Logs:Really Great Tea
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 20 December, 2013 |
| Who: G'laer, Solith, Teisyth, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The day after the botched mediation at the Hot Springs, and after Telavi has spoken to Ghena and spoken to Quinlys, it's time to try her hand at G'laer. They share some really great tea even if they don't seem to see eye to eye. |
| Where: Teisyth's Ledge and Bookworm's Paradise Weyr (G'laer's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 8, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, C'wlin/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, Miravea/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
    |
| Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements. Bookworm's Paradise Weyr, High Reaches Weyr In clear weather, sun dapples the floor of the southward-facing weyr and reflects prisms of light from the fine glass that fronts wall after wall of neatly carved bookshelves. Empty now, but for a few volumes tucked up on a shelf, clearly this weyr is a bookworm's delight, all ready to welcome someone's collection of scrolls and finely bound volumes. The living space here has been sacrificed somewhat, cozy rather than spacious. There's enough room for a table and chairs in front of a hearth overhung with a precious maple-stained skybroom mantle, but the sleeping area is another nook carved into the wall, neatly laid with a comfortable double mattress. The linens are presumably stored in the lovely trunk set just to the side of the nook, a match in stain and wood-type to the mantle. Niches for glows are well-spaced along the tops of every shelf, the glow-holders made of interlacing strips of copper set with mica to give the light a mellow cast. All in all the space invites one to come in, curl up with a favorite drink and a book to read.
Solith flits by, a light-winged glide that leads to, « Boo! » as long as Teisyth's nose is busy and all. Also, « We've come to see you. Well, I've come to see you," in the singular, right before she circles around to land-- as though it's wholly unthinkable that Teisyth could possibly mind. Telavi will have to speak for herself. 'Boo' is interpreted by Teisyth in the manner of a baby playing peek-a-, and she's suddenly delighted! Solith! And she's visiting! Best. Day. Ever. The green shifts, not that she takes up too much room as is, but so as to make an easier landing for the older green. It's only once that Teisyth spots the rider on Solith's neck that G'laer appears just at the entrance to the inner weyr, expression neutral, eyes watchful, "Assistant Weyrlingmaster Telavi," is accorded to the woman politely along with the required salute. He doesn't exactly stand to attention, but neither is his posture at ease. Is it ever though? Solith's altogether too happy to whuffle at Teisyth, and-- once her rider's slid down-- to look out from the littler green's ledge as though she's surveying Teisyth's very own view, and then right back at her again. It's so pleasant that Teisyth has so much room, she relates; her own ledge is considerably more tricky, which is fine for her-- and occasionally convenient-- but this is nice for wanted guests, isn't it? As for Telavi, who may or may not count as such a guest, she hasn't yet gone further than the little terraced garden; she's glanced over in time to recognize both the weyrling and his salute with a nod, but she's nowhere near even the outer weyr. While she gets back to looking over the patch of soil, seeing what if anything looks different from her earlier weyr survey and even making a move to touch the dirt with her fingers if there's nothing too vile like fish emulsions or whatever, she says, "G'laer. How are you settling in?" "I would-" But then it's too late. "-n't." G'laer had started when Telavi's hand made move to stick fingers into the soil. It's not so bad as fish emulsion though. The man glances up and away, as if maybe now since she has, perhaps it would be better to pretend he hadn't said anything. Can she smell now how very fresh that dirt is? Fresh in a way that it might take a moment to place as a smell that's like... the stables? Or the feeding grounds on cool day? She probably would have had more warning if the day had been hotter, but though the sun shone, the heat didn't get so very intense up on this very high ledge. "Fine." Then the question that's probably his most frequently voiced, "Is this a social call?" It's best for G'laer to clarify such things so he understands how to behave; for G'laer, the lines are too clearly drawn. That most certainly counts as vile, if the expression Telavi turns on G'laer is to be believed, and the throaty noise that can't quite make it to an ugh. "Too late," she says mournfully. But, in for an eighth, in for a quarter; she nudges at the thyme a few times before she lifts her hand and rubs her fingers together, the better to let that dirt fall onto the rest of the soil and not get squished into her skin. Still, some of it clings, and she walks toward the weyrling with her hand held at arm's length, her fingers tilted gracefully towards the floor. "Partly yes, mostly no," since Telavi is so good with lines, "and please tell me you have a cloth at the very least. Water would be nice too, though at this point I'd take beer." "I hear some elegant Hold ladies pay good marks to the healers to put that kind of thing on their face. Good for the skin or some such." G'laer remarks in a consolatory manner, even if the sympathy is lacking in his face. Tela's answer only helps so much, but still, the former guard nods simply before turning and leading the way to the inner weyr. "I've water. Beer. Tea. Klah. Pick your poison." He must mean figurative. Right? In the meantime, Solith is getting the tour. This is the part of the ledge where Teisyth first fell in love with her new home. And this is the place where G'laer sat with her the first night to watch the sunset the spires in the bowl. And this is where she was when she made G'laer tell her stories about the stars. And this... it goes on for all the memories that she has from the past couple days. Right! Telavi wiggles her fingers in the general direction of G'laer's face, though there's no move to actually touch his skin or anywhere near it, even when she walks in after him. "I like to think I have better things on which to spend my marks," she says. "Water to clean my hand," since there are choices, "and then whatever you're having so long as it's liquid." Although, something about her voice might suggest she might impose other parameters if push came to shove. In the meantime, Solith's tour is becoming the highlight of her day, courtesy of Teisyth. She's fascinated by all Teisyth has to relate, so far anyway, the littler green's enjoyment infectious; the larger green is pleased to literally and figuratively follow along. "I have tea brewed." G'laer offers neutrally. The weyr is still so empty, but then the only things G'laer has to fill it is his small press worth of items from the barracks, for now. At least it appears he's done a cleaning and the table and chairs are clean enough. He moves to one of the shelves and brings a small basin to the table before taking a trip back onto his ledge to collect the pail of rainwater from the most recent summer showers, tipping some of it into the basin before making a trip back out to the ledge to replace it. On his way back, a towel is collected and a pair of mugs into which the tea is gingerly poured. It's not until he has the tea in hand and has settled himself in a chair, another nudged so Tela may when she's done washing, that he asks, "So if not mostly a social call, what?" Telavi gives him a quick, appreciative smile for it before getting to work, thoroughly, the way one might expect having seen her inspections-- and then even more so, particularly beneath her nails. It takes her a while, but then she's neatened the cloth over the edge of the basin and set it fastidiously aside: tea. Tea is better. She wraps her hands about the mug, though she says, "I talked with Ghena this morning. At some length," before tipping her head to inhale its aroma. Once the pains with the nails are noted, G'laer has one more errand to do, going to the shelf the basin was pulled from and he brings and deposits in the basin of water a small stiff-bristled brush meant for this very task. The aroma of the tea is likely one she hasn't smelt before. There are some smells in the overall mixture that can be identified with a little attention and effort, but others that are more difficult. It's an aroma that makes the nose tingle a little and likely one of those identifiable smells is mint. "About her crying at the Hot Springs yesterday." G'laer states but raises a brow. It's not really a question, but a confirmation is sought. The brush received a murmur of thanks, though also, a very discreet glance to make sure it appeared clean before she did anything with it. As for the tea, there's a moment or two of visible thought that can't have anything to do with his question, but mint must seem good, and if it's not the tea she gets from the Weyrhealer-- well, that would mean she'd have a couple fewer questions to ask of G'laer. "Yes," Telavi says for that question. Once she looks up from drink to man, "Would you like to tell me what you think she told me, first, or how it went down from your point of view?" The brush was clean. G'laer is, in point of fact, a clean guy. Sure, he gets sweaty, but one might note that his hair is always trimmed, his nails are always cleaned (except when actively working), his clothes always neat, if not fashionable. If one were looking for greenrider stereotypes to give him, his attention to an orderly and clean appearance might qualify as more than the average male. "Why would I want to tell you either?" G'laer's answer might be predictable. Why choose A or B when you can see an unoffered C? He arches his brows over the rim of the mug. The look he regards Telavi with is mostly neutral, though the slight furrowing of his brows adds a touch of the quizzical, but there's no obvious defensiveness nor accusation or anything else brewing in his expression. Questions! Telavi knows this game! Or-- so she might want to think, especially after Quinlys' prepping. Only, "Why wouldn't you?" the assistant weyrlingmaster asks quite genuinely, not so much a game at all. She sips her tea less assessingly than she'd sniffed it, eyes still on the other greenrider. "Because it's a personal matter, not a professional one." G'laer sips his tea. If he's wearing a poker face, it looks like his regular face, the regular totally neutral and emotionless one. "If I'm not mistaken, assistant weyrlingmaster, your duties pertain to my training, not my personal matters." Telavi looks at G'laer, and she's not so experienced that she doesn't straighten, sliding back to sit more squarely in her seat. She, of all people, stays silent for a moment. But it's only a moment, even if it is a long one: surely insufficient to be consulting with anyone human, in any detail at least, even through Solith. "Who," she asks quietly, "misled you to believe that personal matters, while you are a weyrling, don't reflect upon you and your training?" "I never said they don't reflect upon me or my training. Especially when one of my baby sisters bursts into tears and then has to be escorted home separately, but you already know what you need to know about how it reflects upon me and my training." What G'laer doesn't say but is certainly implied is that he's still opting for answer C. It's that baby that causes Telavi's nostrils to flare, but her voice stays quiet. "Whatever she is, whatever she was, she is your wingmate now." "She is." G'laer allows with appropriate seriousness. "As it happens, the things she was crying over are because she is my sister, not my wingmate. And her being my wingmate does not completely eclipse that we are blood and some things are family matters." Clearly, G'laer didn't ascribe any special meaning to the term baby sister. When you have ten of them, you have to differentiate somehow. Telavi thinks about that, and automatically sips the tea, which-- whether it's the thinking or the tea-- seems to be somewhat calming; maybe it's the mint. "The thing is," she says earnestly, "family matters or no, old patterns of interacting or no, she's still a weyrling, and so are you, and you're both Quinlys' weyrlings. You're both High Reaches' weyrlings. You're part of, of a long chain of tradition and training, and I'm sorry, but you aren't yet at the point where you've earned a life that private. I don't know that you even will in the wings. How people get along matters, G'laer. It may not seem like life and death when it doesn't involve knives or Threadfall, but it does, it really does." "I never argued that how people get along matters. Or that we're both weyrlings. But Impressing only entitles one being to pry into my private life, and she's big and green." G'laer states this with slightly more conviction than the rest of what he's said. "No one is arguing that you're entitled to speak to me about or punish me for behavior that is determined to be detrimental to effective and efficient training and functioning of this wing, but when you ask me if I would like to tell you what I think she told you, or if I would like to tell you how an attempt to improve relations went down from my point of view, the answer is I wouldn't." There's barely a breath before, "You are my teacher," Maybe he says it in case Telavi needs reminding, "I respect you. But being my teacher doesn't entitle you to access to my heart and that which pertains to it. Unless it is effecting my performance or the performance of my wing. In which case, it is not my place to tell you anything but yours to instruct me about what changes I must effect to correct the problem." He's so cool, disturbingly so. Maybe the tea is just that calming as he sips his own. Others would have gotten heated somewhere in all of that, but not G'laer, not even a little bit. The most emotion he showed in the whole thing was when he spoke of Teisyth. Teisyth, who is becoming distracted from her tour-giving, stopping in the middle of her sentences and feeling briefly 'far away' before, « Where was I? Oh, right and this here... » It's a full third of her tea that Telavi's finished off by now, and there are moments where she wants, visibly wants to jump in. But she listens, listens. Then there's silence, silence that she continues to draw out. Perhaps she's unsure of what to say. Perhaps she's unsure of how to say it. Perhaps she's unsure of what to say first. Perhaps this isn't what she came here for. Solith is burbling along for the most part with Teisyth, but there are undercurrents, and sometimes her wings flick unexpectedly. "G'laer," the assistant weyrlingmaster says when she stirs at last, and his name is like a sentence. Again, silence. "I don't have designs upon your heart." And again. "What I have difficulty is with coming to you after an issue with one of your fellow weyrlings, whose wingleader you are supposed to be, and giving you the chance you deserve to explain the situation from your perspective... only to have you trying to claim that even that's too personal. I didn't ask you if you would like me to tell these things. I asked you which you would like to tell me first." There might be more exclamations if it weren't for the tea, exclamations at the very least. "The deal with your sister? This is a bigger deal. You're not working with me. If you don't work with your wingleader... it's not going to go well for you, and I want it to go well for you when you're out there." She does. She really does. "Just so we're clear," The weyrling begins after a moment's contemplation, "I wouldn't flatter myself to think you had designs upon my heart in that way. I meant your interest in knowing about a deeply personal situation," Who knew G'laer even had those? "That is therefore something in my heart." He sets his mug on the table, perhaps already emptied. "I might recommend that next time you are demanding answers that you phrase it less like a question." Since apparently it's not optional. "The answer to your first question is that I'm not going to speculate on what Ghena might have told you or not told you; that's not mine to do, not even when asked to. Speculation leads to assumption which leads to stupidity, and I am not a man given to stupidity." Though some might have been fooled... "To answer your second question, I approached my sister," The slight emphasis is placed on clarifying the role in which he approached her; not wingleader to wingrider, not weyrling to weyrling, brother to sister, "-with the help of a friend to act as a mediator between us because historically conversations between us do not end well. As you know." From that time. At the lake. Where his dragon was sitting on him. "I approached her because certain details of my personal life that she was unaware of had come to light and Teisyth felt strongly that I owed her at least an attempt to provide some explanation of those details. I approached her when we were off-duty. When we could have a private discussion. It turns out I was mistaken, that Teisyth was mistaken about my owing her anything. I won't make the mistake again." He might as well be reading out of a text book for all the emotion his words carry. They're detached, clinical. "Next time," is mostly agreement, not-unhumorously devoid of anticipation. "I was trying to give you some choice," but Telavi rolls her shoulders, something about the manner of that gesture belonging to a broader frame than hers. The rest she holds onto, one arm crossed, the other holding the mug beyond her collarbone. When G'laer gets as far as he does, and a few seconds more, it's her move. "Thank you," she chooses to say first. "For explaining." At last. "To me; but to her, too. I don't know exactly what it's like for you... but I do know that it can be awful, trying to make things better and have them go bad instead-- and maybe it didn't work out this time but that you tried, that's important." She drinks, almost smiling, from her mug; it's such good tea, even if it's also good at keeping her sentences extra run-on. "It really is important, even if you don't think it worked; it maybe worked better than you knew. And the thing is, speculation doesn't have to lead to stupidity; it's useful. I've talked to her; I've at least an idea what's going on with her, and if you'd try and imagine things from her point of view, I could try to help figure out what's the same and what's different. That's where that's useful. Even things like... well, you know how you just said how you went to talk to her when you two were off duty? So that's good, especially when you're wingleader, it makes it more equal... but G'laer, do you really think a girl is going to feel more comfortable, more open to talking about something difficult, more safe, when-- here, I'll try to make this simpler. Do you think a girl's going to feel like she can talk better about tough things, maybe even confrontational things, when she has all her clothes on and she has her feet under her? Or when she doesn't and she's in a pool and she's-- well, she's cornered?" Maybe she's clear. Maybe she's not clear. Maybe only the tea knows. "You were trying to give me choice about something that didn't matter. The semblance of freedom is worthless and it wastes time." Obviously, since it's taken them this long to get to this point. So much calm in the way that's delivered. It probably doesn't even prickle the way that it might if it weren't that the tea is just so nice. Not that G'laer moves to fetch himself another cup. One is probably enough. "Telavi," And now he's not speaking to his teacher, so much, "Ghena is a stranger to me. We're blood and that means something, but I left home the turn she was born. I didn't meet her until she was nearly one, and since then she's seen me for days that can be counted per turn on fingers alone. What I know of her, up to the point of candidacy is largely second hand. Asking me to speculate about what she might've told you would be like me asking you to speculate about what the Weyrwoman thinks if you've known her only a turn and largely in passing and in a professional capacity. Would you feel comfortable making conjecture on that scale?" So that's one thing. And then there's the rest. He twists the mug on the table, as though to set at at just the right angle to unlock the secret code that explains more. "Because Ghena is so helpless that if she'd wanted to end the conversation she couldn't have moved in the pool thereby using the ripple of the water to further obscure the body parts we weren't interested in? We didn't corner her. We approached her. Even if she didn't feel comfortable getting out of the pool to walk away, there were places for her to go. Had she moved, we would not have followed. And don't try to tell me she didn't feel moving away was an option. You've been to the Springs. You know what the pools are like there. Big enough for dragons, plenty big enough to leave a situation you don't want to be in without showing any flesh." The look he levels of Telavi is neutral but the slight quirk of the brow is interested to hear any argument that would say otherwise. If it would matter to some people, if it might even matter to Telavi, it's nothing she speaks of now. As G'laer changes tone, Telavi tilts her head, her expression somehow-- mellow. Listening. And he's talking. This is great. Great weyr, great tea, great ...chair. She can be so patient. Listen, listen, Weyrwoman professional ripple obscure interested flesh. Only, more meaning must have slipped in because, "What I know is," her blink is slow motion over blue, blue eyes, "if I really, really want a good outcome, G'laer, I try to shape things so that it can happen." Her voice is so earnest. "Wouldn't a... professional man?" Only her lips have pursed, not-quite-silent laughter escaping-- professional man!-- before she can continue. "You've been trained to be a professional man, haven't you?"--professional man training!--"But maybe professional men don't learn about girls... in their professional man training. You might think, in your logic, in your head, that she has a way to get away if she wants to. You might think that your friend is to help you both keep... cool... even though the springs are hot." That's funny too, would be funnier if she weren't also serious. « Teisyth? » asks Solith all of a sudden, but that doesn't stop Telavi. She searches out G'laer's eyes. "But if you have a girl that you don't know very well and you don't know her very well, a girl that's a lot younger than you, a girl where both of you think you have a lot more experience than she does--" G'laer's lips quirk into a purse that might be betraying amusement at Telavi's illustration of cool and hot. "I did try to shape things so there could be a good outcome. I brought a mediator," The 'For Faranth's sake' goes unspoken but the slight shift in his tone might imply that. It's a touch exasperated, but not with Telavi. The exasperation is for how things didn't find a good outcome. "This 'mediator,'" Telavi doesn't wait to point out, "is another man-- boy-- person who looks like he's your friend and don't you see, G'laer, that is not neutral at all. It doesn't feel neutral. All on top of, well, not literally on top of--" "I'm confused. Now you don't want me to make friends? After Quinlys went on about how I needed to form bonds with these emotional, crazy children?" Yep, they're still children. Apparently, even A'rist. « Solith? » Teisyth seems almost confused as she lets her fanciful story about a herdbeast with two heads grind to a halt. "Friends are good. Friends tell you smart things to do. Friends are-- oh, G'laer." Telavi shakes her head so solemnly. "You didn't say that, did you?" She sounds so worried for him. « Teisyth, » Solith sighs. « I don't understand. Would you listen to your rider? Would you listen to my rider? » It's a good thing Telavi doesn't hear her now. « I think we need your help. » Teisyth to the rescue? "Telavi," G'laer sighs, "I'm twenty-eight. That makes almost everyone closer to half my age than not. They're worrying about things like which boy to try out their new freedoms with and I'm thinking about the people in Nabol. The people in Crom. The tithes and our winter stores. I'm not just thinking about it while we're at lessons. I think about it when I'm here. When I'm bathing Teisyth. When she's feeding. The moment any of them wants to grow up and get a grip, friendship is on the table. A'rist is the closest, but we're not friends. Not yet." But maybe someday. He sounds tired now, and (gasp!) the expression matches. « They're getting off track, » Tesiyth shifts restlessly. « Just like all them did at the Springs. » She remembers, likely, because it was only yesterday, and more than that, G'laer's thinking about the experience right now. Is that what Solith means? There's something there. Something Teisyth isn't saying, but she's taking a page from G'laer's book just this once and waiting to find out if it's this or... whatever she's not saying. « Did they? » Solith's a little shifty, but it's quite literal rather than figurative, a commiserating muzzle-stroke designated for the littler green's wingbase. The something, she might not notice; after all, it's not being said. Out come the talking hands. Maybe it's a good thing; Telavi has to set down her not-quite-drained mug to do it. She raises one hand: "One problem-- thing-- issue: there's that feeling," not that G'laer would necessarily call it that, at all, "that you have more important things to worry about. And they are important things. They are really, really, really important things. I wish they didn't mean that you miss these other things that don't seem like they're important but snowball, even when we don't have snow. Because," here's the other hand, only Telavi has to pause and say, "Not that I want to have snow! But: the point is," somewhere, "that there is also perception and you maybe don't think he is your friend but if he looks like your friend to somebody who doesn't know you so well, you picked him after all, it still feels like being ganged up on and do you know what it feels like, to be ganged up on?" « Oh sure, » Teisyth's answer comes almost lazily like after that muzzle-stroke she's 'bout ready for a nap. « I told G'laer he couldn't let Ghena keep bein' so mad at him so he had to try t'explain about Aseana an' the kids. An' 'bout why he never told nobody 'cept Laghnei about 'em. So he says t'me that he an' she ain't got a good track record for talkin' 'bout things. So I tell him t'ask A'rist, 'cuz A'rist knows 'em both and can make sure they hear what each others' sayin' 'cuz they're both real bad at listenin'... » The story will drawl on if she's not interrupted. Really, why anyone bothers asking G'laer when they can just ask Teisyth... it's a mystery. G'laer's expression darkens. It's an abrupt and possibly frightening shift. Without explanation, he states in a tone that brooks no argument, "We did not gang up on her. I offered her an olive branch and she spat it back in my face. When none of it was any of her business to begin with except that she happened to speak to my ex-wife when she arrived, and she happens to share the same parents that I do." Which gets him back to, "Which is again, why this is a private matter and not something pertinent to our status as weyrlings." It really, really is. Solith may or may not actually be sharing any of this with Telavi just now-- Telavi has enough of her own thoughts to attempt to manage-- but she's fascinated in her own right. Not because she's trying to get more information out of Teisyth, or laughing at her going on and on and on, but because... it's fascinating. It's a story. Solith likes stories. Until-- suddenly there's a gust of cold wind, through her rather than of her, and she stares towards the weyr. Telavi's lashes fly wide and she's slid back in her chair as though she were pushed; it really is a good thing that she had to set down her mug. "You made her eat an-- oh. Oh." It doesn't even have the delivery of comedy. She swallows. She looks and looks at him. "The only thing is," she says very, very seriously, because it's also very, very clear to a greenrider who's had her 'maybe this but that's temporarily blurred away, "First you said she's just someone with the same parents. Then you said that she's your sister so it's private," hand number two, except really that's the first thing he said and the other is the first of the two things he said recently. "But you see, it doesn't work to have it both ways." It's nearly apologetic, her tone, as though she feels bad for the man. Teisyth freezes. Cold. Cold. Yes, definitely cold. But she rumbles, more mentally than physically, revving up her mental mechanizations and generating some heat to move those things away. « G'laer used t'get ganged up on. He knows what that is, but he didn't do that to her. He wouldn't. She's his sister. » And there's a deep importance there, a significance that G'laer would probably never admit to with so much feeling. « It's not good memories fer him. It's maybe not where she wants t'go with him. He'll get scary. » Not to Teisyth, of course, but she's known his scary face and how he feels inside. Can't keep her out, nope. She's got this uncanny ability to do whatever she wants when it comes to her lifemate. Solith sidles closer to Teisyth, physically as well as mentally, for some of that nice warmth if she'll share. She's still looking towards the weyr, though. « Where does she want to go? » she diffidently asks, now that Teisyth's revealed her knowledge of all things Telavi. "It does. If you had a brother or a sister fifteen turns younger, you'd see it. It goes back to what I was explaining earlier. She's a stranger to me, but she's still blood. I appreciate it's an unusual dynamic, but this is a Weyr. It'd be like meeting a sibling for the first time if you were a flight baby. They're your blood, and that matters, but they're still a stranger. So you see? To the average eye it seems like a contradiction, but it is simply what it is. An unusual, fucked up Weyr family, like so many others." G'laer's expression has shifted back to neutrality and his tone is calm as he disagrees. "I might," Telavi says quite seriously. "I wouldn't know. It doesn't take living in a Weyr to have a flight baby, even without a flight." Ordinarily there might be all sorts of modifications and qualifications from Telavi, but then, ordinarily she might never admit to such a thing at all. But then again, she might; it's Telavi after all. "I'm not sure how much it matters, is the thing. It might just matter like..." Her hands lift again, as fists this time, only after a second look at G'laer she makes them into circles shaped between each thumb and set of fingers. The circles come closer to each other, back away, come closer again, and then bump very lightly. They shiver slightly against each other, as though uncertain whether to overlap or even interlace. Wistfully-- maybe, perhaps, because he has yet another sister? because Ghena has something? because it's eternally a waste to see things go poorly when they could be fixed?-- "If you had asked me, I could have helped you get a better-- helped it turn out better. It doesn't have to be this way." G'laer stares at her. It's not surprised, it's not accusing, it's not even a glare, he just stares. "Remember that whole thing about it being private business? In order to have involved you, I'd have had to wanted to tell you what was going on. And that's the private part. I went to a neutral third party that is, so far the only person who doesn't push me to reveal things. That's why I chose him. Because it was on my terms to talk about my personal shit." Two swear words, for anyone who's counting. Still, he sounds cool and collected. Of course! Sharing, Teisyth likes sharing. So the warmth will radiate enough to be shared, along with her naturally buoyant personality. « I'm not real sure where she wants to go, but no one wants to go where she'd be going with that. Mark my words. » In this, at least, the boxy green knows what she's talking about. « Oh. » Think think think. « Where is a good place to go? » This time, Solith actually has the intent to share any answer with Telavi; not only that, but she shares that very thing with Teisyth. « It would be nice to go to a good place and then I can take her away before they go to a bad place, again, some more. » If she can only jump in at the right time. She can't, always, though she tries. "And that--" It's not that Telavi has no filters, tea or no tea, but it is considerably more visible than normal when they deploy. She sighs out a breath, glances at her mug, and then looks at G'laer. "So you did try," she says finally, not quite counting this 'pro' on a finger. "You let someone else try to help you. Even if," she shuts her eyes momentarily, and when she reopens them, she shakes her head. Instead she says, a little doubtfully, "You asked another weyrling try to help you. With your private shit. Who happens to be your sister." She steeples her hands. "Has it been your experience, G'laer," and she gives that word before his name a whole extra syllable, "that when people feel co--" Again she stops, this time with frustration that precedes a glance towards the ledge. She tries it again. "I understand that you think that it is your business and it is not my business." He interrupts. "Ma'am," G'laer's simple use of the word brings them without any doubt back to a profession setting, "If I may ask, what is your purpose in coming here?" What does she want from him? Teisyth has to give that some thought. « Well, he likes talkin' 'bout ideas. Not feelings. If she wants to know things, she needs to ask real direct. An' if she asks something he don't want to tell, he'll tell her so. So she needs ter be ready to not get to know everything she might want. » But that doesn't really answer the question. But does it help? « She could ask him 'bout his gran. He loves his gran. » This pops into her head, but she almost immediately second guesses it. Solith flutters warmth back to Teisyth, appreciative of the littler green's efforts. She does say rather sadly, « She likes knowing everything. » Is this in any way a surprise? « I will tell her, direct. I will tell her, ideas. I will tell her-- but maybe gran can be for later. She will figure it out. Thank you, Teisyth. » The fluttering wafts this way and that, and she confides, as though this were a secret, « It is not always easy. » Ma'am. It pulls Telavi's back up, and by now, it's not because she's looking around for Quinlys. That's her, now. Even if it is also her with the tea, and so she bends G'laer a momentarily soured look for the rest. "I had a purpose. Let me think." Finding her purpose seems to involve sliding up further in her chair, one heel stabilizing a rung so the chair won't fall back when she all but does a full backbend over the edge. It gives her arched back a satisfying pop, anyway, and she stays there for several moments before tipping forward again, flushed even if she's not smiling. "There's something else," she says, "but that's not for today. Today is for checking on you, and for telling Quinlys what she needs to know. Question number one-- well, after those other ones-- do you understand that..." keep it simple, keep it simple, "what you mean to come across is not always what does come across? And... do you think that we shouldn't let siblings Stand for the same clutch? That's the second one." Just in case. « No, it ain't. It's easier when people don't get all mad when he's finally doin' the right thing. » Suddenly little Teisyth is little angry Teisyth, remembering. « Ooh, that Ghena. » She growls a little, « I dun took all my time convincin' him to talk to her an' tell her thinks he didn't wanna talk about with nobody, an' got him to tell A'rist, an' got him to ask fer help an' she just yells at him. » Well, maybe not yell, exactly. « She don't listen or nothin'. Makes me so mad I could just-- » She tries to come up with something suitable, « -- bite her. » She settles on. Not in a blood-drawing way like Lythronath, but like just enough to make her saliva-slathered and unhappy about it. This is the extent of Teisyth's wrath: drool. "Two siblings are as likely to make the best wingmates in weyrlinghood as the worst enemies. I wouldn't support a practice of putting siblings in the same wing together, but in a weyr, sometimes that's tricky. Probably less so in the Interval. But I wouldn't stop them from Standing." G'laer answers the second point first. Then the first question, made easier by his propensity for philosophy. "I think it can be said that it is more often true that what one intends and what happens are divergent paths than one in the same. No two people are any more alike than any two snowflakes. It's only natural that to one eye they're seen to glisten and in the other they're seen to gleam and poets will argue until they run out of breath which is the right way to see things. So too is it with all people. Intentions are important, results are more so." See? He didn't have to address his feelz at all! > Solith is sympathetic. Solith assures, « I don't think they should yell at all. » Or not-listen or whatever. Only, she admits in confidence, « We think she was scared. His sister. She doesn't get to understand all the work you did, she just knew... » here's her imagination: little tiny tiny tiny Knioth-rider, slunk low in the water, big tall-by-comparison Teisyth- and Lythronath-riders looming over her. Flickers of possibility waft out from it: the Knioth-rider holding very-very-very still, or splashing away-- or lunging forward with lots of tiny sharp teeth. Wait, was that last one not as helpful? "Thank you," Telavi says when she must think she detects a pause, serious acknowledgement rather than gratitude; as she waits, she idly dips a finger-- of her non-dirt-sullied hand, even if she had scrubbed them clean-- in the mug, scooping what fine dregs might remain. "Do you have any thoughts you care to share," her mouth pursing briefly, "on what you could have done to get a better result? 'Avoiding it' or 'leaving her alone forever' doesn't count." « She knew how to be angry and hold a grudge. A stupid one. » Teisyth fumes. Literally. At least mentally. For once, when the images come, they're not cartoons. These are very real pictures of exactly what Teisyth saw. If there are splash marks here and there because Teisyth was also playing at the time... well. Ghena, seated in the pool, at the edge. G'laer and A'rist approaching the edge. Ghena... well, the faces she makes says it all. A'rist playing peacemaker. G'laer, angry. A'rist stopping him from walking away. G'laer, trying again. Ghena... more faces. Then G'laer, angry, worse, walking away. Teisyth going to meet him. So she's capable of real images; but only, it seems, those within her not-yet-forgotten window. Or maybe this is just too serious a thing not to be real about. There was no looming. No threatening. Just boys talking to a girl. "No." Did Telavi really expect a different answer? She asked if he had thoughts he cared to share. "Do you have any such thoughts you don't care to share?" Telavi asks with unusual patience and even a hint of a smile that never quite escapes. "Many." G'laer tilts his head a little his lips mirroring the ghost of what hers might hold. "Virtually all that I have, in fact." Solith, absurdly delighted: look, those pictures! They aren't creative like the cartoons are, perhaps, but they're new-- what a pity that they aren't happy moments, of course, but so it goes. « Thank you, » she says, only with more outright pleasure and less fulfilled expectation than her rider. She sighs. « She, » Telavi, « would not care to be approached so, were it not for pleasure, » that last word carrying the sense of 'glad to see each other' rather than any euphemism. « She and I do not think she is the only one. » But that must not matter in Solith's eyes; rather, « They both get angry. » Who does not? « Do they both hold grudges? » "Good," Telavi says, and with that-- and, all right, a quick, uncharacteristic reach for the table's edge for all that she doesn't hold onto it long-- she flexes forward and thence to her feet. "Think about them long and hard." It's the assistant weyrlingmaster talking, if not only her. "Whether or not the weyrlingmaster sees fit to call you in," there's a surpassingly airy shrug; he'll find out when he finds out, whether she does or whether she doesn't. Teisyth hesitates. « He does not. But he remembers. I will not push him to extend his hand only to have her bite it. » This time she means the Lythronath kind of biting. Not just the kind that makes people drool-y. Then there's some puzzlement, « He did not approach Telavi, though. » And then there are images (cartoon again) of snowflakes. Everyone is different is the unspoken message. "I always do." What else would he be doing with all his free time? Telavi didn't, as it happens, with her second question specify the topic of those thoughts. Loophole! "She's my weyrlingmaster. She can call me in as it suits her." He doesn't waste his thoughts or thinking time on whether or not this will be the case; it's not worrisome. If G'laer ever worries about anything to begin with. "She can indeed," Telavi says cheerily-- and were she to differ in interpretation of the rest, even if she knew about it she mightn't stay. Rather, she slides her chair in ever so tidily before beginning to pace her way towards ledge and dragons. If it requires a little thought to place her feet so neatly in front of each other, so be it. Does he not? « Do not, » Solith agrees quite quickly. « When she, » Knioth's, « does, or when he does, they should both be ready for each other. » And not to mutually bite. As for the rest, though her head swivels to greet her rider, she also has time for Teisyth; « No, he did not. » There aren't so much piles of snowflakes in her mind, nor sticky clumps, as those falling near-eternally together; some waft away, others join in, but mostly in the same direction if at different rates. « I do not know... I only see parts. Only sometimes-- » A snowflake's lobed tip, or a glimpse seen at an angle, but never entirely the whole. Now comes the part he might have been hoping they wouldn't get to. "Telavi," Back to the less than formal interaction, and he, too, is rising, moving to catch up to her and, in point of fact, to intercept her. And suddenly, Teisyth is nervous. So nervous, in fact, that she's shying away from Solith. Solith's confused, the wind picking up, snowflake-bits flying every which way-- From his dragon's nerves to hers to her-- "Yes?" Her dancer's step is reflex, not intent, widening the space he'd have to close. "You can hit me if you want, but, there's this thing and it's important." G'laer answers, regarding the younger greenrider seriously. "You shouldn't try to between for another hour or so. Just in case." Yes, he really does stop there. Just in case maybe he can avoid getting hit. Teisyth so wishes Telavi won't hit him. "And why shouldn't I do that?" Telavi inquires, leaving the question implicit: and why should he be telling her what to do? The question of hitting or not hitting is, notably, left in reserve. Solith makes no promises. G'laer reaches a hand up and pushes his fingers through his hair. "The tea's a little strong." Beat. "It might not be safe to try betweening just now." Teisyth braces. Solith waits for it. Telavi looks at him, a lift of her eyes. Then, she lifts her chin. "What is in that tea that you served me, G'laer?" "Harmless herbs." G'laer answers evenly, "Some of which prove to be unusually relaxing." Beat. "Think of it a little like wine. But in tea form." And maybe the effects are a little bit different. Clearly, it wasn't by design that he chose that tea for her, since it was already brewed when she arrived. "Do you think yourself--" Telavi shakes her head, then; no, of course not. Those blue eyes are very intent. "Please write for me a list of the ingredients of that tea, now." She doesn't ask for proportions. "You said you'd take beer." G'laer points out, arms folding across his chest, "And said you'd have whatever I was having. That's what I was having. It's perfectly safe. Do you ask what's in each beer you drink? Or each tea for that matter?" Nevermind that she might start now. "It's a family secret." He adds, in case that helps. "Your family has a convenient array of secrets," Telavi says. "I know how my body handles beer; I'm not accustomed to having any variety of tea other than--" she inhales, sharply. It might have been more so, but there is, after all, that lingering brew. Perhaps the last of that thought drowns in it. "Every variety you ever ask for?" G'laer gives her a doubting look, "You're not reacting badly to it." That much is obvious from the amount of time they've spoken for. "You might be a little extra hungry in a bit and if you're really concerned, you're welcome to stay and share a meal with me and wait it out. I wouldn't have served it to you if it wasn't safe." This last is patiently insistent. "But it would be like sending a weyrling off without a polite warning after you've given him the best whiskey. Not that you're like a weyrling, I just meant it as 'inexperienced in the ways of fine whiskey.'" "If I were drinking whiskey, I'd know it," says the whiskey-blonde. "I could account for it. A beer is one thing; I can between with that. You do not know what plans I had for the remainder of this time. I like to think that you wouldn't have served it to me if you didn't believe it was safe." "You can between with this. I'm just being cautious, because as you say, it's the first time you've had it." Yes, yes, he's still trying to talk his way out of this. "Safely. Between safely. 'Yes, it's my first time, be gentle.'" Telavi twists away, a pivot that in the end goes nowhere but back again. "G'laer. You have a choice. You may write down a full and complete list and give it to me right now, or you may accompany me to the Weyrhealer to recite that list to her. Believe me when I say that were you a full rider, I'd be speaking to your wingleader." As it is-- "You can between as safely as you could if you'd had a beer. Which, even you have to admit, for some, one is too much to try betweening." Particularly, light-weights. This much G'laer will answer before he counters, "How about I take you to meet my grandmother instead?" Telavi's gaze barely flickers; evidently she feels compelled to admit nothing in that regard, or even care about it at all. "What, G'laer, would that get me?" "She's a healer-trained herbalist in Crom. She's been Hold herbalist for more than sixty turns. It's her recipe. You don't have any more reason to distrust it than you do something coming from one of the healers here except that you don't know her. She probably has more skill than any of them in mixing teas and tinctures. She's trained me for fifteen turns. If you speak to her, she can tell you about the tea. It's not my secret to give out." The explanation is rapid but G'laer is calm in the delivery. Her eyes widen, then narrow. "You're right," Telavi says frankly. "I don't know her. And you know what? If you gave me something that Weyrhealer Madilla herself personally shat out on a night of two full moons, and I didn't know what it was and what it did until afterward-- What would it have hurt you, G'laer, to have mentioned that 'this tea I'm drinking, it relaxes me, what I've given you is about as much as a beer,' ahead of time?" "Telavi," G'laer reaches up a hand to rub it across his face, "If it was so important to you to know what was in the tea, why didn't you ask me when I poured it for you." "Because I shouldn't have to!" If Telavi isn't actually interrupting enough for him to stop, she's still riding right over the heels of that 'ask.' "Part of common courtesy is serving mild drinks, versions of what you can get in the lower caverns, not specialty home-brewed-- things! If you'd just--" "Telavi, please," Which is probably the best, most polite thing he can come up with. "Please." Both hands are held up between the two of them. It might be funny if he asked her to calm down, given the tea. But he doesn't. "Can we take a breath and talk about this?" G'laer's tone has gentled, to be something far kinder than his usual tone. "Please?" 'We.' Telavi flashes another look at him and his hands-- and then moves to depart. It's not towards her dragon, though, but rather back into the weyr. Maybe she wants to sit and have another mugful! Couldn't that be? There's a moment of relief that G'laer savors. He's not out of the woods yet, but step one was getting her back to the table. Figurative more than literal, but literal will do. He follows a moment later and waits for her to situate where she likes before he speaks. "May I ask you some questions?" Perhaps he's paying extra attention to manners now. Now that his lack of them has been pointed out. 'Where she likes' may not resemble situating for long. Though Telavi returns to the table, it's to reclaim the mug she'd left there, so long as she gets to it first; "You may ask me a question." Only she's stalled out afterward: not looking at him so much as the table's charcoal-brown surface, examining the grain and the weathering. 'Going to steal my mug now?' is the impulsive question that manages to get stalled after the first syllable comes out. That's not how G'laer wants to spend his one question. "Before I advised you not to between for a bit, how did you feel?" Go? Does she want to go? Telavi presses the tip of a fingernail into a deeper part of the grain, not to dent it, just to trace it. "You said 'feel,'" she points out as though this might be new to him. Maybe she's really talking to Teisyth? "I felt like..." here she finally does look at G'laer as she steps away from the table, "like go-ing." Time to get back to that. "That's not a real answer. You felt relaxed, right? Good, even?" G'laer shifts to step into her path, but he doesn't move to physically stop her in any other way. "You don't get to grade my answers," Telavi says more seriously than with rancor, and adjusts her path to go around, as though he were a rock to sit still or possibly a quite young weyrling dragon who might just bound off in the other direction. As she does so, "That's three, you know. I suppose you could say I was really, really glad to go, so that's sort of good. Let's say it's good." "It's only three because you didn't really answer one." There's another question that doesn't get posed then, but for more reason than because he's already asked his one/three. G'laer turns and sighs, shaking his head. She's not listening, why should he waste his breath? But for some, no breath is needed. Teisyth is imploring toward Solith. « Solith, please. Please make her listen. She's been safe this whole time, I promise! G'laer's real good at what he does. An' he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She ain't done nothin' to be punished for. An' he'll show her if she'll listen. » Then suddenly, « I love his gran. She's great! Tela should meet her. » Yep. She definitely should meet her. « S'funny watchin Gran order G'laer 'bout like he's twelve again. » Her giggle is tentative but hopeful. Hopeful. Please? Please? Please? Can't they fix all this mess? It's like the Springs. A mess because people ain't listenin' to each other. An' people feel all-- well, whatever they feel that isn't helpful to listening. Solith and Teisyth can talk more quickly than mere humans can, right? Right? « I'm not very good at making her do anything, » Solith confides regretfully. « I've tried-- but I don't want to hurt her either, » most of the time, not that that last is likely to show beyond an invisible shadow-like turbulence. « She does like when people show her things, special things, and also talking, » so much talking. Likely, and this may be more perceptible if Teisyth's noticing, Telavi also likes seeing how people deal with people like that. And also, she likes Teisyth, and she doesn't like those kinds of messes, and neither-- mostly-- does her rider. Though while she's at it, « Does... oh, I don't know. » "When I ask you questions," Telavi says as she continues to walk, though at least it's not quickly what with the walking and talking at the same time, "it feels like-- seems like-- sounds like you answer the way you want to and you don't want to. Not much, not until you find something you want to and then it's a lot." She winds up bumping a shoulder lightly into a bookcase, which she starts to lean on, though at least she's not getting fingerprints on the glass. She's still holding the mug. "I wasn't trying to pay you back though. I could have done. I could have said that you may ask but that doesn't mean an answer. It's a real answer for me even if it isn't one you want but I don't think you want to know why." "The difference is that I don't answer things to willfully make things more difficult. I answer things like I see them. And I know you're not stupid enough to have thought when I asked you how you felt before that I meant how you felt when you felt like going." G'laer's expression is hardening now, "I'm not trying to play any games." These aren't his kind of games, if his kind of games exist at all. "I'm trying to explain, trying to show you the truth of things and you're too wrapped up in your self-righteous indignation to let me." It's a really good thing that he doesn't choose this moment to mutter something about women. « Uh oh. » That is never a good sign. « S'gettin' worse. » Teisyth titters, now moving closer to Solith, maybe hiding behind her. She's bigger, and older, and -- and-- Teisyth can't look. Literally. She hunkers down so her head can tuck under her wing. Sigh. Siiiiigh. Solith is good at sighing and her lungs are even larger than her rider's or, for that matter, Teisyth's. She sidles slightly closer to the smaller green and partially unfurls her near wing to go over top of it all. "Don't you?" It doesn't even have sarcasm. 'Isn't he?' Telavi tilts her head like she's studying G'laer, like he could be put under the glass of his own bookcase for preservation. Only as he finishes she can't help but laugh, more of a giggle, really, for all that her free hand immediately shoots up to cover her mouth. It isn't long before she can speak again, and that with a note of apology; "It would be nice if you don't. I'm sorry. It's just the-- wait, that probably isn't helpful either." Except for how she seems suddenly in better spirits instead of worse, enough to say, "It's okay. I won't even insist on explaining what really-- " except for how she started to, if only by implication. But she stops, again. "Go ahead, lay it out there. I'm listening, really. Show me what you want to show me." Uh oh. Girl. Mood swing. Girl. Things G'laer does not understand. Abruptly his look is cautious, suspicious even. It might be a trap. Normally, he probably could have and would have hidden this sort of a reaction under neutrality, but let's not forget that they both drank the really great tea. "No, I don't." He articulates slowly, and then turns. Well, half-turns, because he needs to keep an eye on Telavi now. She might grow a second head at any moment. "Will you please come this way?" At first, it might seem like the greenrider is trying to lead his teacher to his bed, only he turns at the last set of shelves, slipping between the ones that wrap the far edge of the room and the set that creates an aisle with them. At the far end of the narrow aisle, there's a desk with a rolling top and it's to that that he goes. As he draws near that end, one can note the contents of the shelves becoming jars and jars and jars of dried leaves and flowers and roots. Under the rolltop, there's everything an herbalist needs - weights and measures, knives meant for precision work, mortar and pestle, and so on. One of the shelves is occupied with books whose labels imply all something to do with the trade. "How many turns does an apprentice study before they're deemed worthy of walking the tables and managing on their own? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen if the apprentice is lazy?" His voice is quiet and by now he's forgotten he needs to keep an eye on Tela, as his blue gaze seems to see almost only the desk and it's contents, his gaze holding a kind of reverence that's akin to how most* (*Not G'laer or Rh'mis or A'rist) riders look at their dragons. "I studied for fifteen turns, Telavi. Under one of the best herbalists. I can make salves and tinctures, teas, and poultices. I've been using them for turns, on myself, on my guards, for anyone who needs it. The tea is as dangerous as a beer, or a wine, and safer than most stronger spirits. All it does is relax you extra. Make you feel good. The worst it's done in all the turns my grandmother's been making it is give someone a bad headache. If there was any chance it would have hurt you or that you could have reacted badly to it, I wouldn't have served it to you. Just like I wouldn't've let you walk out of here without knowing you mightn't want to between, just to be safe. I wouldn't've put you in any danger. You know that, or you would have been much more particular about what I was serving you." He speaks with the experience of one who knows. Telavi just might. Ask C'wlin. Of course, she's far too busy laughing behind her hand again to so much as glance at the bed; then, of course, there are all the really interesting things, even if many of them are blocked by glass from fingers if not equally roaming glances. They silence all laughter. Discreetly, her gaze skims over the doors of the cases as well, and the arch of the desk; do there appear to be locks? If it takes an effort of will to keep her hands to herself where all that paraphernalia is concerned, and if she has less in the way of that after the tea, perhaps she has less motivation as well. And, after all, she's listening. Whatever's going on behind those blue-today eyes, all she corrects is gently done, and well after the description of such history has fallen to silence. "I believed that, yes. I hadn't known that you patch men up as well as..." her free hand flicks towards his hip and what's sheathed there, cousin to certain other tools of precision within the desk. He just moved in, so no, there are sadly no locks. (Yet.) Evidently nothing here is either that dangerous or that valuable. Maybe there's more somewhere else that accounts for such things. "You still should." G'laer sighs over the past tense. The man doesn't reach for the beltknife, even to simply reassure himself it's there, but rather just looks at the more experienced greenrider, turning away from the rolltop desk and it's contents. It's after a deep breath that he says, solemnly, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the tea before hand. To be honest, it didn't really occur to me that it was a problem." She looks at him with those reflective blue eyes; she listens. "That helps," Telavi says at length, when she can be confident that what she says is true, and after a few moments more to double-check. "Do you... think you understand why knowing is important, why it matters?" "Wouldn't you feel better explaining it to me and having me listen?" G'laer answers back with raised brow. It is decidedly an invitation. Would she? Telavi looks at him, and then she looks back at the cases, their glass reflective too; she looks past, though, at their contents and even perhaps past those. "I would if you didn't understand," she says. "If it would help. Otherwise... I can make myself feel better, thank you," and by now she's looking at his reflection instead. "Let's say it's possible I don't. For clarity, I think you should explain your point of view." It's possible that G'laer is just trying to buy time. Time for things to get out of peoples' systems. But he seems sincere enough. "I don't like to presume I understand another's mind." "Going out on a limb, there." It comes with a brief smile. The glass stays between them, if not literally than in the way she continues to observe him. "Do you like being tied up?" "Fine. To be more accurate, I don't feel I have enough information to understand or to not understand and therefore the answer to whether or not I do is ambiguous." G'laer explains, "But it seemed easier and just as accurate to say it's possible I don't." Then, "No." He does not like being tied up. "If we're meaning in the physical sense of the idea." She nods. She also steps back, not in the physical sense of that idea either, to the first part; "That's clearer, if longer." Next Telavi attempts to explain, "The two aren't the same, of course, it," she waves her free hand in the air, "is an exaggerated version of what I mean," and here her fingers around the mug wave in a small gesture, which doesn't quite parallel because the latter's the one constrained, but she's trying. "No, I'm not saying that's what you did. I'm hoping it, the comparison, makes it clearer to look at though. Like, being tied up means other people get to decide lots and lots of things and you don't." If some people like that, that's not the point of this story. "They can mess you over and even if you're the most amazing... knife fighter, knee-kicker, whatever, it's a whole lot harder to stop them." G'laer's brow furrows, but he listens, his gaze intense. He waits until she's finished, with no outward indication beyond a slight twitch of his lips, to say. "I don't really see how it's like that. Unless you're talking exaggerated to the point where it's something else entirely. Listen," That's added hurriedly, because he wants to get this in before she jumps on him or storms out, or whatever it is she might do, "You asked for water, and then said you'd take a beer, and then said you'd have whatever I was having, which was this tea." This tea that has become so much the point of contention, "So I served you what I was having, which was no stronger than a good beer," Arguably, though every body is different! "And is perfectly safe. If I tied you up, then you asked me to and were completely fine with it until I told you you should hold off on betweening for an hour, which is exactly what I would say to you if I'd served you a beer you'd never had before." He takes a breath before adding, "It's not like I didn't drink it right along with you. Not like I was singling you out or knew you were coming when I was making tea." And the fact that there was enough for two cups probably indicates either how relaxed G'laer had intended to become or in what duration he intended to be relaxed for. "This wasn't a premeditated violation of your free choice, it was me going off of what you said, and evidently making a bad call." He did say she could hit him. Whatever affront she might have started to take-- something else entirely!-- as she turns to look more directly, that hurried listen distracts her enough that a smile starts to emerge before she can tighten her mouth down on it; he's learned. So Telavi listens, without even tapping her toe more than once. Or twice, but little tiny taps. Or maybe thrice, seeing as how she's letting him breathe before jumping in, imagine that. She doesn't quite sigh, but, "No, no, let's not blow it up that much," more, anyway, "with the premeditated so-on-and-so-forth. What I'm trying to get at is... it would be completely fair if I said I was fine with a beer and you gave me a beer and then I asked you to do whatever and you did. Or even something stronger than a beer that I could recognize as stronger than a beer and then it would be me choosing or not," to a point anyway, and where was she going with this? "As it is, G'laer, it's not like I'm carrying around super-secret harper-sworn... secrets... that could blow up this place and you could slip me a drink and distract me so you could steal them." She even holds up both hands: see? because of course such secrets would be bulky and obvious, or else tattooed on her forehead. And also obvious. "And it's not like you did anything with that," there's no 'that I know about' qualifier right now, "I'd say that to anyone. But it was your choice not to and, G'laer, I want to know so I can make my choices my choices." If he's still not interrupting, why then, she'll go on! "So I'm not saying this to try and get you into trouble-- though I'm going to take you up on seeing your gran, and I haven't forgotten about the hitting bit-- I'm trying to help you understand why I'm..." "Wait," G'laer interrupts, letting his eyes slide closed for a moment, "I know this one." Does his tone have humor in it? Like, audible humor? Why yes, it does, "Vexed." His eyes open. "You're vexed. I know that one. Women get vexed with me all the time." Speaking of, "Didn't I once try to buy you a drink in Snowasis? And you got vexed with me then, too?" Audible humor. And 'vexed.' That's when Telavi actually smiles right at G'laer, brilliantly. Although, then he goes on. "That's a different sort of--" "Look, Telavi," G'laer breaks back in, because goodness knows they've gotten off topic enough in this night, thank you tea! "The point is, I'm sorry. I don't necessarily agree with you about what happened and the moral implications, but I appreciate your perspective is different than my own," Maybe he has been paying attention in Silver Thread lessons, or maybe his Gran did some teaching of her own that he just doesn't routinely tap into, "And I apologize for performing actions that made you feel that way. As much as anyone can make anyone feel anything." He has to add that last part, of course. "I'll be sure to account for your perspective in the future and promise that if I ever serve you tea that's more than regular strength, I'll be sure to inform you with enough advanced notice that you can decide for yourself if you'd like to drink it." Beat. "So, if I let you hit me and I take you to see Gran, can we keep all this between us? And maybe not get me kicked out of weyrlinghood?" Let alone being stripped of weyrling wingleader. Because believe it or not, he cares. Of course he does. As it happens, that's nothing that Telavi's arguing with, at all. For once in their collective lives. "Good," Tela says. And, "I accept your apology," which she says very seriously indeed. "I will, also, count on these things." For the rest, "Yes," hitting, "though not right this minute, and yes," his gran, "but also not right this minute and I hope you notice that I'm trusting you and not actually adding qualifiers like 'sometime in the next seven' for these especially since you can't between," and she holds up the mug. "Also, some tea to take home and I'll give this back to you and, though I have to report in to Quinlys, I won't tell her that you didn't tell me and it'll be fine, you won't lose your knot-- not because of this, anyway; if you... I don't know, go crazy and hold a weyrwoman hostage or something, nothing I could do about that," but she appears to have quite the sunny confidence that he won't. "I'll do my best to restrain myself." G'laer responds dryly. Holding a weyrwoman hostage was probably high on his to do list. He turns to the desk and slides open one of the bottom drawers. There's a filing system there, broken into two columns, and he thumbs across the tabs until he finds the one he wants, pulling out a small folded parchment envelope. Then a second. They're about the size of a hand and he offers them over to the greenrider. "Not more than two in an hour. And I'd advise not more than four cups in a day." Beat. "But don't think I don't know you're going to take one of these down to the healers to have them tell you what's in it." His lips quirk, amused. "Good luck with that." Then he releases the packets into her care and holds his hand out for the mug. It's a sunny, sunny smile, not that Telavi's set down the mug yet, watching him collect the packets as she does; she starts to accept them only-- well, she doesn't stop, but her lashes fly wide and she gives G'laer an astonished, accusatory look. Notably, she does not deny it, even as she moves to stash the envelopes and, yes, hand him the mug, a laugh brimming far too much of the time. « Better? » Solith not only asks Teisyth but announces. They might have done it! She can come out now! Teisyth's head tentatively reappears from under her wing. She hopes so, it was gettin' smelly under there from all her breathin' an' the heat an'-- well, Solith doesn't need to hear the gory details even if they're right on the surface of the unrefined green's mind. Solith doesn't. Solith really, really, really doesn't. Though she does waft a bit of fresh air Teisyth's way, not only figuratively but literally when her wings fan closed. "For the record, only people who add qualifiers like 'sometime this seven' to deal worry about other people doing the same to them." G'laer says to that wide-eyed look. "So, unless you give me a reason to tack on that kind of qualifier, you don't have anything to worry about." But to be clear, it's tit for tat. He accepts the mug and then reaches, without turning, to set it on the desk behind him. "Mmm. I'm sure you would never employ qualifiers, yourself," Telavi says lightly, if facetiously, a little too much bounce in her step-- and her ponytail-- as she wanders back down the aisle towards the main room. "Has anyone ever told you that you make a lot of assumptions about people?" G'laer tosses back with a quirked brow, following in a way that might be interpreted as lazy. Maybe he's still feeling the tea. Telavi glances back with a quirky smile of her very own. "Possibly, in my youth. But, you see... it gives people a chance to correct them," and who doesn't like to do that? "That makes you the first woman I've ever met who delights in being wrong." The greenrider's quip comes quickly. "I hope it won't smash your illusions to learn that I'd rather be right," confides Telavi, but if she's not? Her airy shrug illustrates just how little she's worried about that either. She glances momentarily towards the chair she'd abandoned, her usual scan for forgotten items, and then it's off for her harder-to-forget-about dragon. "Gee, that's so new and different. How will I ever adjust my worldview." It's stated deadpan. G'laer isn't following her to the ledge, so that probably counts as goodbye from him as well. Teisyth, on the other hand, will have a cheerful farewell to offer, which involves butting her head affectionately against Solith's chest before moving far enough off as to not crowd the departing pair. Telavi's last word-- well, it's laughter, lofted behind her as she walks, the rider waiting until her green's finally finished socializing with the littler one. Then she can finally take Solith for a spin... even if it's a short one, because Olveraeth awaits. |
Comments
Ghena (Edyis (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 21 Jan 2014 09:43:24 GMT.
<
He really just drugged a Weyrlingmaster's Assistant... Consider my flabber gasted. XD
Leave A Comment