[Log] A Good Night, Pt. 2

[brazenbronzer]

Who: E'sere, Vanya
When: Day 14, Month 6, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr; Vanya's Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: E'sere and Vanya get acquainted.
Notes: Find Pt. 1 here.

Vanya gives a smile and a nod. "Yes, laughter is the best medicine, sometimes. Good evening, then," she says to the departing figure. Then she looks to E'sere. "You see? People have been known to run screaming from my theories and opinions." A laugh. "You're kind to listen or at least act like you're listening," she says. "Just tell me to shut up when you're tired of listening, or shove something in my mouth, like a napkin or a tuber or something big enough to fill it."

"And you," E'sere tells Naros as the apprentice takes his leave of them. Then, amused, he pauses eating long enough to glance sideways slyly at Vanya. "Oh, really? Perhaps I'm just very long-suffering," he tells her lightly. "But I'll keep that in mind if you do start bothering me--I think I'm fast enough to stuff a napkin in there while you're talking," the wingleader teases, eyeing her mouth and rubbing his chin speculatively.

Vanya's lips are stained dark red by the piece of fruit she's been sucking on for a few moments after she spoke. She giggles, a bit of juice escaping, caught with a quick swipe of the napkin, fruit quickly chewed and swallowed. "I'm sure you are. You'd have to be to dodge thread, after all." There's that twinkle in her eyes, that are now definitely more green than golden-brown in the light. She's no great beauty, but there's a quality in her expression that lends an attractiveness. She can't help but notice where his gaze rests, and she blushes. "The fruit is delicious," she says, voice now just a little hesitant, a little shy.

"Dumb luck and a smart dragon," E'sere brushes off Vanya's former words with an airy wave of his hand. He watches her a moment longer, then, mindful of her sudden self-consciousness, he's thoughtful enough to avert his own hazel eyes, studying his plate and the few fruits he's taken. "Is it?" he queries in return. "It usually is, this time of turn. I worried, without Nabol, we'd not have much, but we manage still. Have you tried the roasted herdbeast yet? It's amazing--one of our head cook's specialties."

Vanya nods, pointing to the remnants of that very meat on her plate, then picks up a piece of the fruit she sees isn't on his plate. "Try it," she says, holding it between two fingers near his mouth. "It's the best I've tasted in a while, even back at Fort," she assures him, totally unmindful of anyone that might see and misconstrue what they saw. But her brows kind of quirk at the mention of "without Nabol." "You haven't received the tithe from Nabol? The one from Fort for Fort Hold went out some time before I left. I did some copying of medical texts for them that went with the wagons."

"We're on the outs with Nabol, haven't you heard?" E'sere notes, mouth twisting into a wry, not particularly humorful smirk. "My good cousin Lord Odern takes offense to a certain one of my mother's mistakes." Dryly self-mocking, he presses a hand to his chest to indicate himself. "He won't tithe, and the Weyrleader Igen won't cover them. Politics." He sounds properly disdainful of that choice, like the true 'Hero of Nabol' he is. Unshyly, he reaches out to accept the fruit she offers, taking a bite of it very gingerly to keep the juices from going everywhere. He chews it thoughtfully, then offers her a quick nod of agreement, popping the remainder into his mouth. "It is excellent," he agrees.

"No, I haven't had much time to catch up with that kind of thing," Vanya admits, licking her fingers. "Your mother? And, that would be...?" she inquires, letting the words hang. "I know you mentioned your uncle, but I don't think you named anyone else. And why should the weyr pay for an individual's mistake? That's ... well, that's ridiculous, frankly. Petty --" Then she realizes she's talking about the man's relatives, and it may be all right for /him/ to speak about so, but not Journeyman Healers who have relatives just like them back at Ruatha. "I mean, well, that's just not the thing to do, punish others for something they didn't do. It's --" Just what her own great uncle would do. Rather than risk offense, she just eats a bit more.

"My uncle, Anshuman--Lord Tillek," E'sere agrees, nodding easily. "My mother is his younger sister, our Weyrwoman--former Weyrwoman--Lexine," he makes the correction ruefully. "My father is a cousin to Lord Odern, as we now all know." He wrinkles his nose slightly, and then shrugs, arching a brow at her latter words. "Isn't it though? I should send you to speak to Lord Odern--or perhaps Weyrleader Igen, if you'd rather," he notes, his tone light, unoffended by her temerity.

Vanya is almost scandalized at the thought of herself daring to speak out to someone like the Weyrleader or, Faranth forbid, a /Lord/ Holder. Her eyes widen and her lips part, but nothing comes out for a moment. Or two. Or three. Then, "Me?" Voice a little louder than expected in one of those odd moments of quiet in a crowded moment. Then, blushing furiously as a few heads in their general area turn to look, the quickly buries her face in her mug, taking a much needed drink. Then, quieter, "Why Faranth's name would you do that? I'd ... I'd probably mess it up, make a mistake, say something stupid, or ... or lose my temper and tell them that naughty children should be sent to their rooms without supper to feel what it's like to go without or take second best!" She shakes her head, almost violently. "No, that would be The. Very. Worst. Thing. You. Could. Do." She's shaken. Seriously shaken by the very thought. No matter he might be joking. That never for an instant occurred to her. He's a Wingleader, related to two blooded families, and Vanya puts nothing beyond his capabilities.

At once, E'sere's expression is apologetic, the wingleader leaning forward slightly, moving to rest a comforting hand against her arm if she doesn't move away. "I'm sorry," he tells her at once, quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I only meant it as a joke."

There's a tremble beneath his hand that only when it sinks in that it was a joke begins to ease. The expression of horror slowly fades from her face and Vanya simply nods. "I ... I'm sorry, as well. I shouldn't have been so ..." Embarrassed dip of her head. "... foolish." Softly said, voice still a little shakey. "It was just that, I know people who would have said the same thing and not be joking, because it's better to let a worthless healer to take the brunt of the punishment rather than face up to it themselves." Whispery soft, now. "Who wouldn't think twice about using someone else to do their bidding and leave them alone to take the blame." Lifting her face toward his, eyes big and filled with fear. Hand reaching up to rest on top of his on her arm. "I should have known better. You didn't strike me as that type. Not someone whose responsible for other men's lives, as well as his own."

E'sere's concerned expression doesn't vanish just because Vanya apologizes; his hand lingers on her arm as she reaches her hand to his. "Worthless healer? No healer is worthless--certainly not you. You're going to keep us all from straining ourselves, remember?" he reminds her gently, with a small smile, his own expression as earnest as hers. "I certainly wouldn't use you to do my dirty work for me like that. I've... spoken to both of them myself, actually, though they're little inclined to listen. It wasn't a very good joke, though--I'm sorry, Vanya."

Now Vanya's embarrassed again. A Wingleader, apologizing to /her/? "You don't have to apologize anymore, E'sere," she says softly, kindly. "It was me, a silly, knee-jerk reaction to something that happened turns ago, and something I should be over. I young and idealistic, full of myself, since I'd made this gigantic self-discovery, and one of the Journeyman decided to teach me a lesson in humility. I fell for it, hook, line and sinker, and addressed one of the Masterhealers on some stupid disease he made up. The Masterhealer was furious and I was called worthless, unappreciative and nearly sent home." She takes a deep breath. "If Masterhealer Simbum hadn't know the Journeyman was up to something, I wouldn't be here now. I'd be married off with about a dozen kids." Silence a moment. "The Journeyman was never punished, and is a Master now. I thought you deserved an explanation."

"Thank you for that," E'sere tells Vanya solemnly, with another quick smile for the healer. "That sounds terrible, though. It's disgusting what some people can do to each other, though. I'm sorry for that, though." Pause. He's silent a moment, then attempts another smile for her, noting bemusedly, "A dozen kids already? Were you planning on having them two or three at a time?" He grins, exaggerating his joking manner to make the tease plain this time.

The smile and joke works, and Vanya smiles back, looking at him directly, finally removing her from atop his with a little chuckle. "I figured litters were quicker than single births, get the pain over fast." A small attempt at humor, there. "Probably not so many, but definitely married off to someone chosen for me, to /enrich/ the family, finally prove myself to be of value. I saw that a lot, and decided a long time ago that wasn't for me. Kept that vow, too. Never --" And that's as far as it goes. No need to say more. "You deserved an explanation," she repeats. "Anything less than the truth would be insulting your kindness and crass of me, as embarrassing as it was to talk about."

"Just don't do like the dragons do," E'sere notes, with feigned solemnity. "The clutch Morelenth sired on Citalth, she laid thirty-three eggs." He releases his grin again at that, though it fades slightly as Vanya adds more somber words. "I'm glad for you, then," he tells her, not pressing her on what she didn't say. "It's always better to make your own place if you can. And obviously, you've managed that quite well for yourself. High Reaches is a good posting--though, admittedly, I'm rather biased."

Vanya shakes her head. "No, thirty-three at once ... not no, but /shells/ no!" she says rather firmly, a bit of the sparkle back. "I had no real choice in it, E'sere. It was either take my mother's dream for me and turn it into something of my own, or live forever with her shadow hanging over my shoulder. It's cut out the diseased part to save the rest. I said earlier it isn't easy, but it can be done if you want something of your own bad enough." She nods her head. "I do like it here, even if I'm confused now and then, and not used to bathing with men at the same time. I'll adapt, carve a niche here for myself, and do what I do best. Heal and try to prevent pain." She pauses. "I feel almost guilty for having the night off, but T'zen's in good hands. And it's nice to just enjoy good company, though, admittedly, I'm rather biased about the last." A shy smile and a little more herself now.

"I guess so," E'sere says, musingly, his smile wistful. "I guess I know exactly what you mean. I was always going to be a rider, like Mother, from... well, ever. But that's the life I wanted for myself as much as she wanted it for me--and, well. The dragons choose; neither of us could force Morelenth to pick me if I hadn't been right for him." A shrug, self-effacing, as he glances downward, pushing his emptied plate away. "T'zen will be fine, I'm sure--we've many other healers who can tend to his needs as well as you can, but--if you won't tell them I said so--you're the best conversationalist of them that /I've/ met," he returns, smile broadening at her compliment.

Vanya laughs, eyes brighter now. "Translated, perhaps, as I have a big mouth, certainly large enough to hold two feet at the same time," she says with a gentle laugh. "Two /left/ feet, at that." She sighs. "I think the Lord Holder," she never calls him by name, "should be grateful I wasn't his daughter. I'm hopeless. I simply do not dance. Essdara told me she'd teach me before the dance, and that I wouldn't lack for partners, but they'd best wear riding boots, or they'll be seeing me on the morrow with bruised toes."

E'sere's expression is blatantly shocked--borderline scandalized--when Vanya drops that tidbit of information. "You don't dance," he repeats incredulously. "No, no. Essdara is right. We simply have to fix that. Dancing--" he leans forward slightly, lowers his voice just a touch as though imparting some secret wisdom "--is a vital trait for every woman. It will /teach/ you grace, if nothing else. I just can't--" He shakes his head. "How did you make it this far without ever learning? You'll dance with me at the party, of course," he tells her expectantly--it's not much of a request.

"I --" Vanya stops, has to think this one through carefully. Again with the wheels turning in her head. Not preparing an excuse, just trying to form the answer. "I assisted Journeyman Harper Grafton," she says slowly, and I love music. But --" How to put it into words. "...was always taller than the others and even though Harper Grafton liked me, the Lord Holder..." A pause. "I stepped on Honi's foot once, accidentally. She ran to her father, said I did it deliberately because I was jealous of her and her sister. He told the Harper I could play for them but never again would I be allowed to harm his children or ..." A sigh. "You can guess the rest. The Harper offered to teach me himself, but he was a good man, and if the Lord Holder ever found out." A shrug. "So, I pretended I didn't want to dance, and after I went to Healer Hall, there really wasn't much time for socializing. I played gittern for the others sometimes, but never danced."

"Well, you'll dance with me now," E'sere says simply, as though that were all there were to it. "You needn't worry about my feet, and anyway, you're not taller than /me/." He offers her another smile. "I'm an excellent teacher," he adds, tone wheedling.

Vanya looks around the room. "/Now/?" she echoes. "As in right now, now? -- or someplace else, some time later?" She's just a little confused, there. "I mean, I already agreed to let Essdara teach me, but I don't think -- I mean, dancing is complicated, and my body isn't trained in that kind of movements. I walk, ride a runner, run ... all that, naturally, but --" She shuts up. There was decision in his tone, command. And, wait, hadn't he said something about Morelenth flying a queen? That would make him a former Weyrleader, not just the son of one... "I suppose I could /try/, and, no, you're certainly taller than me..." Wavering, wavering, and ... acquiesce.

"Now, if you like," laughs E'sere, "but I really meant the party. If Essdara will teach you, then I'll happily take advantage of her hard work; but if not, I can teach you myself. It's really not that hard at all, once you get the hang of it. I promise, I won't take it too fast if you don't want to, but... It seems the least you could do, you know." He pauses briefly for effect. "It's my birthday, you know, and you haven't even congratulated me yet," he teases lightly. "We can consider our dance at the party a belated gift?"

"I didn't know," Vanya murmurs about the birthday. "Congratulations, E'sere. I really didn't know. I haven't met all that many people here yet. Only a handful out of --" She looks around, and although the room has thinned, it's still crowded. "--many. That's one of the things that will take some getting used to. I'm so glad they let me have a room of my own. I couldn't sleep in the dorms. Just too many people. I slept in the infirmary the first few nights." She takes a deep breath. "Well, if you'd like to dance with me as a birthday gift, I can't really refuse, but /someone/ had better teach me. I don't want to hurt your feet. Mine are pretty big." She glances down as if to emphasis the point. "And, I'm finished eating, so if you want to start tonight, I'm ... willing to risk it if you are. But where?"

It is currently early summer. The clear summer sky has been hidden behind a dense wall of clouds. They aren't dark enough yet to threaten a storm but the air has grown humid and heavy.

E'sere grins at Vanya. "Thank you," he tells her solemnly. "And--did you really? They didn't offer you a room of your own? You should speak with Headwoman Heriet about that; I thought all our journeyman received private quarters. We've certainly the space to offer them, at any rate. And--hmm." He taps a finger against his chin a moment, thoughtful. "There are plenty of rooms in the lower caverns where we could be undisturbed for a bit--I know lots of little places. I'm assuming we shouldn't just nudge this table out of the way and have at it right here?" He quirks a brow, glancing around the living cavern, and lingering in particular on the door as a few more people enter, wind-blown but dry. "It doesn't look like that rain's broken yet. I'd offer my weyr as a good place to be unbothered," he notes, eyes sliding back to the healer then, "but I imagine that's rather too forward-seeming of me now--especially when it's still threatening a storm."

"That was something I was going to ask you earlier, what it was like up there, in the weyrs. I'd like to see one, but best another time, yes. I don't relish the idea of getting wet, or risking Morelenth if there's lightning." Vanya ponders a moment, harking back to an earlier comment. "No, I don't think anyone was really paying attention when I arrived. D'ven was kind enough to find someone to get me a bed, but T'zen had literally just turned bad, and he was much more important. One or two uncomfortable nights for me was nothing compared to his trouble." She moistens her lips. "Either the lower cavern you mentioned or, well, there's my room, but it's small." She finally simply says. "I place myself in your more experienced hands, and anywhere but here."

"They're--caves," E'sere notes wryly. "Very nicely carved and nicely decorated, many of them, but, in essence, caves. Nothing so spectacular, though I rather like mine now. It has a beautiful view of the bowl and the lake. So you've your own room now, though? That's good, very good. I'd hate for High Reaches to seem less than welcoming," he adds. "And... your room sounds perfect, if that's all right with you? I don't want to barge into your personal space, if you'd rather I not."

"I don't mind, but it's barely large enough to change your mind in, really. I could move the table and chairs aside, though." Vanya ponders a moment. "Yes, that's fine unless you'd prefer the rooms you know. It's your birthday, your choice." She smiles, gathering the dirty dishes, and rising. "I'll get these, and then you tell me when I get back. I need to stretch my legs, anyway." She clambers not too awkwardly up, taking the dishes to the proper bin, speaking her thanks to one of the cooks. Moving with a much more confident stride than it might seem she would if she were genuinely clumsy, smiling nodding, turning to come back. "Well, where to, oh ye who are about to regret this as soon as my feet land on yours?" she inquires, standing.

"I'll not regret it," E'sere protests one last time as he stands to his feet as well, fighting back a grin at Vanya. "To your room, then, since you're so obliging. If you'll lead?"

Vanya's Room

There isn't much a person can do to disguise the fact this room is little more than a cave. The walls are stone, smoothed by hand or by some long-forgotten or long-gone machine used by those who first built the weyr. The door is solid wood, sturdy, the fixtures utilitarian. The basic furniture is all there -- bed, table, two chairs, wall shelves and a wooden storage chest. Simple. As is the occupant, since there is little in the way of fancy knickknacks or personal possessions. The bed has plain sheets, two down-filled pillows, and a warm, woven blanket in dark green. The chest holds clothes, and more blankets as a bastion against the cold, High Reaches winter. A glow basket hangs from the wall over the bed, another sits on the table, glows replenished whenever needed by those unseen people who perform this task.
     On a shelf above the table are a bottle of ink, writing instruments, sand and some already prepared hides. Very rare and precious paper documents are carefully arranged on another shelf, held down by a polished stone collected from some place. Yet another shelf holds vials and bottles of lotions, astringents, and other containers of herbs and oils. The only luxurious thing here, if it can be called that, is a hand-made rug that lies beside the bed on top of a thick layer of reeds. Stone floors are notoriously cold on bare feet. A black cloak hangs on a peg by the door, a basket, leather satchel and two pairs of boots sitting on the floor beneath.

Contents:
Vanya

Obvious Exits:
Out

It's not all that far, just through the lower cavern to the corridor of doors. Then opening the right one. She is pleasant enough on the way, asking a few more questions about weyrlife in general, who's who, in charge of what, and the like. Easy questions, simple questions, maybe to cover her nervousness. Of the dancing, nothing else. If anyone casts a speculative eye, she honestly doesn't notice. Once inside, she moves to open the glow baskets more, shedding light on the small room. "I warned you it was small, but you know that. If you think there's room here, I'm comfortable with it. Beats getting laughed at in the living cavern, or struck by lightning -- though I do want to see that, too." She moves about, picking up a few odds and ends, setting the gittern on the bed aside. Really though it's neat and orderly.

E'sere follows Vanya easily, answering every question she puts to him and meeting curious looks with cheerful smiles--what they do is not unusual enough for the bronzerider to attract them undue attention. When he steps into the little room behind her, he moves to let the door slide almost closed behind him: shut enough to keep out gawkers, cracked enough she shouldn't feel /too/ uncomfortable. "I've seen worse," he tells her. "Smaller ones, and ones that just /felt/ smaller for everything crammed into them. Yours is nice--neat. I like it. It will do fine." He glances all around it then, curious, and not above stepping away from the door to inspect the items on the shelves around the room.

"It's larger than the one I had at Ruatha," Vanya admits. "I ended up sharing with my mother for a while, and that was ... not pleasant." She moves the chairs aside, then the table. When done, she turns to him. "Well, where do you want me, or how?" She doesn't really feel uncomfortable, and if she notices the cracked door makes no comment. "We don't have any music, but I guess I could hum, or something. I can't play and dance at the same time." She stands there, arms to her sides, feet apart, almost a parade rest position.

"If we can keep the time for the beat," E'sere answers, leaning back against the table a moment, arms folding over his chest as he observes Vanya, "we shouldn't need music. Really, that's all it's about. Now." He straightens, taking a step forward to meet her, offering his hands to her. "Just put your hands here, and here," he demonstrates. "It's easy, trust me." Smile.

"That's easy for you to say, oh multi-talented Wingleader E'sere," Vanya quips, with a smile. She follows instructions well, placing her hands properly. If he's close enough, there is a slight nervous tension in her body, as she tries not to let the past shadow what is a gift for ... well, for a friend. That's clearly there in her expression. So serious, so conscientious. Eyes on him, watching and waiting. She runs her tongue across her lips.

"Very easy," retorts E'sere with a grin as he gets Vanya's hands properly positioned, and then places his on her gently. It's a slow dance he's setting up for--none of those fast, high-spirited ones just yet--so he's rather close, glancing down at her with a half-smile before he takes the first step. "Just follow my lead, all right?" he encourages her. He takes the second step in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to realize what he's doing and match her movement to his.

Those first few movements are stiff, awkward. Vanya seems aware of her every mistake, every fault, that ugly past desperate to rear it's ugly head. She hisses once as her foot comes down totally out of step with his. It's as if he holds a wooden statue that's trying to animate for the first time. Or someone who lost use of a leg and is having to learn how to use it again. Horror on her face for a moment. Looking up eyes wide, with that look most herdbeasts probably have when they realize the dragon isn't a big, flying version of themselves. A lip taken between her teeth, bitten down upon hard. "I'm sorry," she whispers moments later, concentration resumed. Too afraid of offering offense to realize she's closer to a man than she ever has been before in her life. A man that's confident in himself, in control of her. That fear overshadowed by another, a spectre that haunts her far more than she lies and is determined, as evidenced here, to conquer.

"Just relax," E'sere says gently, in response to that apology. "You're doing fine, Vanya, and it's even easier if you just relax and move naturally--that's what dancing is /about/." He maintains that same slow, methodical pace as he inscribed the steps of the dance with her, indulgent of her mistakes--no denouncements or stern chastizing, only those quiet encouragements when she does get the steps right.

She tries, but relaxation must come naturally, given freely to the one who tries to call for it. Vanya takes a deep breath, eyes on her feet now, watching his, firmly ordering herself to mind her manners and obey the nice man's request. Eyes firmly on the feet, head bowed in submission. Training her feet to move right. It's there on her face, in the stiffness of her hands. The beads of sweat on her forehead. Trying to hear music in her head, finding a tune that seems right, playing that in her head so strongly that she's humming softly without realizing it.

Not feeling she's mastered the basics just yet, E'sere doesn't quicken his pace or throw in any additional steps to threaten her fragile composure, simply keeping that simple dance steady for her as she tries to settle into its rhythm. "You've a beautiful voice," he tells her after a moment, lightly, to distract her from her overconcentration. "Sure you weren't meant to be a harper?"

There's a jerk. A gasp. An instant lifting of her head, those eyes wide again, traces of fear in their depths. "I didn't realize I was humming," Vanya the scared child replies. "That was --" That door closing. "-- not an option for me." The voice showing more coldness than it did even when she reacted to the joke. "Mother --" Stop. "It was the best choice in the long run. I heal and make sure others have choices they might not have otherwise." She says, her feet moving oddly well as long as she's distracted by this new train of thought. Her body a little less stiff, more supple, moving easier.

"You were," E'sere replies evenly, with one of those reassuring smiles he's so good at. "I don't mind. It was nice. So..." Her tone in answering makes him choose his next words carefully, for all he absently continues their dance, a smidgeon faster for her relaxation. "What do you think of High Reaches so far? You've had a little time to see our Weyr, to get to know people... I'm always interested in finding out what everyone else sees in us."

"It's a lot different than I expected, honestly," Vanya replies, voice softer now, latching on to this new, safe topic like a drowning man might reach for a piece of driftwood. She even chuckles. "I was warned, you see. One of the girls has a brother at Fort Weyr, and she said I'd be subjected to all kinds of rudeness, debauchery and likely treated like a drudge by the riders." She has her eyes on his face now, body continuing to follow smoothly, naturally, not a single misstep. "I heard stories at home, too, and chalked it up to dragon-envy. I'm pleased to say, I think she was talking out of ear. Everyone I've met so far has been nice, rider and not, but I know there are all kinds of people here."

"A common misconception," E'sere agrees lightly, smiling as Vanya keeps her attention on him and not on her feet and where he leads them. Again, a slight increase in pace, approaching a more natural dance speed, rather than the artificially slow one he began with. "You'd not believe--or, well, I suppose you would, really--how many holders and crafters come here for the Caucus and find out that very same thing. I won't lie that we do tend to have a different way of thinking about some things--we're a little more liberal in some areas than a lot of the really conservative Holds care for--but we're good people in the end, and I think that of all the Weyrs, High Reaches is the best." A laugh, bemused. "Then again," he adds in aside, "I'm still biased."

Vanya doesn't even recognize the increase in speed. "Yes, I can believe it, but if they stop to think about it, use the brains they were born with for any logical thinking, they would realize that no society based on licentious behavior depicted in those stories could survive for long without breeding themselves out of practical use. The planet itself could not support it, and Pern would have been consumed by Thread long before now. But people like to cling to their beliefs, and the most dangerous person is someone who believes without question, obeys without reasoning for themselves the truth of a matter." She pauses, eyes almost passionate in their color. "Change must occur, new ideas accepted, adapted, made to work otherwise there is stagnation, and stagnate water is poison. It breeds death. People need to learn new things. Grow, change from hidebound, suspicion and seek some sort of enlightenment so they don't poison themselves." Then she realizes she's maybe said too much. "High Reaches is different, a bit confusing, but, yes, hardly the den of iniquity I was led to believe it was. I may still be embarrassed at the bathing arrangements, but I'll adapt, change. I refuse to be a stagnate pond."

Vanya's words elicit a small smile from E'sere, little more than the faint upward quirk of one corner of his mouth, a gesture more sad, wistful, than truly happy. "So it is," he agrees. "I'm glad for you. The baths--" he forces his mouth to twist into its usual wry smile "--are the least of your worries, I think." Now, he's moving at standard speed, as easily as he would on a real dance floor; and this he maintains for several seconds before, reluctantly, he notes, "I should probably go; it's getting late, and I promised myself I'd stop in to speak to Ganathon--we share a birthday, coincidentally."

Vanya is startled at that. And then at the fact she's still moving with him and not realizing it. She falters only slightly, but doesn't stop unless he does, and laughs. "You, Wingleader E'sere, are dangerous," she says, and it's a teasing. "I can see I'm going to have to keep my eye on you," she adds, lips curved upwards. "You're far too sneaky and subtle for my own good. How long, exactly, have I been dancing? I don't know, but it doesn't feel awkward, and I'm not ... afraid anymore." The spectre has gone, at least regarding this subject. "You have well earned your birthday gift at the dance. I will dance with you, but I may need further practice. May I take horrible advantage of you and ask for at least another lesson before the actual dance?"

E'sere's smile fulfills that accusation, sly and cheekily amused at her expense as he watches. "Thank you," he answers in response as he stops, releasing her slightly, but not stepping away just yet. "See, I told you. Just relax and it will come naturally. You're really quite good--much better than I started out. I had the misfortune of setting out to learn several dances while I was at that awful stage where one's all arms and legs and two left feet," he notes, nose wrinkling slightly at the memory. Still, he flashes another broad smile in answer to her request, nodding at once. "Of course; I'd be honored to. Whenever you've free time? I'm sure I'll see you in the infirmary between now and then, when I get a chance to visit T'zen."

"I'll have to let you know, but you always know where to find me," Vanya replies. "Infirmary, here or ... well, I want to go to the lake before it gets cold, so maybe there. Exploring, probably." She smiles and doesn't pull away. She still hasn't quite realized just how close she is to him. That will come later, probably. "Thank you, but if it hadn't been for you, I would likely have begged off from Essdara, and spent the dance here or working." She looks at him, head canting to the side. "Somehow, I can't picture you at that awkward stage. And, at least for a /man/ it's all right to be tall. For a girl, well, it isn't quite /proper,/ you know. Girls are petite, delicate things that must be protected and passed from father to husband without question. I hated being tall, but now," there's a wicked gleam in her eyes, "it's fun being taller than some of my male patients now and then. It makes them think I should be obeyed." A pause. "And I /should/, on health matters."

"It was a long time ago," E'sere remarks with a laugh. "Fifteen turns, probably. You didn't know me then; you'd have laughed if you did. /Everyone/ has that stage; it's a rite of passage." He grimaces again, but humorously so, as he regards her. "And that," he adds to her latter words, "just means you need a taller man to accompany you when you're outside the infirmary." He smiles again, then queries, "You've clothes for the dance, yes? You mentioned something about a Weaver relation...?"

"My brother. Senior Journeyman Rappa." Was that a hint of envy in her tone. "He's well on his way to becoming a master of design, from his last letter. I never have to worry about wearing ... less than quality. He designed this for me, since he thought I might need pants in the weyr. It and a few other dresses and things arrived just before I left. There's one I'm giving to Essdara. It doesn't suit me very well, but should look lovely on her with her hair. Black hair goes with just about anything."

"Then you'll have something stunning to wear for me," concludes E'sere, with that same sly smile as earlier. He leans back slightly, not really pulling away so much as getting a better angle to observe her current attire, nodding once in apparent approval. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in it already. Good night, Vanya." Impetuously, he leans in again, moving to press a brief, chaste kiss to her cheek unless she shies away from him.

The kiss does take her a little by surprise, and her head had moved just enough as he started leaning in that his lips land /almost/ on hers and she gasps, not so much in outrage or offense as amazement. "You kissed me." Statement of fact. Astounded observation. Her hand comes up to touch the place in that classic female pose. "I -- I mean, you ... kissed me?" Now a questioning in the words. As if that had never happened to her before, was never /expected/ to happen.

"I'm sorry," E'sere says, with an impish smile that undermines what paltry amount of sympathy his voice carries. He arches a brow at her own questioning tone and the expression on her face, his regard of her almost expectant of some additional reaction.

"No, no, don't apologize for it," a near begging in that tone. Vanya reaches out and grasps his wrist. "Please. Don't apologize. It's just that no one, well, no man has ever done that. Not to me." She blushes only now, perhaps realizing at last just how close she's been to a tall, healthy, rather striking man. A /wingleader/, a former Weyrleader, who didn't mock her or do anything like Dialla said he would. "I ... don't know what to say, but it's not to ask for an apology."

"All right," E'sere says solemnly, nodding once as he observes Vanya. He suggests then, gently, "How about, 'good night'?"

"Good night, then," Vanya replies finally letting go of the wrist, lower her hand from her cheek. "And my greetings to Morelenth, please." A pause, a step back into her space. "Clear skies, E'sere. Be safe. Please." Another pause. "Thank you for a good night, yes. Thank you for a good night."