Like Father, Like Son

Writers: Heather, Aaron
Date Posted: 24th March 2019

Characters: S'kand, S'tall
Description: A very manly hug
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 10, day 7 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: N'vanik, D'hol

"Well, old man, how are you holding up in your Wing?" S'tall asked as he came into his parents' weyr and collapsed onto a chair, his booted feet rising to prop themselves on a nearby table.

The corner of S'kand's mouth tugged up into a tiny grin, but his eyes softened enough for ten smiles. He may have to pretend not to enjoy being addressed as 'old man', but his children knew his expressions well enough to see that he found it quite endearing.

"Feet off the table, son – you know the rules. You wouldn't want your mother to see you like that, would you?" The half-grin remained. He always loved it when S'tall visited because he wanted to, and not simply because he was expected to.

"At least take off your boots," he amended. "So far, so good with drills." N'vanik had insisted they take their first week off of duties beyond drills, but now, S'kand was properly on the duty roster, and he had a busy first sweep.

"Swept up a farmer out in the protectorate who lost his crops and to a fire," he said, frowning. "Made sure he and his folks are taken care of. Did some good, honest work with Jagobroth. How are you and Onalith holding up with your new wing?"

"I think we're holding our own," S'tall said as he removed his feet from the table. "My Wingleader's a real stoic sort," he said, thinking of D'hol, "so I am never quite sure what kind of mood he is in. I've just been keeping my nose clean though and doing what we were taught when we were Weyrlings."

"You'll learn how to read him," said S'kand, nodding. He was pleased and proud to hear S'tall's assessment, and it showed on his expression – to anyone who knew him well enough to know what to look for.

"Making any new friends?" he wondered. Of course, he would not say that he had, himself. But he had not beeing trying to, he supposed. S'kand knew that S'tall would be doing just fine with his duty. But he wanted to know for sure that his eldest did not regret giving up regular contact with his friends back south in order to stay with his family. S'kand certainly appreciated that he had done so.

"I'm on a first name basis with a couple of wingmates, but I haven't really found anyone I'd want to hang out with outside of drills yet," S'tall admitted with a little shrug of his shoulders. There were a few pretty women he'd like to talk to though, but he hadn't worked his nerve up yet. "What about you?" he asked his father.

"So far, I'd say that's been about my own experience," S'kand said, nodding. "Have you invited the lot over for poker and drinks yet?" he asked. Despite his deadpan, S'kand's family would have known this was most definitely a joke. "Well. A friendly game or two might not be amiss in the end, would it?" He smiled.

S'tall laughed. "Yeah, sure, Dad. As soon as you invite your wingmates over here for dragonpoker and drinks, I'll do the same. I'm sure Ma won't mind fixing you lot snacks and everything." The sarcasm was laid on thick.

S'kand chuckled along with S'tall and then took a deep breath, enjoying the humor for a moment. "Ohhh. By the First Egg. You'll warm up to them," he promised. "We'll all get used to being here again. In time."

"How's mom liking it? I mean, really. When I ask she just says fine, but you know how she does." S'tall loved his mother, she was one of the toughest women he knew and she would never let her children know if someone was bothering her.

"She's happy to be here," said S'kand. "I know she seems a bit off... But it's just because your great granddad isn't as young as he used to be." He frowned. Or perhaps grimaced. "None of them has much longer, I don't think. My grandparents or hers. They're very proud of you, you know."

"I know," S'tall said, preferring not to think of his great-grandparents aging. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a jagged threadscore down his bicep that was still freshly healing. "Picked this up last 'fall."

S'kand winced. He was sure all of the ladies would find it rather handsome, but to him it was just a sign of how close his son had come to death or dismemberment.

"You're keeping it clean, I trust..." He hoped it was just because he was still learning to adjust to his new wing and not because he had decided to go on a reckless streak.

"Maybe wait to show your mother until it's fully healed," he suggested.

"'Scores happen, Dad. It's part of being a dragonrider, she knows that." S'tall said in the tone that a young adult often gets when they feel that they know more than their parent. He pulled his shirt back over his head.

S'kand nodded. This was true. But Ristalle worried enough as it was for her riding family, her son, perhaps, most of all.

"Do me the favor, son," he said. Sometimes it was easier to get a favor out of a young adult that often felt they knew more than their parent than it was to order them about. "Have you been showing it off in the baths?" he asked with a bit of a grin, nudging the subject in a slightly different direction.

"Shells, no," S'tall grunted as he put his coat back on. "Burns like /between/ when the sweetsand gets in it."

"It does, doesn't it," said S'kand, his hand instinctively going to his oldest scar. "Well. Keep it clean. The last thing you want is an infection. And once it's scarred up, maybe there will be more room for showing it off. I'm glad you're OK," he said last.

"Thanks, old man," S'tall pushed to his feet. "I've got to go, give mom a hug from me."

"It's good to see you. Family dinner is on the next Rest Day." It always was. S'kand offered his hand to S'tall to shake.

"I'll be there," S'tall said, taking his father's hand and then pulling him in for a quick embrace and pat on the back.

Last updated on the April 4th 2019

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Like Father, Like Son