[M'try] Rite of passage.
RL Date: 8/12/10
IC Date: 6/19/23 --HAH! I didn't steal this log. :D
Records Room, Fort Weyr
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by free-standing shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink, paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty.
It rains. Because that's what Fort Weyr needs: rain. Somewhere, some Weather God must have taken it into their head that Fort wronged the universe and decided to douse them all spring and now again in the summer. Because of the rain, the records room has a few more people than normal milling around, trying to find some way to pass the time; the archivist seems annoyed by most of them, pestering him for this-or-that, not really knowing their way around. M'try is not one of those annoying folks. The brownrider is settled at a table in the back, scouring what look to be old maps, specifically those of the Fort region, a look of intense concentration furrowing his brows while he turns pages in an expensively old almanac.
Not only rain, but thunder and lightening as well and if it is a weather god, he's surely got it in for T'kyn who for once, has been thwarted in running his twice-daily drills. Not be outdone, the Weyrleader/Wingleader has set tasks for the females of Obsidian...paperwork and other lowly tasks as if they couldn't be trusted to do something productive with their time. It's from the set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex that Nissa enters the records room looking dust-smudged and a little damp as she threads her way past irate archivists and the people bothering them. She's got a stack of papers in hand while looking for a spot at one of the tables, spots M'try and heads his way to drop casually into a seat beside him without asking if she may. Only then does she note his concentration. Oops.
M'try drags himself out of his work rather quickly, looking up and around with a few blink-blinks to clear his head of the haze of his thoughts. It takes some time, even with that, for his eyes to cast around the room for whatever it is that startled him from his thoughts, attention finally lighting on Vanissa. It's a pleasant, "Hello," that he offers once he's got things all figured out, voice low in deference to the fact that most people come here to read or work quietly. Taking in her appearance, he adds, "Were you on the losing end of a fight with a dust bunny?" Pause. "In the rain?"
Nissa's smile is a little tired these days but her greeting is cheerful enough. "Hey there, M'try." She does manage to mute her breezy reply, having already been on the receiving end of a few stern looks from both archivists and folks attempting to study as she greeted folks here and there on her way over. In response to the question, she shakes her head slightly in the negative, "More like on the losing end of a fight with T'kyn. We got to (like it's a real treat) clean his office today. That last bit said with obvious sarcasm. "And shake out his rugs on the ledge." Eyeroll. Her stack of papers is plopped on the table, while she leans over to peek at those maps curiously. "What're you lookin' for?"
Leaning forward with open incredulity, M'try, head cocked-- "Wait. The Weyrleader had you...?" His eyes rove once more over Vanissa's disheveled self, and his mouth works around a few soundless words before he leans back in his chair, blinking over this bizarre event. "I see." Not really. "I was--" Trying to get his head back into the here-and-now and not the cockeyed idea of riders being put to cleaning the Weyrleader's ledge, he hesitates a second or two. "I was just looking at old maps of the Weyr, to see if any of those newly found rooms were noted on them. It's just an idle project."
Vanissa flickers a wry look up from the map raising a brow for that incredulity, "Yeah, he did. He says," the words are uttered in a sotto-voiced imitation of the older man's voice, with the inflections of derision he's likely given to them, "gals at least know how to clean. And my office /needs/ it." Back to her own voice, "The males are with him goin' over wing formations, drop techniques and calculating airspeed all stuff-" She waves an airy hand over her head as she T'k'yn-voices, "the /ladies/ won't understand until seen demonstrated in drills." Her shrug says 'oh well' but she's clearly not pleased. Back to the map though, "Yeah? Were they?" It may be idle for him, but it beats the rows of figures on the top sheet of her stack, if her lack of beginning that task is any indication.
M'try continues to look bewildered while Vanissa goes on to explain T'kyn's busy-work, guppy-mouthing several more times like there's something /right/ on the tip of his tongue that just won't manifest. (The words he's looking for are 'that misogynistic prick,' incidentally.) Distractedly, "No. No, they weren't. At least, I haven't found them yet. --Does T'rev know this is going on? That T'kyn has you cleaning his weyr?"
Vanissa's disappointment about the map is genuine, "Aw, that's too bad. If ya found more rooms I could do some exploring. I never got to." Her pout is totally faked though, eyes dancing as she raises them to his before puzzlement over his reaction furrows her brow. And it's a real pity M'try doesn't get those words out, for Nissa could add to her vocabulary and maybe even let that one slip 'by accident' in T'kyn's presence (misogynistic, not the other). "T'rev? Uh, no? I don't think so? But it's his office, not his weyr," she corrects absently before she shrugs, "Nothin' he could do anyway. Unless he points out shakin' rugs during a storm is stupid cos the wind blows the dirt and dust right back inside."
Thoughtfully distracted, M'try agrees, "True, I suppose there is nothing that he could do. It does seem like there ought to be some recourse, though. I understand a certain measure of... the way T'kyn sees the world. But he may be taking things a bit too far to have you cleaning his office," not his weyr, "on the grounds of your gender and nothing more." Lips pursed, the brownrider delves into his own thoughts for a spell before refocusing on the greenrider across from him, blinking once more to return to the here and now. "I'm sorry? I could add a few at random if you'd like?" he offers in an attempt at levity, gesturing to the unfinished map he's re-drawing.
"Oh. Recourse." Nissa ponders this afresh with her head to one side making it clear she'd taken T'rev knowing about it as in 'would he have been in there cleaning with them'. "Nah, I think he's too set. He makes the gals do twice as hard as the browns and blues in drills." This last bit exhaled in as weary a tone he's ever heard from the ebullient greenrider before she laughs outright, clapping her hand over her mouth and sending a mute look of apology at those who glare her way. When she can get her sniggering, she asks lowly, "Would ya? I'll even invite ya to come with me if ya promise not to fall on me again. Ohwait, scratch that. Just don't hurt me this time."
M'try glances around at the irritated onlookers, his eyes flicked this way and that before he shrugs and dismisses them: if they're regular comers to the records room, he's not going to worry overmuch about their opinions. Instead-- "Does he." And he exhales another sigh, not pleased about the Weyrleader but wholly impotent to do anything. So, to the matter of maps and falling on top of each other, he clears his throat and offers, "I could draw in a nice, slanted room with pillowtop mattresses all across the floor?" Not that any such room exists, but he can dream, right?
Those onlookers are already forgotten by Nissa who answers, "Hmm, yeah. Liath's pretty tired with all the tryin' to keep up." The resignation with which she tells him that and shrug afterwards, is telling that she's not planning on doing anything about it, much less expecting him to, although she does reach, aiming for a touch with light fingers to his arm for the shared sentiment of not pleased. Instead she grins, "You do that and at least it's one drawing you won't be reluctant to show me? I've never seen one of yours yet." Speaking of drawing reminds her of paper, apparently for her eyes drop to the stack in front of her, a pencil drawn from her pocket and a fresh sheet shifted from the bottom of the stack. While she begins copying numbers, "How's your day been?"
M'try says nothing more to the matter, but-- in this fictional map of his-- he may also add a little trapdoor where the Weyrleader can fall down into a pit of some sort. Likely filled with alligators. He'll be sure to show that one to Vanissa, too. "No?" he adds, blinking across at her a few times. "Really? I've actually got a whole sketchbook you're welcome to look at whenever you happen to be just that bored." Ahem. "And, of course, one you're not welcome to look at, so do ask before you go thumbing." As for how his day's been; "Less mind-numbing than yours, to be sure."
No doubt that picture would be as popular with Obsidian Wing as his others, were they to see it also. "Uh uh, nope," Nissa assures him while carefully writing, her finger keeping place as she re-arranges numbers on her fresh sheet - dragon's names with stats going from smaller to larger in just such a mind-numbing way as he mentions. "Oh really? Whatcha been up to?" Idle chit chat on her part on her part, really, although he does get a mildly aggrieved look, withdraws her hand from his space at the same time. "I wouldn't even think of just lookin' without askin'. I do have -some- manners." She drops her eyes back to her work, a little hurt he felt the need to even say it.
"I was only teasing, Nissa. At no time would I assume that you would go through my things without my permission, I assure you." M'try answers her aggrieved look with a smile he means to be heartening, dipping his head to try to catch her eyes with the expression. And hold them while he adds, doing that thing where he picks his words meticulously, his tone conscientious verging on cautious, "I have been in here much of the afternoon, having spent the morning and most of last night in what one might call a 'rite of passage.' That is, Mohraith won a Flight yesterday evening."
The word teasing gets Nissa's eyes lifted to blink at M'try's a few times, an uncertain smile in response to his. Finally, "Oh. Ohhh! I get it. In that sorta, uh..." Her fingers tap-tap her forehead while she searches in vain for the right word and flushes slightly when she fails," pretend-to-mean-otherwise way." She draws a breath in to add something else when he speaks again, listens to what he's saying and simply lets it out slowly when he's finished. There's a long silence in the wake of his news, her gaze remains on his while the expression in hers is as unreadable as his is careful. "Oh," she finally thinks to say and lowers them to her lap. This isn't the place she would have preferred to have this conversation if her body language is anything to go by. Softly, "I shouldn't be surprised."
Ah, but here! Here, M'try could build himself a fortress if he needed to. He knows where all the biggest, thickest, most brick-like books are kept, and he could wall himself up safely forever and ever. So here is where this conversation shall occur. "I certainly was." Surprised. "I had thought-- well, she's a rather seasoned green, so I didn't really expect Mohraith had a snowball's chance in Igen. But I suppose he has been chasing for something like a Turn, now, so he was bound to catch one eventually." With the tap tap tap tap pencil all the while. "I thought it better to hear it from me than the rumor mill."
Forever is stretching it, even a lifetime has its imaginable drawbacks. With a look flickered towards the room in general and a wince for the lack of privacy, Nissa merely nods, "Yes, I suppose he was." Finally, since she isn't going to move him elsewhere and he's been kind enough to tell her himself, she lifts her head and manages to say quietly, "Thanks?" Because yes, he's gone and done it where others can overhear and she's damn uncomfortable with it and a little resentful as well. Unnaturally self-contained and void of expression, "Congratulations to you both then."
Maybe some part of M'try thought it would be no big deal? Something he could drop casually into the conversation and it wouldn't matter? Certainly, Vanissa's reaction seems to be taking him by surprise to some degree, his brows drawn together while he begins quietly piling up his maps and atlases and such. "Thanks?" he passes back in much the same tone, a good mimic, this one. "Do you want to take a walk with me and we'll talk about it?" Occasionally, he has those flashes of insight, yes, even now ready to offer her a hand and abandon the safety of his books if she'd rather.
"Yes please," is Nissa's swift answer to this, although whether its a big deal isn't something she's letting on. While he's collecting maps and atlases together, she is passing her paperwork over to the next table where a wingmate sits with a, "Keep an eye on these for me?" She rises, and waits for M'try, her hand is there for the taking and she'll go wherever. Although where they're going to go in a thunderstorm, even if it is summer and the rain might not be so cold, getting hit by lightening isn't on her 'to do' list today.
Yeah, M'try does take a few extra moments to put his things somewhere that they won't be disturbed, where they'll be easy for him to collect later in the day when he comes back. Assuming he survives. That concern being ever on the brownrider's mind. Taking Vanissa's hand, fingers laced loosely, he heads not immediately toward the bowl but toward the Weyrleaders' Complex, a long way around that might keep them dry a little longer. Once out of the actual records room, now that prying ears and eyes are behind, he points out, "You seem upset. Normally, I'd apologize for my part in that, but I think Mohraith may never stop screaming at me if I do, so. Instead. Is there anything I can do or say to make you feel better?"
Vanissa gives M'try's hand a brief squeeze, her silent appreciation for his willingness to step outside his comfort zone, but is otherwise silent until they're where they can't be heard or observed and then it's to breathe a long sigh of relief. Lifting her chin to give him a level, clear-eyed gaze, and a faint smile, "Winnin' a flight ain't nothin' for ya to apologize for. I don't expect that." And she does seem to mean it, even when she indicates the archives behind them with a tilt of her head, "I was uncomfortable in there is all. I wanted to ask if you're- if ya were alright- I- I mean if it went alright, because-" She allows her concern for him to show, her eyes begging him not to laugh as she continues, "You're my friend and I know some things are difficult for ya and, well, that day at the beach-" She stumbles all over that, as she knew she would, which is why she's so relieved not to be in the crowded records room. "Just tell me if you're alright?"
Oh? That's her concern? That M'try's surprised shows, his blinking and brow-knitting persisting a bit longer while he answers her look with his head dipping to a questioning cock. "I'm all right," he answers, meaning it every bit as much as Vanissa did a moment ago. "She was quite understanding and pleasant, and I don't think I did anything horribly wrong. Most of it's just a haze, and I'm happy to leave it that way." Drawing lightly on her hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles momentarily, he explains, "You taking off your dress and me waking up next to some woman I don't really know are entirely different kinds of awkward, Nissa. I suppose the possibility that things might go badly this morning existed, but she was quite casual, so I didn't try to run away." Which counts as a win in M'try's book.
That questioning look has Nissa, explaining, "I've... seen some of the greenriders and..." She shrugs. Some of the women are scary and some them... are men. He can fill in the blanks. But he says he's alright, so she's relieved, "Good. And yes, please do." Nissa's not asking for details, trying not to be confused by his comparing two different kinds of awkward and failing, but she's not asking. Instead, with her eyes on those knuckles while he kisses them, "I'll just take your word for it." Instead, "Didn't try to run away... no, ya know what, ya Don't have to tell me 'bout that." Trying not to look discomfitted now.
Belatedly realizing how that could be interpreted, M'try's quick to add, "No no, nothing like that. We didn't..." Well. They did. So he can't really say that. "It was only where the dragons were concerned, nothing between the two of us alone." Out of the way of the general comings-and-goings, near to the exit to the bowl but not actually going through it, he slows his steps and turns to Vanissa, aiming to draw his arm around her waist, the hand not holding hers meant for the small of her back. "Derilee was very sweet to me, and I appreciated it, but she's not who I wanted, Nissa. You are."
"Shh." Nissa's free hand lifts, fingertips meant to still the words on his lips, "Ain't my none of my business what ya did- oh." A few beats later, "I'm... thank you." She's not resisting his arm, taking in his words with a mixture of relief, confusion and regret. An odd combination, to be sure. If he doesn't mind, she just steps closer to rest her head on his shoulder, not really seeming to care at the moment if someone passes and gives them an odd look. "I'm sorry I'm all out of sorts, M'try. I just... all the weyrling training in the books ain't like the real thing and I- I just realized I need to re-work everything in my head."
M'try draws his hand from hers, lifting it to brush his hair lightly back from her forehead and tuck it down behind her ear, his lips just touching her temple. So, no, he doesn't mind if Vanissa wants to rest her head there, and anyone who wants to give them odd looks-- well, he won't exactly pummel them, but neither will it end his moment here. "It's okay. I am reasonably sure that, when the shoe is on the other foot, I'll feel much the same way that you do now. Take your time, re-work things, as you say. Just know that, while I don't regret anything... If I could have made the choice, I'd have woken up next to you this morning."
Ah yes. Liath. the other half of this equation. Nissa's hands are free and thus she gives him a brief hug, meant to reassure, but perhaps she's needing it a little bit herself as well. "Ya shouldn't- I wouldn't want ya to regret anything. I just never thought flights-" She starts again, "Never thought /about/ flights. Where choice mattered." She finishes firmly, letting the topic drop. He'd rather... and yet he hasn't, so. All she can do in this -really- awkward moment is to say with another half-smile for him and a nod, "Thanks for sayin' that M'try. I.. I should go an' let ya get back to your maps."
Whether or not he's reassured-- whether or not he needed the reassurance, M'try returns the hug, as brief as it is, and takes a partial step back afterward, giving Vanissa the necessary space to do all that re-working of things. "While I'm sure the maps will wait, as they have been there for several hundred Turns, as far as I can tell, I should at least make sure they get put away. And let you get back to... whatever it was that brought you to the records room in the first place." Perhaps, with everything else, he's forgotten? Or did she ever tell him? "Let me know when you're, hmn, feeling all sorted out again?" He dips his head a moment, meaning to catch her eyes with a questioning look-- she's okay, right? Like, he doesn't need to be worried?
"T'kyn's paperwork." Nissa tells M'try absently with an eye on the storm outside. "I'll get it back from her-" Her hand flips in the general direction of the records room where her wingmate paper-sitter is guarding it. "-later." She steps back, lifting her chin to return his questioning look and while the expression in her eyes isn't the brightest, cheeriest one he's ever seen, her smile is firm - she is okay. As for letting him know, she merely nods, "I'll be fine tomorrow. Right now I just need to, ah, take a walk." Where there are no people. So after brushing a kiss on his cheek it's a quick run down those stairs into the rain. She /so/ doesn't need to meet T'kyn coming back right now.
M'try keeps on eye toward Vanissa's retreat, watching her take those steps with a hissed breath through his teeth; if she slips and falls and breaks her neck, he'll feel particularly terrible. But. She doesn't. Thoughtful, just this side of troubled, he turns and heads back in to put away his stuffz.
IC Date: 6/19/23 --HAH! I didn't steal this log. :D
Records Room, Fort Weyr
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by free-standing shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink, paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty.
It rains. Because that's what Fort Weyr needs: rain. Somewhere, some Weather God must have taken it into their head that Fort wronged the universe and decided to douse them all spring and now again in the summer. Because of the rain, the records room has a few more people than normal milling around, trying to find some way to pass the time; the archivist seems annoyed by most of them, pestering him for this-or-that, not really knowing their way around. M'try is not one of those annoying folks. The brownrider is settled at a table in the back, scouring what look to be old maps, specifically those of the Fort region, a look of intense concentration furrowing his brows while he turns pages in an expensively old almanac.
Not only rain, but thunder and lightening as well and if it is a weather god, he's surely got it in for T'kyn who for once, has been thwarted in running his twice-daily drills. Not be outdone, the Weyrleader/Wingleader has set tasks for the females of Obsidian...paperwork and other lowly tasks as if they couldn't be trusted to do something productive with their time. It's from the set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex that Nissa enters the records room looking dust-smudged and a little damp as she threads her way past irate archivists and the people bothering them. She's got a stack of papers in hand while looking for a spot at one of the tables, spots M'try and heads his way to drop casually into a seat beside him without asking if she may. Only then does she note his concentration. Oops.
M'try drags himself out of his work rather quickly, looking up and around with a few blink-blinks to clear his head of the haze of his thoughts. It takes some time, even with that, for his eyes to cast around the room for whatever it is that startled him from his thoughts, attention finally lighting on Vanissa. It's a pleasant, "Hello," that he offers once he's got things all figured out, voice low in deference to the fact that most people come here to read or work quietly. Taking in her appearance, he adds, "Were you on the losing end of a fight with a dust bunny?" Pause. "In the rain?"
Nissa's smile is a little tired these days but her greeting is cheerful enough. "Hey there, M'try." She does manage to mute her breezy reply, having already been on the receiving end of a few stern looks from both archivists and folks attempting to study as she greeted folks here and there on her way over. In response to the question, she shakes her head slightly in the negative, "More like on the losing end of a fight with T'kyn. We got to (like it's a real treat) clean his office today. That last bit said with obvious sarcasm. "And shake out his rugs on the ledge." Eyeroll. Her stack of papers is plopped on the table, while she leans over to peek at those maps curiously. "What're you lookin' for?"
Leaning forward with open incredulity, M'try, head cocked-- "Wait. The Weyrleader had you...?" His eyes rove once more over Vanissa's disheveled self, and his mouth works around a few soundless words before he leans back in his chair, blinking over this bizarre event. "I see." Not really. "I was--" Trying to get his head back into the here-and-now and not the cockeyed idea of riders being put to cleaning the Weyrleader's ledge, he hesitates a second or two. "I was just looking at old maps of the Weyr, to see if any of those newly found rooms were noted on them. It's just an idle project."
Vanissa flickers a wry look up from the map raising a brow for that incredulity, "Yeah, he did. He says," the words are uttered in a sotto-voiced imitation of the older man's voice, with the inflections of derision he's likely given to them, "gals at least know how to clean. And my office /needs/ it." Back to her own voice, "The males are with him goin' over wing formations, drop techniques and calculating airspeed all stuff-" She waves an airy hand over her head as she T'k'yn-voices, "the /ladies/ won't understand until seen demonstrated in drills." Her shrug says 'oh well' but she's clearly not pleased. Back to the map though, "Yeah? Were they?" It may be idle for him, but it beats the rows of figures on the top sheet of her stack, if her lack of beginning that task is any indication.
M'try continues to look bewildered while Vanissa goes on to explain T'kyn's busy-work, guppy-mouthing several more times like there's something /right/ on the tip of his tongue that just won't manifest. (The words he's looking for are 'that misogynistic prick,' incidentally.) Distractedly, "No. No, they weren't. At least, I haven't found them yet. --Does T'rev know this is going on? That T'kyn has you cleaning his weyr?"
Vanissa's disappointment about the map is genuine, "Aw, that's too bad. If ya found more rooms I could do some exploring. I never got to." Her pout is totally faked though, eyes dancing as she raises them to his before puzzlement over his reaction furrows her brow. And it's a real pity M'try doesn't get those words out, for Nissa could add to her vocabulary and maybe even let that one slip 'by accident' in T'kyn's presence (misogynistic, not the other). "T'rev? Uh, no? I don't think so? But it's his office, not his weyr," she corrects absently before she shrugs, "Nothin' he could do anyway. Unless he points out shakin' rugs during a storm is stupid cos the wind blows the dirt and dust right back inside."
Thoughtfully distracted, M'try agrees, "True, I suppose there is nothing that he could do. It does seem like there ought to be some recourse, though. I understand a certain measure of... the way T'kyn sees the world. But he may be taking things a bit too far to have you cleaning his office," not his weyr, "on the grounds of your gender and nothing more." Lips pursed, the brownrider delves into his own thoughts for a spell before refocusing on the greenrider across from him, blinking once more to return to the here and now. "I'm sorry? I could add a few at random if you'd like?" he offers in an attempt at levity, gesturing to the unfinished map he's re-drawing.
"Oh. Recourse." Nissa ponders this afresh with her head to one side making it clear she'd taken T'rev knowing about it as in 'would he have been in there cleaning with them'. "Nah, I think he's too set. He makes the gals do twice as hard as the browns and blues in drills." This last bit exhaled in as weary a tone he's ever heard from the ebullient greenrider before she laughs outright, clapping her hand over her mouth and sending a mute look of apology at those who glare her way. When she can get her sniggering, she asks lowly, "Would ya? I'll even invite ya to come with me if ya promise not to fall on me again. Ohwait, scratch that. Just don't hurt me this time."
M'try glances around at the irritated onlookers, his eyes flicked this way and that before he shrugs and dismisses them: if they're regular comers to the records room, he's not going to worry overmuch about their opinions. Instead-- "Does he." And he exhales another sigh, not pleased about the Weyrleader but wholly impotent to do anything. So, to the matter of maps and falling on top of each other, he clears his throat and offers, "I could draw in a nice, slanted room with pillowtop mattresses all across the floor?" Not that any such room exists, but he can dream, right?
Those onlookers are already forgotten by Nissa who answers, "Hmm, yeah. Liath's pretty tired with all the tryin' to keep up." The resignation with which she tells him that and shrug afterwards, is telling that she's not planning on doing anything about it, much less expecting him to, although she does reach, aiming for a touch with light fingers to his arm for the shared sentiment of not pleased. Instead she grins, "You do that and at least it's one drawing you won't be reluctant to show me? I've never seen one of yours yet." Speaking of drawing reminds her of paper, apparently for her eyes drop to the stack in front of her, a pencil drawn from her pocket and a fresh sheet shifted from the bottom of the stack. While she begins copying numbers, "How's your day been?"
M'try says nothing more to the matter, but-- in this fictional map of his-- he may also add a little trapdoor where the Weyrleader can fall down into a pit of some sort. Likely filled with alligators. He'll be sure to show that one to Vanissa, too. "No?" he adds, blinking across at her a few times. "Really? I've actually got a whole sketchbook you're welcome to look at whenever you happen to be just that bored." Ahem. "And, of course, one you're not welcome to look at, so do ask before you go thumbing." As for how his day's been; "Less mind-numbing than yours, to be sure."
No doubt that picture would be as popular with Obsidian Wing as his others, were they to see it also. "Uh uh, nope," Nissa assures him while carefully writing, her finger keeping place as she re-arranges numbers on her fresh sheet - dragon's names with stats going from smaller to larger in just such a mind-numbing way as he mentions. "Oh really? Whatcha been up to?" Idle chit chat on her part on her part, really, although he does get a mildly aggrieved look, withdraws her hand from his space at the same time. "I wouldn't even think of just lookin' without askin'. I do have -some- manners." She drops her eyes back to her work, a little hurt he felt the need to even say it.
"I was only teasing, Nissa. At no time would I assume that you would go through my things without my permission, I assure you." M'try answers her aggrieved look with a smile he means to be heartening, dipping his head to try to catch her eyes with the expression. And hold them while he adds, doing that thing where he picks his words meticulously, his tone conscientious verging on cautious, "I have been in here much of the afternoon, having spent the morning and most of last night in what one might call a 'rite of passage.' That is, Mohraith won a Flight yesterday evening."
The word teasing gets Nissa's eyes lifted to blink at M'try's a few times, an uncertain smile in response to his. Finally, "Oh. Ohhh! I get it. In that sorta, uh..." Her fingers tap-tap her forehead while she searches in vain for the right word and flushes slightly when she fails," pretend-to-mean-otherwise way." She draws a breath in to add something else when he speaks again, listens to what he's saying and simply lets it out slowly when he's finished. There's a long silence in the wake of his news, her gaze remains on his while the expression in hers is as unreadable as his is careful. "Oh," she finally thinks to say and lowers them to her lap. This isn't the place she would have preferred to have this conversation if her body language is anything to go by. Softly, "I shouldn't be surprised."
Ah, but here! Here, M'try could build himself a fortress if he needed to. He knows where all the biggest, thickest, most brick-like books are kept, and he could wall himself up safely forever and ever. So here is where this conversation shall occur. "I certainly was." Surprised. "I had thought-- well, she's a rather seasoned green, so I didn't really expect Mohraith had a snowball's chance in Igen. But I suppose he has been chasing for something like a Turn, now, so he was bound to catch one eventually." With the tap tap tap tap pencil all the while. "I thought it better to hear it from me than the rumor mill."
Forever is stretching it, even a lifetime has its imaginable drawbacks. With a look flickered towards the room in general and a wince for the lack of privacy, Nissa merely nods, "Yes, I suppose he was." Finally, since she isn't going to move him elsewhere and he's been kind enough to tell her himself, she lifts her head and manages to say quietly, "Thanks?" Because yes, he's gone and done it where others can overhear and she's damn uncomfortable with it and a little resentful as well. Unnaturally self-contained and void of expression, "Congratulations to you both then."
Maybe some part of M'try thought it would be no big deal? Something he could drop casually into the conversation and it wouldn't matter? Certainly, Vanissa's reaction seems to be taking him by surprise to some degree, his brows drawn together while he begins quietly piling up his maps and atlases and such. "Thanks?" he passes back in much the same tone, a good mimic, this one. "Do you want to take a walk with me and we'll talk about it?" Occasionally, he has those flashes of insight, yes, even now ready to offer her a hand and abandon the safety of his books if she'd rather.
"Yes please," is Nissa's swift answer to this, although whether its a big deal isn't something she's letting on. While he's collecting maps and atlases together, she is passing her paperwork over to the next table where a wingmate sits with a, "Keep an eye on these for me?" She rises, and waits for M'try, her hand is there for the taking and she'll go wherever. Although where they're going to go in a thunderstorm, even if it is summer and the rain might not be so cold, getting hit by lightening isn't on her 'to do' list today.
Yeah, M'try does take a few extra moments to put his things somewhere that they won't be disturbed, where they'll be easy for him to collect later in the day when he comes back. Assuming he survives. That concern being ever on the brownrider's mind. Taking Vanissa's hand, fingers laced loosely, he heads not immediately toward the bowl but toward the Weyrleaders' Complex, a long way around that might keep them dry a little longer. Once out of the actual records room, now that prying ears and eyes are behind, he points out, "You seem upset. Normally, I'd apologize for my part in that, but I think Mohraith may never stop screaming at me if I do, so. Instead. Is there anything I can do or say to make you feel better?"
Vanissa gives M'try's hand a brief squeeze, her silent appreciation for his willingness to step outside his comfort zone, but is otherwise silent until they're where they can't be heard or observed and then it's to breathe a long sigh of relief. Lifting her chin to give him a level, clear-eyed gaze, and a faint smile, "Winnin' a flight ain't nothin' for ya to apologize for. I don't expect that." And she does seem to mean it, even when she indicates the archives behind them with a tilt of her head, "I was uncomfortable in there is all. I wanted to ask if you're- if ya were alright- I- I mean if it went alright, because-" She allows her concern for him to show, her eyes begging him not to laugh as she continues, "You're my friend and I know some things are difficult for ya and, well, that day at the beach-" She stumbles all over that, as she knew she would, which is why she's so relieved not to be in the crowded records room. "Just tell me if you're alright?"
Oh? That's her concern? That M'try's surprised shows, his blinking and brow-knitting persisting a bit longer while he answers her look with his head dipping to a questioning cock. "I'm all right," he answers, meaning it every bit as much as Vanissa did a moment ago. "She was quite understanding and pleasant, and I don't think I did anything horribly wrong. Most of it's just a haze, and I'm happy to leave it that way." Drawing lightly on her hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles momentarily, he explains, "You taking off your dress and me waking up next to some woman I don't really know are entirely different kinds of awkward, Nissa. I suppose the possibility that things might go badly this morning existed, but she was quite casual, so I didn't try to run away." Which counts as a win in M'try's book.
That questioning look has Nissa, explaining, "I've... seen some of the greenriders and..." She shrugs. Some of the women are scary and some them... are men. He can fill in the blanks. But he says he's alright, so she's relieved, "Good. And yes, please do." Nissa's not asking for details, trying not to be confused by his comparing two different kinds of awkward and failing, but she's not asking. Instead, with her eyes on those knuckles while he kisses them, "I'll just take your word for it." Instead, "Didn't try to run away... no, ya know what, ya Don't have to tell me 'bout that." Trying not to look discomfitted now.
Belatedly realizing how that could be interpreted, M'try's quick to add, "No no, nothing like that. We didn't..." Well. They did. So he can't really say that. "It was only where the dragons were concerned, nothing between the two of us alone." Out of the way of the general comings-and-goings, near to the exit to the bowl but not actually going through it, he slows his steps and turns to Vanissa, aiming to draw his arm around her waist, the hand not holding hers meant for the small of her back. "Derilee was very sweet to me, and I appreciated it, but she's not who I wanted, Nissa. You are."
"Shh." Nissa's free hand lifts, fingertips meant to still the words on his lips, "Ain't my none of my business what ya did- oh." A few beats later, "I'm... thank you." She's not resisting his arm, taking in his words with a mixture of relief, confusion and regret. An odd combination, to be sure. If he doesn't mind, she just steps closer to rest her head on his shoulder, not really seeming to care at the moment if someone passes and gives them an odd look. "I'm sorry I'm all out of sorts, M'try. I just... all the weyrling training in the books ain't like the real thing and I- I just realized I need to re-work everything in my head."
M'try draws his hand from hers, lifting it to brush his hair lightly back from her forehead and tuck it down behind her ear, his lips just touching her temple. So, no, he doesn't mind if Vanissa wants to rest her head there, and anyone who wants to give them odd looks-- well, he won't exactly pummel them, but neither will it end his moment here. "It's okay. I am reasonably sure that, when the shoe is on the other foot, I'll feel much the same way that you do now. Take your time, re-work things, as you say. Just know that, while I don't regret anything... If I could have made the choice, I'd have woken up next to you this morning."
Ah yes. Liath. the other half of this equation. Nissa's hands are free and thus she gives him a brief hug, meant to reassure, but perhaps she's needing it a little bit herself as well. "Ya shouldn't- I wouldn't want ya to regret anything. I just never thought flights-" She starts again, "Never thought /about/ flights. Where choice mattered." She finishes firmly, letting the topic drop. He'd rather... and yet he hasn't, so. All she can do in this -really- awkward moment is to say with another half-smile for him and a nod, "Thanks for sayin' that M'try. I.. I should go an' let ya get back to your maps."
Whether or not he's reassured-- whether or not he needed the reassurance, M'try returns the hug, as brief as it is, and takes a partial step back afterward, giving Vanissa the necessary space to do all that re-working of things. "While I'm sure the maps will wait, as they have been there for several hundred Turns, as far as I can tell, I should at least make sure they get put away. And let you get back to... whatever it was that brought you to the records room in the first place." Perhaps, with everything else, he's forgotten? Or did she ever tell him? "Let me know when you're, hmn, feeling all sorted out again?" He dips his head a moment, meaning to catch her eyes with a questioning look-- she's okay, right? Like, he doesn't need to be worried?
"T'kyn's paperwork." Nissa tells M'try absently with an eye on the storm outside. "I'll get it back from her-" Her hand flips in the general direction of the records room where her wingmate paper-sitter is guarding it. "-later." She steps back, lifting her chin to return his questioning look and while the expression in her eyes isn't the brightest, cheeriest one he's ever seen, her smile is firm - she is okay. As for letting him know, she merely nods, "I'll be fine tomorrow. Right now I just need to, ah, take a walk." Where there are no people. So after brushing a kiss on his cheek it's a quick run down those stairs into the rain. She /so/ doesn't need to meet T'kyn coming back right now.
M'try keeps on eye toward Vanissa's retreat, watching her take those steps with a hissed breath through his teeth; if she slips and falls and breaks her neck, he'll feel particularly terrible. But. She doesn't. Thoughtful, just this side of troubled, he turns and heads back in to put away his stuffz.