A Scandalous Proposition

Xanadu Weyr - Administration Hallway
On the north side of this tunnel, a slightly wider section holds an impressive set of double doors of highly polished fellis that lead to the Council Chambers, a meeting room for all the Weyr's staff. Each is carved with a skillfully rendered depiction of the Xanadu Weyr badge and the big, fluted handles are finely polished brass.

There's a small waiting area just outside the Council Chambers, a pair of armchairs with blue upholstery that are more attractive than comfortable. To either side, single doors of polished fellis wood are carved with stylistic representations of fancy knots which give a clue to who occupies the office beyond. A more easily understood identification would be the delicately painted stone plaques fastened to the wall at about chest height beside each door, the lettering done in the Weyr colors of orange and blue.

Along the southern wall are smaller offices and a rather less impressive meeting room, and on past those the archives lie buried into the stone, away from excess light that could damage hides and tomes.

One of the good things about sending Stefyr to the kitchens is that if they have the meal ready to go, the big blond won't take no for an answer about carrying it back himself. He has the arm space to manage the 3-or-more meal volume in a large open-topped box that frankly smells amazing. Being able to breathe it in the whole way back from the kitchen probably explains his aggressive kindness to take it himself, because he looks a little like he's in heaven as he strolls back into the administrative hallway with his haul. Of course, he looks a little out of place for heaven given the enormous, face-eating (okay, only the left half) bruise that colors his eye, temple and cheek in every glorious bruise color from dark purple to yellow at the edges. It has a sheen of numbweed on it (and that super delicious smell if one gets close), and one spot on his face the size of a fingertip doesn't shine like the rest of the lightly slathered bruise. He's been avoiding everyone and everything to do with these hallways for a couple days, but the moment of reckoning has come.

RECKONING HAS COME. For there, from her office, emerges Risali — though, probably not quite as attentively as one might have hoped for. SORRY. THIS IS NOT THE DIGNIFIED, GRACEFUL, PARAGON OF RIGHTEOUSNESS AND ORDER WEYRWOMAN YOU WERE LOOKING FOR. No, the weyrwoman is sporting a long-since-given-up-being-hot mug of klah in one hand while the other cradles a stack of papers against her hip, tilted just so over her forearm in order to enable one act of LIVING DANGEROUSLY. That's right, Stefyr. Risali is reading and walking, her focus so intent that it's clearly by some kind of divine, dead-dragon-queen(s) intervention that she even looks up at all. It takes her a moment, a long moment, mostly because those eyes are tired and not nearly surprised enough at finding another human SUDDENLY BEFORE HER. No, that gaze speaks more to wondering what she's seeing than actually seeing it. AND THEN IT HAPPENS. Risali realizes she's about to COLLIDE WITH STEFYR, and she does what any normal person might do: SHE FLAILS. SPECTACULARLY. Papers go everywhere, her klah dumps helpfully all over (her, the paperwork, maybe even Stefyr and the food if its feeling particularly diligent), and Risali stumbles sharp to the right, INTO A WALL, where she parts with a sound that's half a shriek, half a growl, one-hundred-and-thirty-percent agitated frustration before she manages to stand AKIMBO in the hall, staring down at her VERY SOAKED, THANK YOU, CLOTHES. DRIPDRIPDRIP. For a fraction of a heartbeat of a time, Risali just DRIPS AT STEFYR. AGGRESSIVELY. Is it possible to drip aggressively? Look. Risali manages, dragging a glower slowly up, up, up, complemented by pressed lips, and the tightness of jaw that speaks to a woman about to put some POOR INNOCENT BYSTANDER IN HIS PLACE. But then she blinks, and that anger fades with alacrity, replaced in its entirety by confusion that mars her brow when she actually takes in Stefyr's face. Her attention drops down to that food then, the food that he hopefully hasn't dropped, because that would be tragic upon tragedy. Her mouth forms in that little 'o' of words beginning, as if she might ask what happened, or what he's doing here or where did he think he was going except that Risa's eyes jump back up, jump between Stefyr's as she dripdripdrips for several more seconds and then — exhales. "Faranth." Might as well invoke long-dead queens. THEY COULDA BEEN LESS DEAD-DEAD AND MORE DEITOUS (and detious) AND GIVEN A GIRL A WARNING SOONER. Yes, yes. RELIGION IS OUT, BUT SHUP. "Was it worth it?" Listen. Risali is probably not the most traditional person in any sense of the word, and already she's stepping into Stefyr's space WHEREVER HE MIGHT BE, to go up on the tips of her toes or crouch in front of him and reach out a hand as if she might cup his cheek. She doesn't, she stops just shy of it, fingers hovering in that space just beside as her head tilts and those grey eyes scour to take in the damage. And then: "Did you win?" Because that is important too.

If anyone is going to be scared of Risali's aggressive dripping, it's Stefyr. He's accommodating that way. As the chaos erupts, he hugs the box of food tighter to his torso (have to save what's most important in disasters after all) and he freezes. His eyes widen, making the bruise around the left all the more impressive by dint of all the white that makes visible in his eye. After that moment of freeze while the papers settle and Risali drips at him and he looks terrified (okay, it's really a patent look of disbelief mixed with credulity because he's met Risali before, and how those looks go together is anyone's guess, but her assistant-in-definitely-still-training manages it, there's efficient action. The box of food gets tucked quickly and safely against the side of the tunnel closest to them so no one trips on it while he first turns and pulls off his very bland non-dyed tunic to hand shove at Risali so she can work on the dripping part of the spill (herself), while he crouches to start gathering papers, touching the wetter ones to his thigh turning the khaki colored pants to a wet-klah-brown. "Was what worth it?" is his distracted answer to the first. It's probably not even an intentional evasion. He seems to catch up when he looks up just in time for crouching Risali the hand so close to his face. It gives him pause if not bother (how many times has she squished his face now?) and offers her a soft sort of smile. "Time will tell," seems to answer her last question. "If I'm not in trouble with you for it, then I'll say provisionally yes." That makes the smile go to a more goofy, lop-sided version of itself.

LOOK AT ALL OF THAT SUSPECT ON RISALI'S FACE. The weyrwoman keeps watching Stefyr for a long, quiet moment, keeping hold of his tunic instead of putting it on her own body as she watches and she waits. But he offers her a smile and, it's slow in answering, but Risali's lips pull, something mischievous and sunbright in her own crooked smile before she breathes out, "Good." WHY IS THAT GOOD? "I'm not exactly sure how well it would be received if the Weyrwoman had to hunt somebody down and threaten them within an inch of their life." WOULD SHE DO IT? IS SHE JOKING? It's hard to say; she's retreating, straightening so that she can tackle the problem of wet clothes by staring down at them a moment longer, eyeing Stefyr's shirt with the kind of rueful inquisitiveness that says she's trying to figure this out without dirtying his shirt in the process and — well. There's no hope, is there? SHE BLINDS THE POOR, SHIRTLESS MAN by draping his shirt over his head (and momentarily IN HIS EYES), and then she peels away the wet of her own shirt, to let it plop with a wet SPLAT. WHAT A PAIR THEY MAKE, A SHIRTLESS WEYRWOMAN AND HER ASSISTANT, CAUSING MUCH SCANDAL IN THE ADMINISTRATIVE HALLWAY. Thankfully, there's not holder eyes or otherwise innocents to ruin the vision of while they have an interlude between meetings. And let's be realistic: nobody would be surprised anyway. STILL, Risali does take Stefyr up on his offer, reaching for his shirt again to pull over herself before she kneels right alongside him and starts to help him pick up papers. Listen, maybe she did just realize that he's shirtless, and maybe that's why, when her shoulder bumps his, she shivers and then scoots a little further away. OR MAYBE. THAT'S. LEIRITH. (It's Leirith, definitely Leirith.) AND NOW IT'S AWKWARD, so amid that shuffle and futile shake-shake-shake to rid some unfortunate reports of excess klah, Risali glances sideways, and then down, and then clears her throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" A beat, and then a gesture towards her face. "About that, I mean. Are you okay?" BECAUSE THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT MATTER.

Well, there's one innocent. POOR STEFYR. He doesn't get it in time. He lifts a hand to sweep aside the veil she tried to give him, only to realize too late, which has a strangled sound of surprise leaving his throat and his head jerking back down, the veil once more in place until she whisks it off and his face turning bright red. A little more innocence is surely chipped away and he is so quiet as he picks up papers, and no, that sound isn't papers trembling because his hand isn't trembling, nope. So awkward. All the awkward. "I'm fine," TOTALLY FINE, "Lesson learned." BUT WHICH LESSON? The young man seems to be sure that they don't need to talk about anything because he goes on to change the topic, to something professional. "Were any of these important?" He gestures to the papers, STILL NOT LOOKING AT HER AT ALL. And when he means important, he means Important, like, the kind he and Rhodelia shouldn't lose for her, or Important like needs to be re-created without the klah stains.

BLESS YOU, SWEET STEFYR. Truly. YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS WHEN YOU CAME TO XANADU WEYR, AND YOU GOT IT ANYWAY. Were some of those papers important? Risali lifts one that is completely drenched in klah by the corner, shakes it once, twice, as if this might make any sort of difference, and then pulls a face. A sideways glance for Stefyr, a flush as she LOOKS POINTEDLY AWAY, and then a breath as she tries to concentrate. "Uhm," she says, intelligently. Give her a moment (two, three more) and she's answering. "Yes." ONLY ALL OF THEM, is what she doesn't say. "But I can probably handle most of these by myself. Some of them are print-outs from the computers, so they don't need to be redone, just reprinted." And signed again, probably. THAT IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE. THE WORK OF A WEYRWOMAN IS NEVER DONE. But how does one mend awkward gaps that are only growing in awkwardness? Why, by going completely still, of course, and squinting UP as if hearing — SHE DOES. She's drawing in a breath and moving, grabing Stefyr's upper arm with one hand and getting ALL UP IN HIS BUSINESS (SUP) as she THROWS HER OTHER HAND OVER HIS MOUTH. She isn't looking at him though, she's looking up, a look of pure, unadulterated joy on her face as she holds her breath and then finally, finally those grey eyes fix on Stefyr's. "Do you hear that?" she whispers, waiting a beat before adding on, "The dragons are humming. Ilyscaeth is laying her eggs." AND YES. HAND OVER STEFYR'S MOUTH, STILL CLUTCHING HIS UPPER ARM, SHE'S CLOSING HER EYES TO LISTEN. It's… probably not as awkward as it could be. Or… at least it wouldn't have been, if Risali hadn't come to a moment later, blinking open her eyes with a sudden furrowing of brow as if just realizing what she's done. And there's a soft noise in her throat, something between startlement and we aren't going to talk about it before she jerks away like he's just burned her and RUBS HER PALMS ON HER LEATHERS LIKE SHE MIGHT RID HERSELF OF THE FEEL. Ignore that she's suddenly not making eye contact. At least she's (breathlessly) soldiering on with, "Do you hear them?" while she goes and gathers up more papers with a vicious kind of conviction. RUN, STEFYR. Wait, no. No, no. There was another Very. Important. Thing. "I —" FOCUS RISALI. "Am I goint to get paperwork about whatever this was?" HIS FACE, she means, and forgive her if the words come out more vicious than she intended. That's probably why she closes her eyes again, for a brief moment, and forces herself to breathe. "Your face, I mean." Gentler this time. Better.

If Stefyr were free to RUN, he might finally choose to heed every warning he's ever been given to do so and finally DO IT, only he can't because she's RIGHT THERE, grabbing his arm, covering his mouth, which is not only disturbing but confusing, too. His eyes are wide, wide instead of closed, although they flick toward the ceiling as if searching for the sound as though it were something to see and not hear or otherwise experience as Risali is doing. When did his hand get to her arm? It's a steadying force and so instinctively done to make sure she doesn't lose her balance with her eyes closed that Stefyr himself seems surprised when he pulls his hand away from her, although not like he was burnt. Still that hand finds itself quickly occupied with papers. Many papers. Almost all the papers he's gathered. "No, no papers," the young man is very quick to assure. He's glancing over his shoulder back down the hall and then briefly, briefly to the longed for dinner in that not-at-all-forgotten crate over there. "I hear something." Maybe his own thundering pulse. "I should go grab another shirt. My room isn't that far." Just like, a way long way down this tunnel to the Caverns and then down another long tunnel. "Should I bring you and Rhody dinner first or—?" He seems unsure about whether or not his shirtless state is, in fact, impacting his ability to do his job. TAKE THAT, ALL ARGUMENTS FOR DRESS CODES EVER.

THANKS FOR THE HAND. Risali probably needed (needs?) steadying in more ways than one, even if the touching-her-back kind isn't the kind that's actually safe at the moment. SHE IS TRYING TO SPARE YOU HER OWN INDIGNITIES, STEFYR. And the extremely rude whims of her golden dragon. "Your shirt? I —" Nope. He called attention to it. NOW RISALI IS STARING, then once more invoking long dead queens with a tinge of desperation as she rolls her eyes up to the ceiling in a manner altogether pleading. She forces them closed, forces herself to breath, forces out breathy laughter and says, "I know I'm making this weird. No, just. Stay. For one second, okay? I promise I'm not going to…" Going to WHAT, Risali. "Eat you." … Well, we could have chosen better words, but the rest of them were not remotely appropriate. SO TAKE WHAT YOU GET. "Uhm. I… Right. Shirt." SHE'S NOT SCATTERED, YOU'RE SCATTERED. UP SHE STANDS, taking two strides to her own shirt, lifting it up, making a face at it and wringing it out. She FWIP, FWIPs it a couple of times, and then THIS TIME AT LEAST has enough presence of mind to TURN HER BACK to poor Stefyr. RIP. She sheds his shirt, pulls the discomfort of her SOAKED, KLAH-GROSS MESSED tunic back on, and then holds Stefyr's away from her body as she moves back towards him. "Thank you. For this, I mean. I shouldn't have taken it. You — now?" Did Risali just catch on that it's dinner time? She's staring at Stefyr as if he's just given her a revelation of epic proportions and those grey eyes are straying back to that tray he had. "No, I — put this back on please. I can't think." … THAT'S ONLY SLIGHTLY AWKWARD, RISA.

He stands with her, this time, enough of the papers rescued for the moment. Even though Risali turns her back, there's an audible clap when Stefyr's hands cover his face. What about those papers he was holding, you ask? Well, obviously they're fluttering elegantly back to the floor. This can go on all night, people. He peeks through his fingers when she says thank you, one eye at a time, and then takes his hands away, sheepishly. He reaches for the shirt only to look down as if to say, Gee, how did all those papers get down there? His cheeks color with a blush, again, and another glance to the dinner crate makes it a slightly mournful, "No. Not yet." Dinner has to wait. He sighs as he tugs his shirt back on and drops back down onto his knees in front of her. "Sorry," he offers up, one of those sad puppy looks accompanying the words before he starts gathering the papers all. over. Again.

HOW INDEED. Some of those papers probably even picked up a little extra klah for their trouble. "Stefyr," comes a little sharp, riddled with the authority of a weyrwoman and as the man drops back to his knees. "No. Stop doing that. I —" Risali's back down on her knees too, gathering as MANY PAPERS AS SHE CAN in one VERY ILL ADVISED SWEEP. She spreads those tiny arms out as far as they can go, and then pulls ALL THAT KLAH SOAKED PAPER TOWARDS HER. Well. Some of them are never going to recover from this. "I am trying to ask you something important." Rest assured, the frustration in her tone is with herself and not at all with the man before her. "Please stop." At least this time it's more gentle. Her next words, even more so. "Did you get into a fight?" BECAUSE SHE ISN'T DONE WITH YOUR FACE, FYR. And now she's staring at him intent, absolutely ignoring the fact that her face is still flush. DON'T MAKE IT WEIRD.

As the youngest of twelve, Risali would probably have to be holding the authority of a wooden spoon before a sharp, authoritative tone would draw a reaction from Stefyr - he hasn't stopped gathering papers, you see. He does scoot a little so their knees don't brush when she joins him on the floor. He winces when the papers get gathered against her klah-soaked shirt. He even reaches out to try to reclaim them from her, and… sort them? Ruined totally, ruined only somewhat, ruined just a smidgen? He's probably as lost in how to sort these as he has been with Rhodelia's nonsensical filing system. In fact, her gentler tone gets his attention far better than her more sharp words. His blue eyes come up to meet her grey ones, expression sober but telling no tales beyond that. "I did not get into a fight." His guard drops enough to look sincerely earnest in telling her this very careful sentence that offers no additional explanation. "It's nothing, really. I've had worse from actual fights with my brothers. And even once from my sister the time I put her doll at the top of the climbing tree." There's a hesitant smile that tries to lighten the mood. "And we didn't even have numbweed to spare for what my mother called the idiocy of boys." He gives a gesture to his face and that might be as close to an explanation as Risali's going to get. Maybe.

DOES RISALI BELIEVE HIM? It's hard to tell, because nothing in her expression changes as he speaks — not even after he's finished, not after he tries to smile. And then: "Okay," comes so softly, she might not have spoken at all. Because she is going to leave it at that. Because if that is the explanation that she's going to get, that's the one she will accept without prying. BECAUSE THAT IS JUST HOW RISALI ROLLS.

At least this time Stefyr thinks to set down the papers in as un-klah-marred a spot as he can readily find before he acts brashly. It's Risali's hands that he's seeking to take in his own much larger ones, just to hold, gently. "Risa," his tone is quiet and serious, "I really," pause, reiterate, "really, don't want to lie to you. I won't, if I can help it." NOT AWKWARD AT ALL, since he so earnestly goes on. "Please," and, "I can't explain this. Not well." NOT AT ALL, he means. "But you can trust me. I promise." It's not a promise lightly given, and this is still NOT AWKWARD AT ALL with the way his heart is briefly in his eyes asking for a trust he possibly hasn't earned yet, especially in light of his FACE-MARRING BRUISE.

Is that a hint of panic in Risali's expression when she realizes that Stefyr is reaching for her? Yes. Yes it is. But she doesn't stop him. There's another whimper of sound from her through, a tremor that wracks her entire body as his hands find hers, and while he is earnestly telling her that he doesn't want to lie to her, she's tumbling out breathy words that sounded suspiciously like, "That feels really good." But LISTEN. SHE DOES TRY TO FOCUS, with the kind of desperation that makes she's clutching at his hands too hard and her eyes are finally coming up to hold blue, to jump between them, to force herself to listen because somehow she knows that this is important. It takes her a moment, a very long moment, but — "Okay," comes unerringly soft again. "I believe you." A beat, and impossibly softer still, "I trust you." Which is a lot, from a woman who doesn't have a whole lot of trust to actually give, but gives it anyway. MAYBE SHE JUST WANTS TO SEE THE GOOD IN PEOPLE, ALWAYS. "You don't… you don't owe me anything." At all. Ever. And then her hands are squeezing his even harder as she draws another breath. Close, close, too close. "Stefyr," comes suddenly into that distance between them — a bid, clearly, to change the topic. "You can't fight. It's against the rules. You can drink, if you feel so inclined, but I will throw you from the observation deck onto the sands if you get drunk. You can keep doing this, instead of chores. We think it's more important for you to keep living — though, every once in a while, we will make arrangements to turn your life upside down for other important things." What? It's all so very random. "Leirith is asking," already, apparently, "if you agree to those terms." And now Risali is looking back towards her office with an expression that's almost sheepish. "And if you will stand for us. Though," a breathy hush of laughter, "I have to go back into my office to get you a white knot, if you say yes." SORRY SHE COULDN'T MAKE IT AN AMAZING PROPOSAL. SHE SUCKS. "Will you?" SQUEEZE. Shiver. (Shut up.) SHE'S NOT NERVOUS, YOU'RE NERVOUS. "It's okay to say no, but Leirith thinks… Leirith sees a lot in you. And so do I."

The Weyrwoman's assertion that Stefyr doesn't owe her anything only cues a glance away with a wry smile and slight shake of his head. His fingers squeeze hers gently before he means to let go - only hers are squeezing harder, so his eyes come back to hers and he listens, like he's good about doing, with his whole focus on her. It's not unnerving at all, especially when they're so close. His brows furrow as she starts talking. "Okay, I'm sor-" starts in answer to the rules even though he didn't actually break them, says he didn't break them, what rules is she even talking about? He hushes again, lips pursing ever so slightly in thought. He's her assistant so therefore, pursed or not, his lips are not to be described as the least bit kissable. "I would be foolish to disagree with any terms Leirith put forth if they were that simple." He murmurs before the rest sinks in. Save the battles for the really unreasonable stuff. It's obvious when the real question actually internalizes because Stefyr sucks in a breath and his Adam's apple bobs and he's squeezing her hands like maybe he's holding on so he doesn't fall, even though he's already been brought to his knees more literally than he may now figuratively be. His eyes don't get a little glassy; it's NOT AN EMOTIONAL MOMENT. "Uh." His loss for words has him looking down at their hands and he gives one more squeeze before he does reclaim his. "Yes. I'll Stand." And then he's going to gather papers, "Why don't you get my knot and I'll do-" he gestures to the 'this' that is arguably his mess this time. It might give him the moments he wants to collect himself.

Yes. Yes he will do it. Now Risali smiles, and maybe she tears up a little herself around that vivacious show of happiness, but she doesn't say anything pretty. She just SQUEEZES STEFYR'S HANDS BACK, and breathes out, "Okay," because that's the best she's got right now. And yes, okay, maybe she looks a little stricken, suddenly, with the addition of SUSPICIOUSLY WET EYES when he pulls away, as if the removal of his hands has left her in total dearth, but it's temporary. Because she's trying to focus again. WHAT WERE THEY TALKING ABOUT? Right. Knots. Papers. "No, you should —" But those grey eyes jump again, and maybe Risali reads the need for him to have that moment. So she presses her lips together, and after a moment's hesitation, she breathes out another soft, "Okay." And then she's up, retreating, leaving Stefyr for several moments longer than she probably needs to gather that white knot. Then several more. BUT SHE DOES RETURN, she does kneel back down amid papers and klah and Stefyr's space to lean forward and pin that white knot on his shirt — ASSUMING HE DOESN'T STOP HER. "There." A beat, a flicker of a half-smile. "The papers can wait. Do you need some time, or do you want me to show you where the barracks are?" Because LISTEN. Important things.

Stefyr works fast when left to his own devices (and has a driving need to be fully engaged in a task that can be readily accomplished) and thus has all the papers stacked in their three categories by the time she returns. He's still kneeling though and he doesn't do more than stiffen a little when she goes to get the white knot settled in place. He looks down at it, swallows, and then gives a slight nod, more to himself than to her. His eyes move back to her, "Uh, dinner?" He looks toward the crate. "There was left over mac 'n' cheese casserole." IMPORTANT THINGS, Risa, are cheesy and delicious. "Should I move to the barracks? Do I need to? I mean, I just got used to sleeping alone in my room." Then another glance to the dinner crate, "We could take our food and go by my room to get my things and then go to the barracks," he suggests, and then almost as immediately adds, "but you're probably busy." As her assistant-in-training he's probably normally more certain of this, but his brain may not be fully functioning at the moment, after all he did just casually invite her back to his room, kind of.

Does he need to? Risali's lips part, and then come back together as she shakes her head. "No, but you're still expected to show up to everything on time. And you" a beat, a grimace as if she's aware the timing couldn't be less great but she has to SAY IT ANYWAY. "You can't get anybody pregnant." Wait. Not 'no sex', just… no pregnancies? "So be… diligent with your own space, if you choose to be alone. We will move you into the barracks if it becomes an issue." And then she's looking at that tray. She's looking at it really hard because, if we're being honest, Risali probably hasn't eaten today and it's dinner time and there is CHEESY DELICIOUSNESS ON THERE. "Rhodelia told you, didn't she?" And then she's laughing, breathless, as she shakes her head. "Let's go — if you promise to let me borrow a shirt. And then afterward, you should probably find the harper you're working with to let them know what's going on, and introduce yourself to the weyrlingmaster and his assistants." IMPORTANT THINGS, RIGHT? RIGHT. But there's another shiver, one that forces her teeth onto her bottom lip and her eyes CLOSED before she stands up and holds her hands out for Stefyr. USE HER SMOLNESS FOR LEVERAGE. TOTALLY NOT FUTILE AT ALL. SHE GOT THIS. SHE STRONG. SHE DEFINITELY NOT STANDING IN A SEA OF KLAH. "Come on. Leirith will tell the dredges about the mess. Dinner waits for no one."

"Who would I get pregnant?" Stefyr's bewildered rejoinder probably says everything that needs to be said about everything when it comes to whether or not there's a chance that'll be happening anytime soon. "Rhodelia may have had something to do with it," he says, carefully evading mentioning that he was supposed to bring Rhodelia the cheesy deliciousness, and she might be DYING RIGHT NOW OF STARVATION UNDER PAPERWORK FOR ALL THEY KNOW. "Sure," is easy agreement as he takes her hands and rises, moving to collect the stacks of papers and moves toward the crate. He gives a look toward Risali as though he's hesitating to give her the papers with her klah-soaked shirt and all. She might make them worse. Ultimately, he has to surrender them to her, though, because otherwise he can't lift the dinner crate. Take out at its best. "You put those in your office and I'll give Rhody her dinner and we can take ours with us." And he does. Because he's not the kind to abandon Rhodelia in the breech without resupply. He might not be thinking clearly, but he's not heartless. Or rude (there hasn't been enough time for Risali and Leirith to rub off on him yet).

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License