. Sometimes calming ain't what will work for a dragon, but getting blasted with her chaos…well tends to be quite the distraction." I'am responds with a shake of his head, "Now Toska though…he ain't too fond of her. He thinks she is some kind of crazy villian." A shrug of his shoulders, "What can you do? eh?" There is a look down at the mud, "Yeah, I should get this tended to. I was just so hungry, I had to deal with that first." He pops the last little bit in his mouth and rises to his feet and nods to the question, "Yeah, I guess thats what we are. We live together and love each other." His smiles softens at the mention of his weyrmate, "And sometimes in the not so professional setting." He says with a waggle of brows and gives a finger wave and heads back out to the bowl.

More eating, and silence, on the part of the healer, brown eyes drifting occasionally toward the bluerider at his table, though Kezresan is more or less blank-faced and somewhat lost. Chaos. And distraction. And working. Does he know what I'am's mother does? Maybe he did. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he never knew. Either way, there's definitely a look about him that says the dragonrider has directed into foreign territory and left him rather high and dry. An arch of his eyebrow for the 'villian'. "Interesting," is all he can say that is even remotely socially acceptable, really. A more pronounced nod of his head in acknowledgement of caring for stomach before leather attire. And see, things were going SO WELL TOO until I'am has to do that. That thing, with the eyebrows, and the insinuation, and just… you can practically see the wheels screeching to a halt in Kezresan's mind as he gets all tense and uncomfortable looking; nose wrinkled and clear disapproval evident in that gaze that can't quite help but to stare at him now. If there's a comment to be made, it goes unspoken as fingers are waved and I'am retreats.


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