Logs:Where's My Lecture?
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| RL Date: 19 June, 2009 |
| Who: B'tal, A'son |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: B'tal comes to A'son and wants to know why he's not on his case. |
| When: Day 19, Month 13, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Wispy tendrils of smoke precede the private glow of candle light. The voice is warm and cultured by propriety. « Good evening, Nikoth. Are you well? » Niceties first. « Mine would like to speak with yours when it is convenient. » (Jeibeth to Nikoth) To Jeibeth, Nikoth's response is unfortunately from from something as nice and relaxing as private candle light. Instead there's the Bam! of drums and a deep resounding voice, « We're well! How're you and yours? » Loud, jolting. But polite. « Mine is just eating in the... What is it called? Kitchen? Yes, the kitchen. » To Nikoth, Jeibeth doesn't seem at all disturbed by the percussive quality of the other voice and hers remains unchanged. « We are well, thank you. My B'tal will be along shortly. We appreciate your assistance very much. » Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs) Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
A'son can only stare openmouthed for a few seconds. His spoon is hovering somewhere in the air and finally, it finds its way to his mouth. Where he swallows the stew down. Then he pushes the spoon and the bowl off to the side. He leans his elbows onto the table and presses his hand into his jaw. "What lecture?" "The one that you gave to Z'yi but not me," B'tal responds without hesitating, glancing at the bowl that's pushed aside before returning his attention to the bronzerider. He even makes eye contact. This must be important. "Z'yi and you were in the same situation." A'son starts, "But you're not the same people and you didn't do the same things. So you're not getting a lecture." He holds his free hand up, "You didn't do anything wrong." "That's not fair," B'tal says, brows furrowing in something that looks like irritation. "What did you say to him? He looked awful last time I saw him. He told me that you said he wasn't important." Glare. "He is," he assures. "And how can you say I didn't do anything wrong when I'm pretty sure all of it is -my- fault?" A'son begins to rub his face, "The conversation the occurred with him and I is between the two of us. It's not something that I think needs to be aired to anyone who asks. I will tell you that I never told him he wasn't important. Just what I thought of how he acted that night. There's a difference there. If he wants to share the details of what we discussed, that's up to him." His hand eventually works his way to the back of his head and now, patiently, "You're upset that he's upset. So you feel guilty, even though you're not. Because you're a good person and good people feel bad even when they haven't done anything wrong. It's a curse." Some of B'tal's agitation deflates. But he doesn't want it to so the scowl on his face deepens almost comically while he tries to think of something else to keep this going. But he can't do that either and his expression softens slightly with a sigh. "I'm not going to talk to him about it." Or anything else that isn't absolutely necessary, by the sadly resigned note in his voice. "It is my fault, though." No one's going to convince him differently there. "No it's-" A'son cuts himself short there. He looks like someone has visibly just smacked his hand or the back of his head, or something. He takes a breath and then lets out. He stares at B'tal for a long moment and then taps his fingers on the back of his head. Finally, "Okay. Lets try it this way. Why is it your fault?" The weyrling's gaze flickers up from where it had fallen and B'tal looks at A'son like he just grew another head. A dense head. "Because I'm the one that acts weird around him? I'm the one that likes him? I'm the one that shouldn't have said anything when he asked? How -isn't- it my fault?" A'son's expression could easily be read as sad, "When you like someone, you act weird. Especially when you're young. Some people do some really strange shit, to be honest. You liking him isn't the cause for why I was upset with him." His finger gently points out in the direction of the living cavern. "He put you in an uncomfortable position and forced your hand when you weren't ready. That wasn't you." B'tal frowns and looks down at the table, picking at his nails in a fidgeting sort of way. He's quiet for awhile, presumably thinking. "You've turned this all around. You make me sound like a victim." The way he says the word makes it pretty clear he doesn't appreciate the suggestion. His gaze lifts and he says, "I'm not." But then he glances at the bowl and away, "Sorry I interrupted. Can I be excused?" "I wasn't saying that you were a victim, B'tal." A'son tells him sincerely, shaking his head. "But you want to make yourself the criminal. And you're not." There's a regretful shake of his head, "Don't worry, you weren't interrupting anything. And go on if you want to, enjoy your eveing." He leans back in his chair, finally dropping his hands back to the table. B'tal shifts to get back up. "Thank you, sir." He hesitates for a moment and looks at A'son again but if he was going to say something else, he decides against it. When he continues moving, he commits and rises before heading back the way he'd come, not looking any happier. |
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