Her lovers daughter
What: Nera learns something she was better off not knowing.
Who: Nera, Aivey
Where: Camp clearing/Beach, Western Island
Note: Scene backdated to the morning after Aivey's discussion with Derek.
Early morning finds Aivey out and about, taking advantage of that slot of time when E'sere and Morelenth are in drills and the morning chores haven't yet started. As she walks, she works at pulling her hair back into a braid. A tie is clenched between her teeth, the head wrap she often takes to wearing is draped over her shoulder. The flesh of her upper arm hides immediate sight of the fresh bruise on her chin though such isn't intentional. While she heads for the clearing where breakfast is served, Aivey scans her surroundings to watch whoever else might be awake at this hour.
Not that many of the island's inhabitants are visible. Some, no doubt, are taking advantage of the break in the rain to go about personal chores of the unrostered sort. Others have stayed asleep, or will remain in their bedrolls until sure breakfast is available. Nera is not on the roster, but unsurprisingly, the headwoman is visible nonetheless. She stands with two of the women who are busy over breakfast, and currently all three are studying the heavens, heads tipped back to regard clouds that are ready to unload again on short notice.
Her approach might take them by surprise, then, for Aivey heads to the trio upon spotting them. Nera, the most familiar of all, is sighted and honed in on; Aivey's steps carrying her to a quiet stand behind the woman's back. By this point her hair is braided and held back, the head-cloth in place, it's ends tied and tucked under the cap. Her thumbs brush idly at her sides as her eyes move over the back of Nera's head. If her presence is not registered within a few short seconds after whatever polite wait might be required, Aivey makes an attempt to intrude with a soft drawl. "Morning."
Nera continues her study of the clouds, absently smoothing down her shirt with hands that are, for once, clean; she does not register Aivey's presence until the young woman speaks, and then her awareness comes with a slight start. She retrieves her gaze from up above, and repositions it on Derek's daughter, tucking a strand of hair away behind her ear. "Good morning, Aivey." Her greeting prompts one similar from the two women behind her, and it comes in chorus. Nera is silent a heartbeat more, and then a slow blink briefly shields her pale grey eyes. "I was going to walk down to the beach, before breakfast," she murmurs, addressing the words to the newcomer alone.
Dismissive nods to the women standing with Nera are offered by reflex, and reflex alone. It's the island's Headwoman that holds Aivey's full attention and study. "That's funny," Stone serious, Aivey continues, "I was going to head there myself. After getting a quick bite to eat." An absent look over Nera's shoulder assures such isn't likely to happen... at least not this soon, "I suppose a walk now wouldn't hurt. If you don't mind the company?" Separated by but a beat, the askance for an invitation is (at best) a belated attempt at giving the woman her due. That being the same respect most always shown to her father, for Aivey now remains still as she awaits Nera's reply.
Nera is silent a handful of beats more; enough, perhaps, to convey that the wording of assertion and request were not best pleasing. After that, though, she inclines her head, and sidesteps so she can make ready to set a course for the path down to the water. "I don't mind the company," she agrees, turning her head to offer a momentary, but warm smile to the duo in charge of the breakfast pot. This is evidently intended to constitute an invitation, for she sets off; no small steps for Nera, but long, easy strides better suited to a man.
Aivey is small, though she strives to match Nera's pace so that she's not forced to lag behind or jog to keep up. If such takes a toll on her then that too is hidden as best she can manage. The woman she follows is raptly studied, a fact which Aivey doesn't try and hide. "Nice day, isn't it?" Conversation, small talk that Aivey has worked so hard to perfect.
"It'll pour in about half an hour," Nera predicts, ducking her head to avoid a moisture-laden branch that waits, ready to dump its harvest of rain and dew on the first person foolish enough to collide with it on their way along the path. She passes on no verbal warning of this danger; is is left to observation to save her follower. "What'd you do to yourself?"
Aivey would have been one such fool, were it not for the fact that she's watching Nera's every move and, after a swift look at the branch, emulates. "Me?" Safely on the other side of that branch, and back in step with Nera, Aivey shakes her head, "Well, I braided my hair, but I always do that..." Trailing off, "Is that what you meant?"
"You," Nera agrees conversationally, her eyes on the path ahead of them. "I didn't mean your hair, no. I meant the ballgown you've unexpectedly produced and decided to wear. Lovely stitching, and the colour suits you, but it's really the sort of thing we put into the stores. Against the day we'll hold a fancy dance, you understand." All of this is delivered quietly; if it's intended as humour, or as sarcasm, there are none of the usual little indicators to mark it so.
"I'm not one for dresses, not usually," Aivey continues, "But in this instance I couldn't resist. It's suiting, I think," She reaches up to tuck a strand of hair back behind an ear, pauses for all of two seconds then, "How could you tell it's going to rain? Does it pattern or were you just assuming... this being a wet season and all?"
"The wind's died out, the clouds look lower, the air feels heavier than it did before, and it never goes more than half an hour without a downpour." Nera's reply comes as a list; she lifts her hands so she can tick each point off on a finger, bending the digit down to dispose of the information. Then, just as businesslike: "What'd you do to yourself?"
Aivey makes silent reference of those notes, with a rather impressed look at Nera that falls away come her question. "I'll have to keep an eye out. To see how telling all those signs are." She inhales deeply next, perhaps testing the weight of the air before she allows an explanation, "I made a mistake is all. It's nothing to get worried about."
"You do that," Nera agrees, as the trees begin to thin out, and the water comes into view. She slows her pace, though, and after six or seven steps she stops completely, tugging her shirt down straight again. "I didn't say I was worried, Aivey. I asked what happened. If you want to follow me about, then the ducking and dodging of even questions of polite concern is going to have to stop. I haven't got time for it." Her tone is crisp; displeasure does not yet inhabit it, but the door is open.
"Am I invited then, to follow you around?" Aivey inquires, stopping when Nera does, though standing at an angle to the woman. A habitual custom, one that gives her view of Nera and a good portion of the beach, "Today, maybe?" Curious and nothing more, Aivey waits to gain first-hand confirmation by reaction (if any). "What happened is that I made a mistake. I did something I wasn't suppose to do - something I won't do again."
Nera doesn't answer the question, although there's a brief twist of her mouth that might signal any number of things. As Aivey continues, though, one of the headwoman's thin brows lifts, and she turns her head to regard her lover's daughter. Brief surprise flares, before her eyes narrow; Aivey is subjected then to a much more careful glance. "I can't think of anything in particular you've been told not to do that would wind you up hurt, Aivey. Are you saying you got this somehow other than falling off a rock?"
"In absence of a no, I often assume I've been told yes," Aivey informs Nera - completely out of the goodness of her heart, "You might want to clarify that before I make another mistake." Drawing her eyes to meet Nera's, she adds, "I hit someone. In return, I was hit. I'm far from hurt... a little closer to smarter for the experience, but that's not what has you worried."
One hand comes up to cover Nera's mouth, hiding her only softness from view as her lips are covered, then scrubbed at by her fingers. Far less delicate than Derek's moustache smoothing. "I might," she agrees, muffled behind her hand. It is not the subject of the moment, however, and so Aivey wins herself a reprieve against universal refusal. "It's like pulling teeth," she observes, faint impatience colouring her tone. "No, that is not what has me worried. I don't doubt you're working hard on your own version of smart. If you want to spend all the time you have with me dancing around the edges of this conversation, then you're welcome to waste it that way, Aivey."
"I hit Zoma. When he found out, we had a discussion. That was the result. The minor result," Stressing 'minor' above all else, Aivey lifts her eyes back to Nera's and holds them there, stubbornly refusing to place full blame on her father, "I don't blame him for what he did and I don't want anyone else blaming him either. It was necessary."
Nera's hand stays up to cover her mouth, the expressive twists and turns of it in which she usually indulges hidden from view; it doesn't come down until after she's spoken her first few words. "I would disagree," is all she says, and that slowly. There's a straightening of her features as the hand comes away, and she turns to resume walking, making first to shove her hands into her pockets, then halting that action, smoothing the fabric, tugging her shirt; fidgeting, in a word. "I'm gathering seaweed this morning," she observes crisply. "Perhaps you'd prefer a different day."
"What's done is done. I appreciate the care, really I do, but... it's done," Spoken with a sense of finality behind it, Aivey watches Nera fidget, listens to what she says after but chooses to ignore it, "He's my father and it's his right." Exclusive, that.
There's not a word or sound of reply from Nera, who after refastening her hair with uncharacteristic fussiness, chooses silence in which to continue the short distance remaining to the beach. It is not unpopulated; a few wade out in the water, or walk along the beach, beginning their day with quiet conversation, gentle stretching, or an inspection of the weather on the horizon.
Aivey lets Nera get two steps away before dropping her head and muttering a soft curse. Then she follows, drawing her arms up and across her chest. She waits until she's shoulder-to-shoulder with the other woman before saying, quietly, "What would you have done in his place?"
Nera's paces slow, and once again she stops, gazing out to sea; there's no breeze to tease her hair, and for once it remains still, staying just where it was restrained. "I couldn't say, without knowing what happens," she replies quietly, adding her eyes to those that scan the horizon, where dark clouds crowd together to seemingly sink slowly into the sea.
"What I did won't happen again. He ensured that," Aivey reasons quietly, "Nothing else would have worked. No one else here holds... no one else is as important as him." Her eyes switch between Nera's, a constant back and forth that doesn't end even as she adds, "I want to make an exception. An addition."
Nera gathers in a long, slow breath, and puffs her cheeks out as she exhales it, silent until every last inch of it is expelled from her lungs; she's obliged in the wake of that effort to suck in a quick replacement breath, and this is huffed out to exit just as quickly as it entered. "You misunderstand how it works here, Aivey," she observes.
"So I've been told," A wry smile is brief and a brief show of humor amidst seriousness, "But that doesn't change what I said. Wrong as you might find it." Aivey hasn't the ability to sound apologetic, doesn't make the effort where no need is seen.
"Should you ever acquire an interest in understanding how it does work, and in joining the rest of us, I'm sure you'll let us know," Nera replies, failing to match the young woman's smile; the lines around her eyes are thrown in to relief as she changes her focus, and squints slightly, but those few smile lines that have found a place are not animated.
"The interest is there. I want to know and I want to learn but he-" Aivey stops again, clenching her jaw shut and visibly working to find a less elaborate explanation, "I have no interest in fighting you, Nera. What do you want me to do to prove it?"
Those words are sufficient to draw Nera's gaze in from the horizon, and to resettle it on the young woman beside her, albeit slowly. "A fight requires two participants, I would have thought," she replies, pleasantly, evenly. "There's no need for you to prove anything, Aivey. What I would like you to do is settle in, and live by the same code that works for the rest of us. If I'm not in a position of sufficient authority to require that of you, then I'll settle for asking you to play nicely with the others."
In this particular situation, Aivey bites back an instinctual response. "You are in a position. I'll do my best." Aivey's gaze lingers briefly, then drops away to consider the ground at Nera's feet, "Will that do?"
"You've just said to me that only your father's in a position to require you to do anything," Nera replies equably, arms tightening across her chest for a moment before one escapes, and lifts by force of habit to tuck her hair away from her face, despite the fact that there is no wind to stir it from where it's been tucked. A fat drop of rain plops into the sand beside them, and then another. This does not signal a general exodus; the exiles are too used to the weather.
"My father is the only one I respect enough to listen to." Aivey corrects mildly, "I also said I wanted to make an addition." She doesn't insult Nera by elaborating any more then that. That the rain is now beginning to fall earns an uneasy shift from Aivey, but nothing more.
Nera sniffs, and recrosses her arms over her chest. "No you don't, Aivey," she replies, although not unkindly. "What you want is for me to do something for you. You don't want to listen to me like you do Derek, and you don't want to take on what respecting me would involve."
"I want nothing from you but a chance, Nera," Aivey replies with a challenging lift of her chin, "Try me. Give me a chance and I'll prove it to you."
There's not much point in hiding her cynicism, but Nera gentles it; it mingles with something that is not unkind, and that softens her tone. "You have a chance, Aivey. Every man and woman in this place does. Your father and I care about our people, whatever you might choose to think of our motives. That is why we expect you to behave in a particular way."
"And I've proven myself well so far," Aivey counters in what borders an exasperated tone, "I don't do well with generalities, Nera. That much should be obvious by now," She spares a moment for the women, then adds, "Specifically, what do you want me to do to prove to you that I am interested in gaining your respect? Don't hold back. You'd be surprised what I'm capable of doing."
Nera's gaze was halfway to the horizon, pale grey eyes making their way back to darker grey clouds; now it is caught short on that journey, and returns to its point of origin to fix on Aivey's face squarely. "What you're capable of? What exactly do you mean by that, Aivey?"
"Ask." One word from Aivey with an infinite number of possibilities, and it's delivered as squarely as Nera's gaze.
Nera frowns in a gentle sort of puzzlement, a crease appearing between her brows as she sniffs again. "Aivey, I cannot for the life of me imagine what you think I would ask," she replies quietly. "All I want is for you to find a way to settle into life here, without requiring that every single instruction be given to you specifically. You're intelligent enough to make something of generalities."
"When you think of it, the offer is there." Aivey remains calm, certain of Nera's capability to come up with something. "Until then, I will do my best. Like I said. I can't promise anything more then that. My record here-" Another self-depreciating smile, "Still speaks for itself."
"Indeed." There's something a little grim in those two syllables, the way Nera delivers them. "I expect breakfast is ready by now." That's that, her tone says, as she unfolds her arms, and digs bare toes into the sand to turn back the way they've come.
Aivey doesn't trail after the woman, not immediately at least, as she allows Nera a good head start back to the clearing of the camp before eventually returning there herself.
Who: Nera, Aivey
Where: Camp clearing/Beach, Western Island
Note: Scene backdated to the morning after Aivey's discussion with Derek.
Early morning finds Aivey out and about, taking advantage of that slot of time when E'sere and Morelenth are in drills and the morning chores haven't yet started. As she walks, she works at pulling her hair back into a braid. A tie is clenched between her teeth, the head wrap she often takes to wearing is draped over her shoulder. The flesh of her upper arm hides immediate sight of the fresh bruise on her chin though such isn't intentional. While she heads for the clearing where breakfast is served, Aivey scans her surroundings to watch whoever else might be awake at this hour.
Not that many of the island's inhabitants are visible. Some, no doubt, are taking advantage of the break in the rain to go about personal chores of the unrostered sort. Others have stayed asleep, or will remain in their bedrolls until sure breakfast is available. Nera is not on the roster, but unsurprisingly, the headwoman is visible nonetheless. She stands with two of the women who are busy over breakfast, and currently all three are studying the heavens, heads tipped back to regard clouds that are ready to unload again on short notice.
Her approach might take them by surprise, then, for Aivey heads to the trio upon spotting them. Nera, the most familiar of all, is sighted and honed in on; Aivey's steps carrying her to a quiet stand behind the woman's back. By this point her hair is braided and held back, the head-cloth in place, it's ends tied and tucked under the cap. Her thumbs brush idly at her sides as her eyes move over the back of Nera's head. If her presence is not registered within a few short seconds after whatever polite wait might be required, Aivey makes an attempt to intrude with a soft drawl. "Morning."
Nera continues her study of the clouds, absently smoothing down her shirt with hands that are, for once, clean; she does not register Aivey's presence until the young woman speaks, and then her awareness comes with a slight start. She retrieves her gaze from up above, and repositions it on Derek's daughter, tucking a strand of hair away behind her ear. "Good morning, Aivey." Her greeting prompts one similar from the two women behind her, and it comes in chorus. Nera is silent a heartbeat more, and then a slow blink briefly shields her pale grey eyes. "I was going to walk down to the beach, before breakfast," she murmurs, addressing the words to the newcomer alone.
Dismissive nods to the women standing with Nera are offered by reflex, and reflex alone. It's the island's Headwoman that holds Aivey's full attention and study. "That's funny," Stone serious, Aivey continues, "I was going to head there myself. After getting a quick bite to eat." An absent look over Nera's shoulder assures such isn't likely to happen... at least not this soon, "I suppose a walk now wouldn't hurt. If you don't mind the company?" Separated by but a beat, the askance for an invitation is (at best) a belated attempt at giving the woman her due. That being the same respect most always shown to her father, for Aivey now remains still as she awaits Nera's reply.
Nera is silent a handful of beats more; enough, perhaps, to convey that the wording of assertion and request were not best pleasing. After that, though, she inclines her head, and sidesteps so she can make ready to set a course for the path down to the water. "I don't mind the company," she agrees, turning her head to offer a momentary, but warm smile to the duo in charge of the breakfast pot. This is evidently intended to constitute an invitation, for she sets off; no small steps for Nera, but long, easy strides better suited to a man.
Aivey is small, though she strives to match Nera's pace so that she's not forced to lag behind or jog to keep up. If such takes a toll on her then that too is hidden as best she can manage. The woman she follows is raptly studied, a fact which Aivey doesn't try and hide. "Nice day, isn't it?" Conversation, small talk that Aivey has worked so hard to perfect.
"It'll pour in about half an hour," Nera predicts, ducking her head to avoid a moisture-laden branch that waits, ready to dump its harvest of rain and dew on the first person foolish enough to collide with it on their way along the path. She passes on no verbal warning of this danger; is is left to observation to save her follower. "What'd you do to yourself?"
Aivey would have been one such fool, were it not for the fact that she's watching Nera's every move and, after a swift look at the branch, emulates. "Me?" Safely on the other side of that branch, and back in step with Nera, Aivey shakes her head, "Well, I braided my hair, but I always do that..." Trailing off, "Is that what you meant?"
"You," Nera agrees conversationally, her eyes on the path ahead of them. "I didn't mean your hair, no. I meant the ballgown you've unexpectedly produced and decided to wear. Lovely stitching, and the colour suits you, but it's really the sort of thing we put into the stores. Against the day we'll hold a fancy dance, you understand." All of this is delivered quietly; if it's intended as humour, or as sarcasm, there are none of the usual little indicators to mark it so.
"I'm not one for dresses, not usually," Aivey continues, "But in this instance I couldn't resist. It's suiting, I think," She reaches up to tuck a strand of hair back behind an ear, pauses for all of two seconds then, "How could you tell it's going to rain? Does it pattern or were you just assuming... this being a wet season and all?"
"The wind's died out, the clouds look lower, the air feels heavier than it did before, and it never goes more than half an hour without a downpour." Nera's reply comes as a list; she lifts her hands so she can tick each point off on a finger, bending the digit down to dispose of the information. Then, just as businesslike: "What'd you do to yourself?"
Aivey makes silent reference of those notes, with a rather impressed look at Nera that falls away come her question. "I'll have to keep an eye out. To see how telling all those signs are." She inhales deeply next, perhaps testing the weight of the air before she allows an explanation, "I made a mistake is all. It's nothing to get worried about."
"You do that," Nera agrees, as the trees begin to thin out, and the water comes into view. She slows her pace, though, and after six or seven steps she stops completely, tugging her shirt down straight again. "I didn't say I was worried, Aivey. I asked what happened. If you want to follow me about, then the ducking and dodging of even questions of polite concern is going to have to stop. I haven't got time for it." Her tone is crisp; displeasure does not yet inhabit it, but the door is open.
"Am I invited then, to follow you around?" Aivey inquires, stopping when Nera does, though standing at an angle to the woman. A habitual custom, one that gives her view of Nera and a good portion of the beach, "Today, maybe?" Curious and nothing more, Aivey waits to gain first-hand confirmation by reaction (if any). "What happened is that I made a mistake. I did something I wasn't suppose to do - something I won't do again."
Nera doesn't answer the question, although there's a brief twist of her mouth that might signal any number of things. As Aivey continues, though, one of the headwoman's thin brows lifts, and she turns her head to regard her lover's daughter. Brief surprise flares, before her eyes narrow; Aivey is subjected then to a much more careful glance. "I can't think of anything in particular you've been told not to do that would wind you up hurt, Aivey. Are you saying you got this somehow other than falling off a rock?"
"In absence of a no, I often assume I've been told yes," Aivey informs Nera - completely out of the goodness of her heart, "You might want to clarify that before I make another mistake." Drawing her eyes to meet Nera's, she adds, "I hit someone. In return, I was hit. I'm far from hurt... a little closer to smarter for the experience, but that's not what has you worried."
One hand comes up to cover Nera's mouth, hiding her only softness from view as her lips are covered, then scrubbed at by her fingers. Far less delicate than Derek's moustache smoothing. "I might," she agrees, muffled behind her hand. It is not the subject of the moment, however, and so Aivey wins herself a reprieve against universal refusal. "It's like pulling teeth," she observes, faint impatience colouring her tone. "No, that is not what has me worried. I don't doubt you're working hard on your own version of smart. If you want to spend all the time you have with me dancing around the edges of this conversation, then you're welcome to waste it that way, Aivey."
"I hit Zoma. When he found out, we had a discussion. That was the result. The minor result," Stressing 'minor' above all else, Aivey lifts her eyes back to Nera's and holds them there, stubbornly refusing to place full blame on her father, "I don't blame him for what he did and I don't want anyone else blaming him either. It was necessary."
Nera's hand stays up to cover her mouth, the expressive twists and turns of it in which she usually indulges hidden from view; it doesn't come down until after she's spoken her first few words. "I would disagree," is all she says, and that slowly. There's a straightening of her features as the hand comes away, and she turns to resume walking, making first to shove her hands into her pockets, then halting that action, smoothing the fabric, tugging her shirt; fidgeting, in a word. "I'm gathering seaweed this morning," she observes crisply. "Perhaps you'd prefer a different day."
"What's done is done. I appreciate the care, really I do, but... it's done," Spoken with a sense of finality behind it, Aivey watches Nera fidget, listens to what she says after but chooses to ignore it, "He's my father and it's his right." Exclusive, that.
There's not a word or sound of reply from Nera, who after refastening her hair with uncharacteristic fussiness, chooses silence in which to continue the short distance remaining to the beach. It is not unpopulated; a few wade out in the water, or walk along the beach, beginning their day with quiet conversation, gentle stretching, or an inspection of the weather on the horizon.
Aivey lets Nera get two steps away before dropping her head and muttering a soft curse. Then she follows, drawing her arms up and across her chest. She waits until she's shoulder-to-shoulder with the other woman before saying, quietly, "What would you have done in his place?"
Nera's paces slow, and once again she stops, gazing out to sea; there's no breeze to tease her hair, and for once it remains still, staying just where it was restrained. "I couldn't say, without knowing what happens," she replies quietly, adding her eyes to those that scan the horizon, where dark clouds crowd together to seemingly sink slowly into the sea.
"What I did won't happen again. He ensured that," Aivey reasons quietly, "Nothing else would have worked. No one else here holds... no one else is as important as him." Her eyes switch between Nera's, a constant back and forth that doesn't end even as she adds, "I want to make an exception. An addition."
Nera gathers in a long, slow breath, and puffs her cheeks out as she exhales it, silent until every last inch of it is expelled from her lungs; she's obliged in the wake of that effort to suck in a quick replacement breath, and this is huffed out to exit just as quickly as it entered. "You misunderstand how it works here, Aivey," she observes.
"So I've been told," A wry smile is brief and a brief show of humor amidst seriousness, "But that doesn't change what I said. Wrong as you might find it." Aivey hasn't the ability to sound apologetic, doesn't make the effort where no need is seen.
"Should you ever acquire an interest in understanding how it does work, and in joining the rest of us, I'm sure you'll let us know," Nera replies, failing to match the young woman's smile; the lines around her eyes are thrown in to relief as she changes her focus, and squints slightly, but those few smile lines that have found a place are not animated.
"The interest is there. I want to know and I want to learn but he-" Aivey stops again, clenching her jaw shut and visibly working to find a less elaborate explanation, "I have no interest in fighting you, Nera. What do you want me to do to prove it?"
Those words are sufficient to draw Nera's gaze in from the horizon, and to resettle it on the young woman beside her, albeit slowly. "A fight requires two participants, I would have thought," she replies, pleasantly, evenly. "There's no need for you to prove anything, Aivey. What I would like you to do is settle in, and live by the same code that works for the rest of us. If I'm not in a position of sufficient authority to require that of you, then I'll settle for asking you to play nicely with the others."
In this particular situation, Aivey bites back an instinctual response. "You are in a position. I'll do my best." Aivey's gaze lingers briefly, then drops away to consider the ground at Nera's feet, "Will that do?"
"You've just said to me that only your father's in a position to require you to do anything," Nera replies equably, arms tightening across her chest for a moment before one escapes, and lifts by force of habit to tuck her hair away from her face, despite the fact that there is no wind to stir it from where it's been tucked. A fat drop of rain plops into the sand beside them, and then another. This does not signal a general exodus; the exiles are too used to the weather.
"My father is the only one I respect enough to listen to." Aivey corrects mildly, "I also said I wanted to make an addition." She doesn't insult Nera by elaborating any more then that. That the rain is now beginning to fall earns an uneasy shift from Aivey, but nothing more.
Nera sniffs, and recrosses her arms over her chest. "No you don't, Aivey," she replies, although not unkindly. "What you want is for me to do something for you. You don't want to listen to me like you do Derek, and you don't want to take on what respecting me would involve."
"I want nothing from you but a chance, Nera," Aivey replies with a challenging lift of her chin, "Try me. Give me a chance and I'll prove it to you."
There's not much point in hiding her cynicism, but Nera gentles it; it mingles with something that is not unkind, and that softens her tone. "You have a chance, Aivey. Every man and woman in this place does. Your father and I care about our people, whatever you might choose to think of our motives. That is why we expect you to behave in a particular way."
"And I've proven myself well so far," Aivey counters in what borders an exasperated tone, "I don't do well with generalities, Nera. That much should be obvious by now," She spares a moment for the women, then adds, "Specifically, what do you want me to do to prove to you that I am interested in gaining your respect? Don't hold back. You'd be surprised what I'm capable of doing."
Nera's gaze was halfway to the horizon, pale grey eyes making their way back to darker grey clouds; now it is caught short on that journey, and returns to its point of origin to fix on Aivey's face squarely. "What you're capable of? What exactly do you mean by that, Aivey?"
"Ask." One word from Aivey with an infinite number of possibilities, and it's delivered as squarely as Nera's gaze.
Nera frowns in a gentle sort of puzzlement, a crease appearing between her brows as she sniffs again. "Aivey, I cannot for the life of me imagine what you think I would ask," she replies quietly. "All I want is for you to find a way to settle into life here, without requiring that every single instruction be given to you specifically. You're intelligent enough to make something of generalities."
"When you think of it, the offer is there." Aivey remains calm, certain of Nera's capability to come up with something. "Until then, I will do my best. Like I said. I can't promise anything more then that. My record here-" Another self-depreciating smile, "Still speaks for itself."
"Indeed." There's something a little grim in those two syllables, the way Nera delivers them. "I expect breakfast is ready by now." That's that, her tone says, as she unfolds her arms, and digs bare toes into the sand to turn back the way they've come.
Aivey doesn't trail after the woman, not immediately at least, as she allows Nera a good head start back to the clearing of the camp before eventually returning there herself.