Fort Weyr

Kitchens
After rising up an imposing flight of steps you enter an elaborate vaulted ceiling. The delicious smells that gently infuse the air drift out from this portion of the cavern. The head cook, Rickard, bustles about creating the masterpiece dishes that the weyr as a whole consumes. His extensive collection of prized copper cookware hangs upon their custom-made racks, reflecting soft light back out into the cavern proper. A handful of sub-cooks and helpers are engaged in an variety of food preparations, moving briskly but efficiently about their work. A pair of spit canines trot in their wicker wheels, continuously turning the spits with their slowly roasting joints that hiss and crackle over the fires.

"When the hour is late enough and most of the Weyr asleep, the kitchens are reduced to the barest of skeleton crews; don’t need so many bodies manning the stations when there’s no one to feed! So it’s a fend for yourself for the leftovers out in the caverns. Unless, of course, the one in question now entering the kitchens is of the mind to give —zero fucks— not care. He didn’t find anything he was seeking down out there and so here he is. Raiding the kitchens like some common weyrbrat but good luck to any who’d try to stop him. Even Th’ero get’s late night cravings, apparently?

He'll find someone already within the kitchens, having had the same thought: Ryan, looking exhausted and bedraggled and obviously ran ragged from a job that's ran too-late. The handyman has raided cold storage and the cupboards and has now in her possession a plate full of roast-beef sliders made with slivered roast remnants, charred cold onions, and mustard slathered on leftover dinner rolls. Oh, there's cheese, too, but she's not gone to any extra effort to try to melt said cheese. She picks up another slider (there's like seven on her plate, WHERE DOES SHE PUT IT ALL?!) and takes a bite out of it, eyes half-closing as she chews. (also where is even the skeleton-crew of the kitchen? has ryan killed the last remaining baker and claimed the kitchens as her very own?)

Listen, it wouldn’t be that out of place if the skeleton crew WAS murdered and hidden away somewhere, alright? You sure that’s beef, Ryan!? Th’ero wasn’t wholly prepared to find someone already in the midst of eating their snack — even one so elaborate. His brows furrow, features unreadable, while he gives Ryan a scrutinizing stare. Who the hell is this? And that better not be the last of the meat scraps, because maybe that’s what he was jonesing for! There’s a good hard look for her, then the sliders and apparently he’ll bite back the worst of his comment to a broody and icy-blunt: “Evening.” Or midnight. Who’s really tracking?

Ryan's eyes open and rest upon Th'ero as his voice rumbles out: her eyes briefly widen from their sleepy regard as alertness returns. She swallows her bite. ""Sir,"" she returns to him, her voice rough and rusty from a day of shouting followed by an evening of not speaking at all. A quick review will find that there's leftover wherry but no herdbeast in sight: Ryan's got the last of it. The JACKASS. She's too laconic in personality to actually offer any commentary about that, but surely Th'ero will find out. Or hopefully not, in the vein of maybe-he's-here-for-ice-cream!

Th’ero is definitely not here for ice cream (that would bring too much joy to his life) and, upon dismissing Ryan for the moment after her rusty, rumbled greeting, is quick to discover what awaits him as far as choices. There’s a grimace for the wherry (maybe it’s day three or four of the same, YOU CAN’T BLAME HIM!) and then it’s back to those sliders — or more importantly, Ryan. His gaze narrows and he sighs heavily through his nose. Seriously? “Is that the last of the herdbeast?” he asks, voice flat in tone and not entirely welcoming. A hangry Weyrleader is a grumpier Weyrleader? He probably already knows or hazards what the answer will be but… leave it to him to ask on the obvious anyways.

""Yes,"" Ryan says, her chin lifting as she takes the second bite of that slider she's eating and pops it into her mouth to… defiantly chew at the weyrleader? Is she an idiot or is she just sleep-deprived? Maybe a little of both. She probably didn't MEAN for it to come across as defiant, regardless of the lifting of her chin. Regardless, the moment stretches for a likely tense 'will Ryan end up dead at the end of this' stretch while she chews her bite, and then she pushes her plate a LITTLE toward him. ""You want some? They're heavy on the mustard."" A fair warning since there is a lot of mustard involved. And onions. And cheese!

IT’S A CLOSE CALL (not really)! Th’ero’s brows lift at first, features still unreadable beyond that and the tight grimace he sports. Is he surprised? Disappointed? About to flip a table and spoil the chance of deliciousness for everyone? WHO KNOWS. Not until he sighs again and, after she decides to go the ‘peace offer’ route, he actually scowls again. There’s a pointed look to the entrance, as his jaw works silently, and finally his posture shifts. No dismissive storming out! He approaches, though with much skepticism to the combination of foods. “… is this something you concocted yourself?” What IS THIS sorcery, Ryan? Tell him! Hunger is winning out.

Ryan's face momentarily screws up in one of her … expressionful way when Th'ero moves forward with that scowl: squinty eyes under drawn-together brows, her mouth screwed up half-sideways in thought, chin lifted to compensate for her squinting. But then he changes into something less… Th'ero-y and she looks down at her plate for a moment. ""This? Yeah. I missed dinner and I wasn't going to waste my time with that trash out in the caverns."" Fake food! ""It's uh, leftover dinner rolls with the leftover roast. Onions, mustard, cheese."" She picks up another one. That means there's six left. Better get in here, Th'ero, Ryan might chew through all of this while the weyrleader decides between Scowl #11 and Scowl #36! Mid-chew, she lifts the other half of the slider to camouflage her mouth and says, ""Not bad,"" with the clear tones of a young woman who knows how to talk with her mouth full and not sound like it.

“It’s not trash.” It’s a level above it. “There was limited selection.” Which is the same thing, isn’t it? Th’ero’s not in the mood to argue the details and once Ryan’s claimed another slider, he’ll take one too. Now there are five! That he even took ONE is… just how hungry is he? Or did her creation inspire enough curiosity to temporarily waylay the worst of his quirks? “Not something I would have considered combining.” he admits, grim look easing just enough for a quick smirk. Then it’s on to sampling! And while he’s working around the tang of that much mustard, he doesn’t look entirely repulsed. “No, it isn’t.” But he isn’t fully sold — even as he takes another bite.

Ryan squints again at Th'ero, saying (with a little more bumble to her words as she moves the food to her cheek to speak, SO GRACEFUL): ""Then why are you here?"" if the food out there isn't TRASH TH'ERO, but Ryan is not nearly as combative as her player and seems very happy to just co-exist. And indeed share a brief smile with Th'ero, though hers is a grin and infectious despite the hour, perhaps privately proud of her culinary skills. ""I couldn't find the horseradish or I'd have used that instead of mustard,"" she confesses, reaching for a bottle half-obscured behind her elbow: it's a cold bottle of cider, pleasantly hard for a late-night buzz. She pulls off a mouthful and swallows it, settling it midway between herself and Th'ero in tacit invitation.

“Because,’ Th’ero replies, “Of the limited selection.” Deadpanned, even while he’s finishing off the rest of that slider. Either he’s being very stubborn on the issue or, that was a joke. “That would have made this better,” he agrees on her first choice of horseradish-equivalent. Oh well! He quirks a brow again when she places the cider between them but he ignores it. Cider is not his thing! In fact, he doesn’t seem of mind to linger that much longer. He casts a quick glance to some nearby produce baskets, helps himself to some of the late-season fruit and a small bread roll. This’ll have to do! “Enjoy the rest of your night.” No thank you for sharing! Th’ero pauses on his way out, but bites back some comment of not leaving the place a disaster. Instead, there’s only a brisk nod and he’s OUT! Ryan’s been NICE and shared and he’ll allot her that much. DIDN’T EVEN ASK HER NAME, though! Rude.

Ryan gives a very philosophical shrug just for herself as the weyrleader departs. ""Doesn't seem as bad as everyone makes him out to be,"" she tells her cider before she washes down another bite of her current slider. Then? Then she's pulling both cider and plate back to herself so that she can finish off her food ALL BY HERSELF, and just-in-case she falls asleep right here in the kitchen, at least she knows Zurii's mom will be here to wake her up and scold her into her proper bed in a few candlemarks. But for now? For now there's food, and pleasantly mild alcohol, and quiet. Ryan'll take it."