[LOG] Boss Lady.
Who: Milani, Devan.
What: Headwoman and Mr. Fix It meet up for a little while and discuss dating. Devan gets Set Up.
Where: LC, HRW.
When: 4/5/2009.
4/5/2009
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Afternoon in any Weyr's main caverns is gonna be pretty busy. Reaches doesn't disappoint. Whether they're taking an early dinner or a late lunch or simply taking the time out of their day to sit and chat while they have an opportunity, the crowd currently murmuring here and there in the living cavern lends the large room an odd sort of frantic energy. Seems impossible to find calm in such an environment, yet there Devan sits, alone at a table, toying with the hinges of a small dark jewelry box that looks almost ridiculous in his hands.
Contributing to the busy air, the Headwoman comes through with her clipboard and two assistants on her heels. "... you take the rest of these," she tells one of them, passing over a few slips of paper from the clipboard, "and Alieva, this list for the kitchen," she notes and takes a breath. "And we should be /about/ set." So saying, she leans up against Devan's table, down near the end of it and sets her clipboard down to take a short break.
If it's one thing Devan's become very good at being aware and wary of it's any group of women counting more than two. If it's three it's possible to get out alive. More than that and you're a dead man. Especially when they're in the mood for organizing or delegating or doing any of those kinds of administrative things. Luckily for him he's good at being completely likeable. Upon finding himself no longer as alone as he was a second ago, he grins his easy grin and greets, "Well hey there, boss lady."
Milani blinks a couple of times and turns a little, spots Devan and laughs lightly. "Well hello there, Devan. How's things? Busily working, or busily taking a break?" she asks with a little nod towards his jewelry box.
Dark eyes crinkle at the corners when his grin turns impish. Caught. "Can a fella not be doin' both of those things?" Since she brings it into exhibit with her nod, Devan lifts the box in one hand just enough for it to be a gesture of sorts. Here it is. "I thought it was kinda pretty." And, while considering the little thing with his warm regard, he adds, "One lady's trash..."
"Could be," Milani replies with a quick-flashed smile. "And I wouldn't doubt you capable," the headwoman continues, one hand dropping to pick the clipboard back up. She nods to the next chair over from the handyman. "Mind if I sit? And isn't that the way of things in the Weyr? All about re-using and being smart about supplies and resources," she says with a little laugh.
The look Devan gives the headwoman is mild and something like surprised. Exactly. Rather than simply tell her she can sit there, he goes so far as to stretch one long arm out to pull it from the table and grins at her, squinty-eyed again. "The hinges're squeaky." The thumb of his other hand pushes up on the lid of the box for demonstration. The noise produced is the tinny screech of metal against metal. "Corners're all chipped too." His grin grows. "I like projects."
"I'll bet you'll get that all sorted out in no time flat," Milani tells Devan confidently, smile warm as she drops into that chair and sets her clipboard down again. "How're the doors on Store Rooms A and B coming along, speaking of projects?"
It was only a matter of time, really. All business again. Devan looks almost sad to see it come, but it /is/ his job. So he'll straighten up a little and set the box down, oh-so-carefully, so that he can address properly. "Top shelf, I cut the rot away'n sealed the wood. Lookin' real good." Cheeky when he glances over at her, he makes sure to quip, "Thought you were gonna give me a challenge."
"If we /had/ any big challenges right now, I'd be sure to give you one," Milani counters with a quick grin. "And that, that's just for fun or do you have a destination in mind for it when you've done the repairs?" Back to the box in Devan's hands, the headwoman's head tilting curiously.
The eyeroll doesn't mock or express sarcasm; it simply affects an air of 'oh, sure'. Acting disappointed only holds its appeal for so long though, then Devan's putting back his quick smile and reaching for the box again. "Mm. I just don't know yet. Why?" Another glance over. "You got a girl lined up for me?" Nevermind his big goofy grin with all those white teeth and the way his eyebrows go up all hopeful like.
"Half a dozen," Milani quips back about girls, elbow to table and chin into hand, grinning at the handyman widely. "But no, just curious if /you'd/ settled on one yourself yet," she says laughingly.
"Oh, please." Because as always in any bantering of any kind, Devan's almost always the one to back out first. And it's always with that goofy grin in place, and it's always accompanied by looking away and down at something. Too shy, maybe. Regarding the box again, his shoulder shrugs. "Nah." And then he moves up, to the ceiling of the cavern with an unreadable something going on in his expression. "I'm not any good at talkin' t'girls."
"Some of them don't necessarily want a man who talks," Milani says bluntly with a meaningful look for the handyman and a broad wink. Her fingertips pluck at the edge of a page on her clipboard, eyeing that traveling look of Devan's. "If you want to though, could always practice. I mean, I'm a girl and you don't have trouble talking to me, right?"
Devan's first and only response to that is a bashful choking noise that might have been a laugh had he not strangled it. His voice, too, sounds a bit thick, like he's trying not to let the laugh come out despite its best efforts. "Jays, woman." Her suggestion does make him chuckle, finally, which might not have been the desired result. "Sorta different when the girl's my boss," he'll have her know.
"Ye-es, and I'm still a woman," Milani counters determinely, suddenly flutters her eyelashes at him. "What, don't think I can act un-boss-like?" Which he ought to know /very/ well that she can.
"Oh I know you can act un-boss-like." Which he delivers and puts his eyes to their corners so he can give her a little look. Maybe not personally, but he /knows/. He'd have an easier time meeting her eyes if he could just stop fidgeting. And after he realizes he's opening and closing the lid of the box over and over again he comments casually, "This is startin' t'feel about right."
"Mmhm, well, anyway. I can give you a list of names, or set you up," Milani says more straightforwardly, sitting up a little. "The box? Or talking?" she winks at him and eyes his fidgeting, the box, for a second.
"Oh, no. Please." That right there, the thing he gives her, is practically a wince, his face all screwed up. "I don't wanna make some poor girl all uncomfortable'n Faranth knows it would be. I just... get..." Puzzled, Devan lets his eyes wander again. Lamely, "Weird."
"Maybe, maybe not, depends on the girl, doesn't it?" Milani claims, fingers drumming lightly against her cheek. "Anyway, only cure for that weird is practice." Back to that again.
"Ha. No, it's like..." Uncertain look over, small amount of hesitance, finally a decision. When Devan turns his body to better face Milani he kind of looms a little. It isn't his fault, it's the genes. "I can talk t'you no problem, right? But soon's I know the girl's-- or I'm--" Add in some very vague hand gestures and clicking of the bracelets on his wrist and the oh-so-eager-to-explain look on his face and the whole thing might be pretty amusing.
"When there's interest, you get tongue-tied and awkward," Milani fills in, eyes on Devan's face, nodding assumed understanding. "Hmm. That /is/ a little trickier," she has to concede, finger tapping at her upper lip.
However talking about hinges and wood rot turned into talking about Devan's love life or complete and barren lack thereof will always be a point of astounding confusion for the poor guy. But here they are, here he is, digging himself into a hole. Thank goodness he has his nervous mannerisms to fall back on, like the hand at the back of his neck that rubs possibly too hard. The breath he exhales comes out in a whoosh and puffs his cheeks out. "Aw, heck."
Likely because Milani's pretty good at drawing people out, usually. She watches him, that nervous mannerism and Millie nods. "Mmhm. So when things get to you know, a point, it all falls apart. It's like anything else I guess, really, that anyone gets stage fright about though." Musingly: "Performance anxiety." And then she blinks a few times, chuckles. "Still think that practice makes perfect. But anyway, you fix that box up and then maybe if you hook up with someone, you'll have a girl to give it to."
"Oh see now you go'n say things like 'performance anxiety' and my feelings get hurt a little." Apparently his ability to joke hasn't been damaged any by what he might construe as an awkward situation. Probably a good thing. Sidelong glance for the box. Long drawn out pause for consideration. "Say I was bein' a real good sport. How'd it work?" Cue the grin. "Makin' perfect."
"Mmmhm," Milani returns, eyes showing good humor for the 'joke'. "Pick a meal or a breaktime and a place and I'll let the girl in question know where and when to meet you," the headwoman answers promptly. "As for making perfect, I flirt, you try not to fluster down, if we go that way."
Even the word 'flirt' seems to put Devan on edge, but he manages to maintain his easygoingness in spite of that. Or, really, just in the face of it, since spite probably doesn't even figure into his brain. "'Girl in question'? Jeez. I dunno, Millie, how do normal people go around doin' this kinda thing? What's a good time t'do stuff?"
"Evening, after duties, usually, unless it's one of the kitchen girls with an evening shift," Milani just plows right on with it all, shifting about in her chair to fold her leg up beneath her and lounge all the more with a lean onto her hand. "And since when aren't you a /normal/ person?"
"I can't even make pretend like I'm talkin' to you like you're some girl, so around since then." Leaning now, with elbows on knees and hands slowly rubbing palms together between the two of them, Devan accepts his fate and her help and heaves a giant sized sigh for a giant sized guy. "I leave my life in your capable hands."
"Riiight, but that doesn't mean you're not /normal/ even if you're feeling flustered," Milani points out, a finger reaching over and aiming to tap at his shoulder. She beams at his acceptance though. "Excellent! I'll set it up and hopefully it'll all go smashingly and if it /doesn't/, well at least you got some practice in."
Tapping his shoulder earns her one of those quick grins, eyes all wide and dark. "I don't do flustered." Or, rather, he does, but he doesn't like it. Apprehensive again now that she's mentioned practice and girls in the same sentence, Devan makes a face and a request. "Just don't pick someone mean. Girls can be mean'n they don't like me very much."
"Oh no, no, mean? C'mon, Devan, /trust/ me," Milani says emphtatically and makes big eyes at him. "It's me! I wouldn't ever hook you up with a mean girl."
"I /know/ but sometimes... I dunno. I'm feelin' a little paranoid here." Which he has to laugh at, but only a little. "Alright." Hands up, palms up, surrendering. "Alright, I trust you. Sheesh, you wake up thinkin' it's gonna be a regular day." What has he gotten himself into.
"Paranoid. Ha. You should meet Alex," Milani says and stretches her arms up above her head. "And this is a very normal day," she continues unabashed. Because apparently meddling is a part of /her/ daily routine at any rate.
Well good that she's perfectly comfortable, and normally he would be too. Darn girls. "Alex, huh? Why's that name sound familiar t'me?" Now that they might not be talking about girls anymore, hopefully, Devan reaches over again for his box to toy with it some more.
"Journeyman Starcrafter. Male. Not your type, I'd assume unless ... you're holding out and you swing both ways?" Milani queries, the question sincere for all the sing-song teasing in it. "He has a nice farviewer." Not innuendo.
Innuendo is not lost on Devan, no matter how not innuendo it might be. "Hey, don't go sayin' stuff like that with people around, stuff gets around. I don't want people thinkin' I'm swingin' any more'n just the one way."
"Just had to make sure, I was pretty sure it was /just/ girls for you, but things can move and change fast in a Weyr," Milani says all too casually. "At any rate, if you like looking at the sky or are interested in stars and moons and planets, Alex is the man to talk to.
Which Devan actually thinks about for more than just a second. It'd be so easy to mistake his care when thinking for slowness. His reply comes along with his leaning back just a little, just so he isn't leaning /so/ much. "Starsmith, though. They like t'tell you all about what's goin' on up there. I can't really say I like that, really."
"Yes, they do. And figure things out. Alex does a lot of figuring out as far as I can ... figure out," Milani says then laughs brightly. "He's always doing math when he's around." She quirks brows up at Devan. "What, don't want to know about what's going on up there?"
Which all sounds very interesting and nice, but for someone like Devan, who uses math only when it helps him figure out how many of which kind of hammer on something, or how long a piece of wood needs to be, it's a little out of reach. So he offers a shrug, looks down at the little box, and speaks carefully. "I like lookin' at the stars. I like watchin' the sky. I just don't wanna know what it has t'say."
Milani listens, nodding seriously. "Well then, Oysric's more your man," she says gaily and pushes her chair back, collects her clipboard. "He just looks, almost every night. Me, I like math, like figuring things and I'd like to learn more from that Starsmith, if I could convince him." She rises, slides the chair back in to the table. "I should get back to work though. Good luck with the box, Devan. I'll keep you posted about that date."
Milani rises, Devan rises. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, his mother could be watching and he'd never hear the end of it. She's tall, he's taller. He doesn't loom, though, simply rests his fingertips on his chair and half-grins at her. "You can convince me t'go on a date with someone I haven't even met yet, reckon you could get a guy to tell you about stars. I'll see you, boss lady."
"Ohh don't worry, I'm not going to give up trying," Milani says laughingly and wiggles fingers in farewell before turning away to get back to work with a brisk step.
What: Headwoman and Mr. Fix It meet up for a little while and discuss dating. Devan gets Set Up.
Where: LC, HRW.
When: 4/5/2009.
4/5/2009
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Afternoon in any Weyr's main caverns is gonna be pretty busy. Reaches doesn't disappoint. Whether they're taking an early dinner or a late lunch or simply taking the time out of their day to sit and chat while they have an opportunity, the crowd currently murmuring here and there in the living cavern lends the large room an odd sort of frantic energy. Seems impossible to find calm in such an environment, yet there Devan sits, alone at a table, toying with the hinges of a small dark jewelry box that looks almost ridiculous in his hands.
Contributing to the busy air, the Headwoman comes through with her clipboard and two assistants on her heels. "... you take the rest of these," she tells one of them, passing over a few slips of paper from the clipboard, "and Alieva, this list for the kitchen," she notes and takes a breath. "And we should be /about/ set." So saying, she leans up against Devan's table, down near the end of it and sets her clipboard down to take a short break.
If it's one thing Devan's become very good at being aware and wary of it's any group of women counting more than two. If it's three it's possible to get out alive. More than that and you're a dead man. Especially when they're in the mood for organizing or delegating or doing any of those kinds of administrative things. Luckily for him he's good at being completely likeable. Upon finding himself no longer as alone as he was a second ago, he grins his easy grin and greets, "Well hey there, boss lady."
Milani blinks a couple of times and turns a little, spots Devan and laughs lightly. "Well hello there, Devan. How's things? Busily working, or busily taking a break?" she asks with a little nod towards his jewelry box.
Dark eyes crinkle at the corners when his grin turns impish. Caught. "Can a fella not be doin' both of those things?" Since she brings it into exhibit with her nod, Devan lifts the box in one hand just enough for it to be a gesture of sorts. Here it is. "I thought it was kinda pretty." And, while considering the little thing with his warm regard, he adds, "One lady's trash..."
"Could be," Milani replies with a quick-flashed smile. "And I wouldn't doubt you capable," the headwoman continues, one hand dropping to pick the clipboard back up. She nods to the next chair over from the handyman. "Mind if I sit? And isn't that the way of things in the Weyr? All about re-using and being smart about supplies and resources," she says with a little laugh.
The look Devan gives the headwoman is mild and something like surprised. Exactly. Rather than simply tell her she can sit there, he goes so far as to stretch one long arm out to pull it from the table and grins at her, squinty-eyed again. "The hinges're squeaky." The thumb of his other hand pushes up on the lid of the box for demonstration. The noise produced is the tinny screech of metal against metal. "Corners're all chipped too." His grin grows. "I like projects."
"I'll bet you'll get that all sorted out in no time flat," Milani tells Devan confidently, smile warm as she drops into that chair and sets her clipboard down again. "How're the doors on Store Rooms A and B coming along, speaking of projects?"
It was only a matter of time, really. All business again. Devan looks almost sad to see it come, but it /is/ his job. So he'll straighten up a little and set the box down, oh-so-carefully, so that he can address properly. "Top shelf, I cut the rot away'n sealed the wood. Lookin' real good." Cheeky when he glances over at her, he makes sure to quip, "Thought you were gonna give me a challenge."
"If we /had/ any big challenges right now, I'd be sure to give you one," Milani counters with a quick grin. "And that, that's just for fun or do you have a destination in mind for it when you've done the repairs?" Back to the box in Devan's hands, the headwoman's head tilting curiously.
The eyeroll doesn't mock or express sarcasm; it simply affects an air of 'oh, sure'. Acting disappointed only holds its appeal for so long though, then Devan's putting back his quick smile and reaching for the box again. "Mm. I just don't know yet. Why?" Another glance over. "You got a girl lined up for me?" Nevermind his big goofy grin with all those white teeth and the way his eyebrows go up all hopeful like.
"Half a dozen," Milani quips back about girls, elbow to table and chin into hand, grinning at the handyman widely. "But no, just curious if /you'd/ settled on one yourself yet," she says laughingly.
"Oh, please." Because as always in any bantering of any kind, Devan's almost always the one to back out first. And it's always with that goofy grin in place, and it's always accompanied by looking away and down at something. Too shy, maybe. Regarding the box again, his shoulder shrugs. "Nah." And then he moves up, to the ceiling of the cavern with an unreadable something going on in his expression. "I'm not any good at talkin' t'girls."
"Some of them don't necessarily want a man who talks," Milani says bluntly with a meaningful look for the handyman and a broad wink. Her fingertips pluck at the edge of a page on her clipboard, eyeing that traveling look of Devan's. "If you want to though, could always practice. I mean, I'm a girl and you don't have trouble talking to me, right?"
Devan's first and only response to that is a bashful choking noise that might have been a laugh had he not strangled it. His voice, too, sounds a bit thick, like he's trying not to let the laugh come out despite its best efforts. "Jays, woman." Her suggestion does make him chuckle, finally, which might not have been the desired result. "Sorta different when the girl's my boss," he'll have her know.
"Ye-es, and I'm still a woman," Milani counters determinely, suddenly flutters her eyelashes at him. "What, don't think I can act un-boss-like?" Which he ought to know /very/ well that she can.
"Oh I know you can act un-boss-like." Which he delivers and puts his eyes to their corners so he can give her a little look. Maybe not personally, but he /knows/. He'd have an easier time meeting her eyes if he could just stop fidgeting. And after he realizes he's opening and closing the lid of the box over and over again he comments casually, "This is startin' t'feel about right."
"Mmhm, well, anyway. I can give you a list of names, or set you up," Milani says more straightforwardly, sitting up a little. "The box? Or talking?" she winks at him and eyes his fidgeting, the box, for a second.
"Oh, no. Please." That right there, the thing he gives her, is practically a wince, his face all screwed up. "I don't wanna make some poor girl all uncomfortable'n Faranth knows it would be. I just... get..." Puzzled, Devan lets his eyes wander again. Lamely, "Weird."
"Maybe, maybe not, depends on the girl, doesn't it?" Milani claims, fingers drumming lightly against her cheek. "Anyway, only cure for that weird is practice." Back to that again.
"Ha. No, it's like..." Uncertain look over, small amount of hesitance, finally a decision. When Devan turns his body to better face Milani he kind of looms a little. It isn't his fault, it's the genes. "I can talk t'you no problem, right? But soon's I know the girl's-- or I'm--" Add in some very vague hand gestures and clicking of the bracelets on his wrist and the oh-so-eager-to-explain look on his face and the whole thing might be pretty amusing.
"When there's interest, you get tongue-tied and awkward," Milani fills in, eyes on Devan's face, nodding assumed understanding. "Hmm. That /is/ a little trickier," she has to concede, finger tapping at her upper lip.
However talking about hinges and wood rot turned into talking about Devan's love life or complete and barren lack thereof will always be a point of astounding confusion for the poor guy. But here they are, here he is, digging himself into a hole. Thank goodness he has his nervous mannerisms to fall back on, like the hand at the back of his neck that rubs possibly too hard. The breath he exhales comes out in a whoosh and puffs his cheeks out. "Aw, heck."
Likely because Milani's pretty good at drawing people out, usually. She watches him, that nervous mannerism and Millie nods. "Mmhm. So when things get to you know, a point, it all falls apart. It's like anything else I guess, really, that anyone gets stage fright about though." Musingly: "Performance anxiety." And then she blinks a few times, chuckles. "Still think that practice makes perfect. But anyway, you fix that box up and then maybe if you hook up with someone, you'll have a girl to give it to."
"Oh see now you go'n say things like 'performance anxiety' and my feelings get hurt a little." Apparently his ability to joke hasn't been damaged any by what he might construe as an awkward situation. Probably a good thing. Sidelong glance for the box. Long drawn out pause for consideration. "Say I was bein' a real good sport. How'd it work?" Cue the grin. "Makin' perfect."
"Mmmhm," Milani returns, eyes showing good humor for the 'joke'. "Pick a meal or a breaktime and a place and I'll let the girl in question know where and when to meet you," the headwoman answers promptly. "As for making perfect, I flirt, you try not to fluster down, if we go that way."
Even the word 'flirt' seems to put Devan on edge, but he manages to maintain his easygoingness in spite of that. Or, really, just in the face of it, since spite probably doesn't even figure into his brain. "'Girl in question'? Jeez. I dunno, Millie, how do normal people go around doin' this kinda thing? What's a good time t'do stuff?"
"Evening, after duties, usually, unless it's one of the kitchen girls with an evening shift," Milani just plows right on with it all, shifting about in her chair to fold her leg up beneath her and lounge all the more with a lean onto her hand. "And since when aren't you a /normal/ person?"
"I can't even make pretend like I'm talkin' to you like you're some girl, so around since then." Leaning now, with elbows on knees and hands slowly rubbing palms together between the two of them, Devan accepts his fate and her help and heaves a giant sized sigh for a giant sized guy. "I leave my life in your capable hands."
"Riiight, but that doesn't mean you're not /normal/ even if you're feeling flustered," Milani points out, a finger reaching over and aiming to tap at his shoulder. She beams at his acceptance though. "Excellent! I'll set it up and hopefully it'll all go smashingly and if it /doesn't/, well at least you got some practice in."
Tapping his shoulder earns her one of those quick grins, eyes all wide and dark. "I don't do flustered." Or, rather, he does, but he doesn't like it. Apprehensive again now that she's mentioned practice and girls in the same sentence, Devan makes a face and a request. "Just don't pick someone mean. Girls can be mean'n they don't like me very much."
"Oh no, no, mean? C'mon, Devan, /trust/ me," Milani says emphtatically and makes big eyes at him. "It's me! I wouldn't ever hook you up with a mean girl."
"I /know/ but sometimes... I dunno. I'm feelin' a little paranoid here." Which he has to laugh at, but only a little. "Alright." Hands up, palms up, surrendering. "Alright, I trust you. Sheesh, you wake up thinkin' it's gonna be a regular day." What has he gotten himself into.
"Paranoid. Ha. You should meet Alex," Milani says and stretches her arms up above her head. "And this is a very normal day," she continues unabashed. Because apparently meddling is a part of /her/ daily routine at any rate.
Well good that she's perfectly comfortable, and normally he would be too. Darn girls. "Alex, huh? Why's that name sound familiar t'me?" Now that they might not be talking about girls anymore, hopefully, Devan reaches over again for his box to toy with it some more.
"Journeyman Starcrafter. Male. Not your type, I'd assume unless ... you're holding out and you swing both ways?" Milani queries, the question sincere for all the sing-song teasing in it. "He has a nice farviewer." Not innuendo.
Innuendo is not lost on Devan, no matter how not innuendo it might be. "Hey, don't go sayin' stuff like that with people around, stuff gets around. I don't want people thinkin' I'm swingin' any more'n just the one way."
"Just had to make sure, I was pretty sure it was /just/ girls for you, but things can move and change fast in a Weyr," Milani says all too casually. "At any rate, if you like looking at the sky or are interested in stars and moons and planets, Alex is the man to talk to.
Which Devan actually thinks about for more than just a second. It'd be so easy to mistake his care when thinking for slowness. His reply comes along with his leaning back just a little, just so he isn't leaning /so/ much. "Starsmith, though. They like t'tell you all about what's goin' on up there. I can't really say I like that, really."
"Yes, they do. And figure things out. Alex does a lot of figuring out as far as I can ... figure out," Milani says then laughs brightly. "He's always doing math when he's around." She quirks brows up at Devan. "What, don't want to know about what's going on up there?"
Which all sounds very interesting and nice, but for someone like Devan, who uses math only when it helps him figure out how many of which kind of hammer on something, or how long a piece of wood needs to be, it's a little out of reach. So he offers a shrug, looks down at the little box, and speaks carefully. "I like lookin' at the stars. I like watchin' the sky. I just don't wanna know what it has t'say."
Milani listens, nodding seriously. "Well then, Oysric's more your man," she says gaily and pushes her chair back, collects her clipboard. "He just looks, almost every night. Me, I like math, like figuring things and I'd like to learn more from that Starsmith, if I could convince him." She rises, slides the chair back in to the table. "I should get back to work though. Good luck with the box, Devan. I'll keep you posted about that date."
Milani rises, Devan rises. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, his mother could be watching and he'd never hear the end of it. She's tall, he's taller. He doesn't loom, though, simply rests his fingertips on his chair and half-grins at her. "You can convince me t'go on a date with someone I haven't even met yet, reckon you could get a guy to tell you about stars. I'll see you, boss lady."
"Ohh don't worry, I'm not going to give up trying," Milani says laughingly and wiggles fingers in farewell before turning away to get back to work with a brisk step.