Respect
Location: J'lor and Vellath's Weyr
Time: Afternoon on Day 5, Month 3, Turn 3
Players: J'lor, E'sere, Vellath, Morelenth
Scene: E'sere wishes to learn about J'lor's beliefs. The conversation veers just slightly sideways into E'sere's, as well.
Evening of the fifth day. E'sere, despite J'lor's suggestion of further discussion the next night, makes himself scarce until then, at which point he finally makes contact again--or rather, has Morelenth do so on his behalf. Vellath? The bronze's touch is hesitant, wary. We would like to visit again, if yours will have us?
Vellath's mindtouch is arbitrary and lazy. There is no specific feel to it, except for the fact that it always feels just a bit different than it did the time before. You can come. He is only working, is the blue dragon's languid response to the tentative bronze.
Thank you, replies Morelenth, gracious. It's only another minute before he's winging his way down to land on the edge of the ledge, taking as little room as he can and allowing E'sere to slide down as well. As always, the bronzerider takes a moment himself to straighten his clothes, his hair, then moves forward to the doorway to knock lightly against it again, and announce himself with the typical, "Sir," toward J'lor.
The blue is coiled up on his ledge and he offers Morelenth a rumble in greeting as the skeletal bronze sets himself down on Vellath's domain. Within, J'lor is seated on the floor, back to the doorway and bent, reading over some hides and pausing, now and again, to write on one. He seems surprised at the 'sir', for all that Vellath expected E'sere. He straightens, twisting to look over his shoulder. J'lor's dark eyes first look at E'sere, and then they flick to Vellath, one brow arched. The dragon only rumbles again and J'lor snorts faintly. "Come in, E'sere. Sit down."
"I can't--shouldn't stay," E'sere notes, lingering rather sheepishly at the door despite J'lor's offer. "I just... needed to stop by for a moment, to apologize for the other night. I'm sorry. Morelenth--" he glances back at the bronze, still perching outside "--refused to pass on as much to Vellath on my behalf." E'sere's smile is strained, tight.
"Vellath is abominable with messages," the bluerider replies as more of his body shifts so that he can regard E;sere with less twisting. "I asked questions, you answered them. I fail to see what you need to apologize for."
E'sere's brows knit as though that answer confuses him. "I... have the distinct feeling that I upset you," he tries again, slowly. "And I was--less than tactful in answering. Morelenth was very disapproving, but." A faint lift of his shoulders. "He usually is. I had thought the best apology might be to forget the--incident, but. He's also very insistent, on some things."
"Well," J'lor begins, "you did upset me. I don't believe murder is an appropriate solution for any problem, but I asked and you answered and you told me the truth. I do not expect to always like hearing it, but I would prefer it to something offered only because it was thought that was what I'd like." He quiets to look beyond the man to the bronze hunkered on the ledge. "He knows what he wants, your Morelenth."
"He... most of the time," E'sere answers, looking back at Morelenth again. "Though, usually it's more like he knows what I need--or thinks as much, anyway." He does, though, finally venture a little further in, away from the door, though he doesn't seat himself just yet. "Why... would that be better? The truth."
"Because then I know," is J'lor's easy answer. He leans forward to gesture to the spot before him, and then he gathers up his hides and sets them off to the side.
At that gesture, E'sere does sit down, still looking at J'lor in mild confusion. "Know what?" he inquires next.
"What you're thinking. What's real." The bluerider leans back, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling over the edge of his legs. "Who are you, do you think?" The question is asked in a conversational tone as he watches the bronzerider, head canted to the side.
The question definitely takes E'sere aback, and he shoots another look back at the ledge and his bronze, as if there were help coming from that quarter. Back to J'lor. "I'm... me. E'sere," he replies, brows knitting. "I don't understand, sir." Because he hasn't thrown one of those in in a while.
"Yes," J'lor agrees with a small nod. "You are. And whoever you are or wish to be or hope to become...you are E'sere. Your name. It is the only word I know of that can encapsulate everything about a man."
"I still don't..." E'sere trails off, frowning. "I mean, I suppose you're right, sir, but I don't think I quite gather... where you're going?"
"Where I'm going is that I find being addressed as 'sir' disrespectful, and that is why. That title presumes something I do not wish presumed. It represents something I do not believe in. I am just me. Whatever I do, whoever I am...I'm J'lor." The bluerider shrugs. "Titles pretend. Names are true."
"But it is polite," says E'sere blankly. "And habitual. I don't mean to imply any disrespect, just..." A shrug as he fails to find further words. He's silent a moment, then offers, "But I'll try, s... J'lor." The name, reluctantly offered, with a wry smile. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that. It is hard to learn new habits, but it gives you greater choices." J'lor looks again out to the ledge before returning his attention to E'sere. "If you genuinely wish to help us, you have to understand us. And you cannot understand us if you perpetually insist on pressing us into the same framework as a mainland weyr."
"It's--" E'sere frowns, delays finishing by looking around briefly. "It's my home's framework--/my/ framework. And it's... I suppose it's just hard to let go of all that, especially when it's... not so much by one's own choice."
"None of us here would know much about that, now, would we? Being sent here, not by our own choice." The bluerider's smile is weak, but bemused. "You are at a crossroads. I do not suggest that you must throw out everything you know. I only suggest that you fold it up, put it away for a while, and be willing to watch our world through eyes that to not look first to a weyr. I know it was your home, E'sere. I am sorry this is difficult. Now, you must adapt."
"You chose the principles," E'sere differs with a shake of his head, a wry smile. "Just not where you'd exercise them." That smile is quick to fade, though, and he rubs the bridge of his nose a moment, shoots Morelenth another glance, then back to J'lor. "I... know," he admits finally, glancing downward, nodding once. "I'd--like to try."
"Then that's a start," J'lor murmurs. "We can talk of principles when you are not so...rushed to depart. Unless that has changed?" Up goes the brow once again.
That wry, rather sheepish smile returns as E'sere glances up again at J'lor. "I can stay," he confesses. "Though I should probably send Morelenth after Aivey, for when she's ready to go home."
"Ah," and the word implies a bit more than just 'oh'. J'lor chuckles. "She has you on a timetable. Well, I shouldn't wish to get you in trouble, but send Morelenth and stay yourself if you think it won't be unwise."
"Something like that," agrees E'sere with a shrug. Outside, Morelenth peers through the entry another moment, then spreads his wings, gliding back off. "I don't think she'll mind, if I'm a little late; or if she does, I'll make it up, I'm sure."
"Mostly likely you will, yes," J'lor smirks. Then he looks down at his knees, frowning just a little bit. "It's been so long...I am not sure where to start."
"At this point, s--J'lor," E'sere catches himself, nose wrinkling slightly. "I think one place is as good as any. I doubt you'll be covering much I'm already aware of, after all."
"I think most folks are aware of most of it, once one gets to speaking on it. It's only that it needs to be pointed out, sometimes." J'lor taps his knee with the flat of his palm. "I suppose, let's begin with this...no person is, by deign of birth or fate, better than any other."
"I was never one to entertain certain... precepts," says E'sere, glancing at his hands again. "And I suspect that most people knew better than to tell me them. Lexine's heir." Strained smile. "Birth /or/ fate? You mean impression," he says slowly.
"I mean anything that presumes someone's worth is based on things he did not do," the once-leader clarifies. "Impression included among them."
"You don't believe," E'sere queries slowly, "that the act of impression would simply recognize something inherently... better, about a person?"
"I do not," J'lor counters. He pauses, one brow lifting high yet again, "unless you wish to argue with me that S'lien is superior to all of us here, save yourself and E'hran?"
"He /is/ S'lien," says E'sere, just a little bit bitter. "But I suppose not."
"He is a man," J'lor rumbles, "flawed and skilled like any other. And his choices define him more than his dragon ever shall. Dragons have their merits and their weaknesses, but I do not think the color one rides should dictate much of anything besides how one ought to be most effectively used in a formation. That a bronze can help produce eggs is something to be proud of, but as a trait that ought to make someone a leader?" The bluerider's nose wrinkles.
E'sere is silent, not answering those words about his cousin. Instead, he glances back ledgeward, though Morelenth isn't there any more, and he rakes a hand through his hair after a deep breath. "How else would you choose?"
"You don't," J'lor says. "Why can't a community govern itself?"
"I don't--they can't--" E'sere leans back, brows furrowing again as he looks at J'lor. "Someone has to be in charge."
J'lor blinks and regards E'sere blankly. "Why?"
"To..." E'sere hesitates. "To enforce laws, make policies... lead the people. No one could live under anarchy."
"It's not anarchy. It's community," the bluerider argues casually, "Decisions are made by the group, rather that a select few people who, at best, are expected to guess what everyone wants and, at worst, simply do what is most pleasing to them."
"And... that's an improvement?" says E'sere, skeptical.
"I believe so, yes," J'lor nods, his fingers tapping on his knees. "It would have averted the conflict at High Reaches, wouldn't it have?""
E'sere frowns, watching J'lor's tapping fingers rather than the man's face. "Perhaps," he concedes. "But don't you think it would end up with... factions, polarization--one convincing speaker persuading everyone to his side, whether that's the best course of action or not? Someone would still be able to set himself up as king, if at least not in name."
"Not if everybody, rather than only the presumed elite, were given access to education and the expectation that such access be utilized." As E'sere watches J'lor's fingers, the bluerider seems to become aware of them and the tapping stops as his palm curls around his knee. "And why would a man wish to be king, anyhow? If each finds a place based on his skill, rather than his or her birth? If one is able to pursue the skills and talents desired? What power is there to steal? What need is there for it?"
"Some people will always want that," says E'sere with a shake of his head. "It's the nature of humanity. Everyone wants their own way, and if they're strong enough they'll take it, and damn what the rest want. The only way to win is be strong enough to take theirs first. You want all the world to run like the Conclave? With all its backbiting and lying and dealing?"
"I want the world to be run the way the conclave /ought/ to be run," is the gentle amendment. "I think those who want power actually want a means to gain access to their other goals. In a different culture, those goals could be attained in other ways. Everyone wants their own way because we have been taught, since we were born, that society revolves around specific high ranking individuals. It makes sense that we would all secretly aspire to be one. But if it did not? If it instead revolved around the community and each person was judged on what he did rather than who he was?" There is a chinjerk towards the ledge once again. "Even dragons are adaptable to such shifts. Or is Morelenth usually so courteous to a blue?"
"Morelenth is polite because I am," says E'sere with a shrug. "Or because I want him to be like I am. It just... looks better, if he is, too." Which begs the question of just why is E'sere polite in the first place, but. "Do you really think you can... change the world?"
"Me?" J'lor blinks and shakes his head, chuckling. "No. I believe we, as a people, can. I believe that I have things to say, and if enough people listen and agree, the world will change. I cannot do it alone, nor would I wish to." And then J'lor asks the question that is begged, "Why do you bother being polite?"
E'sere doesn't answer J'lor's earlier words, only frowns thoughtfully, brows still furrowing in concentration. It's to the latter question that he responds, eventually. "Because it's... what one does. What one should do," he finally answers. "People like being shown the proper respect."
"And what is proper respect?" is the bluerider's next inquiry.
"Ah," says E'sere slowly. "You know the standards--deference and titles and the proper ways of speaking to them. Don't be too forward, agree with whatever they say..." A shrug.
There is, for that summary, another of those nose wrinkles from J'lor. Ick. "And is that the sort of respect you wish for, E'sere? Hiding behind titles, false humility and hidden thoughts?"
"I... can't say I'm really familiar with another kind," says E'sere, half-joking. It's not a very good one, and he shrugs again. "It'll do, I suppose, for lack of anything better. And at least you know where you stand."
"No wonder you have so little faith in people’s capabilities, if that is what you expect." J'lor heaves a soft sigh. "Perhaps here, you might be able to learn a different sort of respect. I, at least, find it to be a more appealing alternative to what you describe."
Childlike, E'sere doesn't look at J'lor, instead finding the rest of the room fascinating. "I'd rather know they were being false than have to worry about keeping their respect, and what they'll do when they lose that," he answers after a moment, frowning. "It's less stressful."
"And less likely to help you out, in the long run, if those who pretend obeisance to your face are planning other things behind your back. Come now, E'sere," J'lor leans back a little, knees tipping upwards as his weight shifts. "You want to be Weyrleader of High Reaches. You think they deserve no better than a man who fears his true self is unworthy of respect?"
/That/ gets E'sere's attention. He looks back sharply at J'lor, frown deepening. "I'm not," he says, his words very carefully pronounced, "going to be High Reaches' Weyrleader, so it's rather a moot point, don't you think."
"No. I don't," answers the bluerider. "I think if you wish to lead anything or anyone, you're going to need to do better than what you've just described."
E'sere, lips pursing, shoulders stiff, glances downward to delay an answer. It's several seconds before finally, not very happily, he asks, "What would you suggest?"
"No more 'sir'. Not with me and not with Derek. He is, in his way, an honest sort. He doesn't want it either." J'lor pauses, considering. "Watch people here. And I mean watch them truly, don't just see what things you can use to convince them you're a gleaming example of a bronzerider. Watch them to learn. Nera," and though his voice tightens a bit on that name he continues, "has the island's respect. She has Derek's. Spend a bit of time with her and see if you can't figure out why. Cassiel, too. S'val, when he's feeling better."
E'sere takes a deep breath, and finally, nodding, looks up at J'lor again. "All right," he agrees. "I'll try."
"That," J'lor says with a small but open smile, "is a very good start."
E'sere's own smile is equally small, but present. "Thank you, J'lor, for--" He doesn't finish, though, just makes one of those vague sorts of gestures meant to indicate everything.
The bluerider only blinks and cants his head slightly to the side, as if E'sere has said something a bit odd. "Of course," he replies with a faint tinge of surprise. "Stop by again in a seven. Tell me what you've found."
"I will," E'sere says, as he gets to his feet, nodding once more to J'lor. "I should get home, though, and see Aivey. Have a good night, J'lor." Though Morelenth hasn't returned for him, he heads out to the ledge to climb down himself.
"Send her my apologies for keeping you then. And..." J'lor offers another smile, but this one playful, "good luck."
E'sere, before starting downward, offers J'lor one last nod, a half-smile, then makes his exit.
Time: Afternoon on Day 5, Month 3, Turn 3
Players: J'lor, E'sere, Vellath, Morelenth
Scene: E'sere wishes to learn about J'lor's beliefs. The conversation veers just slightly sideways into E'sere's, as well.
Evening of the fifth day. E'sere, despite J'lor's suggestion of further discussion the next night, makes himself scarce until then, at which point he finally makes contact again--or rather, has Morelenth do so on his behalf. Vellath? The bronze's touch is hesitant, wary. We would like to visit again, if yours will have us?
Vellath's mindtouch is arbitrary and lazy. There is no specific feel to it, except for the fact that it always feels just a bit different than it did the time before. You can come. He is only working, is the blue dragon's languid response to the tentative bronze.
Thank you, replies Morelenth, gracious. It's only another minute before he's winging his way down to land on the edge of the ledge, taking as little room as he can and allowing E'sere to slide down as well. As always, the bronzerider takes a moment himself to straighten his clothes, his hair, then moves forward to the doorway to knock lightly against it again, and announce himself with the typical, "Sir," toward J'lor.
The blue is coiled up on his ledge and he offers Morelenth a rumble in greeting as the skeletal bronze sets himself down on Vellath's domain. Within, J'lor is seated on the floor, back to the doorway and bent, reading over some hides and pausing, now and again, to write on one. He seems surprised at the 'sir', for all that Vellath expected E'sere. He straightens, twisting to look over his shoulder. J'lor's dark eyes first look at E'sere, and then they flick to Vellath, one brow arched. The dragon only rumbles again and J'lor snorts faintly. "Come in, E'sere. Sit down."
"I can't--shouldn't stay," E'sere notes, lingering rather sheepishly at the door despite J'lor's offer. "I just... needed to stop by for a moment, to apologize for the other night. I'm sorry. Morelenth--" he glances back at the bronze, still perching outside "--refused to pass on as much to Vellath on my behalf." E'sere's smile is strained, tight.
"Vellath is abominable with messages," the bluerider replies as more of his body shifts so that he can regard E;sere with less twisting. "I asked questions, you answered them. I fail to see what you need to apologize for."
E'sere's brows knit as though that answer confuses him. "I... have the distinct feeling that I upset you," he tries again, slowly. "And I was--less than tactful in answering. Morelenth was very disapproving, but." A faint lift of his shoulders. "He usually is. I had thought the best apology might be to forget the--incident, but. He's also very insistent, on some things."
"Well," J'lor begins, "you did upset me. I don't believe murder is an appropriate solution for any problem, but I asked and you answered and you told me the truth. I do not expect to always like hearing it, but I would prefer it to something offered only because it was thought that was what I'd like." He quiets to look beyond the man to the bronze hunkered on the ledge. "He knows what he wants, your Morelenth."
"He... most of the time," E'sere answers, looking back at Morelenth again. "Though, usually it's more like he knows what I need--or thinks as much, anyway." He does, though, finally venture a little further in, away from the door, though he doesn't seat himself just yet. "Why... would that be better? The truth."
"Because then I know," is J'lor's easy answer. He leans forward to gesture to the spot before him, and then he gathers up his hides and sets them off to the side.
At that gesture, E'sere does sit down, still looking at J'lor in mild confusion. "Know what?" he inquires next.
"What you're thinking. What's real." The bluerider leans back, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling over the edge of his legs. "Who are you, do you think?" The question is asked in a conversational tone as he watches the bronzerider, head canted to the side.
The question definitely takes E'sere aback, and he shoots another look back at the ledge and his bronze, as if there were help coming from that quarter. Back to J'lor. "I'm... me. E'sere," he replies, brows knitting. "I don't understand, sir." Because he hasn't thrown one of those in in a while.
"Yes," J'lor agrees with a small nod. "You are. And whoever you are or wish to be or hope to become...you are E'sere. Your name. It is the only word I know of that can encapsulate everything about a man."
"I still don't..." E'sere trails off, frowning. "I mean, I suppose you're right, sir, but I don't think I quite gather... where you're going?"
"Where I'm going is that I find being addressed as 'sir' disrespectful, and that is why. That title presumes something I do not wish presumed. It represents something I do not believe in. I am just me. Whatever I do, whoever I am...I'm J'lor." The bluerider shrugs. "Titles pretend. Names are true."
"But it is polite," says E'sere blankly. "And habitual. I don't mean to imply any disrespect, just..." A shrug as he fails to find further words. He's silent a moment, then offers, "But I'll try, s... J'lor." The name, reluctantly offered, with a wry smile. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that. It is hard to learn new habits, but it gives you greater choices." J'lor looks again out to the ledge before returning his attention to E'sere. "If you genuinely wish to help us, you have to understand us. And you cannot understand us if you perpetually insist on pressing us into the same framework as a mainland weyr."
"It's--" E'sere frowns, delays finishing by looking around briefly. "It's my home's framework--/my/ framework. And it's... I suppose it's just hard to let go of all that, especially when it's... not so much by one's own choice."
"None of us here would know much about that, now, would we? Being sent here, not by our own choice." The bluerider's smile is weak, but bemused. "You are at a crossroads. I do not suggest that you must throw out everything you know. I only suggest that you fold it up, put it away for a while, and be willing to watch our world through eyes that to not look first to a weyr. I know it was your home, E'sere. I am sorry this is difficult. Now, you must adapt."
"You chose the principles," E'sere differs with a shake of his head, a wry smile. "Just not where you'd exercise them." That smile is quick to fade, though, and he rubs the bridge of his nose a moment, shoots Morelenth another glance, then back to J'lor. "I... know," he admits finally, glancing downward, nodding once. "I'd--like to try."
"Then that's a start," J'lor murmurs. "We can talk of principles when you are not so...rushed to depart. Unless that has changed?" Up goes the brow once again.
That wry, rather sheepish smile returns as E'sere glances up again at J'lor. "I can stay," he confesses. "Though I should probably send Morelenth after Aivey, for when she's ready to go home."
"Ah," and the word implies a bit more than just 'oh'. J'lor chuckles. "She has you on a timetable. Well, I shouldn't wish to get you in trouble, but send Morelenth and stay yourself if you think it won't be unwise."
"Something like that," agrees E'sere with a shrug. Outside, Morelenth peers through the entry another moment, then spreads his wings, gliding back off. "I don't think she'll mind, if I'm a little late; or if she does, I'll make it up, I'm sure."
"Mostly likely you will, yes," J'lor smirks. Then he looks down at his knees, frowning just a little bit. "It's been so long...I am not sure where to start."
"At this point, s--J'lor," E'sere catches himself, nose wrinkling slightly. "I think one place is as good as any. I doubt you'll be covering much I'm already aware of, after all."
"I think most folks are aware of most of it, once one gets to speaking on it. It's only that it needs to be pointed out, sometimes." J'lor taps his knee with the flat of his palm. "I suppose, let's begin with this...no person is, by deign of birth or fate, better than any other."
"I was never one to entertain certain... precepts," says E'sere, glancing at his hands again. "And I suspect that most people knew better than to tell me them. Lexine's heir." Strained smile. "Birth /or/ fate? You mean impression," he says slowly.
"I mean anything that presumes someone's worth is based on things he did not do," the once-leader clarifies. "Impression included among them."
"You don't believe," E'sere queries slowly, "that the act of impression would simply recognize something inherently... better, about a person?"
"I do not," J'lor counters. He pauses, one brow lifting high yet again, "unless you wish to argue with me that S'lien is superior to all of us here, save yourself and E'hran?"
"He /is/ S'lien," says E'sere, just a little bit bitter. "But I suppose not."
"He is a man," J'lor rumbles, "flawed and skilled like any other. And his choices define him more than his dragon ever shall. Dragons have their merits and their weaknesses, but I do not think the color one rides should dictate much of anything besides how one ought to be most effectively used in a formation. That a bronze can help produce eggs is something to be proud of, but as a trait that ought to make someone a leader?" The bluerider's nose wrinkles.
E'sere is silent, not answering those words about his cousin. Instead, he glances back ledgeward, though Morelenth isn't there any more, and he rakes a hand through his hair after a deep breath. "How else would you choose?"
"You don't," J'lor says. "Why can't a community govern itself?"
"I don't--they can't--" E'sere leans back, brows furrowing again as he looks at J'lor. "Someone has to be in charge."
J'lor blinks and regards E'sere blankly. "Why?"
"To..." E'sere hesitates. "To enforce laws, make policies... lead the people. No one could live under anarchy."
"It's not anarchy. It's community," the bluerider argues casually, "Decisions are made by the group, rather that a select few people who, at best, are expected to guess what everyone wants and, at worst, simply do what is most pleasing to them."
"And... that's an improvement?" says E'sere, skeptical.
"I believe so, yes," J'lor nods, his fingers tapping on his knees. "It would have averted the conflict at High Reaches, wouldn't it have?""
E'sere frowns, watching J'lor's tapping fingers rather than the man's face. "Perhaps," he concedes. "But don't you think it would end up with... factions, polarization--one convincing speaker persuading everyone to his side, whether that's the best course of action or not? Someone would still be able to set himself up as king, if at least not in name."
"Not if everybody, rather than only the presumed elite, were given access to education and the expectation that such access be utilized." As E'sere watches J'lor's fingers, the bluerider seems to become aware of them and the tapping stops as his palm curls around his knee. "And why would a man wish to be king, anyhow? If each finds a place based on his skill, rather than his or her birth? If one is able to pursue the skills and talents desired? What power is there to steal? What need is there for it?"
"Some people will always want that," says E'sere with a shake of his head. "It's the nature of humanity. Everyone wants their own way, and if they're strong enough they'll take it, and damn what the rest want. The only way to win is be strong enough to take theirs first. You want all the world to run like the Conclave? With all its backbiting and lying and dealing?"
"I want the world to be run the way the conclave /ought/ to be run," is the gentle amendment. "I think those who want power actually want a means to gain access to their other goals. In a different culture, those goals could be attained in other ways. Everyone wants their own way because we have been taught, since we were born, that society revolves around specific high ranking individuals. It makes sense that we would all secretly aspire to be one. But if it did not? If it instead revolved around the community and each person was judged on what he did rather than who he was?" There is a chinjerk towards the ledge once again. "Even dragons are adaptable to such shifts. Or is Morelenth usually so courteous to a blue?"
"Morelenth is polite because I am," says E'sere with a shrug. "Or because I want him to be like I am. It just... looks better, if he is, too." Which begs the question of just why is E'sere polite in the first place, but. "Do you really think you can... change the world?"
"Me?" J'lor blinks and shakes his head, chuckling. "No. I believe we, as a people, can. I believe that I have things to say, and if enough people listen and agree, the world will change. I cannot do it alone, nor would I wish to." And then J'lor asks the question that is begged, "Why do you bother being polite?"
E'sere doesn't answer J'lor's earlier words, only frowns thoughtfully, brows still furrowing in concentration. It's to the latter question that he responds, eventually. "Because it's... what one does. What one should do," he finally answers. "People like being shown the proper respect."
"And what is proper respect?" is the bluerider's next inquiry.
"Ah," says E'sere slowly. "You know the standards--deference and titles and the proper ways of speaking to them. Don't be too forward, agree with whatever they say..." A shrug.
There is, for that summary, another of those nose wrinkles from J'lor. Ick. "And is that the sort of respect you wish for, E'sere? Hiding behind titles, false humility and hidden thoughts?"
"I... can't say I'm really familiar with another kind," says E'sere, half-joking. It's not a very good one, and he shrugs again. "It'll do, I suppose, for lack of anything better. And at least you know where you stand."
"No wonder you have so little faith in people’s capabilities, if that is what you expect." J'lor heaves a soft sigh. "Perhaps here, you might be able to learn a different sort of respect. I, at least, find it to be a more appealing alternative to what you describe."
Childlike, E'sere doesn't look at J'lor, instead finding the rest of the room fascinating. "I'd rather know they were being false than have to worry about keeping their respect, and what they'll do when they lose that," he answers after a moment, frowning. "It's less stressful."
"And less likely to help you out, in the long run, if those who pretend obeisance to your face are planning other things behind your back. Come now, E'sere," J'lor leans back a little, knees tipping upwards as his weight shifts. "You want to be Weyrleader of High Reaches. You think they deserve no better than a man who fears his true self is unworthy of respect?"
/That/ gets E'sere's attention. He looks back sharply at J'lor, frown deepening. "I'm not," he says, his words very carefully pronounced, "going to be High Reaches' Weyrleader, so it's rather a moot point, don't you think."
"No. I don't," answers the bluerider. "I think if you wish to lead anything or anyone, you're going to need to do better than what you've just described."
E'sere, lips pursing, shoulders stiff, glances downward to delay an answer. It's several seconds before finally, not very happily, he asks, "What would you suggest?"
"No more 'sir'. Not with me and not with Derek. He is, in his way, an honest sort. He doesn't want it either." J'lor pauses, considering. "Watch people here. And I mean watch them truly, don't just see what things you can use to convince them you're a gleaming example of a bronzerider. Watch them to learn. Nera," and though his voice tightens a bit on that name he continues, "has the island's respect. She has Derek's. Spend a bit of time with her and see if you can't figure out why. Cassiel, too. S'val, when he's feeling better."
E'sere takes a deep breath, and finally, nodding, looks up at J'lor again. "All right," he agrees. "I'll try."
"That," J'lor says with a small but open smile, "is a very good start."
E'sere's own smile is equally small, but present. "Thank you, J'lor, for--" He doesn't finish, though, just makes one of those vague sorts of gestures meant to indicate everything.
The bluerider only blinks and cants his head slightly to the side, as if E'sere has said something a bit odd. "Of course," he replies with a faint tinge of surprise. "Stop by again in a seven. Tell me what you've found."
"I will," E'sere says, as he gets to his feet, nodding once more to J'lor. "I should get home, though, and see Aivey. Have a good night, J'lor." Though Morelenth hasn't returned for him, he heads out to the ledge to climb down himself.
"Send her my apologies for keeping you then. And..." J'lor offers another smile, but this one playful, "good luck."
E'sere, before starting downward, offers J'lor one last nod, a half-smile, then makes his exit.