Is this becoming a habit?
RL Date: 7/25/09
IC Date: 4/18/20
Weavercraft Hall, Boll Area(#893RJs$)
Nestled in a verdant tropical forest, the dazzling white slate of the Weavercraft Hall is protected by two solid wooden gates that are usually left open to admit the warm, balmy air. Draperies frame windows in a soft and lightweight violet brocade, fluttering lackadaisically in the gentle breezes.
Pern's history is detailed on several brightly-shaded tapestries bedecking the walls, spaced between sconces of glow baskets that provide light when needed. Ornate tables gradually increase in complexity, from the more simple apprentice's tables to the intricate and thickly padded rich purple of the Masters' seating.
Within, the decorous hall is rife with activity, and sounds issue forth seemingly from every direction - the soft buzz of spinning wheels, the tick-tick of shuttles and looms in use, and the steady hum of stitching.
Outside, a well-traveled stone path leads toward Southern Boll Hold, a mere few minutes' walk away. Other paths lead toward the breathtaking fields, or to the docks, the gardens, and the nearby beach.
Once every Turn or so usually is enough, it is, but there's Wyaeth anyway, sounding his arrival in all his brazen glory, trumpeting what may very well be a rebuke to the watchdragon, lowering himself less in a slow spiral as a breakneck descent that drops him suddenly, loudly onto the flagstones just outside Weaver's gates. The litany of profanity that follows would be N'thei, and he leaves his dragon to claim ownership of the Hall's main passage, pushes the partially open gates wide, gives the lush surroundings an accusing once-over. Jacket over his arm, collar loosened, he steps into the main breezeway with nearly as much sense of possession as the bronze outside the gates, every expectation that someone will be loitering to be beckoned for his bidding.
Given it's both a crafthall and a busy one at that, there's any number of people to be hailed to do one's bidding - should they stop for enough time to convey it. For that, there's always rather tired-looking apprentices enjoying the fresh air and shade on a break. But here's some luck for the bronzerider; as once every turn or so is usually enough, there's no precautions taken nor anyone to give the heads up - life goes on as usual. Life as usual seems to have Amerie briskly headed through the main passage at this time of day, apparently on her way to the workrooms, if the armload of rich fabric is any indication. Predictably, she doesn't notice any visitors because she's busily ignoring the world at large. Imagine that.
One of those apprentices is the aim of that crooked finger, that come-here gesture, but the kid only gets a half-dozen steps before the finger turns to a palm, then the palm waves him back toward where he started, a mute never-mind. N'thei, leaving his coat over a banister, confident that it will be there unmolested when he gets back to it, finds it easy enough to make up the distance between the door where he entered and the distance Amerie's already crossed. Size and aura if not rank and notoriety will still buy him a wide berth. Hands clasped behind his back, voice lowered once he falls in step-- "Unprecedented."
Unable to really ignore someone heading straight for her - while everyone /around/ her flees - Amerie glances towards N'thei. To her credit, there's not a pause in her step, nor a reaction beyond a brief flicker of surprise in dark eyes, a purse of her lips, perhaps the slightest flush - though it's difficult to tell under dusky skin bronzed by the constant sun. Her chin lifts a touch as she returns quietly and archly, "I should say the same." There's a long silent moment before she has anything to add, and even then, it's not much. "Twice now. Is this becoming a habit?"
"Say the same, then." N'thei offers this like an invitation on his part, his ear cocked to receive the expected repartee, under pretense of which he can imagine that flush into existence, even if he can't rightly see it. Passing them, he reaches toward a door here and there, taps them one after another with the knuckle of his index finger; let him know when they reach the destination, he can at least do something useful and open a door for her? "Habit's a strong word, my dove. When a man wants new clothes, there's only one place worth getting them. Are you married? Do you have kids?" Like it's any of his business, let alone a perfectly natural point to insinuate the questions into the conversation.
"I'm not about to now that you want me to. How else am I to maintain my contrary and disagreeable reputation?" Speaking of which, Amerie doesn't seem inclined to have this conversation in the main areas of the Hall; to the questioning taps at the doors, she gives him a slight shake of her head, passing the workrooms entirely. She's just carrying the cloth under her arm for fun. "You have new clothes," she tells him flatly, the endearment ignored. "And I'm simply interested so I know whether my day will be regularly interrupted." As they reach the end of the passage, it opens up into a quiet shaded garden; she stops to look up at N'thei with an arched brow. "Not even how are you - just are you married, like that. Why does it matter? And do you think I'd have children?" The last said like it's a disease - thanks, but no.
N'thei looks back over his shoulder, the direction the came, the tattered jacket looking very out of place in the clean-and-stylish surroundings of the Weaver Hall. A brow rises, a look lowers; "Have I interrupted your day?" While they continue walking, with her work apparently draped over her arm. She stops so he does, though it's a step later, as though he wasn't prepared for the arrested momentum. No longer walking, his hands come from behind his back, his arms folded over his chest, and he holds that downward look with the fringe of a smile. "Would you rather I asked how you were first," not a real question. "Matters because I want to know. But I think you're not." That last is a confident guess, a slight question behind his eyes, is he wrong?
Amerie hasn't said anything about the state of what N'thei's currently wearing, but don't think she hasn't noticed and disapproved already. As an answer to the question, she gestures to said work, lifting her arm. "This is my workroom time," she notes a bit peevishly, though with much less irritation than one might expect. "The schedule's all thrown off." Oh no, not the /schedule/. The downward look and the slight smile has her turning her dark gaze away, starting fully into the outdoors. "I don't think what I'd rather matters. Are you just wondering? Is it a bet?" After a sidelong glance, "I'm not. I'm not interested."
All right; "So where is your workroom?" The nearest flower at hand suffers to have a petal pulled to make the point that this is not a workroom, this is a garden. N'thei flicks that petal off the end of his fingers then, leans to follow the direction of Amerie's diverted eyes, like he might ascertain what catches her attention. But no. "Don't say that. If you'd rather I left, I'd go. Say the word." Truthfully, "But then I'd come back later, never could stand being told no, neh?" The idea of a bet brightens his expression, actually makes him laugh if briefly. "With whom, my dove? The number of people who even know we ever knew each other is short, and Milani's the only one of them as still talks to me. Happy?" As in, is she? Generally? Overall?
With a diffident wave of her hand, "Back there. It's not formal. I just have my day planned by now." Amerie folds the garment she's working on precisely over her arm, giving herself something to do. Carefully and slowly, "I don't want you to go. Particularly if you need to be here." Like last time, perhaps. With the faintest trace of a smile, she agrees, "You don't listen, generally. It's admirable persistence at the very least." A elegant little shrug, and she's spared another glance for N'thei at the laugh; with a wider, warmer smile for Milani's name, she nods. "Enough. I like it here. I like my work." A pause before she notes lightly, "I'd ask the same, but..." But there's lots of reasons not to.
As if he has nothing better to do with himself for now, which may not be so far from the truth, N'thei offers, "Tell me your day. Up at dawn, asleep at midnight?" An open hand, unfolded from his arms, indicates the idea of forward progress, as does the lowered forehead and the first step taken down the garden path. How idyllic. "Walk then, and we'll work our way 'back there'," he suggests-- yes, suggests rather than demands, still leaves her the option of no-I-have-to-go. He doesn't have to deal with what people will say afterward, conjugal-looking strolls through gardens in the middle of the day, Amerie? Really? "I /listen/," important distinction, which he fails to qualify. "Happy enough. Shame, that. Misery loves company."
Amerie might consider the no-I-have-to-go option, if her glance over her shoulder is any indication - but there's only a flicker of indecision before she falls into step next to him. "You listen," she allows. "But you choose to ignore. Sometimes." The walking itself isn't overly scandalous, though the idea of the dark girl being at all sociable might be surprising. It's a busy day, though - so not too many people about for questioning looks. "You wouldn't like me miserable." If such a thing exists. "I wouldn't be good company, maxims aside. And my day." She considers for a moment. "Up early, to be sure, though not at dawn. Up late when I'm on deadline, or I'm making progress. A few hours in the workrooms with lunch, dinner with everyone else. Terribly exciting. What do you do with yourself?"
N'thei can't argue that, true, and only ducks his head to accept her remarks as close to home. Sometimes. There's undue seriousness in his tone when he looks over and agrees, "I wouldn't like you miserable, you're right." Moving on, now and then looking at what Amerie has folded over her arm like he might be able to ascertain something of her work from a nebulous sample of it, he questions, "With everyone else? That is to say, you willingly keep company with other people?" Will wonders never cease! "Me? I take dawnsweeps, sleep in the afternoons, play cards at night. I am," he continues with the air of proclamation, "comfortable with my apathy."
The seriousness has Amerie glancing up to N'thei with a quick, assessing glance; easily though softly, "It's a good thing that you've never seen it, then." On closer inspection, her work seems to be the beginnings of a dress, likely an elaborate one by the amount of fabric, the number of seams. With an air of deflection as she notes the interest, "A commission. A dress that's taking some time. Fortunately for me." She flashes the briefest of smiles, before her tone shades dry. "I've always willingly kept company with other people; you just seem to have the impression that I don't." The not being around ever might have something to do with that. With a arched brow and a twitch of her lips, she points out, "So comfortable with your apathy that you've come here."
"Do you take new work often?" Just asking. No, really. N'thei chuckles immediately afterward, at-- "Willingly? Weaver Hall turned you into a social butterfly?" Forgive him for looking at Amerie doubtfully while he continues to entertain himself with what constitutes /willing/. Her barb at the end sobers the laugh but leaves the smile, puts his attention forward on picking a path that will eventually bring them back around the way they came, as promised. "Came because I have money to spend, shouldn't you thank me for my commerce with your craft?" Admittedly, "I came back on the chance you were like a bad penny. There are few people whose company I'm willing to suffer these days." Compliment kinda.
"As often as I can." Amerie's not in it for just the pretty clothes and the free room and board, after all. Folding her arms under the dress-to be and across her chest, she has another lifted brow for N'thei's doubtful look before admitting grudgingly, "Willingly, in the sense that it's the way of things, I suppose." When he sobers, her expression shifts towards apologetic as she watches him pick the paths, letting him lead the way even though she likely knows them all by now. Dryly, obediently, "Thank you for spending money at the Weavercraft." Though that's amused her, the kinda compliment gives her pause - she kicks at a loose stone on the path to cover it. "A bad penny. You always know how to make a girl feel special," she notes, the curve of a tiny smirk on her lips. "These days. Ever, but these days in particular. I'm sorry." For what, she doesn't specify - maybe a blanket apology, maybe an expression of sympathy. Maybe both.
N'thei nods, as often as she can, and files that information away, all but visibly makes note of it. Starting at the tail end of her words, at the apology, he shrugs and lifts a look upward, away from loose stones and Amerie and the garden. "Don't be sorry, not your doing. She got sick, and I couldn't save her, and..." Another shrug. "And now a sixteen year old boy does my job better than I did, and I come to Weaver Hall to visit with girls in my copious spare time." Speaking of knowing how to make a girl feel special, though there's a quality to the remark-- relief in the sigh behind the words. "If I came back, would you walk with me again? Willingly." Heh.
Amerie isn't comfortable having this conversation on all kinds of levels; it's visible in her dark eyes, the slight strain around her mouth. Even so, she's determined to have it. "I could argue that it's not anyone's place to save anyone else. Some people don't want to be saved." There's the weight of experience there in her tone; she toes the stone off the path and into the garden proper. "And it's not /your/ job, even. The claim on that position changes, as much as you may still consider it your responsibility. Besides, I've never known a sixteen year old that doesn't make mistakes - so wait for it, then you can be smug about how you would have done it better." For all that no one listening would think the words were meant to be comfort, her tone is soft enough - and she unfolds an arm to brush her hand against his briefly. Still, her words are a touch wary. "More willingly than I'd spend time with most people. Will you come back?" A point for her - it's neutral, not at all accusatory. Just wondering.
It's not really a cake-walk of chat for N'thei, either, but he's not been telling lies: the number of people he'll suffer these days is small, smaller still the number he'd let argue with him. Stubbornness sets his jaw at Amerie's first words, soft as they are, and he notes, "You could argue that, my dove. You could. But it would fall on deaf ears." His fingers twitch, aim to catch hers, no more than a hard squeeze with his palm intended. Like he could find humor in it, he barks a short laugh, saying, "Sad fact is, I was a piss-poor Weyrleader. Just grates to think of a little boy showing a man up, that's all. Imagine some wet-behind-the-ears apprentice turns up and outdoes your commission here, neh? Sinks like a stone in your stomach." But he recognizes the humor in it, at least, the chuckle spilling into his last answer. "Very likely I will. You're still beautiful and argumentative and-- and I have nothing better to do with my time. Mentioned that part yet?"
"I know. But you know that I'm generally contrary, maybe more so when it comes to you. So I'll keep arguing." But not now. Amerie lets her hand be caught for the squeeze, returns it lightly. But here's something else to argue about; "You did what you could. And I can admit that something similar wouldn't still well with me - but then, I'd destroy any apprentice who even considered it." Only half-joking there. N'thei's chuckle has her quirking her lips again, though it's a smirk that appears at his last. "Yes. You did. And I can't tell you how flattering it every time you mention it." No thanks for the actual compliments, just a lift of her chin - she knows she's both.
"Are you recommending," N'thei begins cautiously, his hand loosened so his thumbnail can lift and scrape contemplatively across his lower lip, "that I destroy the High Reaches Weyrleader? Because, trust me, thought crossed my mind. But I think they'd know it was me and..." Countless little difficulties that he encompasses in a bat of his fingers. "Though if you decide to destroy an apprentice, drop me a note first." Please. "If you'd prefer," with a threadbare smirk at her raised chin. "I could find more self-destructive ways to spend my time and leave you to your /schedule/."
"I wouldn't dare suggest that, as they /would/ know it was you. Unless you've managed to find yourself minions, but I don't know who would subject themselves to that particular torture." Amerie readjusts her work over her arm again, this time thoughtfully. "Now I'm trying to figure out how to point the blame elsewhere. You're a bad influence." Flashing a full, wide smile for once - the wicked one - she nods. "I'll be sure to make sure you have ringside seats, so to speak. Most of the apprentices won't speak to me anyway." With her charm? How could that be? With an edge of seriousness, "If the options are only self-destructive, I suppose I'd be a horrible person if I turned you away." She ignores the slight about her schedule, just slanting a warning look up at him. "Despite throwing off my day."
To account for the self-destructive; "People keep giving me liquor. It's the damnedest thing." And yet he chooses to show up here, midday, sober and apparently quite sane, with a grin that deepens in light of Amerie's smile-- the wicked one. A bad influence? "Only if you let me be one." Whether or not they've made it all the way back around the garden, his eyes track back to where he left his jacket, now with someone stopping there to give it a confused look. Presumably, before any harm might come to it, someone will fill in the tidbit about the bronze outside the fence, subjecting comers and goers to intense scrutiny and the occasional glimmer of a gunmetal talon, just to really drive home the point. "If there's not going to be any killings today, probably best I do what I came here to do." Whatever that pretense was.
Offered helpfully, "Give it to me. I'm sure that I could find some very profitable uses for it." Amerie does angle another look up at N'thei, judging the sane and the sober again, just to make sure. "I let you be one even when I shouldn't have. Why stop now?" Presumably, the intervening five years or so was just a break. She follows his gaze briefly, then manages a look of deepest apology while confirming, "No killings. My apologies. I've this dress to work on, and you know I only use poison anyway - no dramatic stabbings." Another grin beginning to form, she prompts with some little amusement, "Clothes. Yours are awful, and it is what we do."
"Did I lead you so far astray? Truthfully? You certainly seem to have redeemed yourself, if so," N'thei counters, looks Amerie over as if searching for lingering signs that her sojourn at the Reaches left any lasting marks. "But you're right. Why stop now." As to his clothes, straightening and squaring his shoulders and feigning some sort of pride in his appearance; "Will thank you to note that I shaved this morning, and got a hair cut only last week. Those are no small feats, considering." There's a brief pause, a growing smile that contemplates whether or not to share his thoughts. Fortune favors the bold; "But if you're offering to dress me, my dove, I will not say no." With such conviction.
After a moment's thought, "No." Amerie's considering her words carefully at the moment, giving her a distraction from being looked over - for damage, clearly. "No, not really." Apparently not inclined to elaborate on 'not-really', she looks duly impressed at the impressive feats of grooming N'thei's managed recently - kind of her. "Well, that's something. I apologize. Aside from the clothes, you only look mildly disreputable." The growing smile catches her off-guard when she glances up at him; with a blink of dark eyes, "I wasn't. I could. If you're offering me the /honour/." Irony heavy on the last word.
N'thei repeats, palm over his chin, knuckling his jaw, "Mildly disreputable." He mulls over the term for a time, comparative to the whole clean-shaven and presentable attempt he's made, then drops his hand and settles to a shrug. "Considering the no-not-really," which, yes, he kenned to, and which might account for the climbing brow, "I can live with looking mildly disreputable." Amerie's blink successfully raises the other brow, a questioning look sent down to her though he voices no question on the matter specifically. "I have a lot of money, and I recall once telling you I'd send you work if I could find it, and I trust your taste better than my own." Each article with a finger raised, so, "All three combined, stands to reason." Like he couldn't possibly even remotely for so much as a second have entertained other notions.
Amerie admits slowly, "The no-not-really is my own fault, I think sometimes." Still looking up at N'thei, dark eyes sobered a touch, "And it's your way. It works for you." Which is as close to a compliment as the dark girl gets, usually. The questioning glance warrants one of her own, glancing to his hand as each eminently logical point is raised. With a quirk of her own fine brow, "A sound argument. As if you'd considered possible excuses." She seems a bit wary even so, pursing her lips thoughtfully before nodding once.
"At least the no-not-really was years ago, and hopefully we're both wiser for the wear." There's a little extra stress on the /hopefully/, whether that's so as not to speak for or himself, and N'thei curls his three fingers back into the fist that he drops to his folded arms. The wariness has him tilting his head, finding an expression that actually looks a little troubled. "No one needs to know that I don't give a fuck about the commerce of the Weaver Hall, or that I've already got a perfectly good tailor."
"Hopefully," Amerie echoes, a touch doubtfully. "I can't speak for you, but... I don't know if I'm any wiser." The troubled expression has her pursing her lips, glancing away before she shakes her head. "It's not that. It's not that -" She stops again, seeming frustrated with her inability to explain - she goes back to the rocks in the path, carefully unearthing one with her toe. "You can visit without an excuse, though I'll take the business, if you're really all that interested. I just want to be -" She looks up through her lashes briefly. "Careful." As if she's ever been anything but.
Her first answer catches him by surprise again, puts thoughtful back in his frown. "No? You were never much of a fool to begin with." Though stated as fact, there's praise in there, too, and N'thei continues to look squarely down at her even while she glances away, distracts herself with rocks. "It's not...? What?" Between her inability to articulate and his inability to understand people, the cause of her concern utterly eludes him, even when she goes on with just-want-to-be. "Define careful. No hanging a banner in the breezeway every time I visit or...?"
Amerie sighs heavily - and in a way that's rather unlike her - letting all those questions hang in the air for a time. "Thank you. But it's all a matter of perspective." Only when the rock is unearthed successfully and nudged down the path does she look up and meet N'thei's steady gaze with her own. With some frustration, bluntly, "It's been a long time. Don't expect things to be the same." As soon as she's said it, she knows it sounds harsh - with a grimace, she tries to find something suitable to make it sound better, but in the end, all she's got is, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
Serious; "I don't. I don't expect anything, let alone--" Apparently, the failure to articulate is contagious, as now N'thei brings a hand up across the top of his head, ends up scratching the back of his skull for a brow-knitting spell. "So much has happened, so much that's made me hard and hateful. I don't know if there's any way back from that. But seeing you, and kissing you, and just fucking talking to you." He's spent a long time wrapped up in his silence, and the urgency to communicate bends toward frustration while he pushes on the top of his head, looks down at her with a 'please say this makes sense to you' expression. "It's something. Whatever it is, it's something." He exhales, spent with the effort. "This is why I don't fucking talk to people," as a hasty afterthought.
As he speaks, Amerie watches, her expression as neutral as it ever is, but with something undefinable in her dark eyes. She's listening, that much is clear, and it's only out of a need to be sure he's done that she takes some time to speak; then quietly and firmly, "All right." Slow to add more, eventually; "I understand." There's weight to that, the sense of being able to relate in some small way. The traces of a smile playing about her lips, "Which is why? Honesty?" Her tone is light enough, quietly amused before she admits, "I am not always easy to talk to."
Not that Mr. Personality has much room to talk but, "No, really?" Knuckling his forehead a few times, N'thei finally lowers his hand with what will be, barring any unforeseen sudden movements on Amerie's part, be no more than a brief squeeze of her upper arm, saying, "Because of that. Because you understand, and most of them don't. They want to make me feel better or themselves feel better, they want the hero or the villain, and I'm not that man any more. You make me remember what it's like, how it was and is to not feel like I either have to change the world or hide from it." Another exhale, that time a little more satisfied with the attempted explanation. "Thank you."
Amerie gives N'thei a flat look - yeah, go ahead and be funny when she's admitting culpability, real nice. Despite her expression, she doesn't move or pull away from the touch to her arm, but instead covers his hand briefly with hers. At the longer explanation, her eyes go a bit wide from the unusual candor - and with another blink, she can only start to ask, "What -" But she stops, shakes her head. Later. "If you need that - if I can be that -" A pause. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. That I was just gone. I had my reasons, but not all of them were good."
His hand comes away from her shoulder, pats the air above it, a staying motion. "Don't be sorry. If you'd been there, through all that, you sure as hell wouldn't let me be here now." And that, says his tone, would be a shame. N'thei pulls his hand away entirely then-- careful, she said-- and his arms cross once more, a stance that at least gives him back the look of self-possession that prevents him from running his mouth. "Will listen to them, if you want to tell them to me. Hell, it's the least I can do now." After pouring his guts out, weak laughter.
"How do you know that?" The question is light, though not meant to be answered. Amerie folds her arms again as well, taking a step back. Slowly. She's only got a slight smile for the weak laughter, with another rhetorical question, "The least you can do, or the least I can do? Equanimity?" She shrugs, a little uncertainly - then just sums it up with, "It seemed like a good time to leave. Before... before I wanted to. And you were the one who pointed out that I wasn't doing much with my time." Maybe that's not all of it, but as much as she's got for now - and for what it's worth, she does seem somewhat apologetic for that. "There's time to - go into it." After all, an unprecedented amount of revelation for all involved today.
N'thei leans his head into the way he shakes it, slow and thorough and utterly convinced of his rightness. Not in the usual cold-hard-rightness way, more the been-there-done-that way. That's how he knows that. But she's right; "There's time. I'll come back some time. Less maudlin. And we can talk, or be assholes to each other, or do some business." Yeah, them's some solid foundations they've got. "Good luck," with a nod toward the dress she's had folded over her arm all this time, with his shoulders leading into the steps taken back toward the breezeway, with absolutely no indication that he has any real business here after all. Surprise~!
Amerie just purses her lips, doesn't argue or make a snide remark or any of the things she might usually do, but she's not convinced by N'thei's conviction - that's made obvious by the way she arches her brows - try me. "You too," she returns, though not specifying what the luck is for. Staring after him for a beat, she then turns and walks off as briskly as she'd started, intent on industry. She's behind, after all.
IC Date: 4/18/20
Weavercraft Hall, Boll Area(#893RJs$)
Nestled in a verdant tropical forest, the dazzling white slate of the Weavercraft Hall is protected by two solid wooden gates that are usually left open to admit the warm, balmy air. Draperies frame windows in a soft and lightweight violet brocade, fluttering lackadaisically in the gentle breezes.
Pern's history is detailed on several brightly-shaded tapestries bedecking the walls, spaced between sconces of glow baskets that provide light when needed. Ornate tables gradually increase in complexity, from the more simple apprentice's tables to the intricate and thickly padded rich purple of the Masters' seating.
Within, the decorous hall is rife with activity, and sounds issue forth seemingly from every direction - the soft buzz of spinning wheels, the tick-tick of shuttles and looms in use, and the steady hum of stitching.
Outside, a well-traveled stone path leads toward Southern Boll Hold, a mere few minutes' walk away. Other paths lead toward the breathtaking fields, or to the docks, the gardens, and the nearby beach.
Once every Turn or so usually is enough, it is, but there's Wyaeth anyway, sounding his arrival in all his brazen glory, trumpeting what may very well be a rebuke to the watchdragon, lowering himself less in a slow spiral as a breakneck descent that drops him suddenly, loudly onto the flagstones just outside Weaver's gates. The litany of profanity that follows would be N'thei, and he leaves his dragon to claim ownership of the Hall's main passage, pushes the partially open gates wide, gives the lush surroundings an accusing once-over. Jacket over his arm, collar loosened, he steps into the main breezeway with nearly as much sense of possession as the bronze outside the gates, every expectation that someone will be loitering to be beckoned for his bidding.
Given it's both a crafthall and a busy one at that, there's any number of people to be hailed to do one's bidding - should they stop for enough time to convey it. For that, there's always rather tired-looking apprentices enjoying the fresh air and shade on a break. But here's some luck for the bronzerider; as once every turn or so is usually enough, there's no precautions taken nor anyone to give the heads up - life goes on as usual. Life as usual seems to have Amerie briskly headed through the main passage at this time of day, apparently on her way to the workrooms, if the armload of rich fabric is any indication. Predictably, she doesn't notice any visitors because she's busily ignoring the world at large. Imagine that.
One of those apprentices is the aim of that crooked finger, that come-here gesture, but the kid only gets a half-dozen steps before the finger turns to a palm, then the palm waves him back toward where he started, a mute never-mind. N'thei, leaving his coat over a banister, confident that it will be there unmolested when he gets back to it, finds it easy enough to make up the distance between the door where he entered and the distance Amerie's already crossed. Size and aura if not rank and notoriety will still buy him a wide berth. Hands clasped behind his back, voice lowered once he falls in step-- "Unprecedented."
Unable to really ignore someone heading straight for her - while everyone /around/ her flees - Amerie glances towards N'thei. To her credit, there's not a pause in her step, nor a reaction beyond a brief flicker of surprise in dark eyes, a purse of her lips, perhaps the slightest flush - though it's difficult to tell under dusky skin bronzed by the constant sun. Her chin lifts a touch as she returns quietly and archly, "I should say the same." There's a long silent moment before she has anything to add, and even then, it's not much. "Twice now. Is this becoming a habit?"
"Say the same, then." N'thei offers this like an invitation on his part, his ear cocked to receive the expected repartee, under pretense of which he can imagine that flush into existence, even if he can't rightly see it. Passing them, he reaches toward a door here and there, taps them one after another with the knuckle of his index finger; let him know when they reach the destination, he can at least do something useful and open a door for her? "Habit's a strong word, my dove. When a man wants new clothes, there's only one place worth getting them. Are you married? Do you have kids?" Like it's any of his business, let alone a perfectly natural point to insinuate the questions into the conversation.
"I'm not about to now that you want me to. How else am I to maintain my contrary and disagreeable reputation?" Speaking of which, Amerie doesn't seem inclined to have this conversation in the main areas of the Hall; to the questioning taps at the doors, she gives him a slight shake of her head, passing the workrooms entirely. She's just carrying the cloth under her arm for fun. "You have new clothes," she tells him flatly, the endearment ignored. "And I'm simply interested so I know whether my day will be regularly interrupted." As they reach the end of the passage, it opens up into a quiet shaded garden; she stops to look up at N'thei with an arched brow. "Not even how are you - just are you married, like that. Why does it matter? And do you think I'd have children?" The last said like it's a disease - thanks, but no.
N'thei looks back over his shoulder, the direction the came, the tattered jacket looking very out of place in the clean-and-stylish surroundings of the Weaver Hall. A brow rises, a look lowers; "Have I interrupted your day?" While they continue walking, with her work apparently draped over her arm. She stops so he does, though it's a step later, as though he wasn't prepared for the arrested momentum. No longer walking, his hands come from behind his back, his arms folded over his chest, and he holds that downward look with the fringe of a smile. "Would you rather I asked how you were first," not a real question. "Matters because I want to know. But I think you're not." That last is a confident guess, a slight question behind his eyes, is he wrong?
Amerie hasn't said anything about the state of what N'thei's currently wearing, but don't think she hasn't noticed and disapproved already. As an answer to the question, she gestures to said work, lifting her arm. "This is my workroom time," she notes a bit peevishly, though with much less irritation than one might expect. "The schedule's all thrown off." Oh no, not the /schedule/. The downward look and the slight smile has her turning her dark gaze away, starting fully into the outdoors. "I don't think what I'd rather matters. Are you just wondering? Is it a bet?" After a sidelong glance, "I'm not. I'm not interested."
All right; "So where is your workroom?" The nearest flower at hand suffers to have a petal pulled to make the point that this is not a workroom, this is a garden. N'thei flicks that petal off the end of his fingers then, leans to follow the direction of Amerie's diverted eyes, like he might ascertain what catches her attention. But no. "Don't say that. If you'd rather I left, I'd go. Say the word." Truthfully, "But then I'd come back later, never could stand being told no, neh?" The idea of a bet brightens his expression, actually makes him laugh if briefly. "With whom, my dove? The number of people who even know we ever knew each other is short, and Milani's the only one of them as still talks to me. Happy?" As in, is she? Generally? Overall?
With a diffident wave of her hand, "Back there. It's not formal. I just have my day planned by now." Amerie folds the garment she's working on precisely over her arm, giving herself something to do. Carefully and slowly, "I don't want you to go. Particularly if you need to be here." Like last time, perhaps. With the faintest trace of a smile, she agrees, "You don't listen, generally. It's admirable persistence at the very least." A elegant little shrug, and she's spared another glance for N'thei at the laugh; with a wider, warmer smile for Milani's name, she nods. "Enough. I like it here. I like my work." A pause before she notes lightly, "I'd ask the same, but..." But there's lots of reasons not to.
As if he has nothing better to do with himself for now, which may not be so far from the truth, N'thei offers, "Tell me your day. Up at dawn, asleep at midnight?" An open hand, unfolded from his arms, indicates the idea of forward progress, as does the lowered forehead and the first step taken down the garden path. How idyllic. "Walk then, and we'll work our way 'back there'," he suggests-- yes, suggests rather than demands, still leaves her the option of no-I-have-to-go. He doesn't have to deal with what people will say afterward, conjugal-looking strolls through gardens in the middle of the day, Amerie? Really? "I /listen/," important distinction, which he fails to qualify. "Happy enough. Shame, that. Misery loves company."
Amerie might consider the no-I-have-to-go option, if her glance over her shoulder is any indication - but there's only a flicker of indecision before she falls into step next to him. "You listen," she allows. "But you choose to ignore. Sometimes." The walking itself isn't overly scandalous, though the idea of the dark girl being at all sociable might be surprising. It's a busy day, though - so not too many people about for questioning looks. "You wouldn't like me miserable." If such a thing exists. "I wouldn't be good company, maxims aside. And my day." She considers for a moment. "Up early, to be sure, though not at dawn. Up late when I'm on deadline, or I'm making progress. A few hours in the workrooms with lunch, dinner with everyone else. Terribly exciting. What do you do with yourself?"
N'thei can't argue that, true, and only ducks his head to accept her remarks as close to home. Sometimes. There's undue seriousness in his tone when he looks over and agrees, "I wouldn't like you miserable, you're right." Moving on, now and then looking at what Amerie has folded over her arm like he might be able to ascertain something of her work from a nebulous sample of it, he questions, "With everyone else? That is to say, you willingly keep company with other people?" Will wonders never cease! "Me? I take dawnsweeps, sleep in the afternoons, play cards at night. I am," he continues with the air of proclamation, "comfortable with my apathy."
The seriousness has Amerie glancing up to N'thei with a quick, assessing glance; easily though softly, "It's a good thing that you've never seen it, then." On closer inspection, her work seems to be the beginnings of a dress, likely an elaborate one by the amount of fabric, the number of seams. With an air of deflection as she notes the interest, "A commission. A dress that's taking some time. Fortunately for me." She flashes the briefest of smiles, before her tone shades dry. "I've always willingly kept company with other people; you just seem to have the impression that I don't." The not being around ever might have something to do with that. With a arched brow and a twitch of her lips, she points out, "So comfortable with your apathy that you've come here."
"Do you take new work often?" Just asking. No, really. N'thei chuckles immediately afterward, at-- "Willingly? Weaver Hall turned you into a social butterfly?" Forgive him for looking at Amerie doubtfully while he continues to entertain himself with what constitutes /willing/. Her barb at the end sobers the laugh but leaves the smile, puts his attention forward on picking a path that will eventually bring them back around the way they came, as promised. "Came because I have money to spend, shouldn't you thank me for my commerce with your craft?" Admittedly, "I came back on the chance you were like a bad penny. There are few people whose company I'm willing to suffer these days." Compliment kinda.
"As often as I can." Amerie's not in it for just the pretty clothes and the free room and board, after all. Folding her arms under the dress-to be and across her chest, she has another lifted brow for N'thei's doubtful look before admitting grudgingly, "Willingly, in the sense that it's the way of things, I suppose." When he sobers, her expression shifts towards apologetic as she watches him pick the paths, letting him lead the way even though she likely knows them all by now. Dryly, obediently, "Thank you for spending money at the Weavercraft." Though that's amused her, the kinda compliment gives her pause - she kicks at a loose stone on the path to cover it. "A bad penny. You always know how to make a girl feel special," she notes, the curve of a tiny smirk on her lips. "These days. Ever, but these days in particular. I'm sorry." For what, she doesn't specify - maybe a blanket apology, maybe an expression of sympathy. Maybe both.
N'thei nods, as often as she can, and files that information away, all but visibly makes note of it. Starting at the tail end of her words, at the apology, he shrugs and lifts a look upward, away from loose stones and Amerie and the garden. "Don't be sorry, not your doing. She got sick, and I couldn't save her, and..." Another shrug. "And now a sixteen year old boy does my job better than I did, and I come to Weaver Hall to visit with girls in my copious spare time." Speaking of knowing how to make a girl feel special, though there's a quality to the remark-- relief in the sigh behind the words. "If I came back, would you walk with me again? Willingly." Heh.
Amerie isn't comfortable having this conversation on all kinds of levels; it's visible in her dark eyes, the slight strain around her mouth. Even so, she's determined to have it. "I could argue that it's not anyone's place to save anyone else. Some people don't want to be saved." There's the weight of experience there in her tone; she toes the stone off the path and into the garden proper. "And it's not /your/ job, even. The claim on that position changes, as much as you may still consider it your responsibility. Besides, I've never known a sixteen year old that doesn't make mistakes - so wait for it, then you can be smug about how you would have done it better." For all that no one listening would think the words were meant to be comfort, her tone is soft enough - and she unfolds an arm to brush her hand against his briefly. Still, her words are a touch wary. "More willingly than I'd spend time with most people. Will you come back?" A point for her - it's neutral, not at all accusatory. Just wondering.
It's not really a cake-walk of chat for N'thei, either, but he's not been telling lies: the number of people he'll suffer these days is small, smaller still the number he'd let argue with him. Stubbornness sets his jaw at Amerie's first words, soft as they are, and he notes, "You could argue that, my dove. You could. But it would fall on deaf ears." His fingers twitch, aim to catch hers, no more than a hard squeeze with his palm intended. Like he could find humor in it, he barks a short laugh, saying, "Sad fact is, I was a piss-poor Weyrleader. Just grates to think of a little boy showing a man up, that's all. Imagine some wet-behind-the-ears apprentice turns up and outdoes your commission here, neh? Sinks like a stone in your stomach." But he recognizes the humor in it, at least, the chuckle spilling into his last answer. "Very likely I will. You're still beautiful and argumentative and-- and I have nothing better to do with my time. Mentioned that part yet?"
"I know. But you know that I'm generally contrary, maybe more so when it comes to you. So I'll keep arguing." But not now. Amerie lets her hand be caught for the squeeze, returns it lightly. But here's something else to argue about; "You did what you could. And I can admit that something similar wouldn't still well with me - but then, I'd destroy any apprentice who even considered it." Only half-joking there. N'thei's chuckle has her quirking her lips again, though it's a smirk that appears at his last. "Yes. You did. And I can't tell you how flattering it every time you mention it." No thanks for the actual compliments, just a lift of her chin - she knows she's both.
"Are you recommending," N'thei begins cautiously, his hand loosened so his thumbnail can lift and scrape contemplatively across his lower lip, "that I destroy the High Reaches Weyrleader? Because, trust me, thought crossed my mind. But I think they'd know it was me and..." Countless little difficulties that he encompasses in a bat of his fingers. "Though if you decide to destroy an apprentice, drop me a note first." Please. "If you'd prefer," with a threadbare smirk at her raised chin. "I could find more self-destructive ways to spend my time and leave you to your /schedule/."
"I wouldn't dare suggest that, as they /would/ know it was you. Unless you've managed to find yourself minions, but I don't know who would subject themselves to that particular torture." Amerie readjusts her work over her arm again, this time thoughtfully. "Now I'm trying to figure out how to point the blame elsewhere. You're a bad influence." Flashing a full, wide smile for once - the wicked one - she nods. "I'll be sure to make sure you have ringside seats, so to speak. Most of the apprentices won't speak to me anyway." With her charm? How could that be? With an edge of seriousness, "If the options are only self-destructive, I suppose I'd be a horrible person if I turned you away." She ignores the slight about her schedule, just slanting a warning look up at him. "Despite throwing off my day."
To account for the self-destructive; "People keep giving me liquor. It's the damnedest thing." And yet he chooses to show up here, midday, sober and apparently quite sane, with a grin that deepens in light of Amerie's smile-- the wicked one. A bad influence? "Only if you let me be one." Whether or not they've made it all the way back around the garden, his eyes track back to where he left his jacket, now with someone stopping there to give it a confused look. Presumably, before any harm might come to it, someone will fill in the tidbit about the bronze outside the fence, subjecting comers and goers to intense scrutiny and the occasional glimmer of a gunmetal talon, just to really drive home the point. "If there's not going to be any killings today, probably best I do what I came here to do." Whatever that pretense was.
Offered helpfully, "Give it to me. I'm sure that I could find some very profitable uses for it." Amerie does angle another look up at N'thei, judging the sane and the sober again, just to make sure. "I let you be one even when I shouldn't have. Why stop now?" Presumably, the intervening five years or so was just a break. She follows his gaze briefly, then manages a look of deepest apology while confirming, "No killings. My apologies. I've this dress to work on, and you know I only use poison anyway - no dramatic stabbings." Another grin beginning to form, she prompts with some little amusement, "Clothes. Yours are awful, and it is what we do."
"Did I lead you so far astray? Truthfully? You certainly seem to have redeemed yourself, if so," N'thei counters, looks Amerie over as if searching for lingering signs that her sojourn at the Reaches left any lasting marks. "But you're right. Why stop now." As to his clothes, straightening and squaring his shoulders and feigning some sort of pride in his appearance; "Will thank you to note that I shaved this morning, and got a hair cut only last week. Those are no small feats, considering." There's a brief pause, a growing smile that contemplates whether or not to share his thoughts. Fortune favors the bold; "But if you're offering to dress me, my dove, I will not say no." With such conviction.
After a moment's thought, "No." Amerie's considering her words carefully at the moment, giving her a distraction from being looked over - for damage, clearly. "No, not really." Apparently not inclined to elaborate on 'not-really', she looks duly impressed at the impressive feats of grooming N'thei's managed recently - kind of her. "Well, that's something. I apologize. Aside from the clothes, you only look mildly disreputable." The growing smile catches her off-guard when she glances up at him; with a blink of dark eyes, "I wasn't. I could. If you're offering me the /honour/." Irony heavy on the last word.
N'thei repeats, palm over his chin, knuckling his jaw, "Mildly disreputable." He mulls over the term for a time, comparative to the whole clean-shaven and presentable attempt he's made, then drops his hand and settles to a shrug. "Considering the no-not-really," which, yes, he kenned to, and which might account for the climbing brow, "I can live with looking mildly disreputable." Amerie's blink successfully raises the other brow, a questioning look sent down to her though he voices no question on the matter specifically. "I have a lot of money, and I recall once telling you I'd send you work if I could find it, and I trust your taste better than my own." Each article with a finger raised, so, "All three combined, stands to reason." Like he couldn't possibly even remotely for so much as a second have entertained other notions.
Amerie admits slowly, "The no-not-really is my own fault, I think sometimes." Still looking up at N'thei, dark eyes sobered a touch, "And it's your way. It works for you." Which is as close to a compliment as the dark girl gets, usually. The questioning glance warrants one of her own, glancing to his hand as each eminently logical point is raised. With a quirk of her own fine brow, "A sound argument. As if you'd considered possible excuses." She seems a bit wary even so, pursing her lips thoughtfully before nodding once.
"At least the no-not-really was years ago, and hopefully we're both wiser for the wear." There's a little extra stress on the /hopefully/, whether that's so as not to speak for or himself, and N'thei curls his three fingers back into the fist that he drops to his folded arms. The wariness has him tilting his head, finding an expression that actually looks a little troubled. "No one needs to know that I don't give a fuck about the commerce of the Weaver Hall, or that I've already got a perfectly good tailor."
"Hopefully," Amerie echoes, a touch doubtfully. "I can't speak for you, but... I don't know if I'm any wiser." The troubled expression has her pursing her lips, glancing away before she shakes her head. "It's not that. It's not that -" She stops again, seeming frustrated with her inability to explain - she goes back to the rocks in the path, carefully unearthing one with her toe. "You can visit without an excuse, though I'll take the business, if you're really all that interested. I just want to be -" She looks up through her lashes briefly. "Careful." As if she's ever been anything but.
Her first answer catches him by surprise again, puts thoughtful back in his frown. "No? You were never much of a fool to begin with." Though stated as fact, there's praise in there, too, and N'thei continues to look squarely down at her even while she glances away, distracts herself with rocks. "It's not...? What?" Between her inability to articulate and his inability to understand people, the cause of her concern utterly eludes him, even when she goes on with just-want-to-be. "Define careful. No hanging a banner in the breezeway every time I visit or...?"
Amerie sighs heavily - and in a way that's rather unlike her - letting all those questions hang in the air for a time. "Thank you. But it's all a matter of perspective." Only when the rock is unearthed successfully and nudged down the path does she look up and meet N'thei's steady gaze with her own. With some frustration, bluntly, "It's been a long time. Don't expect things to be the same." As soon as she's said it, she knows it sounds harsh - with a grimace, she tries to find something suitable to make it sound better, but in the end, all she's got is, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
Serious; "I don't. I don't expect anything, let alone--" Apparently, the failure to articulate is contagious, as now N'thei brings a hand up across the top of his head, ends up scratching the back of his skull for a brow-knitting spell. "So much has happened, so much that's made me hard and hateful. I don't know if there's any way back from that. But seeing you, and kissing you, and just fucking talking to you." He's spent a long time wrapped up in his silence, and the urgency to communicate bends toward frustration while he pushes on the top of his head, looks down at her with a 'please say this makes sense to you' expression. "It's something. Whatever it is, it's something." He exhales, spent with the effort. "This is why I don't fucking talk to people," as a hasty afterthought.
As he speaks, Amerie watches, her expression as neutral as it ever is, but with something undefinable in her dark eyes. She's listening, that much is clear, and it's only out of a need to be sure he's done that she takes some time to speak; then quietly and firmly, "All right." Slow to add more, eventually; "I understand." There's weight to that, the sense of being able to relate in some small way. The traces of a smile playing about her lips, "Which is why? Honesty?" Her tone is light enough, quietly amused before she admits, "I am not always easy to talk to."
Not that Mr. Personality has much room to talk but, "No, really?" Knuckling his forehead a few times, N'thei finally lowers his hand with what will be, barring any unforeseen sudden movements on Amerie's part, be no more than a brief squeeze of her upper arm, saying, "Because of that. Because you understand, and most of them don't. They want to make me feel better or themselves feel better, they want the hero or the villain, and I'm not that man any more. You make me remember what it's like, how it was and is to not feel like I either have to change the world or hide from it." Another exhale, that time a little more satisfied with the attempted explanation. "Thank you."
Amerie gives N'thei a flat look - yeah, go ahead and be funny when she's admitting culpability, real nice. Despite her expression, she doesn't move or pull away from the touch to her arm, but instead covers his hand briefly with hers. At the longer explanation, her eyes go a bit wide from the unusual candor - and with another blink, she can only start to ask, "What -" But she stops, shakes her head. Later. "If you need that - if I can be that -" A pause. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. That I was just gone. I had my reasons, but not all of them were good."
His hand comes away from her shoulder, pats the air above it, a staying motion. "Don't be sorry. If you'd been there, through all that, you sure as hell wouldn't let me be here now." And that, says his tone, would be a shame. N'thei pulls his hand away entirely then-- careful, she said-- and his arms cross once more, a stance that at least gives him back the look of self-possession that prevents him from running his mouth. "Will listen to them, if you want to tell them to me. Hell, it's the least I can do now." After pouring his guts out, weak laughter.
"How do you know that?" The question is light, though not meant to be answered. Amerie folds her arms again as well, taking a step back. Slowly. She's only got a slight smile for the weak laughter, with another rhetorical question, "The least you can do, or the least I can do? Equanimity?" She shrugs, a little uncertainly - then just sums it up with, "It seemed like a good time to leave. Before... before I wanted to. And you were the one who pointed out that I wasn't doing much with my time." Maybe that's not all of it, but as much as she's got for now - and for what it's worth, she does seem somewhat apologetic for that. "There's time to - go into it." After all, an unprecedented amount of revelation for all involved today.
N'thei leans his head into the way he shakes it, slow and thorough and utterly convinced of his rightness. Not in the usual cold-hard-rightness way, more the been-there-done-that way. That's how he knows that. But she's right; "There's time. I'll come back some time. Less maudlin. And we can talk, or be assholes to each other, or do some business." Yeah, them's some solid foundations they've got. "Good luck," with a nod toward the dress she's had folded over her arm all this time, with his shoulders leading into the steps taken back toward the breezeway, with absolutely no indication that he has any real business here after all. Surprise~!
Amerie just purses her lips, doesn't argue or make a snide remark or any of the things she might usually do, but she's not convinced by N'thei's conviction - that's made obvious by the way she arches her brows - try me. "You too," she returns, though not specifying what the luck is for. Staring after him for a beat, she then turns and walks off as briskly as she'd started, intent on industry. She's behind, after all.