Difference between revisions of "Logs:Friends"

It's ice-locked winter outside, but in Benden Hold's greenhouse... well, it's not warm /yet/, given how it's only the vestibule that the brownrider sweeps into, a thump of her palm making the door swing wider for the taller rider behind her. She waits until the door's closed behind him before continuing through the second door, taking the opportunity of the delay to hang her helmet and jacket on the provided hooks... though not before discreetly removing a small sack from the jacket's inner pocket and hanging it from her belt instead. Its chain is metal, though the links are light: hard for a pickpocket to cut. "So, can you feel your nose yet?"

Hanging up his own gear, K'del's attention is mostly greenhouse-focused, the tilt of his head marking keen interest along with his thoughtful expression. "Not sure I even have one, anymore," is his response to Val's query, made as he finally shucks off his gloves to tuck into jacket pockets, revealing, in the process, his plaster-covered right hand. He follows the brownrider through the second door, having done this, seemingly pleasantly surprised by the warmth. "It /is/ warmer-- knew it would be, I guess, but /shells/. Can see the appeal."

"If you're still missing it when we leave, I'll help you look," Val tosses back offhandedly as she enters. With no one approaching them immediately, though there's an older woman working several tables away who glances up and smiles upon sight of them, she pauses to rub her arms as though that would help them soak up the warmth that much faster. She misses the woman's wave, too, but that's because she's glanced back in the direction of K'del and his possibly-endangered nose... only to have her attention caught by the state of his hand. A little distractedly, still looking, "Got to have a nose around here, yeah? They have flowers in bloom all Turn round, and some of them, they're even just for /looks/."

K'del's laugh rings out warmly, even if his gaze /is/ still more interested in the greenhouse than Val herself. He does notice the working woman, and smiles a cheerful greeting in her direction, though that's the extent of it. To Val; "A nose tree, maybe. Be a useful thing to have. Maybe I'll upgrade, find something more... dignified?" If he's noticed the attention his hand gets, he makes no remark on it, stepping forward, instead, to lightly touch the leaves of a particularly vibrantly green plant in front of him. "Pretty, this stuff. Like a slice of the south in the middle of Benden." He, apparently, approves.

"Go ahead, touch, it won't mind. They keep the more sensitive stuff away from the entrance," Val says in quite the deadpan tone, breaking away from distraction in favor of making her way down the aisle and, yes, get intercepted by the woman. As with going many places around Benden with Val, there are hearty greetings, inquiries about children (the woman's) and pets (possibly including Visigoth, much to the brown's amusement) and life, a passing reference to K'del as this man she picked up off the road (as opposed to last time's complete-stranger-I-assure-you), and this time, busses on both cheeks. "Bettina's known me since I was this high," Val mentions over her shoulder to K'del, gesturing to her knee.

K'del opens his mouth, and then shuts it again, apparently content to watch Val and the woman exchange their pleasantries. He even provides another bright smile, timed with the mentions of him; by this point, he's walking closer, staying back just far enough so as not to interrupt the conversation. "Bet she was trouble back then, too," he says to Bettina, with a grin. "I hope we're not a bother, visiting like this." Not that he shows any intention of leaving, either: not the way he's leaning forward to smell at one of the nearby flowers, having already said his bit.

Naturally, Bettina has to assure him that it's not a bother, but also, "I won't say she didn't have to work a few things off," with a pause that seems tailor-made /just/ so Val can insert, "But that was a long time ago," with an impish smile to go with it. Bettina doesn't seem to hold it against her, anyway, and if there's anyone around who /does/, well, Val hasn't sought /them/ out for introductions. The brownrider gets a pat on the shoulder, Bettina being closer to K'del's height than her own, after which the woman asks, "Do you have questions about our greenhouse, young man, or would you just like to look around?" She could probably natter on for quite a while, and usefully, too. Especially if he wants to know about aphids and other pests of the non-Val variety.

A light laugh, and a glance between the two women shows K'del's mirth pretty clearly; he wipes his un-plastered hand on his trousers as he considers that last question thoughtfully. "Don't want to bore Val here too much," he tells her, cheerfully, "But there's a greenhouse being built at home, and I /am/ curious. Leave the actual gardening to... people who know what they're doing." Not him! "But... any features you wish you had in here, and don't? Any... suggestions?" No aphids, then.

Does she have suggestions? "Cleanliness matters," Bettina tells him right through a don't-mind-me-really from Val as she drifts off. "Order, adjustments, a good work flow, irrigation, and really, we can always use more room. Shelving, of course. But in a small operation," presumably what she thinks his is? "It's easier to distribute the heat evenly than for something like /this/." There's some suspicious rustling a few aisles over that /might/ have to do with the missing brownrider. "What do you have in mind? Perhaps your supervisor could send us a letter with details, we'd be happy to consult, I dare say."

Nodding quickly, K'del's attentive to what Bettina has to say, and doesn't make any efforts whatsoever to correct her in any of her assumptions. Even if his cheeks /do/ go ever so slightly pink. "That makes sense," he tells her, firmly. "I'll-- do that. It makes sense to use your expertise, as much as we can. There's no use reinventing the wheel, right?" His gaze slides off in the direction of that rustling, then moves back to Bettina. "Perhaps we can send the plans over, at that. I-- should let you get back to work. If I come up with any more questions, though, I'll come and ask, if that's all right."

At least Bettina isn't the cheek-pinching sort, or at least not when it comes to someone of K'del's age. "Quite right," she agrees. "Quite right. You'd be surprised how many people don't think to learn from what came before them, now that it's Interval. Enjoy your day, and the weather." And with that, she's back to her work: dusting the centers of flowers with a delicacy perhaps unsuspected in such a tall woman, pollinating one after the other for later fruit to come. Meanwhile, Val's paused in a food corner of sorts, with peas growing on vines with their tendrils supported just so. She's not even touching them, though, just looking at them rather longingly.

"A waste," concludes K'del, of these people who don't bother to learn; he grins, brightly, watching the woman work for a moment longer, before he strides off in the direction that rustling came from, earlier. It takes him a few steps in this way and that, and a few wrong turns, but then-- "Were you the type to steal food from the garden as a little kid, then? Fresh peas off the vine, not-quite-ripe fruit." His left hand settles on his hip; he watches, amused.

She doesn't /jump/, his footsteps too much of an indicator for that, though her posture stills for a moment. And then, lightly and lazily, "Are you telling me you know a kid who /wouldn't/ filch? It's the sort of thing we have to have to grow out of, after all." The brownrider straightens then, reaching out but only to put a stray tendril in its place, not to nip off a ripening pod for all that the pads of her fingers brush against it in retreat.

"Reckon I may even know a few who /haven't/ grown out of it," K'del admits, answering that question only indirectly. And; "Made myself properly sick more than once. Deserved every bellyache I got, I suspect, though it didn't feel like that at the time." His hand slides out to examine - gently, carefully - a piece of low hanging fruit not far from where he stands, and then, "My only worry is that no one is ever going to /leave/ a greenhouse, if we have one. All winter long, toasty warm and fully stocked with fresh food."

"Would that be before or after the fermenting?" Val asks, but with some softness to go with the humor. At least a little. Stepping back, she watches him with the fruit, and then looks out as much as the condensation on the glass will let her. "The dragons will want in, too. Although probably not my boy, unless /I/ don't leave. There's too much that's breakable."

Easily; "/Both/. Maybe that's why I don't much like wine anymore." K'del's amused by this recollection, turning his gaze back on Val to smile sunnily at her as his hand seeks out the pocket of his trousers again. The other, the injured one, hangs loose by his side. "Cadejoth'd rather go flying, I think. Won't interest him much. I can see our new queen trying to dig up treasure in it, though." His smile falters, just slightly, at this mention, perhaps directly leading in to his hurried addition, "Reckon ours will be much, much too small, though. Ledge-sized only, really."

"...Treasure." Val's tone holds a certain amount of... not exactly disbelief, more like awareness of the perils likely to ensue. Appreciation of, perhaps. She crouches to test the soil of a neighboring plant, some sort of oniony herbal. "Is anyone inclined to let her just go play around? Not to doubt your sanity, of course." /Yours/. And speaking of which, "I like a good big ledge."

K'del's tone implies a certain amount of long-sufferingness. His answer doesn't explain a lot, either, "Not anymore. No." And he'll even slide past that in order to add, "I do, too. Definitely appreciated moving into my current weyr... not that the old ledge was /tiny/, but, well, not all that much room for visitors. Which is important. Though... a /view/, that's also pretty good. But Cadejoth sits up on the rim, and that's nearly as good." He rambles. He misses anything but the most surface meaning to that comment.

He also misses, given how Val's face is still bent to the plot after that, her not-so-lurking smile as she nips off a yellowed leaf. Twirling its stem between thumb and forefinger, she agrees, "It's got to have a view. The way I figure, once you're in the air, who cares if it's a few wingbeats longer? Except my boy, who likes it... Was it hard when you first moved down?" Down into purgatory? says her tone. And while she's at it, since she didn't try and poke him into more of an explanation earlier, "I sure hope that wasn't your main hand you broke."

"It was, and it's more of a pain than I can begin to explain," says K'del of his hand, which he lifts now to glower at, flexing the fingers as best he can around the plaster. "But maybe you can imagine." He lets it drop again, returning his attention to the brownrider. "It was... strange. But for more than just a change of ledge, change of view, all of that. There's a convenience to living on the ground, but at the same time... it's different, not having to go home together. More separate." For which he sounds thoughtful. "Having a bath, though - that's /really/ nice."

Which leads to, "How'd it happen?" and an inquiring look: evidently the gossip didn't make it as far as Benden? or to Val? Could it be? She tucks the wilted leaf behind her ear, an absent gesture that leads to smoothing her braid back behind her shoulder as she listens. Her rings are mediumweight today mixed with a few finer bands, all smooth, nothing spiky. After a little while she chimes in, "I can imagine. There's nothing like a good soak, a good scrub... and while social's fine most of the time, seems like sharing company doesn't always have to mean sharing grime."

"I hit a wall." K'del seems neither ashamed nor proud of this particular success; his smile is kind of rueful, kind of amused, just kind of /there/. He appends, after a moment, a more explanatory, "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Better than hitting someone else." That gets to hang for a few moments, as he turns his attention away to slide fingers across some ivy-like greenery, and then, "Right, exactly. Wish more of our weyrs had baths, but-- well. Nice for those who /do/ get them, I guess. Something for everyone else to aspire towards."

The brownrider's got a nod for that, a flick of her braid even. "It sounds as though you hit a wall before you hit the wall," she puns, and for the moment leaves it at that. "The glories of life, yeah? Aspiring towards a weyr up high, a weyr with a bath, a weyr with a view." She does a little twirl under the crescent curve of her arm before hooking her hand on an upper shelf instead. "Forget F'lar and Lessa, Robinton and Lady Selene, let's go with the important things in life." She lets her knees bend slightly, testing the shelf's weight, seeing if it will creak. "Which doesn't stop us from wanting a change of pace, I think."

K'del's fingers get wiggled faintly, as Val puns; his expression is amused, but he doesn't make any further remark on that particular subject. Stepping towards a free space in the glass wall, he braces himself against it with his good hand, saying, then, "Think maybe that's the most a lot of us have to aspire towards, these days. Not much glory, not much... of a lots of stuff. I guess. Even if it is the life I signed up to." His head tips to the side as he glances back at the brownrider, and, "Never anything wrong with wanting a change of pace. It's-- what we do, isn't it? Get bored, otherwise."

"Don't tell me they laid absolutely everything on the line?" Val uses her free hand to reach past the plants and write on the glass with her finger, a swooping K and an apostrophe though she doesn't continue his name. "I don't know about bored," she says. "But if I stay, I'm always the youngest... Anyway, I've swung a leave of absence." She makes dots, connects them, then glances back at him under her arm. "And I've narrowed it down. But I don't know if I want to ask the 'Reaches."

"No--" begins K'del, elongating the 'o' sound, though however he intended to continue that sentence gets abandoned in his surprise at the rest of what Val has to say. He's silent, watching, curious and thoughtful. In the end, perhaps the most obvious responses are abandoned for, "Why not? Completely the other side of the continent. /Different/. Could hook you up with an interesting wing, interesting /weyr/... where else are you considering?"

Interesting wing, interesting weyr, his encouragement and the /direction/ of that encouragement draws out a white smile. Her eyes are darker now, considering. "Wouldn't it be awkward?" Val asks. She bounces slightly at her knees, tests the shelf a little more. "I was thinking Ierne, though there's always Telgar, they have the competitions and all that. But the 'Reaches... I'd gotten used to thinking we were something like friends. Are you my friend, K'del?" Is she twelve?

'Awkward' makes K'del's brow furrow, first in what can probably reasonably be assumed to be confusion; later, in consideration. But his answer, it seems, he doesn't have to consider, not even for a moment. "Yes, we're friends." No question about it, says his tone. "I /do/ have friends, at the 'Reaches. It works out. Wouldn't put you in /my/ wing, at any rate." After a beat, he adds, "Tiriana's father used to be Weyrleader at Ierne. New guy seems nice enough. Don't know the place well, though."

He does have friends? At the 'Reaches? It gives Val a quick smile that's confined to just a purse of her lips, some unvoiced thought. "What wing would you /put/ me in," she says. Drawls, really, like she's asking what kind of wine. Or, in K'del's case, beer. "I'd heard about him." Her. "It's got a lot of playtime. Too much, maybe, but I have friends there... too."

K'del's fingers drum lightly against the glass wall. "Glaci-- mm, maybe. Gamers, maybe, lots of free time, but... Hailstorm's more of the same, maybe, but more drama. /Snowdrift/, though. Search and rescue, unusual stuff, some diplomacy but they sort of split up a bit on that. Like doing things differently, Snowdrift." His brows raise, sort of a 'how does that sound?' kind of gesture. But: "Won't be offended, if you choose Ierne. Telgar. Wherever."

Bounce, bounce, bounce. There's not even a creak from that shelf. Val could be dissatisfied the way it holds out, could slam it, could pout, but the way K'del's talking... "Could be interesting," she says slowly, her smile growing. "And it's good to know that you wouldn't take offense, storm down to Telgar all frothing at the mouth. Wouldn't want you to hit another wall, after all." Something about her inflection makes the rhyme intentional, even playful. "Think you could show me around those weyrs you think are so interesting? Show me what the 'Reaches has to offer. Talk up your wings a little more, maybe. Though not today, that's too soon." And they only have so much time in this little tropical pocket of the world, the sort of thing he's wanting to bring to his Weyr too.

"/Two/ broken hands might be a little hard to cope with," admits K'del, cheerfully enough, with another glance for that hand that has already been broken - poor thing. "You want me to sell High Reaches to you." Not a question. "I-- reckon I can do that. Weyrs, wings, maybe even a free drink or two. Another time." Because, yes, right now? He seems more than eager to stay where he is, enjoying the warmth that the greenhouse provides. And maybe even the produce. Sneakily.

"It might, but think of the capacity for entertaining the rest of us," Val readily teases. "Besides, who else besides you and a Lord can hire someone to wipe his bum?" Dramatic pause! Hopeful glance at K'del: is he turning pink? "Which I hope isn't a wing duty. But! The drink, the selling... I /do/ appreciate your indulging me. It's very good for my ego, which otherwise might wither away on the... vine." This time, it's not just a dramatic pause, it's a /saw/-you pause, echoed in the gleam of those dark brown eyes.

Not so very sneaky, then, though K'del doesn't look /so/ very contrite. And he has a couple of little berries to show for it - and a raised set of eyebrows that ask 'going to tell on me?' even as he's saying, "Think I'll pass on the - as you put it - bum-wiping. All the more reason to keep my other hand safe and sound." He did blush, just a little, a pinkness around the edge of his face. "Anyway, reckon selling my weyr to you ought to provide some entertainment, at least, so don't think my motives are /purely/ altruistic."

Tell on him? She /could/. She's certainly turning that pause into a dramatic glance, sideswept to where Bettina must be, should be. More or less. It would be even more speculative if Val weren't keeping him and his barely-blush in the corner of her vision. "I think much better of you now," Val tells K'del with respect to the entertainment, and maybe it's that praise and not just the reminder that he could, he /could/ be her Weyrleader that has her glancing back: no tattling this time. /This/ time. Only then, it's like she can't help herself, "Not /any/ wine? Any at all? Even when... pressed?" She has such a bright smile when she brings it out to play.

Does K'del look like he really thinks she'll tell on him? It's hard to tell. He follows her glance, certainly, but his expression seems otherwise unfazed-- but maybe he went a little tense. /Maybe/. The laugh he gives at her little joke is certainly an enthusiastic one, with shoulders shaking lightly; "Ha ha. That's /awful/. And sure, will drink it on occasionally-- if you really want to know, and aren't just making awful puns for the fun of it. Not my drink of choice, though." He offers his hand out, berries still there: will she share? Or shall he be guilty in isolation?

/Maybe/. It's the sort of thing, those maybes-or-nearlys, that Val likes to pick on. Pick /up/ on. When she can. Right now, though, her smile has broadened if that's possible. That laugh of his. "Occasionally, by choice? Red or white? /Aleis/," and bright eyes smile at him too, sees what he does with the name even as she continues without pause, "Turns up her nose at wine too, but it's for whiskey, and I suppose she can't be blamed. Are you going to tell me you're a whiskey man, too?" And with that, she plucks one, no, two berries from his palm, and if it seals some unspoken contract, she's equally shameless about popping one into her mouth. In for a berry, in for a pound.

"Either," is K'del's initial answer, amended, after a moment to, "White is better than red, since it was red we grew, at home." This, while he's attempting to recover from the scowl that Aleis' name draws, the one he attempts to smooth over as soon as is possible. "Whiskey, yes. Or beer. Either is good." He eats the rest of the berries, chewing them with the satisfaction that can only come from petty larceny: it always makes things taste just that little bit better.

Whiskey. Beer. Berries. All good things. Larceny too, quite possibly. But there's a shadow passing before the sun, and Val shivers, just a little. "You don't like her," she says more softly, bypassing the rest. "Why don't you like her?"

K'del's eyes rest on Val, noting that shiver. He's silent for a few moments before, finally, "Don't know her well. /But/. Our new queen? Ate firestone." It's an admission; it's maybe not something that has spread that far, yet. "She played like it wasn't a problem, didn't matter, who /cares/ if a queen is fertile or not. Undermined me. She... seems like she disapproves of men on principle. Don't like that."

Val's eyes go wide, instinctive reaction to go with her caught breath. Wide and darker still. Her brows have drawn in. "/Firestone/?" It's all but a whisper. She hadn't heard, then. Surely nobody could stage that, the way she says it like it's sacrilege. The way she's torn: "How could she?" The queen? Aleis? "Oh, K'del. I hope it isn't... over." The second berry's staining her cramped fingers now. She loosens them, though not by much. "I don't know what she could have been thinking. Aleis, I mean." That much is less immediate, though it also has the ring of truth.

Solemn and unhappy, K'del can only nod-- and take a long, low breath. "I was yelling," he admits. "So... there's that. Protecting Teris. But." /But/. The whole mess makes him shake his head, before, finally, "Don't really know, about the rest. Have to wait and see. But it's a mess, and it's just so /frustrating/. Just can't see how anyone could say that a queen doing that to herself is perfectly okay. You know? So." A wan smile. "I'm sure she's better if you're not... in conflict with her, as it were, and all that."

"Her job." Val puts that on the table, but quietly and low-lashed, not so much calmer as more stable. There might be gears, whirring in her head. But then she looks that much more directly at the other rider: "/No/. It's not okay. Judgmental? Yes." And unapologetic, evidently, but then she's in good company. Though if and when there winds up being a slew of betting as to whether Iskiveth is going to rise, much less clutch? There are opinions, and then there are the odds. As to Aleis, "A little conflict is good for her." Val's mouth hints at her smile again, the impish one, though she doesn't commit.

The full extent of K'del's seriousness can't survive that remark on Aleis, but that's not to say he doesn't take the rest of it with a somewhat stony expression. He sucks out a long breath before he responds, "Yeah. Just-- well." Well what? He doesn't specify. Instead; "Pretty sure the conflict'd only be good for her if she didn't think she'd won it. She's not much for listening, so far as I can tell. Or-- not to people she's decided aren't worth her time, anyway."

Val cocks a brow at that /well/, but it settles some as he goes on, as though that's what she'd construed he'd meant. And she has to nod, too, as he goes on: not arguing. What she does do is turn back to the plants, more or less, just brief glances flickering his way from time to time. She wraps a vine tendril about her finger like another ring. "Were you involved in choosing her, to begin with, or was that your Weyrwoman? I wonder what you know of her history... of her and men. It's not without cause."

"Not much," is K'del's honest answer, made as he drops down to a crouch, a better position to put his good hand on the warm earth, as though he, too, might grow from it. "She came to us /as/ an Assistant Weyrlingmaster, more or less. Meara seemed happy enough; don't interfere, myself. Never had much cause to." And to be fair, his expression says, though his words don't match it, that he probably still doesn't see any cause to, personal feelings aside. "There's a story, then?"

"I see," Val says to the leaf whose veins she traces with a fingernail, smiling. "And Meara would be... your weyrlingmaster." She glances over one shade-dappled shoulder, adding with some humor, "Not one I would tell you, no. But it occurs to me that you might have your junior research it on your behalf... if you liked. If... you think she would tell you."

A nod for Weyrlingmaster, and then, K'del's smile shades rueful-- amusedly rueful, maybe. "Probably, she wouldn't, now. We have a, uh, well. /Interesting/ relationship, my junior and I. But perhaps it's worth a shot." Beat. His hand slides off the ground and he examines it, turning it over thoughtfully. "Or perhaps I should just settle for knowing there /is/ a story."

"Are you going to tell me about this... interesting relationship?" Val inquires, turning with evident interest, transparently coy. And deliberately so. "As part of briefing me on your Weyr, of course. While I wait to see whether you manage to, what did you say? Settle." She twirls the tendril about her other finger, stretching it, seeing if she can get away with it without its breaking. "It could be a long time."

K'del tips his face upwards towards the brownrider, dropping even lower until he's sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking not much older than a child in harper classes for the effort. If a little too long, perhaps; not very compact. "You implying, there, that the curiosity might get the best of me?" Lies! But; "Would it sound arrogant if I explained that I think Teris likes me rather too much, and thus has decided she can't be my friend, because I'm in love with someone else? Too melodramatic? Not sure if that's better or worse than Tiriana and I more or less hating each other."

Would Val imply that? There's that impish smile, full-fledged this time. "It can get the best of the best of us," she puns, though she's quick enough to let it go in favor of his story. And then, "People can make drama out of chopping garlic. I don't see why you can't out of this. Besides, if you're right, it has the air of self-preservation... except that then she goes and lets her dragon do what's guaranteed to get your attention." Almost as afterthought, "But women are like that."

K'del's eyes roll: women! It's not difficult to follow his train of thought there, either. "She /had/ my attention-- of a sort. Before the incident. It's only since then she decided that we weren't, and couldn't, be friends. I-- eh." He lets his breath fade out, then shrugs his shoulders. "She'll get over it, or she won't, right? But yes: that's the kind of place you'd be transferring into. The no-longer-teenage Weyrleader, the Weyrwoman with a reputation for hitting people, the junior who let her dragon sterilize herself. Don't let me put you off, though!"

"Of course not!" Val says so gallantly, though there's a wry twist to it that suggests awareness that she really should stop and think. Even if she doesn't. "Incident, you're calling it now. Quite a downgrade. But I don't suppose your Weyrwoman is the one you're in love with? Who more or less hates you, and maybe wants to hit you? Because that could be the stuff of legend."

Sprinkling soil onto the ground out of a loose handful, K'del makes a decent attempt at keeping his expression poker-faced as he makes his answer. "Oh no," he tells Val. "I'm in love with the Headwoman, whom both goldriders loathe. Though Tiriana does have /fantastic/ breasts."

"/Do/ th..." His timing's just right, and Val doesn't seem to want to even try for a poker face of her own, just laughing and laughing, silvery, smiling. Enough to get Bettina to kick them out, or at least descend? "Congratulations?" she says upon recovering some facsimile of composure. And she embroiders, "No doubt that's why they loathe her. Due to a passionate infatuation with you, of course. Because instead of keeping it secret, you declaimed your devotion where all and sundry could hear?"

Since K'del loses his own composure mere moments after Val does, making that laughter perhaps doubly loud, it wouldn't be surprising if it was enough to bring Bettina over. Between breaths, he manages to declare, "Oh, of course. Well. Not all and sundry... but I'd be surprised if half the weyr couldn't hear us anyway." He'd probably smirk, if he wasn't laughing.

Hear them? Now Val's lapsed into silvery giggles, even. And if she's interpreted his meaning aright, "So you're saying it's not unrequited, then..." this said with quite a degree of faux innocence... that goes up an order of magnitude when Bettina really does bustle around the corner and ask, "What's so funny?" Val just waves at K'del before planting her hand over her mouth, as /if/ that could control her laughter: over to you!

"No!" gets in K'del, but then there's Bettina, and he's gone blushing red, making fish-faces as he attempts to get control of his breath again. "I'm sorry," he gets out, eventually, apparently genuine in his contrition even if there's still an edge of laughter to his voice. "It's-- ah." He hurries to his feet, shooting a glance that's just short of good naturedly accusatory towards Val. "We're-- going. Sorry. Really."

"Going!" Val conveniently has enough breath to chime in on cue, apparently his co-conspirator for the afternoon. "Bettina, darling," and then there are more cheek-kisses, even some for K'del if he'll hold still for the gardener long enough, and at last, at /last/ a back-to-laughing escape.